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Guest review by Ruth Livesey

Jia Ning Ng, Biggar Music, Club 5th October 2023

BEETHOVEN: Piano Sonata No.17 in D minor, “Tempest”Op. 31 No. 2

ROBERT SCHUMANN: Bunte Blätter Op. 99

SCHUBERT: Piano Sonata in B-flat major, D960

Jia Ning, a young pianist from Singapore, studied at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. She graduated top of her class in 2022 and was awarded her Artist Diploma, having previously gained her Master of Music (Piano Performance) and Bachelor of Music with First Class Honours. She also won several awards and competitions, including the RCOS concerto competition, allowing her to make her debut with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra. In addition to embarking on her solo career, Jia Ning regularly collaborates with other musicians as a keen chamber musician and is also a staff accompanist at the Conservatoire in Glasgow. Her recital at Biggar Music Club formed part of an RCS Governor’s recital tour, including performances in Peebles, Kelso and Falkirk, and forthcoming concerts in Inverness and at Strathearn Music Society in November.

Her performance was keenly anticipated in Biggar, after she received a standing ovation in Peebles, and deservedly so; her performance of the same programme here, tackling some very profound works, showed immense maturity, poise and mastery. Right from the sorrowful Largo opening phrase of the first movement of Beethoven’s Sonata in D minor, Op.31 No. 2 (Tempest), she captivated the audience, who didn’t move a millimetre from the beginning to the end of the concert. Indeed, it was one of those rare openings to a recital where it was apparent from the first few notes that it was going to be something very special.

One of several notable aspects of Jia Ning’s playing, which immediately stood out in this first motif, was the quality of her tone production – a feature that was evident and a highlight throughout the whole recital, in the vast spectrum of soundworlds called for – as she created a mysterious atmosphere, with such a gentle, but clear touch. This immediately gave way to the dramatic, agitated contrasting material that followed. The frequent alternation of the stormy and peaceful sections was well managed and varied throughout this movement. Passages where a lighter, more articulated touch was called for were wonderfully nuanced, with an interplay between melodic and harmonic lines in impressive balance at other times, such as at the end of the exposition. There was an other-worldly quality to the recitative-like section, a solo right hand line over an arpeggiated pedal, often attributed to Beethoven’s own words, but according to Dr Barry Cooper perhaps erroneously so, as being, “like a voice from the tomb.”

In the noble, hymn-like, ravishing slow movement, the audience remained entranced and completely silent, as Jia Ning achieved a splendid purity of tone in her long cantabile melodic lines, which unfolded organically, allowing the music to speak for itself. The triplet drum-like figures in the accompaniment, alternating in register, towards the end of the first subject were played with admirable articulation and an extraordinary, shimmering delicacy. Chords were voiced exquisitely throughout, with so many tangible layers to her sound, even just in this movement. The graceful sweep of the left hand demisemiquaver descending accompaniment in the recapitulation, was stunningly beautiful and elegant, creating one of many memorable moments in this introspective and sometimes poignant movement. Moreover, it was also obvious throughout the evening that Jia Ning possesses an intelligent attention to detail and faithfulness to the score in all aspects of her playing, yet her interpretations were never predictable.

We were always left with an impression of spontaneity and a feeling of discovery, with Jia Ning finding numerous special moments and delightful details, in order to portray her evocative exploration of many different emotions. In the final movement, she presented us witha contrast between lyrical lines and the stormier material, where there were bold torrents of sound. There was tension in the climaxes and a spine-tingling control in the quietest of passages. We were treated to a full range of expression to end this turbulent Sonata. It was a magnificent start to the recital, leaving a wonderful first impression of her astonishing pianism and ability to communicate meaning.

