Beethoven surprises us / Schubert surprises himself!

Prior to performing Schubert’s towering sonata in c minor D. 958 I addressed the audience with the following remarks -

I recently spoke with a close friend sharing with him the program for my upcoming solo recitals. When he heard that I will be playing a late Schubert sonata he asked whether my intention is to put people to sleep! He then recommended that I ask the audience to turn on their cell-phones, and feel free to send text messages or check e-mails between movements.  Well, He was not completely wrong.  During the second half of the 19 century concerts were a much lighter affair.  A program would normally consist of a movement of a piece, followed by two arias, then perhaps an improvisation on a popular tune and so on.  To play a full Schubert sonata was inconceivable, not to mention that these works were pretty much neglected back then.

We seem to be living in an era in which in order to be taken seriously one has to program four Beethoven sonatas. Programming Liszt transcriptions, or Brahms Hungarian Dances means you won’t be considered as a serious artist. Playing only a movement from a sonata means you will be vetoed altogether. And yet the programs of Horowitz or Rubinstein from the first half of the 20 century show much greater variety and imagination.

The Schubert sonatas remained unappreciated until well into the 20th century. When the great pianist Artur Schnabel was recording the B flat sonata, in the early 1930’s, Sergei Rachmaninov came to visit Abbey Road Studios in London where Schnabel was recording. Apparently each time the Russian virtuoso came to the studios there was a ritual that everyone would line-up to greet the great maestro. Schnabel decided to play along and stood in line. When Rachmaninov saw Schnabel he asked him for the reason he was at the studios that day. After Schnabel told him that he was recording the last Schubert sonata, Rachmaninov asked whether he could listen. Upon hearing this monumental masterpiece Rachmaninov turned to Schnabel saying “…but this is great music!” Schnabel replied “I know!”

What was it then in the sonatas of Franz Schubert that puzzled so many important figures in the 19 century? Robert Schumann in his review of these works in 1838 criticized their "much greater simplicity of invention", claiming the sonatas "ripple along from page to page as if without end." Schumann in his review of the great C major symphony, however, remarked so poignantly about its "heavenly length." This, in my opinion, suits the sonatas just as much.

Music is an art that happens in the dimension of time. Schubert’s perception of time is unlike any other composer. I guess one can say that about almost any composer. But there is a uniqueness to the way Schubert’s works unfold in time.  I like to say that Beethoven surprises us, whereas Schubert surprises himself.  Beethoven has a very clear idea where he is aiming, and how long it is going to take - the goals, the climaxes. With Schubert you get a sense that he is unsure where the piece is going to take him. I played some years ago the big A major sonata to Claude Frank - a wonderful pianist, musician and teacher. I remember him telling me that when he played that piece he always felt that he was a driver of a Trolley somewhere in the Austrian Alps, and just before launching onto the last movement he wanted to call the audience “ALL ABOARD”.  

Listening or playing one of the grande Schubert sonatas indeed you are on a journey - you might discover along the way a hidden brook. Please stop for a moment and try to speak with it. Most likely the brook will answer. You might also encounter severe weather that will throw you out of your way. Confront it, fight it, you might succeed. I also hope that on your journey you will meet a beautiful maiden. Do fall in love with her, though let me warn you, she is most likely already engaged to the hunter. Still you should fall in love, and get hurt, and feel some hope together with despair and anger. Oh, and beware of the evil spirit. He is there somewhere, most likely disguised in the most beautiful seductive music. Perhaps what you are looking for is a place you can call home. You might never find one! These are all important awarenesses on the path to the heart of this music, to the heart of Romanticism - nature, a beautiful maiden, unfulfilled love, a talking brook, a storm, the Erlkönig, being a wonderer and a stranger in any land - all of which come to life in the eternal beauty of the music of Franz Schubert.      

