Month: April 2024

DANIEL DE BORAH

Piano Series

Ian Hanger Recital Hall, Queensland Conservatorium

Friday April 26 2024

Daniel de Borah

Here was an eclectic program from the Queensland Conservatorium‘s Head of Chamber Music, taking the less easy path at every turn. For instance, the pianist opened this recital with Schubert’s Impromptu No 1 in C minor from the D. 899 set; pretty much every other pianist I’ve come across (except Paul Lewis) would try the No. 2 in E flat, the No. 4 in F minor or the G flat Major No 3 before presenting this death-wish albumblatt. Another impromptu came from the D. 935 set – again, the No. 1 in F minor, which is more bracing and confrontational than the mellifluous No. 2 in A flat Major, the richly endowed theme and variations of No. 3 in B flat Major, or the edgy Chopin-anticipating No. 4 in F minor (also).

A kind of similarity could be found in his choice from the last four piano collections by Brahms. He might have opted for the Op. 117 Three Intermezzi, of which the first and third are fairly well-known, even if the whole work doesn’t add up to much more than 15 minutes. Or perhaps the Sechs Klavierstucke Op. 118 from which we know the Intermezzo No.2 and the Ballade No. 3. Not forgetting the Op. 119 Four Piano Pieces set with its barnstorming final Rhapsodie. But no: he played the Op. 116 Seven Fantasies that you will hear live about once every forty years.

De Borah’s other offering in this hour-long event was Haydn’s Theme and Variations in F minor, which is one of the composer’s most familiar constructs for solo piano. This reading pleased for its assertiveness in the minor segments where many pianists play for brooding melancholy, then switch to spikiness for the major theme and its variants so that you feel that the composition is essentially bifurcate. On this occasion, the initial statement impressed for its non-sentimental approach with a barely noticeable hiatus at the move into bar 30’s alternative theme.

Each of the variations presents articulation problems but de Borah maintained an even touch across their pages: the syncopations of Variation 1 administered evenly, the later trills invested in both halves of the major section accomplished without excess energy. The following variation pair boasts a good deal of right-hand brilliance which this pianist negotiated with a modest amount of applied verve. As with the best Haydn interpretations, nothing jarred by over-temperamental bursts, not even in the abrupt chords that occupy bars 25-26 of the coda-finale, nor in the demi-semiquaver figuration of alternating quintuplets and sextuplets that occupy the centre of these drama-rich pages.

Not so happy was the opening to the program: Schubert’s C minor Impromptu. All too soon, the balance between melody and underpinning was lost; from memory, at about bar 18. I don’t know why; perhaps the melody didn’t maintain its attraction or perhaps the harmonization sequences seemed more relevant to the narrative. But then again, this particular piece has its dull spots, like the trite melodic action that starts at bar 74 and persists until bar 82; Schubert working at a tailer (revisited at bar 152) that fails to live up to its surroundings.

But, in the end, I wasn’t convinced of the piece’s gravity. God knows you can find a wealth of dramatic scope across its length, especially at the dynamic highpoint that kicks in at bar 111 and lasts for another nine. And the final page’s oscillations between C Major and minor never fail to bring to mind the composer’s inimitable combination of fragility and strength in the space of a few juxtaposed phrases. De Borah delivered this last with eloquent sympathy, yet much of the piece missed out on compelling your attention. Put simply, I’ve heard better, if admittedly from top-notch performers.

Much more persuasive was his account of the F minor Impromptu. In my opinion, it’s a more satisfying score both to hear and to play, with more room for de Borah to employ his subtle rubato, taking time to adjust to the piece’s changing geography, like the sudden busyness that strikes in bar 13, or the direct speaking that breaks out in the octave at bar 30, or the wrenchingly affecting lyrical oasis that splays from bar 45 on. In these passages of play, de Borah produced effective continuity, the shifts rising effortlessly out of each other.

But there are two segments where we move into a heightened Schubert world – of the Notturno, the last third of the String Quintet Adagio, Du bist die Ruh, the recapitulation of the B flat Major Piano Sonata’s first movement, the Gesang der Geister uber den Wassern: the list could go on but these come to the mind’s forefront with no effort. They convince you of the writer’s melodic genius and at the same time of his humbling emotional honesty, achieved without any hesitation. In this impromptu, it’s the crossed-hand sections for me – bars 69 to 126, then bar 197 to 239 – especially the later stages of each where he settles into his key – A flat and F – and showers us with simple lyricism.

These solid slabs emerged from de Borah’s web with impeccable authority and eloquence; no signs of fumbling or grasping for effect, just the clearest texture with the accompanying semiquaver rustling outlined with admirable clarity. Here also the left-hand delivery proved even and finely shaped, even though its contributions come in groups of three and four quaver gruppetti. Moments like these make you glad you are in the space where such music is being recreated, where you witness a kind of aesthetic fusion between the composer and the interpreter. It’s rare to encounter at any concert or recital but very welcome, mainly for its unexpectedness.

