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Young Concert Artists presented its latest laureate, Kiron Atom Tellian, in a daring recital Tuesday night in the Kennedy Center Terrace Theater. The 23-year-old Austrian pianist focused on the virtuosic form of the romantic etude, mixing examples by Chopin, Scriabin, and Robert Schumann. Tellian opened the program with a non-etude, Scriabin’s Piano Sonata No. 2, subtitled “Sonata-Fantasy.” With technical challenges a-plenty, the pianist displayed some of the finesse side of his musicianship, for which he has won awards for playing Bach and Haydn, among others. In the more wistful first movement, he phrased the main motif, a triplet slowly receding in sound, like an ebbing wave. The complex textures of the piece came across in meticulous detail, sometimes so much that the topmost layer practically evanesced out of existence. Tellian’s left hand is particularly powerful, booming in octaves that underpinned the first movement’s climaxes. The second movement, taken at a roiling Presto tempo, had little of that subtle approach, with a buzzing cloud of musical ideas surging in a stormy mass. At the recital’s heart came a selection of thirteen etudes, alternating between works of Chopin and Scriabin, drawn from the former’s Op. 25 and from three of the latter’s sets. (A few selections were wisely shorn from the program published in advance). The juxtaposition often revealed similarities between the two composers, as in the opening pairing of Chopin’s “Aeolian Harp” (Op. 25, no. 1) and Scriabin’s Op. 42, no. 1. Chopin’s whirring sextuplets and Scriabin’s opposition of nine notes in the right hand versus five in the left created a harmonic blur beneath a delicate melody. Delicacy marked Scriabin’s Op. 42, no. 3 with measured trills in both hands creating a tinkling music-box effect. The next two etudes from Chopin’s Op. 25 set highlighted the pianist’s interpretative strengths. The syncopations of No. 4 sounded jaunty but admirably shaped, with Tellian’s avoidance of an overly clipped staccato evening out the piece’s overall effect. Tellian showed a masterful control of the parallel sixths in Chopin’s Op. 25, no. 8, partly by relaxing the tempo. Scriabin seemed to echo that work’s texture in his youthful Op. 8, no. 10. Scriabin composed the Op. 65 etudes a couple years before his death, with the right hand of no. 1 moving in disturbing parallel ninths. No. 3, with its lack of tonal center, prominence of tritones, and crushingly loud dissonance added a sound world far distant from the other etudes. The return to Scriabin’s romantic idiom in the last etude, Op. 8, no. 12, sounded jarring in contrast. Tellian’s bespoke etude set paralleled Schumann’s Symphonic Etudes, with both of the non-variation etudes (No. 3 and 9) and two of the posthumous etudes restored from the composer’s cuts. A greater variety of touch kept the ear engaged throughout this long work. Extraordinary contrapuntal clarity distinguished Variation I, and lovely rubato marked Variation II. Melodic pings popped up in unexpected places in Variation III. Tellian did not take all the repeats, but those he did observe, as in Variation IV and Posthumous Variation V, featured some sparkling shifts in voicing to bring out inner lines. The intense rubato of Variation VI and the odd French overture of Variation VII were stamped by admirable extremes of expression. Putting Posthumous Variation IV, in pensive minor, after Posthumous Variation V, set up an exciting push through the concluding variations. The full-throated rendition of the Finale, with its surprising shift to a different theme, again relied on the foundation of Tellian’s puissant left hand. Referring to the “half of my family” with Armenian heritage, Tellian offered a reflective encore, an unspecified Armenian Dance by Komitas, the Armenian priest, folk-song collector, and composer. The music’s modal differences and folk-like simplicity made a bracing contrast to an ultra-refined evening.

The audiences of Salzburg and Graz, be forewarned. Between the end of May and the beginning of June, something special is coming their way.

