Bah! Humbug!

There's one thing about celebrating Christmas early as I did in London this year. The pace of the crowds was good, service was good, and the mood had that needed edge of anticipation. I just came back from shopping in some old haunts in Columbia. I am exhausted. When buying soap at Stein Mart, I was in a short line, and no one behind me. The cashier took my money, handed me a bag, and said in a loud voice "Next customer please..." Summarily dismissed, I barked.."Merry Christmas and Thank You". No reaction. Wandering on to the Fresh Market, I entered in hopes of finding my favorite cheese, being La Roule, a goat cheese flown over from France. They have not had it in stock the last two visits, even though they placed a enticing picture in their Christmas Catalog. So there it was, but packaged in huge blocks, large enough for a family of 10. I asked a helper if they had smaller packages as they use to have. She referred me down the line, and the Mistress of Cheese barked, rather unpleasantly, "Well, How much do you want". She procceded to slice it in half, and gave off the air of "Her Majesty's Displeasure". I flopped it in my bag, and went back into the frey. I kept running into a nice lady with a cane, who was making rather good progress. She had watched the performance, and we got to talking in the row with the pancake mixes, which was rather busy. We discussed the downfall of simple manners, went on to settle most of the world's problems, and finished up with a conversation about the Vienna Opera, which we found we had both attended. She was from Austria, and told a charming story of getting two seats for the re-opening of the restored opera house after the II World War. Her husband had no suitable clothing, so the waiter at their hotel lent him one of his set of tails. Off they went to an historic occasion. That made me stop and think. Civil Communication is the only means of survival today. My new friend and I decided not to march on Washington, but go to our respective homes and have a cup of tea. Merry Christmas, One and All!

Christmas Season in London

I have to hand it to the English. They are so tough, it often appears to us, but anything below 32 degrees is considered life threatening these days. They are becoming quite soft it would appear, after 10 days in London walking the streets and riding the buses. Agreed, they supposedly have a moderate climate. But the past few years have seen record heat and record cold. Does that mean the tropics are getting colder and the artic is getting hotter?. Now there is the theory that it will get alternately hotter and colder, and finally settle on hotter. The English are ill-prepared for snow, even in the North and Scotland, where some places had two feet.

There is a new society for the preservation of all things ENGLISH, called The Society of St. Goerge. I have now attended three excursions sponsored by them, and they are a jolly rum group. The necessity of such an organization stems from the fact that its all referred to today as UK. UK this, UK that. The ENGLISH are up in arms, afraid they will lose their special identity. The President of this group even approached your's truly to write a song they could sing at their gatherings. Now that did take me off my heels...a Patriot being asked to do such a thing. My friends said "He thinks you are the OTHER JOHN ADAMS" That rather took the glow off, after already deciding the anthem should end with "ENGLAND< ENGLAND< ENGLAND!"

To get back to basics, I did so enjoyed the Royal Opera presentation of Cilea's rarely done "Adrienne Lecouvreur", a picture postcard version of this verismo classic. Another highlight was A Ceremony of Nine Lessons and Carols presented by my club at St. James Church, Piccadilly. Being a music based organization, ROSL is able to draw up extensive talent from their pool of prize winners. It was moving and exceedingly well done.

Lots of taxi rides blunted the extreme cold. Once I got stuck in a traffic jam that crawled along for hours it seems. I told the driver I was going to run out of money. He said."Just pay me what you've got Mate". A rare occurance. If you tip generously they always say..."You are a fine gentleman!" Tip often and generously!

The other joy was meeting the young Scottish mezzo soprano Laura Kelly, who holds the John Kenneth Adams Scholarship this year at the Royal Academy of Music. She is petite, dynamic, and utterly charming. She gets to create a role in a new opera to be done this Spring by Peter Maxwell Davies. Alas, I can't be there, but she is obviously well on her way.

So now I am a known quantity to the doormen at the Ritz, next door to us. I get a laugh each time I walk by, especially the sight of the dust pan they keep by the service door....a battered piece of equipment on which is scrawled in white paint..Prop of Ritz Hotel. Perhaps in case I decide to whisk it away someday!

