Elim Chan (Born on November 18, 1986) Feminine Revolution in Conducting

 by Hermione Lai  November 18th, 2025

When one thinks of classical orchestral conducting, a specific image often surfaces. We tend to see a tall, authoritative male figure wielding a baton, commanding an ensemble of dozens in a symphonic ritual.

Into this traditionally male-dominated picture, Elim Chan enters not as an exception but as a sign of change. She is a conductor whose very existence challenges that old model, and whose career heralds a broader transformation in classical music.

Elim Chan

To celebrate her birthday on 18 November 1986, let’s explore how Chan’s trajectory, achievements, and identity contribute to a feminine revolution in conducting.  

Breaking Batons and Boundaries

Elim Chan

From Hong Kong-born beginnings, Elim Chan’s rapid ascent is itself noteworthy.

In 2014, she became the first female winner of the prestigious Donatella Flick Conducting Competition, conducting the London Symphony Orchestra in works by Beethoven, Stravinsky and Rimsky-Korsakov.

As a reward, she served as assistant conductor with the LSO in 2015–16. Subsequently, she was appointed chief conductor of the Antwerp Symphony Orchestra for the 2019-20 season, and served as principal guest conductor of the Royal Scottish National Orchestra from 2018 to 2023.

These milestones are significant, not only because she is a woman, but also because she is young, Asian-born, and stepping into roles that were rarely, if ever, held by women before.   

Shattering the Baton Ceiling

The world of orchestral conducting has for decades been dominated by men. Women conductors were few and often seen as exceptions or novelties rather than the norm.

Chan’s presence disrupts that pattern in multiple ways. Her appointment and visibility challenge the implicit assumption that the podium is an exclusively “male” domain.

Beyond symbolic significance, Chan has earned wide respect for her craft. Reviewers describe her as “a rare example of a young conductor at once brilliant and not in the least showing off.”  

Beyond the Spotlight

Elim Chan

Chan has acknowledged the dual pressure of visibility and scrutiny faced by women in conducting. And while the opportunities are increasing, “just one mistake, and, look, she’s not ready.”

Chan’s contribution goes beyond symbolism. Her conducting style has been praised for elegance, precision and emotional insight. Her approach, including clear beat, economical gestures, and sensitivity, draws favourable comparison to great conductors of past generations.

Her presence is not just a novelty. It is grounded in serious artistic merit. In so doing, she helps shift perceptions about what a woman conductor can do, not just who she is.   

Progress and Persistence

Chan herself recalls being inspired by female conductors in her early life in Hong Kong, and she has now become a role model for young female musicians and conductors. She has emphasised that women must “find their own way of leading, of being true to themselves, whether you wear a dress, or pants, have short or long hair. Authenticity is very powerful.”

While much progress has been made, Chan’s story also highlights that work still needs to be done. She commented that “not all orchestras are ready for someone like me,” as entrenched resistance remains.

Women are still under-represented in chief conductor roles, and mistakes or criticism can impose extra pressure. With novelty comes expectation, and Chan will continue to make bold artistic choices without being boxed in by identity.   

The Sound of Chance

Elim Chan

We could actually call Elim Chan a harbinger of change. Her presence at the top levels of orchestral conducting signals a rupture of the old model.

By excelling artistically, embracing her background and identity, and leading major orchestras, she proves that a feminine revolution in conducting is not just about gender, but about expanding what leadership in classical music can look like and who it can come from.

Celebrating Chan’s journey, we find a broader transformation where young musicians of all backgrounds can imagine themselves standing at the front. Her very existence on the podium is a bold statement, as the stereotype has been broken and a new agreement is being written.

Best Yuja Wang Encores (Born on February 10, 1987) Confetti, Fireworks, and Fingers on Fire

 

 by Hermione Lai  February 10th, 2026

I will say this upfront, as a pianist who knows exactly how hard this instrument can bite. Yuja Wang is a miracle! She is both an inspiration and a delightful menace. She raises the bar so high, it feels almost unfair.

Some pianists impress you. Some intimidate you. Some make you want to practice. Yuja Wang does something far more dangerous. She makes you believe, just for a second, that the piano might be capable of flight. Then she laughs, changes shoes, and proves it again.

