Petit Palais de Chaillot - Boris Borgolotto & Clara Saussac - Westhoff, Handel, Brahms, Pergolesi, Schubert, Rachmaninoff & Bartok - 07/09/26

Johann Paul von Westhoff: Imitazione delle campane from Sonata No. 3 in D Minor 

George Friedrich Handel: Prayer from Dettinger Te Deum in D Major HWV 283 (arranged by Carl Flesch) 

Johannes Brahms: Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Minor, Opus 108 

Giovanni Battista Pergolesi: Sicilienne in E Minor 

Franz Schubert: Sonatina in D Major, Opus 137, No. 1 

Sergei Rachmaninoff: Vocalise 

Bela Bartok: Romanian Folk Dances, Sz. 56

Boris Borgolotto: Violin 

Clara Saussac: Piano 

Concert season has finally started in earnest in and around Dieulefit, and while I have been pickier than my mom, who does not hesitate to drive way out of town three nights in a row to get her cultural fix while the cat and I dutifully hold the fort, there was no way I was going to miss another enchanted musical evening in Rebecca Chaillot’s “petit palais de Chaillot” in Colonzelle, even on a school night. 

Indeed, that’s where, last Thursday evening, the young globe-trotting violinist Boris Borgolotto would join his former study buddy and regular recital partner, local pianist Clara Saussac, for another ambitious and engaging program that included a healthy mix of composers, from the unknown to me Johann Paul von Westhoff to my beloved Johannes Brahms, and that would thankfully start at the totally civilized time of 7:00 PM. 

Even better, once we had arrived in the courtyard of the “little palace of Chaillot”, we realized that the performance was going to take place in the large room upstairs, so I finally had the opportunity to check it out. Knowing the impeccable taste of the lady of the house, I was not surprised to find myself in a welcoming art-filled space anchored by a majestic piano impassibly waiting for some action under a high vaulted ceiling with wooden beams. Even the absence of AC had been addressed with the semi-controversial presence of a fan, which would eventually be turned off as it started getting loud but, hey, that’s the thought that counts, and strategically opened doors. 

Once everybody had settled down and the bells from the church next door had let us know that it was 7:00 PM, the musicians kicked off the concert with Imitazione delle campane from Sonata No. 3 in D Minor by German Baroque composer, and noted violin virtuoso, Johann Paul von Westhoff. A short but rewarding—and particularity timely too—opener, that “imitation of church bells” spontaneously reminded of Arvo Pärt’s “Fratres”, of all things, due to its thrilling inventiveness and irresistible hypnotic power, which needless to say is a mighty compliment. 

It was followed by the Carl Flesch’s equally short and equally rewarding arrangement of George Friedrich Handel’s soulful Prayer from Dettinger Te Deum in D Major HWV 283, which pianist and violinist handled beautifully. 

Predictably enough, the highlight of the evening for me was the duo’s commanding performance of Johannes Brahms’ perfectly structured, endlessly complex and emotionally intense Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Minor, Opus 108, one of his most accomplished works in a career that contains plenty. Everything I love about that piece, including the gorgeous lyricism, the vivid contrast between playfulness and darkness, the sheer compositional brilliance, was brilliantly conveyed and fully enjoyed. 

After such a memorable experience, Giovanni Battista Pergolesi’s intimate Sicilienne in E Minor and its soothing melodies was exactly what we needed to calm down while remaining fully involved in the moment. 

Another significant tour de force was Franz Schubert’s Sonatina in D Major, Opus 137, No. 1, during which Saussac and Borgolotto displayed total mastery of their craft and the composition. Immediately accessible and yet plenty intricate when you really look into it, the work never ceased to surprise and seduce. 

Next, the unstoppable duo gracefully unfolded the delicate melancholy and meditative mood of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s ever-popular song Vocalise. 

Things perked up again quickly though, with a dynamite version of Bela Bartok’s zesty Romanian Folk Dances, Sz. 56, which was already played during our last visit to the petit palais de Chaillot, but then again, who can get enough of it? Not us, and we were delighted to have a chance to hear it again. 

Once the last note had faded away, we readily expressed our gratitude for such a wonderful hour with a resounding ovation, and that earned us a lovely instrumental version of “Les berceaux” by Gabriel Fauré. The half lullaby half barcarolle turned the energy level down again to the gentle rhythms of the rocking waves it invoked and subtly prepared us for a Zen rest of the evening.

Petit Palais de Chaillot - Rebecca & Baptiste Chaillot - Dvorak, Bartok, Schubert, Massenet & Vivaldi - 06/28/26

Antonin Dvorak: Sonatina 

Bela Bartok: Romanian Folk Dances, Sz. 56 

Franz Schubert: Violin Sonata No.1 in D Major, D. 384 

Jules Massenet: Meditation from Thais 

Antonio Vivaldi: Rain from Winter (The Four Seasons) 

Antonin Dvorak: Sonatina 

Rebecca Chaillot: Piano 

Baptiste Chaillot: Violin 

Another summer weekend in Drôme Provençale, another promising concert lined up, even if my mom and I had to regretfully turn down the invitation to another concert happening at the same time and valiantly go all the way to Colonzelle to attend our preferred option. But then again, where wouldn’t we go for a chance to hear local girl and pianist extraordinaire Rebecca Chaillot, who this time would be accompanied by her Geneva-based violinist brother Baptiste Chaillot as a bonus, in her “petit palais de Chaillot”? 

For sure, we had been there before and were happy to make the trek again, especially since we knew for a fact that her “little palace of Chaillot” had been an old rundown house that she has meticulously and gorgeously restored, and in fine turned into an exciting art center where several pianos are strategically scattered and art lovers from all walks of life gratefully converge for concerts, open rehearsals, masterclasses, recordings, exhibits, and more. 

During the last couple of summers, we loved attending early evening concerts in the spacious courtyard where her music-making often had to playfully compete with the singing of persistent birds. This year, however, the headlines-making heatwave that had mercilessly lingered over most of France was a game-changer, and we were kindly informed that the concert would take place in the downstairs smaller room, which turned out to be cooler in every possible way (The ideal room temperature! The amazing stone vaulted ceiling! The wonderfully intimate atmosphere!) than the bigger room upstairs or the courtyard outside. 

