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Guest post by Howard Smith

Edward Gregson (b.1945), is an English composer of instrumental and choral music, particularly for brass and wind ensembles, as well as music for the theatre, film, and television. He was principal of the Royal Northern College of Music and studied piano with Alan Bush at the Royal Academy, winning several prizes for composition. Gregson retired from academic life in 2008 to concentrate on composition. He continues to sit on a number of Boards relating to music education. He is a fellow at the RNCM, as well as at the Royal Academy of Music and the Royal College of Music. A major retrospective of his music was held in Manchester in 2002. 

Gregson’s Complete Music for Solo Piano has recently been recorded by Murray McLachlan on the NAXOS label. It includes the composer’s Album For My Friends (2011), Three Etudes (2020) , Four Pictures for piano duet (1982), Six Little Pieces (1982, rev. 1993) and the remarkable Piano Sonata in one movement (1983). Hidden among these works lies the utterly bewitching Friday a.m.

EMOTIONAL IMPACT 

How to describe a piece of music? Written in 1981, Gregson states that Friday a.m. was his response to the ‘emotional impact’ of listening to the Adagietto from Mahler’s 5th Symphony. Indeed, Gregson does borrow from the first few notes of that glorious melody but thereafter heads in an entirely different direction. Murray McLachlan has described this as a ‘gradual metamorphosis into a lighter style, reminiscent of jazz, as though moving from a philharmonic hall in central Europe to a Manhattan Jazz club around 2am, when everything is subdued and transient.’ It’s a wonderful allusion. But there is nothing subdued about many of the passages of this music. Mahlerian it is. Lounge Jazz it is not, although as I will show, the music pays homage to many Jazz idioms. And does so with great subtlety; without the slightest trace of irony or pastiche. 

Having fallen in love with the piece on CD, I never expected to hear a live performance. Imagine how surprised and delighted I was that Murray McLachlan included it in his recital at the 2021 Chetham’s International Piano Summer School. His performance cemented my obsession with the music. Most striking, McLachlan’s ‘poco a poco stringendo’ starting at bar 39 as the music builds to the ‘ma appassionato’ in bar 48 was electrifying. I was hooked. I promptly placed the piece on my ‘must play’ list, even though the music lies beyond my current ‘grade’ when played to the max. 

THE MUSIC AND ITS HARMONY

Friday a.m. comes in at roughly six and half minutes of delicious harmony and melody. Primarily in the key of G, in common time, there are several contrasting sections. Each, however, reuses idioms, arpeggios and motifs that pervade the music from beginning to end. 

We know this is ‘about’ Jazz, but is not Jazz, from the outset. Gregson outlines in 3rds the chords C major 7 in bar 1, C major 9 in bar 2 and C major 11 in bar 3. Core Jazz colours. This then slides, via a G Minor+Major 7 chord (over Eb)  to A minor 9 (over 11), to rest on a C Lydian arpeggio (sharp 4, F#) in bar 6: n effect, D7 / C (4th inversion). This concludes (molto rit.) what I call the PRELUDE to Friday a.m., which later becomes an emotional REFRAIN at bar 57 over an expanded harmony. Clever. 

We leave bar 6 via the simple device of three ascending notes, D, E, F# sitting over an equally simple interval of a second, C+D, in the LH. The Dominant of G leads to our home key, G and the melody is laid out before us, recalling the Mahler theme. Gregson’s development of the theme takes us firmly into the realm of filmic music. There is great romance here. The harmony progresses as expected, from G, to C, to B-7, A minor, to G major 9. Here, and elsewhere, Gregson layers in Jazz colours. C is C6. A minor is the minor 11th. G major is G major 9. In each arpeggio, Gregson emphasises Jazz colours. But this is most definitely not the Blues. The only ‘blue note’ occurs in bar 30. And we never see a raw Blues progression. No root G7 here.  