As for the Brahms Fantasies, de Borah made a strong case for airing a string of works that most piano enthusiasts would regard as unfamiliar. You can soon see why. The opening bluff Capriccio is an essay in syncopation to the point where the pulse is hard to determine for about 16 bars. This rhythmic disjunction is shared with a predictable penchant for key changes that pass in a blink. Still, de Borah made enthusiastic work of this focused jaunt. Something odd happened in the following Intermezzo when the Non troppo presto section in 3/8 arrived. It’s a passage of not particularly adventurous harmonic sliding allied to a right hand of trademark displaced octaves but we came close to an impasse.

De Borah soldiered on to the relieving Andante and a typical return to base over the concluding 21 bars. Into the G minor Capriccio and matters were well in hand with a firm contrast between the outer pages’ controlled impetuosity and a central E flat Major passage of eloquent rhetoric reminiscent of the B flat Piano Concerto’s opening. Little remains in the memory of the E Major Intermezzo, apart from de Borah’s smooth treatment of its delays in resolution and a quietly quirky oscillation between regular quavers (later semiquavers) and triplets: an effect that keeps the listener pleasantly off-balance throughout what strikes me as an off-kilter minuet.

Another effective realization came with the (probably) E minor graceful Intermezzo, fifth in the set. Despite its inbuilt repeats, this piece is a genial brevity where the disjunct metre of No. 1 is revisited with a middle section relief of splayed arpeggio chords tenderizing a forgettable melody line. Brahms continues with his ternary structure in the No. 6 Intermezzo and its affirmative downward stepping chords, the whole complex (if you can call it that) based on simple and common elements. De Borah articulated this pair of pages with care and consideration for its harmonic compression which remained lucid throughout.

To end, Brahms presents another capriccio, here in D minor and following a rocky path of transformations of the original material, in a remarkable demonstration of invention and husbandry. De Borah delivered this with enthusiasm and a sure sense of direction, right up to the composer’s affirmative tierce conclusion. As with most of its companions, this piece leaves you with small pickings to mull over until you get back to the score where the Fantasies‘ scope and eloquence can be remembered at leisure. Having said that, and mindful of de Borah’s slightly flawed apologia, I won’t be rushing to hear the Op. 116 again when so many more appealing late Brahms fruits are on offer.

Sadly, this event was poorly attended; I suspect because of the Conservatorium’s unfortunate scheduling practice. A half-hour after de Borah’s recital, the institution was presenting a symphonic/choral concert in the building’s main theatre; in fact, the usher for this recital looked set to be participating in the upcoming concert. But I suppose such planning misfortunes are inevitable, given the number and breadth of exercises going on in the Griffith building. Let’s hope that de Borah’s next program attracts greater numbers to hear the work of this insightful, gifted musician.

REUBEN TSANG

Piano+

Queensland Symphony Orchestra Studio, South Brisbane

Sunday April 7, 2024

Reuben Tsang

This young (20-year-old) pianist comes from Cairns and so has a special connection to Queensland audiences. He is currently finishing a small tour taking in the three eastern mainland states, sponsored by Piano+. This organization runs the Sydney International Piano Competition, in which Tsang participated last year; to some effect as he was the second-youngest entrant to reach semi-final status, and he won the Nancy Weir Best Australian Pianist Prize. His success rate with the 2023 jurors seems to have been with his Romantic era repertoire interpretations, but he showed laudable facility with the Baroque and Classical pieces presented on Sunday afternoon’s program.

Mind you, the most ringing applause from his audience came after his account of Liszt’s Rhapsodie espagnole: a virtuoso’s warhorse that I haven’t heard for many years and, after this encounter, I’m not surprised. The piece offers variants on La Folia and a jota aragonesa but encases both mild tunes in a dazzling carapace of virtuosity that, in these moderate days, tends to generate chortles rather than admiration. Tsang made a brave sound in the opening nine bars, including a measured account of the cadenza, and he gave the Folia a grave statement, keeping fine control right through the splendid polonaise breaks in bars 66, 68, 70 and 73, then later from bar 118 to bar 131 – to my mind, the most inspired moments in these early stages.

The arrival of the jota lightens the atmosphere most effectively and Tsang gave a graceful realization of the third-laden early dissertations on the theme. He might have retained some dynamic force before the sempre animando explosions of bar 446 onward before the armageddon at bar 506. But the rush to a Folia restatement at bar 633 enjoyed brisk handling, even if the climactic arrival proved rather underwhelming; which is to say, I’ve heard it done better. But then, as noted above, you rarely hear it live and, for many of us, the recorded performances (Cziffra!) can be astonishing. The wonder is that Tsang got through it pretty unscathed with only a few palpable hits.

The recital’s other ‘big’ work was Brahms’ Sonata No. 1, which I encountered in student days as a favourite work in the repertoire of Ronald Farren-Price. Unlike the Liszt, this work asks for an imparting of weight or power. I’m not convinced that Tsang has the measure of the work’s first movement and its stentorian declamation, especially on its first page, in the guts of the development, and the harmonically altered recapitulation of the principal theme. You could not fault Tsang’s skill in outlining the composer’s changes in texture and his dynamic subtlety, but the movement failed to capture the composer’s from-the-shoulder heft. Yes, you walk a fine line between majesty and ponderousness but Tsang could improve his treatment of these pages if he took his time over them.

