SERGEI BABAYAN

Piano

Critical acclaim

"Babayan exuded the gravity of a monumental sculpture in bronze, as he teased out the beauties of this more ruminative work." -The Independent “Babayan favors a playing style that speaks to the senses, to the range of his love for the music, which is unsurpassed. An enthusiastic multi-instrumentalist, tirelessly studying the works of his predecessors as if they were his contemporaries, he does not hide himself from this nearly obsessive research of a spiritual music, which comes close to magic.” −L'Actualité “…a virtuoso, not well known to the general public, whose golden touch left us in bliss. According to the experts, he is without a doubt one of the best musicians of our time.” −L'Actualité

SERGEI BABAYAN

Peninsula Reviews • May 17, 2016

Splendid Harmony and Invention: A Recital by Sergei Babayan BY DR. GARY LEMCO

Had Sergiu Celibidache been in attendance at the Oshman Family JCC, Monday, May 16 for the recital by Russian pianist Sergei Babayan, standing in for Nelson Freire, Celibidache would have declared the phenomenally gifted Babayan “a conductor — he makes colors.” Indeed, in a marathon concert whose expansive program embraced music by J.S. Bach, Pärt, Liszt, Chopin, and Rachmaninoff, Babayan demonstrated a complete control of every element in keyboard technique, in which digital articulation and graduated dynamic sonority proved extraordinary. Performing on a highly responsive Hamburg Steinway, Babayan achieved the kind of “fever-pitch of in the incessant pursuit of ideal beauty” that bespeaks his artistic credo. Babayan opened rather unconventionally, with a series of Bach Preludes and Fugues, beginning with the “genesis” of them all, the C Major Prelude and Fugue of Book I from The Well-Tempered Klavier, BWV 846. Playing without using the damper pedal, Babayan achieved a smooth legato throughout its broken-chord progression, achieving a graduated continuity whose silken surface this reviewer had not encountered since Elly Ney. Babayan then served us six more selected Preludes and Fugues, culminating in the monumental No. 24 in B Minor, BWV 869, whose Prelude proffers an ardent meditation while its Fugue combines striking colors and daring invention in the form of chains of sequences and wayward sixteenth-note patterns that both ornament and disrupt the flow of the procedure. Babayan, nevertheless, once having established a pulse or tactus, was able to maintain its solid character in the midst of surface variety. His bell-like tones, moreover, could well have served the Rachmaninoff etudes and his explosive Rachmaninoff encore heard later in this program. Disdaining any formal applause or acknowledgment, Babayan then embarked upon a performance of eleven, selected pieces from the 1720 Klavierbüchlein für Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, a collection of pieces assembled around 1720. Essentially a guided tour or primer on the art of ornamentation, the various character pieces revealed from Babayan no end of color and motor combinations: deft, witty, and eminently “inventive” in the best Baroque application of the term, given the potent sonority of the contemporary instrument. The second half of Babayan’s program conceded to the Romantic taste, although we could detect aspects of personalized rubato and phraseology even in his Bach. Estonian composer Arvo Pärt’s 1976 Für Alina thoroughly beguiled us with Babayan’s crystalline, “minimalist” attention to the keyboard’s upper registers, achieving a transparency and purity of sound as few pieces demand. Deceptively “naïve” in appearance, the work proffers Blake’s “fearful symmetry” of form and content, set in B Minor with a right hand part that sails

Sergei Babayan Peninsula Reviews • May 17, 2016 page 2 of 2 — by way of free rubato — above the low B in the bass. If Debussy has any share in the piece’s inspiration, the work transcends him and creates its own ecstatic space. Few segues could be more fiendish than Babayan’s “descent into the maelstrom” of Liszt’s Ballade No. 2 in B Minor, ostensibly set to Gottfried August Bürger’s Lenore, a Gothic tale in which Death himself seduces a woman who awaits the return of her lover from the Seven Years’ War. The absolutely startling dark, chromatic runs that open the massive score jarred us with their contrast to the Pärt sensibility, and the emergent struggle soon rose to Liszt’s favorite key for ecstatic transformation, F-sharp Major, the Empyrean setting for his equally convulsive Dante Sonata. Babayan made this heroic and tragic composition assume the general character of the Transcendental Etudes, an effect no less apparent in the Rachmaninoff group. For many auditors this evening, Babayan’s Chopin took the berries. The opening Polonaise in C-sharp Minor, Op. 26, No. 1, set the tone of passionate nationalism, countered by a tender, lilting middle section in the enharmonic D-flat Major that convinced us of Babayan’s innate sympathy for Chopin’s style. But with the perennial, even clichéd, Waltz in C-sharp Minor, Op. 64, No. 2, we witnessed what marvels Babayan was able to create from an otherwise weary vessel. This dance gained a poised aristocracy, shaped and bedecked by graduated tempos and intelligent rubato, never for a moment devolving into empty display, in spite of the accelerations. Babayan repeated this magic in the B Minor Waltz, Op. 69, No. 2, equally poignant and exalted by a refreshed simplicity of expression. Between the two exquisite waltzes Babayan delivered the marvelous 1846 Barcarolle in F-sharp Major, Op. 60, a masterpiece of fertile harmony and rhythmic invention (in 12/8). In the course of the gondola song, Babayan built up a series of waves and sonic undulations whose layers – stretti – soon had us mesmerized in a sea of competing colors, in thirds and sixths and undulating trills, sustained by an unceasing sense of the bel canto vocal (perhaps even ballade) style that marks Chopin’s ouevre. What a dazzling cornucopia of pianism this piece truly is! Babayan concluded an already mammoth recital with a Rachmaninoff set, comprised of the Etude-Tableau in E-flat Minor, Op. 39, No. 6; and two of Op. 16 Moments Musicaux, Nos. 2 and 6, in E-flat Minor and C Major, respectively. The most prominent feature of these works lies in their vehement bravura, much in the manner of Liszt and Chopin, certainly, but no less urgent by way of Russian bells and harmonized doxology. Liquid melodic figures, warm, surging arpeggios, and occasionally demonic impulses broke forth, but always rich in melody. If Rachmaninoff owes debts to Liszt and fellow Russian Scriabin, he repays them with a fertile imagination and brilliant technique. Two encores ensued: the first, a marvelously slow, nobly realized Scarlatti Sonata in C Major, K. 159, completely unique to our hearing, having been spoiled by too many assertions of its speed. This moment of utter transparency and Spanish charm suddenly took one more, wild ride in the form of Rachmaninoff’s Etude-Tableau in C Minor, Op. 39, No. 1, a veritable tempest at sea inspired by the ubiquitous (for Rachmaninoff) Arnold Böcklin. Bowing graciously, robust, smiling appreciatively, Babayan took his bows without any sign of strain or fatigue, his absolute control eager for yet more demonstrations of a Promethean gift.

