By KONSTANTIN SOUKHOVETSKI

While mulling over possible choices for my Petschek debut program, I couldn't help but think of the works that meant a great deal to me—and of course, there were too many! But then it became clear that, for the most important performance in my career to date, I wanted every piece to send a special message, to speak in its unique terms of the time and place it comes from, and hence create a musical journey that surprises, excites, challenges, and ultimately touches the heart.

Konstantin Soukhovetski (Photo by Peter Schaaf)

I felt very strongly that the first half be Russian music, as it is my heritage that I carry very close to my heart. In Russia, my musical life began, and for 15 years or so I was defined by the Russian tradition, as it was the only way I knew music (but what a wonderful way to know music!). Growing up, I played so many wonderful Russian pieces that seem to exist only there, on the "my favorites" lists of pupils and the "to be studied over the summer" lists of teachers. No one seems to play them here—why, I don't know. Perhaps it has to do with a kind of musical nationalism or a difference of tradition and cultural sensibilities, but in Russia, kids learn to play piano largely through Russian music (with the exception of Czerny, Bach, and Beethoven, of course). At least that was my experience, and that of everyone I knew, particularly in our early years. We all wanted to play the "Appassionata" when we were 10—but first, we had to learn this piece by Alabiev, that piece by Arensky, Gedike, Scriabin, Shostakovich. It was the whole world!

It is obvious that Russian music doesn't suffer from lack of attention around the world—but some of it does, and I was compelled to play something on my upcoming program that isn't heard much today in the West, but which I have known for as long as I can remember.

Tchaikovsky's music has a unique place in the hearts and minds of Russians; it is collectively a sort of unofficial national anthem, for his name is known by all and means something to practically everybody. One of the strongest impressions made on me was by his collection of months of the year titled The Seasons. They were played by my peers, my mother, and even my grandmother (as my family are amateur musicians). Beginning my recital with selections from this work brings me back to the start of my musical life, to the works I yearned to play before I discovered Ravel, Schumann, and Rochberg.

Shostakovich's Doll's Dances are a drastically different take on the piano miniature, rather Soviet than Russian in their multilayered wittiness. One might say these are children's pieces—and indeed, they are, taking their cue from Kinderscenen and Children's Corner—but for the adults, there is a subtle humor in the almost sarcastic treatment of the Lyrical Waltz's mid-section, or a quasi-naïveté in the Romance. The music smiles at the listener out of the corner of the mouth, mocking its own simplistic disguise and delighting at getting away with it.

And then, Scriabin—an antipode to Shostakovich, with his iridescent, romantic brooding! I have loved the Third Sonata for years—a work of such bewitching beauty and power, it is no wonder that, when Scriabin performed it himself, ladies were known to faint from overexcitement. (And, in the spirit of Scriabin's beloved mystifications, there are a few connections between this work and one on the second half of the program.) Thus ends the Russian part of the evening, lingering in the dramatic storm-cloud of F-sharp minor.

Konstantin Soukhovetski: William Petschek Piano Debut Recital Alice Tully Hall Thursday, April 20, 8 p.m. For ticket information, please see the calendar.

When I first heard the haunting flow of Philip Glass's music for the film The Hours, in a darkened cinema with the image of Virginia Woolf on the screen as she was drawn to the river, I couldn't believe what emotions were stirred in me by the sheer sounds of the dark, arpeggiated G-minor chords. I instantly fell in love with the music, as it spoke volumes in such sparse terms—about the depth of human emotion, of one's life in the context of that of others, and of the hours that bring us into this existence, letting us glide along for a time and then assisting with an exit while still remaining constant, ticking away everlastingly. To me, this music has a timeless quality—whether today, two years from now, or a thousand years ago, this music would sound and feel as if it were already there to begin with. I was overjoyed to find it was published in a piano arrangement, and it was the first work I decided to put on this program.

The evening concludes with Schumann's Sonata No. 1 in F-sharp Minor, Op.11, one of my favorite works ever composed. Essentially a love letter to Clara, Schumann weaved into it all his passion, frustration, torment, fear—and above all, the obsessive love that he felt for her. The power and exultation of this music is so overwhelming that it is hard to imagine how he could have contained himself while composing it. The extremes—from hyper-passion to sublime stillness—make the emotional journey so complete that one feels as if one has lived a lifetime in half an hour! I find the directions to the second movement (Aria) one of the most exquisite manifestations of the romantic ideal of love: senza passione, ma espressivo.

I am honored to have the opportunity to play this program in one of the most marvelous halls, and for one of the best audiences in the world: a New York audience.

Konstantin Soukhovetski, an artist diploma candidate in piano, earned his master's degree from Juilliard in 2005.