Throughout the music, harmonies are laid out using arpeggios in the LH, semi-quavers. They twist and turn, sometimes rising, then falling, sometimes alternating direction. During my practice I found it hard to memorise the many variations. Fortunately they are repeated among the various passages. For example, bar 49, 50 and 51 LH is a ditto of bars 8, 9 and 10. But be careful, Gregson introduces twists, for example, in bar 53, the single notes used in bar 12 LH become parallel 3rds. 

STRUCTURE AND FORM

To the casual listener there are six major sections to the music. They do not correspond to any ‘standard’ form I know. 

The PRELUDE leads to the MAIN THEME. The theme is then RE-STATED (8va), after which there is a section dominated by 4-note (7th) chords in both hands. Let’s call it the CHORDAL ‘middle section’. This is followed by a DEVELOPMENT of the main theme, littered in the LH now by the ever increasing tempo of demi-semi-quavers and the effect of an ascending bass pedal point: A, Bb, C, D, Eb, F, G. From here the piece explodes into what I call a CADENZA, although classical musicians would likely not use this term. The MAIN THEME is then repeated ‘ma appassionato’ in fortissimo. Each melody note in the original RH is now explosively stated using four-note chords, after which the piece subsides to its original dynamics of mezzo-forte and finally to mezzo-piano during which we hear the REFRAIN of the opening motif … C major 7, C major 9 and C major 11. 

The piece ENDS as it began, resting (molto rit.) on that Lydian arpeggio (D7 / C), resolving to G. Gregson then asks us to play ‘Slower’ (bar 63) as he outlines G major 7 and G13, to rest finally on an A minor note cluster with added 4th, D. And as if this were not enough to stamp ‘Jazz’ on the music, Gregson adds, after a pause mark (bar 64), a final pp chord outline: a low G, followed by B, A, E and D. Each note is marked tenuto (deliberate emphasis) until the last D. The dominant. Yes, the G69 chord. It hangs in the air; as if smoke in a room. Friday a.m, as in McLachlan’s Manhattan.

IDIOMATICS

Note clusters are used at various points in the music, another Jazz idiom. For example in bar 9 we have G,A,C,D and E immediately followed by F#. Where such clusters occur the colours ring out as if to further emphasise the love Gregson clearly has for Jazz harmonies. As do I. 

Throughout the music, and often on the 4th beat of the bar, Gregson revels in 2 against 3, 3 against 2, 3 against 4 and 4 against 3 rhythms. I initially found these polyrhythms challenging, especially as the composer has a habit of holding over notes from the previous beat to the first of the triplets; for example in bars 11 and 12 and 18. Just to add insult to injury, Gregson also asks for a dotted rhythm in the LH against a triplet in the RH in bar 18. Tricky for me. 

CHALLENGES IN PERFORMANCE

There are many challenges in playing this music. I judge it to be Grade 8 +, possibly a first diploma level piece? All I know is that the music presented challenges I had not encountered before. Of these, the rapid LH passages, escalating over bars 37 to 44, tested my weak LH. Also the eight-note chords, split between two hands, in bars 26 to 36; some tricky harmony here. And last but not least, the ‘cadenza’ bars 44 to 48, yielding to the climax of the restatement of the main theme in RH chords. I was not familiar with how to play such an emphatic fortissimo, and do so without any harshness. The grandeur of the piece from bar 44 onward is hard to pull off. All dynamics are relative, I realise, but I find it hard to control the volume through the ‘stringendo’ section that precedes the climax. (And generally, there is a need to control dynamics from the outset, keeping the LH ‘mp’ as the motifs and themes are laid out one by one.)

Since I mentioned the LH, my teacher warned me about a “too literal statement of these semi-quaver groups”, what she described as a “childish rendition”. I think Gregson anticipated this with his instruction in bar 7: ‘a tempo (ma con rubato)’.  Yes, but as the music builds there is no chance for rubato and the notes in the LH arpeggios are integral to the harmony. Unless laid out somewhat ‘robotically’ the tension notes (Jazz) are less clear than they need be, I feel. I want to ‘hear’ those carefully placed 7ths, 9ths, 11ths and 13ths. 

