Saint Ursula

The personal and professional attention she pays makes Ursula Oppens a composer's pianist

THE pianist Ursula Oppens lives in an elegant building within sight of the stone gates of Columbia University. Although she is not affiliated with the university, it seems a good place for her: the daughter of a classical-pianist mother and a writer father, she spent her childhood summers in Aspen, at the music school where her parents worked; she attended Radcliffe as an undergraduate and now commutes to Chicago, where she teaches a course in twentieth-century piano music at Northwestern. Oppens seems comfortable around academics, especially the academic composers whose works she has championed -- to such an extent that they have dubbed her Saint Ursula.
Oppens is not only the foremost interpreter of contemporary piano music. She has also initiated much of it, having commissioned or given premieres to works by Frederic Rzewski, Anthony
ClefDavis, Tobias Picker, and Elliott Carter, whose masterpiece Night Fantasies was funded by Oppens in partnership with three other pianists -- Paul Jacobs, Gilbert Kalish, and Charles Rosen. It's easy to see why composers enjoy collaborating with her: Oppens has a formidable technique and a formidable intellect to go with it. She sees the connections among things. If Beethoven's Hammerklavier is her "favorite work of art," as she says, she finds a comparably vast romanticism in Pierre Boulez's Second Piano Sonata, and a similarity between Beethoven's and Boulez's scherzos. Her performances are informed by her grasp of structure, her rhythmic power, and her respect for a composer's wishes.

There is also her sheer daring. When she plays the Hammerklavier, she follows Beethoven's metronome markings, which some pianists (and scholars) find absurdly fast. She has recorded the Hammerklavier (Music & Arts CD-734), and she played it at Carnegie Hall last year. In both cases the results were thrilling. She brought out the elaborate eccentricity of the work, with its clangorous opening and dramatic juxtapositions, its grand tremolos and severe yet celebratory fugue, and she simultaneously illuminated its structure with finely detailed left-hand figures. This marked the beginning of a Beethoven cycle; Oppens hopes that when it ends she will have recorded and played in public all of Beethoven's sonatas. At the same concert, she played for their first performance four études she and Northwestern had commissioned from Tobias Picker. As is typical of Oppens, she made clear from the outset what she hoped for from the composer.

We talked the day after her Carnegie Hall recital. A sandy-haired, slim, bouncy woman in her fifties, Oppens is both informal and gracious. There's nothing of the diva about her. The most interesting feature of her small apartment is a former bedroom refurbished to house her baby grand piano. The room has been carefully soundproofed, with a raised floor and a dropped ceiling. In one corner hang a few medals celebrating what she calls her slow-motion running: she keeps fit by jogging in Central Park. When she was building her music room, Oppens had a sound technician take measurements while Julius Hemphill, the avant-garde jazz player who for many years was a member of the World Saxophone Quartet, played his alto saxophone. The two lived together until Hemphill's death, of complications from diabetes, in 1995; the apartment's walls are covered with posters announcing Hemphill's concerts and tours, including performances of Long Tongues, the "saxophone opera" he wrote, for which Oppens played the piano. Oppens said over tea that she was feeling scattered, because of the effort of the previous night's concert, at which she also played a second Beethoven sonata and Rachmaninoff's Etudes Tableaux, Op. 33.

Oppens's mother, Edith, studied in Europe with the composer Anton Webern, a fact her daughter didn't know until she was in her late teens. "My parents didn't talk much about Europe. There was so much pain associated with it." (Jews, they fled Prague in 1938.) "On the other hand, my mother had an attitude that Schoenberg and Bartók and Webern were gods and heroes." Her parents created an atmosphere in which the investigation of contemporary music was encouraged: Oppens remembers going as a child to hear the Juilliard String Quartet give a lecture-demonstration of an Elliott Carter quartet. Though hostile to jazz, her mother had improvised in Webern's class. Ursula, before she was out of high school, went with friends to hear jazz pianists such as Cecil Taylor and Bill Evans.

During Oppens's summers at Aspen she studied piano and, with the other faculty brats, made a pest of herself: at concerts she and Lynn Harrell (the now renowned cellist) and Nina Totenberg (the journalist) and other kids were made to sit in the back of the hall, where their fidgeting attracted
Notes less attention. Oppens seems to glow when talking about these summers. In one picture she showed me -- she looks about seven -- she is playing the cello ("terribly," she says), accompanied on piano by her father, Kurt, who wrote essays and books on music. Music was play, but it was also serious. Before she was in her teens, Oppens was studying with famous teachers, including Victor Babin, who "changed my life." She was the youngest student Babin had ever taught, and he approached her like an adult, asking her to memorize whole movements of music between lessons. She also studied with Leonard Shure, a Brahmsian whose phrasing she had to learn to evade when she started playing Elliott Carter.

Still, Oppens had not decided on a musical career. She studied literature and economics at Radcliffe -- literature, she says, because she read incessantly but forgot who wrote what. As a freshman, she heard Pierre Boulez lecture and Leon Kirchner conduct Stravinsky's Les Noces and Boulez's Le Marteau sans maître. Only after she enrolled at the Juilliard School did she decide to become a musician, although even then she wasn't sure what kind. In her first years there, she studied with one of the most famous piano teachers in the world, Rosina Lhévinne, but still she was "confused about what I was doing and whether I wanted to be a pianist or not."

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