The Czech pianist, Ivan Moravec, who played here Thursday night under the auspices of PCA Great Performances, is said to be an admirer of Sviatoslav Richter and studied under the legendary Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli. He has the Russian’s independent romanticism and the astounding technique of the Italian recluse, which makes for a heady cocktail indeed. It is a shame that Merrill Auditorium was only half-full - primarily with piano teachers and their students.

As befits a pianist who can play whatever he likes, Moravec began the program with a virtually unknown sonata by his compatriot Leos Janacek. The "Sonata der Strasse: 1 X. 1905" commemorates a student uprising in Prague. The composer burned one movement and threw the other two in the river. But the first two had been copied by a pianist and were later published with the composer’s permission. One suspects that he needed the money.

The work is somber and atmospheric, but lacks the triumphant conclusion of other works celebrating the spirit of revolution, like the Shostakovich 10th Symphony. It is fascinating however, to hear the evolving style of a great operatic composer, who had just completed "Jenufa." Needless to say, Moravec gave it a superb performance, making the music sound better than it is.

Moravec is also an inimitable interpreter of Debussy, as evidenced by his performance of "La Soiree dans Grenade" and "Pour le Piano." "Ondine," which he played as an encore, was the icing on the cake, with purling runs that imitated flying droplets of water catching the light. One of his secrets is the contrast between subtlety and display, which makes the fireworks stand out against a dark background.

His Chopin "Ballade in F Minor" (Opus 52) was also dramatic contrasts as well as technical bravado. Moravec often takes long rests, like a traveler choosing a path, or someone thinking through a phrase before playing it. The practice builds anticipation, which, in his case, is nearly always fulfilled.

The best performance, however, was saved for last - all 24 Chopin Preludes (Opus 28) played like a sonata with wildly unrelated movements, rather like Chopin’s more formal sonatas. unperturbed.

Maybe the piano teachers in the audience could find fault with some of the interpretations, but I couldn’t. Gide called the Preludes "Chopin’s eagle feathers," and under Moravec’s fingers they deserved the title. There were too many beauties to enumerate, but the difficult No. 8, which comes after the ballet scene, was as near perfection as piano playing can come. The well-known funeral march of No. 20 seemed much too fast at first, but when all the inner voices began to reverberate, the tempo seemed inevitable.

The work earned Moravec a tumultuous ovation, which led to a beautifully understated Chopin Mazurka and the "Ondine."

Christopher Hyde is a writer and musician from Pownal. His Classical Beat column appears in the Maine Sunday Telegram.

To call Ivan Moravec a pianist's pianist is not an opinion or a cliche. It's an observation: Of the more than 500 who turned out to hear the Czech pianist Saturday night, an unusually high percentage were professional pianists, piano teachers and students.

Some knew from previous encounters with Moravec that they would hear playing of great delicacy and color sensitivity, unaffected power and unerring phrasing. Those who didn't know found out soon enough, and were delighted by the discovery.

Moravec devoted most of his program to Chopin: the 24 preludes, the Ballade in F minor and, as an encore, the Mazurka in C-sharp minor. It was a fine cross section of the composer's various modes of expression and of how this pianist addresses them.

The preludes, a nearly hourlong series of short and very short pieces (with a few more extended, rhapsodic ones in the center of the set), alternating in major and minor keys in an ascending, then descending tonal arch, require a strong personality as well as a strong technician to project successfully in a concert setting.

Moravec, playing at a level of concentration that proved infectious, emphasized the paired nature of the preludes, in effect turning 24 pieces into 12, and played up their contrasts between the lyrical or modal and the rhythmic and turbulent.

He gave the best-known preludes, No. 7 in A major and No. 15 in D-flat major, their due as classics of romantic expression, while in others - No. 2 in A minor and No. 14 in E-flat minor - displaying how Chopin stretched harmonic language and form.

Taken collectively, Chopin's preludes are a virtual blueprint for the sound of French music for a century to come. Moravec drove home that point by preceding the Chopin with a generous sampling of Debussy: "La Soiree dans Grenade" (literally, "Granada Dance Party") from the "Estampes" set and the Suite "Pour le piano."

