NEWS: Rachmaninov Preludes CD awarded a Deutscher Schallplattenpreis
22 September 2009

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Ravel in Manchester - more on performance anxiety
03 September 2009

I rarely get nervous for concerts but one exception was a recent performance of Ravel's 'Gaspard de la nuit' and 'La Valse' at the Chetham's piano summer school. I'd played the works for the first time two days previously and had not been very happy with how they had gone. Now I had to face the fear of embarrassing myself in front of people like Bernard Roberts and Peter Donohoe, not to mention a whole room full of piano students. It was made worse by the fact that I'd not been able to practise at full strength for a while - I'd been plagued by minor muscle strains for weeks - and so I didn't feel completely prepared. The unpleasant novelty of being nervous about a concert gave me a lot to think about, and made me realise how unhelpful nerves can be: I started to imagine disastrous mishaps, and lost the unquestioning trust I normally have in my abilities. Nevertheless, when I finally came to perform I felt once again as I normally do - relaxed and excited to be on stage. So what changed in the interim? I'll come to that in a moment.

A common view among musicians is that nerves are inevitable and even useful up to a point. But why should they be inevitable? If you can play something well in your practice room, why not on stage? My experience is that the more relaxed I am on stage, the better I play, and I can honestly say that before most concerts I have no nerves at all, only excitement. This issue comes into sharp relief when we think about the very widespread fear of public speaking; in some surveys it comes out as the number one fear, ahead even of death. That tells us something very important about how irrational we can be when it comes to being isolated in front of a group. What possible harm can come to us? If we speak easily to individuals every day, why should we suddenly become tongue-tied giving a speech? Clearly, a speech needs structure and concision - there is a certain skill involved there. But that doesn't explain why the thought of it should induce panic. Somehow, we perceive a level of threat which is completely illusory, and our audience can seem to become a pack of wild animals waiting to devour us. This is a fascinating question to ponder - what is going on in our brains? Surely some kind of ancient memories are being evoked, whether from early childhood or from our evolutionary past. If anyone can suggest further reading on this, I'd be very interested. The important point is to realise that our rational thinking gets hijacked by our 'fight or flight' response, and that our perception of risk becomes seriously warped.

I think this is a helpful context for thinking about musical performance. If it is common to panic at the thought of simply talking to a group, it should not come as a surprise that something as physically complex as playing a musical instrument could create at least as much fear. Anecdotally, I know of several very eminent musicians who suffer greatly from performance anxiety, and my suspicion is that there are virtually no performers who do not struggle with it from time to time. While one can certainly talk about various rational fears - playing wrong notes, not conveying the feeling of a piece, disappointing oneself/one's teacher/one's friends, damaging one's career and so on - I think the reality is that often these fears get confused with the much stronger, 'fight or flight' kind of fear. Certainly, that was my experience before the concert in Manchester. I thought I was worried about appearing rather foolish to people I respected, but I came to realise it was a much more visceral feeling than that, a feeling of profound threat. Once I understood that, it became easier to deal with. I don't think this kind of irrational fear can be reasoned with; I had tried telling myself that I could play these pieces pretty well but that made no difference to my anxiety. What helped me was examining the fear as calmly as I could, noting its irrationality, and placing it alongside what I knew to be the truth of the situation - that the fear didn't reflect reality, that the audience were not 'wild animals', and that I was capable of performing well. This is a process which needs patience and curiosity, but in holding these contradictory positions together in my mind I found the fear gradually dissipating and, in the end, disappearing altogether. I regained that sense of trust in my abilities and in the audience's receptiveness, and the concert ended up being deeply satisfying, an outcome almost unimaginable to me 24 hours before. I found the whole experience a salutory lesson in how much more control we have over our minds than we sometimes think, and how needless nerves can be.

There's one other thing which I think is worth mentioning - a Buddhist meditation practice called the 'Metta Bhavana' (the links on the left of the page take you through it) which explores our feelings towards ourselves and others. I'm not Buddhist but I think this practice is a very useful antidote to performance anxiety because it emphasises our common humanity and strikes at the illusion that the performer is different from the audience. That means you have to give up a sense of specialness as a performer, but it also means you no longer see the audience as a hostile mob. In the end, I think both changes are extremely helpful.
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Gaspard de la nuit - believe the hype
01 September 2009

