the muriel mcbrien kauffman master pianists series Louis Lortie, piano · 2019-03-17 · forth in the Piano Sonata Op. 101, one of Beethoven’s greatest compositions in any genre.”

The Friends of Chamber Music | Encore! Encore!

MOZART Sonata No. 8 in A Minor, K. 310 Allegro maestoso Andante cantabile con espressione Presto

BEETHOVEN Sonata No. 28 in A Major, Op. 101 Etwas lebhaft und mit der innigsten Empfindung Allegretto, ma non troppo Lebhaft, marschmäßig; Vivace alla marcia Langsam und sehnsuchtvoll; Adagio, ma non troppo, con affetto Geschwinde, doch nicht zu sehr und met Entschlossenheit; Allegro

I N T E R M I S S I O N

SCRIABIN 24 Preludes, Op. 11 No. 1 in C Major No. 2 in A Minor No. 3 in G Major No. 4 in E Minor No. 5 in D Majar No. 6 in B Minor No. 7 in A Major No. 8 in F-sharp minor No. 9 in E Major No. 10 in C-sharp minor No. 11 in B Major No. 12 in G-sharp Minor No. 13 in G-flat Major No. 14 in E-flat Minor No. 15 in D-flat Major No. 16 in B-flat Minor No. 17 in A-flat Major No. 18 in F Minor No. 19 in E-flat Major No. 20 in C Minor No. 21 in B-flat Major No. 22 in G Minor No. 23 in F Major No. 24 in D Minor

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Louis Lortie, pianoThe Folly Theater8 pm Saturday, September 26

t h e m u r i e l m c b r i e n k a u f f m a n m a s t e r p i a n i s t s s e r i e s

2015-16: The 40th Season 31

Sonata No. 8 in A Minor, K. 310 Wolfgang Amadè Mozart (1756-1791)

Job-hunting in the 1770s

In September 1777, Leopold Mozart packed off his wife and son to Munich, Mannheim, and Paris. The purpose of the journey was for 21-year-old Wolfgang to secure a permanent position as Kapellmeister or music director to a music-loving nobleman. He was received courteously by the Elector in Munich, then informed that there were no openings at present. Mother and son continued via Augsburg and Hohenaltheim, visiting family members and friends. In late October they arrived in Mannheim, another major music center with an excellent court orchestra. Their visit was pleasant and stimulating, but by March 1778, Mannheim’s Elector Carl Theodor had made it clear that no employment offer was forthcoming.Family tragedy

Angry at Wolfgang’s failure to achieve the stated goal of the journey, Leopold ordered his son to proceed to Paris. Mother and son arrived there on March 23, 1778. Wolfgang did not care for the city and had little respect for French taste in music. Although he attempted to exploit German and Austrian contacts in Paris, his scorn for Gallic culture worked against him. Then, in late June his mother contracted a fever. She worsened rapidly, and died on July 3rd. The extended trip thus proved personally tragic as well as professionally disastrous. Mozart remained in Paris until the end of the summer, when Leopold summoned him back to Salzburg, a city Wolfgang had come to regard as hopelessly provincial. We do not know the exact dates when Mozart composed the A Minor Sonata, only that he wrote it in Paris, sometime between March 23 and July 20, 1778; however, it is widely believed to be an expression of his grief at his mother’s passing. The A Minor sonata in context

Pianists and scholars agree that Mozart’s finest keyboard writing is in his mature piano concerti. Among his chamber works with keyboard, the two piano quartets are wonderful works, as are the quintet with winds in E-flat, K. 452 and Kegelstatt Trio, K. 498 for clarinet, viola, and piano. The piano trios of Mozart are pleasant, but not at so high a level of inspiration, mastery, and virtuosity. The solo sonatas are even more workmanlike:

avenues for exploration as he developed and refined his keyboard technique in a world where keyboards were constantly evolving. By and large, Mozart’s piano sonatas were conceived as teaching vehicles for students with aptitude, but not necessarily prodigious gifts. Not so the A Minor Sonata. It is unique among Mozart’s works: his only instrumental composition in A minor. And it is rare among the piano sonatas – only one other, the C minor Sonata, K. 457 – is in minor mode; all the rest are in major keys. (Mozart also composed a Fantasia in C minor, an Adagio in B minor, and an Adagio in A minor, all for solo fortepiano; however, minor mode remains unusual in his output, and always noteworthy.)About the music

