Photo Credit: Caitlin Ochs
One of the great local pleasures over the years has been hearing pianist and composer Cory Smythe, a former member of the Present Music ensemble. His intelligent performances never fail to engage the ear and mind. Smythe returned to the series with an online virtual recital which first appeared on Friday and remains up for ticketed viewing through July 16.
To say this program is adventurous and challenging, to both player and audience, is an understatement. All the pieces are for solo pianist except the opener, Interdimensional Interplay (2016) by Nicole Mitchell, who was also flutist. Like he often did in this concert, Smythe strummed and plucked the piano strings at times, something I have often heard from him. He has a knack for this, something that would terrify many pianists. It’s a free-wheeling, rhapsodic kind of piece for both players, with Mitchell soaring on complex melodies and a middle section for piano solo that is virtuoso and showy. Chantal Eyong created a handsome video showing Mitchell outdoors in various ways.
Anthony Braxton’s Composition No. 1 (1968) is aggressively angular at times and at others delicately gentle. It’s a substantial statement, roaming all over the keyboard and strings, and at times feeling improvisatory. If you want to hear music that expresses the anger many of us have felt during the pandemic, this might be it.
Three times in the recital Smythe played his own versions of the Jerome Kern classic standard, “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.” If you are expecting George Shearing or Bill Evans, think again. These weren’t so much arrangements as abstracted re-interpretations. The tune never really comes around in its entirety. I never thought I’d hear a standard with the strings being tapped, or a MIDI controller adding programmed sounds. The last version had Smythe humming or blowing into a sort of electric harmonica synthesizer, emitting what sounded like whale songs.
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Are these arrangements unexpected, creative and imaginative? Absolutely. Did I want at least a little bit of something more recognizable as the song sometimes? I’m afraid so. Call me conventional.
Felix Mendelssohn wrote eight sets of Songs Without Words over 16 years. Smythe selected five for this program which felt like a comforting. As would be expected, melody is featured, and Smythe brings it out gracefully without overpowering it. He captures the Romantic style easily, with a tasteful use of rubato―the stretching or pressing of tempo―in his phrasing. I loved the exuberant chattering chords in Op. 30, No. 2 in B-flat minor, Allegro di molto. Op. 62, No. 1 in G Major, Andante espressivo, was pure loveliness.