Nevertheless, the executant gave us an exemplary reading of the second movement variations, informed by a light attack in that striking passage of textural contrasts where the time signature moves between 4/16 and 3/16 in the lied‘s last lines. Further, his dynamic actualizations preserved the subdued emotional range of the score where the language is sparsely coloured, rarely rising above a quiet monologue. As Tsang communicated it, the change-ringing on this folksong moved around harmonically but its contours shone through to admirable effect.

This sonata’s scherzo-plus-trio would probably be better orchestrated, I think. As it stands, its pages are active but exhaustingly repetitive, the executant producing wide leaps and clattering groups of six descending quaver double octave chords in a row, to the point where the stepwise ascending Trio melody is warmly welcome. Tsang made a well-controlled creature of this awkwardly imbalanced opposition; his phrase initial leaps proved accurate and his broadly rolling C Major middle section made for some excellent Brahms. Added to which, it seemed to me that, in this movement more than the first, he was exerting more physical strength, infusing these pages with welcome bounce.

As with the scherzo and trio, Brahms’ finale might be better off orchestrated, although then the sforzandi at certain points in the main theme would be diluted in impact. I thought that Tsang took this Allegro con fuoco too rapidly for comfortable delivery so that the abrupt accents that pepper the score came over as something of a smash-and-grab affair, the executant dazzling us with his rapidity rather than making each chord count. Still, what was lost in unbuttoned humour/well-being was compensated for by a nervous energy – which is another way of portraying these pages, if an unexpected one.

As well as this sonata, Tsang also gave us an early Mozart: No 3 in B flat Major. It’s one of this pianist’s favourites – ditto for me. – and he worked through it with an appropriate infusion of elegance. The opening Allegro‘s juxtaposition of elements became one fabric, thanks to a restrained dynamic palette and a clever weaving of separated phrases by an appealing, easy articulation that looked for similarities rather than opposites. As well, both hands enjoyed their moments in the sun but rarely at the expense of each other, e.g. the development opening at bar 41 where the left-hand Alberti demi-semiquavers remained audible rather than reduced to a mushy susurrus.

I’m pretty sure that the repeats in the Andante amoroso were omitted, but then this has always struck me as the weakest of the sonata’s three movements; a touch over-studied, perhaps, and definitely predictable in its later stages. Still, you could say much the same about the concluding Rondo, even if the jaunty prime melody shows us Mozart relishing his own creativity, as in bars 22 to 25 where the bridge work triplets show us simple high spirits; and the following F Major tune starting at bar 28 has its first phrase repeated but minimally altered as the composer delights in his own frivolity. The score is loaded with happy, unaffected wit and Tsang sailed through with few errors.

Still, you could point to a few digital misplacements, as you could in the pianist’s opening bracket of Scarlatti sonatas: D Major K. 119, C Major K 132, and G Major K 427. The first of these, yet another hunting-horn exploiter, did not enjoy any repeats, although such an absence was understandable given the piece’s unusual internal structure. Tsang handled its opening leap-bounds and the later clashing syncopated right-hand chords (bars 61 to 65) with a fresh recitalist’s enthusiasm. I think he secured accurately the cross-hand action near the end of each half. With the C Major (the only one of the three that I knew well), the inward-collapsing arpeggios came off deftly and also the quaver tremolo bars (29, 31, 69, 71) sounded well-calibrated in this nearly symmetrical composition. Once again, I don’t believe Tsang repeated either half.

But he did for the presto G Major; just as well because there’s not much to it. In fact, the attack was probably too brisk for this instrument, even if the mordents in bars 22 to 24 travelled well. Tsang’s speed was reminiscent of Puyana, even if the Colombian harpsichordist hit the notes with much more ferocity in similar sonatas. Here, I believe for the first time, you heard some miscalculations in note delivery. These might have been ignored in much other music, but not with these transparent pieces where the sine qua non is responsible articulation.

Tsang followed his Scarlatti bracket with the large-framed Brahms. After interval, between the Mozart and Liszt, he gave informed accounts of three of Faure’s five Impromptus: No 1 in E flat Major, No 3 in A flat Major, and No 5 in F sharp minor. Here was the recital’s most fluent playing, which showed once again how the composer’s accidental-rich scores sound so equable in confident hands. These interpretations kept to a refined emotional level with no excess evident even in the climactic moments of each. Mind you, the impromptus are rarely performed, compared to Faure’s nocturnes or barcarolles; yet they hold an attraction and facility under the fingers that argue against their neglect, even though the only one I’ve heard live is the A flat Major gem.

It’s not immediately apparent, but Tsang appears to have an empathy with the French composer. Indeed, I would have welcomed a run-through of all the Faure impromptus from him, if the three presented are any indication of his interpretative skill in this regard. And I found it significant that his choice for an encore after the flashy Liszt finale was yet another Faure: the Romance sans paroles No. 3 – a reminder at the end of Tsang’s musicianship, exercised in just the right quarter.