Photo Courtesy of Sophia Rosenbaum

Washington Square Park’s very own pianist

By Sophia Rosenbaum

Every Saturday in Washington Square Park, the normal activity of an urban green space is interrupted by a man playing a baby grand piano, stopping people in their tracks with his subtle chords and classical tunes.

“Conceptually, he’s just another street performer, because he has those buckets,” said Matt Kocienczny, 27, as he sat on a nearby park bench listening. “But the piano escalates his performance. This is really only in New York.”

The pianist is Colin Huggins, the self-proclaimed “Crazy Piano Guy” with radiant red hair, and he’s been a street performer for more than five years. Born in Decatur, Ga., Huggins moved to New York City in 2003. During his mid-twenties, he worked as a ballet accompanist for the American Ballet Theater and as music director at Joffrey School. But, in 2010, he quit both jobs and pursued street performances full time to have more musical freedom.

“At the end of the day,” said David Isakov, a New York University student and longtime classical music fan, “he does what he likes and he’s happy. Colin is inspirational.”

When Huggins, 34, first started performing, he transported an upright piano down into the subways and played anything that would get money in his five-gallon black bucket. But once he started playing in the park, his music evolved from pop to classical.

“In my experience, classical music has the most integrity,” he said. “I don’t like playing music without integrity even if it gets more money in the bucket.”

For the past two years, Huggins has towed his 650-pound Yahama piano to Washington Square Park every weekend. He likes to start early, around 8 a.m. As soon as he assembles the piano, the crowd starts. And, he plays no matter what the weather is like.

“I’ve seen him play in all types of weather—cold, cloudy, rainy, sunny, snowy,” Isakov, who comes to see him weekly, said.

Huggins never wears gloves while he’s playing, but he’ll take five-minute breaks to warm up his hands and take care of other needs.

“I think it’s pretty amazing that we have this world-class pianist playing,” said Annie Millican, as she sat bundled up on a nearby park bench. “It democratizes the chance to see this type of music and I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

By midday, all the park benches surrounding Huggins were filled. Most people said they sat down because they were shocked to hear classical music and see a baby grand piano in the middle of the park.

“It makes sitting in this park feel like you’re sitting in a fancy hotel,” Millican said.
Alexandra McHale, a freshman at NYU, first heard Huggins play a few months ago and decided to bring her parents to listen.

A few weeks ago, McHale approached Huggins to buy one of his $10 CDs. When she told him she went to NYU, he gave her a code to download the music for free.

He doesn’t like to talk about the business end of his performances, but said he makes a “modest living” that pays the rent.

Realistically, Huggins said he has a few more years left in him to continue outdoor performances, but he expects to be moving toward playing indoors in the future.

For now, he’s happy performing outside. Just before he left for his bathroom break, Huggins thanked everyone for listening and urged them to buy his CD.

One man came up and dropped a 10-dollar bill in one of his buckets.

“His life will never be the same,” Huggins said. “The same could happen to you for just 10 dollars.”

Traditionally, he gives the opening recital, as he did this year. This latest recital posed a special challenge: The air conditioning broke down, on a very hot night. That gave the audience a sense of solidarity and adventure, as hardship can.

One benefit of this festival is that a patron has a chance to hear music that is hardly ever played during the regular season. You hear little-known pieces by well-known composers. This year, we had Scriabin’s Sonata No. 5, for example, and Hindemith’s Sonata No. 3. You also hear composers who are themselves little known. This year, we got Levko Revutsky, a Ukrainian who lived from 1889 to 1977, and Héctor Campos-Parsi, a Puerto Rican who lived from 1922 to 1998.

And then there are our old friends transcriptions-—arrangements of songs, orchestra pieces and the like for piano. When I was growing up, these were considered old-fashioned and embarrassing. None of the cool kids played them. But they never went entirely away, because so many of them were so skilled and so enjoyable. This year, one festival pianist played Liszt’s transcription of Chopin’s song “The Maiden’s Wish.” Someone else played Liszt’s transcription of Weber’s Konzertstück. The Konzertstück is old-fashioned enough on its own, believe me. But in the Liszt transcription? Positively transgressive!

Daria Rabotkina, a young Russian-born pianist, began her recital with Schumann’s Humoreske in B-flat Major. This is not a rarity—but you hear it a lot less than you do, say, Schumann’s Carnaval. You hear it about as often as you do Papillons. And the Humoreske is a formidable, mysterious piece. It’s no joke, put it that way. Rabotkina played it in an athletic, extrovert, headlong manner—-decidedly romantic.