It's a while since I've written because I've been completely taken up with preparing Ravel's 'Gaspard de la nuit' and 'La Valse', which I finally performed last week after many months of work. Gaspard is one of those works which is sometimes referred to as 'the hardest piece ever written' in piano folklore. Other favoured contendors for the title are Rachmaninov's 3rd piano concerto and Balakirev's Islamey. Then we move into the super-virtuosity of Alkan and the brain-twisting complexities of Sorabji's 'Opus Clavicembalisticum'. Of course, there can be no decisive winner in this contest - every pianist has different strengths and weaknesses. A friend from school, David Horne, could play repeated octaves faster than the devil himself and could rattle off Islamey without much trouble; learning that would probably land me in the sanitorium. But I remember him asking me how I made a particular sound on the piano and no amount of demonstrating could help him grasp it. When I initially looked at Gaspard, I thought it would suit me quite well - it is very much focussed on effects of sonority - and while I certainly found it taxing to learn, it was only two weeks before the performances that I started to appreciate quite what a challenge it is.

Learning a new piece is an unpredictable process - sometimes the work proceeds very quickly at the beginning then more slowly later. Sometimes it's the opposite. Sometimes it's all slow or all quick. But in my experience there's always a final 'hump' to get over, when I can just about play the piece at speed but it feels a bit awkward and uncomfortable. Normally this only takes a few days at most to overcome but with Gaspard it took weeks (and even now I'm not quite 'over the hump'). Scarbo, the 3rd movement, has the most fearsome reputation, and indeed it goes by so quickly with so few regular patterns that it is as much a challenge for the concentration as the fingers. But to me even worse is the first movement, Ondine, which is essentially a very simple piece: a long, hypnotic melody with shimmering accompaniment. Ravel's depiction of the water nymph trying to seduce a mortal man is an astounding achievement, both in its musical effect and its imaginitive exploration of piano technique. Unfortunately for the performer, technical feats which would be rather tricky at a moderate volume here become appallingly difficult because they have to be played almost inaudibly but absolutely evenly. I think this might be the cruelest piece I've ever played because the amazing atmosphere Ravel creates can be broken in a moment if there is a brief lapse of control; it's as if someone gives you a priceless Ming vase then tells you to carry it across black ice wearing slippery shoes. The strange thing is, Ravel was a mediocre pianist at best (there are a couple of recordings of him playing), and I struggle to understand how a composer of such limited pianistic ability was able to create a work which explores the possibilities of the piano in such a prodigiously creative fashion.

So, how were the performances? Well, frankly I felt a bit daunted in the first concert, aware of the scale of the challenge, and I wasn't satisfied with the results. That made me very nervous thinking about the second concert which was at a piano summer school at Chetham's school, Manchester - so many pianists listening! More on that in the next entry, because there's a lot to say about it. But, suffice it to say, after this second performance I was starting to feel like this could be an enormously satisfying piece to perform.
You've just whetted my appetite for your performance of "Gaspard" here in Inverness in January! As a poor pianist and an even worse clarinettist, I'm looking forward immensely to hearing you and Jean then.
Posted by Paul Crowe (Secretary, Inverness Chamber Music) on 14 September 2009


NEWS: Rachmaninov preludes and Britten concerto discs nominated for Gramophone Awards
13 August 2009

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Spannugen festival
04 August 2009

Well, I'm rather late talking about this - almost a whole month late (I've been too preoccupied learning Ravel Gaspard and La Valse) - but I have to make some comments on this fantastic chamber music festival in the German village of Heimbach, run by Lars Vogt. I've been twice before, and every time it makes a great impression on me, both for the quality of music-making and the sheer fun of it. Lars is a very special guy and musician, and he tries to invite musicians who he feels are more interested in the music than their ego; he obviously has a good nose for it because the intensity of music-making is something I have very rarely experienced elsewhere. There is a concert every night for a week, and it's actually a slightly surreal experience because there are so many stupendous performances that you come to expect such quality as a matter of course. All the musicians and their family/friends eat together after the concerts and there is really a great atmosphere if you don't mind the frequent danger of being hit by sodden paper napkin projectiles. This all makes me reflect on two things. The quality of chamber music sky-rockets when you can have a laugh with your colleagues; and generally the most profound musicians I know are also the silliest. I can't recommend the festival highly enough if you fancy a summer music getaway. Unless you eat with the musicians, you have nothing to fear from wet napkins.... The website is www.spannugen.de
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Stravinsky in Aldeburgh
18 June 2009

I played for the first time Stravinsky's Concerto for Piano and Wind Instruments last week in Aldeburgh. I have difficulty getting on with some of Stravinsky's neoclassical works - to me they can be so abstract and 'unemotional' that I can't find a way in - but this concerto I'm coming to love. It's witty, touching, exuberant, and marvellously structured. There are also veiled military references (the work was written in 1920), which provide a fascinating counterbalance to the generally upbeat character. I had the good fortune to be performing with the LPO and Vladimir Jurowski, particularly given the challenge of performing a work of such precision in the sumptuously resonant acoustic of the Snape Maltings.