The mood in the reduced space was decidedly informal, but that did not keep the musicians from taking full advantage of the top-notch acoustics and delivering a first-rate recital. No program had been provided, so we relied on our hostess’ descriptions and let the magic of the music do the rest. We started with a Romantic sonatina from Antonin Dvorak, a gentle opening number that made us feel welcome to this relaxed family reunion, where the siblings would brilliantly perform under the watchful eye of their mom. 

If the Dvorak’s sonatina had been a nice introduction, Bela Bartok’s fierce Romanian Folk Dances were the perfect opportunity to let countless virtuosic sparks fly all over the place. Overflowing with various musical ingredients from the composer’s native Hungary such as irregular rhythms and infectious melodies, this set of six dances was a divine breath of fresh air on that hot Sunday. 

The Bartok tour de force had dazzled us, but it was Schubert’s Violin Sonata No.1 in D Major, D.384 and its subtly evocative clarity that slowly imposed itself as the pièce de resistance of the evening. Cleverly leveraging the kind of synchronicity that can only happen between siblings, Rebecca and Baptiste Chaillot flawlessly brought out the bubbliness and the daintiness, but also the youthful boldness, of this relatively short piece. 

A lot of people who are not familiar with Jules Massenet’s opera Thais have heard and fallen in love with his famously show-stopping aria for solo violin “Meditation” anyway. It is therefore not surprising that it is one of the most often performed encores by violinists, and who could blame them? Certainly not the insatiable audience. And sure enough, we all swooned in remarkable unison on Sunday evening in the petit palais de Chaillot. 

Next was a wink at the climate challenge we had been facing with the Largo from the winter of The Four Seasons by Antonio Vivaldi. Even if it did not bring us the relief we were all fervently hoping for, that pared-down version and its countless raindrops steadily falling in pizzicato under the solo violin’s catchy melody was a fun little treat. 

After having come full circle with another mystery Romantic sonatina by Dvorak, this delightful hour of uplifting music ended in the best possible way, with an informal get-together around cool refreshments, local amuse-bouches and friendly conversation.

Comps Historique and Pradel Association – Fête de l'alto – 4 altos, 4 générations – 06/21/26

Lodovico Beretta: Canzon a quattro 

Sheng Song: Canzon’s Adventure 

Frédéric Chopin: Valse brillante in A-flat Major, Opus 34, No. 2 

Max von Weinzierl: Nachtstuck für 4 Violen, Opus 34 

Ludwig von Beethoven: Trio in C Major, Opus 87 — Adagio 

Jean-Pierre Peuvion: From the diary of a fly for three violas (Bela Bartok) 

Hendrik Waelput: Andante cantabile for 4 violas 

York Bowen: Fantasia for 4 violas in E Minor, Opus 41, No. 1 

Joseph Jongen: Deux pièces pour 4 altos: Légende et Danses 

Noémie Alriau-Gauguier: Viola 

Camille Coelo: Viola 

Ruixin Niu: Viola 

Pierre-Henri Xuereb: Viola 

In France, June 21 has been known not only as the date of the summer solstice, but also as the date of the Fête de la musique since 1982 owing to the initiative of Jack Lang, the indefatigable minister of Culture back then, and Maurice Fleuret, his equally ambitious director of music, whose simple but bold idea was to have all kinds of music played in all kinds of places on the longest day and the shortest night of the year. Other countries soon followed suit, and before long, many cities in many countries celebrated World Music Day. 

In Dieulefit, while reviewing the various options, I immediately noticed an all-viola concert involving no less than four violists spanning four generations. Moreover, it was organized by the two mighty local forces that are Comps Historique and Pradel Association, which is always a good sign, and would take place in the stunning little Romanesque church in nearby Comps at the totally civilized time of 7:00 PM. What more could we ask for? Well, slightly lower temperatures would have been nice, but we were not going to let heat wave hysteria spoil our fun anyway. 

When D-Day came around, it started very early for me as an impertinent bird insisted on serenading me outside my window starting at about 4:00 AM, maybe to make sure I would make the most of that special day. And I did. After a busy morning helping my mom with her never-ending move (Two years and counting) and a relaxed afternoon prudently spent indoors, we resolutely made our way to the wind-swept hill on which the church still proudly stood to join some friends and other music lovers for the sold-out performance. 

We started our foray into the interestingly esoteric program in Venice, Italy, of all places, with “Canzon a quattro”, a short but lovely Baroque composition by Lodovico Beretta, before jumping forward a few centuries and becoming fast acquainted with the definitely more modern vibes of “Canzon’s Adventure” by contemporary Chinese composer Sheng Song. Contrasts seemed to be the name of the game, and we were totally into it. 

Next, we entered much more familiar territory with a viola version of Frédéric Chopin’s Valse brillante in A-flat Major, which gave us an opportunity to happily bask in 19th-century French Romanticism. Same period, same genre, but different locale, Austrian Max von Weinzierl’s Nachtstuck für 4 Violen, Opus 34, stood out for its length and complexity, engaging lyricism and genuine warmth. In fact, a bird apparently nesting in the church’s dome (Or was it my morning suitor that was stalking me?) was not even able to refrain from loudly expressing his whole-hearted approval. 

A small detour to Germany one century earlier brought us to Ludwig von Beethoven, who obviously needed no introduction. The viola version of the Adagio from his Trio in C Major, Opus 87, originally written for two oboes and an English horn, proved again the timeless appeal of masterworks, even with the smaller ensemble of three violas. 

In the 20th century, Hungarian composer Bela Bartok came up with Mikrokosmos, a vast collection of exercises for piano that increase in difficulty as the student progresses. On Sunday, we heard Jean-Pierre Peuvion’s version of “From the diary of a fly”, which was eerily evocative of the restless movements and non-stop energy of a fly. The unfazed musicians overcame the challenge deftly, which was no small feat considering that they had to put up with heat and… flies. 