In November 2024, at the Auditorium of Largo Mahler in Milan, the audience experienced the performance of Chopin's First Piano Concerto by pianist Kiron Atom Tellian and conductor Emmanuel Tjeknavorian with the Orchestra Sinfonica di Milano. It was evident that the two young Austrians "breathed" Chopin as if they were a single soul, and that the pianist played not only beautifully, but with the soul of a composer — almost recomposing, with supreme taste, the piece.

Tellian and Tjeknavorian are reunited in Milan these days in the name of Liszt's Second Concerto (A major): the outcome is something transcendental and overwhelming. With the Sinfonica di Milano, they will take it to Graz and Salzburg, alternating it with Rachmaninov's Second. Now, the programme performed at the Auditorium is made up of the Sinfonia from Semiramide by Rossini, Liszt, and the Symphonie Fantastique by Berlioz — which is like unfolding before the audience a meditation in three instalments on the theme of the "paradoxical" in music. And the listening experience is exactly this: to live, in an overwhelming way, the experience of the Musical Paradox in three episodes. (My neighbour, at the end, wide-eyed, felt compelled to say to me: "but what an incredible concert we've just experienced?" — Indeed!)

Liszt's "Second" was its culmination. It is probably, in itself, the most insane piano concerto ever conceived. Liszt seems to wallow, with licentiousness, in the most demented Romantic kitsch and hurl it at the audience — in lyrical voluptuousness, in mad marches, in frenzied runs across the keyboard and in the orchestra: little more than twenty minutes of volcanic eruption, which demands of the pianist, the conductor, and the orchestra, simultaneously, voluptuous abandon and perfect control of the situation. And this is precisely what Tellian and Tjeknavorian do together (did last night, will do again on Saturday in Milan, then in their Austria): they pushed the Paradox to the limit, while maintaining an approach of absolute intelligence and elegance.

Tellian must be considered, after the two Milanese hearings, one of the greatest and most original living pianists — in his touch, in the beauty of his sound, and in his mind as composer-interpreter (he is one, and an excellent one, judging from the first encore, of his own writing, which hefollowed with a sensational Rachmaninov). Tjeknavorian is the genius of feverish yet methodical sensibility whom Milan has been enjoying for two years — and whom Florence has begun to enjoy.

The Sinfonia from Semiramide is also a Paradox in music — probably the most overwhelming musical paradox among the many wonderful ones composed by Gioacchino Rossini. The art of the "crescendo" and of instrumental acrobatics (the games of the woodwinds) are here brought to their peak by the Rossinian genius. And Tjeknavorian and orchestra, here too, united a taste for paradox (the "crescendos" conducted as if they should never end) with a calibration of orchestral families — see the dosage requested by the conductor in the full orchestral tutti at the end of the piece, where he moderates strings and winds so that the cellos and basses can be heard — and supreme elegance.

The Symphonie Fantastique reaffirms — as did Un Ballo in Maschera in Florence — the cultural capacity, of study and talent, of Emmanuel Tjeknavorian to enter into the style of a composer, grasping it at first encounter, as if he had been conducting it all his life. Here, he who is "Viennese" to the very marrow of his soul transforms himself, in phrasing and in expression, into something totally "French": the waltz is detached and phrased with a voluptuous softness rightly different from and distant from the Viennese triple metre. It is France, in its purest state. The Scène aux champs (the culmination of this reading) — the long adagio — in its evolution progresses gradually, from the central section to the end, in a hypnotic direction: that impression of an expressivity "under opium or narcotics" that is pure Berlioz and that it falls to the perceptive interpreter to identify and express.

In the Marche au supplice and the Nuit du Sabbat, Tjeknavorian expresses the Paradox but — at least on the first evening — does not push it to extremes: already extraordinary is the enunciation of the Dies Irae in an unusual and novel near-pianissimo. The rest is — as is the custom of the Austro-Armenian Maestro — "work in progress"; each evening something will be added, here and during the Austrian tour.

Fantastic (indeed!), already now, is the performance of the Sinfonica di Milano in the piece that is foundational for them — they were born, as the Orchestra Verdi, with the Fantastique conducted by Vladimir Delman — and which here finds a new re-reading. Among the rounds of recognition that we give, concert by concert, this time, together with colleagues, we ask to stand for a special round of applause the cellist Mario Shirai Grigolato, excellent here in particular in Liszt.