Yuja Wang

To hear Yuja play is to witness total command without a trace of heaviness. Her fingers are so impossibly fast that your eyes can’t follow. And it’s all fearlessly clear and comes with ease as notes sparkle, dart, tease, explode, and vanish.

Classical music has long suffered from performers who behave as if joy were somehow unprofessional. Yuja Wang is the antidote. She smiles at the keyboard. She dares. She risks. She throws off ten encores like confetti and somehow makes each one feel like a gift.

Talking about encores, to celebrate her birthday on 10 February, let’s listen to her most jaw-dropping encores, explosions of adrenaline, personality, joy and irresistible brilliance.  

Blink and You’ll Miss It

Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee” in the arrangement of Cziffra lands like a perfectly timed firework. It’s short, explosive, and utterly irresistible. In fact, it’s a full-blown adrenaline rush.

The piano under her hands doesn’t buzz so much as ignites, flashing past in a blur of precision, speed, and wicked delight.

But it’s not just the incredible velocity that makes this a truly jaw-dropping encore. It’s Yuja’s control that is out of this world. Every note is clean, every accent alive, and every phrase shaped with a wink. How on earth can she make something so ferocious sound so joyful?   

Mozart Meets Modern Fireworks

Yuja Wang takes Mozart’s “Alla Turca” and gleefully rockets it out of the 18th century and straight into now. What starts as a familiar classical wink suddenly sparkles, swerves and struts with crisp elegance, colliding with high-octane brilliance.

And if you’re wondering what magic potion she’s using, the arrangement itself feels like a delicious hybrid. It’s a mischievous mash-up of Arcadi Volodos’ pianist extravagance and Fazil Say’s jazzy bite.

Both are filtered through Yuja’s own fearless instinct, with the result that Mozart becomes part jazz club and part keyboard acrobat. It’s utterly alive, Mozart with lipstick, sneakers, and bursting fireworks.

Where Stillness Turns Electric

Yuja Wang

After fireworks and bravura in the main concert, Yuja Wang occasionally turns to something hypnotic in her encore. Just listen to how Philip Glass’ “Etude No. 6” is taking over the room. The steady pulse begins almost innocently, and then, without warning, it transforms.

Repetition becomes propulsion, and simplicity turns into pure electricity. Every return of the loop feels newly charged, all nudged forward with razor-sharp rhythm and luminous clarity.

As an encore, it’s genius. This is a different kind of thrill; it’s cool, focused, and irresistible. You feel the pulse in your chest, the precision in your bones, and suddenly the hall is vibrating with the quiet, unstoppable confidence of modern music played by someone who absolutely owns it.  

Turbocharged Tea for Two

When Yuja Wang launches into “Tea for Two,” the piano becomes a playground of swing, sparkle, and sheer joy. Inspired by Art Tatum’s legendary jazz arrangements, she takes this familiar tune and turns it into a whirlwind of dazzling runs and playful flourishes.

Every phrase seems to giggle and wink at the audience. It’s not just an encore but a celebration. Let’s call it a little surprise that lifts the hall into laughter and applause.

Everything is effortless: the tricky leaps, the double-note passages, and the rapid-fire ornaments. It basically is unbelievable, as Yuja Wang rolls speed, clarity, and sheer brilliance all into one.  

Rocket-Powered Virtuosity

When Yuja Wang dives into Kapustin’s “Toccatina,” she turns the piano into a dazzling jazz-fuelled rocket ship. Yuja attacks this mischievous whirlwind, part classical precision and part big-band swagger, with that signature fearless confidence.

There is plenty of blinding speed and a blizzard of notes, and Yuja Wang brings sheer personality to every measure. Those dizzying runs don’t just fly; they dance, laugh, and flirt.

This is pure joy, reckless brilliance, and rhythmic exhilaration all wrapped into one ridiculously entertaining encore. Those tricky rhythmic twists trip me up every time, but Yuja makes it gleam like polished crystal.   

Polka Rocket

If virtuosity had a theme song, Yuja Wang would be playing it at full throttle on a grand piano. Just listen to her attack the Cziffra arrangement of Strauss’ “Tritsch-Tratsch Polka.” This isn’t a polka, it’s rock-fuelled finger gymnastics.

Every rapid-fire scale, cascading arpeggio, and whirlwind octave is executed with a precision that makes your jaw drop. She spins Cziffra’s mercilessly difficult passagework with the same ease that a cat might chase a laser pointer.