Pedalling is always a struggle for me. Fortunately, here it mostly consists of ‘down’ at the start of a bar and ‘up’ at the end, or before the 4th beat. The harmonies are rich and overlaid. And yet this can be too much as the dynamics build. Half pedalling may be needed. 

People use the term ‘colour’ variously. Whatever it means, there are clear points in the music where a shift of ‘colour’ or ‘tone’ is essential. The transition from bar 3 to bar 4 is one such example. The G major harmony shifts to Eb major, the minor 6th of a G minor scale. New colours are also required in bars 10, 15 and 17 and in later bars where similar harmony is used. 

CINEMATICS AND THE ADDED 4TH

I mentioned film music at the outset, and there are many ‘cinematic’ moments in Friday a.m. The most startling begins in bar 20. The melody is re-stated in a high register at 8va. The LH similarly moves to the treble clef and uses simple broken chords to outline the harmony. The effect is delicate, ethereal. As this passage dies away, we hear a suspended fourth pattern on the dominant; D sus 4. No third, Jazz style. This pattern is important later in the ‘cadenza’. The chord is D,G,A,D over three octaves, 11 demi-semi quavers in the time of one beat, repeated twice (bar 45 and 46) and punctuated by a trio of chords in both hands: first inversion of C6, D sus4, root C6. To create dramatic effect the chords are first expressed as a triplet, and then as even quavers. The pattern then leads to a bass descent starting on E. As the bass thunders out huge D octaves, we are led inevitably to a tumultuous D dominant 7th (bar 47) before the return to the main melody. Fortissimo. Friday a.m has reached its cinematic climax. 

In fact, the ‘modern’ sound of the suspended or ‘added’ fourth is sprinkled into many other places in the music, on minor chords. Bar 9 (and similarly in bar 50) is an example. Here, the chord is D minor 7 sus 4, a Jazz chord if ever there was one. 

MORE HARMONY

No analysis of Friday a.m. would be complete without attempting to describe the enigmatic ‘chordal’ MIDDLE SECTION, which begins on the fourth beat of bar 26. Spread between the two hands, eight-note chords lay out a rich harmonic landscape mezzo forte, as if heard indistinctly from afar. The impression is as if one were a passer-by, overhearing the music from the street, only dimly aware of rich music being played inside. 

Gregson uses three devices to achieve the indistinct effect. First, the chords are thick. Second, the use of triplets blur; despite any judicious use of the pedal. Third, as each harmonic statement is made, the LH descends to the far bass, outlining the harmony once again. Then two notes are struck as octaves in the RH, 8va. It’s a call and response motif (in bar 27 and again in bar 30). And it is here that the only ‘blue note’ is used, C#, the augmented fourth (tritone) in G. I may be being fanciful here, but I cannot escape the conclusion that the composer deliberately chose to place this solitary note solely for the passer-by in the street. Was Gregson saying: “if you had any doubt, this is Jazz”. It’s a wonderful illusion when set against the richly painted harmonies? And was the intermittent use of triple time in bars 28, 31, 32, 34 and 35 an attempt to paint this passage, the closest to Jazz in the work, in 7/4 time? It’s the only passage in which Gregson deviates from common time. 

The first (of four) harmonic ‘utterances’  are the chords A minor 9, B minor 7, C6, B minor 7. The voicings are achieved by using a root position chord in the LH and a first inversion chord in the RH. For example, to achieve a full A minor 9, use root A minor 7 in the LH and root C major 7 in the RH. Yes, that means both the 3rd and the 5th are doubled. Rules are there to be broken. Similar approach is taken to three more statements of harmony, taking us further into distinctly jazzy territory. In bar 29 we encounter C dominant 7 #9. In bar 31 we have F# minor 9 +11. And in bar 34 the thickness is increased once again. F# major 7 in the LH with Db major 7 in the RH.  It’s heady stuff but never a cliché. 