A great concert, which I will follow in Milan and during part of the tour. It concludes an exhilarating season, while a new one — 2026-27 — has just been presented, rich in stimuli in the elegance of programmes that is the "signature" of the artistic and music director Emmanuel Tjeknavorian.

The final concert of the main season of the Orchestra Sinfonica di Milano naturally features its Music Director on the podium, whose Milan–Florence commuter commitments have evidently required advancing by one day the two performances of this traditionally structured programme — opening with a Rossinian Overture, continuing with a famous solo Concerto, and closing with an equally ubiquitous Symphony.

For the occasion, Tjek deployed his orchestra with the maximum available… resources, employing both principal players for as many as eight instruments. The opening was therefore reserved for the Sinfonia from Semiramide, an opera composed in and for Venice, where it was premiered on Monday, 3 February 1823, shortly before Rossini (with Colbran in tow) departed to seek his fortune in Paris. Rossini, after having replaced it with simple preludes during his Neapolitan period, returns for the occasion to the sinfonia — and what a Sinfonia!

Tjek brings out all the dynamic contrasts and accentuates the agogic ones too, as in the opening Andantino, which begins with solemnity before unleashing the violent jolts that prepare the transition to the Allegro. The result is a performance that warms up the orchestra's engines and those of the… audience, already packed from the start, and which becomes sold-out once the numerous latecomers were also able to take their seats, taking advantage of the time needed to set up the piano for the next piece.

At the centre of which is the still very young Kiron Atom Tellian, already warmly applauded here 18 months ago (again with his friend Tjek) in Chopin's First Concerto, who has now turned to Liszt, offering us the Second Concerto of the legendary Hungarian abbot. A rather forbidding concerto, less immediately appealing than the enormously famous and frequently performed First — which Tellian however makes not only digestible, but engaging and, ultimately, deeply rewarding.

Power in the more heroic and percussive passages, inspiration in the more intimate ones, even an exaggerated use of rubato (but in this Liszt it all fits) truly astonished — as if there were any need… And then Tjek took it upon himself to complete the task of best integrating the piano's demands and heroic initiatives with the nobility of the orchestral contribution (and the solos —among which I cite above all the cello of Shirai Grigolato) in a perfect symbiosis that amply redeems the apparent fragmentariness of this work.

Needless to say, the triumph was incandescent for Tellian and for everyone. Tjek stays on stage to applaud his friend and the orchestra and to witness the two encores we were given (? and Scriabin).

We step back a few years to encounter the man who gave Liszt (and his numerous followers and successors) the inspiration to introduce into the musical world a genre that would make history and win converts — as well as bitter enemies: the Symphonic Poem!

We are speaking of Hector Berlioz, who shamelessly called Sinfonia (Fantastica) the musical rendering of his own personal human experience, complete with erotic-sentimental infatuations, the use of opiate substances, an ascent to the scaffold, and dreamy pastoral visions alongside obscene sabbatical revelries.

A curiosity: nearly 36 years ago (13/11/1993) the Fantastique was the centrepiece of the first concert of the then newly born Orchestra, conducted by its founder, the venerable Vladimir Delman, at the Conservatorio. Tjek opens Rêveries—Passions with an affected approach, showing he has followed to the letter Berlioz's instructions left in the score regarding the eleven bars (Più mosso) that come after the initial 16 bars in Largo, where the first and second violins must prepare the ground, followed by the rest of the orchestra at the return of the Largo: the simultaneous presence of both pairs of principal players is justified by this detail alone — and will be so in the subsequent movements too. Then the conductor tightens the tempos, forgoing (surprisingly?) the repeat of the exposition of the Idée fixe, to maintain tension in the subsequent development that leads to the religious conclusion.