The almost absurdly difficult technical foundation is made seemingly effortless. By the final barrelling chords, you’re certainly not hearing a polka. You’re riding a rollercoaster designed by a piano wizard where exhilaration is mandatory.   

Melody in Bloom

Yuja Wang

Yuja Wang’s take on Gluck’s Melodie from Orfeo ed Euridice (arranged by Sgambati) is like stepping into a sunlit garden of sound. What makes this encore so enchanting is how it contrasts with the firecracker pyrotechnics we usually associate with her.

This encore just delicately floats, with each phrase shaped by a singer’s breath and a painter’s eye for nuance. And with that subtle pedal work that lets the harmonies shimmer underneath, the whole piece just starts to glow.

Here, it’s all about touch, tone and whispered elegance. Yuja caresses each note, letting every delicate turn of the melody bloom. If you really needed proof that Yuja isn’t all about speed and power, this encore showcases her exquisite musicality in every shimmering phrase.  

Horowitz Showstopper

If you’re looking for a whirlwind in a flamenco dress, look no further than Yuja Wang attacking Horowitz’s “Carmen Fantasy Variations.” It’s fiery, dazzling, and absolutely irresistible.

Each variation bursts with personality. One moment it’s a playful flirt, the next a sultry smoulder, and then suddenly she’s launching into a thunderous cascade of scales and arpeggios that leave you breathless.

It’s pure pyrotechnics, but with Yuja, there’s never a sense of chaos, as every blazing run and daring leap is impeccably shaped and perfectly timed. Her touch is electric, and she takes us on a thrilling and utterly exuberant ride through Bizet, Horowitz, and her own unstoppable personality. 

 

From Counterpoint to Confetti

Here is an encore that Yuja doesn’t play all the time, and it’s not so easy to get good footage of it. However, this Katsaris piano paraphrase of Bach’s “Badinerie” is exactly what Yuja ordered.

In the original, it’s already a cheeky and sprightly dance full of twirls and infectious energy. In Katsaris’s arrangement, however, the infectious spirit is out of this world. Every phrase is packed with tiny virtuosic flourishes, surprising little detours, and sparkling commentary that feels like musical confetti.

And then Yuja steps in, and it feels like a burst of personality. Her rhythmic zing and tonal sparkle bring out the humour and brilliance in Bach’s counterpoint, letting every nimble twist shine. By the time she’s finished, it’s less a performance and more a joyous celebration with a distinctly modern and joyful twist.   

Desert Moon Dance Party

For another novel encore, let’s turn to Yuja Wang’s take on “Danzón No. 2” by Arturo Márquez. This sizzling orchestral showpiece has been cleverly reimagined for solo piano by Leticia Gómez Tagle. And under Yuja’s fingers, it becomes an irresistibly sultry dance party under a desert moon.

From the very first syncopated accents, Yuja brings out the seductive rhythmic flair, her fingers teasing and flirting with the melody like a dancer drawing you into the floor.

The way she balances rhythmic excitement with expressive nuance gives the piano version both the heartbeat of the dance and the sparkle of a showpiece. What can I say? It’s full of flirtatious flair, sparkling fingers, and irresistible joy.

Fingers on Fire

Yuja Wang

How about concluding this blog with a lightning bolt, taking a bow? That’s what’s happening when Yuja Wang attacks Prokofiev’s “Toccata.” Her fingers fly with a kind of joyful fearlessness, rapid-fire scales and cascading octaves included.

Every percussive blast is landing with dazzling precision. But here’s the magic. It’s not just a technical tour de force, but even in the midst of this relentless energy, every note sings. Her hands are literally everywhere at once, yet nothing sounds cluttered or mechanical.

I just feel a sense of giddy exhilaration, the kind of thrill that makes you grin and hold your breath at the same time. This is virtuosity that doesn’t just impress the brain. It sweeps the soul along, turning blistering technique into pure musical storytelling.

Whirlwind of Wonder

Yuja Wang doesn’t just play encores. She creates joy, she redefines possibilities, and she reminds us that the piano can dance, soar, and even flirt with the sky.

To love Yuja Wang’s playing is to love risk, brilliance, humour, glamour, and precision, all wrapped into one fearless artist who walks onstage as if she belongs there completely.