Schubert

After a long time away, I have revisited some Schubert works I played some decades ago. The piece that has riveted my attention in the last of the Impromptus, the one in F minor, Opus 146., No. 4. You can tell it has been a long time, as I am still hooked on opus numbers for Schubert, instead of the Deutsch catalog numbers. It is D.935. I have a vivid memory of Rodolf Serkin playing this work and complaining about how it is such a knife edge experiece in performance. Rudolf was always a rather nervous performer, at least before the concert. The times I heard him in the 1950's brought forth deeply thought out performances. A friend at Yale was studying Beethoven's Sonata in E Flat, Opus 81a "Les adieux" and Serkin arrived to play it in Woolsey Hall. As you know the first movement has that very tricky passage early on, and my friend was eager to find out just how Serkin approached it. He practiced in my teacher's studio and my friend crawled out on the ledge between the adjoining studios, (they were really fake balconies in the faux Venitian style) and listened to Serkin practice. He practiced so slowly he thought he had some form of paralysis. When he played the passage that evening in Woolsey Hall, he fluffed it. So much for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.
As for this F minor Impromptu, I find it catches the dark side of Schubert. It is relentless in propulsion, almost like a wild Hungarian danse. It has relief in beautiful scalar passages, but even those seem to develop into wild rides up and down the keyboard. Just when you think he is ready to finish, he does a detour into a section that lulls you almost into an Ave Maria mood, before returning for a final passage that suddenly doubles the time, and slams you down the entire length of the keyboard. The headless horseman has passed and you are left dazed in the ditch.

I think in another month I will be in command of this wild beast. Schubert requires a steady hand and quick thinking. So do all wild beasts.

"Das Rheingold" from the Met

There's gold in them dar hills, so the saying goes. Weighing in at 45 tons, the gigantic set for the Metropolitan Opera's new production of Wagner's "Das Rheingold" was impressive more for its technological wonders than it was for its imaginative capabilities. The strength of the production was the fact that the cast was so strong, both vocally and dramatically, that it captured all the inherent drama of this morality tale with gold stars of their own.

A new production of "Der Ring des Nibelungen" is always a world event. Having seen the Met's last production of the four opera cycle eight years ago, my overiding memory is of sore legs from almost 19 hours of sitting in four evenings. The casting of that run was in no way comparable to the current cast, which includes the amazing Eric Owens' portrayal of Alberich, the madman who steals the gold from the Rhinemaidens at the bottom of the Rhine. The big thing about his portrayal was his intensity and great theatrical flair, wedded to probably the best bass-baritone in opera. The scene where he transforms himself first into a dragon, and then a toad, was the best one in the entire opera, and the visiual effects were stunning.

Bryn Terfel, the amazing Welshman with the beautiful base- baritone voice, just now coming to grips with heavier roles, impressed by his sensitivity, and the beauty of his highly polished German diction. He succeeds is giving a lieder-like intimacy to certain passages, and his monumental girth is an asset is protraying Wotan, the King of the Gods. Stephanie Blythe as his wife Fricka uses her huge voice with authority and poise, overcoming a terrible costume that makes her look far too frilly and frumpy. I loved Richard Croft as Loge, keeper of the flame so to speak, who handled this role with the mercurical temperment it so needs.

Getting back to that set. Here we have a giant steel frame of vertical girders that somehow manages to assume all sorts of geometrical shapes and sizes. When closed it becomes a giant screen, on which images of water, fire, and sky add enormously to the scenic effects. My favorite was the final tableaux, where Wotan leads his family over the rainbow bridge to Valhalla and his newly constructed castle. The singers are suspended in air on a huge platform that slants in a 70 degree angle to the right, a good 25 feet above the floor of the stage. The twilight sky gives way to thousand of stars, leaving the audience breathless, soon erupting into the biggest ovation I have witnessed at the Met in many years.

The true genius behind all this is James Levine. Up and about after months of back torture and operations, he was simply amazing with his magisterial approach to this score. One of the best accompanists for singers today, he molded the orchestra into a velvet glove of sound, at once luxurious but malleable and full of strength. So many details emerged, all showing superior judgment of great musicianship and character. The overriding feeling was one of great spaciousness and poise, allowing the music to unfold with wave after wave of sonic splendor.