We went back to the 19th century for a quick but very pleasant Andante Cantabile for 4 violas by Flemish composer, conductor and educator Hendrik Waelput, before moving to early 20th-century English composer, pianist and viola lover York Bowen and his Fantasia for 4 violas in E Minor, Opus 41, No. 1. Written specifically for four violas, it turned out to be delightfully eclectic, highly interactive, and all-around very exciting, and was rightfully a big hit. 

The performance wrapped up with a resounding bang thanks to not one but two pieces by Joseph Jongen, a 20th-century Belgian organist, pianist, composer, conductor, educator and, last but not least, César Franck’s student, a student who, according to Pierre-Henri Xuereb, eventually surpassed the master in talent, but, unfairly enough, not fame. It would have been hard for us to argue as we listened to his two pieces for 4 violas, “Legend” and “Dances”, which the four violists played with blazing virtuosity and infectious enthusiasm. 

So much so, in fact, that for the loudly requested encore, the fired-up ensemble treated us to the last bars of the joyful “Dances” number again, which instantaneously lifted our spirits up again. Even better, as we were stepping outside, a slightly refreshing breeze was welcoming us back to summertime reality.

Ensemble Vocal Altaïr & Quatuor Grazioso - Magnificat - 06/13/26

Johann Pachelbel: Canon in D Major 

Francesco Durante: Magnificat 

Domenico Scarlatti: Magnificat 

Antonio Vivaldi: Et exulta vit 

Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach: Quia respexit 

John Rutter: Quia fecit 

John Rutter: Et misericordia 

Johann Sebastian Bach: Et misericordia 

Alessandro Scarlatti: Fecit potentiam 

Alessandro Scarlatti: Deposuit 

Antonio Vivaldi: Deposuit 

Antonio Vivaldi: Esurientes 

John Rutter: Esurientes 

Francesco Durante: Gloria and Sicut erat 

Music Director and conductor: Isabelle Fallot 

Until last Saturday evening, it had been an awfully long time since I had listened to any kind—let alone my kind—of live music at all, and while enjoying countless historic, artistic and culinary marvels, as well as the occasional company of dear friends, at various stops between Naples and Aix-en-Provence had kept me happily busy, it had not quite made up for the steadily growing frustration. In fact, I almost felt that the otherwise truly lovely city of Verona was making a point of mercilessly teasing me as I was watching its famous arena getting ready for its equally famous summer opera festival while (admittedly) indulging in la dolce vita at a cafe on its sprawling piazza Bra. 

Fast-forward a couple of weeks ago. As I was perusing the local upcoming events advertised on various boards scattered in Dieulefit, where I am visiting my mom, I excitedly noticed a flyer advertising a concert dedicated to the Magnificat canticle, also known as the “Song of Mary” or “Canticle of Mary”, in the town’s Protestant temple. Granted, it would start at the ungodly time of 9:00 PM, but then again, it was really close by, and beggars cannot be choosers anyway. On top of it, the concert would also be an opportunity for me to check out its interior, which is usually off-limits. 

In the end, I had the chance to take a peek the day before the concert as it was open for the rehearsal. Although it was kind of predictable, I was still taken aback by its resolute bareness, especially after the extravagant glamour I am used to in Italian catholic churches. But I also figured that it would encourage the audience to focus on the music and nothing else, which was a good thing. When one has the good fortune of being in the presence of local favorites Ensemble Vocal Altaïr and Quatuor Grazioso, the least one can do is pay attention to them. 

My mom has been complaining about the cavernous space’s poor acoustics ever since she started attending concerts there, about a quarter of a century ago, and while it did not take me long to realize that she was not wrong, the temple’s convenient location, appropriate size and welcoming atmosphere nevertheless made it a more than acceptable venue for performances. Even better, early birds get to catch not a worm, but a soft cushion that will help them put up with the benches’ hard surface. And that’s just what we did before grabbing prime spots among neighbors and friends. 

 The concert unexpectedly started with an exquisite performance of Johann Pachelbel’s beloved Canon in D Major by Quatuor Grazioso. Although Pachelbel’s biggest hit by far originally appeared half-way in the original written program, the last-minute change quickly proved to be a smart move since it enabled the singers to walk from the back of the temple to the stage down each side aisle to the sound of this classic among classics. All that was missing was a bride walking down an aisle as well! 

Such an otherworldly beautiful introduction was always going to be a tough act to follow, but the Altaïr ensemble led by its intrepid music director Isabelle Fallot went right down to business, after a short introduction by the maestra herself, which was unfortunately hard to decipher due to the microphone and some dreadful resonance. But it did not matter. We were there for the music, and we were about to get a very satisfying dose of it. 

Curated with utmost care and performed with infectious enthusiasm, the intermission-free set of various excerpts from various versions of the Magnificat, all coming to us from different epochs and countries, ended up being not only a real treat to the ears, but a fascinating comparative study as well. To me, the most interesting case was probably the “Et misericordia” aria, whose highly refined Baroque German version by Johann Sebastian Bach proudly stood up to the more muscular modern English take by John Rutter. 

I was also looking forward to hearing Isabelle Fallot who, besides busily fulfilling the job of the choir’s leader, wears many other distinguished hats, including the one of accomplished soprano. And sure enough, her solo in Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach’s “Quia respexit” and her duo with another talented woman singer for Antonio Vivaldi’s “Esurientes” turned out to be undisputed highlights of an evening that counted many. 

We had been asked to refrain from clapping between the numbers and we had dutifully kept quiet, but once the concert had gone full circle with Francesco Durante, who had opened the singing part of the program with an uplifting “Magnificat” and closed it with a no-holds-barred “Gloria and Sicut erat”, we were not ready to let the artists go just yet and loudly let them know. So, they treated us to a delightful voice version of Pachelbel’s Canon, which did not quite turn into the sing-along Fallot was hoping for, but still wrapped up this enchanted musical evening on a festive note.

