Musical America Blogs

by Sedgwick Clark

FINAL NOTICE: MY BLOG IS NOW POSTED ON THURSDAYS RATHER THAN ON WEDNESDAYS.

All scribes like to receive mail, even negative, because it shows that someone is reading us. A welcome note about last week’s blog, which concerned my love of youth orchestras, arrived from my good friend John Canarina, conductor, educator, critic, and author most recently of The New York Philharmonic: From Bernstein to Maazel (Amadeus Press):

“You wrote last week in your blog about hearing Boulez conduct the National Youth Orchestra of Great Britain in 1977. Though we didn’t know each other at the time, I was there, too! I agree with you 100 percent in your assessment and remembrance of that concert. It was stupendous, probably the finest Boulez concert I’ve ever heard.”

In its totality, I agree. But there were several unforgettable concerts during his Philharmonic years that deserve mention, beginning with those four electrifying programs in February and March 1969 that earmarked him as Leonard Bernstein’s successor as music director. Pardon me, as I quote from one of my early blogs (2-15-10), reviewing a pair of Chicago Symphony concerts. “Very simply, [Boulez] changed the way I hear music. From those first four Philharmonic concerts, I cannot forget the harmonic clarity and singing of the cellos halfway through the first movement of La Mer; the unexpected orchestral outburst and dramatic surge of waves at the climax of “Asie,” the first song in Ravel’s Shéhérazade, which nearly propelled me from my seat; the whisper-quiet dynamics in Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta; and of course that savage Sacre! His Philharmonic years are still the most exciting of my concert-going life.”

During those initial Philharmonic appearances, Boulez led a spine-tingling chamber-music concert of works by Schoenberg and Debussy at Hunter College that I recounted in my reminiscences of the late Charles Rosen only two months ago (1-4-13). What I did not mention was that Boulez accompanied soprano Bethany Beardslee in Debussy’s Trois Poèmes de Stéphane Mallarmé, and for the first time I sensed I was hearing a “piano without hammers,” as the composer prescribed.

Several performances at Philharmonic Rug Concerts stand out in my memory – perhaps foremost being the first and second Improvisations sur Mallarmé of Boulez’s Pli selon pli, with soprano Phyllis Bryn-Julson, on June 14, 1974, in which one could hear the proverbial pin drop in the jam-packed Philharmonic Hall. Afterwards in the green room, Boulez rhapsodized about the effect of such an attentive audience on a performer – that he could set broader tempos, be more expressive, take longer ritards.

Earlier that year, on February 14, he had conducted a single non-subscription performance of Mahler’s Eighth with equal success. He was always at his best on such occasions, when he knew the audience had come specifically to hear his interpretation rather than another subscription concert. There are moments such as the clarity at the end of Part I of ascending eighth notes in the strings, balanced perfectly with the offstage brass, that I despair ever again hearing with such precision and impact. At the dress rehearsal in the morning, I noticed Erich Leinsdorf across the hall with his head buried in the score, no doubt with admiration.

I could mention any number of subsequent concerts with the orchestras of Chicago and Cleveland, his favorite ensembles in America, but it seems to me that his years in New York are in greater need of reminiscence. As it happens, MusicalAmerica.com reported on 2/28 that Boulez had cancelled this month’s Chicago and Cleveland engagements for the second year in a row for health reasons; earlier in the year he had cancelled engagements in France. Problem is, his eyesight has been failing, and he only conducts with a score. As he nears his 88th birthday on the 26th of this month, our best wishes go out to him for a complete and immediate recovery.

by Sedgwick Clark

NOTE: BEGINNING THIS WEEK, I’LL BE POSTING MY BLOG ON THURSDAYS AT NOON RATHER THAN WEDNESDAYS.

At a press luncheon for the Vienna Philharmonic in 1986, I was seated next to cellist Werner Resel, the chairman of the orchestra. We were talking about the unique sound of the VPO, and he remarked with a laugh that a critic had written that under Leonard Bernstein the Vienna sounded like the New York Philharmonic. “Well, that’s true,” I replied. “A great conductor brings his own sound to any orchestra he leads.” End of conversation.