Like his teacher, Arturo Benedetti Michaelangeli, Moravec has painstakingly mastered Debussy's minute shadings of tone color, liquidity of rhythm and the uniquely distant perspective this composer can bring to the subjects he represents. The Spanish dance sounded as if it were being heard across a square, or perhaps witnessed from overhead.

Moravec played "Pour le piano" as more virtuosic, "pianistic" music, but with rhythmic and dynamic elasticity and, in the central sarabande, a stately kind of grace.

The Chopin ballade and mazurka were displays of controlled passion, all the more exciting for his not giving in to the temptation of playing them with abandon.

Moravec is the most authoritative interpreter of the music of his fellow Czech Leos Janacek, but depth of understanding will go only so far toward resuscitating a piece the composer first dismembered, then discarded.

That is the unhappy history of the "Sonata der Strasse" ("Sonata from the Street"), which Janacek wrote as an elegy to a friend killed in political violence.

Moravec did not attempt to smooth the rough edges or temper the awkwardness of form in the opening "Presentiment." He played "The Death" with simplicity, nobility and a deep quiet.

Audience members were left spellbound by the performance given by the great Czech pianist, Ivan Moravec, last Sunday in the CFA Concert Hall. For those who had seen Moravec's outstanding performance of all 24 Chopin Preludes at Middlebury in 1999, their presence at this recital was simply expected. For those who had never before heard this great pianist in concert, his music offered an array of delightful surprises full of rich and captivating nuances.

The program included eight of the Chopin Mazurkas, each of which danced with a sort of aristocratic pride. Chopin, who wrote nearly 60 Mazurkas for the piano, established its place in the concert repetoire, while also shaping its traditional style into one more heavily embellished and ornamented. Chopin helped to find a distinction between the waltz and the Mazurka by adding a touch of abandon to the latter, making the piece appear less metrical and more stylized. Moravec solidly handled this necessity through his masterful and simultaneous working of tempo, rhythm, and pedaling. Sensuous abandonment also characterized Moravec's performance of the Chopin Fantasie in F minor.

The second half of the performance began with a piece by the Czech composer, Leos Janacek. As if honoring his nationalistic ties with this composer, Moravec chose to perform an early piano "sonata" named From the Street: Oct. 1, 1905. The piece is referred to as a sonata though it contains two movements instead of the characteristic three. Originally there were three movements, however Janacek burned the finale before it could be premiered. The program notes failed to explain the significance of this piece that was composed in response to events in Brno in 1905. On Oct. 1 of that year, an unarmed carpenter was killed by AustroHungarian troops after having protested against a decision refusing the establishment of a Czech University in the city.

Moravec ended the program with "La Soiree dans la Grenade," and "Pour le piano" by Debussy. In an interview with WBUR Radio, Boston, Moravec said, "[Debussy's music] evokes an imagination of a tremendous space. And of time which is like to be stopped. No time! If you give to the long notes enough time, then the perception of the piece is really something quite exceptional." In last Sunday's concert, Moravec often deliberately held a tone that soon faded gracefully into a new theme. This technique was especially appealing in his Debussy interpretations. To understand his motive for this, Moravec offers his perspective on coping with the limitations of the piano: "I am really looking for a long tone, and long sound. And I'm aware of the limitation of our instrument, the piano, because the tone drops. This is my biggest sadness, that I can't do, holding a nice F on the piano, a nice crescendo." One would never guess that these are the little things that concert pianists fret over.

Yet in an attempt to reconcile an undying perfectionism, many pianists develop an intense preoccupation with the sound of the piano that is to be played during a performance. It is not unusual for pianists to be interested in how the piano actually works; Ivan Moravec is known to tune the piano himself before almost all performances (I was much surprised to see him tuning our Steinway, mid-afternoon, before his 1999 performance). He admits, “I know that some of my colleagues like to play in a city where I have just played because they know the piano will be in a better condition!”

Moravec's perfectionism also applies uniquely to his style of interpretive study of a piece. After having learned most of the notes, Moravec assiduously explores a spectrum of possible nuances to employ in each of his chosen pieces. According to the liner notes of his CD Immortal Pages, Moravec is noted to embody piano pieces with every possible retard, accelerando, forte, piano, crescendo, etc., recording many of these explorations on tape recorder. He then listens to them in the evening and eliminates any sounds that he feels are too restrictive. It is in this manner that he fits his artistic vision into an appropriate assemblage whose motive is to imbue a piano piece with personality and character.