Silvia Borghese & Sofia Donato - Mozart, Schubert & Brahms - 04/17/26

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Violin Sonata in G Major, K.301/293a 

Franz Schubert: Violin Sonata No. 4 in A Major, Op. posth. 162, D 574 (Grand Duo) 

Johannes Brahms: Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Minor, Opus 108 

Silvia Borghese: Violin 

Sofia Donato: Piano 

After a reasonably music-filled winter in Rome, I moved to Naples with no specific plan, except enjoying its unique landmarks, famous sunshine and fabulous cuisine, and leaving the rest to chance. And sure enough, a few days after my arrival I noticed an advertisement for classical music concerts while walking by the Teatro Diana, one of the Vomero neighborhood’s most popular live theater venues, which occasionally branches out and offers live music performances. 

The chamber music concert on April 17, in particular, caught my attention with the photo of two lovely young ladies, a predictable but still appealing program featuring Mozart, Schubert and Brahms, and a 5:30 PM starting time (Yes!!!). After all, there’s nothing wrong about going back to the core repertoire once in a while, never mind that I had already lingered there pretty much all winter. So, I got tickets for my friend Vittorio and me, and I started counting down the days. 

And then, on Friday morning, as we were looking forward to the concert later on, all hell broke loose, or at least our plans were slightly derailed, when Vittorio went to the hospital for routine prep tests before his operation the following Wednesday and was told he had to stay there if he did not want to lose his place in line (oh, and the hospital gets a per diem subsidy for each bed occupied too). 

I therefore ended up taking the pleasant walk to the Teatro Diana by myself, a bit frazzled by my unexpectedly hectic day, and happy to take a break between work commitments, trips to the hospital and various errands. Once I had arrived, I discovered that the theater was a nondescript medium-size space boasting a modern design and red color scheme, and that the crowd consisted of long-time regulars of a certain age who made me feel like I belonged to the youngest demographics in the room, which never fails to cheer me up. 

The concert started with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s light-hearted Violin Sonata in G Major, K.301/293a, a youthful composition that the equally young duo handled with ease. Clocking at barely 15 minutes, it went by so breezily that, at the end, it took the audience a couple of seconds to grasp that it was indeed over. By then, I had also realized that I had unknowingly bought tickets for seats deep under the balcony and that the theater’s acoustics were decent but not particularly flattering. Consequently, I give the musicians a lot of credit for sounding as good as they did from where I sat. 

Next, Franz Schubert’s beautifully lyrical Violin Sonata No. 4 in A Major showed us a promising composer coming into his own while still relentlessly honing his craft. Compared to his previous efforts, this substantial work displayed more complexity and exuded more confidence; it also incidentally confirmed the impressive skills and effortless compatibility of Borghese and Donato. 

And since there’s no stopping the young and talented, the intrepid pair moved on to Johannes Brahms’ Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Minor, Opus 108 after a surprisingly short pause. Fact is, I will always have a special place in my heart for grumpy old Brahms, and on Friday evening, it sounded like most of the audience felt the same way according to the rapturous applause that spontaneously erupted after the stunning first movement. And who could possibly argue with that? 

His third and last violin sonata is a highly emotional affair that uncharacteristically aims straight for the heart. Brahms was at the top of his game when he composed it, and by leveraging his acquired experience and his innate perfectionism, he came up with a carefully crafted and intensely dramatic piece, in which the two quieter middle movements are book-ended by unapologetically large-scale ones. The two ladies did not let the challenging nature of the task at hand intimidate them though, and they enthusiastically delivered a riveting performance of it. 

In fact, this last work on the program was such an all-around success that the literally unstoppable duo treated us to the thrillingly kaleidoscopic last movement one more time as an encore, which was the perfect way to wrap up a manic Friday and get ready for a more relaxing weekend.

Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia - Brahms & Dvorak - 03/14/26

Johannes Brahms: Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat Major, Opus 83 

Antonin Dvorak: Symphony No. 7 in D Minor, Opus 70 

Conductor: Daniel Harding 

Piano: Daniil Trifonov 

Life has been good for classical music lovers in Rome lately, as one week after Chinese fearless maverick Yuja Wang’s dynamite performance, the unflappable Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia was getting ready for Russian old soul Daniil Trifonov, who was going to tackle no less than Brahms’ epic Piano Concerto No. 2. The occasion would also incidentally be a very exciting wrap-up of my attendance at the Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone since my Roman stay is slowly coming to an end. 

But then all hell kind of broke loose earlier in the week, when I had to give up my original plan (and the good seat that was going with it) to attend the Thursday night concert due to a frustrating combination of temporary lower back pain and truly apocalyptic weather. Add to that the exasperating finickiness of TicketOne’s website when I tried to buy another ticket on Friday (the 13th!) for the Saturday evening concert, and it is easy to see why just getting to the packed Sala Santa Cecilia in relatively good shape and in mild weather—and with a hard-earned digital ticket—already felt like a small victory of sorts even before the music began. 

While I confess that I have always been partial to the youthful élan and intense drama of his Piano Concerto No. 1, I will also readily admit that Johannes Brahms’ Piano Concerto Ni. 2, which he completed 22 years after the first one, shows the kind of complexity, breadth and poise that can only come with experience. On Saturday evening, Trifonov handled the sprawling piece with utmost knowledge and commitment, knowing exactly when to let blazing virtuosic sparks fly off and when to exercise an eloquent restraint, and delivered an awe-inspiring performance. 

While the entire journey was magnificent, I must single out the stunning Andante, whose gorgeous theme by the cello first discreetly loomed in exquisite simplicity before slowly leisurely coming into full bloom with a little help from the piano and its splendid ornamental flourishes. This was the undisputed highlight of the evening, the kind of extraordinary moment that feels suspended in time and leaves one at a loss for words once back to reality, not only for me but also for many others considering the eventual thunderous round of applause dedicated to solo cellist Luigi Piovano. 

Amazingly enough, even after this marathon, and with quite a bit of insistence on our part, Trifonov came back with a thoughtfully introspective encore that shall regrettably remain unknown to me. 

After intermission, the originally packed concert hall showed a few empty seats, including the woman to my left, who had clearly come for Trifonov and apparently figured that things could not get any better. In fact, they did not, but then again, how could they? I cannot say that I am a die-hard Dvorak fan, but I am happy I stayed for his Symphony No. 7, which turned out to be a very pleasant tribute to Czech music, not to mention that having a work by Brahms’ number one fan, mentee and friend kind of made sense at this point. The orchestra responded very well to their newish music director—and conductor for the evening—Daniel Harding, and their energized performance of the richly colorful score put a satisfying end to my Roman music season.

Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia - Debussy, Barber & Prokofiev - 03/07/26

Claude Debussy: La mer 

Samuel Barber: Piano Concerto, Opus 38 

Sergei Prokofiev: Piano Concerto No. 2 in G Minor, Opus 16 

Conductor: Eric Jacobsen 

Piano and conductor: Yuja Wang 

Superstar pianist Yuja Wang is one of those musicians that I simply cannot miss whenever they come around my neck of the woods, so I was understandably thrilled when I noticed that she would be joining the Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia in Rome’s Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone last week, while I was still living a few-minute walk from it. And although I did not even particularly care what she would be playing, I was ecstatically happy to find out that it would be a composition by Prokofiev and eagerly planned to resuming my early Saturday evening residency with the orchestra. 

And then last week, on the appointed day and time, an unknown gentleman came onto the stage with a mike, which rarely spells good news. And sure enough, he started by telling us that Wang had woken up with a 39-degree fever that morning, which prompted a collective murmur of concern throughout the concert hall, although it was not entirely clear if the audience was more worried about her compromised well-being or her possible absence from the stage. However, before we got to dwell on it, he went on and said that Wang, being the ultimate professional in addition to a genuinely generous person, would be playing after all, and he just wanted to thank her publicly. Whew! 

He also let us know that the order of the program, which had already been changed a few weeks earlier due to the original conductor’s illness and now included a work by Barber, had been shuffled so that she would have more time to prepare, which was fair enough with us as long as we got to hear our girl. 

So our concert started with La Mer by Claude Debussy, who called it “three symphonic sketches” and adamantly refused to describe it as “impressionistic”, a term that he whole-heartedly scorned, but pretty much everybody else agreed on. In any case, the work is a wonderful evocation of the ever-changing nature of the sea by a composer who was deeply in love with it, never mind that he was getting his inspiration mostly from paintings. On Saturday night, the large orchestra delivered a particularly soulful, delicately contrasting interpretation under the precise baton of Eric Jacobsen, a face I recognized from The Knights and Brooklyn Riders back in New York City. Ah, memories… 

But let’s face it, we were all there to see and hear Yuja Wang, and the packed audience went bonkers when she finally appeared, her petite silhouette complete with her signature impeccable bob cut, tight-fitting white mini-dress and vertiginously high Louboutin shoes. She did not let the rock star welcome get to her head though, and while she may have slightly teetered on her way to the piano (Who would not on those heels?), there was no question that she was in complete possession of herself once she had gotten situated in front of the keyboard and down to business. 

I had never heard Samuel Barber’s reputedly thorny Piano Concerto, Op. 38 before, and I obviously could not have dreamed of better company for my first encounter with it. The heroic duel between the fearless solo piano and the powerful large orchestra was a loud, occasionally uneasy, affair, but warmth and lyricism were never far beneath the rough surface. And there was of course plenty of acrobatic virtuosity flying from pianist’s hands, on which I happened to have a direct view. Feverish or not, the irrepressible miss Wang was hot, hot, hot! 

After intermission, Wang came back wearing a tight-fitting red dress as well as the double hat of soloist and conductor since Jacobsen, who had gamely filled in for the ailing Teodor Currentzis until then, was not familiar with the piece, but she serendipitously was. That said, aside from the all-important downbeat and a few fleeting moments, she never got around to conducting that much anyway as she kept incredibly busy dealing with Sergei Prokofiev’s formidable Piano Concerto No. 2, so formidable, in fact, that even Martha Argerich would not dare to give it a try. 

But then again, there are probably very few things that Wang and her well-known penchant for making the impossible possible would not dare to give a try to, and Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2 is not one of them, which was very fortunate for us. The technically brilliant performance was also an absolute blast, proving one more time that bold modernity and unabashed fun are not mutually exclusive. In Wang’s magical hands, the music came out exceptionally bold and playful, grotesque and romantic, exacting and colorful. And the ovation was thunderous. Again. 

After such an intensely satisfying evening, we would have all been happy to call it a night. But the unstoppable dynamo who once treated the stunned audience to seven encores at Carnegie Hall had another plan for us, poor health be damned. She eventually came back for three encores, including a devilishly irresistible Precipitato from Prokofiev’s Sonata n. 7. In the end, as we were all walking down the stairs on our way out, I could overhear a woman behind me raving non-stop to her friend about Wang’s “bravura” and “virtuosità”, and I could not have agreed more.

Quatuor Ébène - All-Beethoven - 03/04/26

Ludwig van Beethoven: String Quartet No. 2 in G Major, Op. 18, No. 2 

Ludwig van Beethoven: String Quartet No. 16 in F Major, Op. 135 

Ludwig van Beethoven: String Quartet No. 14 in C-sharp Minor, Op. 131 

One of the very few advantages of getting older is to be able to look back and reflect (Moreover, let’s face it, looking forward is kind of depressing these days). And that’s exactly what I was doing last Wednesday night in the medium-sized Sala Sinapoli of the Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone as I was eagerly waiting for the all-French Quatuor Ébène to appear. I unfortunately could not attend their January concert due to a mild but ill-timed cold, and the time had finally come for me to make up for the missed opportunity. 

So there I finally was, fondly remembering hearing them for the first time at the Library of Congress, which was pretty much in my backyard back in 2009. Although they had already been generating an impressive buzz closer to home, they were kind of new on the international classical music scene, but not for long. Their splendid performance of quartets by Ravel, Fauré and Debussy, wrapped up with an a cappella version of “Un jour mon prince viendra” (One day my prince will come) from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (Yes, Disney’s animated movie) left no doubt. They had arrived, and they would go much further. 

Almost two decades, a couple of personnel changes, and several encounters on both sides of the pond later, I saw two of those same musicians, who are now accompanied by two newer members, come onto the stage and I felt a kind of motherly pride that I did not even know I had in me. I guess it is one of those things you don’t even know you have until you suddenly experience it. 