Professor Resel may not have agreed with my opinion, but I’ve heard too many orchestras change their spots with different conductors to doubt it. Last week I wrote that the Philadelphia Orchestra was the only major orchestra that has retained its traditional sonority, and I wondered how or if the ensemble’s new music director, Yannick Nézet-Séguin, would seek to change it. So far in the orchestra’s New York concerts this season he commandeered an impressive Verdi Requiem, Shostakovich’s Fifth Symphony, about which I continue to hear breathless bouquets (I was on vacation), and a roof-raising rendition of Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring, this year’s work du jour due to its world-wide 100th-anniversary celebration. It used to be that the Philadelphians were thought too upholstered for The Rite’s savage attacks. (Stravinsky himself referred to the orchestra’s “chinchilla echo.”) But not on this night, with the battery lamming away ferociously and Stravinsky’s orchestral palette glimmering dynamically as rarely before. Deutsche Grammophon recorded it and a handful of Stokowski arrangements this week as the first release in the Philadelphians’ new contract. The orchestra played Stoki’s 1933 arrangement of Stravinsky’s lovely, early Pastorale as an encore—“a digestif,” Yannick called it. And strongly to be encouraged.

The sumptuous “Philadelphia Sound” was the response of Leopold Stokowski (1912-1936) and Eugene Ormandy (1937-1980)—in a combined tenure of  68 years—to stretch the delay time of the acoustically dry Academy of Music. Ormandy’s successor, Riccardo Muti (1980-1992), also desired a more reverberant acoustic, but he believed that the orchestra’s performances should not have its own sound but rather the composer’s sound. Wolfgang Sawallisch, the Philadelphia’s sixth music director (1993-2003), who died last Friday, age 89, sided with Ormandy, and the Philadelphia Sound made a welcome reappearance. That should please those who agree, for Sawallisch appointed 40 new orchestra members while music director – the most since Stokowski.

Prior to the concert the new m.d. and the orchestra had a “sound check” onstage, at which their mutual regard—smiles, laughter, and the traditional shuffling of feet when he complimented the playing—was palpably clear. Afterwards, he and the orchestra’s president and chief executive officer, Allison Vulgamore, met with members of the press, at which he spoke enthusiastically about the Philadelphia Sound and “the players’ willingness to be passionate with their music-making.” Vulgamore reported that attendance had jumped from 60 to 80 percent.

Yannick is short and compact, muscular and young (he turns 38 next week), freewheeling on the podium and enamored of fast tempos. It’s been a long time since such a combination has described a Philadelphia music director. So far, he appears to be just what the doctor ordered.

by Sedgwick Clark

The Warm European Touch

Andris Nelsons is one of the hottest young conductors around. Hailing from Riga, Latvia, he has been music director of the Birmingham Symphony since 2008 and made a splash in March 2011 at Carnegie Hall, substituting on a day’s notice for James Levine in a Boston Symphony performance of Mahler’s Ninth Symphony. He has conducted Turandot and Queen of Spades at the Met in recent years, but he only made his New York Philharmonic debut last season. The orchestra wasted no time in re-engaging him, and last week he led a comfortable program of works by Dvorák, Brahms, and Bartók. There wasn’t a harsh sound to be heard from an orchestra renowned for its assertive style in the not always felicitous acoustic of Avery Fisher Hall. The results, to my ears, were soothing but understated.

Dvorák’s symphonic poem The Noon Witch tells of a mother’s backfiring attempts to calm her child’s noontime tantrums by invoking the reprisal of an evil spirit. The work’s tedious structure is a drawback, but unleashing the New Yorkers’ inherent sense of drama might have driven the narrative ahead to greater effect.

Brahms’s Violin Concerto seemed a mismatch, with Nelsons leading a warm, idiomatic accompaniment to Christian Tetzlaff’s astringent solo. This superb violinist’s sound has troubled me in recent years. Never exactly a cuddly player, his beauty of tone seemed to recede at the same time he traded in his horn rims for contacts. His unappealing, tight-lipped publicity photo in the program all but shouts, “I’d rather be playing Lutoslawski.” Certainly not Brahms.

Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra is meat and potatoes for a virtuoso band like the Philharmonic, and they played magnificently. Still, while savoring the score’s pungent beauty, I wished for more emphasis of Bartók’s pointed Hungarian rhythms and accents – especially the sharp punctuation of timpani throughout.

The Year of the Snake

The Philharmonic’s “new tradition of celebrating the Chinese New Year,” inaugurated on Tuesday (2/12), was a pleasure from first note to last. Conducted by Long Yu, China’s apparent general music director, the orchestra was in flawless fettle, with the strings displaying some of the loveliest legato I’ve heard from them in some time and ideally blended brass.

I’ll leave in-depth comments to those more informed, except to say that Li Huanzhi’s Spring Festival Overture (1955-56) was played to the hilt, with the New Yorkers making the most of the work’s indebtedness to Glinka’s Russlan and Ludmilla Overture. Chen Qigang’s quietly expressive Er Huang for Piano and Orchestra (2009) was played with self-effacing affection by Herbie Hancock. Selections from the Beijing opera The Drunken Concubine, sung by the spectacularly costumed Yan Wang, received perhaps the most warmly committed playing from the Philharmonic. The effervescent Snow Lotus Trio sang three songs to conclude a delightful concert.

by Sedgwick Clark

Daniil Trifonov is a diplomat at the keyboard, not a pounder. We’re so used to powerhouse Russian pianists that the slight young man who bounded onstage Tuesday evening for his Carnegie Hall recital debut and proceeded to caress the keys took at least one listener by surprise. Winner of the prestigious Tchaikovsky and Rubinstein competitions, he has the all-powerful Valery Gergiev in his corner and encomiums from several distinguished fellow pianists. He has recorded a Chopin CD for Decca and Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto with Gergiev for the Mariinsky label. A recording contract with Deutsche Grammophon was announced today, beginning with the release of this concert (2/6).

This one-man jury was out in the recital’s first half. As in the case of another of his generation’s pianistic talents of slight build, Yuja Wang, who made her Carnegie Hall recital debut last season, I wondered how wise it is to rush accomplished yet unformed artists into such prominent venues. Scriabin’s Second Sonata didn’t seem ideally arresting for Trifonov’s recital opener, although the heavily Russian audience probably disagreed. And Liszt’s half-hour Sonata in B minor, with which Wang concluded her recital last season, is difficult to make cohere under any circumstances, at any age. Its fireworks are irresistible to young artists, but its dangers are manifold. In my concert experience, Arrau and Brendel conquered it masterfully; under Horowitz it fell apart. Trifonov simply lacked the requisite weight.

The recital’s second half, the Chopin Preludes, was something else. Again and again, one warmed to his light tone and simple, unsentimental, poetic – and eminently satisfying — approach. The little A major Andantino, which many cannot resist personalizing (Arrau is laughable on his Philips recording), was played in a single lambent breath – perfection! The varying moods of the “Raindrop” were superbly rendered. And in the final Prelude in D minor, Trifonov threw caution to the winds with impassioned turbulence.

Undoubtedly an artist to watch.

Deception

Hollywood has never been lacking for howlers, and one of my favorites is in the film Deception (1946), starring Bette Davis, Paul Henried as a cellist she loves, and Claude Rains as a jealous composer named Alexander Hollenius. After a rehearsal for the composer’s new concerto (by Korngold, actually), a reporter asks the cellist to name his favorite contemporary composers, and he replies thoughtfully, “Well, let me see. Stravinsky, when I think of the present. Richard Strauss, when I think of the past. And, of course, Hollenius, who combines the rhythm of today with the melody of the past.”

