Recital Details and Program
- Date and Time: April 1, 2025, 19:30
- Venue: National Concert Hall
- Piano: Bösendorfer 280VC
- Program
- J. S. Bach: Partita No. 4 in D major, BWV 828
- P. Boulez: Piano Sonata No. 3
- A. Berg: Piano Sonata, Op. 1
- Intermission
- C. Debussy: Études No. 9, 10, 11, from 12 Études, L 136
- L. v. Beethoven: Piano Sonata No. 32 in c minor, Op. 111
- [Encore] C. Debussy: Étude No. 8 ‘pour les agréments’, L. 136
- [Encore] J. S. Bach: Ouverture nach Französischer Art, BWV 831 – VIII. Echo
Prologue
If I had to encapsulate the impression left by pianist Pi-hsien Chen’s piano recital in a single sentence, it would be a celebration of the piano’s acoustic versatility. Although her nimble, ever-shifting touch revealed an array of tonal colors and sonic effects, the essence lay in stripping away structural concerns and simply listening—allowing the play of light and shadow, the prismatic changes of style, to underscore the unbroken thread of love, creativity, and innovation that transcends eras. The repertoire demanded precisely that wealth of color and nuance, so it was no surprise that Chen chose a Bösendorfer to convey such a spectrum of sounds.
When I first saw the lineup, it struck me as “fascinating,” spanning disparate styles and historical periods. I was eager to see what narrative or overarching theme the artist intended. Having never really listened to Boulez’s piano works, I felt doubly curious.
First Half: Exploring the Structural Language of Sound
The opening half came across as a journey of sonic and linguistic discovery. Beginning with Bach, whose rigorous structures can yield a liberating fusion of styles, the Partita No. 4 balances trademark polyphonic counterpoint with dance rhythms that spur a range of touch and richly tiered sound. While Bach’s music is often lauded for its formal precision, his keyboard suites also harbor a spirit of openness and improvisatory flair—beneath the rigorous scaffolding lies an irrepressible creative drive.
She then moved into two movements (the second and third) from Boulez’s Third Piano Sonata, where disjointed forms and punctiform clusters reimagine sonic language. Boulez dismantles conventional syntax through a hyper-rational approach, seeking out fresh sonorities the piano can generate. It’s a deconstruction rooted in a different kind of “rigor,” a quest for aesthetic truth in sound, an intellectual impetus that redefines music’s linguistic units.
Alban Berg’s Piano Sonata, Op. 1 concluded the first half, striking a balance between form and sound. Drawing upon twelve-tone procedures and transformative variation techniques, Berg weaves a continuous, evolving tapestry that obscures clear tonality. However, even in its hazy harmonies, the music feels lavishly emotive. Motivic cells unravel organically, forging a sonic space that is at once veiled and transparent, brimming with warmth.
This arc—Bach’s structured exploration (the “protect” or “guard”), Boulez’s boundary-shattering language (the “detach” or “digress” ), and Berg’s subtle middle ground (the “leave” or “seperate” )—reflects a Shu-Ha-Ri (guard-detach-seperate) philosophy. Boulez’s “detach,” however, does not simply scrap the old rules; it redefines sound itself at a granular level, echoing Bach’s own capacity for infinite invention within strictly governed frameworks. So, the entire first half’s focus on structural and sonic experimentation paved the way for the second half’s palette of timbres and deeper emotional narrative—ultimately culminating in Beethoven’s profound late sonata.
Bach: Partita No. 4 in D Major, BWV 828
Each of Bach’s six keyboard partitas exemplifies different technical emphases and distinct stylistic blends; the Fourth, in particular, is the largest in scale. Listening to Bach, I often ask myself: “Is this interpretation one I can embrace?”
Over the years, I’ve gleaned certain traits I enjoy—but hearing Pi-hsien Chen’s Bach reminded me that any preconception can be upended. The Bösendorfer’s tone was warm, and while Chen’s approach was direct rather than brilliantly crisp, she maintained keen clarity among the voices while rendering the phrasing lyrical and supple. In that sense, I caught unexpected echoes of Messiaen’s reverent sincerity.
Boulez: Third Piano Sonata (movements II & III)
I came in barely acquainted with Boulez’s oeuvre, so it was a relief to hear Chen describe salient aspects before she played.
The composer employs an interplay of random processes, tone clusters, and woven lines that yield near-subliminal resonances and layered effects, revealing the piano’s capacity for startling modernity—glimpses of jazz, or fleeting moments reminiscent of a synthesizer’s electronic shimmer. Perhaps that’s another reason Chen chose a Bösendorfer.
Though we can’t literally generate subharmonics in a strict mathematical sense, the instrument’s design and extended resonance can produce sympathetic vibrations in unstruck strings, evoking that distinctive “under-rumble.” Lucky for me, I was seated in the front rows of the second floor, so I could still sense those micro-sonic details—although, lacking deeper familiarity with Boulez, I couldn’t parse them as precisely.