Oh! Those Charlestonians are so Smooth.

Charlestonias have a certain quality. One can tell they were around long before the rest of us here in South Carolina. I love their genteel ways, and the conversation that always has a different slant. One lady said its because of the light. "Painters come heah to study the light!", she remarked as I gazed out the window at one of those pink low country sunsets. I was at Charleston Southern University for a "Piano Portrait" featuring the music of Chopin and Schumann. I didn't really know what kind of audience would show up, but in the end it was a mix of students, piano teachers, faculty and Charlestonians. The Charlestonians sat in front, and the students aimed for the back rows, probably to Twitter away, of keep up with Facebook. I had a funny thought. Perhaps I should have stayed home and just streamed from my living room.

Now that would have been a mistake. Once again I proved to myself the power of live communication, and the use of PowerPoint to make many points in a powerful way. I am now the Master of PowerPoint, having transfered the knowledge gainned working with a slide projector in hundreds of presentations. In fact, my "Piano Portraits" have long since passed 150 performances. I know alot about how long an image can stay on the screen, where to place a slide that will allow time for a musical interlude, or an expanded explanation. It is difficult for many to be artistic with this medium. So many PowerPoint presentations I have seem at music converntions and workshops are really quite amateurish, as they aim solely to mark the points of the presentation. For me, PowerPoint is a fluid state of mind, able to travel quickly when you need it, and slow down for a curve.

I had a strange feeling giving this presentation. The students seemed noncommmittal at first, although very quiet. After the first selection..."Traumerai" of Schumann, I heard a distinct SIGH from one of the "genteels". Then when I pointed out the accompaniment pattern of Schumann's "Intermezzo", with its rolling left hand figurations and powerful harmonies, I glanced up and saw a young man with his mouth open, as if transfixed. When I then played the melody soaring over the accompaniment like a beautiful viola solo, I felt the whole room was right in the palm of my hand. So simple an illustration, but through the power of music, a sublime moment.

I think today we need to go back a few decades as far as how we approach the appreciation and explanation of music. Leonard Bernstein was a genius with his programs for young audiences in the early days of TV. But there have been many others who have done this well. The problem today lies with a certain low regard schools have for teaching the subject. Often grad students are handed music appreciation classes, and often it is regarded as a chore, not an opportunity. It has to be a PASSION, and that is more important than ever in the current cultural malaise. It is no secret that most young people are ill imformed about the arts and humanities, and often have no exposure to classical music. What needs to happen is for the arts to become a normal part of the routine of growing up, integrated fully into the learning process. It pains me that most people making big decisions today, expecially Representatives, Senators, Governors, and even PRESIDENTS seem ill at ease with the arts. That's because they had none or little along the way. So much of our culture today is hand-to-mouth.

That's why "Piano Portraits" have ended up the biggest thing I have done in my career. People came up Tuesday after the performance and said.."I loved the integration of art with music". Perhaps what seems so normal to me is a revelation to others. Is that not the true nature of teaching?

"And the rains came..."

Summer is ending at last, possibly the hottest summer I can remember in South Carolina. Part of that feeling is the fact I did not go to Switzerland this September, the first time in 13 years. Certainly many changes have come about in this country which straddles the Alps for most of its course. Prosperity is booming, and thanks to the Japanese, the tourist trade is as active as possible. The Japanese have it all down to a system. I had a charming Japanese student who shared with me his travel book, published in Japan for the benefit of its citizens heading to the wonders of Europe. It was timed to the minute, including rail, bus and plane schedules. For instance, he was only in Milan for one morning, long enough to see "The Last Supper" and have a quick meal at the rail station. The "Leaning Tower of Pisa" was also fitted into a half day slot, but a full day was allowed in Firenze, and two days in Rome. He saw everything listed for Italy at breathtaking speed. Zermatt is the end of the Glacier Express that takes tourists from San Moritz to Zermatt at a snail's pace, so Japanese usually stay at least two nights in Zermatt. I use to wake up very early and step onto my balcony. I would time the interval before I saw a Japanese tourist come around the corner by the church. It was always less that a minute.