Vibrant the ensuing Un Bal, sustained by the lightness of the strings and the admirable atmosphere created by the two harps. Of great effect the spatiality and atmosphere in the spectral Scène aux champs, where the cor anglais of Paola Scotti stands out, and then, at the end, the distant fading of the thunder, created by no fewer than two timpani stations.

Powerful and spine-chilling the ensuing Marche au supplice, where the Idée fixe reappears at the end in the oboe like a ghost immediately banished by the brazenness of the full orchestra. Songe d'une nuit du Sabbat is the fitting conclusion of this mystico-erotic adventure. The piccolo clarinet of Ghiazza is its most evident and effective emblem, in revealing all the fallacy of that Idée fixe that had obsessed us until now.

To call it a triumph is an understatement.

For 66 years the Wednesday subscription series of the Salzburger Kulturvereinigung drew music lovers to the Großes Festspielhaus. In future, the slot moves to the afternoon. To think of 1960 is to imagine a silver rose. Herbert von Karajan inaugurated the Großes Festspielhaus with a production of Der Rosenkavalier — one of the great achievements of his life. Just weeks after that summer of festivals, a second tenant moved into the new venue: in September 1960 the Salzburger Kulturvereinigung established its subscription cycle, founding a tradition that would endure for generations. Salzburg music lovers grew up with the three concert evenings on which orchestras from around the world performed once a month.

Wednesday marked the last of the 'Große Symphonie' subscription evenings. In autumn it will be replaced by a new format on Friday afternoons. Consolidating to two concert days reportedly saves around €20,000 per month. Looking further ahead, the new structure anticipates the changed circumstances during the renovation of the Großes Festspielhaus, which will reportedly be unavailable for three seasons from 2028. The Kulturvereinigung will relocate to the Felsenreitschule. The end of a 66-year tradition — surely that sounded a few wrong notes among regulars? "We expected irritation. But there wasn't any," reports artistic director Benjamin Schmid. Managing director Josefa Hüttenbrenner confirms that all 900 Wednesday subscribers transferred to either the Thursday or one of the two Friday slots: "Of course some people mourn the loss of their regular seat. But there were no cancellations."

The final Wednesday-evening concert drew an above-average audience all the same. The Orchestra Sinfonica di Milano brought a generous dose of Italianità: the delicately seasoned overture to Gioachino Rossini's Semiramide dovetailed seamlessly with the long weekend just past, during which Cecilia Bartoli and colleagues had staged Il viaggio a Reims at the Pfingstfestspiele.

That filigree sound world left its mark on Beethoven's Symphony No. 7 as well. In the Scherzo, bel canto passages opened up that only reveal their full meaning in a Rossini context. Emmanuel Tjeknavorian — who has evolved from star violinist into a conductor of real promise — drew from his orchestra a summer-light, buoyant Beethoven sound carried on beautifully singing woodwinds. In the first movement Tjeknavorian relished the music's ruptures and question marks; in the finale the Milanese players also delivered gripping power.

Between the Belcanto and Beethoven, a new star appeared in the pianistic firmament: Kiron Atom Tellian dispatched Franz Liszt's Piano Concerto No. 2 with effortless elegance, rising above every technical obstacle. In the lyrical central section the young Austrian demonstrated his shaping gifts, bringing the song-like Liebestraum to life with subtle, richly nuanced shading.

At the close, Emmanuel Tjeknavorian let his Viennese soul shine: the Pizzicato Polka by Johann and Josef Strauss gave the Wednesday subscription a light-hearted, exquisite final chord.

On Wednesday 27 May the Milanese symphony orchestra opened a three-day residency at the Großes Festspielhaus, bringing Rossini, Liszt, and Beethoven to close the season. Under Emmanuel Tjeknavorian and with pianist Kiron Atom Tellian, the guests were given a thunderous welcome.

The apple does not fall far from the tree. Loris Tjeknavorian — Armenian conductor and composer — studied in Salzburg at the Mozarteum under Carl Orff among others. His 30-year-old son Emmanuel has been chief conductor in Milan for nearly two years, leading the equally youthful Orchestra Sinfonica — a body distinct from the orchestra of La Scala.