She next played a rarity, Busoni’s Variations and Fugue on Chopin’s Prelude in C Minor. This is the same prelude on which Rachmaninoff wrote variations (but no fugue) years later. The Busoni piece is dark and stormy, to quote an opening line. Passionately romantic, it is a long way from Busoni’s last work, the modernist opera Doktor Faust. Rabotkina played the Variations and Fugue with commitment and command.

She closed her recital with a piece by Marc-André Hamelin, the Canadian pianist-—who played his own recital on the same stage about an hour later.

The following night, HaeSun Paik, a native of South Korea, played a recital beginning with bird pieces-—pieces by Messiaen, the birdiest composer since Byrd. Paik started with the prelude called “La Colombe” (“The Dove”), then continued with “Le Loriot” (“The Oriole”) from Catalogue of Birds. According to Paik, who gave remarks from the stage before she played a note-—often a concert-killer-—the catalogue takes about three hours to play. Is this love, on Messiaen’s part, or obsession? They’re often close cousins, love and obsession.

Regardless, it was a pleasure to hear the two bird pieces, which spring from the impressionism established by Debussy and Ravel. Paik played them with care.

The world of the piano, you will agree, is a wonderful one-—all that repertoire. Is it the best repertoire there is? You could make an argument for the song repertoire—-but fortunately, none of us has to choose.

I once heard Emanuel Ax, the pianist, give a great performance. Google has recalled the specifics: It was in August 2005 at the Mostly Mozart Festival. Ax played Mozart’s Concerto No. 22 in E flat, K. 482. I have now heard Ax give another great performance. It was of the same concerto.

This second performance was on a Wednesday night in the same hall: Avery Fisher. The conductor and orchestra were different, however. They were Alan Gilbert and the New York Philharmonic. Ax’s phrasing was exemplary. He breathed along with the composer. He was both smooth and articulate. He was sensitive without being mousy. What rubato he used was intelligent. He fudged a trill or two, particularly at their resolution, but this was of little importance.

Crucially, he was not afraid to play simply. “‘Tis the gift to be simple.” And you may remember a Rubinstein quip: “Mozart is too easy for children and too hard for adults.”

For the second movement, Andante, Ax chose a perfect tempo. Tempos in these “slow” movements of Mozart’s are hard to get right. He sang this movement with an inevitable and natural feeling. The Rondo was jaunty and stylish. It was humorous in spots without being hammy. The cadenza that Ax has composed for this movement is fitting and clever; I thought I heard horn calls.

Above all, Ax played the Rondo, and all of the concerto, with pleasure. It is a privilege to play Mozart. I believe Ax knows this. As the audience applauded, the man behind me said to his wife—loudly and twice—“Good ol’ Manny Ax.” He was more than “good ol’ Manny Ax” on this occasion: He was a great Mozartean.

Gilbert and the orchestra did their roles ably. There was a botched entrance in the horns near the opening, which was unfortunate. Some of the exposition had a clock-punching feeling. But, on the whole, the orchestra was alert, correct and compact. The beginning of the Andante was positively beautiful.

The main work on this program was one of the main works of Mozart’s life, and of music at large: the “Great” Mass in C minor. The orchestra was again alert, correct and compact (and so were the New York Choral Artists). Gilbert was never less than competent. He was completely assured and thoroughly prepared. In my judgment, however, this performance was barren of spirituality. It was also, I’m afraid, a bore.

But I must say it was nice to hear the Mass performed with some richness, beauty and blood. In recent years, I have heard nothing but “period” performances, particularly at the Salzburg Festival. They are thin gruel, with some straw sticking out. They also feature mindlessly fast tempos. At the Philharmonic, it was a relief to hear “Laudamus te” at a sane, musical pace.

The evening’s soprano was Jennifer Zetlan, who was starry when she was a student at Juilliard. In the Mass, she began a little uncertainly and had no low notes. But she soon gained her stride and was wonderful. The other singers were adequate, with the tenor, Paul Appleby, sounding like a Polenzani in the making. The bass in Mozart’s Mass has even less work to do than the mezzo-soprano in Beethoven’s Ninth.

A famous mezzo once told me she had a piece of advice for other mezzos engaged for the Ninth: “Wear a pretty dress.”

Pianists pires and zacharias play concertos in pairs

Two orchestras came to town, each bringing a pianist. The first orchestra to appear was from just down the road, Philadelphia. They played in Carnegie Hall with their chief conductor, Charles Dutoit. And their pianist was Maria João Pires, from Portugal.