SO, no Switzerland this year, but lots of home and hearth. The garden looks beauriful, and the house is spotless. It doesn't stay that way long, but its nice to admire one's efforts. The leaves will fall early this year, a month with no rain will assure that. The nut crop was meager, and the squirrels are still digging up last years crop. Perhaps they will have to migrate towards more food.

The best part of the summer was being able to work undisturbed on a wide variety of repertoire. Certainly I learn more slowly now, but far more carefully. Everything is about economy...economy of energy, gesture, and even emotion. I was once told as a young man that I should learn to practice unemotionally. I thought the professor was mad. Now I realize he was right. Nadia Boulanger, that great teacher of so many of our best composers of the last century, said it the right way. "You have no right to appeal to the emotions until the intellect has been throughly satisfied." Think of the one million applications one could find for this gem.

So now it is finally raining, lots of gentle rain that soaks into the soil. In just a day everything is transformed. Looking at the woods this afternoon I relaxed 100 degrees, knowing I would not have to worry about fire dangers for a while, and thankful all the trees were having a big drink. Hopefully it will be a kind winter season.

Pears are Falling, Peaches are Finished.

My neighbor has a Kieffer pear tree that is getting old like me. This year the pears are small, but have a lot of sugar content. Picking a few today, I felt that special tug that Autumn presents, an age old instinct of gathering, preserving and feeling thankful for the small things in life. Not that food gathering is a small thing. Imagine how in times past the preservation and storing of food was a thing of life or death.

My mother was raised on a wheat farm in Oklahoma, and she had a no nonsense approach to food. Our table was not laden, but it was lovingly prepared food that always had a careful hand behind it. She often spoke of the harvest lunches she helped prepare for the horde of men working to get the grain cut and stored. Homemade rolls and bread, many kinds of pies, and several types of meat. They had a spring house, which I once saw when very young, cut into the hillside where the spring flowed. It was so cool inside, and ice could be stored, as well as butter, milk, and cream. I wish I could have sat at that table, but I did experience great meals when we went to visit our grandparents. My grandmother baked bread every other day, and the smell was intoxicating. Death to anyone trying to bounce on the kitchen floor when it was in the oven. As kids we learned to avoid the kitchen unless invited in. Mother never learned how to bake bread, as her mother didn't want her to learn, expecting her to work on being a professional lady. She really was raised almost as a princess, and so Southern girls are not the only ones so anointed. She studied singing and posed for a local photographer who took art studies. I have one of her standing with her back to the camera, an oriental shawl draped over her shoulder. In another she is done up as an Oriental girl, hold a vase up to admire. In another, she could pass for Zelda. Willa Cather spoke alot of truth about art and growing up in Oklahoma, Nebraska and Kansas. "The Song of the Lark" catches shades of my mother is a riveting way.

Getting back to the pears. I made two pints of preserves, one for me, and one for a brother-in-law who always asks every year for some. As I reached up in the branches today, having to stretch to reach the best ones....(the best are always hard to get)...I caught a glimpse of the golden fruit against the brilliant blue of the September sky. Blue and gold..always a satisfying mix.

Notes from a recital in London with yours truly.

A request to give a short recital from an old friend from student days in London found me in Hammersmith, just west of central London. Brook Green is an area tucked away beside a long narrow park, around which abound old studios built as artist's ateliers back in the 19th century. I played in Applegarth Studio, a fabulous space with two grand pianos, one a Steinway of years but great distinction, and the other a Boesendorfer that Liszt performed on in London. I chose the Steinway, as the ghost of Liszt was a bit daunting. I have been performing the first movement of the great Fantasy of Schumann this Spring,and for once I was satisfied. It takes so much tension, physically and musically, to bring this off. It was an outstandingly warm evening for London, but I played and did not notice the heat or anything else. I think living in South Carolina gives us a special stamina when it comes to heat. I also played a group of Chopin, and also some Preludes of Debussy. I ended with three songs of Jerome Kern, which I arranged very much in the style of the times when they were written. We hear these great songs so pulled about today as regards to phrasing and rhythm, it is perhaps a shock to hear the simple four square rhythms done in a straight forward manner. To play for Londoners is daunting, as they hear everyone, and often one still runs across older people who remember quite a few of the Immortals as well. One man came forward to tell me he had just heard the Fantasy at Snape Maltings (Aldeburgh Festival founded by Benjamin Britten) and mine was much more profound. Well, I have played for 60 years and no one has ever said my playing was profound! He then suggested I come back and play an all Debussy program next season. What a surprise and such an unexpected consequence.

