The Road Not Existed...

There are big cities, there are small cities, there are tiny little cities, and then there is Tiffin Ohio. This American city brought about yet another big smiling question mark on the face of Laurence, my relative from New York. Other than telling me with his witty touch of cynicism "it is my favorite city", or "been there many times...", he seemed to be at a loss in terms of its geographical whereabouts. He would not even admit that it is within the continental United States.

So there was no surprise when after asking the journalist that interviewed me from the local newspaper about Tiffin's tourist destinations or places to eat... all I heard was laughter. To be more accurate: regarding places to eat, I was advised to drive out of town, and in terms of places to see... well, it seemed that the biggest attraction within a 50 miles radius was the interstate that takes you North or South of here! But I like traveling, especially when no expectations are involved. This trip to Ohio included three solo recitals - Tiffin, Dayton and Cincinnati.

After landing in Cincinnati airport and getting my rental car, I looked at the map and saw that to get to Tiffin, one only needed to go North on the interstate and turn East at one point. That's all. My hard working manager - Jennifer - equipped me with directions from Yahoo map, to be on the "safe" side. These directions, however, showed a much more "contrapuntal" way to reach Tiffin - one that when placed next to the most complex of Bach's fugues, would probably prove superior in its intricacy, and its use of deceptive cadences. In other words there were quite a few dead-ends! I saved it for posterity.

For the love of traveling I went for excitement and took the road less traveled. What followed, though, reminded me of Frost's famous poem "The road not taken". But I will have to rename it to "The road not existed!" Battling with countless of country roads, byways, bicycle trails, foot paths, sidewalks as well as all sorts of non-grooved ways, I finally reached my destination... three hours or so late. I used "the Schwartz".

After settling in my hotel, I went to look for the hall. At this point I have lost my sense of adventure... and asked in the lobby for the directions!

Initially, when learning about this engagement. I was expecting to play in a small shabby looking barn or something like that. I understood that this presenter wanted to introduce classical music to his community and so forth. I was happy to come.

How surprised I was to find out that this was not a small barn, but rather a stunning-looking theatre from the 1920s that hosts a series of serious productions each year. Between the Broadway productions, and other big events, there was me and my solo piano recital going on tomorrow night...

Every now and then when I travel in the US, I come across a theatre from the earlier part of the twentieth century, which ends up being truly a jewel - a real beauty that has been preserved, renovated and cherished by special people in the community, that would not let it turn into a parking lot, or just deteriorate. A few of such theatres which I had the opportunity to perform at include the Coronado theatre in Rockford Illinois; the Ohio theatre in Columbus Ohio; the Old opera house in Franklin New Hampshire; Powers auditorium in Youngstown Ohio and the "Ritz Theatre" here in Tiffin Ohio.

Most of these halls, as is the case with this one, started as movie theatres. For me, just to be in such places, looking at the intricate plaster work, absorbing the inspirations for the interior design - Italian Renaissance or Greek - observing the atmospheric lighting, embracing the warmth, all this is very memorable. It is tangible!

My recital included works by Bach, Janacek, Debussy, Schubert, and my friend Avner Dorman. Each piece in this recital program seemed to have drawn its inspiration from a different source - whether religious as in the arrangements from the Bach Cantatas; current events, which inspired the Janacek sonata; a picture from the French Rococo period influencing Debussy; nature scenes and German poetry coming to life in Schubert's Impromptus and an individual (the legendary Jazz pianist Art Tatum) which inspired Avner Dorman's 2nd sonata.

I started with the Bach, in order to get the audience (and myself) "into the zone", into the state of concentration from which all else can then unfold.

The Janacek is a favourite piece of mine. One of the reasons is that I don't think it is "music for the piano". I will explain: unlike composers such as Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt or Chopin, who understood the piano intimately, Janacek's expressive (at times explosive) piano sonata seems to have written without the instrument in mind. This tragic score rather than written FOR the piano, it is music first and foremost! played AT the piano.

One of the advantages of playing a piece like the 2nd sonata by Israeli composer Avner Dorman is that after it ends, you feel that the audience is in a "shock". They did not expect something like that - that a contemporary work by a composer they haven't yet heard of, will bring them to such enthusiastic response. The sonata's colorful, poetic / somewhat melancholic opening movement is coupled with an outburst of immense energy and rhythmic power in the closing second movement. This is a tremendous showcase of creativity and imagination.

Following intermission I played Debussy's "Island of joy". Dated September 1904, Debussy wrote gaily about it “Heavens! How difficult it is to play… This piece seems to embrace every possible manner of treating the piano, combining as it does strength and grace…if I may presume to say so.” Indeed this is a world that unites joy and pathos, humor and love. In Debussy’s score, rhythmic control and suppleness exist side by side, and intoxicating dance rhythms mix with surging melody.