SERGEI BABAYAN

Chopin Society of Atlanta • October 15, 2015

Exclusive Interview with Sergei Babayan: Dictated from Above? BY BOZENA U. ZAREMBA

Bożena U. Zaremba: Judging from how hard it was to schedule an interview with you, I conclude you are an extremely busy person. Is it primarily music that fills your life?

Sergei Babayan: Yes, it is only music—mostly practicing—especially before a recital. At such times, I turn my phone off because if I leave it on, I get distracted all the time and cannot focus. That’s why I am hard to reach.

Do you have a routine for your practice?

Routine? Yes, you could say that, but I don’t like the word “routine” because practice is a creative process. It of course depends on what you do. For instance, when I memorize, I learn by taking some sections. I never play too many times, though. It is useless, because a pianist is like a painter—you need to step back. You cannot just paint and paint; you need to look at it from different perspectives. It is the same in music: When you memorize a piece, you learn small sections, and you need to take a break. Reading a good book can be a good diversion; so can taking a walk in nature. If we specifically talk about memorization, there are several types of memory: tactile, intellectual, emotional. Then there is photographic memory, and all these are used. But there is no routine to utilize these types of memory, because each day you are in a different condition. Sometimes it is easier to do it photographically, but sometimes it is easier to do it even without a piano, by looking at the score like a conductor. I try to draw from my experience, and I always use the tools that worked for me in the past, but I also try to create something new. So, yes, there is routine, but there is always breaking of that routine. Once you repeat yourself and try to do what you did even five minutes ago, it is not interesting or inspiring any more.

When inspires you more, practice or performance?

I love the process of practicing, especially immediately before a recital, maybe because of stress and your desire to do your best and because you really focus on the program. For some reason, before a recital you get so many new ideas to try out, you virtually get drunk with ideas, and when the recital comes, you get sober, and that sobriety tells you which ideas were fresh and innovative and which were just an illusion. With my very close friend, we created an idea of a so-called ''three-day theory'': Three days are needed to realize if your idea will work or not, if it was just a delusion or a spark of genius. The greatest moments are when you discover something and then think, “How could I not know this before?” That’s why work is so important. I think it was Tchaikovsky who once said “Inspiration is a guest that does not willingly visit the lazy.” This is a wonderful idea, and every composer knows about it. There are days when you create a masterpiece and days when you don’t, but you work, you exercise, you write canons, counterpoints, fugues. It keeps you in shape so when the inspiration comes to you, you are ready. Recently I had to memorize Rachmaninoff’s 4th [Piano Concerto] in a very short time. I had only one month before the concert. Even with the best planning, there was no time to learn the piece ahead of time. I had other engagements, and had to practice other programs. But eventually, I appreciated those concerts very much. I had been playing different programs every day, one after another, and was in the best pianistic shape, and as a result, I was able to memorize it in only 18 days.

Sergei Babayan Chopin Society of Atlanta • October 15, 2015 page 2 of 4 Is there a danger of overexerting oneself?

Of course, especially when the work is physically demanding, but I cannot imagine overworking on Bach’s preludes and fugues, though. If I didn’t need to sleep and rest, I could play those pieces 24 hours a day. I play this voice or that voice, left hand or right hand, and I don’t get exhausted physically or mentally. They inspire me so much, and I feel blessed, privileged to touch this music. But with such works as Liszt’s Transcendental Etudes, Prokofiev’s Concerto No. 2 or Rachmaninoff’s Concerto No. 3, I cannot work more than a certain number of hours. I need a break.

It’s almost like an athlete.

Exactly. If you play Chopin’s Etude No.2, op.10, for example, there are certain parts you need to get very comfortable with because at the beginning they are not comfortable. So if you play for an extensive time the same passage that requires repetitive use of the same muscle, you can get into serious problems.

What are your favorite ways for physical recovery?

Most pianists do yoga or swim. I like swimming. I feel rejuvenated after that.

Let’s talk about your fascinating, though not unusual biography. You were born in Armenia, when it was still a Soviet republic, were educated in Moscow, and now live in America.

I was born in the Soviet Union, unfortunately and fortunately. Unfortunately, because I absolutely detested the communist regime. It was not even a matter of choice. I did not feel comfortable living there. Fortunately, because of Russia’s high and unique culture, music, literature. And the [music] education was the best. It was well-rounded. You would learn to read music, learn solfège, as well as music literature and theory. Here, I sometimes see disturbing things. They bring me gifted students [to evaluate], and I find out that they don’t know the basics: cannot read music, have no knowledge of harmony, cannot improvise, and don’t know music literature. I recently had a student who wanted to enroll in my studio at the Julliard [School] and didn’t know Beethoven’s sonatas! I asked him which key it is in, and he couldn’t answer that basic question! It’s crazy! In that respect, education in Russia was absolutely fantastic. I feel privileged that I was part of that and will always be grateful for that and to the teachers I had there.

So what bothered you most?

It was a certain lack of respect for other human beings, which was far from my philosophy though I did not know the western world because I had no opportunity to travel. But somehow from the literature and intuitively, I knew I would feel more comfortable in London, Paris, or New York than I felt in Moscow. So when I won my first competition, I didn’t have any second thoughts and left. I immediately fell in love with people, their kindness and desire to help each other. I appreciate the way people respect other people’s space and privacy.

