May 8, 2006
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The singers were doing some last-minute rehearsing in the Hammer auditorium, so we were asked to stand and wait outside. Some hmmphing and annoyed looks, but we obeyed. Didn’t matter – it was a beautiful evening, and we got to watch interesting groups of Corcoran students as they squeezed by us and down into the sunken parking lot, where a big Cinco de Mayo party was being set up. They weren’t sure what we were doing there, this chorus of ancients hovering outside their school; if we’d told them we were waiting to hear German lieder from a distant century, they would have smiled politely, already thinking about something else. A girl – thin, shy, streaks of red in her hair – glanced at me as she hurried by; she was wearing a t-shirt that read “Rock & Roll Will Set You Free.”

The Hammer is a tiny auditorium, and was no more than three-quarters full. A young woman from the Corcoran read us the rules: no cell phones, of course, no cameras, and please no applause after individual songs. Of course; it all makes sense. And yet, as the concert unfolded, there were moments when a singer had been so good that we instinctively reached for our hands, so to speak – then remembered the rule, and refrained.

Two hours later: Tense and unsatisfied, we streamed gratefully out into the night; it smelled like spring, and the cool moist air lapped against our faces. The party that the students had been setting up was now in full swing; some bluesy rock ‘n roll was echoing up out of the lot, and a dozen of us walked across the lawn to have a look. Down below more than a hundred people were partying; some took swings at a pinata; others watched as two guys in fat suits mock-sumo-wrestled on a red mat. Leaning against the low iron gate, our hands clutching the pointed barbs, we listened for a while as the low throb and animal life of the music rose up and swept over us, until we realized it was late and time to go.

Here’s my review for the Post:


Hugo WolfThe Washington Post 5/8/06:  Despite all rumors to the contrary, the art of lieder is not extinct in America – groups like Washington’s own Festa della Voce are its valiant and tireless defenders.  And, as the ensemble showed on Friday night at the Corcoran’s Hammer Auditorium, there are whole worlds of art song out there waiting to be explored.

That said, the evening was not quite a success. Given the modest size of the Hammer – and the small but attentive audience – the Festa might have delivered an intimate, human-scaled performance, strong on nuance and warmth. Instead, they sang to the rafters – and in this acoustically-bright space, produced a barrage rather than a seduction. The singers’ voices often went harsh in the top end, details were smeared, and subtlety just threw its hands up in frustration.

When it was good, though,  it was very, very good. Mezzo Jessi Baden has a voice you could eat with a knife and fork, and wielded it masterfully in Kurt Weill’s “Four Walt Whitman Songs.” Six songs from Schubert’s “Die schone Mullerin” fared less well; tenor Peter Joshua Burroughs has a pleasing voice but his interpretation felt lifelike, rather than actually alive. And, while Mary McReynolds is a fine soprano, she just wasn’t on top of her game in Richard Strauss’ ridiculously difficult “Brentano Lieder.”

The high point of the evening may have been the songs from Hugo Wolf’s “Spanisches Liederbuch,” which baritone James Rogers sang with exceptional insight and a fine lyrical touch.  His singing feels completely natural -- its power coming not from volume, but from the deep and thoughtful reflection of an engaging mind.

May 4, 2006
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The National Museum for Women in the Arts has the young Ahn piano trio on the bill, which is good news for our gray and stolid town. You couldn’t build a more delectable group if you had a warehouse full of parts – the Ahn are sisters, more or less in their twenties, more or less drop-dead gorgeous, who popped out of Julliard a few years ago and have been sexing up concert halls ever since.  So I pried myself away from a fascinating evening of editing and went down to have a listen.

First off:  you have to salute the Ahn -- they’ve been bringing people into concert halls who would normally put a nail through their hand before submitting to classical music.  But let’s use the term “classical” loosely – the Ahn are aggressively non-pointy-headed, and the stuff on their “Ahn-plugged” tour  (steel yourself for relentless punning) is as accessible as corn flakes and about as nutritious.

Cause girls just wanna have fun, as the philosophers tell us, and that’s what the Ahn happily admit to dealing in. A little warmed-over Chick Corea, some cutesified Jim Morrison, a classical-lite tone-poem from  composer (and Ahn chum) Kenji Bunch, a warm but nuance-challenged account of My Funny Valentine – it all made for a pleasant, risk-free evening, not without its moments, but that left your attention wandering.

Like, inevitably, to the sisters themselves.  Violinist Angella, the baby of the family, is also clearly the brains – not to mention the most musically acute – and the most naturally elegant. She's the band's good girl, natch.  Cellist Maria plays off her as the tough, smoldering bad one – you can almost see a cigarette hanging off her lip as she plays.  And pianist Lucia is the bouncy flouncy girly-girl, flirting with her piano without actually, you know, consummating anything.

