Winner Of The 17th International Fryderyk Chopin Piano Competition Warsaw 2015

This is a totally brilliant first CD from a young maestro of phenomenal talent. It is very pleasing that Deutsche Grammophon saw fit to take recordings of the the various heats of the 2015 International Fryderyk Chopin Competition and release these astoundingly mature performances from a worthy winner of such a comparatively young age (21). If Seong-Jin Cho is achieving this level of musicality and communication with his listeners now, I await with eagerness his musical development over the coming years. He finds every single tone-colour the piano is capable of producing (and a few more besides) - his interpretation of all the works on this CD is simply spell-binding. In particular, his mastery of the C minor Nocturne and the Polonaise in A flat demonstrates a flawless technique, revealing not only a technician of amazing virtuosity, but also a deeply-feeling and caring musician who is able so perfectly to communicate: and that, surely, is what musical performance is all about.

Just beginning to explore Chopin's music, i listen to youtube clips a lot, particularly in the Preludes. Out of many fine accounts i chose this because there is something about the young Cho - his involvement, the refined poetry of his readings - which draws me in. Some of these pieces have a transcendent quality in the right hands; and i feel that he is one of those who can realise this. No doubt i wii find other fine interpretations, but i am very happy to have begun with this beautiful performance.

I enjoyed watching Cho's performance during the Chopin competition. This CD allows me to enjoy that experience again. However, I thought his playing of the concerto and polonaise was even better during the winner's concert than during the competition, but the latter was not represented by this CD.

Easy listening

L'esecuzione è magistrale, l'artista è capace di esprimersi al meglio con Chopin. Il CD ha un'ottima resa audio.