I find the first performance of a concerto a challenging task because there's no way to anticipate certain imponderables in the practise room. How easy is it to hear important orchestral detail on stage? How loud do I have to be to balance the orchestra? What are the important things to discuss with the conductor? Where is the orchestra likely to be dragging (almost never the opposite!)? And, simply, what does it feel like to play the work with the orchestra present? Also, a first performance of anything is invariably little more than a sketch of what one will in time bring to a work, because it takes many performances to find one's way into the emotional depths of a piece. To take an extreme example, the first time I played Messiaen's Vingt Regards (at two and a quarter hours length), it felt like a massive test of endurance. But over the years, the work has felt shorter and shorter in concert as I become more used to the scale of it, and now starting to perform the work feels a bit like settling into a comfy sofa. Strange analogy, maybe, but not far from the truth. So, returning to the Stravinsky, Jurowski was particularly helpful for this 'first performance': he conducted with complete assurance (it's a complex score), and brought strong ideas of his own which fleshed out a couple of areas where my own ideas were not fully formed. I keep getting the idea that the conductor acts a bit like a midwife in this kind of situation, but that means I'm comparing the challenge of a first performance with getting a baby out of one's belly, and that seems to slightly overstate the case....
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New Zealand and Malaysia
17 June 2009



Well, it's a while since I've written anything despite a pretty eventful few weeks. The reason is that I generally feel like I should have something of at least moderate interest to say - simply writing, "I went here, I played lovely concerts with this orchestra and conductor, I had beans for breakfast" etc. seems pretty pointless. Nevertheless, it has got to the point where I feel I should say hi, so to speak.

A couple of weeks ago I came back from a month's trip to New Zealand and Malaysia. I was quite stunned by the beauty of the former; I think it's the only place I've ever visited where I thought to myself, "I could really imagine living here". Of course that idea didn't survive more than a couple of seconds once I considered where I play most of my concerts, but I felt very much at home in the midst of this marvellous scenery and rather relaxed pace of life. I hear that people in Wellington complain they have a long commute to work if the drive takes 15 minutes! I was touring the north island with the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra and Matthias Bamert, a really enjoyable collaboration for us all, I think. Then on to Kuala Lumpur to play Mozart with the Malaysian Philharmonic and Claus Peter Flor. I spent a lot of time looking at the Petronas Towers out of my hotel window. I just can't quite get it into my head that humans are capable of building something like this. If I think about it, actually, I'm amazed by most feats of engineering, despite my dad having been a civil engineer. Simply building a house seems to me an astounding technical achievement. I guess, like playing an instrument, it's just the convergence of a very large number of distinct skills, most of which I could readily understand if I took the time to explore, but for the Towers I can't quite shake a sense of amazement, as if it's akin to magic. How did we ever achieve this mastery over the world?
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Swine flu, the news, risk-assessment and performance anxiety
01 May 2009

Is the feeling that the world is going slowly mad a sign of middle-age? If so, I'd better buy my slippers and pipe. I've just listened to a full 15 minutes of a 30 minute BBC news bulletin devoted to the terrifying threat (sic) that swine flu poses to the world. We had the worse case scenario explored in intimate detail with only a fleeting acknowledgement that this probably won't occur. Never mind that only one person outside of Mexico has died from the disease, or that the Mexican government recently downgraded the number of deaths conclusively linked to swine flu from 20 to 7, or that many thousands of people already die every year from flu and its complications. People with the virus seem to be recovering quickly? Well, one of the programme's guests warned us that the Spanish influenza pandemic of 1918 appeared relatively benign when it first appeared, only to end up killing tens of millions. In other words, everybody panic! In a rare missed trick, the newscasters neglected to warn us that a large asteroid hitting the planet would probably wipe out life as we know it. Increasingly the news seems to be an elaborate theatre in which distorted snippets of current events are used to terrify the wits out of us. The sad thing is, it must be what we want or else the news providers wouldn't find it a profitable angle to pursue.

