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            From Bach to Debussy  - Piano Recital by 
            George Hadjinikos: 
            
            Horto / Pelion, Greece, 17.8.2008 (BM) 
             
            
            
            
            
            George Hadjinikos
            
            Having devoted much of his life to music education (mainly in the 
            UK, but his summer master classes in his native Horto have also 
            become a tradition), it is no wonder that this evening, too, was 
            conceived as a lesson, entitled “A Living Journey Through the 
            History of Music from Bach to Debussy” and including brief 
            introductions to the pieces he was about to play. And he embarked on 
            this journey with an enduring Furtwängler quotation: “The issue 
            today is no longer what makes for good or bad music, but rather 
            music per se, what we mean when we use the term music.” 
            (Es 
            geht heute nicht mehr um gute oder schlechte Musik, sondern um Musik 
            schlechthin.)
            
            
            
            Choosing Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in C major (from the 2nd 
            book of the Well-Tempered Clavier) as a point of departure – and 
            remarking in passing that the Fugue was of more academic than 
            humanistic value, he moved on to the ones in F sharp major and F 
            sharp minor in the 1st book, observing that the former 
            was a celebration of nature - his translucent playing, serving as a 
            celebration of the fugue as an art form, so much more than just 
            recurrently bringing out the theme - and the latter a reflection on 
            the plight of mankind – or words to that effect. At 85, Hadjinikos’ 
            voice is somewhat reduced, which made it difficult to catch 
            everything he was saying, but it soon became evident that this was 
            not all that important: he was saying everything he needed to when 
            he sat down to play.
            
            Next, after reminding us of how “Papa” 
            Haydn succeeded in infusing seemingly simple forms with so much 
            ingenuity that “nothing new came after him”, and referring to 
            Mozart’s genius and how he changed the world of melody, he chose 
            several movements from two of their lesser-performed sonatas – the 
            Allegro from Haydn’s Sonata in E flat major HobXVI: 28 and the 
            Adagio and Menuet I & II from Mozart’s K282 in the same key. 
            Particularly the Haydn was performed with such affection for every 
            single note that I couldn’t help but be reminded of Richter’s 
            fondness for this composer’s works, so often underrated and deemed 
            appropriate study fare for ‘intermediate’ students only.
            
            
            I 
            caught very little of the introduction to the moody and pained Largo 
            e Mesto (followed by the Menuet & Trio) of Beethoven’s Sonata no. 7 
            in D major, but again, this was irrelevant, since it was all there 
            in the music. The second movement of this sonata has been described 
            as Beethoven’s 
            
            first sojourn into the tragedy of existence, and Hadjinikos conveyed 
            to us not only every subtle shade of the composer’s melancholy 
            mindset, but also the beauty of the music born from it. 
            
            There was no ‘prologue’ to the Brahms Rhapsody in G minor which came 
            next – actually, I had felt a little disappointed when I saw it on 
            the program, wasn’t this the kind of piece that led people to 
            misunderstand Brahms’ music as ‘heavy’? But clearly this was because 
            I had never heard the Rhapsody played quite like this before, 
            without a trace of the Sturm & Drang style most pianists 
            bring to it, completely devoid of all haste and more intense than 
            ever – I wish there were a recording of this.
            
            Much the same is true of the momentous interpretation of one of 
            César Franck’s last compositions, the epic Prelude, Aria and Finale, 
            which followed the interval. Before he set out on this separate 
            voyage within the evening’s journey, and following an anecdote about 
            how popular Franck’s music was in pre-war Greece – in his youth, the 
            poet Angelos Sikelianos had once asked him to play Franck for him, 
            saying that this was the only music he listened to  - Hadjinikos 
            mentioned that to him, the Aria was essentially a prayer…and nothing 
            could have been more fitting. His performance was perhaps less 
            technically disciplined than lyrically delicate, but most important 
            was his sensitive touch – exactly what is required to rekindle 
            listeners’ appreciation of this masterpiece. It was not difficult to 
            deduce from Hadjinikos’s next introductory lines that he is 
            particularly partial to Debussy and the completely new approach he 
            devised to harmony and the flow of music, as well as his ability to 
            convey the feeling of eros in the pure sense, which he chose 
            to demonstrate with Preludes no. 1, 8 and 10, while closing with 
            ‘The Joyous Island’ - and Grieg’s Lullaby as an encore, in view of 
            the late hour, as he remarked half jokingly (and indeed it was 
            almost midnight).
            
            Throughout the evening, it was as if he 
            were playing to each member of the audience personally; intent on 
            conveying his message of humanism, he focuses on the significance of 
            music for humanity, for each and every individual listening to him, 
            and expresses what cannot be put in words. 
            I 
            left the recital longing to get home and play some of these pieces 
            myself, and wondering whether this feeling of discovery was anything 
            similar to what it must have been like for Hadjinikos when he 
            happened on those lost Skalkottas* manuscripts in a second-hand 
            bookshop in Berlin.
            
            Bettina Mara
            
            *George Hadjinikos is an authority on Nikos Skalkottas, and 
            the author of a recent book about this 20th century Greek 
            composer (unfortunately available in Greek only to date). The 
            complete opposite of an academic treatise, the footnotes are almost 
            more engrossing than the main text. Hadjinikos chose not to play 
            Skalkottas at this recital, attesting to the fact that, fortunately 
            for his audiences, self-projection is not an issue for him. Read 
            more about this artist at:
            
            http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Hadjinikos
            
            
	
	
			
	
	
              
              
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