What makes K. 310 exceptional is its intensity of expression. The emotional range outstrips anything in the earlier sonatas. Nothing of the entertaining salon piece is present in this sonata. In the opening Allegro maestoso, relentless chords in the left hand hammer away beneath angry dotted rhythms in the right hand theme. The second subject introduces elaborate scale work in both hands that is quite dazzling, approaching the virtuosity of concerto figuration. The slow movement is one of Mozart’s youthful masterpieces. He organizes his Andante cantabile con espressione as another sonata form. Though it opens tranquilly with a poetic theme in F major, the development section rapidly escalates to turmoil and

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

p r o g r a m n o t e s



agitation. This is as tragic as Mozart gets, and the return to F major in the recapitulation does not eradicate the impact of the storm we have weathered. He concludes the sonata with a restless Presto in galant style. Uneasy and shadowy, this music leaves us a little breathless with its urgency. Only a brief Musette in major mode relieves the tension, and that episode does not last long. The forward momentum is inexorable, and Mozart’s bleak mood persists to the closing measures.

Sonata No. 28 in A Major, Op. 101 Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)

As is well known, Beethoven's music has traditionally been divided into three principal chronological periods, appropriately labeled early, middle, and late. The early period includes the youthful works and his first years in Vienna, up to approximately 1800. The years from 1802 to 1812 have been dubbed by Beethoven's biographer Maynard Solomon 'the heroic decade,' and account for a preponderance of the music for which Beethoven is so deservedly popular. (For example, Symphonies Nos. 2 through 8, are "middle period" works; only the First Symphony is considered early, and only the Ninth dates from Beethoven's "late" period.) The late period includes the profound works of Beethoven's last years, notably the magnificent string quartets Opp. 127 through 135. Anyone good at mental arithmetic will note that such a division fails to account for almost a full decade of Beethoven's life. Although he did not cease composing altogether during the years from 1812 to 1822, his total compositional output did decline significantly. Beethoven became embroiled in nasty litigation with his sister-in-law for custody of his nephew Karl. The process was time-consuming and emotionally draining. He published fewer works at this time, but certainly there was no decline in the quality of his music. The magnificent Archduke Trio, Op. 97, appeared in 1815. Beethoven completed his last two Cello Sonatas, Op. 102 in 1815; the A Major Piano Sonata, Op. 101, followed in 1816. These works herald a significant change in style. Beethoven's music was undergoing an important evolutionary process toward the transcendent and elevated philosophical planes of his last works. Throughout the 2015-2016 season, The Friends of Chamber Music piano recitals will be exploring various

composers’ late works, with an emphasis on Beethoven. Mr. Lortie’s performance of the Sonata No. 28 in A Major, Op. 101 launches the season’s survey of Beethoven’s last five solo sonatas. The eminent British pianist and scholar Donald Francis Tovey famously wrote, “For its length Op. 101 is perhaps the most difficult, both intellectually and technically, of all Beethoven’s later works.” The American Beethoven scholar Lewis Lockwood begins his discussion of this sonata thus: “The late style in all its fullness comes forth in the Piano Sonata Op. 101, one of Beethoven’s greatest compositions in any genre.” Both these observations account in part for the infrequency with which Op. 101 appears on piano recitals. From the standpoint of difficulty, its reputation is overshadowed by the fearsome Hammerklavier Sonata, Op. 106, which followed it in 1817-18. Beethoven himself, however, in a letter to the music publisher Sigmund Anton Steiner, referred to the A Major sonata as “The Difficult-to-Play Sonata.” From the standpoint of philosophical depth, Op. 101 cedes pride of place to the trilogy of late sonatas, Opp. 109, 110, and 111. Yet none of those masterpieces would have come to fruition had Beethoven not composed this A major work. Structurally, pianistically, and emotionally, it draws us into the mysterious, compelling world that is late Beethoven. Philosophy plays an increasingly important role in Beethoven’s music written in the last decade of his life. During the years from 1816 to 1818, what little hearing he had left deteriorated completely. This is when he began the series of conversation books that contain his friends’ and associates’ comments (Beethoven responded verbally; thus only half the ‘conversations’ have survived.) His brain continued to teem with thoughts and music. The compositions he wrote at this time plumb the depths of his inner world, taking us to places of isolation and inwardness. In Op. 101, Beethoven adopts German terminology throughout the four movements, a practice he began with his Op. 81(a) Piano Sonata, Das Lebewohl. He followed the German interpretive instructions with their Italian counterparts.) This is the first sonata he indicated was written for the Hammerklavier rather than the Italian pianoforte.