Long gone are the days when a Joseph Haydn would grumble about Italian musicians being incapable of playing his symphonies correctly. Times have changed, because even in an opera sector long dominated by music 'as accompaniment', local composers began placing correspondingly high demands on performers from the late nineteenth century onwards.

Memories of the Habsburg Monarchy stirred from the outset, with the opening bars of the still crowd-pleasing overture to Rossini's opera Semiramide. It begins tenderly, slowly, melodically — before being driven through furious waves of crescendo into an igniting close. A characteristic Rossinian fever dream, one that Vienna's audiences in the age of Beethoven and Schubert were all but helpless to resist.

The programme remained anchored in the nineteenth century. Franz Liszt numbered two piano concertos, but in fact left four: after the official pair and an early work came one more, in E-flat major, op. posth. Its pages were scattered across libraries in Germany and the former Soviet Union, and it was not until the 1980s that the manuscript was discovered and reassembled by Jay Rosenblatt.

All of Liszt's piano concertos share the idea of uniting every movement beneath a single arc. In the Concert symphonique No. 2 in A major everything is also unified thematically. Tjeknavorian allowed the music to blossom in the woodwinds with precise diction, while 24-year-old Viennese pianist Kiron Atom Tellian spun those thoughts lyrically onward. The solo cellist tenderly countered Tellian's thunderous Steinway outbursts in dialogue, capped at last by a soaring climax.

As an encore Tellian offered self-arranged dances by the Armenian composer Komitas Vardapet (1869–1935), forging a link to the conductor's homeland — a warmly received gesture that sent the audience into the interval in fine spirits.

After the break, Beethoven's Symphony No. 7 in A major, Op. 92 kept the same key. The first movement — after an almost overlong introduction — is an exuberant expression of triumph over Napoleon, an idea reinforced by the quotation of a pilgrimage song in the Presto. This work was something of a sore point for Beethoven: at its premiere it was overshadowed by the spectacular Wellington's Victory, or the Battle of Vittoria — itself a commission from Johann Nepomuk Mälzel, the inventor of the metronome.

Tjeknavorian shaped the symphony with power and finely differentiated detail; with the Sinfonica di Milano he stoked the excitement towards the end to a white-hot glow, then added — as a greeting from Milan to Austria — the Pizzicato Polka by Johann and Josef Strauss as a crowning exclamation mark.

Two intense weeks. Emmanuel Tjeknavorian takes up his role as music director of the Orchestra Sinfonica di Milano, both in terms of his position and its home base. Following introductory concerts some months ago and the recent inauguration tour hosted at La Scala, the young conductor-violinist offers two bold concert programs to the audience at Largo Mahler. On the stands are Mendelssohn’s The Hebrides Overture, Schumann’s Violin Concerto, and Schubert’s “little” Symphony in C Major. On the morning of the 24th, in the chamber setting of the Teatro Gerolamo, he will perform as both a chamber musician and concertmaster alongside orchestra colleagues, presenting Schönberg’s Verklärte Nacht and Mendelssohn’s Octet, Op. 20. Meanwhile, this afternoon (at 4 PM), at the Auditorium di Milano, Tjeknavorian reprises the program that officially inaugurated his new artistic role. As in previous occasions, he shows a preference for straightforward, single-themed programs with traditional design. To this end, he included a short piece to “warm up” the orchestra (Berlioz’s Rákóczi March), a concerto in the first half (the sumptuous and rhapsodic First Concerto by Chopin), and, in the second half, a symphony or similar piece (Brahms’s Piano Quartet No. 1 in the electrifying version by Schönberg). He invites the audience to recognize the subtle thread that connects the pieces, not only to highlight his careful curatorial choices but also to underscore his commitment to making the orchestra’s musicians more versatile and curious. What matters most to this young conductor—exceptionally young for such a profession—is demonstrating how tradition can still teach and engage young performers in their twenties on stage (and perhaps bring others of the same age into the audience). This was evident in his interpretation of the well-known Chopin concerto with Kiron Atom Tellian at the piano—together under fifty years old. The piece was purged of salon-like virtuosity and presented as a bold, authorial declaration. Despite the creativity being somewhat chaotic in form and youthful in nature, it was anchored by mature perspectives: somber and already tinged with fatalism. In the introductions, the orchestra lit up the dense instrumental writing, emphasizing dynamics and timbres. The brushstrokes of color were sleek and raw, avoiding “romantic” gallantries. They prepared the canvas for the soloist, who, without resorting to ostentatious virtuosity, articulated phrases, accents, and lyrical lines with remarkable freedom. Intriguing was how Tellian dissected the athletic, “Paganini-esque” score to extract its essence: the emotional and pianistic tone that had not existed before Chopin. The heart of the program is there. Alongside it are interpretative flourishes, such as the dazzling (and, for Tjeknavorian, even unsettling) explosions of dance-like movements and Hungarian colors that tie Berlioz to Brahms’s concluding Rondo alla Zingarese. Irresistible. The enthusiasm they generate is well-deserved. Here, the conductor’s most distinctive qualities—an uncompromising attention to rhythm, intonation, and orchestral detail—find joyous and exuberant (yet not naïve) expression.

