International Piano is a unique bi-monthly publication written for and loved by pianists and discerning fans of piano music all over the world.

Each bi-monthly issue includes interviews with top pianists and rising talent, performance tips, news, features, analysis and comment. You will find exclusive tutorials by concert artists, in-depth articles on piano recordings and repertoire, masterclasses on piano technique, and festival, concert and competition reports from around the globe.

Every edition includes a five-page Symposium, hosted by Jeremy Siepmann, which brings together leading experts and international pianists for a round-table debate.

Our comprehensive reviews section examines the latest recordings, books, DVDs, sheet music and concerts.

Plus, each issue includes free sheet music – often rare or newly released works – for readers to add to their collections.

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REVIEW: Benjamin Grosvenor, Cheltenham Festival recital

11 July 2014

Benjamin Grosvenor, Cheltenham Festival recital
Pittville Pump Room, Cheltenham
6 July

In Cheltenham’s Pittville Pump Room Benjamin Grosvenor, sober of suit and diffident of aspect, gave a recital of polished perfection, displaying the kind of musical maturity one might expect from an artist twice his age.

Grosvenor's glowing, singing tone, clear, unfussy phrasing and an innate stylish empathy breathed new life into Mendelssohn’s Andante and Rondo Capriccioso. No less delectable was Schubert’s G flat Impromptu – a clear precursor of Chopin’s Andante spianato.

Schumann’s unwieldly Humoreske followed, a ragbag of unmemorable ideas that even Grosvenor was unable to prevent from outstaying its welcome. The second half of his programme ranged from Mompou (three Paisajes) and Medtner (two Skazki) to Ravel’s Valses nobles et sentimentales and the Gounod-Liszt Faust Waltz, each composer stylishly characterised, the coda of the last dashed off with such glittering ease that it reminded one of famous recordings by Petri and Barere. Grosvenor left us with a single encore: Dohnányi’s dazzling F minor Capriccio. It was all over too quickly.

Jeremy Nicholas

REVIEW: Mariko Brown and Julian Jacobson (piano duet), St John’s Smith Square, London

30 June 2014

Mariko Brown and Julian Jacobson (piano duet)
St John’s, Smith Square, London
5 June

The chief interest in Mariko Brown’s and Julian Jacobson’s lunchtime concert in St John’s in early June was the first performance of Jacobson’s transcription of Gershwin’s Second Rhapsody, also known as the Rhapsody in Rivets, initially for piano and orchestra. Gershwin wrote it in 1931 to accompany a sequence in the film Delicious, where it was severely truncated to fit the action.

It has hardly fared better since: given that Gershwin felt that ‘it is the best thing I have written’, it’s astonishing that the only published version is a re-orchestration by a staff arranger. Julian Jacobson therefore used Gershwin’s manuscript to  prepare his four-hand version, which was revelatory. Shorn of its (inauthentic) orchestral colours, its true place in the modernist current can be heard: echoes of Prokofiev and Ravel are clear, for instance, as is a reference to The Rite of Spring. Most excitingly of all, it pointed the way to a subtle and original harmonic world – which Gershwin, of course, never lived to explore more fully. Brown and Jacobson brought a tingle of excitement to it, as if aware they were looking into the unknown; with further performances, it will pick up contrast and colours of its own. It is a major addition to the four-hand repertoire.

The other novelty, sandwiched between a thoughtful Schubert F minor Fantasie and two witty transcriptions by Lucien Garban from Ravel’s L’Enfant et les Sortilèges, was Mariko Brown’s own Travels through a Mist of Chinese Mountains, a 17-minute tone-poem as atmospheric as a shanshui watercolour, clear-textured, inventive in its use of the instrument, and retaining a sense of mystery despite its range of moods.

Martin Anderson

Bee composed: Piano turned into beehive for Aldeburgh installation

16 June 2014

A sound artist has created a working beehive inside an upright piano to raise awareness of the plight of the UK’s declining bee population.

Bee Composed, created by Lily Hunter Green, is an audio-visual installation that comprises two pianos. The first, located on the Henry Moore Lawn at Snape Maltings, Suffolk, no longer functions as a conventional instrument, but as the viewer approaches, a sensor activates sounds from within the piano body.

Pre-recorded film footage of bees is projected within two beehive-like structures situated at the top of the piano. The footage is taken from a second piano, located close by but that is not accessible to visitors. This piano has been set up as a working beehive. As the hive evolves throughout the installation period, new footage will be relayed to the Henry Moore Lawn piano.

Green will then create audio that combines the bee recordings with piano music. ‘The bees will have direct access into the body of the second piano and are likely to interact with the soundboard and strings,’ explained Green, ‘I’m intrigued at this stage about the sounds the bees will make as a collective in the acoustics of the piano.’

Green worked closely with apiarist Penny Robertson and sculptor Alexander Johnson to create the piece. She will also be running workshops with local schoolchildren to raise awareness of the importance of bees. Bee Composed is part of SNAP 2014, part of the Aldeburgh Festival.

The project was possible thanks to donations made online via Kickstarter. Green’s video campaign can be seen here.

Bee Composed will be located on the Henry Moore Lawn at Snape Maltings, Suffolk, until 29 June

REVIEW: John Ogdon - Living with Genius, BBC Four, broadcast 6 June

11 June 2014

© Tully Potter Collection

John Ogdon: Living with Genius
Directed by Zoe Dobson
Produced by Back2Back
BBC Four First broadcast 6 June, 60 minutes

John Ogdon: Living with Genius opens with a montage of doom-laden compliments; Ogdon’s was ‘a God-given gift’, ‘genius is precious but dangerous’ and ‘when he sat at the piano he became a man possessed’. Having safely rounded up the clichés, the BBC Four programme cuts to a television interview Ogdon and his pianist wife Brenda gave in 1989, discussing Ogdon’s illness and perceived recovery. ‘We’re playing together again, very happily,’ says Brenda. ‘Life is looking rosy?’ asks the interviewer. ‘Oh yes,’ Brenda agrees. Just two months after the interview, John Ogdon was dead, aged 52.