About the music

The sonata begins with a tentative, lyrical phrase that implies E major, not the home tonality of A major. For much of the first movement, Beethoven avoids strong cadences in A major; indeed, most of his expository material is in the key of E. This tonal ambiguity is a constant in the sonata, and sets the tone for Beethoven’s narrative of contrasts. Overall, the sequence of movements alternates between inward searching and reflection and more public moments; between intimacy and aggression. In the flowing first movement, Beethoven asks the performer to play “with innermost expressiveness.” His structure is a free sonata form, but Beethoven takes a lot of liberties. His writing feels improvisatory. There are no full stops, and we always feel that we are leaning into the next phrase. The opening Etwas lebhaft gives way to a brusque Alla marcia in F major that emphasizes contrapuntal dialogue in widely spaced registers. Persistent dotted rhythms dominate. Beethoven’s fascination with imitative textures persists in the Trio section, which introduces canonic elements. His third movement functions as a slow introduction to the finale. Even more than in the earlier movements, the episodic, free structure feels like a fantasia. Beethoven opens with a quiet Adagio marked ‘slow and full of longing.’ We almost feel like eavesdroppers on a private few moments. Presently a recitative-like mini-cadenza leads to a reprise of the opening measures from the first movement. This reminiscence is a ploy Beethoven had used in his Cello Sonata Op. 102 No. 1 of the previous year; in the finale to the Ninth Symphony, he would also quote from previous movements. A series of trills ushers in the finale, a splendid fugue that stands proudly by those of the Hammerklavier Sonata Op. 106 and the great A-flat Major Sonata, Op. 110. Once again Beethoven initially implies E major rather than A major, extending the thread of tonal ambiguity that courses through the entire work. Surprisingly, the fugue is also a tightly constructed sonata form. Its daunting technical demands and length – it is the longest of the four movements – add to its heft. As was increasingly the case in Beethoven’s late works, the psychological weight has shifted to the finale.


composers’ late works, with an emphasis on Beethoven. Mr. Lortie’s performance of the Sonata No. 28 in A Major, Op. 101 launches the season’s survey of Beethoven’s last five solo sonatas. The eminent British pianist and scholar Donald Francis Tovey famously wrote, “For its length Op. 101 is perhaps the most difficult, both intellectually and technically, of all Beethoven’s later works.” The American Beethoven scholar Lewis Lockwood begins his discussion of this sonata thus: “The late style in all its fullness comes forth in the Piano Sonata Op. 101, one of Beethoven’s greatest compositions in any genre.” Both these observations account in part for the infrequency with which Op. 101 appears on piano recitals. From the standpoint of difficulty, its reputation is overshadowed by the fearsome Hammerklavier Sonata, Op. 106, which followed it in 1817-18. Beethoven himself, however, in a letter to the music publisher Sigmund Anton Steiner, referred to the A Major sonata as “The Difficult-to-Play Sonata.” From the standpoint of philosophical depth, Op. 101 cedes pride of place to the trilogy of late sonatas, Opp. 109, 110, and 111. Yet none of those masterpieces would have come to fruition had Beethoven not composed this A major work. Structurally, pianistically, and emotionally, it draws us into the mysterious, compelling world that is late Beethoven. Philosophy plays an increasingly important role in Beethoven’s music written in the last decade of his life. During the years from 1816 to 1818, what little hearing he had left deteriorated completely. This is when he began the series of conversation books that contain his friends’ and associates’ comments (Beethoven responded verbally; thus only half the ‘conversations’ have survived.) His brain continued to teem with thoughts and music. The compositions he wrote at this time plumb the depths of his inner world, taking us to places of isolation and inwardness. In Op. 101, Beethoven adopts German terminology throughout the four movements, a practice he began with his Op. 81(a) Piano Sonata, Das Lebewohl. He followed the German interpretive instructions with their Italian counterparts.) This is the first sonata he indicated was written for the Hammerklavier rather than the Italian pianoforte.