FINAL THOUGHTS

To play this music without care is relatively easy. To play this music as the score demands, amplifying the effect of each idiom used, is difficult. To explode through the cadenza (held back) and into the appassionato, and then to subside to the refrain of the opening motif, releasing the emotion, is a challenge for this adult returner. It demands a measured control of the ever-decreasing tempo and languid dynamics over the last eleven bars, all the way to the final notes of the spread G69 chord, each seemingly picked out of nowhere, as if the imaginary Jazz pianist is doodling, unaware that anyone is listening. Friday a.m.

Buy the score of Friday a.m https://www.wisemusicclassical.com/work/61304/Friday-am–Edward-Gregson/

Howard Smith is a keen amateur pianist and the author of Note For Note: Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered. https://linktr.ee/note4notethebook 

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Are you an advanced pianist wanting to move through performance nerves in a safe, supportive group? Do you want play with greater physical freedom and practise more efficiently with an empathetic and experienced teacher? If so, you may enjoy an Oxford Piano Weekend. There are some places left for Friday June 23rd – Sunday June 25th 2023 and Friday October 6th – Sunday October 8th 2023. For more details and to book, go to: https://www.charlottetomlinson.com/oxford-piano-weekends

Pianist and teacher Charlotte Tomlinson introduces her Oxford Piano Weekends:

In these last rather strange couple of years of isolation and restrictions, it feels as if music and performing has become more important than ever. The desire to learn in person along with other musicians has also taken on an extra special meaning.

Pre-2020, I had spent many years in my roles as piano teacher and performance coach, giving presentations and masterclasses for conservatoires, universities, festivals and orchestras around the world, but when the cancellations started as they did for so many musicians, I found myself thinking about what I could offer from home. After all, we were all so used to working from home. At the same time, I had a number of requests from piano students for me to run my own course.

I have been teaching and coaching one-to-one in my own studio at the bottom of the garden with its lovely Steinway for around thirteen years and had already run some one-day workshops there. And from 2000-2008, I ran my own chamber music course at the Purcell School. But it was these requests from pianists that got me thinking: could I run a piano weekend from my own house and studio? I realised that I did have the space for a small group both in my kitchen and studio, and that perhaps there might be a gap in the piano course market for a weekend of teaching in a small, supportive group within a home environment.

“Many thanks for all your warmth and total acceptance of where we’re all at. Your ‘can do’ approach is so positive and encouraging. You have the ability to ‘see’ the individual.”

So, in January 2022, Oxford Piano Weekends was officially born. The first weekend was intense, fun and stimulating. There were seven pianists and the eclectic mix of scientists, medics, writers and sport coaches along with professional pianists, made for dynamic masterclasses and some wonderful discussions at mealtimes.

“The weekend works on so many levels, musically and socially, and I thoroughly recommend it. It is so encouraging to spend time with other people who are both talented and supportive.”

Providing fresh homemade, nutritious and tasty food (with free-flowing wine in the evenings!) is important to me. I want everyone to feel nourished and refreshed for the learning part of the weekend.

“The food was excellent – all thought through and prepared with care and love!”

It was such a delight to have my house and studio full of people, that after it had all finished, I wondered why I had never thought about running this type of course before. I am now planning a number of weekends and booking has already started for the next two.

Next weekends:

April 22nd-24th 2022

July 1st-3rd 2022

For further details and to book: www.oxfordpianoweekends.com

Charlotte Tomlinson is an internationally renowned pianist, piano teacher and Performance Coach. She taught piano at the Purcell School for eleven years, the University of Hong Kong and HK Academy for Performing Arts and has worked with pianists in masterclasses at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, Royal Birmingham Conservatoire and International Piano Academy, Konz, Germany among others. She has a thriving piano teaching practice in Oxford where she teaches students from the University of Oxford, post-graduates from the London music colleges along with international piano students who come to Oxford to study with her. She gave a presentation on the Psychology of Performance and Competition at the Leeds International Piano Competition 2018 and has been invited to work with laureates of the Sydney International Piano Competition.