For this young Austrian, twenty-one years old, it's not enough to merely navigate the technical difficulties and great virtuosity demanded by Chopin’s works — he immerses himself completely in the essence of the music to convey its full emotional weight. Even though he is still very young, he possesses great maturity, and his touch is already exceptional. Kiron Atom Tellian belongs to the rare breed of pianists who caress the piano, whose fingers lovingly glide over the keyboard, drawing out infinite nuances, from the most subtle and gentle to the most vigorous and dynamic. He is among those who do not just play but are truly in the music. Under his fingers, the piano comes to life and tells incredible stories, ever-changing—like the moods of the composers he interprets. Here Frédéric Chopin, with his Mazurkas (Nos. 1 to 4, Op. 33) and the Sonata in B minor Op. 58 — fragile, sometimes fleeting, nostalgic too, interspersed with bursts of drama, sparkling and ephemeral like the reflections of light on the water's surface. About Chopin, he says: ‘The works are profound and moving, and there is always more to explore […] you could spend several lifetimes with his music without ever reaching the depths of what he expressed in his music.’ Listening to him play, one enters an inner dream where the incredible fluidity of his interpretation is matched by its great intensity, where the precision of touch, like a musical lace free of dryness, is accompanied by sonorous amplitude and a sense of movement. One enters a state of weightlessness — following, as if suspended, by the whims of the wind blown by the performer. A young man already laden with awards: Kiron Atom Tellian, born in Vienna, began studying piano at the University for Music and Performing Arts of the Austrian capital at seven and made early debuts with an orchestra when he was nine. A student at the Julliard School under Armenian-born pianist Sergei Babayan while completing his bachelor's degree, he received the Kovner Fellowship which, among other things, covers the cost of his entire education. A winner of numerous international awards in piano, chamber music, and composition, he won the first prize and the Haydn Prize at the 17th International Piano Competition in Ettlingen, Germany, the Grand Prix, and special prizes at the X. Savshinsky Music Competition in Saint Petersburg, as well as the first three prizes, in three different categories, at the 5th International Bach Rosalyn Tureck Competition in New York. At the International Chopin Competition in Nashville, he won the Alexei Sultanov Memorial Discovery Grand Prize, as well as the prizes for best mazurka and best etude. He is among those we would love to see evolve...

Finalist Kiron Atom Tellian, a 21-year-old from Austria, played with an incredible combination of sensitivity and taste. His Saturday performance was delicate and gentle, as he touched the keys with tender flutters and extreme precision. [...] The grand prize for the competition, the $20,000 Alexei Sultanov Memorial Discovery Prize, went to contestant Kiron Atom Tellian. Tellian, a sophomore at The Juilliard School in New York City, told The Tennessean, "I am unbelievably overwhelmed. This is such an incredible privilege and honor to receive such an award." Tellian has been almost exclusively studying the works of Chopin for the past year. Tellian said, "[Chopin's] works are profound in the deepest way, and moving, that there's always more to explore. I think you can spend multiple lifetimes with his music and still not possibly reach the bottom of what he expressed in his writing."

