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71iqtbpqvfl._ss500_John Ireland      Sarnia: An Island Sequence

John Ireland      The Island Spell

Tchaikovsky      The Seasons Opus 37a

Tom Hicks, piano

At first sight, pairing a twentieth-century British composer with a nineteeth-century Russian romantic seems an unusual combination, but in this debut disc by young British pianist Tom Hicks the music of these two composers sits well together, creating an enjoyable recital disc of music inspired by nature and infused with pastoralism.

The disc opens with ‘Sarnia’, whose first two movements were composed in 1940 while John Ireland was staying on Guernsey, shortly before it was occupied by the Germans. There is a nice connection between music and pianist here as Tom Hicks hails from Guernsey; ‘Sarnia’ is the Roman name for the island. This atmospheric, dramatic and expansive work portrays aspects of the island and Hicks’ sensitive attention to detail and understated bravura brings this music fully to life with colour, spacious expression, pungent sonorities, and a tender poignancy when required.

‘The Island Spell’, inspired by Jersey and the earliest of Ireland’s Channel Islands pieces, is evocative and impressionistic, redolent of Debussy’s perfumed harmonies and filigree traceries (Ireland was described as an “English Impressionist”), its delicate textures rendered with grace and clarity.

Tchaikovsky’s ‘The Seasons’ follow, a suite of 12 miniatures which encapsulate the composer’s distinct style in microcosm. These characterful, contrasting works are the perfect canvas for Hick to paint a full palette of colours and expression, capturing their intimacy and wistfulness, with a keen ear for details and textures.

Overall, an enjoyable and engaging debut recording from this impressive young pianist.

Recommended

 

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What inspired you to take up piano and pursue a career in music?

In an odd way, music itself. I was eleven, still at primary school, when I wanted to explore some extra-curricular interests, something to call my own, and I was drawn to the piano in the corner of the assembly hall that one of the teachers used to play to lead us in songs. In addition, a couple of my close friends took piano lessons, so it felt like a natural course for me to take. I asked my mum if I could start piano lessons at school, but she reluctantly said no, having just been made redundant from her job as a result of the financial crisis.

I decided to get creative, so I drew a keyboard onto some pieces of paper, and I began to follow music theory lessons online; I started cross-referencing the sounds of notes, scales, and chords with the visual patterns on my paper, until I could begin to her those sounds in my head, when I could then pick out some easy pieces. I found the internet was an invaluable resource when it came to understanding how music worked, but it was also my first introduction to classical music. I didn’t come from a musical family at all, and the only classical music I heard was the odd offering from an advert, so when I discovered such a vast selection of music, across Bach, Debussy, and Rachmaninov to name some of my favourites at the time, I resolved then to play those pieces myself; I’m proud that I’ve ticked off a few, but I’m still working my way through the list!

I worked like this on my own for six months, until my mum managed to raise enough money from friends to pay for my first piano lessons at school. I would pass my Grade 1 exam with Distinction after only four hours of tuition, practising at home still on my paper keyboard; the excitement of performing, even if only to the examiner, encouraged me never to look back. I have tried to retain that childlike curiosity and delight as I continue to work through my repertoire now.

What have been the greatest challenges of your career so far?

I came quite late to the piano, so there was a lot of catching up I needed to do if I were to realise my ambitions of a career in performance. I spent the much of my teens scrambling for opportunities to practise on real pianos. I would wake up at 5:30 in the morning to ensure I got to school by 7am, when the gates opened, as the Head of Music there allowed me to practise on the school’s grand piano whenever it was not in use. I would fit in about an hour and a half’s worth of practice in the morning, followed by the total time of another hour of my mid-morning break and lunch, and another long stretch after school, normally until the caretaker kicked me out. I would get home for dinner, but I would rarely get to sleep before 1am, due to work I had to do for both my school commitments and mental practice… and added to all this, I was continually bullied by my father, who refused to support my musical efforts. I don’t think I’ve been pushed quite so physically or mentally since the three years I followed that daily routine.

Who have been the most important influences on your musical life and career?

I have had a news article about Lucas Debargue on my wall for several years, whose story renews my spirits when things get tough. I am grateful for the encouragement and advice of my piano teachers, particularly Soojin Kim, who encouraged me as I first turned my attention towards a career in music, and Charles Owen, my current piano teacher at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, who inspires me every week. I must also thank the Head of Music at my secondary school, Johanna Martin, and William Fong and Mary-Kate Gill at the Purcell School, for all their guidance and support. I am forever thankful, though, for my mum, whose love and belief in me has helped me every step of the way.