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Frances Wilson AKA The Cross-Eyed Pianist talks to the Things Musicians Don’t Talk About, “an online platform and a couple of musicians who have had enough with the silence surrounding topics that affect all of us“.

Listen here:

Do take a look at the Things Musicians Don’t Talk About site

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Long read guest post by Dr Michael Low, in part in response to this article by Zach Manzi

For as long as I can remember, Classical music has touched me in a way no other musical genre was able to. This, coupled with my love for playing the piano, made it inevitable that I would dedicate my life to these two overlapping fields.

‘Musicians must be the luckiest people alive!’ I recall saying to my father as a wide-eyed teenager, ‘They travel the world and play beautiful music. Imagine the joy of sharing something that is so personal to you with thousands and thousands of people; I want to be a musician one day.’ My father was an amateur French horn player who went into finance and business to support his family, but, despite his career change, he never lost his love for music, and was supportive of my decision to dedicate my life to music.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said of everyone to whom I pitched my dream career, though hindsight shows that rejection and setbacks are just part of the journey in all walks of life. One extended family member was dismissive of my career choice and told me that I would end up ‘cleaning tables in restaurants for money’ (a derogatory statement itself aimed at those in the hospitality industry). Needless to say, I have not seen or been in touch with this particular person since I left England for South Africa.

My piano teacher at the time, Richard Frostick, also expressed his reservations about my choice of career. Richard told me that the views expressed by this particular member of my extended family were done out of care rather than cruelty, and that a reality check was needed on my part. However, it was the words of Graham Fitch, my teacher during my studies at London’s Centre for Young Musicians, that gave me the greatest hope: ‘If this is your dream, then I would like to believe that anything is possible.’ Graham warned that the competitive nature of Classical music grows in inverse relation to the ever-decreasing career opportunities, but added, ‘there will always be a place for someone who is talented and works hard.’

Because I was a late starter, a lot of catching up was needed on a technical and musical level. And I was willing to forsake my academic subjects for the purpose of pianistic and musical developments. Unfortunately, in my desire to be ‘on par’ with my pianistic contemporaries, many short cuts were taken and numerous corners slashed. I hadn’t taken time to learn the true value of rhythmic discipline and develop my sense of internal rhythm, which meant that everything was very approximate (in other words, I would play what I thought the music should be, as opposed to what is actually written). But I got away with it (at least for the time being) thanks to my musical temperament, as well as the uncanny Chinese ability to (more or less) replicate my favourite recordings. It was not until a few years later when I read Artur Rubenstein’s biography that I understood the following quote: ‘To Hell with the Germans and their exact fingers! TEMPERAMENT!!!’).

Failed auditions and disappointing performances mark every musician’s journey, but I kept my eyes firmly on the prize. The summer of 1996 was to be a watershed moment. I met an eminent piano professor at a summer school who expressed an interest in my playing. He openly told everyone during a masterclass that I had ‘a marvellous musical temperament, but very little else.’ At the same time he assured me that when all the aspects of my playing had developed, that I will be ‘some’ player. I was encouraged by these words and further lessons were arranged. Sadly, our last meeting was not a positive one. He reduced me to tears by laughing and ridiculing my playing. A few years ago I found out that the same professor has passed on. I sometimes wondered what he would make of my playing if he were to hear me now.

My university years proved to be some of the most productive in my life. I threw myself into learning some of the most challenging piano repertoire and listening to many of the 20th century’s greatest pianists. What is so special about their playing? What is their ‘X factor’? These were some of the questions that I often asked myself when I was in the listening library. Unfortunately, many of my contemporaries didn’t understand my obsession. One of them called me ‘a sad f**k’ when we crossed paths for the second day in a row. A final year student asked me, ‘Why do you insist on learning all these difficult pieces when you will never get the opportunity to perform them?’ I responded with just a smile, as I didn’t want to come across as rude, always reminding myself that I could spend the rest of my musical life ‘polishing,’ but the structural labour on the musical sculptures had to be done right now.