Schubert's sublime first set of Impromptus culminated the program. These pieces have a depth of feeling and Romantic intensity from true happiness to the most profound longing. Childlike innocence mixes with spiritual darkness. Optimism and hope confronts a reality of solitude and poverty. The composer of more than 600 songs is writing here four extremely poetic masterpieces. The range of emotions expressed in these exquisitely beautiful pieces is overwhelming. Schubert, who died at age 31, was able to reconcile the so called Classical style with the Romantic spirit of freedom and emotional extremity. The song-like quality of these jewels comes across also in the more agitated second and forth impromptus which are fast but lyrical without any intention of sheer virtuosic display. The picturesque characteristics found in Schubert’s songs are an essential part of this music – nature, the rippling brook, the un-attained love, the loneliness of the wanderer, the feeling of being a stranger in any land, breathlessness of hope as well as resignation and despair, and many more.

At the end of the recital I felt grateful at the opportunity to play in this hall, and for this audience who most likely experienced this music just now for the first time.

The next morning, as I was heading to Dayton I decided (if you don't mind) to take "The road existed"...


Alon Goldstein

A Rollercoaster with Beethoven

January 29, 2008 – Playing with cellist Amit Peled the five cello and piano sonatas written by Ludwig van Beethoven. Part of the 150 anniversary celebration of the Peabody Conservatory of Music.

When I studied at the Peabody Conservatory, over ten years ago, I once asked my teacher Leon Fleisher to recommend me some good reading material about Beethoven – material that would get me closer to understanding this explosive, ever-changing, ever-experimenting, ever-challenging person. Without hesitating for a moment his reply was “the answers to all your questions are in his works. Get to know the music and you get to know the person.”

Indeed learning a body of work of a composer is in many ways like reading a fascinating biography about that person, especially if the music is of L. v. Beethoven. One can hear struggle, hope, triumph, humor, development, questions, frustration, jubilation, and many more characteristics that end up shaping the life of such a creative artist. My experience taught me that the music of great composers is also like the “keys” to the most hidden rooms – the ones that lead straight to their heart.

Amit and I played the Beethoven sonata cycle several times – in Seattle Washington DC, Rockville as well as Jerusalem. As we launched onto each 'journey' we felt that we are handing those special “keys” to the audience. We are the drivers, taking the audience along, on what ends up being a “Rollercoaster with Beethoven”.

Beethoven wrote several cycle of works in various genres – five piano concerti, nine symphonies, thirty two piano sonatas, sixteen string quartets, ten sonatas for violin and piano, five sonatas for cello and piano, and seven piano trios. Among these, the cycle for cello and piano stands out in being relatively short (only five works), and yet it covers a wider ground than say the piano concerti, or the trios, or in certain aspects even the ten violin and piano sonatas.

Interestingly Beethoven sat down to write his five cello sonatas in three different times that correspond with the “three periods” that musicologists are so fond of when dividing Beethoven’s creative life: The two sonatas Op. 5 were written in 1796, when he was already living in Vienna, and when influences of his predecessors Mozart and Haydn can be found side-by-side with the emergence of his own style. The third sonata Op. 69 was written in 1807-8, during the so called heroic period. Some of his most successful works were composed during the time - the fifth symphony, the “Emperor” concerto and many more. And his sonatas Op. 102 no. 1 and 2 were written in 1815 - the most transcendent and spiritual period. In many ways the music during these years is more enigmatic and at times introverted.

Our concert began with the two early "grande" sonatas Op. 5 no. 1 and no. 2. Interestingly they are the first duos for cello and keyboard instrument of any real importance. Neither Haydn nor Mozart touched this genre, and Bach’s monumental suites are for cello solo. In his Op. 5 sonatas Beethoven is taking an instrument which has always been associated with doubling the bass line, being a continuo, and bringing it to the foreground.

When Beethoven arrived in Vienna in 1792, he first tried to establish himself as a piano virtuoso. Consequently, the Op. 5 reflects Beethoven the pianist’s perspective to such a medium. These works are for “piano and cello” as written on the cover page, and not the reverse.

These early sonatas are quite unorthodox in their layout. That ultimately raises some issues regarding their structure and overall balance and proportion. Each sonata has two movements, the first movement being twice longer than the second. They begin with a large scale introduction that follows with an Allegro movement characterized by an over-flow of musical ideas. The second movement is deceptively lighter. Although it is shorter, and does not have the same gravity as the first one, it is even more edgy than the first movement and introduces humor, sarcasm (possibly on the poor performer), and plain fun. My favorite moment is when the “Turks are coming” in the middle of the second movement of the first sonata. A gypsy sounding section, that must have raised some laughter when it was first heard by the King of Prussia for whom these pieces were dedicated to.

