The concert last night was lovely, and today I am slowly recovering from over-indulging in too much Spanish tapas at the post-concert fun with friends.

Yesterday’s concert took place at a hall where I have frequently performed, and so I felt very comfortable with everyone there. They also know me quite well, and so they were able to provide me with a situation which was quite ideal for my own mental and personal preparations. I was also pleasantly pleased and surprised by the quality of the piano, which had vastly improved since I last performed there two years ago. However, while the piano itself had a lovely resonance and responsive action, the bench was another story. As soon as I sat down on it, it squeaked. Loudly. It also looked so rickety that I could just imagine its legs falling apart at some crucial moment. Images started to race through my mind of the audience listening to the quiet intimacy of Chopin’s nocturnes, the crystal clarity of Ravel, or the poignant solitude of Takemitsu, all intertwined with and punctuated by the squeaks from my bench. Of course, I had to change it - luckily, because I actually live in the city where the concert was taking place, I simply brought my piano bench from my house to the hall so that I could use it.

This was a very, very mild inconvenience, but it got me thinking of the numerous unforeseen situations that often surprise us and can interfere with a smooth concert experience. This can range from (all of the below have happened to me):

1. Actually getting to the hall: Bad weather conditions, travel delays or flight cancellations, terrible traffic, lost luggage (including your performance dress), literally managing to arrive at the hall itself within ten minutes of a performance, having had no time to rehearse or think straight.

2. At the hall itself: Piano in a terrible state; hall acoustics are unbearable; other performers being delayed or not able to show up in time for the concert; stage lights or some other equipment breaking down at the last minute; backstage/dressing room area doesn’t have access to a private restroom (about 15 minutes prior to the concert I had to make my way, in full dress, to the public restroom right in front of the entire 1000 + audience who was coming into the hall).

3. Physical/mental: Getting the flu, getting food poisoning or some other ailment (like an eye infection or a sprained ankle on your pedal foot), feeling mentally or physically exhausted from travel and jet lag, being upset/disturbed by the behavior of people around you, or just feeling “off” in general.

All of these things can influence the quality of a performance. Performers somehow need to be able to transcend this stress and get into a certain frame of mind in which we can still achieve the concentration and connectivity needed to perform. This involves a certain mental preparation and process that is not easy to define. Everyone - from myself to my managers to presenters and hall staff - tries as hard as possible to create optimum conditions and the right environment, but no one can control everything, and inevitably unexpected things happen.

But what is more interesting to me, is how often we can surprise ourselves. Some of my best performances have been when I was so sick with a 104 degree fever, major body aches, sneezing and coughing like crazy, playing in the worst situation imaginable. When every possible thing that could go wrong, does, it’s almost as if everything, including physical awareness, dissolves and you are only left with an amazing mental clarity and concentration that allows you to delve deeper into yourself and find new unknown sources of inspiration.

Of course, the above example is very extreme and I would not want to do this all the time because it would just kill me. But it is nice to remind ourselves that sometimes, when the unexpected happens, when we feel at our worst and that there is absolutely nothing else left for us to give, everything drops away and we are able to suddenly discover a hidden path we couldn’t see before.

Click here to view a few photos I took from the concert

Have you ever had a moment when you realize that the private, personal world that you inhabit on a daily basis is so drastically different from the world and reality that surround you?



Like every country in the world, the different regions of Spain are vastly different from one another. The poetic melancholy of the sea that pervades Galicia in northwestern Spain is radically different from the arid, almost severe qualities of central Spain, and from the richly pastoral and French-influenced regions of Catalonia and the Basque regions in the northeast. Malaga, in the southern Andalusia province, is also uniquely distinct. Infused with the smells and sounds of the Mediterranean, it truly is like another world. The people are boisterous, even to the point of being noisy - they speak with louder voices and with great affection and drama. As quick as they are with their generosity and kindness, they are even quicker with their tempers. At ten in the morning, the cafes are already filled with the retired and elderly, and with construction workers taking a mid-morning break - all indulging in either a biting drink of gin or a cool glass of cerveza (beer). The heat of the sun made it seem warm enough to be late May in New York, even though it’s still only February. Although less than an hour away by plane from my current home base of Madrid, I felt like I was stepping through a door into old Spain - the historical melting pot where the Arab Moors from Africa, the Jewish settlers from the east, and the Catholics from the north interacted together under the Mediterranean sun, creating a vibrant and colorful culture.

This was my second visit to Malaga - almost two years ago, I came for a concerto performance with orchestra, and this time it was for chamber music. I have always been passionate about chamber music, and have collaborated over the years with numerous musicians in countless performances. Some have been memorable experiences, others less so.