Do you still feel Armenian?

Absolutely. I am Armenian; I grew up in Armenia; I listened to Armenian folk music and the language. I was always drawn to the high Armenian [language]. In Armenia there are seminaries, where priest learn this higher Armenian language and where education is of a completely different caliber. I remember I once I went to a lecture given by a young priest from such a seminary on architecture and paintings that are in some churches. I was mesmerized by the way he spoke Armenian, completely hypnotized, and I understood what a fantastic language is part of me. Unfortunately, I never learned Armenian on that level of seminary education, but I read books and I adore it. I am Armenian 100%. Armenia has an incredible past and a tragic past, of course. I am proud of the Armenian culture and rich tradition in philosophy and poetry. As for classical music, we have [Vartapet] Komitas, this fantastic, great gem of Armenian music. At the same time, I don’t have a sharp national identity, I feel absolutely cosmopolitan. The music that inspired me to be a pianist was Rachmaninoff, and the music I first fell in love with was Tchaikovsky. The music that first spoke of love was Chopin. Of course, Bach and Mozart were always with me. I think classical music is cosmopolitan, but growing up in Armenia had a huge impact on me and made me different.

Sergei Babayan Chopin Society of Atlanta • October 15, 2015 page 3 of 4 Talking about Chopin, what is so special about his music?

Wow! That’s such a huge question. Where do I start? Many things are special, as in all geniuses. First of all, the intensity of the way he felt life and the way he could express this in his ingenious music, in harmony, in his melodies. When I try to find elements that are close to me, it would be the certain nostalgia, and love, and pain, and happiness, and elegance, and effortlessness, and the impeccable taste and perfectionism to the extent that you start to wonder, was it a human being who wrote this music or was it dictated from above? He has a capricious nature; when you do a little too much, it immediately “takes revenge on” you. Beneath the seemingly simple and transparent expression, there is a most complex emotional world. Then comes this effortlessness, as in Mozart. And then, of course, there is his disease and [physical] frailty, and deep nostalgia and pain as he was forced to leave his homeland, and going back was not an option. These are the things that touch me deeply. And he was a philosopher, but not in an intellectual sense; it is more intuitive, and you can see this in some of his slow movements. So what can I say? He is among the greatest.

In your rendition of a mazurka that I heard, you seemed to be treating Chopin’s music with great caution, just as when one handles a delicate flower, afraid of hurting it.

Because when I play Chopin’s music I feel like I am touching something sacred. This music does not let you be brutal or vulgar. It immediately punishes any insensitivity or insincerity. You can never say you have it. The moment you become conceited and say, “Yes, I know what to do,” it punishes you. In the same way, sometimes you play it for many hours and you start to think you should not be playing this music, and you become depressed and are almost ready to give up, and then it suddenly comes to you with new ways [of expression]. So the relationship is like with a beautiful though extremely capricious woman.

2015 is the year of the International Fryderyk Chopin Piano Competition in Warsaw. Some of the online watching options, such as YouTube, will be available for the first time. Are you going to watch?

Yes, definitely. I was a guest at the Competition in 2005, and the atmosphere in Warsaw [during the Competition] is fantastic. Every little shop you go to, you hear Chopin’s music. But during the last Competition, in 2010, when one of my students, Daniil Trifonov, was there, I could not be in Poland, so I was following it through a live broadcast online. I must say I did not miss the concert hall. The camera is very close to the pianist, you can see the hands and the face, and if you have good-quality speakers you get a heavenly experience. I don’t need to be there when somebody’s coughing or dropping the keys, or a phone is ringing. When you watch online, you can focus. You can stop any time and go back, and if you don’t like the pianist, and very often after hearing a pianist for two seconds, I realize that I don’t want to hear this pianist ever again, I am not stuck in the hall for another half of an hour, pretending that I am listening.

In general, are you in favor of technological innovations in music?

Yes, absolutely. It of course depends how you use it. If it brings us closer to culture, if we get a chance to download music in a split second, for example, it is fantastic. But when they try to replace the live performance with editing, and technology takes you away from the live performance and makes it all fake, I am not in favor.

What about the equality of sound?

When somebody speaks from the heart and his sound is sensitive, we will hear immediately that something is special, and if somebody does not have it, no matter how much he or she tries—with the best microphone, the best acoustics, or the most expensive piano—no technology will help. It will not work anyway. And if you get the most important essence of Chopin’s music, if you have a noble and sincere heart, it will come through, no matter if you are in Warsaw, New York, or Atlanta.

You have many piano competition prize winners among your students. How do you prepare your students for competitions?

Sergei Babayan Chopin Society of Atlanta • October 15, 2015 page 4 of 4 This is a long subject, and we don’t need to go there, but I would like to say this: It depends on the person. Certain people are born to be good performers, just like some people are good actors, some are good directors, some are good at both. For me, teaching is like being a director who has to bring out the best from the actor. So if I have any rule, I try to see through the personality and encourage them to find their own voices, open them up, and not only to help them become stronger in what they have natural affinity for, but also to overcome their weak sides.

Do you enjoy teaching?

I will repeat what I once said in one of my interviews: If you take away teaching from me, I can survive; this would be no tragedy. But if you take away my concerts, I will not be able to teach on the same level.. I will lose my source of inspiration. Teaching is the same as playing except that you try to bring the best out of someone else and try to make that person’s talent shine.

The motto of Sergei Babayan International Piano Academy that you founded and led for years states that “artists must live and work at a fever pitch in the incessant pursuit of ideal beauty and the highest degree of artistry.” Do you expect every student to comply with this mission?

Yes, of course I do, but I am realistic. By asking the impossible, you get what is possible. If I lowered the standards, we would probably get nothing. It is in human nature to do less, so one needs self-discipline. I have those expectations of myself, too. Talking about that, I need to go back to practice [laughs].