Playing through the two sonatas - I know that Liszt was not yet born... but the level of sheer technical difficulty is astounding – all sorts of fast figuration, supported by odd accompaniment patterns, sudden dynamic changes, contrasting outbursts and all kinds of “special effects” that make the music extremely appealing, captivating, yet unexpected and quite 'dangerous'.
Survival is crucial to the continuation of the journey..

An intermission... or as Radu Lupu calls it - “Interpission”...

We continue with the third sonata Op. 69, written during Beethoven’s most productive compositional period. The same years (1807-8) also saw the production of the forth and fifth piano concerti, the violin concerto, the two piano trios Op. 70, the fifth and sixth symphonies, and the Fantasia for piano, orchestra and chorus. In the course of our concert / journey we place this sonata between two intermissions, giving it a certain focal point, a sense of arrival. In the cello literature, this sonata holds as central a place as the Kreutzer sonata holds in the violin literature.

There is a sublime merger of naturalness ad spontaneity in this sonata which in many ways is where Beethoven takes this genre to its ultimate development. This is also why I think of this work as “the place of arrival”, as in many of Beethoven’s middle period works where he achieves maturity and profound understanding in the genres he is writing to a much greater degree than in his earlier years.

In 1808 Beethoven’s hearing was already quite impaired. He could no longer hear high pitches. At times he would succumb to blackness of mood and depression. On the manuscript of the third cello sonata Beethoven inscribed “Between Tears and Sorrow”. Some suggest that this piece was his “hidden” expression of love for the mysterious Immortal Beloved. Indeed this sonata is much closer in character to the heavenly beauty of the forth piano concerto or the violin concerto rather than to the dramatic pain-to-triumph of the fifth symphony.

During the playing there is an incredible sense of inner-balance - A sense of divine beauty, of vision that comes only from someone that on the one hand is hugely talented, and on the other hand keeps experimenting, constructing and reconstructing and dedicating himself constantly and wholeheartedly to his craft. Beethoven’s understanding of the cello is now so complete that he allows the instrument to begin the piece unaccompanied. We are listening to a conversation of equals – cello and piano – they argue, the sing, they quarrel, they merge, they support each other, they confront one another and ultimately they believe, and bring themselves to explore greater heights in the realm of music and the so-called cello and piano genre.

If the essence of the “Classical Style” lies in the symmetry and proportions of the form, then this sonata can be the model for which one could learn about this era. And not to forget the opposite forces which are also an integral part of the “Style” – these opposite forces unfold during the harmonic build up of each movement and its key relations. It is hard to let go of this masterpiece.

Another intermission. A short one.

Rather than say, "we arrive now at the last part of our journey…" with Beethoven’s late period, I would rather say "we have now departed into the culminating part of our journey..." Because with Beethoven’s late period rather than feel a sense of arrival, I feel a sense of departure - departure into new realms of sound, of silence, of space, of time, of form, of harmonic development, of instrument relationship and much more.

The two sonatas Op. 102 are also the last of his chamber works with piano. The only other great works written on an intimate scale afterwards are his late string quartets and a number of late solo piano works.

The last two cello sonatas were written in 1815 on the threshold of what is referred to as Beethoven’s "late style". By that time Beethoven already had eight symphonies to his credit. He was completely deaf and his compositional output slowed down considerably. In this "late style" we find the composer searching for expression and meaning that some Beethoven specialists have noted as conveying a spiritual aspect – rather than a communion with a human audience, we sense that there is a communion with G-d. Several of the works written during the last decade of his life have religious undertones, including the Missa Solemnis as well as the last three piano sonatas.

In the forth sonata again the cello is the one to present the first notes unaccompanied. But is this a cello? Several aspects make this opening "statement" sounds quite different - the alto register; the non-assertive use of the key (C major), as well as the open-ended character of the theme. Consequently the cello sounds different. And when the piano enters, the sense is not of a dialogue but rather it is of a continuation of the line. Cello and Piano become interwoven, and the polyphonic lines make the two instruments almost indistinguishable. Cello and Piano become ONE! This is not music which is written FOR cello and piano. It is music! Which is played BY cello and piano.

Beethoven called this sonata a "Free Sonata", which probably refers to its structure. Rather than the "Classical", three-movement work (or four-movements with a Scherzo), we have here essentially two symmetrical movements. Each one begins with a slow section / introduction, followed by a faster sonata movement. One of the most interesting aspects of this piece, which is also an important element of Beethoven’s late style, is the sense of evolution that one gets when listening to the piece. The opening material of the piece reappears in the second movement creating a perfect unity. This reoccurrence leads to the final movement which is also the longest.