Anytime one collaborates with other musicians, whether it be for an intimate chamber music performance, or for a symphonic performance with conductor and orchestra, it’s a little bit like going out on a first date, especially if you’ve never worked with that musician before. Established chamber groups, like piano trios or string quartets, remind me of a marriage, with all of the ups and downs, and years of experience together that form the basis of their trust and understanding of one another. But for occasional performances with musicians that you are just getting to know, a collaborative performance together is often an experience in which you are simply trying to understand the other musician as a person, as a human being. I try to quickly get a feel of how they approach things, how they think, of their personality and character, of their communication ability and preferences, and so on. This is just as an important process for me as the actual music rehearsals themselves. From my experience, I believe that musicians can have very differing and wide-ranging artistic and interpretive views, but can still work together to produce a memorable performance, as long as the general philosophy and attitude towards the act of producing art is similar. I am sorry to say that in this recent performance, this was not the case.

This was a difficult experience - to perform with another musician, who very clearly, believes not in art, but in the idea of putting on a “show”, an entertaining “spectacle” for the audience. I will not go into unnecessary details - lets just say that apparently jumping all over the stage, and throwing one’s bow all over the place, is a way of convincing the audience of emotion that obviously could not be communicated through sound and actual playing. I recently read an interesting article in the New York Times about this - the writer is a bit harsh and too absolute for my taste, but nevertheless, I do think that there is some truth in what he writes. I don’t think sitting stock still and looking as somber as a priest in a monastery necessarily means that one is a deeper musician, or that moving around on your instrument means a lack of musical understanding or feeling. However, when physical mannerisms and affectations becomes a crutch, when it becomes something that one hides behind to use to communicate to an audience, then something is clearly wrong. Music is meant to communicate and express through an infinite palette of sounds - through nuances, inflections, and gestures within the auditory realm - and not through visual aerobics. If one wanted to do that, a pursuit of a career in the acting field would be more appropriate.

I mention this experience on this blog, not to be hurtful or spiteful, but because in this day and age of instant gratification, of sound bites, of fast and flashy extravaganzas, of the refusal, in general, to see beyond what is only the superficial outside, how easy it is for us to forget what lies beyond, to forget to search for a quality that doesn’t simply have an external “wow” factor, but actually inspires, educates, and nourishes. I felt like Alice who fell through the looking glass - I had not agreed to this kind of situation, to this kind of approach towards music, towards an audience. And as I sat there, trying my hardest to make the best out of the situation, I felt as though I was watching everything in distortion, seeing an obviously very insecure person who represents the absolute opposite of everything I hold dear, of all the reasons why I became a musician, hopping around on the stage with me. What does it mean to be an artist? Does it mean an ego-trip filled with “Look at me! Look at me!”? Are artists so special? Being an artist does not make one super-special - I don’t subscribe to the whole classical music “elitism” thing. I think artists are simply human beings who see and approach the world in a certain way, with their own kind of language - being an artist is a way of life. There are artists everywhere around us - one does not have to be in the performing, visual, or literary arts to lead an artistic life. There are countless scientists, mathematicians, doctors, teachers, office workers, business leaders, bloggers, concert presenters, etc., who are artists. They are artists because of the philosophy with which they approach their individual lives.

I came back home quite upset, with the somewhat disturbing feeling of being unclean, of somehow being violated, or “pimped”, if you know what I mean. It took me awhile to truly process all of the feelings behind this, and I’m still working through it. A few days ago, as I thought some more about it, I received an e-mail from Hawaii, where a letter was received from an orchestra I recently performed with, and had such a marvelous, special time with. It was one of those rare experiences that stays with you, becomes a part of who you are, and in some inexplicable way, changes you - just receiving a letter from the people there made me very happy. Apparently, a young child, who had attended an outreach event I had done on behalf of the orchestra, had written to their offices, telling them how much he enjoyed my event, how much he enjoyed the Mozart I played, and how he thought what we were doing really was a “service for the community”. How pure, how sincere, how real - receiving this letter was for me like a drink of refreshing tonic at a time when I needed it the most. This is what it is that I believe in, this is the reason why I am a musician. And somehow, the simple, handwritten words of this child cleansed me, and I could let go.

*You can view a few more photos from Malaga here.

I realize my blogging has been a bit clogged recently, but in my pitiful defense, my schedule has been so full, that I have started to wonder if my life is not simply a whirlwind of cities, halls, people, crowded airplanes, and perpetual jet lag. My original (well-meaning, and yet ludicrously optimistic) plan was to do a blog post after every city on this recent US tour, but given the fact that I have been traveling for two months straight, living out of suitcases and hotel rooms with practicing, rehearsals,  with no “downtime” at home, this has proven to be an unachievable task for me. So here it is, my ultra-condensed, overdue, and over-generalized cliffs notes version of the past two months (sorry!).