A few months after 9/11, I remember seeing Dr Phil on American TV being interviewed by Oprah Winfrey. (For those who don't know Dr Phil, he's a US talk show host who prides himself on his reason and empathic skills. Is it possible anyone doesn't know Oprah?) He said that given the terrorist danger the country faced at that time, he judged it was too risky to take his son to a football game. Oprah nodded sagely. And yet presumably, neither found it too risky to step into their car, despite 42,000 people being killed in car accidents in the US in 2001. I was amazed and disturbed that two of the most trusted personalities in America were publicly advocating such a paranoid response to terrorism.

Why do people take such irrational stances towards risk? On the one hand it's understandable - an unfamiliar risk is scarier than a familiar one because you don't know its extent, but that shouldn't stop adults being able to reflect on the risk and put it in a sensible perspective. Maybe the problem is that people who live in societies of greatly reduced risks (from death in childbirth, food shortage, waterborne disease etc.) can lose their tolerance to it. We imagine in fact that we are in control of our lives, immune from disaster, and so every little threat that emerges is intolerable. We are clearly not helped in this by a news system intent on fostering that paranoia in us. I went to see my financial adviser yesterday who surprised me by saying that the stock market had risen by about 25% in the last month. I listen to the news on the radio regularly as well as reading a couple of newspapers online, yet I didn't notice about this. After months of disastrous economic headlines it seems pretty dishonest that this information didn't make it into the news in any significant way.

---

Yesterday I held a seminar on performance anxiety at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Dance in Glasgow. Here again, the question of risk arises, and it's a thorny one. It is common for people to be nervous of performing, often very nervous. (I asked at the beginning if anyone didn't experience nerves - not one hand went up.) But what actually is the nature of the risk? What is the problem with playing badly? If you think about jobs with real pressure - deciding whether or not to go to war, performing brain surgery, being a firefighter - it is clear that nothing terrible can happen to a performer. Only our ego can be damaged, and what's so very bad about that? There is often a large disparity between the reality of the 'threat' and a performer's experience of it - the audience can be imagined as a very hostile, critical group when by and large they are simply there to enjoy themselves. Coming to grips with this disparity is a crucial part of developing as a performing musician.