This is the shortest of the sonatas being just under fifteen minutes. But just as with the piano sonatas (Op. 78, Op. 101 among others), Beethoven’s understanding of the 'potential' of his motifs is at a level that he is able to say much more, with much less. In other words his motifs are on the one hand very simple and on the other hand they open up an infinite amount of possibilities, many of which develop in the subconscious of the listener. Beethoven is much more economic. The transitions are much shorter. And yet this music provokes a special dialogue with the listener – a dialogue which he might find hard to comprehend at first, and will keep on trying with some degree of success.

Entering the fifth sonata - Emotionally we are drained. We cannot go on 'automatic pilot', yet we don’t feel that can be in control any more. Can I go as far as say it is a kind of "out of body experience"?
That is what I feel. That is what we feel!
The development we have been going through. The growth, the amount of information we are being presented with – all has reached the last work, and yet we keep opening new doors – these ones however are completely new to our EARS! When I first learned the fugue of this sonata (the last movement), I remember calling Amit to say "I am either playing lots of wrong notes, or this is 'atonal' music!!"

This sonata has the only real slow movement of the entire set! The deeply moving Adagio has a distinctly out-worldly transcendence that characterizes other slow movements in Beethoven’s late period. The Final movement's Fugue is among the greatest fugues he had written. Though Beethoven loved fugal writing, he did not write many complete fugue movements. With its contrapuntal complexity, this particular movement is a masterpiece that stands alongside the fugues of the Hammerklavier op. 106, and the Op. 110 piano sonatas as well as the Grosse Fugue op.133 for string quartet.

If in "early Beethoven" the sources of inspiration came from Haydn and Mozart, in these late works, Beethoven looks further back to the Baroque era – to Bach. His
polyphonic writing reaches its climax in the 5th sonata's slow movement - a choral, and even more so in the last movement's extensive fugue.

Coming back to the point I have mentioned earlier - with most composers, as they approach the end of their creative life there is a feeling of arrival, also heard in their music – their art is extremely refined, the sound, texture as well as structure seems to have reached a certain culmination. With Beethoven, however, rather than arriving at the end, one feels that we are "departing" at the end... His music points to new directions, searching for new sources of sound, melody, harmony, rhythm, texture, structure and also sources of silence. One can even dare say that this music is more modern and onwards looking than our own contemporary 21st century music.

The End… or better say The Beginning.

Alon Goldstein

Variations Without Words

Schumann - Andante and Variations Op. 46 for two pianos, two celli and horn.
Katherine Jacobson Fleisher and Alon Goldstein - pianos; Sharon Robinson and Julia Bruskin - celli; David Jolley - horn. December 2007 at the 92 street Y in New York.


The Schumanns in 1847





There is a very unique and somewhat interesting aspect to the music of Robert Schumann. This great German composer is, in my opinion, the quintessential advocate of the Romantic era. He represents so vividly what this era stood for. Maybe this fact has something to do with what I would like to bring up.

It seems to me that a large number of the pieces that Schumann wrote have an immediate appeal to them - we love them from the first moment we set our "ears" on them. I think of the piano concerto, the Carnaval Op. 9, the piano quintet and the piano quartet, as well as many of his songs. However, other works remain for one reason or another, not as immediately appealing. They require further efforts by the listener as well as the performer to put before themseves a quest to unveil their beauty... their mystery. Engaging in such a quest takes time and faith, but the remuneration promises to be miraculous, especially with the music of Robert Schumann.

I recently played with a great company of musicians one of Schumann's lesser known works - the Andante and Variations in B flat major, Op. 46, scored for the unusual combination of two pianos, two celli and horn. Written in 1843, this piece most likely has not been performed during Schumann's life time in its original instrumentation. Schumann later revised it into a two piano work which Mendelssohn and Clara Schumann premiered. The piece in its original form appeared in print only 37 years after the composer's death.

The eminent violinist Jaime Laredo told me that this is his favorite Schumann piece! Why is it, then, that this work still remains largely obscure? Is it merely the scoring, or are there more reasons for this?

Schumann enjoyed writing pieces for unusual combination of instruments. Most of these works, though, came several years later - the Adagio and Allegro Op. 70 for horn and piano; the Concert piece Op. 86 for four horns and orchestra; the Romances Op. 94 for oboe and piano are all but a few. The Andante and Variations Op. 46 of 1843, came just after his two chamber masterpieces - the Piano Quintet Op. 44 and the Piano Quartet Op. 47. At the time Schumann preoccupied himself with writing his grandest piece to date - the oratorio Das Paradis und die Peri Op. 50.

A fundamental notion of the romantic era proclaims that creative work is the result of the artist's unbounded imagination. There is also a belief that the artist is merely a vehicle taking dictation of music that arrives from another world.

When we examine closely the Andante and Variations Op. 46, one of the first things which we ought to ask ourselves is about the unusual scoring. The "Two-Pianos" medium was already used before in wonderful works by Bach and Mozart among others. In this work, the dense and complex texture of the two pianos is being enriched with the low and dark colors of the two celli and the horn.