But here is the truth. After all the fireworks, the flirts, the sparkling confetti of scales, runs, and octaves, you realise you’ve witnessed more than an encore marathon.

We’ve glimpsed the essence of Yuja Wang. She is a whirlwind of brilliance, bravura, and unabashed delight. And honestly? I can’t wait to see what she’ll throw at the keys next.

Facing Alexander Scriabin (Died on April 27, 1915)

 by Hermione Lai  April 27th, 2026

In all my years of playing the piano, there is only one composer whose music I consider terrifying. And that composer is Alexander Scriabin. In his early sonatas, there are still gestures to hold on to, but as you move further along, all familiarity disappears.

Alexander Scriabin

Chords become alien, textures are all over the place, and the music doesn’t breathe in regular phrases. It’s almost like getting seriously lost. How can you communicate something that can’t be grasped?

No Place to Hide

The harmonic language expresses colours and metaphysical visions, not really something you can handle in the practice room. And I can’t even imagine having to memorise the music. I’ve heard it said that pianists need a kind of vulnerability to perform his music, as it is impossible to hide behind structure or tradition.

I think it’s time I confront my demon. So, to commemorate Scriabin’s death on 27 April 1915, let’s have a quick guide to his 10 piano sonatas. Mind you, I’ll try to stay away from too many technical descriptions, and I am immensely grateful to Simon Nicholls for his 1996 notes accompanying Marc-André Hamelin’s interpretations.  

Between Prayer and Despair

Scriabin’s first attempt at a piano sonata was written at the age of fourteen, while he was at the Cadet Corps in Moscow. This turned out to be his Sonata-Fantasy in G-sharp minor of 1886, a work that was never published. So let’s forget about this work and move straight to his Sonata No. 1 in F minor, Op. 6, published seven years later in 1893.

Josef Lhevinne

Scriabin had been trying to compete with the unbelievable virtuosity of his classmate Josef Lhevinne, and he injured his right arm and hand. Doctors told him that he would never recover. Thus, this first sonata, as Scriabin calls it, was a cry against fate and against God.

That cry is heard in the opening measures of the movement, which at times almost sounds like Brahms. Doubts and prayers appear in the second movement in a musical language influenced by César Franck.

The Rondo movement sounds like the finale, but that place is taken by a seriously gloomy Funeral March. It all sounds like Scriabin is trying to find his bearings in a late-Romantic language, throwing in snippets of Chopin, Schumann, and Modest Mussorgsky.   

Nature Transformed

Alexander Scriabin

It took Scriabin the better part of five years to write and publish his Sonata No. 2, Op. 19. The piece unfolds in two movements, and the composer told us what to expect in a short programme note.

“The first part evokes the calm of the night by the seashore in the South; in the development we hear the sombre agitation of the depths. The section in E Major represents the tender moonlight which comes after the first dark of night. The second movement, presto, shows the stormy agitation of the vast expanse of ocean.”

This sonata is one of Scriabin’s most famous works, and it is technically approachable. It certainly helps that in the opening movement, the exposition, development, and recapitulation all start with the same music.

Scriabin’s style has changed in comparison to his first sonata, as the piano writing is much more delicate, almost in the style of Chopin. There are plenty of polyrhythms in the opening movement, while the finale features endless streams of triplets against a marching rhythm.   

A Soul’s Journey

Scriabin’s Sonata No. 3 was composed between 1897 and 1898, around the time he married the young pianist Vera Ivanovna Isaakovich. Initially, he is said to have called the finished work “Gothic,” like the impression of a ruined castle.

Several years later, he or his second wife, Tatyana Schloezer, came up with a different description and nickname, namely “States of Being.” And in this description, all four movements represent a story of a soul’s strife, from being free and untamed to reaching the abyss of nothingness.

A clever person once said that composers who issue programmes for their music often live to regret it, and that seems pretty apt in this case. The music, however, has once again advanced in style. All movements are closely linked to each other in a cyclic treatment reminiscent of Liszt.

Hints of Wagner’s Tristan float through parts of the closing movement, which really does not have a happy ending. There is plenty of counterpoint and a seemingly symphonic conception underneath it all.  

From Desire to Radiance

As Scriabin went through a turbulent personal period, his musical language was transforming as well. His Sonata No. 4, issued as Op. 30 in 1903, is headed by a poem describing a flight to a distant star.