Clearly there can be practical consequences to playing badly - in a competition, it can mean not advancing to the next round, in concert it can mean bad reviews, over a long period of time it can damage a career or prevent it from happening in the first place. And here there is a cruel irony - almost invariably the more relaxed you are about the quality of a performance, the better you play, but the more determined you are to play well, the more tense you get. So how do you foster that sense of relaxation, of 'not caring'? In the course of the discussion yesterday, a point came up which relates to the risk-phobia of our culture. No-one can create a career in music for themselves - there is so much luck involved. I suspect the terror of playing badly is often related to a fantasy that you are in control of your destiny, that your success or failure depends entirely on you: that way you don't have to accept the fact that many forces are outside of your control. The realisation that life can be unpredictable and unfair is a double-edged sword, both painful and freeing, and it can help a performer to forget about reaching for success and simply play for no other reason than the joy of experiencing and sharing music with others. In my opinion, this is when real music-making happens.
Steven, you tell us: "...presumably, neither found it too risky to step into their car, despite 42,000 people being killed in car accidents in the US in 2001. I was amazed and disturbed that two of the most trusted personalities in America were publicly advocating such a paranoid response to terrorism" ...and you ask: "Why do people take such irrational stances towards risk?" I think it's an insightful comment, and an intriguingly relevant question. Phobias regarding snakes, thunderstorms, big spidery agencies, what-have-you... are our psychological legacy, bequeathed by ancestors for whom such threats were existential (fear is a useful inheritance insofar as it helps to navigate the body in the direction of survival (you may mistake a shadow for a burglar but, because of this, you'll never mistake a burglar for a shadow!)). Nevertheless, as you note: such phobias linger uselessly in many modern societies (e.g. surveys reveal that American city-dwellers are more "afraid" of snakes, scorpions, lions and tigers than they should be about some clear and present dangers like, for instance, motor cars or domestic electricity) where there is a conspicuous absence of dangerous wild animals, a cornucopia of efficacious medical solutions to much of the disease which inspired such dread and fear in our ancestors and a plethora of professional people on hand to leap to the aid of any distressed citizen. With regard to fear of public performance, I think it's perceptive to notice the vulnerability of ego and even more shrewd of you to highlight the "cruel irony" in striking the right balance between relaxation and tension. Personally, I've discovered that playing informally in bars and hotels has helped me to foster an appropriate balance of these elements which I can subsequently bring to bear upon more formal events of a similar type like, for instance, when I'm called upon to perform a demanding concerto such as Rachmaninoff's D minor. As to the perceived threat of terrorism: my memory (which encompasses the late 1970s, 80s and 90s, living in Britain) includes the perpetual, menacing, ubiquitous and ambiguous threat of IRA-planned attacks. My memory also includes the various medias’ broadcasting of harrowing examples of their occasional “successes“. (perhaps “ubiquitous” is ill-chosen by me in this context for I have to admit that, growing up in an un-strategic part of Scotland, I probably did not experience the brand of nervousness endured by my English relatives) Still, to my mind at least, one relatively heartening aspect of those years was both the way in which Britain did not publicly capitulate to the terrorists’ terrible inducement and the way in which the public consequently tolerated the risk. This strikes me as a markedly different environment from the one we currently endure, as I have my dignity arbitrarily stripped by the police power of the state at least twice weekly at every airport I pass through. There does appear, in contemporary Britain at least, to be an encroachment of paternalism on behalf of the state. We've recently witnessed some appalling infringements upon our erstwhile liberties, perversely framed as though they offered "protection" in respect of those liberties (e.g. we've seen elected European parliamentarians banned for nothing more than their potential for uttering unwelcome thoughts on British soil). I think the agencies and agents of the state could do worse than to recognise that our government's principal duty to the nation entails the upholding of its liberty, NOT its security (in fact, I would argue "security" is just a means of upholding liberty) - unfortunately most folk don't appreciate the cost or worth of the freedom they abuse, so it's easy to prey upon their fears (playing with their innate phobias) by spuriously citing "national security" in defence of restricting liberty. Don't let us ignore the fact that the very first thing our enemies would do, were they to succeed, would be to curtail our liberty. Perhaps a better way of framing this would be to suggest that the purpose of national security is to protect liberty. You see, liberty (of conscience, of expression, from religious tyranny, of movement, of suffrage, of sexual orientation, etc.) took a very long time to emerge in our society (about 500 years if we take The Reformation as a significant starting point - AC Grayling's marvellous book, Towards The Light, provides a beautifully crafted account of these developments). Moreover, it didn't emerge without a great, struggling, mortal effort on the part of millions of (usually anonymous) ordinary people. So, to repeal these freedoms is to undermine the fruit of their endeavour and to weaken the structure of the civil democracy they built for our benefit. Shame on us while we tolerate this. And I hope you'll forgive me if any of the foregoing seems unpalatably political, but I think it relates well to the matter under discussion, namely: the rationale of fear, as well as to the topic as introduced, namely: the exploitation of phobia.
Posted by Alan Colquhoun on 03 June 2009
I had that same feeling after watching the BBC coverage about a school closing in London because of swine flu. It seems like such an overreaction, and the media just seem to want to whip up as much hysteria as possible. Interesting re performance nerves. I know they're irrational and unhelpful, but once your body starts producing that negative physical reaction, I find it very difficult to put a stop to it. The trick has to be to prevent it from getting to that stage in the first place. Personally, I find nerves to be directly related to how much I feel I know what I'm doing. If I'm rock solid on it, then I can control my reaction. If there's the tiniest sliver of doubt, then the nerves have a way in.
Posted by ECB on 13 May 2009
This is kind of a revelation to learn that music pros also feel this way! I'd so much rather blame the occasional error on bad luck than admit I didn't practice enough. It's rather freeing to look at it this way. Wishing I had thought to read your blog before!! Congrats on the superb reviews. Come and see us soon again! love, Judy
Posted by Judy Johnson on 14 August 2009
re performance anxiety: I think most people have the wrong attitude towards mistakes right from the start. You can observe in most musicians, from beginners to experienced performers, a tendency to "correct" themselves after making a mistake. Very few seem to show an ability to observe their mistakes passively. Which isn't the same thing as disregarding a mistake, let me say. The trouble is that we generally don't pay enough attention to our mistakes, if you ask me. Nor do we practice them deliberately, enough. A mistake is really just when you fail to do what you intended. This starts to become a tragedy when you try harder and harder to achieve the goal and repeatedly fail. The first step to solving this problem is widening the parameters by which you define success or failure.
Posted by Jeffrey Heath on 20 May 2009
Jeffrey, I think you're right that the issue of how one approaches wrong notes is extremely important both in practical terms (practising slowly enough to attend to them and correct them), and psychologically (examining the anxiety connected to making mistakes). The second is far more tricky to resolve, and probably different in some ways for every performer. Issues of success and failure, as you put it, are so personal and so deeply embedded in most of us that it can take a lot of time to find a healthy outlook on them. How do you see this? What do you consider appropriate parameters for success and failure?
Posted by Steven Osborne on 20 May 2009
ECB, actually there are things you can do to calm bad nerves even once they get going. The simplest is very slow breathing. Your body reacts to your mental state of panic by revving up and happily this process can also work in reverse (although not quite so quicky!) - your mind be calmed by bodily relaxation. That does require that your mind is not obsessing over it's fears however, which corresponds to your comment about feeling prepared.
Posted by Steven Osborne on 20 May 2009
re performance anxiety and fear of making mistakes, again: I find this a really fascinating topic and there's so much that can be said about it. I must admit I'm a bit wary of polluting your blog with long ramblings! So i just want to mention the things that are at the heart of the issue for me. Regarding the psychological side - I think one of the fundamental mistakes we make is trying to control our actions by using more effort, more will power, more intense desire to achieve, more emotion, etc... I don't believe this is conducive to good learning. To me, it seems that most of us have the notion that we should respond to our mistakes in a way that shows (to ourselves or others) that mistakes are bad, detestable, morally wrong, and that we really do care very much about NOT making mistakes. These are some basic facts I like to keep in mind: - A wrong note repeated many times unintentionally will probably 'get stuck' and be difficult to eradicate. A wrong note repeated many times INTENTIONALLY becomes more and more fully under your control. - repetitively practicing any skill helps achieve mastery of that skill, which can then be more easily modified or added to. You could 'practice in' a wrong note this way, then change it as you gain CONTROL of it (as long as it is done with awareness and intent). - If you appear to "not care" (i.e. not become emotional) about mistakes, you are not a bad person and your progress toward perfection will not be halted. - We only know the experience of something by comparison to what it is NOT. We should constantly remind ourselves that we are always on the path towards our ultimate goal. We must look forward, asking ourselves how to take that next step closer toward our final goals. If you play poorly, there are reasons. If you can understand those reasons, you can keep improving.
Posted by Jeffrey Heath on 22 May 2009