Which performance are you most proud of?

I was awarded the opportunity in my second and final year at the Purcell School to perform at the Milton Court Concert Hall at Guildhall, where I performed Berg’s Sonata Op 1. I relished the musical, mental, and emotional challenges of such an incredible piece — I had to learn to look at music in very different ways — and it felt like a culmination of everything I achieved there. I’ve enjoyed more performances of the work since, and I think back to that concert every time I play it.

Which particular works do you think you play best?

I doubt I’ll ever figure that one out, but I’m happy to spend my life trying.

How do you make your repertoire choices from season to season?

I always look for something that will push me towards greater playing; after all, what is a musician without the curiosity to learn? I like to include a mix of repertoire favourites with less familiar works, which I hope leaves the audience with two interesting experiences: hearing the classics in new and different contexts, and discovering music within the wider history of the musical catalogue. I like to incorporate a single unifying thread into my recital programmes too, although I don’t always share exactly what that is!

Do you have a favourite concert venue to perform in and why?

Milton Court, St John’s Smith Square, and the Fazioli Concert Hall in Italy are among my favourites — have you tried those pianos?! I’ve had some really lovely experiences at several other venues, however, simply because the people there were so caring and welcoming, which makes all the difference as the nerves begin to set in.

Who are your favourite musicians?

Aaaah, there are far too many! I’ll have to mention Alfred Brendel, Martha Argerich, Robert Levin, Pierre-Laurent Aimard, Claudio Abbado, Mariss Jansons, Dame Janet Baker, Diana Damrau… I’m afraid this list could go on quite a bit longer!

What is your most memorable concert experience?

I was once asked to play a short recital as part of an outdoor arts festival. I took to the stage, and as I sat down to play Bach, a young boy at the front shouted “Beethoven!”, so I played Beethoven for him instead. I ended up taking requests from the audience for the whole recital as they shouted out the names of different composers after each piece. I never got to play any Bach, but I did get a taste of the ‘rock star’ life, or at least as close as I can expect to get!

As a musician, what is your definition of success?

As a human, to be happy. As a musician, to be human.

What do you consider to be the most important ideas and concepts to impart to aspiring musicians?

Listen, in every sense; I can’t begin to explain how important that is.

I’ve found you can’t just wait to be inspired, rather you need to find inspiration from within, and that comes from the love of music; if you find new ways to love music, you’ll find new ways to be inspired.

Finally, another item from my bedroom wall:

“I was obliged to be industrious. Whoever is equally industrious will succeed equally well…”

— Johann Sebastian Bach

Where would you like to be in 10 years’ time?

If all goes well, at the piano.

What is your most treasured possession?

My Yamaha b1 SG2.

What is your present state of mind?

Excited. Inspired. Happy.

Andrew Garrido began learning the piano at the age of eleven, in 2010; lacking funds to afford lessons or an instrument, he drew a keyboard onto paper and learnt from YouTube for six months before his first piano lesson. He began study with Danielle Salamon upon his entrance to the prestigious Purcell School only five years later in September 2015, where he was awarded the Senior Piano Prize and Senior Academic Music Prize in 2017; Andrew obtained a Licentiate Diploma from Trinity College London (LTCL) that August.

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Andrew Garrido also hosts a podcast series Scores and More

 

 

(Photo Paul Cochrane)

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Guest post by Daniel Leech-Wilkinson

Remember how, almost as soon as the Second World War ended, Britain passed on Churchill and elected a Labour government that created the National Health Service? We’re not at war, whatever governments like to say. But it’s possible that we may come out of this coronavirus crisis with a changed sense of what really matters.

Musicians—venues closed, audiences staying home—are responding with generosity and humanity, playing online from home for anyone who wants to listen. This is a wonderful thing. We seem to be rediscovering music-making as something you do in homes, for friends, intimately, in performances that don’t have to be completely perfect and whose value lies in their spontaneity and intensity: they communicate, they comfort; their kindness is part of their artistry, their conviction, in fact their truth. These are not shows, they are offers; and they are the more valued for that.

In these exchanges, musicians and listeners are meeting directly, through their own arrangements; unmediated by managers, planners, venues, fixers; undistracted and unmonitored by critics. The longer this lasts the more thought will be put into the way pieces may be played when such constraining figures are absent. The chance to try a score differently, to see what happens if…: these may begin to foster enough creativity to make this hiatus something more than just a weird interruption in the status quo. Yes, we want venues to open, we want the audiences coming to them, we really need that income; but will we want to go all the way back to artistic business as usual?