I was proud that all my efforts were not in vain, and there was validation amongst my lecturers and peers in regards to my hard work. One of the highlights of my student years was making my concerto debut performing Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto. But all of this came at a cost: one of my closest friends wrote me a letter when she was going through a particular difficult period during her final year, asking, ‘Where were you when I most needed you, Michael?’ I replied with, ‘I am sad to say that I was nowhere’. I was willing to sacrifice everything for an ideal while neglecting the more important aspects of life, such as the relationship between friends. I consoled myself with the excuse that some of the most creative personalities have never been ‘people’s people’, and how wrong was I? It was only years later that I came to the realisation that piano playing has always been a reflection of life, whereas life has never been just about playing the piano.

In spite of my enormous desire to make huge musical and pianistic strides, my playing was riddled with idiosyncrasies and plagued with physical tension. In hindsight, I can only thank my lucky stars that I didn’t pick up some form of physical injury, especially when I was practising up to six hours daily. I was told that I had ‘massive technical problems,’ but the reality was that my lack of rhythmic discipline and internal pulse finally caught up with me. The big musical structures of works such as Liszt’s ballades and Beethoven’s sonatas fragmented into intimate miniatures, and there was little awareness of the longer melodic line especially in the musical direction of the composition. ‘Moments of brilliance are often followed by moments of incompetence,’ was one lecturer’s assessment of my playing. I was also a ‘nightmare’ student to mark, according to the hierarchy, because I was so inconsistent. Though my lecturers may have had a point, one part of me didn’t take their criticism too seriously as another part of me strongly felt that their words had more to do with my inability to negotiate departmental politics. I reassured myself with the thought that the musicians who made the greatest impression on me were often some of the most controversial. Who on earth wants to play a mediocre 75 per cent in a performance anyway? At least I could hit the 90s, even though at times I was wide of the mark. ‘Just keep going and one day everything will fall into place,’ I told myself.

VIDEO (Michael Low plays Beethoven/Alkan)

South Africa gave me a chance to press the reset button, but the stakes were too high. I told myself that being an international scholarship student meant that I had to be close to ‘perfect’ every time I performed, when this was far from the truth. I yielded to my musical neurosis by spending hours on end polishing my repertoire when I should have taken advantage of the considerable performing opportunities available. And because I raised the performance bar to near impossibility, it only meant that I had that much further to fall when things didn’t go as planned. Every time I walked off stage, I was haunted by wrong notes, memory lapses as well as other interpretive discrepancies. That is not to say that there weren’t moments where I made an impression, but the consistency that I so desperately craved never materialised, and it often felt like the harder I worked, the further away I was straying from my musical goal. ‘If it doesn’t happen for you now, maybe you have to accept the fact that it will never happen,’ was one professor’s assessment of my progress. Another told me that while he found my playing ‘very sensitive and very musical,’  he also wondered if I had what it takes to ‘stomach my nerves.’ The same person also assured me that, ‘There is no shame in this, I know a lot of wonderful musicians who cannot quite make things happen on stage.’ These words may sound harsh, but they were nothing like the brutal assessment given by a visiting professor, who told me, ‘Sort out your rhythm, or stop playing the piano entirely.’ I was desolate because I knew that was the truth. I looked on as my musical peers gained scholarships to study with some of the industry’s most prolific performers in Europe and America. Although I feel a sense of happiness and pride for them, I now knew the inevitable: I would never have a career as a concert pianist.