To end the first half, Jia Ning turned to Schumann and his uncommonly heard Bunte Blätter, Op. 99 (which translates as ‘Colourful Leaves’). She presented the first 10 of the 14 miniatures in the set, and each was expertly characterised with a vast array sentiments and moods, that often shifted abruptly. The opening to the first was extremely tender and moving, yet with a joyful simplicity and perfectly judged flexibility in the rubato. It was a splendid introduction to the rich and vivid world of Schumann. There was a meticulous approach, with every phrase precisely contoured, yet her playing always unfolded naturally and was never forced. The playfulness and liveliness achieved in the Novelette was particularly enchanting. An energetic conclusion in the Präludium brought this remarkable first half to an end and, for a while, the audience sat quite stunned, taking in what they had just heard before turning to each other with smiles and praise.

The second half was entirely given to Schubert’s monumental Sonata No. 21 in B flat, D960. This was his final sonata, written in a frenzy of activity during the last months of his life, a time wracked with poverty and ill-health before his premature demise. It is cast in four expansive movements, classical in overall structure, but romantic features are evident, such as the cyclic material unifying the movements, and also the harmonic language. It was pleasing to hear the exposition repeats in the long opening movement. Jia Ning explained that she had included them so as not to miss out important motivic details. The movement is notable for its mercurial shifts in harmony, colour and thematic material, which were handled with a staggering intensity and artistry, as we were drawn into the gentle drama that unfolded. The opening of the development section, in the remote key of C-sharp minor, was played with a celestial beauty and, as it progressed, contrasting motifs gave way to the climax of the development which was imbued with real pathos and serenity. At other moments, warmth radiated from long flowing lines over well-balanced and muted bass figurations. The dynamic and emotional range throughout the movement was boundless.

From the outset, we were drawn right into the reflective, sombre and sometimes tragic second movement. At times the playing was barely audible, yet with an ethereal clarity of sound that still reached the back of the hall. This considerable dynamic control was effortless and there to serve the music, with its spiritual inclination. The rich textures of the middle section signalled yet another shift in temperament. The change of timbre towards the end of the movement for the move to C major was hauntingly sublime.

The Scherzo of the third movement skipped along with a luminosity of sound and lightness of touch, interspersed by the momentarily darker mood of the Trio. The concert was brought to an end by a tumultuous reading of the mighty final movement. Just as in the Beethoven, Jia Ning handled the unpredictable shifts of mood, key, dynamics, texture and timbre astoundingly, yet there was never an excess of ideas. There was a real drive in the turbulent themes, which contrasted with the jubilation elsewhere. It was refreshing to heara player at the beginning of their professional career tackle this repertoire, rather than opt for more obvious showmanship, which she is clearly capable of, as shown in the rapid flourishes in the encore, (Balakirev/Glinka, The Lark). This left me speechless as we were taken to yet another stratosphere. However, it takes a pianist of outstanding skill to be able to play these works of great depth in the way that she achieved, with much of what astounded me being difficult to portray in words, because it was found in her deep communication with the audience. She balanced her ability to have something to say, with letting the music just be. How blessed are the music lovers in our community, and those surrounding us, to have been able to witness such fine creativity and artistry.

There is surely a bright future ahead for this pianist and I will look forward to attending a future concert given by Jia Ning.

©Ruth Livesey

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Guest post by Aïda Lahlou

During a practice rut that felt particularly more existential than others, I became obsessed with one question: ‘Can classical musicians ever graduate from their role as ‘craftsman/craftswoman onto that of creative artists? And if so, how may this be done?’

Turns out that this question was an urgent one and resonated with every strand of the classical music industry, from my student peers at London conservatoires to the musical stars of today. Famous pianist Kirill Gerstein posed this exact question to his guest, legendary artist Ai Wei Wei in one of his online seminars for the Krönberg Academy, where the latter had spoken at length about the responsibility of artists to shape the world through creation. I noticed a frustration amongst classical music interpreters of seemingly being some of the only artists deprived of the right to create. In reality of course they are not the only ones: classical actors, dancers, and interpreters of all types share this condition. The question is one of relevance: if classical performers are unable to create, how can they be instrumental in shaping culture and the world? How are they relevant as a cultural force?