The c minor sonata has four movements which suggest a large symphonic scale. Also the choice of the dramatic key of c minor is obviously a homage to Beethoven (the Pathetique sonata, the variations in c minor, the 5th symphony). But there is also a homage to the divine lyricism of Mozart. It is a piece of vast dimensions written moments before the composer died at the young age of 31. It was published more than ten years after he died.

Ladies and gentlemen before I begin, please allow me to take the driver sit and call “ALL ABOARD!”

Pre-ludes, Middle-ludes, After-ludes Part IV (Final)

This is the forth and final part of the journey to find 24 "musical" thoughts and after-thoughts, middle-thoughts and Pre-thoughts after Chopin's beloved and yet enigmatic Preludes. 

19) With such a pastiche of 24 miniatures, one is compelled to try all sorts of directions for inspiration and imagination. I often find it helpful to orchestrate as my interpretation evolves. For example the surging melody in the left-hand of the b minor prelude (no. 6) might be beautifully conceived on a cello. The texture of the chords in the c minor prelude (no. 20) reminds me of brass. The soaring beauty of the cantilena line in the B flat major prelude (no. 21) could be played on the flute. However, what is extraordinary to me is how idiomatic Chopin's music is. It belongs to the piano! Thinking, imagining, referring to other instruments might add greater nuance to one's playing. But whenever I heard such realizations of Chopin's music on other instruments - whether strings or winds - the music sounded very weak, timid and ultimately unconvincing. Can it be that as great as Chopin's music is, it only sounds good on the piano? 

20) The preludes are at once similar as well as strikingly different. While the differences seem obvious, the similarities are more implicit, hidden. Take for example preludes nos. 2, 3 and 24 - all three exhibit a left-hand obstinate that governs the entire piece. ostinato also sets its tone. In all three preludes the left-hand pattern also begins a few bars before the melody enters. And yet how obviously different these preludes are. Such inner-connections are in abundance throughout the whole set. 

21) While the preludes are so different in character they are also incredibly varied from a technical point of view: the child like simplicity of the A major prelude (no. 7) is at times taught to amateur pianists while the gargantuan b flat minor one (no. 16) is among the most difficult compositions Chopin ever wrote. I once taught the very slow pace chordal c minor prelude (no. 20) to a 9 year old, and yet, I would never attempt to even introduce the same pupil the immensely difficult (especially when the hands are still cold) G major one (no. 3). The reason for such drastic variety lies in the fact that Chopin's technical demands always serve a much greater purpose. Unlike some of his contemporaries (i.e. Liszt) who could enjoy the showmanship aspect of technical difficulties, Chopin did not write technical difficulties for the sake of exhibition. In the preludes the difficulties are part of the music, part of the DNA of the piece, its essence and message. 

22) The composer Robert Schumann was known to have had the gift to sketch in music people that he knew - a portraitist in music. His Carnival op. 9 is the example where several of the movements have names such as Paganini or Chopin.  The Preludes of Chopin, being so many different things, are also influenced by and as a result paint a sketch portrait of a wide range of composers - the elf-like lightness of
Mendelssohn (10); the lied-like with brook-like texture of Schubert (13); the tour-de-force virtuosity of Liszt (16, 24); the coloratura of Bellini (21); A Bach homage and a Bach choral (no. 1 and no. 20); emblematic ambiguity of Schumann (14, 23); and what about Mozart his idol, or Beethoven, even though he did not like him. The subconscious work in mysterious ways.

23) And if we bring up other composers, then what about the ones that came after Chopin’s death and were highly influenced by the Preludes - Faure, Szymanowski, Scriabin, Debussy, Rachmaninov and Shostakovich among others. Interestingly Chopin had a profound impact on Russian music. The Russian public was introduced to his music as early as 1829 in a concert in St. Petersburg. The genuine clarity and beauty of Chopin’s melodies, the deep sadness, tenderness and melancholy of his music greatly touched his listeners in Russia. The audience as well as the critics saw him not only as a pianist and composer, but also as a genius poet. The way Chopin incorporated national dances into his music also captured the Russian interest.  With the composer Karl Szymanowski the influence obviously is the direct link to the Polish national school of piano. In my humble opinion though, if we were to draw a line from Bach’s WTC to Chopin’s set, then the next line should be to Debussy’s two books of Preludes! In their originality, inventiveness, new ideas, use of dynamics, finger articulation, use of pedal, motivic development, amorphic shape, emotional range and much more, the Debussy Preludes are as revolutionary as the Chopin’s!!

