Jacob Greenberg: Neo/Classic.

On Hanging Gardens, the wonderful double-CD set issued by Jacob Greenberg in 2018, the pianist combined works by the Second Viennese School (Schoenberg, Webern, and Berg) and Debussy to striking effect, the release's impact bolstered by the presence of soprano Tony Arnold on Schoenberg's Das Buch der Hängenden Gärten (The Book of the Hanging Gardens). In like manner, Greenberg's single-disc followup exploits temporal and stylistic contrasts by coupling Haydn and Mozart pieces with works from later centuries by Stravinsky, Ravel, Elliott Carter, and Phyllis Chen. If the new release is slightly less audacious conceptually than its predecessor, it nonetheless impresses for the calibre of its musicianship. Simply put, Greenberg's the kind of pianist whose playing's gripping no matter the material performed.

By way of introduction, Greenberg, who produced the recording and recorded it at Oktaven Audio in Mount Vernon, New York, identifies some of the characteristics associated with the classic and neoclassic eras, balance, simplicity, and order principles tied to the former and form, transparency, and concision the latter, conscious rejection of opulence and indulgence also key to the neoclassic sensibility. Of course, overlaps between them clearly exist, a point not merely implied but acknowledged explicitly in the very title of Ravel's Menuet sur le nom d'Haydn. Greenberg captures the eloquence and charm of Ravel's music in this graceful miniature, which, true to its title, uses musical notes of his forebear's name by way of tribute.

The pianist's consummate command of tempo and phrasing is shown in his expressive rendering of Haydn's two-part Sonata in D major, Hob.XVI:42, the andante movement suitably bright and resonant and the second dazzling in its briskness. The composer's also represented by the three-movement Sonata in B minor, Hob.XVI:32, which advances from an exuberant, methodically considered intro on through an engaging minuet and a “Presto” taken at an at times furious clip. Mozart's Fantasy and Fugue in C major, K. 394 follows its opening declamation of a dignified theme with characteristically imaginative examinations, some passages delivered at a torrential pace but all of it rich in counterpoint. His Ten Variations on “Unser dummer Pöbel meint,” K. 455 caps the release with folk-inspired variations on an operatic comic aria by Gluck that were originally improvised in concert by the composer with Gluck present and were eventually refined into the charming single-movement set-piece presented here.

Written as a birthday tribute to the composer Goffredo Petrassi, Carter's engrossing 90+ is by comparison a complex, spidery affair comprised of ninety regular, accented pulses that no one could possibly mistake for a piece by those earlier figures. A commission treated to its premiere recording, Chen's meditative SumiTones draws for inspiration from the calligraphic art of her grandfather in a work that accentuates precision, expressive gesture, delicacy, and the omission of the nonessential. Stravinsky's four-part Serenade in A, which is an all the more welcome inclusion for being one of his less familiar works, begins with a stately theme immediately recognizable as one by the composer (even if it's purportedly a riff on Chopin), after which follows a sprightly minuet, a rollicking “Rondoletto,” and wryly nostalgic finale.

Certainly one of the project's takeaways has to do with downplaying the divide presumed to exist between music composed centuries apart. As stylistically different as the pieces by Mozart and Stravinsky are, Greenberg's interpretations also hint at connections between them. Still, the organizing principle behind Neo/Classic. is ultimately of less import than the performances themselves, the recording more constituting a powerful argument on behalf of Greenberg's artistry than anything concept-related. The release hardly suffers for being broached on such terms, and one might perhaps best think of it as a well-curated concert-styled programme distilled into recorded form. It also provides an excellent opportunity to hear the pianist, who can otherwise be heard performing as a member of ICE (International Contemporary Ensemble), playing solo.

— Ron Schepper, 1.25.2020

Ravel’s two-minute tidbit on the notes B, A, D, D, G is not really Ravel nor Haydn. Greenberg’s program notes make much of Haydn’s D-Major Sonata being “about omissions: what’s implied in a rest and not stated….” His Haydn playing is beyond cavil, except I think he makes a bit too much of the rests. He does play all repeats. Greenberg’s playing of Haydn’s B-Minor Sonata is also exemplary, although I prefer a touch more Sturm und Drang in the opening Allegro moderato, which his notes cite as “austere pomp.”