Thinly veiled in transparent cloud
A star shines softly, far and lonely.
How beautiful! The azure secret
Of its radiance beckons, lulls me…
Vehement desire, sensual, insane, sweet…
Now! Joyfully I fly upward toward you,
Freely I take wing.
Mad dance, godlike play…
I draw near in my longing…
Drink you in, sea of light, you light of my own self…

In this shortest of his sonatas, Scriabin uses cyclic themes throughout the 2-movement work. We find unusual harmonies and plenty of “Tristan” references in the opening introduction.

The second movement, which follows without a break, features plenty of new sounds. The first-movement theme returns in a jubilant manner and in an explosion of overwhelming joy. Compared to the sombre finales of the first three sonatas, this one is full of light and ecstasy.   

Ecstasy Unleashed

Scriabin’s Sonata No. 5 was written shortly after his orchestral “Poem of Ecstasy” in 1907. Apparently, he wrote this sonata in only a couple of days as his musical style had evolved once more.

The “Poem of Ecstasy” features a lengthy poetic introduction, describing in rather sexual terms the release from the unconscious mind.

I call you to life, mysterious forces!
Drowned in the obscure depths
of the creative spirit, timid
Embryos of life, to you I bring audacity!

I am not sure we could call it a transitional work, but the music relates directly and clearly to the tonal system, yet many features already point to his late style. We are certainly treated to a contrast between ecstatic fast themes and languid slow ones.

We find cyclic links between sections, and this sonata might be the most difficult among this group. Some parts are downright unpianistic, but we do find some of Scriabin’s most creative harmonic writing, nevertheless.   Play

Fear and Shadows

After Scriabin completed “Prometheus,” he set to work on his Sonata No. 6, Op. 62.

There is no programme, and Scriabin never played it in public. He considered it frightening, dark, mysterious, and dangerous.

The music is disturbing, switching between playful and fleeting, and within this concentrated mysteriousness, tonality has almost disappeared. One might practically call this sonata atonal.

In addition, a transformation of the piano sound had taken place. We find monolithic chords, fluttering airborne impulses, and what has been called an arching theme of boundless sensuality.

There is plenty of febrile hyperactivity that exceeds the range of the keyboard, and it gives the impression of a dream. This sonata remains obscure, and you won’t see it much on concert programmes.   

White Mass

Scriabin at the piano

With the 7th Sonata of 1911, actually finished before the No. 6, we are squarely in the grasp of the composer’s Messianic pretensions. Subtitled “White Mass,” it features wondrous sonorities, extreme dissonances, and a number of themes related to heavenly exorcism.

Scriabin set out to create a prophetic atmosphere; just listen to the opening fanfares and the lightning flickering across the score. Chiming bells present a motif of invocation, and arpeggios drift like clouds of incense.

It all, predictably, ends in a mighty climax, a light flutter of trills and a polyrhythmic ascension after a chord that spans 5 octaves. Many consider this sonata Scriabin’s crowning achievement.

Scriabin loved to play this sonata in public, but the reactions were rather cold. There are just too many technical difficulties, and the harmonic structure and rhythm tend to be a great challenge to pianists.   

Quietest Storm

The Sonata No. 8 turns out to be the quietest of the set. Actually, it was the last sonata to be finished in 1913, and Scriabin spoke enthusiastically of it. But it is the longest and most complex of all Scriabin’s works.

Apparently, Scriabin thought of its form as a quasi-geometrical organisation that bridges the visible natural world with the invisible artistic realm. He also thought himself superior to Bach in terms of contrapuntal writing.

We do find plenty of counterpoint and less dissonance as the entire sonata exudes a static mood. This is possibly what Scriabin had in mind when he called parts “at perfect peace.”

Horribly difficult to perform, on par with the 5th and 7th Sonatas, but it has a much more mature personality. The material for this sonata is summed up in a final dance, and then everything just dissolves.   

Black Mass

In terms of popularity, the Sonata No. 9, subtitled “Black Mass”, is by far the most frequently performed of the set. That subtitle actually comes from an admirer, who described the atmosphere as Satanic.

The work dates from 1912, and it is one of the more approachable sonatas, both in terms of technical demand and in understanding the composer’s mystic ideals. Opening dissonances and repeated notes reach a nightmarish first climax.