Playing through the piece for the first time, it is quite surprising how sparsely these other instruments are being employed. For the most part they don't get to play the melodic lines, nor do they provide the bass line, as their register might suggest. They add, though, a unique deep dark color in the background, and also in the foreground as the piece progresses.

The opening line sets the color palette. Then the curtain rises upon the theme along with a series of variations, which are more like lyrical miniatures - the first with tender lyricism, while the second with whimsical wit. Thereafter comes the third variation with the soaring melodies followed by the one overdosed with fiery energy. Sudden changes of mood are so much part of Schumann's music, and this piece is no exception. The composer's alter-egos, the demonic Florestan and the dreamy Eusebius, make their subtle appearances. Sweetness mixes with doubt, triumph with despair.

Half way through the piece a miraculous moment - Schumann is quoting himself: the opening of his beloved song cycle Frauenliebe und leben. Interestingly this is the only variation in the entire piece that starts without either of the pianos. For the most part, this variation is devoted solely to the two celli and horn. It is as if Schumann is in such profound state of internal serenity that he abandons completely the richness of the pianos, allowing us to simply engage our ear with the color of the moment, with the help of the other instruments. Is this the moment of Love? ...probably.

A sudden enlightenment - with the quotation from his song, maybe Schumann is writing here something similar to his good friend Mendelssohn's "songs without words". Should we then call this piece "Variations without words"? Oh, I like that!!

After this magical moment the theme re-enters in its pure naked form, and then takes a slight turn into its most painful transformation. The "love" of the previous variation is inflicted with the "pain" of this one. Love and pain go hand in hand. Whether helpful or not, necessary or superfluous, Schumann's deep love to Clara must have had something to do with these varying emotions.

Speaking of Mendelssohn... he now makes an appearance in the next variation, dressed up as one of his forest creatures. Though this variation is somewhat of a technical "tour de force", it is the pizzicato in the strings that draw my attention. It is in those subtleties that the piece becomes such a jewel. Then the horn gets center stage with vigorous calls that hardly ever been used in chamber music before. And in the next variation one of the clowns from the commedia dell'arte, possibly Harlequin, enters gently.

By now we have traveled quite a bit and we reach the grandest of all the variations, the one that uses all the forces which are at our disposal. We become a full orchestra. This is the only variation that begins in the minor key (g minor) and both melodically and rhythmically gets more intricate as it progresses. It culminates in the "coronation" of B flat major, the home key of the piece. There is high drama and passion in this variation, a real confrontation.

Eusebius returns. He gets the last word, as if to send us back to "Fantasy-land", a place we should have never left.

I want to play the piece again. I want to listen to it again, now from a distance. Were these Schumann's internal thoughts or were these mine? ours? Unusual yet seductive. Appealing yet ambiguous.

I feel I just added a new pearl onto my collection - one that is rougher possibly from being out of site, and at the same time serenely beautiful and uniquely shaped from being discovered and loved by not so many. I know that Schumann has more of these pearls.... Can I recommend one more?...go and listen to the Six Etudes in the form of Canons Op. 56.

Alon Goldstein

Swimming in B flat major

Performing Beethoven's Piano Trio no. 7 in B flat major op. 97 at the Dame Myra Hess memorial concert series in Chicago with violinist Ilya Kaler and cellist Amit Peled, November 2007.

Coming out of a performance of Beethoven's Piano Trio in B flat op. 97 nicknamed 'Archduke', one of the audience members approached me and said: "Oh, how beautiful the opening theme is". Although this was presumably a very innocent remark, it propelled me into contemplating - is beautiful the word that best describes this theme? Can I find somewhat more accurate words to characterize the opening of this gigantic work? What is it that makes this opening theme sound ethereal yet luminous, soft-spoken yet all-embracing?

There was this "need" to dig deep into the understanding of keys and their repercussions.

Thinking about B flat major, I decided to bring up into this fictional conversation other pieces written in the same key. The result suggested that all seemed to share a common trait - they are certainly among the most divine master-pieces written by these composers. I was looking at Mozart's Piano concerto K. 595; Schubert's Piano sonata D. 960; and Brahms' Piano concerto no. 2. Interestingly Mozart, Schubert, Brahms and also Beethoven, all visited the key of B flat major earlier in their life in other compositions, yet these four works mentioned are all central in these composers' output, and for one reason or another, all of them end a series or cycle - the 'Archduke' Trio is Beethoven's last in this genre; Mozart's K 595 is his last Piano concerto; Schubert's D. 960 is his last Piano sonata; and Brahms wrote two piano concerti, the B flat one being the second of the two, written quite late in his life.

I begin to sing the opening of these pieces and more questions arise - is B flat major the key that connects between the real and the unreal? Is it the key/color that unites heaven and earth, intimacy and luminosity, youthful joy and sober maturity?