She is very well-known from recordings, but not so well-known from personal appearances, at least here in New York. She has a big reputation for Chopin, and, in fact, played Chopin’s Concerto No. 2 in F minor.

In the first movement, she was competent—but also stiff, workmanlike. The music lacked its fluid nature. The closing rondo was much the same—competent, acceptable, but without flair. A wet noodle.

So, how did Pires acquire her big reputation? She gave the answer in the middle movement, Larghetto, which was a thing of beauty: graceful, sensitive and altogether musical. Chopin himself would have smiled.

Three nights later, an orchestra from Bavaria, the Bamberg Symphony, played in Avery Fisher Hall. They were led by their longtime chief, Jonathan Nott, an Englishman. And their pianist was Christian Zacharias, a German. He is a pianist who is capable of perfection, no less. Other nights, he is commendable all the same.

This was one of those nights. Zacharias played Beethoven’s Concerto No. 4 in G major. Its opening chord is hard to get right: You have to play all the notes together, with the top note, B, having prominence. Zacharias got it exactly right.

In the first movement at large, he had a few slips, but nothing major. His playing tended to be dry. Sometimes a bigger, fatter sound was desirable. But Zacharias obviously understood the logic of the music, and he was no-nonsense without being cold.

He is a conductor too, and, at the keyboard, he could not quite resist the urge to conduct the orchestra. He was champing at the bit to do so. Did this bother the actual conductor, on the podium? Ask Nott.

The second movement, that sublime creation, was matter-of-fact—very much so. Zacharias could have been a little freer. And the rondo could have been sprightlier and more graceful. But, again, you will want to hear Zacharias on any night, no matter what.

Incidentally, his concert clothes are those austere black pajamas, the modern uniform. It seems to suit the clinical side of his personality.

By Jay Nordlinger

For several years, we have called Yuja Wang a wunderkind, a phenom, a sensation. For how long can we keep talking that way? She’s 25 now. I figure we can continue for a couple more years.

Most recently in New York, she played Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 3 with the New York Philharmonic. She does well by Prokofiev. Two seasons ago, she played the Concerto No. 2 with the Philadelphia Orchestra in Carnegie Hall. She played it to within an inch of its life. Earlier this season, she played the Sonata No. 6, also in Carnegie Hall. Her grasp on the work was sure.

And the Concerto No. 3? First, let me say what was wrong with her performance, on the night I heard her. (She played the concerto on four separate nights.) She entered a hair late. She immediately changed the tempo, making it faster. She changed it further, making it faster yet. She left the poor New York Philharmonic in the dust. The conductor, Jaap van Zweden, looked at her as if to say, “What the . . .?” She was careless and sloppy. She slapped and banged. Prokofiev can be percussive, but it need not be ugly. Where she should have been elegant, she was inelegant. Her sound was not grand enough. Her passagework was bony. Some of her accents were absurd. Etc.

But: I thought to myself, “Never let me become an old fart who doesn’t appreciate youthful fire and abandon.” Wang was electric. She was a girl on a mission. There was actually a little anger in her playing. She was over the top, but she was exciting as hell, and I think Prokofiev himself would have gotten a kick out of it.

She won’t play like this always—but I’m glad she does for now. She will undoubtedly mellow and mature. But fire and abandon are fine musical qualities, especially in the Prokofiev Third.

I often say, “Not every performance has to be a desert-island disc”—a definitive performance, an exemplary performance, for all time. The Prokofiev Third I heard should not be on a recording. But a live concert is a different cat (thank heaven). And Wang was alive, no question.

A week later, the Takács Quartet arrived in Zankel Hall, for two concerts. Formed in Budapest in 1975, the quartet now resides in Boulder. Two of the original members are still with the group. They are Hungarian, whereas the newer members are from different climes.

They started their New York concerts with Janácek’s String Quartet No. 1, nicknamed “the Kreutzer Sonata.” It is a talky, anxious work, a minor masterpiece. The Takács played it knowledgeably and intelligently. They make a better overall sound than they do individually. Nevertheless, the overall sound was at times too fuzzy. And fingers at times were unresponsive. Also, where beauty was called for, the group could not quite summon it.

Next on the program was another String Quartet No. 1, this one by Britten (and without a nickname). It is written in that special Britten tongue that is half modern and half not. Do you know the expression “Second verse, same as the first?” Again the Takács sound was a bit fuzzy, out of focus. Again fingers were somewhat wanting (particularly in the last movement, molto vivace). And again the group played with a general and welcome intelligence.

You can think well without playing well. Usually, it’s better to think well than to play well. And when you can do both—why, then, of course, the world is your oyster.