A cadenza is a moment toward the end of a movement where the orchestra stops playing and the soloist takes over, with music based on the themes of the particular movement.  Originally cadenzas were improvised by the soloist, but as time went on composers added their own versions, as Beethoven has done with the First Movement of this Third Piano Concerto.  Other performers have weighed in and written their own cadenzas including such notable musicians as Franz Liszt, Clara Schumann, Ernest Hutcheson, Edwin Fisher, Carl Reinecke, Wilhelm Kempff and Charles-Valentin Alkan to name a few. At the premiere of the Concerto in 1803, Beethoven improvised the cadenza, but in 1809, he wrote it out most probably for his student, Archduke Rudolph.  Although a cadenza is based on one or more themes from a movement, it should be played differently in that it should sound improvised.  

Having worked through all of Beethoven’s Third Piano Concerto, I am now spending time examining the different movements in order to better determine how the work fits together as a whole, which offers some very interesting observations.

The first movement Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 3, marked Allegro con brio, is challenging because of the delicate balance Beethoven asks the pianist to create between power and extraordinary control. The opening is dark and serious, beginning in C minor, and the music gradually builds enormous tension before the piano finally enters. Many musicologists have made comparisons between this work and Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 24 in C minor, K. 491, which Beethoven knew and performed, and any pianist would do well to be very familiar with the Mozart work in order to study the Beethoven.

Since beginning to study Beethoven’s Third Piano Concerto, I am finding the history surrounding its composition fascinating. Although Beethoven had learned from Mozart and Haydn, in this concerto his voice to me is much more his own, based on the concerti that will follow, almost as if he had begun to create his own musical signature.

Last year I wrote two posts about Yuja Wang. I have studied how she approaches her music in order to build my own career. You can read those posts here and here.

I’ve started looking back at some the earlier posts I have written as a means of checking my progress, and to see how far I have come in my pursuit of a career as a concert pianist.

I have been looking at the five Beethoven piano concertos recently, and come to some very interesting discoveries.

Have you ever wondered how the great composers could sit down at the piano and create beautiful music without any sheet music in front of them? Long before recordings and printed editions were everywhere, composers like Johann Sebastian Bach, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and Ludwig van Beethoven were famous for making up music as they played. They didn't just perform their own compositions—they loved to surprise audiences by creating new melodies, harmonies, and exciting musical ideas right on the spot. Improvisation wasn't an extra skill for them. It was simply part of being a musician.

Today we celebrate the birthday of one of the most inspiring pianists who ever lived, Leon Fleisher. He was born on July 23, 1928, and became one of the world's greatest concert pianists while he was still a young man. Then something happened that could have ended his career. A neurological condition called focal dystonia took away the use of his right hand, making it impossible for him to play much of the music he loved. Imagine spending your entire life preparing for something, only to have it suddenly taken away. Many people would have given up. Leon Fleisher chose a different path.

July 21 is a date in history that carries a special poetry of its own. It reminds us that while one great artistic voice may fall silent, another is preparing to be heard.

As I look back on my recent performances of concerts in New York’s Carnegie Hall and Suntory Hall in Tokyo, my heart is filled with immense gratitude.  Not only do I feel it is a rare privilege to have been able to perform solo recitals in two of the world’s most prestigious halls, but these two concerts have marked major milestones in my artistic journey.

One of the more interesting facts about great composers is how they are always thought of as constantly serious and focused. They are seldom written about as full personalities, and as a result we fail to realize just how much their sense of humor found its way into their music.

Today is the birthday of the great Italian composer Ottorino Respighi, an artist whose music is full of imagination and color. Although he is perhaps best known for his magnificent orchestral works, what stands out among all of his compositions is a characteristic richness and depth. Respighi not only wrote for orchestra, but also chamber ensembles, solo instruments, and the human voice. His operas are known for their drama and lyricism, while his songs possess an intimate sensitivity that allow the poetry and music to exist in perfect balance. Before becoming one of Italy's greatest composers, he was also an accomplished violinist, which contributed to his instinctive understanding of instrumental writing.

As I reflect on the past two months, I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

My recitals at at Carnegie Hall on May 3 and at Suntory Hall on June 28 are memories that I know I will cherish for the rest of my life. These performances were not simply concerts; they were the realization of dreams that began when I first sat down at the piano as a young child. To stand on the stages of two of the world's most distinguished concert halls within the span of only a few weeks was both a tremendous honor and a deeply humbling experience.

Looking back now, I realize that May and June of 2026 will forever represent turning points in my career—months that affirmed my commitment to music and strengthened my desire to continue growing as an artist.

As musicians around the world prepare to commemorate the bicentennial of Ludwig van Beethoven's death next year, I find myself reflecting not only upon the extraordinary legacy he left behind, but also upon the profound influence he continues to have on my own life as a pianist. Two hundred years after his passing, his music remains remarkably alive. It speaks to us with a sincerity that transcends time, culture, and language. There are few composers whose works continue to challenge, inspire, and transform performers with such enduring power. For me, Beethoven is not simply a towering figure in the history of music; he is a trusted companion whose voice has accompanied generations of artists in their lifelong pursuit of truth through music.

For every musician there are certain places that exist first in the imagination long before they become part of one's own story. Suntory Hall has always been one of those places for me. Long before I had the privilege of walking onto its stage, I knew it as one of the world's great concert halls, a place where many of the artists I most admired shared their music. It has welcomed legendary pianists, conductors, and orchestras from every corner of the world, and over the decades has earned a reputation not only for its extraordinary acoustics but also for the spirit of artistic excellence that fills the hall. To perform there is to become part of a tradition that has inspired generations of musicians.

When people think about the greatest pianists of the twentieth century, names like Vladimir Horowitz, Arthur Rubinstein, and Van Cliburn often come to mind. Yet another remarkable artist deserves to be remembered alongside them: Ruth Slenczynska. Although she may not have become a household name, she was one of the most extraordinary musicians of her generation. Her career lasted more than ninety years, making her one of the longest-performing concert pianists in history, and she remained devoted to music until the very end of her life.

When it comes to American conductors, many of them earn reputations that are almost as famous as the music they perform. People like Leonard Bernstein, James Levine, and Marin Alsop are considered titans in the field, and have done much to advance our awareness of repertoire of all kinds.

French chefs have a practice of cooking that is known as mise on place. The term literally means “put in place”, and refers to the preparation and organization of ingredients and equipment before you start cooking in order to make the process as efficient as possible.

Fanny Mendelssohn's “June” from Das Jahr has the subtitle “Serenade”, and from its opening measures evokes the intimate atmosphere of a summer evening.