This trip has been a very “pianistic” one - a strange phrase to be coming from a pianist, I know. Pianists tend to live quite isolated lives, not only from other instrumentalists, but also from one another. But this time, I was surrounded by pianists. In Hawaii, I had a wonderful time performing a two-piano recital in my hometown with a close pianist friend from New York, and in San Francisco, besides performing a recital,  I also shared a performance with two fine pianists who are professors at the San Francisco conservatory. I also managed to fit in a masterclass at the conservatory (in their beautiful new facilities!), which I enjoyed tremendously.Another personal highlight was my chance to spend some time with Kristi, an old high school buddy whom I hadn’t seen in YEARS, and her boyfriend Anthony (be sure to check out his work on Flock, a very cool social web browser!!). If there’s one thing you can take away from this post, it’s how chaotic the past few weeks have been, so of course, I actually forgot to take a picture with her while I was there, so Kris, ever organized, was kind enough to send me a pic - aren’t they cute?



So, after a uniquely relaxed California time in which I indulged in the kindness and generosity of too many people to name, gorged on great sushi (yay!),  and imbibed a little too much while reminiscing nostalgically with Kris and Anthony, I was off to Chicago, by way of battling the first bitter blizzard of the season. After an insufferable delay in Cleveland (during which I inhaled massive amounts of Starbucks at the kiosk located near the gate…), my flight was the last one allowed to land in O’Hare, and I managed to arrive at my hotel at around two in the morning. Early the next morning, slightly dazed and bleary-eyed, I was delighted to have the unique experience of performing on a beautiful Fazioli, lovingly cared for and maintained by the lovely Thomas Zoells of Pianoforte Chicago. Peter Whorf was my charming host on WFMT-FM (a wonderful station, that does such extraordinary work for classical music in Chicago), and in the midst of such cold and challenging weather, a very warm time was had by all.

I headed back to Hawaii to spend my first Christmas there with my family in years, and to fit in some teaching at my school. How could I not have a wonderful time with faces and smiles like these? What a fulfilling way to end 2006 - children are the best!





Christmas in Hawaii

You can check out more pics from my trip here.

Crawling home after 18 hours of travel from Tokyo via London, I am now recovering from an inevitable bout of jetlag. It has taken me awhile to write this entry, as I have been mulling over a great many things. The waning rays of summer, the feeling that things are “starting up” again…immersed in this annual transition, and nourished by my experiences and insights from these past few months, I debated how to best approach and write this post.

I have recently been struggling with a difficult experience I had with someone, a fellow musician -  someone I admired and respected very much. What happened between us has left me saddened, disappointed, and very much hurt -  feelings which are very typical when one realizes (and painfully admits) that one has been manipulated and used. I have always felt that it is extremely important for artists to support other artists whom they believe in. Everyone is eager to declare that classical music is dying and is in a severe crisis. But musicians, who are often struggling so much just to be heard, just to survive, sometimes end up behaving in a manner that I think negates the very value of the art we are trying to sustain. Egotism, insecurity, the driving need to somehow be accepted or validated, a quest for recognition — all these things are related and can negatively affect a performer’s ability to sincerely communicate and give through their music. When someone much older than me behaves in a manner that seems more appropriate for someone much younger than me, it is rather disturbing. It makes me wonder why an artist would behave in such a way, and if this is the way that it is, if musicians themselves end up acting without integrity, without courage or class, then what is the point of doing music at all? And so, the disillusionment set in - then why am I a musician? What good does it do? How can I step out onto a stage and share my ideas, share what I find and love in this incredible music, when I am so personally disappointed with the manner in which people I cared about and valued, behaved? It was with this rather heavy heart that I headed off to Japan to start off the season.

This was my fourth trip to Okierabu to perform and teach - a small, beautiful island located near Okinawa off the southern most tip of Japan, it is where my grandparents lived and where my mother was raised. This small island is rich in its people’s generosity and its own historic culture, and has a tradition of being fiercely devoted to children, education, and the future generation. There is a huge banner hanging in front of the main government building there - it says “Yume ni kakeyou”, translated it means “Let’s bet on our dreams”. I am consistently amazed with the city’s ability to be adventurous, to take risks, and their absolute commitment to the future of their children, to produce (as the mayor informed me) “global citizens”. I am always humbled when I hear them talk about their plans and ideas, and feel that this small island has so much that it could teach to much larger countries.