SERGEI BABAYAN The Independent • July 30, 2015

Prom 14, Royal Albert Hall, review: Valery Gergiev's Prokofiev splurge has highs and lows BY MICHAEL CHURCH

Valery Gergiev loves the flashy gesture, and it was certainly flashy to programme all five of Prokofiev’s piano concertos in one evening, with three hot-shot Russian-school pianists doing the solo honours supported by the London Symphony Orchestra. Gergiev’s protégé Daniil Trifonov played the first concerto with the airy brilliance we now expect from him, and Gergiev, on the podium, let his interpretation of this youthful, ardent, nose-thumbing work flower as it needed to.

Two days previously at the Verbier festival we had seen Trifonov and his professor Sergei Babayan give a wonderfully poised account of Rachmaninov’s four-hand suites: now Babayan followed his pupil by playing Prokofiev’s second concerto. And while Trifonov had seemed like a bird in flight, Babayan exuded the gravity of a monumental sculpture in bronze, as he teased out the beauties of this more ruminative work.

Trifonov came back to give an enchanting account of the third concerto – the one everybody loves – after which Alexei Volodin officiated with the fourth, a left-hand extravaganza composed for the one-armed, war-wounded Paul Wittgenstein. But despite Volodin’s heroic efforts, one could see why Wittgenstein never wanted to play it: both this work and the fifth concerto (played by Babayan) gave the impression of a composer whose Muse had deserted him.

SERGEI BABAYAN The Guardian • July 29, 2015

Prom 14: LSO/Gergiev review - Prokofiev piano concertos score mixed results BY TIM ASHLEY

Following immediately on from Leif Ove Andsnes’s remarkable Beethoven cycle, the Proms turned its attention to Prokofiev’s piano concertos, albeit according them very different treatment. Shared between three pianists, and with the London Symphony Orchestra conducted by Valery Gergiev, all five were performed in chronological order in a single concert, which proved less than ideal, despite fine individual achievements.

The concertos are variable in quality. Except for the Fourth – for the left hand only, and commissioned in 1931 by the pianist Paul Wittgenstein, who lost his right arm as the result of a wartime injury – Prokofiev wrote them for himself as flamboyant showpieces. The atrociously difficult Second is arguably the greatest, the Third the most popular. The chronological approach meant that the introverted Fourth and flashy, aphoristic Fifth seemed anticlimactic. Many in the audience, drawn by the prospect of Daniil Trifonov playing the First and Third, left after the latter.

There was some tremendous playing. Trifonov brought staggering dexterity to the First and an elegance to the Third that was utterly beguiling. Sergei Babayan offered a thoughtful, carefully modulated interpretation of the Second, judiciously integrating the first movement’s mega-cadenza into the musical logic of the whole, and reserving overt pyrotechnics for the Fifth. Alexei Volodin’s performance of the Fourth, meanwhile, was superbly controlled and beautifully subtle.

Orchestrally, things took time to settle. Gergiev’s wavering beat meant a lack of rhythmic urgency in the First and of dramatic urgency in the Second. He and the LSO struck form in the Third, however, which, combined with Trifonov’s extraordinary playing, was a real high point. Gergiev and Volodin made a better case for the Fourth than many, though it remains an intransigent work.

SERGEI BABAYAN The Arts Desk • July 29, 2015

Prom 14: Prokofiev Piano Concertos BY GAVIN DIXON

Gergiev’s programme for this concert raised eyebrows when the Proms were announced: all five Prokofiev piano concertos, presented in chronological order, over the course of a long evening. As it turned out, he had some good reasons for his plan. The three Russian pianists he lined up – Daniil Trifonov (Concertos 1 and 3), Sergei Babayan (2 and 5), and Alexei Volodin (4) – had between them the talent to carry any programme. And the composer benefited too, with his Fourth and Fifth Concertos, both difficult works to programme, finding a natural home, and both appearing for the first time at the Proms.

Daniil Trifonov opened the proceedings with an austere but committed reading of the First Concerto. Trifonov has a distinctive sound, precise, clean and focused. He is expressive, but not flamboyant or sentimental. In short, he is an ideal pianist for Prokofiev, and there was little to fault here.The bold opening statement was given with a strident but austere determination, setting the tone for the whole piece. There is a deceptive power behind Trifonov’s technique: he’ll be pushing through fast passages with astonishing speed and accuracy, but then he’ll accelerate into a cadence, faster still, and without any compromise to his precision or the evenness of his tone. An impressive start to the evening.

The Second Concerto was performed by Trifonov’s former teacher, Sergei Babayan. They are similar pianists, both very much of the Russian school: definite touch, articulation focused and directed phrasing. But Babayan is a more lyrical pianist, better able to bring out the melodic lines above Prokofiev’s virtuosic textures. Both give that impression of understated virtuosity that Prokofiev demands, and Babayan too is able to make the long passages of runs seem effortless, including the one that makes up the entire second movement of this concerto. His greatest moment was the intense cadenza of the first movement, played with a paradoxical mix of weighty conviction and deftness of touch.

Impressive performances both, from teacher and pupil, but it was the latter who triumphed, with a reading of the Third Concerto that surpassed anything else this evening. Here again Trifonov played with that steely precision, but also moments of warmth too. Nowhere else in the concert was raw virtuosity so effectively put into the service of musical expression. And Trifonov demonstrated that the distinctiveness of his touch was not at the expense of variety of expression. Some of the more atmospheric quiet music of the finale sometimes seemed somewhat literal, suggesting that, just for once, Prokofiev’s expression had become more Romantic than the pianist was willing to indulge.