I was reminded of this line the other day by a press release for an upcoming Decca CD by Nicola Benedetti called “The Silver Violin,” featuring Korngold’s Violin Concerto and numerous short pieces focusing “on the timeless music of the silver screen.” A Gramophone reviewer stated that “Benedetti need not fear comparison with the likes of Shaham, Mutter and Laurent Koscia . . . .” Laurent who? I wonder if the reviewer ever heard of Jascha Heifetz, who gave the work’s premiere in 1947 and whose 1953 RCA recording is still considered peerless by most critics?

Looking Forward

My week’s scheduled concerts (8:00 p.m. unless otherwise noted):

2/7 at 7:30. Avery Fisher Hall. New York Philharmonic/Andris Nelsons; Christian Tetzlaff, violin. Dvorák: The Noon Witch. Brahms: Violin Concerto. Bartók: Concerto for Orchestra.

2/12 at 7:30. Avery Fisher Hall. New York Philharmonic/Long Yu. Chinese New Year Celebration.

by Sedgwick Clark

A Blu-ray video of Lawrence of Arabia was finally released in November. Collectors have been screaming for it for years, but Columbia Pictures was working on yet another upgrade of this foremost of epic films for its “50th Anniversary Edition.” I ran to Barnes & Noble the first day of its availability (somebody’s got to rearrange those deck chairs before the ship sinks), rushed home, and sat starry-eyed and golden-eared for nearly three and a half hours as director David Lean’s breathtaking desert vistas, Maurice Jarre’s magnificent symphonic score, and Peter O’Toole’s astonishing performance (not to speak of the superb supporting actors) set my pulse racing once again.

The range of color on the Blu-ray disc is eye-poppingly rich. I showed it to two film-loving friends the other day, and they were stunned. Still, a lot of work went into making Lawrence what it is today. After its premiere the film was subjected to insensitive cuts over the years. The original parts were badly stored. The soundtracks were destroyed in 1975, so even though Jarre’s music sounds superior to the tinny reproduction on previous video releases, it is reproduced from a fifth-generation dub. The credit sequence of Lawrence filling the gas tank for his fatal motorcycle accident is crisp and clear, but the opening scene of his ride through the countryside and the crash is from an inferior source, with oversaturated color. Fortunately, the excellent quality returns in the following scene of Lawrence’s funeral and remains so throughout.

Those who like to read about films should seek out a 20-year-old book entitled Lawrence of Arabia: The 30th Anniversary Pictorial History (Anchor, 1992) by L. Robert Morris and Lawrence Raskin. The story of the enigmatic T. E. Lawrence and his famous account of the c. World War I Arab revolt, The Seven Pillars of Wisdom, is briefly recounted before moving on to the making of Lean’s epic film itself, its profit-driven abridgement, and its heroic restoration in 1987-88. I bought the book soon after its publication, probably looked at the fabulous array of photos, and returned to my first Musical America Directory deadline. Now, encouraged by screening the Blu-ray, I figured it was time to actually read it and found it riveting.

I was 14 when I first saw the film — three times at Muncie’s Rivoli Theater — and it undoubtedly reinforced my career aspiration of being a film critic in New York. But it was not to be: A college roommate introduced me to Stravinsky’s stereo recording of The Rite of Spring, and my life goal shifted to a different branch of the arts. That certainly hasn’t stopped me from seeing Lawrence every chance I could on a big screen, however, including the 1971 reissue at New York’s legendary Rivoli Theatre on Broadway across from Jack Dempsey’s bar between 49th and 50th, both long gone now. This showing of Lawrence was drastically altered, having had 35 minutes sliced from the 222-minute 1962 premiere to allow more showings per day in theaters. Moreover, when the film was shown on television, further bits and pieces of various lengths were cut by Columbia studio technicians to allow for commercials, and crucial original parts became lost or misplaced – or, in the case of the soundtracks, simply junked.

Enter film archivist and restoration expert Robert A. Harris, who knew the stature of Lawrence and that it would essentially be a “lost” film if someone didn’t act fast. Columbia execs were enthusiastic, and in January 1987 Harris began the arduous job of locating the original parts and assembling the premiere version of the film. Fortunately, he had the invaluable assistance of the original editor, Anne Coates, and director Lean. It is this restored “Director’s Cut,” with small trims in the film that Lean had wanted to make soon after the film’s release, that we see on the Criterion Collection laserdisc, the 2002 DVD, the subsequent “Superbit” DVD, and the new HD Blu-ray at hand. The feature length is now approximately 217 minutes, with a grand total of 227 minutes including the Overture, Entr’acte, and Exit Music.