When I started teaching in my late twenties, I was determined that none of my students would be as rhythmically undisciplined as I was. Hence, I started formulating my own teaching method and in doing so found some form of closure with regard to my inability to become a performer. The fabled stories of Adele Marcus and some of the 20th century’s greatest pedagogues gave me hope: ‘The greatest performers don’t necessarily make the greatest teachers,’ I said to myself. I was determined to be the best educator I could be. Even though I still perform in the occasional soirees and private functions, the fire within me that longs for the stage no longer burns with the same intensity. I then found Christianity, which affirmed my ability as a mere mortal. ‘There are those who are chosen by God to be performers,’ I recall saying to a colleague, ‘and then there are people like myself who chose to do music as a career, and that is the difference.’ The elders in my congregation praised me for my insightfulness, while my Christian friends commended me for entrusting my life in the hands of the Almighty. ‘Everything seems to make sense now’, I said to myself. Little was I to know that in the years to come, the one person who would challenge both my spiritual and musical beliefs turned out to become the most important person of my life.

Piano and Classical music took a further ‘back seat’ when I fell in love with the game of golf. I saw a lot of parallels between this strange yet beautiful game and playing the piano. I traded the practice room for the driving range, and I signed up to become a member of one of South Africa’s top golf clubs. For the next three years I learned only one piece of piano music – Scott Joplin’s Bethena Waltz – which haunted me for weeks after I watch David Fincher’s movie adaptation of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Any spare time I had was spent forging a repeatable golf swing or inputting musical scores into Sibelius as I looked to finish my PhD in Music. Playing the piano was now a distant memory, and the truth is that I had not given myself a timeline as to when I would reconnect with my black and white friend again.

In Part 2, Michael Low describes how he reconnected with the piano.

As a teenager, Michael Low studied piano under the guidance of Richard Frostick before enrolling in London’s prestigious Centre for Young Musicians, where he studied composition with the English composer Julian Grant, and piano with the internationally acclaimed pedagogue Graham Fitch. During his studies at Surrey University in England, Michael made his debut playing Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto in the 1999 Guildford International Music Festival, before graduating with Honours under the tutelage of Clive Williamson. In 2000, Michael obtained his Masters in Music (also from Surrey University), specialising in music criticism, studio production and solo performance under Nils Franke.

An international scholarship brought Michael to the University of Cape Town, where he resumed his studies with Graham Fitch. During this time, Michael was invited to perform Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto for The Penang Governer’s Birthday Celebration Gala Concert. In 2009, Michael obtained his Doctorate in Music from the University of Cape Town under the supervision of South Africa greatest living composer, Hendrik Hofmeyr. His thesis set out to explore the Influence of Romanticism on the Evolution of Liszt’s Transcendental Etudes.

In 2013, Michael started a project in Singapore collaborating with The Kawai School Elite in a series of masterclasses and workshops for teachers and students. Having grown up in the East and lived his life in the West, Michael believes that both cultures has much to offer and envisage an exchange between Singapore and Cape Town in the future.

Michael is also the co-founder of the Elvira Ensemble – a Classical Chamber Orchestra specialising in the Piano Concertos of Mozart and Beethoven as well as Soundtracks from Blockbuster Hollywood Movies. The Ensemble have given performances at several high-profile events such as the wedding of Justin Snaith, South Africa’s leading race-horse trainer. In January 2020, the ensemble was engaged to perform at the wedding of the former Miss Universe and Miss South Africa, Miss Demi-Leigh Nel Peters.

Michael has also worked with numerous eminent teachers and pianists, including Nina Svetlanova, Niel Immelman, Frank Heneghan, James Gibb, Phillip Fowke, Renna Kellaway, Carolina Oltsmann, Florian Uhlig, Gordon Fergus Thompson, Francois du Toit and Helena van Heerden.

Michael currently holds teaching positions in two of Cape Town’s exclusive education centres: Western Province Preparatory School and Herschel School for Girls. He is very much sought after as a passionate educator of young children.

Michael has also served as a jury member in the 2nd WPTA Singapore International Piano Competition in 2020. He has been engaged for a series of talks and masterclasses with the WPTA Indonesia in September of 2021.

Michael Low’s website

Video credits:

Director: Bill Chen https://vimeo.com/billagechen

Sound Engineer: Liam Pitcher https//www.liampitcher.com