The applause that followed this concerto was by far the loudest of the evening, suggesting that the relatively obscure items ahead might prove an anticlimax. In fact, both the Fourth and Fifth concertos are so different to their predecessors that there was little sense that they were acting as summation here. The Fourth Concerto is for the left hand: like Ravel’s it was written for Paul Wittgenstein. But Prokofiev evidently had a lower opinion of Paul’s abilities than Ravel, and produced a much more straightforward work, in which the left hand usually carries just a single line. It’s an attractive piece though, and received an excellent performance from Alexei Volodin. Little effort was made here to make the music sound sophisticated. There is certainly virtuosity to the piano writing, but it is set within a neoclassical framework where over-interpretation could only distract. The modest scoring allows the piano’s lines to

Sergei Babayan The Arts Desk • July 29, 2015 page 2 of 2 come through, although there are occasional moments of drama, and Volodin had the weight of tone to ensure he was always heard.

The Fourth and Fifth Concertos are similar in spirit, and of common vintage. After Wittgenstein rejected the Fourth, Prokofiev immediately set about writing the Fifth for his own use. Both are adventurous structurally, in four and five movements respectively, many of which are short and end abruptly. Babayan returned to give a playful and energetic account. Prokofiev never seems to quite decide on what role he has in mind for the soloist here, but Babayan was happy to project whatever idea or mood the composer was following at each moment. His passagework was not always as precise as the music demands (what might Trifonov make of the work?), but it was still an assured reading.

Valery Gergiev and the London Symphony Orchestra were on top form throughout their long evening. All the demanding woodwind and brass solos were delivered with panache, and the strings offered ideal support for each of the soloists. Gergiev was never the passive accompanist, and there were occasional moments when he and the pianist seemed to be vying for authority over the tempo. But all round this was a success for him. Gergiev’s eccentric programme was fully vindicated, even if it was Trifonov who ended up stealing the show.

SERGEI BABAYAN Music OMH • July 28, 2015

Prom 14: LSO/Gergiev @ Royal Albert Hall, London BY JOHN-PIERRE JOYCE

The idea of presenting all five Prokofiev piano concertos in a single evening is not entirely new. Conductor Valery Gergiev did exactly that at the Mariinsky Theatre in St Petersburg two years ago. His return to the Proms with the same ambitious programme offered a rare opportunity to assess the output of this popular but still enigmatic composer.

Listening to each of the five concertos confirmed their similarities. What came across most was their showiness, technical complexity and self-conscious rebelliousness. Take the First Piano Concerto, for example. Prokofiev wrote it in 1911-12 while still a student at the St Petersburg Conservatory and deliberately set out to annoy his teachers. It is dominated by a grandiose theme cloned from Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1 and moves through eleven brilliant but loosely connected sections. Daniil Trifonov was the ideal exponent. Aged only twenty four (three years older than Prokofiev when he finished the concerto), Trifonov had absolute mastery over the keyboard, seemingly impervious to the score’s hair-raising demands. But he also displayed sensibility during the concerto’s (admittedly few) reflective moments. These facets again came to the fore during the more mature Piano Concerto No. 3 (1917-21). Cast in a more conventional three-movement mould, it passes through a greater variety of moods, but ends with the composer’s trademark acrobatics.

Sergei Babayan – Trifonov’s teacher at the Cleveland Institute – took to the stage for Prokofiev’s flashy Piano Concerto No. 2 (1912-13). As with the First, this was the enfant terrible’s chance to show off his own virtuosity, and also to try and top Rachmaninov’s Third Piano Concerto, which had received its Russian premiere in 1910. Babayan’s take on the work was more Romantic than Modernist. He dwelt dreamily on the work’s more sedate passages, and even the faster sections felt more languorous than the markings suggest. This sense of quiet reflection was further picked up in the Fifth Piano Concerto. Dating from 1932 and Prokofiev’s final hurrah before giving up his career as a concert pianist and returning to the Soviet Union, it contains the usual brilliant touches, but points to a more lyrical, less complex musical language, with an unmistakably French touch – not least in the expansive fourth-movement Larghetto, which recalls the central Adagio of Ravel’s Piano Concerto (also premiered in 1932).

The odd concerto out was the Fourth, which received its Proms premiere, despite having been completed in 1931. Written for the left hand, it was composed for World War I veteran Paul Wittgenstein, who, according to Prokofiev himself, claimed not to understand it and never played it. Indeed, the work did not get a hearing until 1956, three years after the composer’s death. Although lyrical, even balletic, in parts, the concerto still bears the hallmarks of Prokofiev’s earlier concerto writing – technical acrobatics and edgy, shifting tempos. The orchestration is simpler and sparer, leaving the pianist more exposed. Alexei Volodin made his sole appearance with this work, exploring its darker corners with clarity and feeling. All three soloists had the benefit of Valery Gergiev’s oversight, experience and instinctive feel for this music. His ability to get the very best out of the LSO players made this marathon concert a fitting end to his tenure as principal conductor.

SERGEI BABAYAN Splash Magazine • April 23, 2014

Sergei Babayan Performs Goldberg Variations Review-A Performer Up to the Challenge BY ADAM DAHLGREN

On Sunday, April 21, at the Music Institute of Chicago in Evanston, music lovers were treated to a live performance of the Goldberg Variations by Russian pianist Sergei Babayan. Though it is now common (and accurate) to hear that Johann Sebastian Bach's Goldberg Variations, composed for the clavier in 1741, as one of the supreme masterworks of music, indeed one of the highest achievements of Western Civilization, its standing has not always been so secure or so lofty. It was only the recording of the work in 1955, some 200 years after its composition, by Glenn Gould, the Canadian pianist and eccentric's eccentric (though, it should be added, a supreme virtuoso, at least when the work suited him), that theGoldbergs found their way into the public eye. Since that time, the Goldberg Variations have leaped to a position near the top of Bach's works. Many talented pianists have left their imprint on the Variations, but public recital of the works is a fairly rare occurrence because of the intricacy of the compositions and the extraordinary skill required to interpret them well.

What makes the Goldberg Variations special is that, like all of Bach's music, it makes extraordinary use of the technique of counterpoint, in which multiple themes are combinedsimultaneously to create an exceptionally beautiful and complex-sounding harmony. The Goldbergs are based on an aria for keyboard, in this case a simple but almost indescribably sublime melody, which is then the subject of the 30 variations, before the aria is recapitulated at the end of the work. The variations have a wide range of speeds and melodies which evoke several different emotions on the part of the listener.