London and the Season: Netrebko and Grigolo

When you read about London ,you sometimes come across comments about The Season, that period in late May and all of June, when London comes alive with social activities. It all sounds a bit Edwardian in this day and age, but it still goes on today and is centered around the races at Ascot, crew races at Hendley, and of course tennis at Winbledon. There is also a very fine short opera season at Covent Garden, and last Sunday I heard a the debut of a great new tenor. His name is Vittorio Grigolo. a very handsome 32 year old from Arezzo, Italy. I was pleased to read he was from Arezzo, as that is the neighboring city to Cortona, where USC had a wonderful opera program for a number of years. Also, it is the birthplace of Guido of Arezzo...remember Guido's Hand from music theory class! (he is the father of modern music notation). Grigolo stunned the audience as Des Grieux in "Manon" by Massenet, first of all as he was virtually unknown, and what was known was that he writes popular Italian lovesongs very successfully, and of course records them. His Manon was no less than Anna Netrebko, the hottest ticket in opera in Europe. I went with some misgivings, as the times I have heard her I felt she was very uneven, with a sometimes sloppy regard for accuracy and rhythm. The fact that she is drop-dead beautiful and you can't take eyes away from her on stage, such is her charsima, is a given. In this role she was magnificent, and she had cleaned up her musicianship to an entirely new level. She literally threw herself into this role, where she begins as a 16 year old off to a convent school, continues on as a runaway to be with her first love, abandons him to become the mistress of the wealthiest man in Paris, gambles away everything in a casino and ends up dying in the gutter. Fabulous role! As for Grigolo,he plays the ardent young rich boy gone wrong to the hilt. He was by terns lovestruck, petulant, hysterical, repentant,and at the end, heartbroken by his own willfulness. Fabulous role! To say we were all swept away is an understatement.I continue to be impressed with Antonio Pappano, the wonderful music director of Covent Garden, who has lifted everything up tremendously. Can you believe a first class seat at Covent Garden runs to about 350. these days. Considering all else, and the limited time I have to experience these treats, its worth every penny.

A Hidden World in London ....

Hidden away from the main throughfares like Piccadilly, Park Lane,and Oxford Street, are small pockets of neighborhoods where you can still feel connected in a vast, booming city like London. It doesn't take long to remember familiar faces in the post office, the sandwich shops, or be greeted by the doorman at the Ritz. The Over Seas League in St. James, where I stay while in London, is on Park Place, a deadend street that backs up to Green Park. On St. James Place, the next street over, one finds the plaque to Frederic Chopin, who stayed here on his visit to London in 1849, the year of his death. He played his last recital in the Guildhall, in The City, where there is a handsome bust of him on display.

London must be the take-out food capitol of the world. The high class stuff comes from Fortnams, where the assortment of cheeses is endless, and the sandwiches have fresh baked bread for starts. The best sandwiches are made in the small shops that abound off the main streets, where you can make up choices as you order. Marks and Spencer has gone into take out food in a big way, opening small branches in tube stations. One never use to see people eating in the streets...now they eat everywhere, except the tube and busses, where it is just too crowded.

The restaurants at the Over Seas League are just so fine that it is hard to go anywhere else. The Buttery is open all day into the evening, and has classic dishes like lamb curry and kedgeree, plus great grilled fish and interesting salads. The main restaurant is one of the better ones in London, and still has its 30's decor, and an incredible, well priced wine list. Then one can eat in the garden, sandwiches in the Spring, and hot food in the Summer.