Even better, last Wednesday night’s concert was one stop of their ambitious “Beethoven 2027” project, through which they will play all of Beethoven’s quartets, and not just any stop either since that one would feature the Opus 131 and the Opus 135, two dazzling masterpieces among the extraordinary six-packs that are his Late Quartets. So who cared of the performance started at the ungodly time of 8:30 PM?

The concert started with Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 2, a youthful piece that the composer wrote when he was barely in his thirties. While it is understandably not of the same caliber as his later works, it was still a very pleasant way to ease ensemble and audience into our Beethovenian evening. This lively homage to his beloved teacher Joseph Haydn overflows with humor and witticism, and the four musicians did an excellent job at conveying its carefree insouciance while warming up for the bigger and better things to come. 

We then fast-forwarded about three decades to his Opus 135, which is the shortest of his Late Quartets as well as the last major composition he completed. It is also, as far as I am concerned, the most stunning of them all, a priceless gift that keeps on relentlessly giving under its deceptively simple package, the countless gifts including an exquisite slow movement and the famous “difficult resolution”. The Quatuor Ébène brought it to life with all the fire and grace it so richly deserved, and just like the group of French attendees I heard comparing notes later on, I thought this was the best performance of the evening. 

After intermission, it was time to move on to the epic tour de force that is the Opus 131, a terrifying challenge that essentially consists in playing its seven movements without an actual pause over the course of about 40 minutes. This means that the musicians need to have not only superior technique and unwavering stamina, but also good reflexes and endless flexibility in case their much put-upon instruments decide to do their own thing. That said, when you have the right ensemble, you can just sit back, relax, and marvel, like the entire audience did on Wednesday night. Schubert and Schumann were allegedly in awe of that ground-breaking quartet, which is as good a stamp of approval as any. On Wednesday night, we all were too.

Teatro di San Carlo - Verdi - 02/28/26

Giuseppe Verdi: Messa da Requiem 

Conductor: Nicola Luisotti 

Choir Master: Fabrizio Cassi 

Pene Pati: Tenor 

Caterina Piva: Mezzo-Soprano 

John Relyea: Bass 

Pretty Yende: Soprano 

Any excuse for a little excursion out of town is a good one, and attending a performance of Verdi’s magnificent Requiem in Naples’ magnificent Teatro di San Carlo is certainly a better one than most. Add to that the presence of South-African soprano Pretty Yende, whose much lauded talent I had never gotten a chance to check out before (not for lack of trying though), and I grabbed some tickets for my Neapolitan friend Vittorio and me as soon as they went on sale last year. 

After an uneventful trip and timely arrival under the Parthenopean City’s famed bright sunshine last Thursday afternoon, things went somewhat downhill with a dreadful combination of overcast skies, low temperatures, and a temporarily out-of-service heater, but things perked up again on Saturday evening with a delicious sfogiatella and a delectable performance in downtown Naples, where we eventually showed up reasonably scrubbed, adequately fed and fully ready at the totally civilized time if 19:00 PM.

Once we had happily settled in the first row of our premium box—Never mind the little space for the knees before us and the invasion of French tourists behind us—we watched the spacious stage gradually fill up with the large orchestra, who were later joined by the equally sizable choir, the four soloists, and the conductor Nicola Luisotti. In the end, the space was unusually crowded, but it also was a real treat to see the faces of the musicians that we by default hear, but not see, when we attend an opera there. 

Fact is, the impressive number of performers felt more than justified when, in due time, the thunderous Dies Irae movement repeatedly took the entire audience by storm with irrepressible force and remarkable focus. Verdi obviously wanted to make sure that this Day of Wrath would not be denied or avoided, and I, for one, can never get enough of it. And sure enough, on Saturday evening, the brilliant Teatro San Carlo’s orchestra and choir unleashed their take-no-prisoners power and announced the upcoming biblical destruction with all the terrified intensity it deserved every single time. 

The rest of the performance went swimmingly too. The composition’s operatic grandeur and emotional intimacy were beautifully conveyed through gorgeous—Dare I say “divine”?—melodies and dramatically shifting rhythms that were commendably handled by musicians and singers. The choir demonstrated a strikingly unified front, the four soloists fulfilled their substantial parts with admirable technique and commitment, with Miss Yende effortlessly meeting my sky-high expectations, and the orchestra, for which Verdi has to be an old friend, kept everything going with predictable expertise and efficiency. 

 That was a prime example of the kind of dazzling accomplishment impeccably timed teamwork can create (Grazie, maestro Luisotti!), and the memorable experience made dealing with the rowdy Saturday night crowds totally worth it.

Orchestra e Coro dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia - Fauré & Ravel - 02/14/26

Gabriel Fauré: Pavane in F-sharp Minor, Op. 50 

Gabriel Fauré: Requiem in D Minor, Op. 48 

Maurice Ravel: Shéhérazade, Op. 41 

Maurice Ravel: La valse 

Conductor: Alexander Soddy 

Soprano: Golda Schultz 

Baritone: Mikhail Timoshenko 

After having unexpectedly strayed from my regular schedule the previous week, it was wonderfully comforting to resume my routine with the Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia and return to the Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone last Saturday evening at 6:00 PM. And not just for any program either as last week’s line-up featured Gabriel Fauré et Maurice Ravel, two remarkable French composers who embody the relatively challenging transition from the 19th century to the 20th century with their own innovative spirits and common sense of refinement. 

So, in the end, that Valentine’s Day, which started with low skies and fierce showers, slowly but surely got better with a fabulous breakfast with friends, the consolidation of exciting travel plans, an engaging visit to the ever-interesting MAXXI museum—Never mind that the free entrance offer had brought hordes of people who stubbornly stuck around even during lunch time—before wrapping up with an early concert celebrating French culture. I could not have asked for much more.

The performance started with one of Fauré’s shortest and most beloved works in Pavane, an amuse-bouche that immediately assured us that orchestra and chorus were in excellent shape. It just as quickly demonstrated that the occupants of the entire section I was sitting in would not be able to see the screen above the stage due to the sizable smorgasbord of lighting, recording and acoustic equipment hanging from the ceiling (sigh). 