Sergei Babayan's performance was a highly impressive demonstration of the difficulty posed by Bach's work, and it was physical proof of how incredibly demanding Bach's work is, especially for a solo performer. The numerous strands of melody the interpreter is required to join to create the counterpoint of Bach's music demands unbelievable concentration, and skill; a single false note throws the work completely off course, and Babayan wasn't about to hit one. His tempi were fast (though nowhere near as fast as Gould's in his 1955 recording,) and I found myself at times breathless to watch this virtuoso navigate his way through the wonderful highs of the piece. It would not be an exaggeration to describe Mr. Babayan's performance as spellbinding, and a privilege to hear.

This performance of the Goldberg Variations is part of the ongoing “Bach Week” festivities in the Chicagoland area, which started April 19 and continue until May 5. For more info, please visitwww.bachweek.org.

SERGEI BABAYAN South Florida Classical Review • March 2, 2014

Sergei Babayan marks Chopin’s birthday in style BY RICHARD YATES

If you own the website www.chopin.org, it would only be natural that when the birthday of this patron saint of pianists rolls around, you would be the one to host the party. And that’s exactly what the Chopin Foundation of the United States had in store Saturday evening at the Manuel Artime Theater in Miami.

Marking 204 years since the composer Frédéric François Chopin was born, the event was a festive occasion with offerings by pianist Sergei Babayan.

The first part of the program offered music by Antonín Dvořák and Franz Liszt. The last set was a continuous stream of music by Chopin performed without pause.

Dvořák’s Piano Quintet No. 2 opened the concert with Babayan joined by the Amernet Quartet. The expressive viola writing in the first movement was brought out by Michael Klotz, alternating with the enlivening triplet patterns breathlessly executed by Misha Vitenson on violin and Babayan on piano.

During the second movement, Dumka, the broodingly dark tone of Vitenson’s violin along with the deep expression of Jason Calloway’s cello provided a counterpoint to Babayan’s piano, lightly surfacing from time to time like a distant music box.

The great pathos of the Dumka movement’s string writing was dispelled by the much lighter third movement. Dvořák’s finale with its faux militant themes paralleled Chopin’s Grand valse brilliant, which closed the evening’s program. The Amernet Quartet took up the charade of the finale, at one moment playing a practical joke, and at the next, acting with solemn devotion.

With Franz Liszt’s Ballade No. 2 in B Minor, Babayan reinforced his efficient control of the piano, emphasizing the flow of the unfolding music instead of virtuosity for its own sake. His interpretation stressed the subtly changing tonal colors, rendering a nuanced intimacy.

Chopin’s works were clearly chosen with care to represent a rich cross-sampling and to facilitate artful transitions between the individual pieces. The works demonstrated the composer’s versatility, seemingly endless wealth of ideas, and ingenious treatment of his melodies. Indeed, the concert reminded one how central this repertoire has been to shaping our very definition of “classical” music.

The pieces performed by Babayan included the Polonaise Op. 26; Valse Op. 64, No. 2; Barcarolle Op. 60; Valse Op. 69, No. 2; Impromptu Op. 29, No. 1; Ballade No. 3, Op. 47; and finally the Grand valse brilliant, Op. 34, No. 1.

With charm, Babayan infused the sunny central Polonaise theme with rubato and an almost precious care. Many of the piano pieces were played by Babayan with an exceptionally quiet dynamic. This was especially notable in the first two Valses, where miniscule changes in the voicings of the left-hand harmonizations brought about completely newmelodic ideas.

Sergei Babayan South Florida Classical Review • March 2, 2014 page 2 of 2 Reflection was the quality projected throughout the performances. The playing style was almost Classical in its restraint and clarity of texture, with extreme judiciousness used to justify any fluidity of tempo. Even the normally showy Grand valse was only a momentary bit of grandiloquence, with the lightness of touch making the work seem almost like a caprice.

With a flower-laden portrait of Chopin on the one side of the stage, the musicians bringing life to his memory proved that his work undoubtedly lives on.

London Symphony Orchestra/Gergiev at Barbican, London EC2 The soloists made virtuoso contributions and Gergiev delighted in maximising the music’s expressive polarities

Hilary Finch

Imagine a piano concerto that reminds you of Chopin, Liszt, Brahms, Ravel and Rachmaninov, yet which sounds like nothing you’ve ever heard before. This is the 1987 Piano Concerto by Lutoslawski, given a welcome outing by Sergei Babayan and the London Symphony Orchestra.

Babayan, who first played the concerto with Valery Gergiev four years ago in St Petersburg, is making it very much his own. With Gergiev conjuring the minutest, fleeting detail of tremulous touch from his players, Babayan would calm them at one moment, and plunge headlong into a vortex of virtuoso pianism the next

There is just one movement, yet you can feel its nerve system moving through scintillating song to rapid chase, and from glassy recitative to chaconne. Lutoslawski seemed to be retrieving all he’d ever known, turning it in the kaleidoscope of tradition, and forming ever new patternings with an assured and individual dexterity. Babayan and Gergiev recreated that adroitness with technical brilliance and imaginative delight.

The concerto was also the perfect upbeat to Messiaen’s Turangalila Symphony, anticipating its exuberance, and acting as a foil to its euphoric excesses. Messiaen’s joy, in this immediately postwar hymn to love was, in his own words, “superhuman, overflowing, blinding, unlimited” — and the LSO relished the task of realising the composer’s heady and rampaging attempts to express this. Joanna Macgregor, her body wired up, thrilled to its rigours, its sensuality, and to the shape and spirit of its orchestration. The sheer strength and focus of her percussive playing, her limpid steadiness in the third, dreamlike movement and her nightingale of a garden-song were breathtaking.

Cynthia Millar brought wonder to some, and altitude sickness to others, with her whooping and whistling ondes Martenot. The orchestra’s own soloists, particularly the percussion, trombones, principal clarinet and oboe, made virtuoso contributions throughout. And Gergiev delighted in maximising the music’s expressive polarities. 