24) The last words have to be given to none other than George Sand - the woman that causes so much inspiration for Chopin, together with anguish. Sand described the preludes as “most beautiful of short pages, which bring to mind visions of deceased monks, the sound of funeral chants, melancholy and fragrant. They came to him in time of sun and health, in the clamor of laughing children under the window, the far away sound of guitars, birdsongs from the moist leaves, in the sights of the small pale roses coming in bloom on the snow… while charming your ear, they break your heart… Chopin’s genius was filled with the mysterious sounds of nature, but transformed into sublime equivalents in musical thought… The gift of Chopin is the deepest and fullest feelings and emotions that have been existed.”    

An Epilogue…sorry an Epi-lude:

The Preludes of Chopin are a fountain of inspiration, a wealth of ideas that, having an important place in the music literature. For their brevity, ingenuity, originality, wit and poetry, they constantly attract musicians and audience alike. The most Romantic of composers disliked this association altogether. His music wasn’t inspired by literature or paintings as some of his contemporaries such as Liszt or Schumann. Whereas Beethoven turned the piano into an orchestra (or string quartet at times), and Mozart was bringing to life an opera at the piano, Chopin completely and wholeheartedly conceived his music solely for the piano. In no other single piece that he wrote his genius is more conspicuous as in the set of 24 preludes Op. 28. Even-though these are miniatures, they encompass tremendous emotional power. With seemingly inexhaustible variety of moods and ideas and an endless supply of beautiful melodies the set stands along the great achievements of human creation and vision.

Pre-ludes, Middle-ludes, After-ludes (Part III)

Continuing my quest to "find" 24 observations, thoughts and after-thoughts on Frederic Chopin's 24 preludes op. 28. This is chapter 3 out of 4.

13) I once had a few lessons on the preludes with the late pianist Marek Jablonsky. One of the things that intrigued me was that he liked calling the short preludes (nos. 5, 7, 10 etc) "Interludes”, referring to them as short breaths, quick pauses, or as connecting links between two prominent statements. So now we have "Preludes", "Middle-ludes", After-ludes" and "Interludes" - all have different psychological implications to the piece as a whole.   

14) Chopin opposed programmatic references to his music. He refuted Schumann when the latter crafted storied around his Op. 2 variations. Chopin saw music as representing abstract feelings and ideas, transcending visual earthly images. Nevertheless two noteworthy musicians - Hans von Bülow and Alfred Cortot - went as far as giving nicknames to each of the 24 preludes. Occasionally the names are somewhat similar, though most of the time they differ remarkably. It is worth glancing at these names. Hans von Bülow, for example, gave the ubiquitous name "Raindrop" to the famous D flat prelude no. 15. He called the succeeding prelude no. 16 "Hades". Alfred Cortot named the beautiful A flat prelude no. 17 "She told me, I love you…", and to the culminating prelude no. 24 he gave the emphatic name “Blood, Passion and Death".

15) As I mentioned in chapter 1 of this endeavor Chopin organized the preludes differently than the way Bach did. Rather than in chromatic order, Chopin organized them according to what we call the "circle of fifths". As such, each prelude (first major then minor) adds one accidental. The result means that the first half of the cycle (nos. 1-13) employs the keys with the sharps while the second half (nos. 14-24) employs the keys with the flats. Since keys to a piece of music is to a large extent like color to a painting, there is a greater sense of spring or sunrise in the first half of the piece while the second half sounds more autumnal, sunset.