Ogdon’s meteoric rise to fame came after his success at the Tchaikovsky Competition in 1962, where he took joint first prize with Vladimir Ashkenazy. The filmmakers secured access to previously unseen footage of the competition, featuring Ogdon’s indomitable performance of the Tchaikovsky concerto. An Englishman winning the event was cause for national celebration, and newspaper cuttings show crowds waiting to greet the pianist on his return home. (‘I was a naïve girl from the North of England... It was a hullabaloo,’ recalls Brenda, in a decidedly southern English accent.)

Musicians agree that although Ogdon was a pianistic powerhouse, the beauty of his playing was in his pianissimos. Pianist Peter Donohoe neatly demonstrates Ogdon’s delicate touch at the keyboard via excerpts from the Busoni concerto. The music critic Bryce Morrison, pianist Stephen Hough and Richard Ogdon, John’s son, all
observe Ogdon’s fascination with complex repertoire: Busoni, Liszt, Alkan, Sorabji. ‘He was a composer’s gift,’ remarks Richard.

At the peak of his career, Ogdon played over 200 concerts a year. Hough, we learn, plays around 100 – which keeps his diary full. Travelling took its toll on the overworked Ogdon and contributed to his breakdown in the 1970s. Brenda is often portrayed as the villain in this arrangement, urging him to make hay while the sun shone to sustain their then lavish lifestyle. She is also incorrectly blamed for making the decision to give Ogdon electric shock treatment, which some say irrevocably changed his playing.

Brenda is given the lion’s share of interview time here. At one point she reveals that a colleague had said: ‘You can’t marry him, it’s two peacocks in one room’. In the same clip we hear Brenda’s assertion that ‘[At college] I was the girl star and he was the man star.’ Later, Brenda remembers a look Ogdon gave her which she interpreted as ‘I am a genius, look after me’. There is a sense of irritation, perhaps resentment. But in the context of her life with Ogdon – a man who endured extended periods of hospitalisation, financial ruin and debilitating mental illness – perhaps allowances should be made.

At times this is an illuminating portrait of one of Britain’s greatest musicians (violinist Rodney Friend gives a particularly moving tribute) – but it only scratches the surface. There is enough interesting archival material here for a three-part series, at least.

Claire Jackson

John Ogdon: Living with Genius is available to watch online via iPlayer here

REVIEW: Khatia Buniatishvili, International Piano Series 2013-14, Southbank Centre, London

5 June 2014

Khatia Buniatishvili
Khatia Buniatishvili© Sony

Khatia Buniatishvili
International Piano Series 2013-14
Queen Elizabeth Hall, London
4 June

You can’t teach stage presence. Georgian pianist Khatia Buniatishvili, 26, has it in spades. Also very pleasing is her ability to produce a range of soft pianissimos that beguile the ear. But there are aspects of her playing that are worryingly awry.

It was brave of her to start with Gaspard de la Nuit (a programme alteration), one of the repertoire’s most demanding works, but the way she conjured up the opening passage was magical, Ondine’s voice heard as a distant apparition above the watery accompaniment. The incessant tolling in Le gibet was skilfully voiced but hardly chilling, especially at such a slow tempo. On the other hand Scarbo was demonically fast, an aspect of Miss Buniatishvili’s playing which is, frankly, her undoing. This is the second time in as many months that I have been at a recital in this hall and heard a pianist with the same phenomenal, staggering dexterity – and been unable to hear much of the music. Is it the acoustic? Did anyone sit out front during the rehearsal and advise on clarity and projection? Of course, the acoustic changes with a full house (which it was last night) but then the artist must adapt. To not hear the notes the composer wrote is one thing, however, but to miss the emotional high point of a work is another: the two big climaxes in Scarbo, which should send a shiver down the spine, went for nothing as Buniatishvili hurtled onwards.

A stage-hand came on to adjust the stool after this but left the stage before the pianist had agreed on the new height. Thus abandoned, she was left to adjust it herself before settling down to three of the slowest and hushed performances of three Brahms Intermezzi I can remember (these had been programmed to open the recital). The sounds Buniatishvili produced were ravishing, the rapt intimacy held the audience spellbound but for this listener it was a manufactured view more concerned with sound production than emotional content. A bouquet was offered by a member of the audience.

The second half of virtuoso works passed by in a blur of incoherency. Buniatishvili left no room for the opening figure of Chopin’s B flat minor Scherzo to breathe, and while the question-and-answer section of the middle part was heart-rendingly done, the passagework after this and in the repeat building to the return of the first subject was despatched so fast that it was impossible to discern what exactly Chopin had written. It made this reviewer tut involuntarily and audibly. La Valse, again delivered with scarcely credible speed and venom, the big glissandos towards the end tossed off with effortless aplomb, had little narrative sense. The couples had danced their way to destruction long before the final pages. Petrushka was, frankly, a bang fest. Wild applause.

Buniatishvili’s best playing came with the first of her two encores, Wilhelm Kempff’s arrangement of Handel’s Minuet in G minor HWV 434. Her poise and quiet hands made for a moving few minutes and showed that underneath her untamed temperament lies a real musician with a great gift. She then launched into a crude version of the Precipitato finale of Prokofiev’s 7th Sonata, a silly choice as it replicated the motoric writing of Petrushka. It ended a deeply frustrating and disappointing evening – and I write this as a fervent admirer of Miss Buniatishvili. Someone needs to sit her down and channel her manic delivery into something more musical.

Jeremy Nicholas

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