 

 

Babayan brings new luster to “Goldberg Variations”

at Bach Week Festival

               Mon  Apr  22,  2013  at  4:45  pm    by  Dennis  Polkow    

                                           Sergei  Babayan  performed  the  “Goldberg  Variations”  at  Bach  Week  Festival  Sunday  in  Evanston.  

Celebrating  its  40th  anniversary,  Bach  Week  Festival  is  stretching  across  a  two-­‐week  period  this  year  and  spotlighted  something  a  bit  unusual  for  its  opening  weekend:  a  pianist.  

Not  just  any  pianist,  but  Armenian-­‐born,  Russian-­‐trained  Sergei  Babayan,  well-­‐known  for  his  Bach  performances.    

Babayan  played  two  of  the  Bach  harpsichord  concertos  on  the  festival’s  Friday  night  opening  concert  and  gave  a  solo  recital  Sunday  afternoon  at  Nichols  Hall  in  Evanston.  

Looking  quite  young  for  a  pianist  now  in  his  early  50s,  Babayan  is  a  no-­‐nonsense  player  who  came  out,  took  a  brief  bow,  and  immediately  began  sinking  his  hands  into  a  frenzied,  loud  and  muscular  version  of  Liszt’s  Ballade  No.  2  in  b  minor.  

Given  the  smallness  of  the  room,  Babayan’s  power  was  at  times,  overwhelming,  but  the  effect  was  certainly  the  bravura  Liszt  had  in  mind.  

A  more  contemplative  approach  was  needed  for  a  movement  of  Messiaen’s  Vint  Regards  sur  l’enfant  Jésus,  but  Babayan  chose  to  emphasize  the  percussive  aspects  of  the  piece  rather  than  its  mystery.  

There  was  to  have  been  an  intermission  between  the  Messiaen  and  the  central  attraction  of  Babayan’s  recital,  Bach’s  Goldberg  Variations,  but  there  was  not  so  much  as  a  pause  between  the  end  of  the  Messiaen  and  the  intoning  of  the  iconic  aria  that  opens  the  Goldberg,  which  signified  a  radical  reduction  in  dynamics  so  extreme  as  to  have  been  almost  a  pianistic  u-­‐turn.  

 

 

 

 

The  aria  was  poetic  and  stately,  supremely  confident,  and  the  variations  that  followed,  by  and  large,  followed  one  upon  the  other  without  pause.  That  sounds  more  distracting  than  it  turned  it  to  be,  for  Babayan  clearly  sees  these  variations  not  so  much  as  a  series  of  miniatures  following  in  rapid  succession,  but  as  one  seamless  and  epic  piece  all  spun  from  the  same  material,  which  at  least  in  Babayan’s  interpretation,  never  seemed  far  away.  

 

It  is  a  curious  hybrid  of  approaches,  the  evenness  of  a  harpsichord  with  the  expressiveness  of  the  piano,  always  swinging,  always  pulsating  with  energy  and  having  an  almost  jazz-­‐like  improvisational  quality.  

Babayan  seems  so  at  home  with  this  music  that  he  really  does  sound  as  if  he  could  be  spontaneously  creating  it.  The  music  sounded  organic  and  inevitable,  a  rare  and  refreshing  thing  to  behold  with  Bach  which  is  often  treated  with  such  distant  reverence  that  even  in  the  best-­‐intentioned  hands,  it  can  become  pedantic.  

There  was  also  a  wide  arsenal  of  timbres,  textures  and  dynamics  always  carefully  chosen  to  emphasize  the  character  of  each  variation  section,  with  fascinating  carryovers  of  one  approach  into  another.  

Unlike  Angela  Hewitt  or  Daniel  Barenboim,  there  were  no  repeats,  the  entire  piece  clocked  in  at  47  minutes,  but  it  passed  by  in  seemingly  half  that  time.  

By  the  time  Babayan  reached  the  familiar  repeat  aria  signaling  the  end  of  the  journey,  he  took  the  reprise  more  slowly  and  softly  as  if  to  end  indicating  that  there  had  been  a  poetic  transformation  of  the  original.  

 

http://chicagoclassicalreview.com/2013/04/babayan-­‐brings-­‐new-­‐luster-­‐to-­‐goldberg-­‐variations-­‐at-­‐bach-­‐week-­‐festival/  

    

LSO/Gergiev – Lutosławski & Messiaen /Barbican Hall, May 13, 2010

Reviewed by: Andrew Maisel

London Symphony Orchestra Valery Gergiev

Sergei Babayan(piano) [Lutoslawski ]

Joanna MacGregor (piano) & Cynthia Millar (ondes Martenot)

This was the first of two performances of Messiaen’s Turangalîla Symphony (the second is on 20 May) to be performed by Valery Gergiev and the LSO in the

Barbican Hall. This now oft-performed piece presents its own problems – the very large forces required are not out of the ordinary but the addition of two solo parts, for piano and for ondes Martenot, present very real problems in balancing the sound, especially when the decibel levels are so high.

Through judicious amplification of the ondes Martenot and restraint from Gergiev, both instruments were allowed to be heard, and shine. Only on occasions was Joanna MacGregor’s piano drowned out. Cynthia Millar’s swooping ondes Martenot was clearly audible throughout; brittle timbres in the upper registers the only downside. Sound-levels were high, at times ear-shattering, as in the ecstatic peroration of the eighth movement, but justifiable in the context of the excessive nature of the piece itself. Minor criticisms aside, this was a highly satisfying performance. With the LSO on top form, Gergiev successfully negotiated his way through the complexities of the score; the three concurring themes in ‘Turangalîla 1’ (third movement) skillfully delineated. One would have expected him to be strong in the rhythmic passages and the jazzy interludes (fifth movement); no surprises here. But this would have been nothing without bringing out the sense of sexual ecstasy flowing through Messiaen’s score and it was here that Gergiev excelled. The love- theme of ‘Jardin du sommeil d’amour’ was almost obscenely erotic in its sensuousness; sensitive interplay between the two soloists laying the foundations whilst violins delivered sumptuous tone. MacGregor made light of the considerable demands, playing with accuracy and panache. It was preceded by a memorable account of Lutosławski's Piano Concerto. Written for his fellow-countryman Krystian Zimerman in 1987, it’s a spiky, angular work with rhythms reminiscent of Bartók and Ravel with lyrical themes harking back to an earlier era. Sergei Babayan’s crisp, finely articulated playing perfectly captured these shifting moods. Gergiev and his forces provided incisive accompaniment, bringing clarity of texture and a wealth of tonal colouring. The result was a taut, exciting performance, soloist and conductor working in perfect harmony.