16) Ambiguity seems to be a favorite ingredient when analyzing transcendental works. Ambiguity plays an important role in the preludes. Almost every prelude has an ambiguous element to it. No. 1 -

Melodic: The melody is not on the down beat but rather on the upbeats. It is also toying between being played by the thumb and the pinky.  No. 2 - Tonal: Until the very last chord we cannot be sure of the key. No. 4 - Harmonic: The suspensions throughout this prelude with the two note melody hovering above has a great sense of instability. No. 5 - Rhythmic: The constant hemiolas, together with the extreme brevity of this prelude makes the listener feels disoriented and bewildered. Etc etc.

17) The idea ambiguity should lead to further discussion about the enigmatic no. 14 in e flat minor? This prelude is pure anarchy!! It is almost violent - not from anger, but rather from the unknown. It is scary, frightening, and unstable. The pianist Russell Sherman referred to it as music from the under-world. Chopin, the composer that thrived on melodic beauty, sensuality and elegance, the composer that was admired for the suave quality of his sound, his soft touch, wrote here a piece of incredible darkness and menace. The two hands are playing absolutely the exact same pitches an octave apart. Both hands are playing continuous eighth notes, and it is all in the same low "F" clef. A dark shadow. Never has brevity been so brief, and ambiguity been so emblematic. Needless to say, one should compare this prelude to the final movement of another great work by Chopin - the 2nd sonata.    

18) “Chopin’s music is essentially unhealthy. That is its imperfection and also its danger”. 

This comforting statement belongs to Hippolyte Barbedette, a scholar of the mid 19th century who wrote essays on Chopin’s music. While admiring Chopin's individuality and remarking that the Preludes are “a jewel-box of precious stones”, she also wrote that he was a sick man who enjoyed suffering and did not want to be cured. Furthermore she pointed that by playing his music one will inevitably imagine that the sickness is his own. She concluded with the above quote which I find to be absolutely true - Chopin's music is dangerous to play. It is also unhealthy. These might be two of the reasons why we cannot leave without it. It is intoxicating.

I came, I saw, I wanted to stay,,,

Canceling art vs. Creating art:

Not long ago a good friend of mine posted on Facebook a newspaper announcement that: "The board of the Delaware Symphony has decided to cancel the next season of the orchestra." As usual the reason was linked to the financial situation.

The "shock waves" were felt as far as two hours away, which is where I live in Maryland. I immediately wrote to my friend offering to come and play a benefit concert. My main goal (aside from a chance to have lunch with my good friend), was to show that people outside the community also care. I also wanted to raise awareness to my strong belief that canceling a season / cutting concerts… could not be a solution for "helping" sustain art. In other words canceling music could not help make music. There has to be another way, or music will not be heard anymore in this beautiful building shown here. 

Before playing a note, I addressed the appreciative audience, many of which were patrons, sharing with them my feelings and concerns regarding cutting concerts due to financial climate. The second step after that is probably shutting down the museum because that takes a lot of tax money. Next on the list will be turning the park into a parking lot, and soon enough, without music, museum and a park we might as well move to another city, one that offers these essential "luxuries". The recital raised $50,000. I was happy and proud, but later learned that this is like giving a band-aid to stop massive bleeding.

On the contrary, last weekend I gave a concert in a small town in Virginia called Staunton. Nestled in the Shenandoah valley near the foothills of the Blue-ridge mountains, prior to the year 2000 Staunton was just another little town, an exit on interstate 81 going north or south. In 2001 a group of art lovers got together and raised money to build the only re-creation of a Shakespeare indoor theatre in the US - The Blackfriars Play House. The city was transformed after the theatre was built, and the American Shakespeare Center, which was founded in 1988 as a Touring Troupe, moved in as its resident company. 

Since opening its gates more than half a million people visited this theatre. A number of hotels opened up in the downtown area along with new restaurants. The town is now a cultural destination where people from all around come to see one of sixteen different productions each year. The shows run five days a week, a total of 7 performances mostly in the evenings but also at times in the morning (for students) and afternoon (the elderly). I could not help it, and went to see Shakespeare's "As you like it" at 10:30am the morning of my concert. There were many students. It was thrilling - so fresh, so alive. I was inspired.    