How can we retain these values—intimacy, generosity, direct communication, the exchange of fresh ideas and sympathetic attention—how can we retain them in concert life? Let’s have a conversation about it now, while we have the chance. What do we really wish professional musical life to be like?

Let’s talk. We won’t all agree (let’s hope not). But to get us started I suggest three desiderata. More time to work together in preparing performances. Fewer pressures constraining how we make music from scores. More direct communication with listeners.

For the last of these, we’re learning every day at the moment the value of being in direct touch. Wouldn’t it be great to have more concerts planned and publicised online, held in less formal venues, announced at shorter notice?

The first and the second—more preparation, fewer pressures to conform—are bound together. There are so many other ways of getting these scores to work, and more time allows us to discover them. The rewards of making great music in persuasive performances that have never been heard before are intense: real joy in performing once more. It’s just not true that there is broadly one perfect performance, the one that everyone is trying and failing to give, the way the piece is ‘supposed’ to go. That’s the myth that holds us in thrall to teachers, managers, recording companies, producers, critics. ‘I know what the composer wants’ (note the self-serving present tense). ‘Play it as I tell you if you want work.’ That’s what we have to refuse when all this is over.

I’ve made a detailed online case for this, aimed at young professional performers. It’s free at challengingperformance.com/the-book if you want to think about these questions further. Or we can start with a conversation. But let’s use this time really well so that, when it’s past, we don’t make do with business as usual.

Daniel Leech-Wilkinson is a musicologist, and Emeritus Professor of Music at King’s College, London

Twitter @danleechw @ChalPerformance

challengingperformance.com

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The coronavirus is forcing us to practice social distancing and self-isolation. As I joked on Twitter the other day, musicians, and especially pianists, have been self-isolating for years!

The pianist’s life is, by necessity, lonely. One of the main reasons pianists spend so much time alone is that we must practise more than other musicians because we have many more notes and symbols to decode, learn and upkeep. This prolonged solitary process may eventually result in a public performance, at which we exchange the loneliness of the practise room for the solitude of the concert platform.

However, despite the need for frequent sequestration to get the work done, regular interaction with colleagues and students alleviates the loneliness and reminds us of the life beyond the keyboard and the importance of forging musical partnerships, professionally and socially. And in concert-giving, there is also the important connection and interaction with audiences.

With coronavirus sweeping the world, the concert halls and conservatoires are closed and we are being told to exercise social distancing and self-isolation to protect ourselves and our families and friends from this virus. Around my social networks in the days since the UK government ordered that we “stay at home”, many of my musician friends and colleagues have been posting details of how they intended to cope with this new way of making and sharing music. Some are excited about the prospect of weeks, maybe months, of enforced isolation as an opportunity to learn new repertoire, ready for when the concert halls and venues reopen and the music can be shared with live audiences once more. Others are exploring ways to give concerts online via platforms like YouTube. Unfortunately, neither of these activities make money and the sad truth of the musician’s working life is that it is very fragile. Most musicians are self-employed and many live almost hand-to-mouth, meagre concert fees (only the most internally-renowned musicians can command large fees) often supplemented by teaching which offers regular income.

Without concert bookings, many musicians feel marooned as the main focus of their daily lives is removed in one fell swoop. It’s all very well saying you’re going to learn the Saint-Saens Piano Concerto or the complete Liszt Transcendental Etudes, but without concert bookings it’s very hard to feel motivated.

“You’ve got more time to practice now!” people outside the profession might declare, and while this may be true, it’s not very helpful as musicians face the prospect of months without work, no fees, and the attendant anxiety which this brings.

For the amateur musician, by contrast, this is a time for extra, guilt-free practising; but for the professional musician it is rather more problematic. “I’ve really only dabbled at the keyboard” wrote one of my clients, a concert pianist, in an email a couple of days ago. The week before all this kicked off, he and I were discussing the next round of promotion for his concerts, which will, in all probability, be cancelled. And without concerts, the professional musician loses a significant motivation to keep working.

I think it’s important to exercise some self-care and not feel guilty about not working (by which I mean practising) as much during these strange, surreal and uncertain days, and especially not to compare oneself to others who may be busy with livesteam concerts, videocasting and daily broadcasts of Bach…. This time may serve to remind musicians how their lives are often lived at full tilt, and so perhaps this is an opportunity to slow down, pause and reflect?

In the meantime, stay safe and well.

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