Lawrence of Arabia is inconceivable without Maurice Jarre’s score. The grand romantic sweep of his Lawrence theme, the brutal rhythms of the entrance into Auda abu Tayi’s camp, and the stodgy British march music are subtly varied throughout to match the emotional tenor of the scene at hand. At the end of the Overture, Jarre even has the three themes played in counterpoint – not a compositional trick often encountered in “movie music.” My guess is that Dutch composer Gerard Schurmann’s orchestrations are a strong contributing factor to the success of this score. Jarre’s personal use of percussion and exotic instrumentation are always prominent, but there is also a transparency of texture that doesn’t exist in Jarre’s thickly scored music for Lean’s Doctor Zhivago.

The Lawrence score could have been a disaster. Producer Sam Spiegel’s first choice was for Sir William Walton (who scored Olivier’s Henry V, Hamlet, and Richard III) to write the patriotic British music; Sir Malcolm Arnold (Oscar winner for Spiegel-Lean’s previous film, The Bridge on the River Kwai) would score the dramatic scenes and conduct. But the British composers hated the film and pulled out. Spiegel next called on Benjamin Britten to write the British music, Aram Khachaturian the Arab scenes, and the young French composer Maurice Jarre, who had just finished scoring Sundays and Cybele, to score the dramatic scenes. But Britten was too busy, and the Armenian composer couldn’t leave the Soviet Union. At some point, Bernard Herrmann was approached, but he demanded too much money. So it looked as if Jarre alone would compose the music.

But Spiegel had another brainstorm: He signed up Richard Rodgers to read the script and, without seeing the film, compose themes that Jarre could orchestrate. When Lean heard the American theater composer’s themes played on piano, he erupted (“Sam, what is this rubbish? This is ridiculous!”). Spiegel then asked Jarre if he had composed anything that Lean could hear; he had, and he played his Lawrence theme for Lean, who enthused, “Great! That’s exactly what I want! Sam, that’s what we should have — this kind of feeling.” At this point, Jarre had just five weeks to score a 222-minute film, which he did superbly, winning one of the film’s seven Oscars.

There’s more to this improbable tale. The London Philharmonic had been hired to perform the score, with the orchestra’s music director, Sir Adrian Boult, conducting. Jarre rehearsed the musicians for three hours prior to the recording sessions and then turned the podium over to Boult. But when Sir Adrian realized he would have to synchronize the music to the film, which he had never done before, he declined to conduct and the composer led the sessions. And yet, although he didn’t lead a note of the score, it is Boult’s name credited on the titles because Spiegel wanted more British names associated with the film! At least Jarre received proper credit (and royalties) for the soundtrack album.

The New York Philharmonic announced its 2013-14 season last week. It’s beginning its new season with two programs of films accompanied live by the orchestra. The first program (September 17 and 18), conducted by Constantine Kitsopoulos, consists of excerpts from Hitchcock films. The second (20th and 21st), conducted by Alan Gilbert, will be the complete Stanley Kubrick 2001: A Space Odyssey. (In Cinerama?) Let’s hope the film quality is superior to that on a Philharmonic program conducted some years ago by John Williams. And then we can hope for a big-screen presentation of Lawrence of Arabia.

Looking Forward

My week’s scheduled concerts (8:00 p.m. unless otherwise noted):

2/4 at 6:00. Zankel Hall. Making Music: Osvaldo Golijov. Jeremy Geffen (moderator). Lawrence String Quartet; Jessica Revira, Biella da Costa, sopranos; The Zankel Band. Golijov: Qohelet (string quartet). Ayre (song cycle).