In the middle of nowhere, three hours away from the nearest big city, there lies a small town that thanks to its theatre has become a destination to many. I want to believe it has also become a better place to live. Seven performances a week?! Are there so many art lovers in Staunton to fill the sits? Maybe the answer is that when you build something special people will come? Perhaps also the people who helped create this place feel responsible to bring their friends to the shows? Whatever the answer may be, it is an example of how to create not to cancel, how to make something where there was nothing, and how art can change as well as revive a whole town.

I do not know if it is possible to do the same with music let alone an orchestra. To play seven concerts a week in a small village? Wouldn't that be something?! Playing concerts for kids, elderly people, whoever… seven concerts every week! I do not know. I sure though wanna live in such a place! Hopefully it also has a nice little museum, a park and even a small Shakespeare theatre…

About a Vision, a Voice and a Visit

Back in 1994, when I was a student at Ravinia's Steans Music Institute, one of my highlights was performing Schubert's E flat major trio.  I cannot remember if it was after the dress rehearsal or the actual performance, that a person came to me and started talking about Schubert's music in correlation with my playing. It's been nearly twenty years and I remember that conversation quite vividly. 

He was chubby looking, open hearted and warm. From his musical insights and inquiries it was obvious that he was no stranger to this music. On the contrary, he knew it intimately. At one point he addressed the challenges a pianist faced when trying to produce a singing tone on the piano, especially in music of the master of song literature Franz Schubert. Getting more specific he spoke about the way I trilled, the singing aspect. He was very complimentary, supportive and loving. A few years later I learned that that person was Edward Gordon (1930-1996), the vision and force behind the whole program known as the Steans Institute of Music… or as he simply introduced himself: "my name is Ed."

Ed served as Executive Director of the Ravinia festival between 1968 and 1990. Back then he articulated to the Board of Trustees his vision to create a comprehensive educational program. "I have long felt that many young artists never attain their potential as performers, not from any lack of fine teaching and necessary skills, but because they have not had certain opportunities at a critical time in their development. The most important opportunity is having prominent performance platform, where listeners include peers, artistic leaders, and the important general public." Quite a VISION!

Jump starting to the summer of 2013, I was invited again to teach at the Steans. My week comprised of coaching Beethoven and Brahms, Chopin and Schumann. At my last day I was asked to give an extra coaching on a piece I could not recall ever coaching before - Schubert's Trio in E flat. It was a Friday night, late after everyone had dinner. A few students still practiced, most already left. Instead of going to a teaching classroom the students and I had the hall to ourselves. I sat in the middle of this wonderful space, while the group played the slow, lyrical second movement.

The playing was beautiful, well meant and heart-felt. I started to ask for something, but could not quite articulate what was it that I wanted. I was searching for the right  quality or sound, looking for that special singing tone - what Ed Gordon and I were discussing back then. I asked the cellist, who had the opening tune to search for the right voice. It was not there yet.

The legendary cellist Bernhard Greenhouse used to say: "you will be judged by your VOICE!" 

But what is your voice? Where and how to find it?  I kept insisting, going back and forth to the beginning, to find that special sound - an internal beauty, a quality, a voice, that exists only within you.  Perhaps a slower vibrato, using less hair on the bow, softer attack on the string… pilling one layer after another - layers of uncertainties, insecurities, self-doubts - slowly a glimmer of light, a miracle surfaced. An inner-voice started to shine, piercing the air. It was shivering and luminous. It had a glare, a hallow.  We could hardly breath. It was meaningful! The pianist was forced to play half as much to support, to caress that shimmering voice, to coarse it.

All of a sudden a door opened and a phantom walked in and sat next to me. It was Ed! I froze in my sit - could not move, could not talk. Ed died in 1996, yet he was sitting there next to me. He came to VISIT his vision. It was a long day, it was a long session. It ended when the building closed close to midnight.

