Esmond Choi. Maria Zhdanovich. Nexus Arts. 24 Apr 2026
Austin Engelhardt is not easily categorised. A contemporary composer, improviser, and visual artist who only began reading music at 20, he arrived at composition with an adult’s conceptual liberation rather than the indoctrinated habits from formal musical training commencing in childhood. That liberation is audible in his work: his graphic scores resist conventional hierarchy—melody, harmony, accompaniment—in favour of gesture, density, and spatial thinking. Yet Engelhardt is not a naïve musical outsider—he is seriously educated and is currently working towards a Doctor of Musical Arts at the University of South Carolina, studying with composer David Kirkland Garner (who has been commissioned by the Kronos Quartet and other significant ensembles).
Esmond Choi is a seriously fine Elder Conservatorium trained pianist and emerging composer in his own right, and in his introductory remarks from the stage, he noted that he met Engelhardt at a social gathering whilst recently on study in Boston, USA. Choi and Engelhardt quickly recognised a shared curiosity and agreed to collaborate, and tonight’s concert of Book 1 of Engelhardt’s Graphic Scores is the result. It is part of Choi’s Adventurous Project!
Joining Choi on stage is flutist and sonic artist Maria Zhdanovich, who is currently studying at the Australian National Academy of Music (ANAM) and, like Choi, is adept at bridging Western art music and experimental practice.
So, what’s a graphic score? Simply put, it replaces traditional notation with visual symbols—lines, shapes, textures—that function less as instructions and more as provocations. From a technical standpoint, this shifts the performer’s role from interpreter to co-composer: decisions about pitch, tempo, articulation, and timbral development are made in real time. The result is music that is inherently non-repeatable. Even the same performers, revisiting the same image, would generate entirely different outcomes. This is not variation—it is re-creation.
Choi, better known for his refined pianism, performs here on synthesiser, constructing evolving sound masses rather than discrete melodic lines. His approach often avoids tonal centres, and instead favours sustained drones, microtonal inflections, and subtle spectral shifts. Zhdanovich responds with an extended flute technique palette: breath tones, multiphonics, and pitch bending. Between them there is a dynamic interplay between acoustic and electronic spectra.
The visual component is inseparable from the musical one. Against stark white lighting, the performers’ silhouettes are projected alongside Engelhardt’s black-and-white images. The aesthetic evokes an extreme chiaroscuro, reinforcing the binary tension between structure and freedom. One early image—a swirling form intersecting perpendicular staves—suggests a collision between traditional linear notation and gestural flow. The staffs are a nod to musical formalism, but the swirl draws you into an unfamiliar sonic world Musically, this manifests as a low, centreless synth drone over which the flute traces slowly morphing contours.
Zhdanovich then presses a button on the nearby computer and a new image appears—a “blob” on a staff, dripping stalactite-like forms, and the sonic language thickens in response. Texture becomes all important, and strained glissandi, unstable harmonics, and shifting noise components create a sense of suspended time. Rhythm, in the conventional sense, dissolves and time becomes meaningless.
A striking moment occurs with the projection of the image of a raised human hand. Unlike the abstract forms preceding it, this image introduces an unmistakable human element. The performers respond with a fleeting gravitation toward tonality before the music recedes again into ambiguity. It is a reminder that even within experimental frameworks, tonal reference remains a powerful expressive tool when used sparingly. Provocatively, the image appears on the front page of the printed concert program: it almost demands the audience to stop, and abandon any preconceptions and expectations.
For the audience—an eclectic mix spanning seasoned classical listeners to those more attuned to contemporary and “lighter” genres—the experience is deeply immersive. One might describe it, as an audience member did, as a “sophisticated jam session,” but that risks underselling the level of listening and responsiveness, and structural awareness required.
This is improvisation informed by compositional thinking at every moment.
Crucially, the appeal of this performance cuts across musical boundaries. Those accustomed to classical concert traditions will recognise the discipline, control, and the musical awareness of Choi and Zhdanovich. Listeners drawn to more modern or experimental sounds will find immediacy, unpredictability, and a visceral engagement with sound itself. The absence of fixed form becomes an invitation rather than a barrier.
At the close, Choi remarked that “we classical musicians should do this more often.” Judging by the audience’s response, that sentiment resonated widely. Performances like this challenge our listening habits while remaining grounded in musicianship of the highest order.
Choi returns with Book 2 on 1 May, again at Nexus Arts, this time at the piano and joined by saxophonist Derek Pascoe. If Book 1 is any indication, it will not simply be another concert, but another unrepeatable event—music that exists only in the moment of its making, never to be heard in quite the same way again.
Tickets can be purchased online from the Recitals Australia website, or at the door, but numbers are limited. Book 2 will be another unique experience.
Kym Clayton
When: 24 April and 1 May
Where: Nexus Arts
Bookings: esmondchoi.com