2/5 Carnegie Hall. Daniil Trifonov, piano. Scriabin: Sonata No. 2, Op. 19. Liszt: Sonata in B minor. Chopin: 24 Preludes, Op. 28.

by Sedgwick Clark

A couple of Musical America’s former Musicians of the Year took a drubbing last week. Rebecca Schmid, MA’s Berlin correspondent, reported on our Web site (1/11) that Simon Rattle (2002) announced he would not renew his Berlin Philharmonic contract as music director in 2018 after 16 years. She wrote that “Rattle’s popularity within the orchestra . . . and with the German public is mixed. The conductor’s artistic direction . . . has taken the orchestra far afield from Brahms and Beethoven . . . .”

Well, the self-governing BPO asked for it. When it signed Rattle, it pointedly stated its desire for a conductor who would lead it into 21st-century music and also teach it the joys of authentic period music-making. The British conductor’s biographer, Nicholas Kenyon, laid out the possible pitfalls clearly in his Musician of the Year tribute to Rattle in the 2002 Directory, calling his succession to Claudio Abbado, Herbert von Karajan, and Wilhelm Furtwängler “a daring risk and a massive leap of faith.” Man, was he right! You can read Nick’s insightful tribute by clicking “MORE” and “archives” on the Web site desktop.

Rattle’s detractors didn’t take long to materialize, reported Anthony Tommasini in the Times on November 16, 2007, disdaining the contemporary music and bemoaning the reduction of the German classics. My guess is that orchestra and audience also became no less disenchanted with Rattle’s wayward performances of the basic repertory. Several years ago he led the BPO at Carnegie in the most aimless Beethoven Pastoral I’ve ever heard; in the same hall on May 17 he’ll have another go at the symphony with the Philadelphians. Perhaps I’ll check to see if either of us has changed. At any rate, I’ll want to hear the concert’s first half of works by Webern, Berg, and Ligeti.

A lot can happen in the next five years, but I’ll bet that some youngish German conductor committed to tradition, like Christian Thielemann (if he can keep his questionable political notions to himself), will ascend to the BPO throne. Rebecca suggested Daniel Barenboim as a possibility, but he’ll be 75 by Rattle’s final season, and the Boston Symphony’s experience with James Levine’s health has undoubtedly given orchestras the jitters.

Which may be occurring at the Chicago Symphony right now. Its choice of Riccardo Muti (MA’s 2010 Musician of the Year), who became music director in fall 2010, seemed a match made in heaven. But he missed most of his first season due to what his doctor called extreme exhaustion and later fell off the podium, fracturing his jaw. He now has a pacemaker.

Muti’s latest malady is a bout of the worldwide flu epidemic, which caused him to cancel two weeks of concerts prior to the CSO’s Asian tour at the end of this month through early February. He has reportedly recovered in time to lead the tour, with Dvořák’s Fifth Symphony replacing works by Stravinsky and Busoni.  Still, once again a Muti health problem undoubtedly disappointed thousands of hometown subscribers and scared the bejesus out of the administrators.

Joyce Is Maria

I like to think I’m open to new discoveries, and my second brush with Donizetti appears to be one of them. On the heels of the Met’s old production of L’Elisir d’amore (I loved the deliciously sorbet sets so much on its closing night that I’m afraid to venture to the new one), comes the company’s first Maria Stuarda. Donizetti wrote two of the most heart-breaking arias in the repertory for his title character, and Musical America’s 2013 Vocalist of the year, Joyce DiDonato, sang them exquisitely. I’ll go to hear her sing anything.

by Sedgwick Clark

My favorite solo piano music is Debussy’s – iridescent, sensual, and, after all these years, mysterious. My first recording of his music was by Charles Rosen performing Images, Books I and II, Estampes, L’Isle joyeuse, and other short pieces on an Epic LP.  It had been praised by David Hamilton as “indispensable” and “revelatory” in High Fidelity magazine. “[There] is an extraordinary musical intelligence at work in these performances, as well as an impeccable technique; other recordings are simply not in the running,” he concluded.