驚いた。美しい。

It is difficult to conveniently summarize what Cho is as a pianist. His technique is excellent, but doesn’t really define him. There is not a single performance here to blow away the listener, but a more subtle, holistic approach to the music from beginning to end. The clichés of “dark,” “fiery” and “demonic” that sometimes attach to piano prodigies even when they are not warranted are, largely, not applicable here. There is a quiet inner-contentedness to Cho’s playing. In a world where it is near-standard practice to commit suicide on stage while performing Chopin, the first revelation of Cho as an interpreter is to accept a Chopin that is deeply, fundamentally, happy. In his hands “tortured” becomes “reflectively reposeful”; “tragic” becomes “exultant” or “rhapsodic.” Cho’s Chopin is easygoing and free. Instead of a nuclear arms race of escalating tension, Cho is soft-spoken, noble, lighthearted, unencumbered. If there is one aspect that stands out on this disc of highlights from Cho’s winning performances at the 17th International Chopin Piano Competition, it is Cho’s large-form narrative. It is something that comes out after repeated listening: the lightness that is first apparent turns into a kind of unhurriedness, which in multiple places then turns into a noticeable patient, big-canvas musical perspective. There are premonitions of this in some of the shorter preludes: No. 4, which is simple enough for beginner pianists, a melodic subject consisting of just two notes over gently shifting chords, seems like a journey into infinity in Cho’s hands; No. 9, a single page of music, twelve bars in triple time from beginning to end, sounds like some Tolstoyan epic. Later in the cycle, the scope of Cho's vision is allowed to stretch out a little in No. 15 (The Raindrop) and No. 17. Cho’s Raindrop somehow transforms monotony and grief into a story about self-realization emerging from the innocence of youth. The repeating A-flat becomes the pulse of genius hidden in the folds of human aspiration, not the dull droning of a mundane existence. No. 17, one of the more developed pieces in the set that never seems to quite get its due, is difficult because it is somewhat over-written (even crossing hands)—the tendency in most interpretations is to thicken the texture as it progresses, bogging down its essential lightness and overdramatizing the climax. Cho’s temperament matches perfectly with the prelude, never allowing the writing to drown out the music and giving it a rare touch of aristocracy. In his hands it is like the memory of some happy event, marked by a forgotten passing calamity, which one cannot distinguish entirely from a dream. The final passage, famously punctuated by eleven ground bass A-flats (always A-flat!), is like a castle made of air, a single hundredth of a unit of force in either direction threatening to dissipate the entire structure of memory and feeling. But the biggest surprises in this respect are, in my opinion, the single Nocturne (Op. 48/1 in C minor) and the third movement of Sonata No. 2, the Funeral March. The Nocturne may have been chosen specifically because of its unusually expansive character; the rhythm of the subject material is almost a slowed down march, which gives way to a contrasting chorale middle section, which is then intruded upon by parallel step-wise double-octave triplets that transform the final passage into a quivering allegro recapitulation of the A section. Cho’s performance gives the piece the scale of a ballade. The twelve or fourteen bars of chorale are imbued with an absolutely magical stillness; the triplet octaves enter from some unseen corner of the universe and ignite the sky like a perfect sunset. The Funeral March is interesting because, in my opinion, the movement is a throwaway in about 85% of all performances. The designation of “Funeral March” seems to overpower any suggestion of imagination in the performer, even very good ones, reducing the range of interpretive options to varying the degrees of crushing finality. But death is actually a very fecund topic of conversation. Death can be a release. Death can be a freeing of the soul. Death can be a return to innocence—and that is the approach Cho seems to take. The opening march is played low and steady. There is no embellishment here, no pushing of the sentiment of tragedy, just the fact of loss. The fortissimo extension does not so much amplify the initial grief as it serves as a counterweight to it, like the memory of the accomplishments of the deceased. This treatment sets up the spare, haunting lullaby that occupies the middle of the movement; by the time you get there, you are already in a different place. While other pianists wonder what they are supposed to do with their years of training during these child-like, virginal 32 bars with two repeats, Cho makes a statement about original sin and the human condition, all the while making time stand virtually still. The recapitulation of the march gradually crescendos, unlike the beginning of the performance, and then seems to lose steam as the reality of the loss returns and its finality is recognized. There is more on this disc than this. Oddly, the first and last preludes stand out for their taste and technical control. The first is texturalized to an unusual extent, with rubatos that move the whole chord structure, not just the voice leads. That might not sound like a good thing, but the performance holds up to repeated listening and in comparison to other versions. In the final prelude No. 24 in D minor, it is incredible the degree to which Cho is able to deliver the allegro appassionato indication without resorting to sheer volume. Entire sections of this technically difficult prelude are performed at a true piano, without giving up any of its agitated sense or forward motion. The runs are also spot-on—in a live performance with no second takes. The fourth movement of Sonata No. 2 is also impressive. There is perhaps no other composition in the repertoire whose underlying concept is so simple yet which inspires so many varying interpretations. Cho plays the parallel lines as colors rather than phrases, blending selective groups of notes with the pedal and producing a spirit-like, half-there gossamer texture—a fitting conclusion to the Funeral March. Cho won the special prize for his Polonaise. My feeling is that there is a bit of novelty in that decision, but it will probably go down in history as a legendarily unorthodox interpretation. After the long introduction, Cho enters the first appearance of the subject at a gentlemanly mezzo-forte. Later he ramps it up to a full power, but that first entry is almost shocking to hear. The performance is also very much segmented and played with a stuttering ¾ mazurka rhythm. Cho’s version deconstructs all of the normal inflection points of the piece, yet gives it a new kind of power.

Ich liebe diese Aufnahmen. Wunderschön!

J'ai écouté en partie la retransmission du récital de ce pianiste au concours Chopin. J'étais au volant et son interprétation de la sonate Funèbre, particulièrement du Scherzo, m'a beaucoup ému. Comme d'autres grands interprètes, Seong-Jin Cho donne l'impression d'improviser en jouant, tout en étant au service du compositeur qu'il interprète avec respect. Pianiste encore très jeune, à suivre absolument.