Chopin Orbit (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Sumino/Chopin: prologue; Chopin: Étude “Aeolian Harp op. 25/1; Sumino: Lydian Harp; Chopin: Prélude “Raindrop” op. 28/15; Sumino: Raindrop Postlude; Chopin: Étude “Black Keys” op. 10/5; Sumino: White Keys; Chopin: Mazurka op. 24/2; Adès: Mazurka op. 27/2; Chopin: Nocturne in C-sharp minor; Sumino/Chopin: Larghetto after 2^nd mvt. of Piano Concerto No. 2; Chopin: Berceuse op. 57; Janácek: Good Night!; Chopin: Polonaise-Fantaisie in A-flat major op. 61; Sumino: Imaginary Polonaise; Chopin: Grande Valse brillante in E-flat major op. 18; Godowsky/Chopin: Concert Paraphrase of Chopin’s Grande Valse brillante. Hayato Sumino, piano. Sony Classics 19958400662

Japanese pianist Hayato Sumino (b. 1995) holds a master’s degree in engineering, but he is also a skilled musician with a special affection for the music of Chopin. On his new Sony Classic release titled Chopin Orbit, he presents not a standard recital of Chopin piano works, but rather an album that includes Chopin’s music plus some of his own compositions as well as works by other composers. The end result is an album that maintains a consistent mood and aesthetic from start to finish, showing the high regard Sumino holds for Chopin and highlighting the range and depth of the Polish master’s creative output. Following the gentle prologue that opens the program, we then hear some Chopin pieces paired with responses; first by Sumino (his Raindrop Postlude in response to Chopin’s “Raindrop” Prelude and his White Keys in response to Chopin’s “Black Keys” Étude), then by Adès (his Mazurka in response to Chopin’s). The Sumino pieces follow very much in the style of Chopin, complementing them nicely; the Adès, however, presents an unexpected splash of notes. The first time I heard it, I frankly thought it was awful – but on further listening, I have become less harsh in my judgment. It’s, well, interesting, good-natured, fun in its own way – but does not seem to quite fit in with the rest of the program. (In his liner notes, Sumino explains why he included the piece, closing with, “the result is not so much a dance as a reflection on the idea of dance itself, disassembled, reimagined, and delicately surreal.”)

 

Following a Chopin Nocturne we then come to a truly entertaining track, Sumino’s Larghetto, which he explains, “is a recomposition of the second movement from Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2. Imagined through a contemporary lens, it poses the question: ‘What if Chopin were alive today, performing in a jazz club instead of a 19^th-century salon?’ The intimate and improvisatory spirit found in his music resonates naturally with the atmosphere of jazz.”  Although that description might lead some to expect something hokey or vulgar, rest assured that Sumino delivers a performance that manages to capture both the spirit of Chopin and the feeling of a jazz pianist in an intimate setting. It’s utterly spellbinding. 

 

Sumino then presents a pair of introspective compositions, Chopin’s Berceuse and Good Night! by Janácek, before raising the energy level with two more pairings. First, he follows Chopin’s Polonaise-Fantaisie with his own Imaginary Polonaise, Sumino notes that he is “mindful that the polonaise carries deep cultural meaning for Chopin and his homeland. To honor that spirit, I let my own heritage speak. While the rhythm follows the polonaise’s steady pulse, I wove in gentle waves of Japanese dance at certain moments.” Finally, Sumino brings the album to an energetic close by following Chopin’s Grand Valse brillante with Godowsky’s rousing Concert Paraphrase. 

 

Thanks to Chopin, and thanks to Sumino, and thanks to the engineers (Jonathan Allen, Philipp Nadel, and Martin Kistner), this is a release of beautiful music that should appeal to a wide range of listeners – from those just beginning to discover classical music to those who have enjoyed it for many decades. And if you want to get some young person you know interested in something other than pop music, you might try suggesting they give this one a try. You never know… 

Joep Beving: Liminal (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Beving: Through the Looking-Glass; Ida; Arcadia; From Where One Hears the Willow Speak; Wild Renaissance; Elysium; When Humans Do Algorythms; Incantation in B-flat Minor; Sfumato; Play; Heterotopia; Immanence; Ghostly Chicken. Joep Beving, piano, electronics. Deutsche Grammophon 486 8427

When I went back to look at the review we published back in 2022 of one of Beving’s previous releases, the fascinating Hermetism (the review of which you can read here), I was surprised to find that the post with the Hermetism review also included a review of a book by the esteemed music critic Alex Ross, who, sadly enough, recently left his post as classical music critic for The New Yorker. Read the review, read his book… Anyway, back to Dutch composer and pianist Joep Beving (b. 1976). He was interested in music in his youth, studied the piano, but an injury to his wrist forced him to give up serious piano study. Instead, he wound up studying public policy and ended up with a career in the advertising business, but his musical talent enabled him to work his way into composing jingles and background music for commercials. In 2010, he composed the soundtrack for a short film; then in 2015, he not only scored another short film, but he also released his first album, titled Solipsism.