The next day we had a big barbecue. I went and told the story to Paul Biss who coached me that Schubert Trio when I was a student. He shared with me that after that conversation I had with Ed many years ago, they all had lunch and Ed brought it up saying "this was my vision when I thought of this place".

"You will be judged by your voice", said Bernard Greenhouse. For Ed that voice was a vision. On that day his vision turned to be a voice that came to visit me when I listened to Schubert.

Edward Gordon 

Bernard Greenhouse

Franz Schubert

Pre-ludes...Middle-ludes...After-ludes (Part II)

This is the second of four installments about 24 Pre-thoughts, Middle-thoughts and After-thoughts on Chopin's epic 24 Preludes Op. 28.

7) Bach's Preludes and Fugues were conceived as a "study", an "exercise". One can argue that a few of Chopin preludes also sound as a kind of a "study". Both Bach and Chopin wrote these works as a labour of love for the keyboard, its keys, colors, sensualities, timbre and infinite potential. However, even-though some of Bach's Preludes and Fugues have inner-connections, as a whole, they were not thought of as one gigantic work to be performed as such. Chopin's Preludes on the other hand are inseparable. The more I play them, the more I feel how they are connected. They support each other, they rely on one another. Each prelude complement as well as contradict the previous one or the next one that follows. Put together side by side, they become a journey, a roller-coaster ride, or more poetically a symbol of the infinite diversity of the human spirit.

8) Unlike Schumann who was somewhat bewildered by the Preludes, Franz Liszt

on the other hand found them "admirable for their variety, the labour and learning with which they abound…appreciable only by the aid of a scrupulous examination; everything seems fresh, elastic, created at the impulse of the moment, abounding with that freedom of expression which is characteristic of works of genius."

9) Chopin was a ground breaking pioneer not only with transforming the prelude into an independent entity, but also with the way and to the extent in which he freed the right hand from the left hand - or perhaps better to say the melody from the accompaniment. The art of great Chopin playing involves "a free walk (the melody) on a firm ground (the accompaniment, the pulse)", to quote the words of the great Artur Schnabel.

10) Harmonically speaking, Chopin was among those who lay the foundation for the break-up of tonality! Take for example Prelude no. 2 - the sense of tonal ambiguity is astounding. Not until the very last chord of the piece do we finally arrive at the home key of A minor, which has not been heard even once before.

11) Furthermore, harmonic analysis of the preludes can be tricky at best, useless many times. Prelude no. 4 is one of the most beautiful single pages of music ever written. Analyzing this prelude vertically, knowing the degree of each chord means not knowing much at all in regards to this masterpiece. Chopin tells us that true harmonic understanding dates back a century or two - first and foremost to Bach or even prior, when figured bass and voice leading stood above all.

12) But maybe Chopin is trying to tell us that harmonic examination is not the way to approach this piece (and others as well). "Passing notes", "neighbor notes", "leading notes", all serve a much greater purpose. Chopin decided to write one of his most profound pieces when he reached the key of E minor in the cycle. This key used to symbolize the crucifixion in the Baroque era. Just as Bach's "Crucifixus" from the B minor Mass was written in E minor so was this prelude. And just as Bach's music descends as if picturing the descent of Jesus into the grave, so does the notes in this prelude descend slowly and steadily. Slowly as if trying to cling to life, and steadily inexorably striding towards its ultimate faith and final breath.

...to be continued with Part III which includes yet another reaction to the Preludes: "Chopin's music is essentially unhealthy".

An Adventure in Anti-Gravity

Dedicated to Leon Fleisher in celebration of his 85th birthday.

It has been fifteen years since I received my last "official" lesson with my sainted teacher Leon Fleisher. I remember telling him not long after I moved on that my best decision in life was to come and study with him, and the second best decision was to leave. He smiled. That was said, obviously, with much love and admiration.

