Hayato Sumino

In the second half of the twentieth century, the increasingly pronounced separation between composer and performer gave rise to a form of hyper-specialization that stands as something of a historical anomaly in the history of music. While the refinement of interpretative artistry has, in certain cases, reached sublime heights, the all-encompassing vision that once defined the great musicians of the past—Bach, Händel, Vivaldi, Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt, Paganini, Brahms, Franck, Saint-Saëns, Rachmaninov, Scriabin, Bartók, Prokofiev, and many others, all of whom were both composers and virtuoso performers—has risked fading into obscurity, with only a few rare exceptions, such as Leonard Bernstein. It is perhaps for this reason—through the cyclical nature of history and the desire of new generations to rediscover something fresh yet paradoxically ancient—that Hayato Sumino seeks a return to the unity of the pianist-composer-improviser, viewed through a lens that is at once spectacular, artistic, and educational.

Frédéric Chopin offers a perfect starting point for this exploration of the pianist-composer archetype. Unlike Liszt, who composed for a wide array of ensembles, Chopin devoted nearly all his compositional, performative, and pedagogical energies to the piano, effecting a revolution in sonority intimately tied to innovations in musical language. The Scherzo No. 1 in B minor, Op. 20, composed in 1830–31, around the same time as the Études Op. 10, is the visionary work of a twenty-year-old who breaks away from classical conventions: opening with two ferocious fortissimo chords, it unleashes a torrent of feverish virtuosity to express a dark, Byronically inspired drama. At the center of the A–B–A' structure lies a paradisiacal berceuse, inspired by a Polish Christmas carol, offering stark contrast. According to his pupil Karl Mikuli, Chopin, in the final section, "continued to accelerate the tempo before the coda, so that the piece culminated in an anguished paroxysm." Equally striking is the transformation of the nocturne form in Nocturne Op. 48, No. 1 (1841), where the impassioned final section—preceded by a sighing bel canto theme—represents the apex of a crescendoing dramatic tension, pivoting between a pure, almost religious chorale and a Dionysian flurry of octaves that introduce the "double time" conclusion.

Following in Chopin’s footsteps—who often altered the details of his own works, sometimes improvising entirely new sections—Hayato Sumino reimagines Chopin's music in his Chopin Recompositions, blending classical, jazz, and contemporary elements. In New Birth, the material of Étude Op. 10 No. 1 is transformed through bold harmonic innovations and the Romantic technique of the “inner melody,” resulting in a wholly original piece. Likewise, Recollection, inspired by the opening theme of the Ballade No. 2, Op. 38, reworks Chopin’s motif with unexpected harmonies and dissonances that nonetheless preserve the piece’s fairytale-like nostalgia. Chopin’s enduring freshness of inspiration reverberates through Sumino’s voice—contemporary and deeply expressive—allowing us to feel the timeless relevance of the Polish master.

Organist, harpsichordist, violinist, composer, improviser, and Kapellmeister, Bach truly embodied the complete musician, uniting scientific rigor and emotional expression at the highest level. It is no surprise that Sumino, who holds a degree in engineering, feels a particular affinity for the Kantor, a paragon of musical thought grounded in numerical precision yet brimming with imaginative creativity. The Well-Tempered Clavier—from which the majestic and nearly orchestral Prelude and Fugue in C Major, BWV 870 is drawn (its four-voice fugue built upon a rhetorical leap of a fourth)—together with The Art of Fugue, exemplifies the synthesis of kaleidoscopic sonic invention and structural discipline. In contrast, the Partitas display a freer expression of the "rhetoric of affections," edging toward the Empfindsamer Stil (Sensitive Style) later perfected by his son, Carl Philipp Emanuel. The Partita No. 2 in C minor, opened by a solemn French-style Ouverture followed by an elegiac aria and an energetic fugue, also features eccentric "galanteries" such as the witty Rondeaux and the dazzling Capriccio, a fugato bursting with contagious energy.

Among the cult pianists of the twentieth century, Austrian Friedrich Gulda stands out as a truly unique figure. Beginning his career in the refined tradition of Central European interpretation, Gulda gradually embraced a brilliant form of creative “delirium” rooted in jazz and improvisation (from the 1950s, he collaborated with legends like Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea, and Cecil Taylor), and in the conception of new, often provocative concert formats. His rejection of the strict divide between classical and popular music is evident even in a piece with an elevated title like Prelude and Fugue, an explicit nod to Bach: the work opens with a jazz-style prelude built on a syncopated harmonic progression evocative of bebop and blues, followed by a three-voice fugue which, while adhering to academic counterpoint, incorporates syncopations, blue notes, unexpected modulations, irregular swing rhythms, and daringly off-beat entries.

This fusion of scientific precision and emotional expression is also found in Human Universe, where Hayato Sumino uses the number 11—the number of initial bars and a symbol of mystery and spirituality—as the foundation for a meditative composition that evolves through variations exploring the relationship between humanity and the cosmos.

Both Saint-Saëns and Liszt were not only composers acutely aware of tradition while pushing its boundaries, but also virtuoso pianists. It is thus no surprise that the Hungarian master transcribed one of the French composer’s most beloved works for solo piano: Danse macabre, a symphonic poem inspired by the medieval “dance of death,” in which Death plays the violin to summon the dead to dance at midnight. The piece is marked by its macabre irony, its use of the tritone (the “diabolus in musica”), and a scordatura violin that mimics skeletal screeches. Liszt, through the piano, amplifies this visionary quality using virtuosic hyperbole: lightning-fast scales, infernal arpeggios, daring leaps, and tremolos that mimic orchestral textures.

In his transcription of Ravel’s Boléro, Hayato Sumino positions himself between two pianos: one prepared to emulate the snare drum’s persistent rhythm, and the other dedicated to the obsessive, iconic melody—the foundation for this “study in crescendo.” Emphasizing the visual element, especially in the opening section, Sumino transforms the original idea into a form of pianistic choreography. One must recall that Boléro was premiered on November 22, 1928, at the Palais Garnier in Paris as a ballet—with Ida Rubinstein poised on a table at the center of a Spanish tavern, surrounded by men increasingly entranced and ultimately consumed by her hypnotic, sensual dance.

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Text by Luca Ciammarughi