About the music

The sonata begins with a tentative, lyrical phrase that implies E major, not the home tonality of A major. For much of the first movement, Beethoven avoids strong cadences in A major; indeed, most of his expository material is in the key of E. This tonal ambiguity is a constant in the sonata, and sets the tone for Beethoven’s narrative of contrasts. Overall, the sequence of movements alternates between inward searching and reflection and more public moments; between intimacy and aggression. In the flowing first movement, Beethoven asks the performer to play “with innermost expressiveness.” His structure is a free sonata form, but Beethoven takes a lot of liberties. His writing feels improvisatory. There are no full stops, and we always feel that we are leaning into the next phrase. The opening Etwas lebhaft gives way to a brusque Alla marcia in F major that emphasizes contrapuntal dialogue in widely spaced registers. Persistent dotted rhythms dominate. Beethoven’s fascination with imitative textures persists in the Trio section, which introduces canonic elements. His third movement functions as a slow introduction to the finale. Even more than in the earlier movements, the episodic, free structure feels like a fantasia. Beethoven opens with a quiet Adagio marked ‘slow and full of longing.’ We almost feel like eavesdroppers on a private few moments. Presently a recitative-like mini-cadenza leads to a reprise of the opening measures from the first movement. This reminiscence is a ploy Beethoven had used in his Cello Sonata Op. 102 No. 1 of the previous year; in the finale to the Ninth Symphony, he would also quote from previous movements. A series of trills ushers in the finale, a splendid fugue that stands proudly by those of the Hammerklavier Sonata Op. 106 and the great A-flat Major Sonata, Op. 110. Once again Beethoven initially implies E major rather than A major, extending the thread of tonal ambiguity that courses through the entire work. Surprisingly, the fugue is also a tightly constructed sonata form. Its daunting technical demands and length – it is the longest of the four movements – add to its heft. As was increasingly the case in Beethoven’s late works, the psychological weight has shifted to the finale.


Dorothea ErtmannBeethoven dedicated the A Major Piano Sonata to the pianist Dorothea Ertmann, née Graumann. Born in Frankfurt am Main in 1781, she was already an outstanding pianist in her early ’teens. At the age of 18, she married 51-year-old Baron Stephan Ertmann, an Austrian military man who was also an amateur musician. By 1803, they were residing in Vienna.

She apparently met Beethoven at the music store of Tobias Haslinger, one of Beethoven’s publishers; she was sight reading one of his newer works. He soon took her on as a student. She clearly felt a strong connection with his music, and apparently played his sonatas with a skill and discerning musicianship that met even his exacting standards. Contemporary reports attest to Dorothea Ertmann’s remarkable pianism. A Berlin journal, reporting on musical life in Vienna, wrote of her “amazing precision, clarity, and delicacy” at the keyboard. Muzio Clementi was dazzled by her technique and interpretive gifts, likening her to the greatest masters of the day. Beethoven’s amanuensis and biographer Anton Schindler wrote that “she grasped intuitively even the most hidden subtleties of Beethoven’s works with as much certainty as if they had been written out before her eyes.” Beethoven clearly agreed, paying her a great compliment with the dedication of Op. 101.

About the same time that the sonata was published in early 1817, the Ertmanns moved to St. Pölten, about 40 miles west of Vienna. In today’s travel conditions it would take about an hour, but it was a longer journey by carriage, and her lessons with Beethoven likely stopped. Three years later, the couple moved to Italy when the Baron was assigned to Milan. Dorothea Ertmann remained in touch with Beethoven until his death. This Sonata is her lasting monument.

– L.S. ©2015



24 Preludes, Op. 11 Alexander Scriabin (1872-1915)

In many respects, Scriabin is the direct heir to Chopin. Like his Polish-French predecessor, he composed waltzes, mazurkas, preludes, études, nocturnes, and other smaller salon pieces. He wrote almost exclusively for piano, and was much admired as a player, particularly for the elegance of his pedaling. His early piano music is strongly reminiscent of Chopin, tinged with some Russian gloom that descends from Tchaikovsky. One also hears shadows of Lisztian technique and Wagnerian harmony. Preludes interested Scriabin throughout his career. He composed fifteen sets, beginning in his teenage years and continuing to 1914, with five Preludes published as Op. 74. Op. 11 was the first group and the most ambitious: 24 Preludes in each of the major and minor tonalities. (The