At least the frustratingly obstructed view was not an issue for Fauré’s Requiem since it is a well-known piece whose content is predictable anyway. Let’s not forget, however, that Fauré made sure to put his own personal touch to the Latin mass, which essentially consisted in taking out the dark side of death, including the terror usually felt when facing the unknown, and focus on the original meaning of the word “requiem”, which is “rest”, instead. Therefore, his after-life journey is all about eternal hope, peaceful acceptance and sweet comfort, the exquisite music bringing solace and serenity to the inevitable proceedings. 

And I must confess that not having the lyrics to follow made me appreciate the musicians and singers even more. Most particularly, the uniformly superb chorus dealt with its multi-layered parts with savviness and sensitivity, while Juilliard-trained and Berlin-based South African soprano Golda Schultz was simply extraordinary as she deftly unfolded the soaring melody of the “Pie Jesu” aria. As the performance was constantly reaching for new heights, one could easily imagine cherubic angels scattered around the auditorium attentively listening and readily approving.

After intermission, we jumped ahead a few decades and found ourselves in the mysterious world of the Far East of Ravel’s Shéhérazade, his exotic symphonic poem for voice and orchestra, featuring Schultz again. Although her contribution was much more significant in this piece, she had the vivacious orchestra to contend with this time, and consequently the whole experience of hearing her sing, while still supremely enjoyable, was less uplifting. Truth be told, as far as I am concerned, when it comes to Scheherazade, Rimski-Korsakov’s version is the one to beat, and it hasn’t happened yet. 

After leisurely basking in Ravel’s pining for far-away wonderlands, we were jolted back to reality by the overwhelming intensity of his ground-breaking La valse. Originally conceived as a ballet score and described by Ravel himself as a “choreographic poem for orchestra”, the boldly inventive tribute to the traditional waltz exuded the timeless elegance of the Old World while repeatedly getting dangerously close to the edge of the dark abyss that is the Modern World. And that’s how our French soirée ended with the resounding final blast of this thrillingly intoxicating, resolutely forward-looking wild ride.

 

Orchestra dell'Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia - Elgar & Tchaikovsky - 02/06/26

Edward Elgar: Cello Concerto in E Minor, Op. 85 

Pyotr Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 5 in E Minor, Op. 64 

Conductor: Lorenzo Viotti 

Cello: Ettore Pagano 

Almost two weeks after going to the Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone for a fabulous Rach 3 that still resonates in my ecstatic ears, I was back in the Sala Santa Cecilia last Friday evening at the ungodly hour of 8:00 PM instead of my usual Saturday evening 6:00 PM performance, but then, I had only myself to blame. I had been mindlessly dilly-dallying, never mind the countless advertisements about the concert all over the city and the constant sight of the three beetle-shaped concert halls from my windows, and all the reasonably priced tickets for Saturday were sold out by the time I decided to just go ahead and buy one already. 

In fact, a quick look at the rest of the Parco della Musica’s cultural season showed me that, if some potential audience members had been a bit hesitant about committing to supporting the performing arts in January, which meant that excellent seats were still available at the very last minute, they are now planning to go to whatever will be going on out there with a vengeance and buying tickets in droves accordingly, which is fantastic news for the venues and the artists, slightly less so for the procrastinators. 

As for me, I simply could not resist the perspective of hearing Edward Elgar’s Cello Concerto featuring Ettore Pagano, the inordinately young, gifted and fast-rising Roman cellist who would be boldly filling in for an ailing Sheku Kanneh-Mason, or Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 5, both conducted by Lorenzo Viotti, the slightly-older-but-still-young Swiss-born maestro who takes eclecticism to another level by also indiscriminately dabbing in funk, jazz and death metal as a percussionist. 

There are few sounds that I find as darkly gorgeous as the ones produced by the cello, but the fact is, the cello repertoire being rather limited, the occasions to hear them outside an orchestra are unfortunately few and far between. So I was particularly grateful for the opportunity to discover a cello-centric piece I had never heard before, and not just any piece since it had been written by the esteemed early 20th-century English composer Edward Elgar, whose world-famous "Nimrod" is routinely heard in concert halls all over the world as well as during all kinds of ceremonies in England. 

And sure enough, his Cello Concerto in E Minor, Op. 85, an established staple of Late Romanticism, grabbed my attention from the very first notes, which turned out to be a poignant recitative from the solo cellist. Even after the other instruments had joined in, they all made sure to preserve intimacy and soberness while Pagano masterfully conveyed the understated yet inescapable bitter-sweetness of watching a familiar world disappear forever before one’s eyes. Clocking in at about half an hour, the concerto was not very long, but its impact was still felt after the music stopped. 

It took a certain amount of convincing, but our young prodigy eventually heeded our persistent applause and came back for a starkly beautiful Sarabande that, to me at least, even surpassed the concerto. Bravissimo! 

And then we all happily switched gears after intermission and plunged head-first into Tchaikovsky’s intensely dramatic Symphony No. 5, shamelessly relishing the privilege of basking in a voluptuous ocean of hard-core schmalz for the second half of the evening. The consistently brilliant orchestra sounded even more revved-up than usual under the particularly involved baton of maestro Viotti, who ended up having quite a breathless work-out on his stand, and delivered a thrilling account of the magnificent score. I hadn’t heard the symphony live in a long time, and that exciting performance, with its sweeping waves of passion and its quiet interludes of introspection, reminded me why I fell in love with Tchaikovsky—and by extension classical music—in the first place, and why our relationship is as burning hot as ever.

Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia - Rachmaninoff & Bartok - 01/24/26

Sergei Rachmaninoff: Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor, Op. 30 

Bela Bartok: Concerto for Orchestra, Sz.116, BB 123 

Conductor: Juraj Valcuha 

Piano: Behzod Abduraimov 

Exactly two weeks and one fleeting cold after going to the Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone with my visiting friend Vittorio for Tchaikovsky’s fabulous Piano Concerto No. 1, I was back, alone this time, for Rachmaninoff’s equally fabulous Piano Concerto No. 3 last Saturday evening. Unsurprisingly, the Sala Santa Cecilia was just as packed and buzzing with excitement as the previous time. Another irrefutable proof that if you program beloved warhorses, they will come. 