Nonetheless, Tellian’s fingers flew about the keyboard, perfectly depicting the weightless elegance of the waltz, but also thunderous, emphatic and almost explosive exclamations, which alltogether made for an easily understood and highly successful interpretation. [...] An extraordinary opportunity for Tellian to get lost in fluid, crystallized and sensitively emotional colors. But only to finally - suddenly - jump into an agitated and dramatic tempo, all the while not getting carried away, but carefully and thoughtfully phrasing each note. [...] Highlight of the evening was Franz Schubert’s “Wanderer Fantasy”: starting with a concise theme, impressfully presented by Tellian, to culminate in a ferocious finale which was rewarded with standing ovations by the audience.

The pianist Kiron Atom Tellian is sitting at the black Steinway grand piano. Playing the violin: Emmanuel Tjeknavorian. [...] And although the 19 year-old Kiron Atom Tellian stepped in to play this concert only a couple of days ago, the two musicians give an impression of having played together for decades. [...] They concluded the evening’s concert with the Rondo Brillant by Franz Schubert. Devilish, virtuoso and simply: brilliant.

 [...] in category A Maria Eydman and in category B Kiron Atom Tellian emerged winners of the competition. The two pianists recently gave a prize-winner’s concert in the Asamsaal of Schloss Ettlingen - and the bravura and maturity of their artistry renders speechless. Once, highly technically demanding masterworks like Ravel’s “La Valse” or even his “Gaspard de la nuit” were only performed rarely. Here one can clearly notice the incredible confidence, security and technical abilities that these two prize-winners have reached despite their young age. [...] or Tellian’s convincing rendition of Ravel’s “Gaspard de la nuit” — probably one of the most difficult works for piano overall — or his captivating and inspired performance of Chopin’s third piano sonata — one can only listen, enjoy and wish these young artists all the best for their future.

 If one mentions the name Emmanuel Tjeknavorian (Violin) — Jeremias Fliedl (Violoncello) and Kiron Atom Tellian (Piano) should also be mentioned, as their performances are undoubtedly equal. [...] a trimphant finale: Tchaikovsky's "À la mémoire d'un grand artiste". After the pezzo elegiaco, moderato assai and allegro giusto followed. But what an allegro giusto! Their riveting performance was met with an incredibly long applause by the exuberant audience. There was no encore, this kind of emotional ending can not be improved upon.

 Kiron Atom Tellian, which presented the breath-taking finale of the evening’s concert — with a fulminant rendition of the first and last movement of Chopin’s third piano sonata. His ability to play with incredibly nuanced colors and feelings, to connect virtuosity and intimate sensitivity, explosive drama, longing and singing melodies was extraordinary.

 Moving on to larger Bach works, we heard selections from the French Suite in G major, BWV 816, played by Kiron Atom Tellian, age fourteen from Vienna, Austria (and also awarded in two repertoire categories). A student of Alma Sauer at the “highly gifted” program of the University for Music and Dramatic Art, he pairs piano with studies in composition, perhaps a source of the heightened thoughtfulness in his playing. He was one of the day’s most interesting musicians, with an individual style that brought to mind some of the earlier Bach performances of Ivo Pogorelich. His Allemande, Courante and Sarabande all had an expressiveness one most associates with Romanticism (as many felt about Rosalyn Tureck’s playing), and he played with a judicious use of agogics, some receding dynamics at climaxes, and some staggering of left and right hands at poignant harmonic points and trills. His Gigue was by contrast quite metrically straightforward, but a delight in its extremely fast and even execution, without losing the slightest detail. One looks forward to hearing this young man play again.