Bringing another piece into the mix - Bach's delightful Capriccio on the departure of a beloved brother in B flat major. The implication of the word "beloved" was best illustrated in the key of B flat. Let us add then "LOVE" to the list of words associated with our current discussion.

Playing through the first two movements of the Trio we have reached the slow, third movement written in that unrelated key of D major. In Bach's time "D major" represented the key of "Glory". If there are words to describe the hymn-like melody of the third movement then I would say "Religious beauty". This divine slow movement - a theme and four variations, full of seamless rhythmic complexity - culminates in a long sustained Coda, where time is "suspended". This dimension in which music exists comes to an almost stand-still as the piano provides solely an inner-pulse on top of which the strings hover / float, reaching the melodic pinnacle of the movement (perhaps of the entire piece?), which is also the melodic cell of the movement, its DNA from which the whole movement is constructed. The movement quiets down to its end. The prayer ends.

We finish the performance of the Trio. It is our first collaboration and thus our first performance of this great masterpiece together. On the flight back, I experience the need to share some after-thoughts feeling I have been swimming in an ocean created by the key of B flat major, with a brief visit to the island of D major.

Another audience member asked me: "why did I mention in my liner notes that in the course of the first movement Beethoven moves from B flat major to the remote key of G major? Why remote? What is remote?" This will have to wait for another blog - one about keys and their siblings... But for now - when great music stirs such a dialogue, a certain ideal is being fulfilled. Let's keep asking those questions, and maybe we will be able to find some answers.

Alon Goldstein

Reading Late Beethoven to Young kids

Deep in the middle of the state of New Hampshire, about an hour and a half north of Manchester, between colonial home villages, "cross country" paths and dense forests, there lies quietly, unassumingly a very special jewel - it is a school called Sant-Bani, a home for about 175 kids beginning with the "K" grade and all the way through to the 12th grade. I was invited to the school four years ago to give a recital, and visited it annually ever since.

What attracted me to this school was its independence from the stagnancy of the educational system which surrounds us. Each pupil is an entity, a free spirit which is being cultivated and nourished to search for his own individual path - a "cross country" path. A special emphasis in the school seems to be that education and art are inseparable elements in humans growth.

Each of my visits culminates with a solo recital which I give at the school's assembly hall. For me, one of the true climaxes each visit is also the one-on-one interaction with the kids the day before, or the morning of the recital.

This year I had seven different activities at the school in addition to the recital which was at the Old Opera house in Franklin, NH - in itself a historic landmark worth a special visit when touring the area. At the school I was playing separately for 3rd, 4th and 5th graders, as well as giving a masterclass to selected kids, and talking to the 12th graders etc. Having said all that, it was the one hour session which I had with the entire school that stood above everything else during this trip. This session opened a secret door, one that was somewhat hidden in the heart of my understanding of music communication and inspiration - A door that when opened, allowed me to experience "reading late Beethoven to young kids".

My recital program included the heavenly, though at times tumultuous, yet ending serenely, late Beethoven sonata no. 30 in E major op. 109. When introducing young people to classical music, this piece is not really on the radar for first (or second) choices. Written more than ten years into Beethoven's deafness (1820), this sonata is much more introspective, introverted and reflective than many of the other sonatas he wrote. I feel, as with other late Beethoven works, it requires a certain state of concentration that unless one is elevated to that state, it becomes totally meaningless to listen to such a work. This kind of concentration touches upon one’s internal dialogue within his own self, searching for possible equilibrium, inner balance, possible answers to eternal questions, raising new ones, and so on and so forth. Expecting such concentration from six, seven year olds or for that matter also from the seventeen year olds, seemed to me a musical suicide. What's the point? What will they get out of it?

I started the session with playing Myra Hess's arrangement of "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" from Bach's Cantata no. 147 - to "get in the zone". The rest of the time was then spent on Beethoven's late sonata. This was not only the first time that I played the piece for such a young audience, but altogether this was the first time that I played the piece in public. Well, I thought to myself what could be more challenging than to play the piece in front of an audience that will not hold back when a sense of boredom creeps in. I was prepared to do the "unthinkable" - to make cuts in the long last movement if I hear too much movement coming from the little ones.

Nonsense! How short sighted was I, how pessimistic... to my credit, though, I would say that none of the teachers (or parents) believed that this would work.

I played the Beethoven in its entirety experiencing silence in a way I have only rarely experienced. Alfred Brendel said in an interview that all he expected from his audience is to be "Silent" which when changing the order of the letters becomes "Listen". In this morning session - six year olds, seven year olds, eight year olds and all the way to seventeen year olds, and their teachers, and some parents - they were not only silent, they were not only listening, they were making an internal dialogue. Each individual, in his own way, with his own vocabulary and emotional resources made a conscious and ultimately very successful effort to connect with this divine music, and through it each individual discovered a wealth of new subtleties, new "colors" new "shades", within himself.