Surprisingly, Moravec's method of practice goes almost entirely against the norm for classical piano study: instead of adding on to what is learned, he subtracts, thus focusing his imaginative power on only the most essential gradations.

Perhaps it is needless to say that Middlebury College is incredibly fortunate to be graced with the presence of artists like Ivan Moravec. His creativity, originality, and reputation make him truly one of the great pianists of the 20th century, as well as one that will continue to inspire musicians of this current century.

Janácek: Sonata 1.X.1905 Debussy: Estampes: La Soirée dans Grenade; Pour le Piano Chopin: Ballade in F minor Op. 52; 24 Preludes Op. 28

One viable definition of pure bliss is hearing the legendary Czech pianist Ivan Moravec in a recital of composers dear to him – Janácek, Debussy, and Chopin. The virtues that make Moravec among the handful of great pianists were all on display at Carnegie Hall November 27, from the carefully thought-out interpretations that stretch traditional approaches to put a personal stamp on the music without veering into idiosyncrasy, to technically poised pianism that’s never merely exhibitionist, to a peerless command of phrasing, color, and rhythm.

In the opening Janácek Sonata, a two-movement work depicting the tragic outcome of a 1905 protest demonstration in Brno, Moravec conveyed the strong sentiments of this difficult piece through subtle inflections that intensify its pathos. Thus the second movement, “Death”, gained immense power as its repetitive theme was subjected to a range of color and nuanced phrasing. The opening flourishes of Debussy’s La Soirée dans Grenade sounded for all the world like the piano had been transformed into a giant strumming guitar, taking us into another world after the stark Janácek. Moravec’s evocation of Grenada’s perfumed night air also was a master class in discreet pedaling – precisely enough to create atmosphere and achieve the desired harmonic touches without blurring articulation or muddying the lines. Chopin formed the remainder of the concert--the F minor Ballade and the 24 Preludes of Opus 28. These are works Moravec has lived with for most of his 71 years, played countless times, and even recorded multiple times. Yet he rendered them with the freshness of a newcomer. The Ballade’s poetic opening was played with an aristocratic elegance that veered just short of understatement, making the powerful sections even more telling. Here too, Moravec’s control of dynamics was awesome, pianissimos had firm tonal density, and climaxes were powerful while retaining their proper relationship to the piece as a whole, without the demonstrative pounding many pianists resort to when trying to impress. The Preludes were cut from the same fabric – lyric poetry and dramatic coherence allied to a stunning range of color, contrast, and rhythmic control. The latter element in his playing was striking in his night tour of Grenada and in his first encore, a Chopin Mazurka that actually made you want to get up and dance. This was a recital that makes me impatient for Moravec’s next one.

Copyright 2001 ClassicsToday

The Czech pianist Ivan Moravec gave the final concert of his US tour at Carnegie Hall on November 27th with a program of works by Janácek (Sonata 1.X.1905), Debussy (the second of the Estampes, "La Soirée dans Grenade," and Pour le Piano), and Chopin (Ballade in F minor and, after intermission, the twenty-four Preludes). I was lucky enough to also hear him at the exquisite Middlebury College Center for the Arts (four-hundred seats) on November l8th. On that occasion, eight of Chopin's Mazurkas opened the program plus the Fantaisie in F minor with the Janácek and Debussy offerings after intermission. They were splendid concerts, and it cannot be entirely rude to inquire why this supreme pianist, at age seventy-one - justifiably included in the Philips set of the "Great Pianists of the Twentieth Century" - should find himself giving recitals on this tour in such places Richmond, Virginia; Portland, Maine; and Young Harris College in Georgia.

