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Richter #2

Hello all,

Our music for this week is a performance by Sviatoslav Richter of the Nocturne in F Major by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky.

This Nocturne comes from a set of two larger books of songs that Tchaikovsky wrote while on vacation in Nice, France in the summer of 1872. This particular song is paired with a Humoresque that Tchaikovsky dashed off after hearing an amusing French dance in the marketplace near his lodgings. We do not, however, know much about the Nocturne other than that it is dedicated to Tchaikovsky’s good friend, Vladimir Shilovsky. Shilovsky was an amateur singer, songwriter, poet, composer, and artist who came to study at the Moscow Conservatory under Tchaikovsky’s guidance.

As we saw last week, Richter was particularly well known for his command of a vast repertoire and his incredible ability to create colors and emotions on the keyboard. In addition to these things, however, he was also renowned for his interpretations of specific composers’ music. For instance, his recording of the Beethoven piano sonatas is widely regarded as the best recording ever made of those works. (We’ll hear some of these sonatas in the weeks to come). Along with Beethoven, he was a specialist in the music of his fellow Russians – Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Tchaikovsky, and others. This recording is therefore an excellent example of Richter’s on-stage interpretive capabilities at their fullest expression.

It is amazing that such a simple Nocturne can become such a captivating and powerful story in Richter’s hands. I think we underestimate how hard that is to do. As with anything in life, it is easy to go on “auto-pilot” when the task at hand is relatively easy. Musicians certainly do this, relaxing when playing easier Mozart tunes and pouring all their energy into the complicated romantic-era works. However, Richter’s ability to draw the listener in with even a simple melody is evidence of his incredible power of concentration and devotion to every single note. If you listen carefully, you’ll hear that he puts emphases on certain notes that he wants the listener to remember, and more often than not, those notes are the key harmonic guideposts for the piece as a whole.

Enjoy!

 

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Richter #1

Hello all,

Our music this week is the Sonata in B Minor for solo piano by Franz Lizst. This week is also the beginning of a new series, but, rather than focus on a particular composer, we’re going to focus in on a specific musician, Sviatoslav Richter. This obscure sonata is delightful piece to listen to, but this first email will be devoted to giving you all a bit of background on Richter.

Born in what is now Ukraine, Richter is in the conversation for “greatest pianist of all time.” His astounding musical genius was apparent the age of twelve, when, even though he had never taken a piano lesson, he became the conductor and pianist for a local opera company. Although his lack of formal training initially held him back (he was not admitted to the Moscow Conservatory at the age of thirteen because he was not technically proficient enough), a few years of studying with Heinrich Neuhaus brought him onto the world competition stage. Neuhaus was heard to have said that he had waited all his life for the chance to each a musical genius like that of Richter’s. A stroke of good luck came his way when Richter met Sergei Prokofiev and was given the opportunity to premier Prokofiev’s sixth piano sonata. This performance rocketed him into international fame, and word spread far and wide of his prowess at the keyboard. He soon afterwards won the prestigious Stalin Prize, which led to concert tours across Europe.

Richter was restricted from traveling to America for many years because he refused to align himself with the U.S.S.R.’s ideology. As a result, Americans only knew of Richter through recordings of his concerts. He became known as “The Enigma” because of the air of mystery that surrounded his name, as well as his astonishing technical abilities and the powerful range of emotional qualities that he could create on the keyboard. When he was finally allowed to travel to the United States, Carnegie Hall immediately booked his first five concerts and, within three hours, was sold out. He was an immediate sensation.

In many ways, Sviatoslav Richter truly was an enigma. He was reclusive, he hated crowds, he was socially awkward, and he preferred to practice in almost complete darkness. He despised recordings, and it is widely agreed that the only good recordings of Richter are the ones that were made when he was not aware of it (i.e., recordings made during live performances, such as this one). He was almost completely silent at all times, but when talking with close friends he was rumored to be hysterically funny. He had freakishly large hands, capable of stretching over a twelfth on the keyboard (for reference, an average human is lucky to span an octave, or eight notes), that he never knew what to do with and was always trying to hide in his coat pockets. He drank heavily but never seemed to suffer any ill effects. His best friend for most of his life was a soprano named Nina Dorliak, but they never married and had a strained friendship at times. Throughout all of this, he remained a strong and quiet voice of political resistance against the U.S.S.R. When he died in 1997, he was found at the keyboard, with the music open to the sonata that he was practicing for his next recital and his hands still on the keys.

More to come from the great Richter next week!

Enjoy!

 

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Triple Concerto

Hello all,

Our music for this week is the Triple Concerto by Beethoven.

You will notice that the recording is from 1970. I am sure that there are many other excellent recordings out there, but this one is head-and-shoulders above the rest because of the musicians involved. David Oistrakh (violin), Mitslav Rostropovich (cello), and Satislav Richter (piano) are three of the best musicians to ever live, and the ability to hear them in their prime is much better than a more recent recording with lesser musicians. This performance was in the Great Tchaikovsky Hall at the Moscow Conservatory, where all three of them studied.

This concerto is rarely played or heard. Part of the reason for that might be relatively unimpressive piano part. Beethoven intentionally made the piano part much simpler because he was writing it for his patron the Archduke Rudolf, who was not a particularly excellent pianist. Beethoven clearly wanted to avoid the embarrassing possibility of writing something that his patron could not play. The violin and cello parts, however, are quite challenging.