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  1. No 30: Petit air dolent – Alkan: Esquisses, Op 63
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  38. Prélude – The Naumburg Foundation Presents: Steven Osborne • Ravel
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  41. No 1 in G major: Andante con moto – Beethoven Complete Bagatelles
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  61. Toccata – Ravel - The Complete Solo Piano Music
  62. No 15 – Nikolai Kapustin Piano Music
  63. No 3 in F major: Allegretto – Beethoven Complete Bagatelles
  64. Oiseaux tristes – Ravel - The Complete Solo Piano Music
  65. No 25: La Poursuite – Alkan: Esquisses, Op 63
  66. Scarbo – Ravel - The Complete Solo Piano Music
  67. Adagio sostenuto – Beethoven Piano Sonatas
  68. Noctuelles – Ravel - The Complete Solo Piano Music
  69. Crumb - Processional – Feldman, Crumb piano works
  70. II. Andante un poco adagio – Brahms and Rózsa clarinet sonatas
  71. No 7 in A flat major: Presto – Beethoven Complete Bagatelles
  72. Jardin du sommeil d'amour – Turangalîla-Symphonie
  73. Allegro non troppo – Tippett: Complete Music for Piano (Piano Sonatas 1-4, Piano Concerto)
  74. No 14: Duettino – Alkan: Esquisses, Op 63
  75. Allegro non troppo - Largo – Shostakovich and Schnittke Cello Sonatas
  76. Variation VI: Nocturne – Britten: Complete works for Piano and Orchestra
  77. No 29: Délire – Alkan: Esquisses, Op 63
  78. Con una dolce lentezza – Mussorgsky - Pictures from an Exhibition
  79. The Great Gate of Kiev – Mussorgsky - Pictures from an Exhibition
  80. Larghissimo – Stravinsky - Complete works for piano and orchestra
  81. No 9 – Nikolai Kapustin Piano Music
  82. Pittoresco – Mussorgsky - Pictures from an Exhibition
  83. Grave - Allegro di molto e con brio – Beethoven Piano Sonatas
  84. Mendelssohn 1st piano concerto, 2nd movement
  85. Modéré – Ravel - The Complete Solo Piano Music
  86. Schubert-Sonata in Bb D960 3rd movement