model was Chopin’s Op. 28 Preludes, which were in turn a bow to Bach’s preludes in The Well-Tempered Clavier. Scriabin follows Chopin’s arrangement of tonalities.) Most of Scriabin’s Preludes are epigraphs, lasting little more than a minute or two. Pianists generally select a few to play at a time. Mr. Lortie, in performing Op. 11 in its entirety, shows the full range of expression Scriabin achieves within the form. Some of the variety in Op. 11 is the result of Scriabin maturing over a period of seven years. The earliest, No. 6 in B Minor, is from 1889, the year after Scriabin matriculated at the Moscow Conservatory (though he wrote it in Kiev). The other twenty-three are later, composed between 1893 and 1896. Eleven of them are musical postcards from his first trip abroad in 1893, and subsequent journeys in 1895 and 1896: souvenirs of Heidelberg, Vitznau (near Lucerne), Dresden, Paris, and Amsterdam. The remaining dozen were composed in Moscow, primarily in the autumn of 1895. Through one of his former professors, the pianist and conductor Vasily Safonov, Scriabin met the music publisher Mitrofan Belaieff in 1894. Independently wealthy and an accomplished amateur musician, Belaieff had become an important champion of many Russian composers. He soon took Scriabin under his wing, and agreed to publish his music. Belaieff underwrote Scriabin’s 1895 trip to Western Europe, and the two had a friendly bet as to whether Scriabin could complete 48 preludes by a certain date, which accounts in part for Scriabin’s productivity during his travels. (Delivering on the bet, he sent Belaieff 47 preludes in October 1896; the laggard 48th followed in 1897. Belaieff first published the 24 of Op. 11, then issued the remaining preludes as Scriabin’s Opp. 13, 15, 16, and 17 in 1895 and 1896.) The Preludes sound surprisingly un-Russian, though an undercurrent of melancholy courses through many of them. They are unabashedly Romantic, with ample room for rubato, that flexible approach to tempo that uses slight accelerando and decelerando to enhance expressivity. The textures are rich, with cross-rhythms, arpeggiated figuration, and frequent use of inner voices for countermelodies. These are miniatures, thus Scriabin tends to establish one melodic and textural idea in each Prelude and focus on it, rather than attempting moderately large structures such as a ternary form with a contrasting middle section.

While the set as a whole is not precisely programmatic, a few of them have stories attached. For example, the raging Presto of No.14 was Scriabin’s response to water cascading over the massive rock formation of Bastei, southeast of Dresden. Both the impetuous Allegro agitato of No. 8 and the mournful Lento of No. 22 are his reactions to a thwarted love affair with a teenage girl in Düsseldorf, after her parents forbade the relationship. The influence of Chopin is undeniable in this masterful first set of Preludes. Nevertheless, Scriabin demonstrates tremendous imagination in manipulating traditional harmony touched with abundant chromaticism. His natural affinity for the keyboard is evident. Most impressive is the persuasive architecture of these 24 pieces, which gel seamlessly as a large musical structure despite the variety within the individual components.

Program Notes by Laurie Shulman ©2015Found a word or phrase that you are unfamiliar with? Check out our extensive Glossary beginning on page 118 to discover the meaning.

Alexander Scriabin


model was Chopin’s Op. 28 Preludes, which were in turn a bow to Bach’s preludes in The Well-Tempered Clavier. Scriabin follows Chopin’s arrangement of tonalities.) Most of Scriabin’s Preludes are epigraphs, lasting little more than a minute or two. Pianists generally select a few to play at a time. Mr. Lortie, in performing Op. 11 in its entirety, shows the full range of expression Scriabin achieves within the form. Some of the variety in Op. 11 is the result of Scriabin maturing over a period of seven years. The earliest, No. 6 in B Minor, is from 1889, the year after Scriabin matriculated at the Moscow Conservatory (though he wrote it in Kiev). The other twenty-three are later, composed between 1893 and 1896. Eleven of them are musical postcards from his first trip abroad in 1893, and subsequent journeys in 1895 and 1896: souvenirs of Heidelberg, Vitznau (near Lucerne), Dresden, Paris, and Amsterdam. The remaining dozen were composed in Moscow, primarily in the autumn of 1895. Through one of his former professors, the pianist and conductor Vasily Safonov, Scriabin met the music publisher Mitrofan Belaieff in 1894. Independently wealthy and an accomplished amateur musician, Belaieff had become an important champion of many Russian composers. He soon took Scriabin under his wing, and agreed to publish his music. Belaieff underwrote Scriabin’s 1895 trip to Western Europe, and the two had a friendly bet as to whether Scriabin could complete 48 preludes by a certain date, which accounts in part for Scriabin’s productivity during his travels. (Delivering on the bet, he sent Belaieff 47 preludes in October 1896; the laggard 48th followed in 1897. Belaieff first published the 24 of Op. 11, then issued the remaining preludes as Scriabin’s Opp. 13, 15, 16, and 17 in 1895 and 1896.) The Preludes sound surprisingly un-Russian, though an undercurrent of melancholy courses through many of them. They are unabashedly Romantic, with ample room for rubato, that flexible approach to tempo that uses slight accelerando and decelerando to enhance expressivity. The textures are rich, with cross-rhythms, arpeggiated figuration, and frequent use of inner voices for countermelodies. These are miniatures, thus Scriabin tends to establish one melodic and textural idea in each Prelude and focus on it, rather than attempting moderately large structures such as a ternary form with a contrasting middle section.