Rosen died on December 9 at age 85. Soon after, I listened to that worn LP and to his earlier recording of the composer’s Etudes. I had not played either of them for at least three decades, and the pianist’s mastery remained undiminished by time and by my subsequent acquaintance with Walter Gieseking’s classic, more “impressionistic” interpretations. It’s unfortunate that so few of Rosen’s Epic and Columbia recordings were transferred to CD. Sony did release his acclaimed Bach and Beethoven recordings on its Essential Classics line, but his equally praised 20th-century repertoire remains in limbo. Five years ago I compiled three CDs worth of his recordings of music by Bartók, Liszt, Schoenberg, Stravinsky, Ravel, and Debussy, and approached Arkiv to release them, to no avail.

I first heard Rosen in concert at Hunter College on March 7, 1969, playing Pierre Boulez’s Piano Sonata No. 3. Boulez was conducting a chamber group and accompanying soprano Bethany Beardslee – each of whom I was also hearing for the first time – in works by Schoenberg and Debussy. Although I’m writing now about Rosen, I can’t resist adding that the Pierrot Lunaire after intermission was the goose-pimpliest performance of the piece I’ve ever heard. It was around this time that I first saw Rosen at a Hitchcock double bill at St. Mark’s Place movie theater in Manhattan’s East Village.

Over the years, I had worked up the nerve to say hello to him at concerts, and I approached his publicist to ask him to write an article for WNCN’s music magazine, Keynote, which I edited. It would coincide with a pair of Carnegie Hall concerts devoted to Beethoven and Schumann in January 1982. In the piece, entitled “The Original Schumann,” he maintained that the composer’s first editions were superior to the revised editions, which “clouded our understanding of Schumann’s originality.” He observed that “[t]empo marks like ‘impertinently’ were changed to ‘with humor,’ making Schumann’s intention far less clear to the pianist.” We had talked about humor in Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations and Schumann’s Carnaval, in particular, and I remember laughing out loud at moments in his performances. It wasn’t that he was hamming up the music, but that the recordings I had by Serkin and Arrau were so serious! Look for his recordings, made at the same time, to see what I mean.

Part of the enjoyment of his recordings was his witty, insightful liner notes; he also contributed regularly to the New York Review of Books. His first book was the National Book Award-winning The Classical Style (Viking, 1971), earning reviews as a landmark in the study of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. The unfortunate result was that his writing began to overshadow his performing in the eyes of the critics, and his New York appearances became fewer. In one of his last New York recitals, at the 92nd Street Y in 2006, he played the last three Beethoven sonatas masterfully, which Steve Smith of the Times enthusiastically noted.

Charles was Musical America’s Instrumentalist of the Year in 2007. Two days after his death, his publicist, Connie Shuman, called to tell me that a friend of Charles’s was on the phone with him when he learned of the award and that he was “ecstatic” at being honored as a pianist rather than an author.

I last saw him on December 6, 2010, at Columbia University’s Miller Theater. The occasion was an all-Boulez program honoring the French composer/conductor at age 85. Among the adoring crowd were two other titans of contemporary music, Carter and Rosen.

Rosen’s passing, of prostate cancer, came a month after the death of Elliott Carter (see my blog, December 21), whose music he had championed with such distinction. It happened during one unsettling week in which the Times’s obit pages seemed to crescendo with the loss of favorite artists:

Dave Brubeck (Dec. 6, 1920- Dec. 5, 2012)

Charles Rosen (May 5, 1927-Dec. 9, 2012)

Galina Vishnevskaya (Oct. 25, 1926-Dec. 10, 2012)

Lisa Della Casa (Feb. 2, 1919-Dec. 10, 2012)

Ravi Shankar (April 7, 1920-Dec. 11, 2012)

Looking Forward     

My week’s scheduled concerts (8:00 p.m. unless otherwise noted):

1/8 Metropolitan Opera at 7:30. Donizetti: Maria Stuarda. Maurizio Benini (cond.). Joyce DiDonato (Mary Stuart); Elza van den Heever (Queen Elizabeth I); Matthew Polenzani (Roberto); Matthew Rose (George Talbot).