The lyrical second subject appears in various seductive guises and turns into a grotesque march. The music becomes more intoxicating by the minute, and the coda evokes the cackle of the devil. Yet, it all ends in subdued quietness, or as A.E. Hull calls it “molecular vertigo.”

Into the Light

In his final sonata, Scriabin returns to the harmony of nature. Sonata No. 10 is bright and sunny, and much less dissonant. It was written on his country estate. The serene opening finishes with luminous trills in a blazing vision of light.

There are plenty of fluttering chords and joyous screams, and Scriabin thought he was on the brink of great new developments. Surprisingly, this sonata is more tonal and features more exposed tonal chords.

Scriabin died in 1915, but he was convinced that “the masses need to be shaken up, in order to purify the human organisation.” I wonder what he might have thought of World War I and the Russian Revolution.

After looking at and listening to the 10 sonatas by Scriabin, my fear of his music will probably never completely go away. It’s like stepping into quicksand, with no anchors for fingers or the mind. And maybe that’s the point; you’ll just have to let go and lunge into the music headfirst.

Frédéric Chopin’s 10 “Easy” Piano Pieces

 by Hermione Lai  March 1st, 2026

Frédéric Chopin! The name alone conjures a sense of profound intimacy. His works for piano take us into a world of almost otherworldly beauty, with melodies that become as engaging as the human voice.

The music can be fragile, dance-like or fleeting, and infused with a sense of great nostalgia or melancholy. And then there is this emotional fragility, like emotions changing in mid-sentence. Chopin’s music feels so vulnerable, seemingly confiding in the listener. It’s emotion in its purest form.

Rudolf Schuster: Fryderyk Chopin in the salon of prince Antoni Radziwiłł

Yet we all know that his music is famously challenging to play. In the hands of experts, it sounds effortless, floating through the air with a passion that’s always under control. But if you have been studying the piano, you know that the technical challenges of playing Chopin are substantial.

For Chopin’s birthday on 1 March 1810, let’s do something special by presenting 10 of his easiest piano pieces. In their original scoring, there are none for complete beginners, sorry. But if you are an intermediate pianist, here are 10 pieces that are surprisingly approachable.

On the top of my list of approachable Chopin piano pieces is the Prelude in E minor, from the Op. 28 set. This piece even looks approachable on paper. No glittering runs or thundering octaves, and no crazy fast arpeggios.

To be sure, the slow tempo and simple left-hand accompaniment are immediately inviting. No violent leaps or intricate crossings, with chords unfolding regularly. Of course, it’s all about the weight of each chord and how one harmony resolves into the next.

The melody is pure simplicity, essentially an expressive sigh that hovers above the broken chords. You will be able to learn the notes of both hands relatively quickly, but can you make the piano sing? Technically, it is approachable, but to convey the emotions is much more difficult. 

The set of 24 Preludes in Op. 28 contains some wonderful pieces for intermediate pianists. Take the A Major Prelude, Op. 28, No. 7, as an example. It’s one of the shortest piano pieces Chopin ever wrote, and it feels like a fleeting smile.

While the left hand keeps a steady and lilting accompaniment, the right hand sings a folk-like melody. No wild leaps or complicated passagework in the left hand, and a very pianistically unfolding melody in the right hand. No acrobatics here at all.

The notes should come to you rather easily, but can you find the elegance demanded from this small dance? It should never sound mechanical, with the left hand breathing softly. But don’t slip into sentimentality, as it is naturally beautiful.     A number of Chopin waltzes are glittering showpieces, but Op. 34, No. 2 is different. This one is a far gentler affair. And it’s difficult not to be swept up in the flowing rhythm of the dance.

What makes waltzes difficult to play on occasion are extreme jumps and brutal stretches. In Op. 34, No. 2, the familiar waltz pattern is, of course, present, but the technical demands here are not punishing. There are some ornaments in the right hand, but like much of Chopin, the entire melody lies comfortably under the fingers.

Did you notice that this waltz is scored in the minor key? There is a celebration for sure, but it feels more like a memory than an actual celebration. Passion is everywhere, but it is all viewed through a veil.

Mazurka in A minor, Op. 17, No. 4   

Let’s stay with the dance idiom for a bit, although the Mazurka in A Minor, Op. 17, No. 4 is slightly more challenging. Still, it isn’t a showpiece that glitters and sparkles, but another deep personal recollection.