 

Fast-forward to 2026 and we have Liminal, Beving’s most recent release for Deutsche Grammophon. Like the music on Hermetism, the music on Liminal is a collection of tunes that hover in that space somewhere between modern classical and New Age. According to Beving, “the album moves between two sides. Sometimes, I try to shape and refine sound into its purest form. Other times, the music seems to flow on its own, shifting, fading, and returning to silence as if guided by something natural. It’s less about structure and more about connection, resonance, and change, closer to ecology than architecture.” The majority of the music is on the contemplative end of the spectrum, but there is always an underlying feeling of motion and energy – the music never feels static or repetitive. The tune When Humans Do Algorythms, in fact, is quite lively and bouncy in its own way. Two especially engaging compositions are Arcadia and Wild Renaissance (you can find a YouTube video of the latter here). For those willing to explore music beyond the standard classical repertoire, but don’t want to be assaulted by dissonance, I humbly recommend this lovely album.

Korngold & Barber Violin Concertos (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Korngold: Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 35; Barber: Violin Concerto, Op. 14. Paul Huang, violinist; Jun Märkl, conductor; London Philharmonic Orchestra. Naïve V8121

On a whim I typed into Google Gemini, “The Barber and Korngold Violin Concertos are sentimental.” The surprisingly lengthy response I got was something along the lines of, “that’s a fair criticism, but these works are actually very soundly constructed.” Say what you want about the perils of AI (and I would probably agree), but sometimes our electronic assistants soberly reflect real tendencies of human beings. In this case, Gemini reasonably assumed I was being negative, because that’s how the term frequently gets used nowadays. When I replied that I meant “sentimental” as a compliment, and was praising these works’ fervent emotional expression, it confirmed that this indeed was long the primary definition, eclipsed since the early 20th century by pejorative connotations. If you dig even a little into these concertos’ reception histories, you will soon find more than enough to justify Gemini’s defensive pose. Or just observe how often reviewers praise a performance of Romantic repertoire because it ‘avoids dipping into sentimentality.’

 

Who do such critics think they’re trying to reassure? Surely not the performers and audiences who have long treasured these concertos, even as the music was being panned for flouting modernist sensibilities they scarcely shared. In other words, I think your average listener enjoys them precisely because they are so heartfelt and melodically memorable…and yes, because they remind them of the film scores some critics also like to trash. So, by this measure, performances that embody sentimentality may just strike a chord with a wide swath of people. Thus reoriented, I can tell you that Paul Huang’s interpretations here with Jun Märkl and the LPO actually do avoid much of this sentimentality, but maybe that’s not what the music really needs.

 

If Huang’s intention was to establish a distinctive sound, he succeeds. Especially in the Korngold. The soloists in what I would consider to be its benchmark performances (Shaham, Heifetz, and Perlman, in that order) each adopt fuller, more lush tones that capture a certain Hollywood wistfulness. By contrast, Huang’s rendition gleams with sharper edges. I wouldn’t say that he ducks the lyrical themes and climactic points, exactly, but they do come across differently in his hands. Compare, for instance, his middle movement with Heifetz’s on RCA (LM 1782). Huang is bright and clear, while Heifetz silkily weaves a web of nostalgia or some other dreamlike state. The one elicits respect, the other, love. Huang’s finale similarly undersells the music’s inherent warmth by accentuating some percussive aspects on top of his preference for cooler precision. I kept thinking how adroit he would be in Bartók. He should make those concertos a future project.

 

Huang’s Barber Concerto carries some of these same tendencies but lies closer to the mean. The melodic lines, particularly in the first movement, are nice and expansive. But we’re still missing a last 10% expressively. The climactic tutti is a good example, and here for the first time I’ll implicate Märkl, who holds back the orchestra just a bit. Poise and clarity are everywhere to be found both here and in the following section. Torrid virtuosity brings the performance to a satisfying close. There is a certain radiance overall. But while I can hear everything uncommonly well, I don’t always feel everything as much as I want to. Those critics so worried about dipping into sentimentality (both in these concertos and elsewhere) should be at least as worried about dipping into sterility. Somehow, they hardly ever are.

 

Nonetheless, I do actually recommend this recording. While it isn’t my preferred take on these beloved works, it is an incisive one that provides a credible foil to what we’re used to. It is smart and certainly effective after its fashion; I admire that in this case. So, if you have room in your collection for multiple Korngold and Barber Concerto releases, by all means go ahead, scoop this up, and listen to it occasionally. But if you’re in the market for one trusty take and no more, it's still gotta be Shaham's pairing on DG (439 886-2).