Upon arrival, the happy conversations of the people there, the warmth of their greetings, the fantastic seafood, the beautiful surroundings — somehow they all soothingly enveloped my disenchanted self, and when I finally sat down to play, finding all of the words I have a difficult time expressing in real life contained within the notes, harmonies, and phrases of Beethoven, Mozart, Schumann, the audience listened so quietly, so attentively, to what I wanted to express. They experienced it all with me - my recent pain and disappointment, my search for some kind of understanding, my desire to get past it. They experienced it not so that they could understand me better, but rather, they experienced my perceptions in order to bring about a better understanding of their own selves, of their own pains, disappointments, and personal searches. And as I played the quiet opening of the second movement of Schumann’s G minor sonata, as the piece unfurled itself from Schumann’s exquisitely magical writing, I remembered why I do music, and why I am a musician. Every artist’s path is his or her own - the artist I am and the life I lead is a choice I make each and every day. It is a choice I make because I believe in the value of what I do, and I lead my life in a way that I hope sincerely and truthfully reflects that. Every musician makes his or her own choice, not only artistically with their interpretations, but also, like every human being, every musician makes choices in how to lead his personal life, and in how he chooses to treat others around him.

After the recital, I did some intensive teaching through masterclasses and private lessons with many bright and talented students at the Grace Nikae Piano Seminar, which I’ve been doing for several years now. These beautiful students, with their sparkling eyes filled with such joy at just playing at the piano, move me every single time. There is a moment in teaching that I love more than any other - it is when a student’s face (his expression, a shift in the light of his eyes) changes because he has just realized something, discovered something new, not only about the music or instrument, but also about himself, that he didn’t know before - I can find no words to describe my feelings when I see this look. Everything else fades, everything else seems small and irrelevant, next to the power of this expression.

Bleary-eyed and exhausted as I am, I come back from Japan with a different heart than when I left for it. The fact that I am able to experience all of these things - the sadness, the joy, the challenges, the necessary growing pains involved whenever we step forward into the next chapter of our development - makes me grateful. Because it is proof that I am alive, that I am a breathing, living individual who is simply a part of something much greater than all of us. I have been reminded of the reasons why I became a musician, why I believe so much in what it is that I do. And on this day, five years after the unthinkable happened, I remember and am even more poignantly grateful for this.



Click on the picture above to see all the photos from my trip.

As the hectic concert season winds down and the hot, long, sunlit days and warm nights of summer in Madrid open up before me, a hazy, slightly melancholic nostalgia imbues my life. It is the faint, forlorn feeling when something has come to a close, when one realizes that another chapter has finished, and that time is continuing its inexorable march forward. I am left with a cluttered collection of blurry memories from the past season — the music, the sights, the sounds, the places, the people, the challenges, the struggles, and the beauty which have coursed in and out of my life over the past nine months.

Yet, as the quieter (and somehow more introspective) days of summer begin, as I tie up loose ends and try to get organized with all of the little matters I had neglected to take care of because of my performance schedule, the relentlessly bright Spanish sun seems to also shed a new light on everything around me. A freshness, a feeling of sparkling enthusiasm, seems to brilliantly reflect off of everyone and everything. I feel an electric excitement and anticipation in planning my programs for next season - the thrill of delving into the depths of Beethoven, Schumann, Chopin, and Berg; of exploring the sharp edges of Cage, Crumb, Ligeti, and Carter; of the new discoveries and the new memories to come.

This entry marks the beginning of something new as well - my entry into the internet’s blogosphere. I decided to start blogging after maintaining a “travel journal” on my professional website became too cumbersome and time-consuming. The immediacy of blogs appealed to me, and I thought it would be an interesting medium to explore. I am sure that the form of this blog, and the kinds of entries posted, will grow and evolve over time.

I have just returned from London, where I played my last recital of this season, and I cannot think of a better way to end the season than with my recital debut at one of the world’s warmest and most beautiful halls - Wigmore Hall. The piano and the incredibly resonant and accomodating acoustics, made the concert one of those rare, satisfying experiences for me as a performer. I don’t know if people realize just how vulnerable musicians (especially pianists) are to the conditions of the hall and instrument. When a hall’s acoustics can honestly carry my “voice” to speak to each seat in the audience, and when the instrument allows me to be able to “say” every envisioned nuance and inflection, I feel as though all things are possible, and the performance takes on another dimension.

At this concert, I also had the great pleasure of meeting Georgina Ginastera, the daughter of the great composer Alberto Ginastera (whose Danzas Argentinas I had performed on the program) as well as pianist Alberto Portugheis who knew Ginastera very well, and directs the Ginastera Festival in London. In addition, the concert promoter, Nigel, (a natural, warm, bright, and all-around fantastic person) not only did such an amazing job organizing everything, he also took us out for a marvelous post-concert meal, and provided us with stimulating and animated conversation about everything from music to literature, poetry and film. I cannot think of a better way to close what was an already fulfilling and immensely satisfying day for me — thank you, Nigel!


Click on the picture above to view some pictures from London.