Elliott Carter’s 90 + is not about his own age; it was composed for his friend Goffredo Petrassi’s 90th birthday (between the two of them, they logged well over 200 years). It’s based on 90 “regular pulses” which constantly threaten to become tonal but never quite make it. The pianist sounds perfectly comfortable with its shattered, irregular lines.

Greenberg sails brilliantly through Mozart’s Fantasy, yet his playing doesn’t quite match the “uninhibited extravagance” his notes ascribe to it. In the Fugue, he notes “a dignified theme, thoughtfully examined,” which perfectly describes his performance. His stabbing bass notes capture Mozart’s tongue-in-cheek statement of Gluck’s pompous comic aria, and his fleet, airy playing follows Mozart to a higher plane while keeping the humor bubbling. He plays Stravinsky’s Serenade with greater elegance than either the composer or Charles Rosen, pointing up the Chopin that Stravinsky was riffing in the opening “Hymne.” But Rosen’s gravitas finds more Stravinsky in this un-Stravinskian piece than either Greenberg or the composer.

Phyllis Chen, a young New York composer/performer known for her attachment to the toy piano, is courting high company on this disc. Her Sumi’Tones scatters a few notes in the night air, then gradually gains momentum and coherence before fading back again. Greenberg convinces us that this is lovely music.

This is not repertoire by which we normally judge pianists (say: Chopin, Beethoven, Schumann), but Jacob Greenberg acquits himself nobly, by both technique and sensibility, in these 18th- and 20th-century compositions. The avoidance of dynamic extremes, to which a somewhat cautious recording may contribute, can be considered an asset or a debit, depending on one’s tastes.

— James North, 5.02.2020

This curious melange of a program was produced by Jacob Greenberg on his own label, with no booklet, biography, or photographs. One has to visit the Internet to learn more. The order of the program is Ravel, Haydn 42, Carter, Mozart (K394), Haydn 32, Stravinsky, Chen, Mozart (K455). Apart from Ravel’s homage to Haydn, there is no obvious relation among the pieces, but according to Greenberg they have in common a rejection of opulence and indulgence in sound, and an orientation towards form, transparency, and concision. The selection is certainly not hackneyed. The Haydn sonatas are not the most popular ones, the Mozart works are rarely played (the Fantasy and Fugue is a somewhat academic exercise), and that is even truer for the rest of the program. As Greenberg points out, the Ravel piece makes use of the notes B-A-D-D-G, but he should have mentioned that B is H in German, or else someone might wonder why Haydn’s music seemed B-A-D to Ravel. The Stravinsky suite is a rather unattractive work from early in his neoclassical period. Carter’s music, “90 regular accented pulses in a constantly changing context”; makes no sense to me at all. Phyllis Chen is a young and evidently highly creative Chinese-American composer and pianist, a founding member of the International Contemporary Ensemble, to which Greenberg also belongs. He commissioned her piece, SumiTones, said to be a meditation on the dance between brush and paper in Chinese calligraphy. Sumi is a kind of Japanese ink used in this art. Chen creates a dreamy mood by juxtaposing a slow bass line with high-pitched curlicues. (This term occurred to me before reading that the piece has anything to do with calligraphy.) The middle register makes a brief appearance in the middle, and the birds (a possible alternative to curlicues) get excited briefly before the piece ends quietly. I quite enjoyed it. Greenberg, who is also on the faculty of Hunter College, has made many previous recordings, some of which have been praised highly in these pages (Busoni; Schumann, N/D 2011; Debussy, Schoenberg, Berg, Webern, N/D 2018). Perhaps he races a bit too quickly through Mozart’s Fantasy here, but generally his playing is excellent. The recorded sound seems more resonant and lush in the Chen piece than in the others, contrary to the rejection of opulence and indulgence in sound; mentioned above. Anyway, this is worth exploring.

— Bruno Repp, 5.22.2020