There are some broken patterns in the left hand, but with the unhurried tempo, an intermediate pianist can learn the notes. Chopin opens up a sparse texture, with the left hand always supporting the melody, not battling it. And what a fantastic piece to learn all about rubato.

Technically, it gets a bit more challenging in the middle section. However, it all feels rather introspective. The gently swaying rhythm carries you away to the Polish homeland Chopin missed so much. Whatever you do, don’t try to overpower this emotionally very fragile music.

Prelude in B minor, Op. 28, No. 6   

Technically speaking, we should count the Prelude in B minor, Op. 28, No. 6 among the 10 easiest Chopin pieces. And on the surface, that is certainly true. It all seems rather simple, with the left hand playing marching chords while the right hand quietly presents a fragile melody.

What might be technically simple is frequently emotionally challenging. This particular prelude is pure melancholy. The weight of each chord should never destroy the sense of fragility, and it’s easy to get carried away with the rubato.

A great pianist once said that by listening to Chopin, audiences should feel as if the composer is confiding in them. And that’s the melody in this prelude. Every single note is a secret, whispered to you in great confidence. And it is never ashamed to do so.

Frédéric Chopin: Waltz in B minor, Op. 69, No. 2   

For another approachable piece in B minor, let’s turn to the Waltz Op. 69, No. 2. It is approachable for an intermediate pianist as the technical challenges are manageable, but the music just sounds deceptively easy.

We do find the gentle waltz pattern in the accompaniment, and the melody offers flowing phrases and lyrical lines. Yet, there are plenty of subtle shifts in dynamic, in delicate accents, and the rubato simply has to sound like natural breathing.

If you play this mechanically, it will immediately lose all charm. There is so much restraint and intimate tenderness that is incredibly difficult to express. While the notes might be suitable for young fingers, the emotional content certainly isn’t.

Mazurka in G minor, Op. 67, No. 2    

The Chopin Mazurkas are never really that easy to play, but technically, some are accessible to intermediate pianists. These Polish dances are at the heart of Chopin’s piano music, and they always carry a sense of melancholy and longing.

The mazurka rhythm flows gently and steadily throughout, with the lyrical melody clearly written by an expert pianist. There are no uncomfortable leaps and jumps, and no blazing runs from the top to the bottom of the keyboard. The notes can be learned.

The most challenging part of this piece is that the pianist has to shape the mood. The phrases must breathe, and the off-beat accents gently navigate you between a memory of joy and a sigh of sorrow. You won’t be successful if you only think of virtuosity and speed.   

Every aspiring pianist wants to play a Chopin Nocturne, and the C-sharp minor is probably one of his most approachable. Steady arpeggios won’t kill your hands if you know how to rotate your wrist, and the melody is one of the most natural creations ever written by Chopin.

The melody is delicately emerging over the accompaniment, and it needs very careful attention. The real difficulty comes from shaping that melody. Everything relies on expressive timing and gentle dynamic nuance. And don’t let that rubato run away with you.

There is plenty of passion in the opening section, and some real drama in the central part. Each change of harmony and turn of melody becomes a reflection or unspoken emotion that can be felt immediately.   

Since Chopin died at such an early age, a number of pieces were never prepared for publication by himself. They were discovered among his manuscripts and shared with publishers later.

One such treasure is a gentle waltz in A minor, featuring a steady accompaniment and a naturally flowing lyrical melody. This gem is entirely approachable for intermediate pianists, and it carries all the expected emotional intensity.

There is nothing dazzling in this dance. Rather, Chopin almost shyly immerses us in a melancholic quality that feels entirely personal. Since it was discovered only after Chopin’s death, it carries an extra sense of quiet mystery.

Prelude in C minor, Op. 28, No. 20    

Sometimes, the Prelude in C minor, Op. 28, No. 20 is nicknamed “Chordal Prelude.” And that pretty much describes the technical aspects. Thick chords carry the melody, and it is very manageable for intermediate pianists.

Yet, this quietly powerful miniature carries immense emotional depth. It feels like a march, maybe even a procession of memory. Emotion is contained in every single chord, and also in the silences between them.

You need more than technical proficiency to play this one. You need great sensitivity, a sense of patience, and empathy. It’s like a moment of reflection that has been suspended in time.

