Press

Ellis Island Kurtag, Mingus, Monk, Bartok, Ligeti, Schubert—Julia Hamos, p—Naive 8674—59 min

This impressive debut CD by Julia Hamos pays homage to her Hungarian and American heritage. “I grew up speaking Hungarian as my first language”, she explains in her rather personal program notes, “which maybe helped my articulation in music. Rhythm came from the language but also from the streets of New York, home to immigrants of all backgrounds and ideas.” The repertory is imaginative and varied, from Kurtag to Schubert. The playing is uncommonly intelligent, clear, and sensitive, full of nuance and personality. Hamos’s performances of excerpts from Kurtag’s Jatekok (Games) are remarkable in their color, clarity, and emotional potency. (My review of the epic Pierre-Laurant Aimard recording of 81 of these pieces appears in this issue.) These are miniatures, many lasting only a few seconds, but each has a distinctive idea, form, and emotion. The cascading glissandos in Volume 1, No. 14, a Perpetuum Mobile, opens the program with dazzling virtuosity. `Play with Overtones’ is full of fun, whereas `Tears’ communicates quiet anguish. Another Kurtag set, Eight Piano Pieces, also is given audacious readings. The rambunctious finale, Vivo, reveals Kurtag’s witty side, and Hamos makes sure we smile. Her decision to sprinkle Kurtag’s explosive, intimate miniatures through the album reveals her special admiration for this composer. Meredith Monk’s poignant Ellis Island, which gives the collection its title, demonstrates Hamos’s ability to play the simplest melodic lines with grace and elegance. Charles Mingus’s Myself When I am Real, an inspired improvisation, is meticulously transcribed by Hamos and enhanced by her expansion of the dynamic range. This cimbalon-like jazz piece is the longest work here and the most touching. It also exemplifies the continuity in these seemingly disparate pieces. For example, Hamos writes in her notes that Mingus’s pieces have harmonies that resemble Bartok’s. Her Bartok, The 6 Dances in Bulgarian Rhythm and 15 Hungarian Peasant Songs, is terrific, so subtle and nuanced it’s like hearing the music for the first time. The slow pieces are full of pathos; the bagpipes burst with color, enhanced by the excellent recording.

Ligeti’s Fanfares has unusual delicacy as well as Hamos’s characteristic clarity; every note means something. She begins very quietly, builds toward a clangorous climax, and suddenly vanishes. Ligeti, like Kurtag, is one of the few avant-garde composers capable of reaching a broad audience, especially in performances as vivid as these. The album ends with a charming finale, Schubert’s Hungarian Melody in B minor, making us want to hear more of Hamos’s performances of 19th Century music. The hypnotic left hand is perfectly balanced with the bouncing melody. It’s hard to believe this is Julia Hamos’s debut album, so mature and seasoned are these readings. May we have more, please?
SULLIVAN