When it comes to the piano, one often hears a great deal of discussion about “tone.” This is both understandable from the standpoint of the piano itself, and also the person playing it.

As I look at the pianists who are playing at Carnegie Hall in the coming season, the list is full of extremely impressive names. Everyone from Lang Lang to Emanuel Ax, Daniil Trifonov to Víkingur Ólafsson, among many others.

As I look more and more deeply into Chopin’s “Barcarolle”, the work that will close out the program at my next New York concert, I am discovering lots of wonderful things that are helping to expand not only my understanding of the work, but also my interpretations.

In my posts this past week I have been discussing how to choose pieces for a program, and some of the ideas I use in order to create a complete story for the audience.  It can sometimes help to think of each work as one would chapters of a book.

As important as it is to choose the right repertoire for a concert, it is equally as important to be certain one chooses the right encores. They should, like all the other pieces, take into consideration the entire concert, the audience, and just as important, the general atmosphere and tone of the last work on the planned program.

Imagine being asked to wear a dress or a suit that you don’t like.  Now, imagine going to a very important event in that same dress or suit, and trying to feel comfortable.

When considering an audience as I plan a concert, I often think in terms of a Venn diagram.

It’s very easy to think that planning a concert is simply about choosing repertoire one feels confident playing. For me though there are any number of preliminary steps that need to take place long before I choose the final pieces for a program.

Following the Foujita exhibition which I discussed in my post on September 2, 2025, I found myself thinking that art feeds the soul, but so does architecture, just as food feeds the body. The eyes, the ears, and even the palate are messengers for the spirit to celebrate the world in which we live, and all of this came together for me on the day I went to see the exhibition.

I’m very pleased to announce that I am returning to New York for a private recital at the Columbus Citizens Foundation (CCF) on October 28 of this year.  During that time I will also be spending a week getting ready for my Carnegie Hall debut and taking daily lessons with Mr. Cosmo.

An exhibition of works by the Japanese-French painter Tsuguharu Foujita at the Tokyo Station Gallery closed recently, and it helped me to better understand how inspiration can work not just in music, but also the visual arts.

As I continued to think about the idea of practicing slowly, I began to wonder about the relationship it also has to memorization, and how Rachmaninoff’s ideas might have been carried out by some of his students. I did a bit of research, and made an interesting discovery.

The video included in this post is of me practicing the first movement of the Mozart Piano Sonata No. 13, K.333. Why so slowly you might ask?  To find out, let’s discuss one of the great masters, Sergei Rachmaninoff.

For me, very little about this movement can or need be said that doesn’t involve the word “majestic.”  The first measures are like a pronouncement of what will come right after, with a melody that is not unlike a huge waterfall, splashing, misting, and spraying notes over the listener, complete with a kind of “undertow” in the left hand.

The second I started working on this movement it was hard for me not to remember the extent to which Chopin was inspired by the music of Bellini, and the soulful and plaintive nature of this entire Largo. Throughout the first portion of it, it almost seems as if words could have given to the melody in order to create a song. Chopin, just before his death, asked to hear an aria by Bellini, which is certainly a testimony to the power of the Italian composer’s influence.

The term scherzo Italian is the word for “joke.” It certainly seems appropriate for this movement given the fact that the tempo is marked “Molto vivace” or very lively. 

With this movement it is almost as if Mozart has decided to say “All right. Let’s bring everything home.” The sense of completion in the movement, as well as the related joy, is almost like the discussion of people who have been out to a fine meal in the first two movements, and they are talking about all of the wonderful food as they walk home, happy and satisfied. 

With this movement it is almost as if Mozart has decided to say “All right. Let’s bring everything home.” The sense of completion in the movement, as well as the related joy, is almost like the discussion of people who have been out to a fine meal in the first two movements, and they are talking about all of the wonderful food as they walk home, happy and satisfied. 

For me this movement has to really reflect something not just pianistic, but also vocal, as the word cantabile implies.  When I am playing it I imagine a singer performing the basic melody of the right hand, with the left hand being a type of accompaniment. 

The classic form of the sonata is clearly evident here, and as such there is for me in this first movement, marked Allegro, a balance to be kept between the lively and the very delicate.  It is rather like fine, elaborate lace made with silk thread—intricate and sturdy at the same time. Mozart shows himself to be a true master in composing for the sonata format.