For classical music performer, this inability to create in a poietic way (this means ‘to create something original’ as opposed to creating a variation on something that already exists, like an interpretation of a piece for example) is unhelpfully combined with a certain disdain of the profession towards behaviours that could bring attention to oneself, due to a conflation, in the minds of many people in the profession, of the presence or lack of interpretative integrity with certain onstage and offstage behaviours.

To be a classical performer is to be a professional interpreter. When interpreting a score, it is useful to forego one’s subjectivity and replace it by a more appropriate subjectivity instead in order to get closer to capturing what the composer had in mind. When we read Beethoven it is useful to park our most immediate instincts for a moment and try to figure out what Beethoven might have meant by his markings using not our contemporary understanding of the markings but a ‘historically informed’ (for lack of a better expression) reading of those same markings. In a way, at the point of exegesis of the musical text, this process is indeed one of – momentary – self-effacement. But in classical music, for some reason, we have collectively decided to performatively self-efface in a more general sense, ad absurdum, to show our audience just how committed we are to the process of conscientious interpretation.* Thus, anything that a performer does that might be considered to bring too much attention to themselves, such as flashy concert clothes or unconventional programming will elicit suspicion on their ability to sufficiently remove their ‘self’ when they sit to study a score. If you don’t believe that this is a common amalgamation, read this disturbing Norman Lebrecht article about how Yuja Wang would do herself a favour by dressing more soberly: people would then be able to recognise her for the true master that she is. If she were to do that, according to him, she ‘could be a sensation’ (!).

It’s difficult to say for sure whether classical musicians are generally less free to express themselves than classical actors or dancers. Take political views, for example. New York Times

journalist Zachary Woolfe describes pianist and activist Igor Levitt by contrasting him to the other ‘classical artists, [who] by and large, remain publicly reticent about their politics — this isn’t Hollywood’. Whilst actors are considered free, classical dancers seem to be in a similar situation to classical musicians: choreographers talk about things they care about aside from dance, but very few dancers do. The unfortunate consequence of classical music’s effacement ideal is that many classical music interpreters feel not only that they cannot create but also a frustration about not being able to express their full selves, on and offstage, or they might be thought less of.

As I ventured on this strange undertaking of combining Stand Up comedy with straight, serious classical piano performance, I found that talking to an audience about your quotidian as a classical musician in a funny way does much more than get them to feel more engaged. It makes them see you as a person. It means that people don’t just see you as the vehicle for a moving musical message, but they also see you: a partaker of the human condition, which I think has equal potential to move as ultimately we are all vulnerable little chickpeas trying to navigate the huge harira soup that is the world, and it is moving to see another person like us striving, trying, struggling. Just like classical music masterpieces have the power to tear us to pieces telling us things about ourselves that we didn’t even know (Robert Levin’s beautiful phrase), stand up comedy has the power to reveal aspects of ourselves, feelings and emotions that were a part of us all along but we had not noticed until now. It shows us that despite our differences, we are all moved or amused by the same things, and that many of the things we love and care about are the same. Laughing through difficulties gives us the strength to resist until we might see another happy day. Sublimation of pain is something that is very much shared between these two artforms.

On a separate note, breaking free of concert conventions for this show did make me feel like I was creating on a poietic level, and personally much more aligned with my work. I hope that the classical music world will become more open to making this kind of creation for available interpreters should they choose to (as opposed to reserving it for composers), as this will benefit both performers who will be able to be more fulfilled, and audiences who will benefit from the authenticity of these new exchanges. At the moment, it seems that the industry favours a model that seeks to create highly reproducible events so agents can rotate their roster artists from concert to concert without anyone noticing. It’s about time we recognise what we have to gain by granting performers more agency in how they present the pieces that they are interpreting.

*Musicologist Nicholas Cook talks about this in his book Music: A very short introduction (Oxford: 2000

Aïda Lahlou will be performing her Stand Up Comedy Meets Classical Piano and her Mirrors: A Recital with a Story shows in London this October as part of the Bloomsbury Festival (14/10 and 21/10 respectively). Tickets on sale here.

Aïda Lahlou is an up-and-coming Moroccan pianist and one of the most exciting talents of her generation.