Bonus Time

Portrait of Frédéric Chopin by Eugène Delacroix, 1838

Here then is a little bonus selection, the famous “Raindrop” prelude. Every aspiring pianist is eager to play this little gem. And you already know about that hypnotic A-flat in the left hand.

It gets a bit stormier in the middle section, but the raindrops need to be soft and consistent. As soon as you start to force this repetition, the entire mood will be lost. Everything must sound as natural as possible.

I am sure you have already noticed the Chopin paradox in 10 of his easiest piano pieces. They are technically approachable and relatively simple, yet deeply emotional and profound. These might be playable by young fingers, but it will take an entire lifetime to probe their emotional depth.

The Year of the Fire Horse Energy and Progress

 by Hermione Lai  February 17th, 2026

I am sure you know this famous line from William Shakespeare’s historical play Richard III. During the Battle of Bosworth Field, the king desperately cries out, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse.”

It’s all about medieval warfare, and unable to flee the Tudor cavalry, he would be captured or killed very soon. No wonder he was desperate enough to hypothetically trade his crown and kingdom for a horse.

There is no such desperation in 2026, when the Horse becomes the zodiac for the Chinese New Year, running from 17 February 2026 to 5 February 2027.

Recent years of the Horse have included 2014, 2002, 1990, 1978, 1966, and 1954. And the next Horse year will be celebrated in 2038. So, let’s have a look at the 7th animal in the cycle of the Chinese zodiac signs.  

Galloping into Greatness

According to Chinese astrology, Horses are confident, agreeable, and responsible, although they also tend to dislike being reined in by others. They are fit and intelligent, adore physical and mental exertion, yet they are also easily swayed and impatient.

Even more significantly, this will be the year of the Fire Horse. This promises a year of positivity because movement is always considered good. This year is for progress, a new start, bold decisions and dramatic shifts.

It’s certainly best to ignore the curse of the Fire Horse, a superstition that holds that women born in that specific year are ill-tempered, headstrong, and fated to bring ruin to their families or cause their husbands’ deaths.   

Finance and Opportunities

In terms of career and finance, there are new opportunities waiting. That may include career shifts; however, be careful with impulsiveness or emotions taking centre stage. This is particularly true around mid-year, as mental and emotional breakdowns may present challenges.

Keep up the constant networking, acquire new skills, and effective time management is a powerful catalyst for overall success. You must be mindful of impulsive financial decisions, however. Avoid overspending on vacations, gifts for yourself and others.

Don’t borrow or lend out large sums of money, otherwise your long-term economic success will be in jeopardy. For 2026, consistent savings and long-term risk-averse investments are your ticket to wealth.   

Love and Lovers

The Year of the Fire Horse may hold surprises and excitement in the romance department. Since Horses are energetic, lively, and generous, they are certainly popular in the romance department. When it comes to love compatibility, their hot temper and stubborn nature means that they tend to gravitate towards romantic partners who are more easy-going and gentle.

Tigers and Horses are temperamental, hot-headed, and often cocky, but in the love department, they bring out the best in each other and allow the other to grow. It’s as if both the Tiger and the Horse finally have someone who can keep up with their own breakneck speed.

Dogs and Goats are also beautiful matches for the passionate Horse. However, you must stay away from the Rat and the Ox. Such relationships result in frequent conflicts that neither will bother to resolve. Horse loves freedom, which makes Ox feel insecure. What started quickly as a passionate love affair is more likely to result in a bitter breakup rather than a happy marriage.  

Wellbeing and Luck

When it comes to health, Horses are very healthy, most likely because they hold a positive attitude towards life. However, heavy responsibility or pressure from their jobs may make them weak. As such, Horses shouldn’t do overtime very often or go home late. They should also refuse some invitations to parties at night.

Lucky numbers in the Year of the Horse are 2, 3, and 7, and numbers that contain them. For your lucky colours, look towards green and yellow, and your lucky flowers are calla lily and jasmine. As for lucky directions, always head east, west, and south.

You should definitely avoid the unlucky colours of blue and white, and your unlucky numbers are 1, 5, and 6. And if you’re on the go, avoid moving north and northwest. And finally, know that you are in good company as famous people born in the Year of the Horse include Isaac Newton, Neil Armstrong, James Cameron, and Max Planck.

To all Interlude readers, we wish you a wonderful Year of the Fire Horse, Gong Hei Fat Choy!