London Transport has solved the ticket problem for tubes and buses by use of the Oyster Card, a small yellow card that you press against a meter that registers each use. You can put any amount of money into the card electronically, and many tube exit meters tell you how much money is left in the card. This means that traffic really flows through the various stations with no long ticket lines as of old. Getting transport information is so easy via the internet, and you can make your plans for excursions down to the minute.

Finding a place to practice usually means a ride on the C2 bus from Berkeley Square ( " a nightingale sang..in Berkeley Square" ) up to Albany Street in Regents Park. This is not "The Piano Shop Around the Corner" but a well run affair that does have a big shop for piano restoration and a few practice rooms. Its a casual affair, and cheap. I had lunch across the way in The Victory, a pub with a faded atmosphere, reminding me of pubs from fifty years ago. I ordered a ham and cheddar cheese, expectations running low. What arrived was served on a handsome white sqaure plate, and consisted of a huge sandwich of real cheddar on a wonderful Cornish loaf, rather like french bread but not as light. Also included was a serving of fresh coleslaw and another salad of greens, peppers, and tomatoes. All this, plus a pot ot tea, came to five pounds....aabout $8.50 at the current exchange. A steal...plus the fact the pub instantly rose in my appreciation to the status of a FIND. Dress down if you go.

Lessons From a Late Spring

There's a wonderful song..."Spring Will be a Little Late this Year" (Frank Loesser)..remember Ella and Sarah singing this! A photo on the State Newspaper web shows strange red flowers growing out of tree trunks in Peachtree Rock Preserve. The writer notes that lichens and moss are at record levels this Spring, due to the long,wet,dark and cold winter we experienced. Now imagine my surprise to see this attraction right in my own yard. I have a wonderful rock that my mother picked up in Colorado...she was spotted stealing rocks in all the Western states....and it has a wonderful small hole in it that fills with water, making a great water attraction for the birds. It usually has a small coat of moss. This morning I noticed it was dark green all over, with the heaviest coat in years. The blazing sun on the past few days will take its toll, but for now it is such a beauty spot.I have been fascinated with my squirrels, who have spent days digging up all the nuts they buried last Fall. I made a prediction then that this would be a cold winter, and it proved right. How do they know where they are? All I know is that I don't have to wear those strange shoes with small nails protruding to aerate my lawn!! The squirrels have done it for me.

Which brings up the point that perhaps we do not pay enough attention to Mother Nature. She is trying to tell us things of great importance, but we are deaf in our worldly pursuits. While teaching at USC I was always aware of the beauty of our campus, a real refuge in a busy city, and filled with rare plants from our state and beyond. I would often talk to the gardeners, especially in the earlier days when many of them were still around after long years of working there. I remember the transplanting of the camellias from the yard of a well known professor. There were many rare examples, and I cringed at the thought of their survival, as camellias are loathed to be moved. They moved them, a huge task, to the front of the Administration Building, and then pruned them down to almost the ground. They struggled for years, but slowly regained their strength, and now they are fabulous, especially this Spring, which saw the most amaizing display of camellias in years.

If you walk around to the front of the McKissick Museum, you will note a large magnolia on the right side of the steps. Years ago...in the late 1960's, a Midnight Raid by Clemson before THE GAME made mincemeat of this tree. They tried to cut it down, but botched the job. One of the gardeners took what was left and nursed it back to health. It now has several trunks, and if you know the magnolia tree, that is very unusual. Everytime I look at it I remember the story in The Gamecock, and how offended the whole campus was.

So what is Mother Nature trying to say! I think it is obvious..."Take note and take care of me, and I will reward you with many lessons that will enrich your lives."

What about Schumann..?

Pianists are lucky when it comes to Robert Schumann, who left us a treasury of immortal works. We are lucky also because we have the challenge and necessity of unraveling the secrets embedded in his music, so as to come up with a sympathetic interpretation. His music is so bound up in his heightened imagination that it is neigh impossible to get near his "truth" without a great deal of reading, both his own writings and particularly works by Jean-Paul Richter, ETA Hoffmann, and various other German writers of his time.