Following a BA in Music at St John’s College, Cambridge,  throughout which she studied with Caroline Palmer, Aïda is currently enrolled for a Masters in Piano Performance at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, studying with Peter Bithell and Ronan O’Hora.

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Aïda blogs about art, lifestyle, and creativity as The Thought Fox on Substack

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Guest post by Cordelia Williams

You are somehow there when Bach was composing this piece, and you are working with him, and then you forget everything that is around the area you are living in; you’re somehow there, with your hero, your mentor… I don’t want to play notes, like a robot, I want each note and each rhythm to mean something or, to like, touch someone’s heart.

Teddy Otieno, 2021, Nairobi

Arriving in Nairobi, Kenya, on New Year’s Day 2021 for six months of performing, masterclasses, filming a documentary, and escaping London lockdown with my young family, I had no idea what to expect of the pianistic landscape. I’d previously played Rachmaninov’s Paganini Variations with Nairobi Symphony Orchestra (a roughly equal mix of Kenyan and expat amateurs – Kenya has no professional orchestra) and given piano recitals in the city; this time I planned to work as much as possible with aspiring young pianists and learn a bit more about what provision there may be for advanced piano studies in Kenya. I was set up to work with the charities Ghetto Classics and Art of Music Foundation, and also had funding from the Royal Philharmonic Society’s Enterprise Fund to make a film about the young classical musicians I met there. I’m generally fascinated by other people’s lives, so I was excited to learn how the experience of aspiring Kenyan musicians might compare with my own.

It was a wonderful experience to make that film (available online – watch below). The musicians I worked with, mostly self-taught, made me feel inspired and quite naïve. We take so much for granted in Europe. We may complain about a lack of interest from the wider public but we nevertheless have a strong classical music infrastructure: institutions and established paths of support for talented youngsters. Benaars, who wanted to be a full-time pianist but was instead studying as an economist, told me with wonderful understatement “There are lots of people who want to study music but the financial prospects are rather grim, you know. The parents talk them down.” There was simply no money available in classical music in Kenya. The possibility of making a living as a performer, he said, “is really clearly out of the picture”, and because of that there is no-one able to guide younger students in the discipline and dedicated technical work required of a soloist. Benaars again: “I wish I’d just had that… someone not just challenging me, you know, but insisting.”

There is wonderful musical outreach work going on in Kenya, not least Ghetto Classics, which takes music and self-belief into the most underprivileged areas such as Korogocho slum in Nairobi. The ABRSM graded exams are also very popular and highly respected. Everyone I spoke to, though, agreed that there is little tuition available from the higher grades onwards, other than occasional masterclasses from visiting professionals such as myself. As a result, there is a lack of consistency and a lack of awareness as to what effective practice entails. David Ralak, a violinist then aged 28, explained “learning this instrument is really difficult if you don’t really meet a teacher face to face, because some things you hear them describing… it’s not as easy. You know, they describe them very easily because they do them very easily. But then, when you try and do it, there seems to be a whole layer of information missing. I knew what I had to do. It’s either I find money and go to Europe… or I just figure it out myself.” David is the one person I met who is just about managing to squeeze out a living as a musician: performing, coaching through various organisations, founding a string quartet (which plays at functions) and teaching privately a lot. After a fluke chance to attend a summer school in the UK a decade ago, he decided to devote himself to the violin and ‘figure it out himself’. But this is a very lonely path, every day is a struggle to survive, and it takes an incredibly unusual person to make it work. (Watch David’s story below)

