to be (exposed) or not to be (exposed)

I've been pondering the necessity for an artist to be exposed to a variety of influences and experiences, artistic or otherwise. Is it crucial to be fully immersed and engaged in the world (something I've touted on many occasions), or is there something even more valuable in carving an enclosed and even solitary space for oneself as an escape from outside distractions?

This question came to mind recently when I was frustrated about missing certain noteworthy concerts (not my own, of course!) due to various scheduling conflicts. On the one hand, I felt awful at missing the opportunity to witness and hear some of the world's finest performers/conductors/orchestras/productions; although I had legitimate reasons for not making these concerts, I still ended up feeling like I let a one-time-only chance slip through my fingers—the chance to learn and be inspired by top-notch artistry, provocative programming, and, of course, amazing music. (I felt this sensation acutely a couple years ago when I missed seeing one of Coldplay's shows in New Jersey; instead of taking advantage of one of their last stateside appearances before their touring hiatus, I decided to practice for an upcoming audition, and needless to say my practice session that night ended up being woefully unproductive!)

Yet on the flip side many of the artists I admire are those that create or have created in solitude, distanced from the impressions of others. In this way they are able to approach their art purely and individualistically.

But perhaps this shouldn't even be an "either/or" situation: as in everything, there are shades of gray here that I haven't yet touched upon. For one, even those who are far removed from the throng of activity are still affected by its echoes; after all, no man—or in this case, artist—is an island (thank you, John Donne and Thomas Merton).

On that inconclusive note, it's time for me to shut the mind off and get some shut-eye.

Check it out: the emerald city, urban hubbub, etc.

Last weekend I performed a recital at the Seattle Town Hall. Seattle—the birthplace of grunge and Starbucks, and the site of numerous tech company headquarters—is such a wonderful city! I enjoyed fish of the freshest quality, beautiful views, and warm hospitality. Here I am in front of the famed Space Needle:



February has been an exciting month so far, in addition to the Superbowl (which I unfortunately missed as I was on a flight from Seattle) and Super Tuesday (though I refrain from touting my political views, I must say that this is one thrilling race!). I am currently preparing for a concert at Carnegie Hall's Zankel Hall. On Tuesday evening I will be performing Berio's Linea and Steve Reich's City Life with my fantastic Ensemble ACJW colleagues. I'm thoroughly enjoying rehearsals and I'm loving these revolutionary works of the 20th-century repertoire. I'm particularly having a ball on the keyboard in the Reich piece—this is my chance to play samples of car alarms, slamming doors, motors, and other city noises throughout, as well as a relentless riff on "It's been a honeymoon!" in the positively jammin', techno-like central movement. If you're in NYC, come to the concert and "check it out" [which is, incidentally, one of the main speech samples of City Life].

the end of time at the beginning of the year

Happy New Year! 2008 has begun with projects that remind me of how lucky I am to be a musician.

Today is the official release date of my piano duo album "Reimagine." (Read my reflections on the album here.)

Last week I gave my first public performance of Messiaen's Quatour pour la fin du temps with my esteemed Academy colleagues. I couldn't have asked for a better way to commence my year than with this rapturous, mystical 50-minute masterwork that eludes all description.

As I worked on the piece, I was fixated on the Angel's words [which Messiaen had included in the score], "Il n'y aura plus de Temps"—it became my mantra. I loved delving into the darkest nightmarish depths, striving toward the most beatific heights, and tapping into the terrible joy of the music. I loved blending my sound with the strings and clarinets to create an unyielding, massive, granite-like sonority in the inexorably formidable six movement. I loved sitting without playing for 15 minutes in breathless awe during the solo clarinet movement and the "Intermède" for the other three instruments, and then finally ending my respite with the rich E major chord that begins the accompaniment to the cello's reverent, seemingly infinite "Louange à l'Éternité de Jésus." (This movement to me is love incarnate.) This music transcends the bounds of time and space, and what a revelation it was to explore Messiaen's devotional vision of the Eternal.

To quote Victor Hugo: "Soyez à l'infinie."

Season's Greetings!

Merry Christmas, everyone! (And to those who don't celebrate Christmas, happy holidays!) I wish all of you peace and joy, today and beyond.

(Speaking of Christmas, I heartily recommend Sufjan Stevens' Songs for Christmas. They are lovely, imaginative, individualistic gems.) ejr

cruel beauty

I just alighted upon this quotation of Benjamin Britten, and I love it:

"It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness and of pain: of strength and of freedom. The beauty of disappointment and never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature, and everlasting beauty of monotony."

Music may torture us, but the "suffering" it inflicts is the best kind—one that compels us to confront our fears and desires, to delve deeply into and stretch beyond ourselves, to face the infinite.

This peerless, all-encompassing force of music is something I try to tap into every time I perform, but I don't always succeed. However, I felt especially connected during my recent performance at Ravinia. In spite of a cold and a severe lack of preparation—due to my crazy schedule and inconvenient practicing situation (i.e. no piano in my apartment), not a lack of responsibility!—everything somehow locked into place and I found myself equipped with this ineluctable ability to shape things just as I wished. It is the greatest joy to lose yourself in the music and the moment (to loosely quote Eminem) while opening your heart to the people around you. Alone on that stage and embraced by attentive listeners, I felt empowered and free, and although a performance doesn't last temporally, its echoes endure.

To return to the aforementioned quotation, I am finding a forlorn and urgent beauty in Radiohead's latest effort, In Rainbows. Standout tracks to me include "Weird Fishes/Arpeggi," "All I Need," and "House of Cards." Another piece of music I'm obsessed with at the moment: Messiaen's "Louange à l'Éternité de Jésus" from the Quatour pour la fin du temps. This is beauty at its most ecstatic.

late and great

I am currently fixated on (and transfixed by) the "Cavatina" from Beethoven's String Quartet, Op. 130—what sublime, transporting, gracious, profoundly human, impossibly beautiful music. With music like this, how can one not be grateful to be alive? And to think that this music emerged from the soundless depths of Beethoven's internal universe...It's soul-speech.

(nearly) full circle and (entirely) in another hemisphere

¡Hola! I'm in the beautiful city of Buenos Aires, and it's wonderful to be back. It's been almost a year since my first visit. I first came to Argentina in November 2006 as the winner of the Mirian Conti Argentina Prize (which was presented at the 2006 Juilliard Commencement). Mirian is a terrific pianist and an absolutely wonderful person, and she hosted my first trip.

What an unforgettable time I had last November! Some memorable things: watching the flight map in awe as we flew over the Equator and the Amazons; arriving in gorgeous summery weather; driving into Buenos Aires in all its bustling, cosmopolitan glory; savoring the amazing and amazingly inexpensive food from the very start (the pastas, ice cream, and anything with dulce de leche were standouts—unfortunately my vegetarianism precluded me from sampling the legendary beef!); performing in the gilded Salon Dorado at the Casa de la Cultura to a fantastic, appreciative audience; meeting the most wonderful people; enjoying a tango show (gotta love the bandoneon); frequenting the city's ubiquitous internet cafes; marveling at the European-style architecture, antique shops, and colorful street fairs in San Telmo; sipping delicious coffee at the iconic Cafe Tortoni; scoring deals on high-quality leather goods; seeing artwork by Frida Kahlo and others at Malba, which houses the largest collection of Latin American art; laughing hysterically at Talladega Nights on the flight back to the US.

My current trip (sponsored by the American Embassy) is equally exciting, albeit shorter and more jam-packed. I wish I had more time to sightsee, but I'm really enjoying my "official" duties. The agenda includes two concerts, a master class/talk, and various other events. More on this trip to come...