One day I will probably have more perspective and knowledge to understand these human connections to music, to silence, and to that miracle that is in-between. I hope to know more how to open peoples' heart to classical music, to get them to be passionate and in need for it more and more. I also want be able to understand the concentration that is needed and that state of mind that makes for a dialogue with such pieces as the Beethoven sonata to be creative and reciprocal. But for now, the ability to present this masterpiece and get such enthusiastic responses was overwhelming and truly meaningful. I will never forget that.

The following week, I went to play another solo recital, this time at the "Bell concert series" in Jackson Mississippi. I came two days earlier, and went to four different schools playing for about 2000 high-school kids (and some younger ones). The center of my 50 minute sessions was, of course, the Beethoven sonata no. 30 in E major op. 109 which I played each time in its entirety.

Alon Goldstein

Into the "Kitchen"

Seattle Chamber Music Festival, Seattle WA.
July 2007

"piecing together a premiere"

An unusual experience occurred to me along with a few of my close friends preparing for the premiere of a new Clarinet, Cello and Piano Trio by composer Ronn Yedidia. The other parts were played by Alex Fiterstein, Clarinet and Amit Peled, Cello. The piece was commissioned by the Seattle chamber music festival - one of my favourite summer festivals.

The artistic director of the festival, Toby Saks had the brilliant idea to have an open dress-rehearsal the night before the premiere, open to the commissioning club members - about 30-40 people. Needless to say the piece was in its raw stages, new in our ear and fingers.

Our plan (Alex, Amit, Ronn and me) was to play through the piece once, then do a few touch-ups, possibly answer some questions by the audience and time-permitting, play the piece again... altogether about an hour, then have the organized reception.

As it turned out, having an audience raised the level of concentration, involvement and commitment and immediately following the first run-through we delved into the piece for an hour long intense rehearsal, a very thorough one. There was some kind of electricity in the intensity between Ronn, the three of us and the audience - high voltage. After working on the piece we decided to open the rehearsal for questions and answers with the audience - these ranged from questions on the writing for each instrument, the difficulties, the style, the inspirational sources etc.

We were well into the third hour of this "dress-rehearsal", and then we all decided (with the audience) to have the second run-through. This second "performance" was on such a higher level then the first time we played, it was almost embarrassing. The growth that we had all experienced with the piece in the course of this single rehearsal was so overwhelming... it was frightening. We felt quite secure the first run-through, but after the process that we had all been just now, this second run-through opened the door and revealed so many hidden treasures.

All throughout the reception afterwards the main topic discussed was the way we all grew together (musicians and audience) with the new commissioned piece, all in the course of one single (intense) dress rehearsal.

Alon Goldstein

Beethoven in Rockford

Beethoven Festival

Rockford Symphony May 2007

About a year and a half ago I got an invitation to play the five Beethoven concerti as well as the "Choral Fantasy" all in one week in a city about an hour west of Chicago called Rockford, IL.

I do have admiration for musicians who can perform a whole body of work of one composer (or more for that matter) in a short period of time, however such a thing is not really a goal of mine, so I approached this undertaking with a bit of suspicion, and questioning. What happened, though, in the course of that week I will forever cherish and hope to expand to other places, and with other composers. Owing to the breadth of the repertoire and the sheer size of the forces involved, this Beethoven project resulted in important discoveries for me personally as well as for the orchestra and the community.

The Project

When first discussing this project with Brian Ritter (the orchestra’s Executive Director) and with Steven Larsen (the orchestra’s Music Director), we decided to structure the festival chronologically in order to present a narrative through Beethoven’s life and work. After this week-long festival, we - the orchestra, its staff, its patrons, the audience, and me - discovered that this journey changed us in many different ways: Beethoven took us on an emotional roller-coaster, and at the end of it we were different persons than at the beginning.

The Executive Director of the orchestra came to me after the second concert saying, “They got it (the audience), the journey that we were undertaking.” He felt, as I did, that this second concert, after having the perspective of the first, allowed everyone to begin to experience the process and progress of Beethoven’s life and music AND to be able to relate and create one’s own internal dialogue when listening.

Brian and Steve had the wonderful idea of engaging in a brief discussion before each concerto. After careful preparation, we presented each concerto in its historical, biographical, and creative contexts. This transformed the concert hall into an intimate living room (a very large one at that) in which we were inviting people to experience something that we felt so passionate about. In addition to the concerts and pre-performance talks on stage, the orchestra organized lectures, film screenings, and panel discussions throughout the week.

The Atmosphere

What was so incredibly rewarding was the intensity of rehearsing and playing these masterpieces, all within a week’s time. Each concerto has such emotional depth, inspiration, originality, and imagination. It was completely overwhelming, yet, at the same time, one could sense that one’s relationship with this music was deepening, becoming closer, opening as the week progressed.