In the first class I gave in Nairobi I had an inkling I’d found someone else quite unusual. Teddy Otieno (quoted above) was 19 and had come through the Ghetto Classics scheme in Korogocho, initially learning tuba because that was the instrument no-one else wanted to play. He had no piano, instead practising whenever he could at a community centre and teaching himself the piano using online videos. These were his first ever regular piano lessons, but I immediately noticed his natural musical instinct and passion, and astounding focus and determination to learn. Talking about his dream to perform as a soloist, he said “It makes me hopeless somehow, because there’s no-one to look up to in terms of that level right now… Because no-one is bothered on what to do. Like how much practice one needs to put in to the piano.” We worked together on Bach, Chopin and Debussy, and after my return to the UK he continued sending me videos of his playing for feedback and practice tips. I was excited to see his potential and his self-motivation. I persuaded Teddy to apply for conservatoire, just to see what would happen, and by the spring he had been accepted on a scholarship to study piano at the Royal Birmingham Conservatoire, something which he had never dreamed could be possible. After an immense effort to fundraise the remaining international fees, living costs and flights, he moved to Birmingham in September 2022 and is now starting his second year.

This summer I returned to Nairobi to continue teaching and performing, interested to see all these musicians again. There is a new express road in Nairobi which has improved daily life there no end. There were many more participants in the masterclasses now (42 registered to attend, giving me an enjoyably busy time), quite a few of them students of Benaars and Teddy. I also learnt about two new piano shops open in Nairobi.

What was really noticeable was the number of classical music events happening: during the time I was there the newly established (and self-run) Junior Chamber Orchestra gave two concerts, Mendelssohn’s Hymn of Praise was performed at the cathedral, and there was a concert called ‘The Opera Experience’, as well as the two concerts I gave. Violinist Ken Mwiti has, since my last visit to Nairobi, set up a flourishing musical booking agency, booking classical musicians for concerts as well as functions. Ken is studying music business as well as teaching violin, performing himself, and running his agency. I also heard word of plans for a new concert hall in Karen, a leafy area of Nairobi comparable to Richmond. I hope that however this hall is run will allow for budding musicians to perform more regularly in public, building their experience and their ambition for excellence.

It feels like a new era in the life of classical music in Kenya. A small number of Teddy’s generation, including his twin brother Lameck (viola), are currently embarking on musical studies in America, thanks to the support of sponsors in the States. A very eloquent and thoughtful friend of mine (Lemuel Agina, who was behind the camera for the documentary I made) told me it feels like Nairobi’s classical musicians have been working towards level 10 for a long time, and over the last year or two have had a real feeling of achievement and excitement at the way things are going – they’re finally at 10! But now it’s like starting again at 11, working towards 20… There is still, in some quarters, suspicion towards any kind of ‘instrumental music’ i.e. classical music, not surprisingly with some undertones of ‘colonial beef’, as Lemuel tactfully put it. There is certainly a lack of respect for classical performance – for example, the kind of quiet setting for a concert that we would take for granted in the UK – and familiar ideas of elitism. But Teddy for one is full of hope for the future and for what more he can learn this year, and next year, and the following year…

David, the violinist, has been following a hard path for many years now, with no support and little recognition. We performed together last month and his playing has deepened and matured to an extraordinary extent since I last played with him in 2021. However, even though the environment in Kenya is changing, he has felt frustrated by the lack of measurable progress, the lack of ‘give’ from the world he is trying to make his way in. He had been considering a move abroad to refresh his energies, which would be a real loss for Nairobi. But I was delighted to hear, when I spoke to him again last week, that a surprising number of concert opportunities have recently arisen (as well as a prestigious teaching position at an international school), and he is now feeling more hopeful about the viability of his performing career. Although it feels slow to those individuals making their way, he concedes that the public music scene is changing remarkably quickly. I feel confident that as the next serious young musicians like Teddy and David emerge, their paths will be that much smoother, and more encouraging – I am already excited about my next visit.

Teddy and Cordelia will be featured in a BBC Radio 4 documentary ‘How to Spot Potential’ every morning at 9.45am from 30 October.

Cordelia Williams’ new album on SOMM Recordings, Cascade, featuring music by Beethoven, Schumann and Prokofiev is out now: https://somm-recordings.com/recording/cascade/

Polish-Welsh-English pianist Cordelia Williams is recognised for the poetry, conviction and inner strength of her playing and the depth of her interpretations. She has performed all over the world, including concertos with the English Chamber Orchestra (in Mexico City), City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra and Royal Philharmonic Orchestra (at Barbican Hall, London), as well as recitals at Wigmore Hall, Royal Festival Hall and Beijing Concert Hall. She broadcasts regularly for BBC Radio 3.