Fleisher's teaching did not involve extensive demonstrations. Not being able to play with his right hand for many years, he spent a lot of time searching for the right word to express what his inner ear was seeking. Musicians tend to say that music cannot be described in words. I believed it until I heard Fleisher speak. It was so clear, so eloquent, so rich, so incredibly precise, even if it took me a while to figure out how to spell surreptitious, periodicity, subtle or menacing. His goal was to teach us to teach ourselves: to know what to ask and when to ask, how to do, where to find, why this and why that.


It was not too long after I began my studies with him that at one of my lessons after playing for him, he said one of the most beguiling yet resolute discoveries I heard him saying. It was during a lesson on a Schubert or Beethoven sonata, while I was trying to find the focal point in the phrase, create a long line, generate momentum and so forth, that Fleisher leaned backward slowly in his chair, closed his eyes gently, raised his eye-brows and said that "music is made out of physical forces."  Every note, every ascending or descending line, circular patterns or huge leaps is surrounded with physical forces. They are the magnet between the notes. This is what the music is made of. Understanding these physical forces, knowing how to utilize them makes for an interpretation that is not only irresistible but inevitable.

The other day I came back to my alma mater, the Peabody Conservatory of Music, to rehearse Mozart's concerto for two pianos with Katherine Jacobson Fleisher in preparation for a performance with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra later this summer. In the midst of rehearsing Fleisher entered the room unexpectedly and we both embraced the opportunity to be transported by his presence.

As we began the first movement these physical forces slowly awakened – Centrifugal force pushed us outwards when an ascending melodic run changed its direction. Centripetal force pulled us inwards when a descending line suddenly turned upwards. Circular patterns, angular ones, leaps, jumps, sustain notes - all generated forces that glued the notes to become a musical phrase. 


There was one force, though that existed from the moment the first note of the piece was pressed and until the last note disappeared. That was the force of gravity. As the melody soared high above, then dived back down almost touching the ground, making loops and leaps, taking us on a roller-coaster journey, it was a journey in anti-gravity. Fleisher, Kathy and myself, were conversing together with Susanna, Dr. Bartolo, the count and Figaro. Oh, and Mozart… he was conducting the whole opera.

Hours passed, Fleisher became more immersed in the music. As we began the second movement he was pointing out the achingly beautiful suspended notes in the melody. "It hurts so good" he said, and then continued: "Listen to the way the long notes make a crescendo after being pressed, followed by a diminuendo before the next note arrives." Every physicist would say this is impossible, but we musicians are not physicists, we are illusionists. This is vocal playing.

When Fleisher was pressing those keys there was a sense of rightness. The notes appeared at exactly the right place in time. He (and Mozart) did not need to use many keys to open the lock into the mystery of such divine beauty.  Elevating our level of awareness to the next sphere, Fleisher described a tune as "rising the way a balloon does, at an ever-decreasing rate of speed, to the point where the pressure outside equals the pressure inside and it stays suspended".

The heavenly beauty of the opening tune gave way to the intense sorrow of the middle section. I was bewildered by Fleisher's reorganization of the phrase structure. "Listen to the way the held notes in the melody change their color when the harmony underneath changes". A simple held note, so painful, became so hopeful under a different harmony, different color. After experiencing this extraordinary moment, the rising line with the force of resistance felt exhausting. The next held note was one of resignation, of acceptance. It gave in to gravity.

The middle section came to a close, and the opening melody returned. At the beginning this melody had a future. Now it had a past. It sounded entirely different as a result. Our resistance to the force of gravity was soon coming to a close as the movement approached its end. Taking off when the movement started, being carried on top of one giant force, hovering above when the pressure outside equaled the pressure inside, experiencing all those ever-changing moods, while being aware of the forces surrounding the notes, and at the end coming back down.

It seemed so natural, so obvious when Fleisher put his hand on the piano. Every key he pressed was part of nature's forces that shape our world in general and this music in particular. For Kathy and me it was a great adventure. After all, music is an adventure in anti-gravity.