Normally when I am invited to play a concerto, I always play the work for the conductor prior to the first rehearsal. But I never had the experience of playing for a conductor one concerto, and then another one, then more, and more, and more…. By the 5th concerto, I was absolutely drained. Maintaining concentration and focus as I played through all five in preparation for the following day’s double rehearsal in which we did all five with the orchestra was a particular challenge and contributed greatly to the general emotional intensity of the project.

The Concerts

Concert 1: Beethoven Revealed

The first concert (Sunday matinee) was titled Beethoven Revealed. We began with a brief discussion about Bonn in 1770, Beethoven’s early education, his admiration of Mozart, the move to Vienna, and his studies with Haydn. Slides of Bonn, Vienna, the meeting with Mozart, the princes’ salons in Vienna, and Beethoven at 25 were projected on stage behind us. Following this short presentation was the performance of the 2nd piano concerto, which, in fact, was the first chronologically speaking that Beethoven composed. On the second half, we discussed the characteristics of Beethoven’s early compositions: virtuosity, improvisation, the influence of Haydn and Mozart, the originality of his ideas, all accompanied by related slides, and then delved into the 1st piano concerto.

As an encore, we decided to do a “teaser” to set the mood for the up-coming concert entitled Beethoven Betrayed, so we played the second movement of the 4th piano concerto. I have to admit that this choice of the encore was somewhat selfishly motivated in that I wanted to have an extra rehearsal!

The Chicago Tribune mentioned the up-coming two concerts and selected them as “Critics Picks”. This mentioning, along with the interviews on TV and radio, breathed even more excitement into the community.

Concert 2: Beethoven Betrayed

The next concert was on Tuesday evening. It included the 3rd piano concerto on the first half and the 4th piano concerto on the second. We discussed Beethoven’s deafness resulting despair that ultimately led him to write the famous Heiligenstadt Testimony, which we read in parts. The slides in the background were of Beethoven at 34, his Ear Trumpet, the city of Heiligenstadt, and a facsimile of the Testament. Playing such a work as Beethoven’s 3rd Concerto usually requires some time afterwards to regain one’s strength. But in this case I only had 5-10 minutes to warm up and play the 4th piano concerto. Before tackling this beautiful and haunting work, we talked about the “Heroic” Beethoven as well as the mystery of the “Immortal Beloved”. The audience was ready for another encore, which was (in the spirit of the previous idea), the Recapitulation of the last movement of the 5th piano concerto.

Interlude

With three days between the second and third concerts, I offered to do some ‘outreach’ activities for the orchestra and the community, especially since I am strongly committed to sharing this incredible music with everyone. The orchestra organized all sorts of events: at local schools, house concerts, lunches with patrons… These activities were extremely rewarding because they allowed me to go into the community and interact with persons of all ages and interests in music. In other words, this allowed me to get even closer to the community where I was performing.

Concert 3: Beethoven Triumphant

The third and final concert—Beethoven Triumphant—took place that Saturday evening. Before tackling the ‘Emperor’ concerto on the second half, the orchestra performed all of the incidental music for Egmont before the intermission. To put the music in its historical context, we talked about Napoleon and Vienna during the wars of the first half of the 19th century. We also revisited some of the compositional characteristics of the earlier concerti and demonstrated how they were further developed in the 5th concerto (‘Emperor’).

For the encore that evening, my idea was to play the last movement of the 2nd concerto, which was the first work of the festival, in order to close the circular journey. However, just before the concert began, I asked whether the orchestra had the music for the encore. Since that concerto was done the previous Sunday, the music was locked in the orchestra’s offices, which are located in a building that was closed for the weekend. I then talked to the Executive Director asking him to find a way to get the music (“call the mayor if you need… someone has the key….”). The level of commitment from everyone for all of this to succeed was just so thrilling and inspiring. The Executive Director knew we needed to find a way to get the music, and he did. I shared this story with the audience after the performance of the “Emperor”. We then returned to that movement and closed the circle. During the applause, all of us in the hall felt that we did not want this journey to come to an end. It was intense; it was human; it had its ups and downs, ambition and promise, tragedy and despair, triumph and hope. It was indeed a festival devoted to Beethoven’s music and thus really a festival devoted to us as human beings.

During the last discussion with the conductor prior to playing the 5th concerto, I said that with Beethoven one never feels a sense of arrival but rather a sense of departure. After this final encore, I think that we all felt that, rather than arriving at the end, we experienced something new, a new departure into the future, something that I hope continues with a future project. Perhaps, with “The Robert Schumann, Clara Wieck and Johannes Brahms Love Triangle” festival in 2008-2009. I can’t wait.

Alon Goldstein