 

 

 

www.classicalsource.com 

 

LSO/Gergiev @ Barbican Hall, London, 13 May 2010

Love it or loathe it, Messiaen's Turangalîla Symphony

work of the twentieth century.

Love it, and you'd have found this performance a gripping musical experience. Loathe it, and you'd have been clock watching most of the way through.

The Turangalîla Symphony (which will be played again on 20 May) represents Messiaen at his most joyous and capriciously quirky. But therein lies the problem. Listening to it, one can't help feeling that the composer was trying too hard to shock and innovate in a post-war musical world dominated by a rising generation of iconoclasts led by Pierre Boulez.

The symphony's underlying theme – a concoction of meditations on time, space, movement and love – is obscure and not always easy to make sense of in the music. And the inclusion of the ondes Martenot (played in this concert by the incredibly experienced Cynthia Millar) sounds twee and faintly ridiculous to modern ears. Indeed, the instrument's whines and wails seemed particularly shrill in this performance. Much more interesting is the piano part, which was capably handled by Joanna MacGregor. Ranging from repetitive key punching to expansive themes, Messiaen's writing allowed her to showcase many of her technical and interpretative skills.

There were, of course, other highlights. The opening movement exemplified the LSO's superb playing under the tight control of a

Valery Gergiev  

 

 

hawk-eyed Valery Gergiev, while the ensuing slow movement (Love Song 1) was a captivating moment of calm. The famous fifth movement (Joy of the Blood of the Stars) was played as a no-holds barred romp. But by then the ondes Martenot's unfortunate associations with 1950s sci-fi B-movies had already entered the consciousness, and it was a long time to clock watch until the end.

Twentieth century music was much better represented by Witold Lutoslawski's Piano Concerto. Edgy and lyrical by turns,it was written as late as 1987. Yet it incorporates many of the traditions of the nineteenth century piano repertoire. There are audible echoes of Liszt, Rachmaninov and Ravel, and strong reminders of Lutoslawski's compatriot Szymanowski in its uneasy exoticism. Sergei Babayan proved an outstanding soloist, working completely in tandem with Gergiev. The orchestra, too, had clearly rehearsed the work well. The interplay between the piano and woodwind section in the first movement was particularly noteworthy, while the whole of the LSO really came into their own in combative finale.

- John-Pierre Joyce 

 

Metamorphosis Concert Series: SERGEI BABAYAN reviewed by Stanley Fefferman

Tuesday, April 7, 2009, Glenn Gould Studio, Toronto

The encore was a piece by Aarvo Part: notes like after a sun shower raindrops fatten and slide off young leaves overhanging a pond. Ripples of the final note spread through the hall, and Sergei Babayan sat, his hands resting on his lap, enjoying the stillness. Babayan’s demeanor, from start to finish, radiates the confidence of a pianist who has something to say about familiar music that makes you feel you have never heard it before.

Three Schubert songs transcribed by Liszt (“Der Muller etc., S.565 No.2,” “Gretchen etc. S.558 No.8,” “Auf dem Wasser etc S.558 No.2”), flow out from his hands with an unheard of tenderness. In Babayan’s hands, Schubert’s melodies—airy, floaty, fully-formed but unsubstantial, are pure feeling made manifest. The passion of “Gretchen” played lightly but with speed and urgency comes across not as a musical story being told, but as something happening on the spot that is chillingly real.

Mr. Babayan’s Rameau (Suite No. 2 in A minor) is a gentle but irresistable wake-up call. My comparison here is the Rameau specialist, Alexandre Tharaud, who recently played the piece in Toronto. I remember enjoying Tharaud’s distinctive phrasing and use of rubato, his overall sense of structure. If Tharaud’s version ‘rocked’, Babayan’s version ‘rocked all night like his back ain’t got no bone.’ Which is to say, the facility and felicity of Babayan’s touch brought out of the quick, cross-handed complexities of Rameau a delicate joyfulness.

The final piece on the ‘familiar’ portion of the program—11 selections from Bach’s Klavierbuchlein—were sweet and playful. The distinctly articulated right and left hand parts emerged like reflections on the stream of Bababyan’s tender, meditative, and overall—mesmerizing approach. The ‘unfamiliar’ component of the program was the hair-rasing Fantasia in C minor, Op. 21, in memory of Maria Yudina by Vladimir Ryabov (b. 1950).

Mr. Babayan abandoned himself to the piano and became entirely absorbed in it. Ryabov’s music is bipolar: painfully tender, trilling passages are succeeded by tolling repetitions of chaotic chords and thunder. Unheard of harmonies, dark percussive figures somehow release vibrations of etherial overtones. The concluding ‘Capriccio’ unleashes a perpetual motion figure that sounds to me like boogie-woogie rocking out until it breaks the piano and Babayan keeps playing as if on a broken piano until silence encroaches on the music and swallows it.

We are very grateful to pianist Shoko Inoue for preparing the concert series Metamorphosis, and for including in the series this man whom she describes as “the most caring and nourishing teacher I have ever had. He has shown me the power of the pianist to be able to reach, so to say, from beyond the sky and to bring that beauty back to this earth.” To learn more about Metamorphosis, Mr. Babayan, Ms. Inoue and her vision of music please go to this link.