So, take your pick.  Think I'll just stick with the Beaux Arts for now.

(Daniel Ginsberg reviewed the concert for the Post; neither he nor Charles T. Downey over at Ionarts  had much use for the concert, either; read Charles' expansive take on it here.)

May 3, 2006
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Monday, 7:15 pm: A small knot of people is twisting and turning outside the locked gates of the German Embassy on Reservoir Road. A woman pushes the buzzer in the gate, waits, pushes again. I'm watching from my car across the street, scrolling through the iPod and trying to remember how Robert Schumann died -- syphillis? Or some other 19th Century delight? More people arrive; the knot is getting annoyed and starting to make sharp little gestures of impatience. Finally, an official bustles down and starts to check names off a clipboard, letting people through the gate one by one. Concert-going in the 21st Century.

The lovely ClaraMozart tonight, and Schumann, and Schubert. Heard so little modern music in the past few months my ears are starting to mold. But I'm sure it's a good mold! Like ... penicillin. Schumann's classic Dichterliebe is the focus tonight. "From my tears sprout forth / Many blooming flowers / And my sighing becomes joined with / The chorus of the nightingales." It sounds better in German. But still -- a little too much chit chat with the flowers. At fifteen, this seems like poetry; beyond that, parody.

Hard for us moderns to be patient with Schumann -- he marries the lovely Clara, gets obsessed that an imagined "other" will come between them, and despairs. Over ... let's see ... basically nothing, if I have it right. My 12 year old would advise him to get over himself, pronto. Is there anything less sympathetic to our tough modern hearts than Romanticism? Not at my house.

But the concert itself: hands-down brilliant. Ann Schein's musicianship made me want to hug her in weepy gratitude, and while the blush of youth is off Jerome Barry's voice, alas, he gave a fine reading of the Schumann.

Here's the review for the Post:

The Washington Post: Thank God for Ann Schein. With all the mane-tossing, keyboard-splintering wunderkinder cluttering up concert halls these days, what a relief it is to hear a pianist who, with no fuss or muss, simply reaches right into the heart of whatever she’s playing -- and creates music so powerful you cannot tear yourself away.

And that was what Schein (with a superb company of musicians) did at the Embassy of Germany on Monday night, as part of this season's Embassy Series. The program opened with a chamber version of Mozart’s Piano Concerto in A major, K. 414, in which Schein was joined by Peter Sirotin and Claudia Chudacoff on violins, Michael Stepniak on viola, and Thomas Kraines on cello. But this was not some anemic cousin of the full-orchestra version; Schein and company rolled up their sleeves and unleashed a riveting, richly-nuanced account that rung with tensile strength and a sweeping sense of line.

It was a breathtaking performance, and Schein followed it with more wonders: two of Franz Schubert’s “Impromptus” from Opus 90. It’s easy to get lost in the improvisatory mists of these works, but in Schein’s hands they unfolded with powerful, clear-eyed logic – while smoldering dangerously underneath.

Fine as all this was, the evening built to an even greater climax with Robert Schumann’s fascinating “Dichterliebe” song cycle, given a beautifully detailed and sensitive reading by baritone Jerome Barry. One of the area’s most accomplished singers, Barry clearly had no fear of Schumann’s perilous emotional terrain, and sang with beauty and deep, deep conviction.

May 1, 2006
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The Washington Post 5/01/06:  Early music specialists can really be thugs, sometimes.  After the Kuijken Quartet’s massacre of Mozart at the Library of Congress in February -- when three innocent string quartets were beaten senseless and left for dead– ears all across Washington trembled in fear.  Would more Mozart be sacrificed this year on the cold, harsh altar of historical authenticity?

Those fears were swept away on Friday night, when the London Haydn Quartet played an all-Mozart program at the Library that was virtually detonating with musicianship and fresh ideas. The Quartet plays on period instruments using historical techniques, which makes for a colorful and appealingly low-voltage sound -- but which can also quickly sap the guts out of Mozart. Joined by early-clarinet virtuoso Eric Hoeprich, the Quartet’s solution was to highlight the personalities of the individual players, resulting in music that was absorbing and genuinely honest.  Or, in a word: authentic.

The program started with the Clarinet Quartet in B-flat Major, an arrangement of Mozart’s violin sonata, K.378.  It’s an amiable work, but the real pleasure was in Hoeprich’s flawless technique and molten-gold tone. A tight, energetic account of the Quartet in F Major K.590 (the “Prussian”) followed, as well as some historically-interesting Mozart arrangements of Bach fugues.