While the set as a whole is not precisely programmatic, a few of them have stories attached. For example, the raging Presto of No.14 was Scriabin’s response to water cascading over the massive rock formation of Bastei, southeast of Dresden. Both the impetuous Allegro agitato of No. 8 and the mournful Lento of No. 22 are his reactions to a thwarted love affair with a teenage girl in Düsseldorf, after her parents forbade the relationship. The influence of Chopin is undeniable in this masterful first set of Preludes. Nevertheless, Scriabin demonstrates tremendous imagination in manipulating traditional harmony touched with abundant chromaticism. His natural affinity for the keyboard is evident. Most impressive is the persuasive architecture of these 24 pieces, which gel seamlessly as a large musical structure despite the variety within the individual components.

Program Notes by Laurie Shulman ©2015Found a word or phrase that you are unfamiliar with? Check out our extensive Glossary beginning on page 118 to discover the meaning.

b i o g r a p h y

French-Canadian pianist Louis Lortie has attracted critical acclaim throughout Europe, Asia, and the United States. He has extended

his interpretative voice across a broad range of repertoire rather than choosing to specialize in one particular style. The London Times, describing his playing as "ever immaculate, ever imaginative," has identified the artist's "combination of total spontaneity and meditated ripeness that only great pianists have." Mr. Lortie has performed complete Beethoven sonata cycles at London's Wigmore Hall, Berlin's Philharmonie, and the Sala Grande del Conservatorio Giuseppe Verdi in Milan. Die Welt described his Berlin performances as "possibly the finest Beethoven since the time of Wilhelm Kempff." As both pianist and conductor with the Montreal Symphony, he has performed all five Beethoven concertos and all of the Mozart concertos. He has also won widespread acclaim for his interpretation of Ravel and Chopin. He has made more than 30 recordings for the Chandos and Decca London labels, covering repertoire from Mozart to Stravinsky, including a set of the complete Beethoven sonatas and the complete Liszt's Années de pèlerinage, named one of the 10 best recordings of 2012 by the New Yorker Magazine. Recent recordings include Lutosławski Piano Concerto and Paganini Variations with Edward Gardner and the BBC Symphony, as well as his latest Chopin album, which was named one of the best recordings of 2012 by the New York Times. Future recording include a disc of Liszt's transcriptions, the complete concertos of Poulenc with Ed Gardner and the BBC Symphony, a Chopin disc of Walzes and Nocturnes, and, with Helene Mercier, Rachmaninov’s complete works for two pianos. Louis Lortie studied in Montreal with Yvonne Hubert (a pupil of the legendary Alfred Cortot), in Vienna with Beethoven specialist Dieter Weber, and subsequently with Schnabel disciple Leon Fleisher. He made his debut with the Montreal Symphony at the age of 13; three years later, his first appearance with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra led to an historic tour of the People's Republic of China and Japan. In 1984, he won First Prize in the Busoni Competition and was also prize winner at the Leeds Competition. In 1992, he was named Officer of the Order of Canada, and received both the Order of Quebec and an honorary doctorate from Université Laval. He has lived in Berlin since 1997 and also has homes in Canada and Italy.

For more information visit: www.louislortie.com Louis Lortie appears courtesy of Seldy Cramer Artists

Louis LOrtie

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the muriel mcbrien kauffman master pianists series Louis Lortie, piano · 2019-03-17 · forth in the Piano Sonata Op. 101, one of Beethoven’s greatest compositions in any genre.”