I have long felt that Schumann is more for the pianist than for the general audience. He lacks the immediate charm of Chopin, and the more overt playful quality of Mendelssohn. What he does have, in large doses, is passion. It is a throughly Germanic type passion, that involves both the head and the heart. His tenderness is heart breaking at times, especially in Kreisleriana and the less played Humoresque. There is something always very noble about his melodic writing, made even more complex with the underlying counterpoint. One can just see Robert and Clara spending an evening playing Bach, absorbed in his counterpoint. We have to remember J S Bach was enjoying the great revival set in motion by Mendelssohn, and the impact on the Romantics was enormous.

Pressure must have been a daily double dose for Schumann, what with seven children to provide for. His output is big, even in spite of the detours of depression and illness. Clara certainly had her hands full. How on earth she continued her career with all these children and a demanding husband defies understanding. But, there must have been great love in that marriage. One feels it tremendously in the great Fantasy, Opus 17. Such originality of expression makes it a landmark in his compositions, and nowhere does he reveal himself more than in this work.

In this Bicentenial Year of Chopin and Schumann, perhaps Chopin is getting the greater play. That is understandable in light of Schumann's more complex nature and his more introverted half. But I feel he somehow is better off this way, making those who turn to his music work a little harder at getting to know him.

Schumann reveals his fatherly love in the Kinderszenen and the Album for the Young. What is revealing about both is that, for the greater part, they are not pieces for children at all, but an adults view of a child's world. They do reveal Schumann's great love of children and their imaginative play world...almost the same for him in adulthood, where he succeeds in creating a unique world of imagination, fantasy and passion.

Playing Around South Carolina...January 2010

Sometimes deja-vu takes me by complete surprise. Arriving in Hartsville, South Carolina last Tuesday to perform at Coker College, I suddenly realized it had been almost 30 years since I performed there. Keeping an eye out for the restored Opera House where I dedicated a Steinway all those decades ago, I suddenly found myself staring at a huge new auditorium, part of a new performing arts center on campus. Suddenly I had to adjust my sights upwards, as I had expected a very small venue. Going inside I found a very attractive proscenium stage, with enough equipment to install a traveling Broadway show. Better still, even though the hall looked big, there were actually only 400 seats. Skillful lighting by the technician helped create a more intimate feeling, and I felt very comfortable. This was a free community concert, and a large audience turned out on a beautiful evening...the best one in weeks after record cold in these parts. I kept things informal by introducing each number,and since it was a varied program of both classical and film music, that approach worked very well. There were some surprises along the way. I found they liked some pieces I had worried about programming, and that gave me courage. Trying to scale down a very loud Steinway concert grand was challenging, and especially after I discovered the sound would drop off the scale if I used the soft pedal. So to avoid having a big hole in the dynamics, I kept my foot off of it the whole time.
They loved the first movement of the Schumann "Fantasy" Opus 17. Schumann was apt to write rather big and grand first movements that tend to stand by themselves. A good example is the first movement of his Concerto in A Minor, for piano and orchestra. Several years went by before he added the second and third movements, at the urging of his wife, pianist Clara Schumann. They responded beautifully to this piece, and having the time to tell the story about its composition to the audience was a great plus. I will write furthur about this in my next entry.

Chopin always delights an audience, and I chose wisely with Mazurkas and Preludes. I left the Barcarolle Opus 60 off the program as I felt it was not quite ready yet, and also the program was getting on the long side. But it does need to be there to balance the effect of the Schumann.

I ended up with three popular selections "The Dream of Olwen" by Charles Williams, "All the Things You Are" by Jerome Kern, and the "Warsaw Concerto" by Richard Addinson. These are from my CD "Spellbound", featuring themes from the 1940's. Funny how the films and stage shows these numbers came from were not really successful, but somehow the music caught on. For instance, a friend in London explained that the Warsaw Concerto was featured in a film about a Polish fighter pilot, who fought for the RAF after escaping from Poland. She said the film came just at the end of the Battle for Britain, when the English feared the worst, and morale was very low. The stirring quality of the Warsaw Concerto lifted their spirits, and became a symbol for Victory. I told the audience this story before I played it, and they cheered and stood up at the end of it! That was great, as one doesn't get that very often. Its fun watching faces as you are speaking, and in this instance, I had everyone's attention. I'm all for attention!