But the high point was the radiant Clarinet Quintet in A Major K.405, played by Hoeprich on a recreation of an 18th Century basset clarinet. With its peculiar bulbous end, the thing looks downright cartoonish, but its sound just shimmers in the ears -- and Hoeprich’s mastery of the piece made a perfect close to an altogether fascinating evening.

April 24, 2006
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The Washington Post 4/24/06:   There are few things in life as elegantly seductive as the Spanish guitar – just ask anyone who heard Pepe Romero’s brilliant recital on Saturday night at Westmoreland Congregational Church. Playing to a packed house, Romero showed why he’s one of the great guitarists of our time – complete virtuosity married to exceptional refinement, in the service of music that he knows (and feels) as deeply as anyone alive.

And what extraordinary music this is.  There’s something about the Spanish  character – quietly sensual, passionately intense -- that is most perfectly expressed through the guitar, and Romero brought it alive it in a program that ranged from the moving “Homanaje” of Manuel de Falla, to the fiery, flamenco-steeped music of Agustin Castellon, to a lyrical work by Romero himself.

The drama and technical complexity of this music are real temptations to the showman. But its deepest beauties are only revealed when the passion is restrained and the heart held back -- and at this, Romero is a master.  Even in virtuosic display pieces like Francisco Tarrega’s ferocious “Gran jota” –  a tour de force that evokes everything from snare drums to marching boots – Romero always stays behind the music, etching every detail with precision.

But it was in the more lyrical, inward-looking works, like Enrique Granados’ haunting “La maja de Goya” and the rhapsodic “Fandanguillo” of Joaquin Turina, that Romero showed how profound a musician he really is.  There was not a thoughtless note in any of it, only introspective and almost intimate playing -- as if he were alone, quietly thinking, in a sun-drenched Spanish landscape.

The Washington Post 4/17/06: Smokey, sultry Ute Lemper is the reigning queen of cabaret in America, and she showed why on Saturday night at George Mason University. “I want to take you on a journey across the world,” she announced – but that was just for starters. By the end of the evening, she’d led the sold-out crowd into dark and anguished depths of the soul, where few singers dare to tread.

Lemper’s shows feel almost like improvisations – she talks, sings, and whistles her way through some of the edgiest music of the early 20th Century, from the chansons of Edith Piaf, to the smoldering sexuality of Marlene Dietrich, to the worldly lyricism of Kurt Weill. And her voice is a wonder; one moment a husky growl, the next a lilting soprano, the next a strangled cri de coeur – all while shifting effortlessly among French, English and German.

But the most striking thing about Lemper’s singing is its authenticity. As a German who lived in France and is now based in New York, Lemper gets deep inside this music – whether it’s Pirate Jenny from Weill’s “Threepenny Opera,” or Chava Alberstein’s “An Angel Weeps”, or the Piaf heartbreaker “Ne Me Quitte Pas”. She also updated Friedrich Hollander’s lively “Munchausen” -- with its refrain of “I’m sick and tired of lies from you / How I wish your lies were true” – to aim some pointed jabs at the White House.

The National Gallery is bringing Lemper back to Washington on April 29 as part of its ongoing dada exhibit. Get there early – you won’t want to miss it.

The Washington Post 4/15/06:  Washington got another chance to grapple with the ongoing Lang Lang debate – shameless crowd-pleaser?  The brightest new star in the piano firmament? Or, God help us, both? – on Thursday night, where the young Chinese virtuoso brought his shock-and-awe pianism to The Music Center at Strathmore.

Lang Lang’s an engaging player, there’s no doubt. He has drama to spare, and the kinetic display (flailing arms, flying torso, and a head that appears to be getting periodic electric shocks) can be fun to watch. Besides – underneath the gymnastics, it’s clear that there’s some serious musical thinking going on.

So why, then, doesn’t he put it more to work? Friday’s program started with a nifty little gem – Mozart’s Sonata in B-flat Major (K. 333) – but Lang Lang glossed over its subtle emotional language and played it merely for pretty effect. Schumann’s Fantasy in C Major, though, fared better.  It’s a passionate work, forgiving of Lang Lang’s heart-on-sleeve excesses, and he made real poetic sense of it.  A selection from Enrique Granados’ "Goyescas" came crisply alive, and six short traditional Chinese works were charming, unpretentious and refreshingly non-virtuosic.


  But the program ended with two works chosen blatantly for their show-stopping factor. Franz Liszt’s arrangement of the death scene from Wagner’s "Tristan and Isolde" was made to be milked -- and milk it Lang Lang did, to every last gulping sigh and heart-throb.  And Liszt ‘s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 6, which closed the program, was just an entertaining display of thump-and-bump pianism –  noisy, furious, and signifying, in the end, pretty much nothing.