Even so, I perceived an underlying coherence in the interplay of register, speed, and dynamic flux.
Berg: Piano Sonata, Op. 1
Though this piece has just one movement, it encompasses a fully formed musical statement. It shares certain elements seen in Schoenberg’s works—twelve-tone inflections, developing variation—but none of these devices were exclusive to them, of course.
Berg’s Piano Sonata, much like Schoenberg’s works, relies on semitone scales and motivic constructions of stacked perfect or augmented fourths. Pi-hsien Chen’s renditions of Schoenberg display a distinct personality, and hearing Berg’s sonata performed live indeed highlighted that same faintly elusive while exquisitely delicate quality. With incessant harmonic shifts, fluid melodic lines, and cohesive thematic development, the piece demanded the performer’s meticulous command of every nuance.
A deft, precise touch—together with a wealth of overtones—lent both color and emotional depth. Striking a balance between fullness and flexibility, the sound managed to be substantial yet gentle, conjuring an impression simultaneously warm and refreshingly modern.
Second Half: A Sonically Textured Canvas and Philosophical Musings
The second half opened with three of Debussy’s Études—less often performed than, say, Estampes, yet showcasing the composer’s masterful use of harmonic color. They carry forward the first half’s exploration of sonority, but with a more polished, stylistically assured approach, reflecting a developed harmonic language that picks up on the seamless textures Berg established at the close of the first half.
These three Études exhibit Debussy’s hallmark “haze,” presumably the same quality that prompted an initial plan to position Berg’s work in the second half. Even so, transferring that bridging moment—linking Boulez to Debussy—to the finale of the first half still created a sense of continuity, while realigning the second half’s thematic focus on color building through touch and melodic lines.
Debussy: Études Nos. 9, 10, & 11(from the Twelve Études, L. 136)
Especially in the tenth piece, “pour les notes répétées,” one hears Debussy’s quest to push harmonic boundaries, conjuring vivid hues and aesthetic nuances through his use of timbre and voicing. By the eleventh piece, “pour les sonorités,” a more elaborate, finely wrought texture emerges, weaving a luxurious tapestry of flowing, softly shimmering color.
Throughout the second half, Pi-hsien Chen’s effortless, fluid playing was evident—aptly mirroring this recital’s theme, “Fleeting as the Wind, Swift as Lightning.”
In modern times, the very name “piano” underscores its signature challenge—namely, the art of crafting delicate, crystalline pianissimo. Striking the right balance of clarity, speed, and featherlight purity imbues each note with a luminous yet dreamlike quality, and in this, Pi-hsien Chen’s Debussy felt distinctly contemporary, brimming with vibrant color.
Beethoven: Piano Sonata No. 32 in C Minor, Op. 111
If Debussy’s dazzling finesse earlier in the program left me marveling at its brilliance and agility, then Beethoven this evening delivered a dual revelation—spiritual and auditory.
In recent years, I’ve become particularly drawn to Beethoven’s final three piano sonatas, and tonight’s No. 32—though it comprises just two movements—radiated extraordinary integrity and depth of spirit. It wasn’t my first time hearing Pi-hsien Chen interpret Beethoven, however, this live performance bore nuances unlike any I’d experienced before. Objectively speaking, one could sense certain shortcomings in the sheer power demanded by the piece; still, one cannot deny that there exists in art a capacity to move listeners in the moment, such that even visible flaws fade into indistinct memories, while the performance’s profound interpretation lingers as the overarching impression.
The first movement of this sonata unleashes a potent primary motif and closes with a flurry of sixteenth notes, culminating in a Picardy third—an ending reminiscent of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. This intensity of pacing and dynamic weight forms the backbone of the movement but also poses a stern test for the pianist. In this respect, Chen’s rendition was not fully convincing. Everything changed, however, when she launched into the second movement.
Here, Beethoven sets a theme with four variations, immersing the listener in dense chords, arpeggiated flourishes, and generous tremolos that forge a world of ceaseless metamorphosis. Chen’s playing conjured images of starlight dancing on water; in other moments, she evoked the fluid, gently enveloping embrace of a flowing stream. Even more remarkable was the undercurrent of passion she channeled in these flowing lines—so much so that I found my eyes welling (I couldn’t quite say why).
The emotional impact led me to believe that Beethoven’s music is meant to be just like this: love given form, a rapturous tide of notes that can wash away sorrow, cradle listeners in warmth, and wield tenderness matched by unwavering strength.
In that instant, a new kind of stillness emerged—something beyond mere resignation, a deeper calm born of introspection and heightened awareness.
For encores, Chen chose two pieces that echoed the evening’s Debussy while also recalling the Bach that opened the recital—a perfectly symmetrical resolution from a structural standpoint. But for me, the night’s most searing impression, the moment that truly struck at the core, belonged to Beethoven.