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… PLAY THE MUSIC !

Guest post by Alberto Ferro

Inspirational yet enigmatic, the recommendation to NOT PLAY THE NOTES is typically given in music classes of conservatories all around the world. It suggests that a musician should forget about technical things and focus on the poetic content of the music. Easy to say. And it doesn’t even remotely hint at how that shall be accomplished. How can one play the music without playing notes? Is it perhaps figurative speech?

What is the relationship between music and notes? Music is a way to communicate ideas, emotions, aesthetic content, and the notes are a notational device that helps reconstructing the complex series of actions necessary for music to be performed. While music is an undefinable, ephemeral phenomenon, a musical score is an inescapable, very tangible instruction manual that conveys in a rigorous way how to produce refined combinations of sounds on your instrument. The score (and every kind of musical notation) is a practical tool instructing on practical operations. What scores don’t show are the poetic intention, and they never will.

A note is possibly the smallest item we can identify in a score, a small brick in the architecture of a piece. The similarity with written language is striking: like notes, letters are meaningless by themselves but necessary to form words and phrases of content. In language, for a sentence to acquire meaning it must be organized properly at the level of letters, words and above; syntax, content, punctuation, vocabulary, etc.

Musical notes are grouped into motives, phrases, periods that are dynamic, contextualized by further levels such as harmony, organized in rhythms, sections, according to proportions, characterized by articulations, etc. The score presents all of it in visual form, through black dots on white paper: it takes some years of musical education to see all of that just by studying the score. Even more significantly, seeing doesn’t exactly translates in hearing, and even less easily transforms in performing.

Notes and music belong to two quite different dimensions: instrument and art, instruction and expression, gesture and intention. The ability to maintain the former at the service of the latter is possibly the highest way of conducting ourselves in music.

When you listen to music, do you hear notes or do you pay attention to the music? What is more rewarding, to connect with the poetic message or to detect intervals, tonalities, chords, and notes? Any listener knows that music is relevant when it goes beyond its means of production: every score looks the same, black dots on paper, how uninteresting, but every piece of music is unique. The most passionate listeners don’t hear pianos, cellos, oboes, but emotions, art, sublime ideas, pure creations, etc.

As instrumentalists, when do you stop playing notes and start playing the music? As you practice, there is a point where you have grown so much familiarity with the piece that the score stops showing notes and starts presenting an emotional roadmap, a poetic journey, an aesthetic design. What makes a piece of music exciting are the ideas, colours, gestures, the human characters we find in it, so we must practice it until these emerge, until sound projects ideas, colours, gestures or characters.

‘You must learn by memory, then forget’. The score ought to be forgotten so to express the human message that is in the sound and missing from the score. Or, only when we ‘play without thinking’ music acquires a deeper meaning, since thinking is the very process by which we inhibit more instinctive ways of expression, and the number one reason we get distracted while listening to music.

Start with one bar, one phrase, one chord, and when it works build up from there: the bar, the chord, the phrase, will at once become a vision, a gesture, an emotion, and that means you are not playing notes anymore. There is only one way for the magic to happen and requires that everything is ready in place, solid in your fingers, clear in your heart, and you, the performer, must be free of concerns.

No doubt it is hard, but there isn’t any more valuable route in music. As listeners, for music to reach out and move us, it must be really a special mixture of unique qualities. For musicians the process is backwards: we first try figure out what is it that we are trying to say, why this music matter for us, what is the composer telling us, and keep trying until the exact balance of ingredients (gestures, ideas, visions, intentions, etc.) emerges to align in a perfect, magical mixture.

Alberto Ferro is a composer and pianist. Current Creative Director at the London Contemporary School of Piano, Alberto holds a Piano Performance Degree from Milan Conservatory and a Master in Music from Washington State University, U.S.

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