Born in Prague in l930, he came to early maturity in post-war Czechoslovakia, where politics and artistic freedom collided ceaselessly - he never joined the Party, and thus his "so-called career" (his words) was constantly thwarted by the state booking agency. Nonetheless, great musicians recognized him early on. In the late 50's, Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli invited him to his informal school in Arezzo - Moravec fondly recalls the "3 x 40 minutes" of tutelage at the piano with the genial Italian, plus the copious vino. In 1962, two young Americans, co-owners of the fledgling Connoiseur Society, wrested Moravec from the clutches of the cultural bureaucrats, flew him to New York, and began a series of incomparable piano recordings, done in various Manhattan locations with an exquisitely voiced Baldwin grand. These recordings of music by Chopin, Ravel, Debussy, Beethoven and Brahms established Moravec's reputation as a supreme master of space, rubato, and stern, but still fiery, elegance. (They have been recently reissued by VAI.) Not surprisingly, George Szell gave him a welcome invitation to play Beethoven's Fourth Concerto with the Cleveland Orchestra in January l964, followed by a Carnegie Hall debut one month later. His reputation grew throughout the 1970's and the 1980's, and with the "velvet revolution" of the late 80's in Czechoslovakia Moravec gained total freedom of movement and is now a pianist of international renown, comparable without exaggeration or hype with such past masters as Cortot, Gieseking and Lipati, though not wholly recognized as such - that will only come postmortem.

The fact that Moravec is not exactly a household word may be due to the nature of his repertoire. It is gratifying to list in this regard what he never plays: such pianistic cannonaders as Liszt, Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninoff - staples of a competition contestant and general careerist. As his programs and recordings demonstrate, the heart of his repertory lies in Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Schumann, Franck, Dvorak Janácek, Debussy, Chopin. Utterly unthinkable would be a final encore such as Manuel de Falla's "Ritual Fire Dance," with which Artur Rubinstein used to wow the crowds with a blur of hands at the end of his concerts. I remember well such a finale, delivered at the Bushnell Memorial Auditorium, Hartford, Connecticut, c. 1945. At age ten I was, of course, stunned.

Within Moravec's preferred repertory, there are even more special preferences; in Beethoven, for instance, such sonatas as the "Apassionata," "Pathetique," "Moonlight," "Les adieux" gain preference over such works as the "Hammerklavier" or the "Diabelli" variations. Moravec's choices have nothing to do with technical limitations; it is good to emphasize that his massive technical resources are all the more evident because they are so severely subjugated to entirely musical ends - no pounding, no garish triple fortes, no clatter. The recitals at Middlebury and Carnegie Hall were rich demonstrations of his special mastery of space in music - getting the air between the notes - and the lightest insinuation of rubato at key points, where a milisecond delay or a slightly anticipated chord makes all the difference between a studied literalism and a kind of easy, improvisational musical nonchalance.

I got the impression that the Middlebury audience was puzzled by Moravec's advocacy of the knotty two-movement Janácek sonata. In the splendid sonic setting of Carnegie Hall, the work had a more orchestral delivery. Audience reception was still wary, but a bit more enthusiastic on behalf of the novelty. As for the more traditional repertory, the pianist has been living with it for a long time, and though there were no radical differences in approach between the two concerts and the canonic recordings, there were special nuances. For instance, at Middlebury, Moravec played as a final encore Chopin's seventeen-bar Prelude No. 7 in A major. It was a stately and exquisitely molded sendoff to an appreciative audience (standing ovation), but it was played without much rhythmic pulse. In Carnegie Hall, while playing all twenty-four of the Preludes, he delivered No. 7 much more quickly, with a Viennese lilt and lift, emphasizing its 3/4 time, providing perfect contrast to the next Prelude in F-sharp minor, "molto agitato." He was playing the same notes, but they were utterly recast. And too, I suspect that Moravec revelled in the more generous acoustics of Carnegie Hall for his Debussy selections, done with stunning atmosphere and panache.

© Alexander Coleman, 2002

When, more than a year ago, the august Czech pianist Ivan Moravec presented a program of Chopin and Debussy, the music flowed as if from the source, and something about Moravec's bearing suggested that he could have done it all another way if he had been in a different mood. No doubt this was an illusion, but it is an illusion that comes from a total intimacy with the repertory, a reduction of music to late-night, freewheeling conversation. It is the air of a master...

Un delicado y vigoroso intérprete con una enorme imaginación... En estos términos el diario The New York Times ha calificado al pianista checo, Ivan Moravec, que actuó esta semana en la prestigiosa sala neoyorquina Carnegie Hall. Moravec ya había actuado en Nueva York como solista en numerosas oportunidades, pero ahora presentó un recital para demostrar que a sus 71 años es el mismo maestro que antes, escribió el periódico norteamericano. Ivan Moravec interpretó en su recital neoyorquino obras de Claude Debussy, Federico Chopin y Leos Janácek.