Last Saturday night’s record attendance was all the more remarkable as Slovak conductor Juraj Valčuha and Uzbek pianist Behzod Abduraimov, while well-known and respected in their fields, are not quite established household names yet. On the other hand, the Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia has a pristine reputation and a simple mention of the monumental Rach 3 rarely fails to set aflutter the hearts of classical music aficionados, and others too (No offense to Bartok, whose work I was looking forward to discovering as well). So nobody had to twist any concert-goer's arms to show up, even on a cold and wet Saturday evening.

When it comes to their opening notes, Tchaikovsky’s and Rachmaninoff’s works could not be more different: The former is blatantly attention-grabbing while the second is deceptively subdued, almost apprehensive of where it is going. That said, on Saturday night, Abduraimov knew exactly how to proceed, and he took us there with impressive dexterity and confidence. Not only did he readily overcome the score’s countless daunting technical challenges, but he also brilliantly conveyed its lyrical beauty, emotional depth, and pervasive sense of mystery. 

At about 40 minutes, the composition is not overly long, but it is relentlessly demanding. Bringing it to life therefore requires constant concentration and unwavering stamina, both of which Abduraimov obviously has in spades. He almost made his commanding performance look effortless, and he certainly made it sound thrilling for all of us, as the stunned silence filling the concert hall during its entire duration could attest. 

After wrapping up such a flawless tour de force, he would have been forgiven for just basking in the thunderous applause and call it a night. But no, he had more in store for us, and he eventually sat back down at the piano to treat us to an equally virtuosic take on Franz Liszt’s delightful Campanella, the third of his six Grandes études de Paganini, S. 141. 

After intermission, everybody was back in their seats for Bela Bartok’s unquestionably pleasant yet rather conventional by his standards Concerto for Orchestra, but our hearts may not have been into it as much as the perfectly respectable work and admittedly wonderful performance deserved. For a lot of us, our evening had already been made with the mind-blowing experience that had been Rach 3, and there was quite a bit of comment exchanging, body shifting and phone checking in the audience during the second part of the program. But then again, the power of music eventually prevailed, and we all gratefully took it in.

Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia - Weber, Tchaikovsky and Dvorak - 01/10/26

Carl Maria von Weber: Overture to Oberon 

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky: Piano Concerto No. 1 in B-Flat Minor, Op. 23 

Antonin Dvorak: Symphony No. 8 in G major, Op. 88, B. 163 

Conductor: Manfred Honeck 

Piano: Seong-Jin Cho 

After having to begrudgingly contend with a very late arrival at Termini (You gotta to admit that a one-hour-and-a-half delay is a bit much even by Italian railroad standards, no?), very high demand and very little supply at the taxi stand, and a relentless downpour that even the cheerful holiday lights inside and outside the station could not make up for, I can definitely say that my return to Rome earlier this month was less glorious than I had hoped for. On the plus side, things could only get better. 

It took a while though, as The Eternal City was apparently targeted by a week-long biblical flood that only receded to give way to a Siberian cold spell for a couple of days, but hey, when things finally got back to kind of normal, the holidays were finally over, the year-long Jubilee was finally over, and the countless hordes of tourists and faithful were slowly but surely thinning out. And I had settled back in by then. 

Even better, since my Neapolitan friend Vittorio was going to be in town for the talk about music and spirituality by the eminent journalist, writer and TV host, as well as former European parliament member, Corrado Augias and conductor, composer and pianist Aurelio Canonici at the Auditorium Parco della Musica Ennio Morricone last Sunday morning, not to mention a daytrip to Florence for the stunning exhibition about Fra Angelico on Monday, we figured that it would be the perfect opportunity to go hear some live music as well. 

And that’s what we decided to do on Saturday evening, at the very same Parco della Musica at the totally civilized time of 6:00 PM, when the Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia would present, among other things, one of Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s biggest hits with his Piano Concerto No. 1, which would be interpreted by rising star Seong-Jin Cho under the baton of highly regarded Austrian maestro Manfred Honeck. I was finally feeling I was getting my Roman groove back. 

As if to make up for the trying times I had had so far, the first live musical notes I got to hear this year belonged to the thoroughly delightful overture to Carl Maria von Weber’s Oberon, which happens to be widely considered the best thing about the opera. Although I still do not know the entire score, I very much enjoyed the piece's voluptuous Romanticism, enchanting melodies and intense drama. 

Of course, when it comes to Romanticism, melodies and drama, it is hard to beat Tchaikovsky’s forever thrilling Piano Concerto No. 1, which after a debut viciously panned by the experts and eagerly embraced by pretty much everybody else, has seldom been heard by anybody it was not able to immediately sweep off their feet with its commanding opening, impossibly beautiful sounds and irresistible emotional appeal. 

And sure enough, the magic operated flawlessly on Saturday night again as the endearingly understated Cho used his impressive technique and delicate sensitivity to skillfully calibrate virtuosity and elegance. The applause that rarely fails to spontaneously arise at the end of the uncompromisingly epic first movement was discreetly but successfully shushed throughout the sold-out auditorium by vigilant connoisseurs, and the brilliant performance went on unabated. 

And that was not all. After being called back numerous times, Cho eventually sat back down at the piano again and treated us to an exciting little gift with Frédéric Chopin's ever-shifting Waltz No. 7 in C-Sharp Minor, Op. 64 No. 2, which was much appreciated by all. 

After intermission, we were all back for Antonin Dvorak’s Symphony No. 8, a major staple of late Romanticism, which effortlessly extended the good mood brought by good music among good people. Dvorak’s popular composition is unabashedly vibrant, joyful, and optimistic, and the consistently excellent orchestra was in particularly fine form, so we all ended up happily basking in a delicious combination of sunshine and warmth that had been sorely lacking in our lives lately. 

And then, just when we thought it was all over, maestro Honeck came back to wish us a Happy New Year with — Surprise! — my beloved Johannes Brahms's Hungarian Dance No. 1! That second and final special gift of the evening was so unexpected that quite a few concertgoers had already left, but the rest of us gratefully relished yet more uplifting Romantic sounds, livened up in this case with a healthy dose of zesty folk-dance flavor, till the very last note.