Another reason that this concerto is not often played is the clearly inferior thematic material it contains, particularly when compared to his famous 9th Symphony or his magnificent violin concerto. The themes are hard to decipher, and when they can be identified, they tend to wander. The first movement is often criticized because the listener tends to leave the movement wondering what exactly the main melody of the movement was.

However, despite these weaknesses, the Triple Concerto has several things to offer us. First of all, the instrumentation is unique – it is a solo concerto, but the solo part is played by three instruments, rather than one. There are also a number of delightful conversations between each of the soloists and the orchestra. In addition, it is quite impressive that Beethoven was able to maintain his masterful interplay between soloist and orchestra even when dealing with three separate solo parts. I believe that the second movement is the true strength of the work. Listen for the poetic opening line in the cello, and notice how the violin and cello spend most of the movement in a conversation based on that theme. The piano, as expected, maintains a background role in the second movement, and some critics argue that the second movement is the best because it basically eliminates the piano part. The third movement is notable for one unique episode in the middle of it. Right around 27:56, there is a random Polonaise (a Polish dance form). Why Beethoven felt the need to insert this strange addition into the music, we’ll never know.

Enjoy!

 

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Chopin Ballades #2

Hello all,

Today we wrap up our series on Chopin’s Ballades for solo piano with a wonderful performance by Krystian Zimmerman.
This Ballade was apparently inspired by the poem The Three Budrys by Adam Mickiewicz, but the poem isn’t about anything in particular so it is hard to say exactly what Chopin was thinking. However, his interpretive motivations did not stop him from connecting this Ballade to the previous three in a few important ways. For instance, you may hear near the end of the piece a refrain from the first Ballade. You may also notice that, like the three prior Ballades, this one is written in 6/8 time and has the same dancing, lilting feel to it. You may also note that it is in sonata form (opening, development, recapitulation), like the prior three Ballades. Finally, like the other three Ballades, the melody of this Ballade takes a few bars to truly open up. Rather than diving right into the main theme, Chopin starts with hesitation and takes his time developing the opening theme.
One of the most interesting ways to listen to this piece is to think of it in layers of complexity. For instance, notice how (at around the 1:30 mark) the music gets just ever so slightly more dense. Then, at the 3:30 mark, a third layer is added. At the 6-minute mark, Chopin adds yet another set of twists and turns to the music (for you harmony nerds out there, he does this by returning to the subdominant while also adding an amazing layer of fourths in the right hand). By the time we reach the end of the piece, we have experienced the growth of the melody from simplicity to complexity.
I hope you have enjoyed this journey through the mind of the greatest pianist of all time. Let me know if you have any requests for future series!
Enjoy!
Posted on by tjphilbrick

Chopin Ballades #1

This week we begin a new series on the Ballades for piano by Frederic Chopin.

Chopin’s four Ballades for solo piano are some of the difficult pieces in the piano repertoire. As their name suggests, they are meant to evoke an almost medieval story-telling atmosphere. They are unique in that they don’t fit into any of the common musical formats that we tend to associate with solo piano music. For instance, they don’t have the structure of a sonata but they also lack the characteristics of a caprice.

The first Ballade was written in 1831, and it is said that, at the time, he viewed it as his best composition. This sentiment was shared by the great pianist and composer Robert Schumann, who simply told Chopin that it was the closest thing he had ever heard to  pure genius. You will hear two primary themes in the music. The first comes within the first minute of the piece, directly after the introductory material that lasts only a few bars. This theme is more serene and lyrical, although when it is recapped later in the piece Chopin utilizes more of the keyboard to lend it some additional power. You will hear the second theme arrive around the six-minute mark of the video above. This second theme enters with an additional level of grandeur and nobility. Around 7:50, you will hear the beginning of the Coda, which is the final flourish of the Ballade. Chopin uses this “race to the finish” to provide a dramatic ending to the piece.

Enjoy!

 

T

 

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Is that really Prokofiev?

Hello all,

Our music for today is the Symphony No. 1 by Prokofiev, known by most musicians as his “Classical” Symphony.

As you can tell by the number of the symphony, this was Prokofiev’s first foray into the world of symphonic music. Unlike what one might expect from Prokofiev given his largely avant-garde tendencies, this symphony is a homage to the great composers of the classical period (Handel, Haydn, Mozart, etc.). The most obvious giveaway is the very classical-sounding melodies that the symphony exhibits. However, Prokofiev took additional pains to make sure this symphony reflected the classical period. For instance, he included a Gavotte as one of the movements, which was a musical style that had long been forgotten about once the 1920’s rolled around. The symphony is written in the typical Classical-era fashion, with a slow movement anchoring in the middle point of the symphony. Furthermore, the symphony is written for a surprisingly small orchestra, which is yet another reflection of a Haydn-era performance.

Despite these Classical pretensions, Prokofiev couldn’t resist incorporating a few of his own touches into the symphony. You’ll occasionally hear some dissonance that reminds you of the music that we usually associate with Prokofiev, and I like to think of those moments as his reminder to the listener to keep in mind that he is still Prokofiev 🙂

Enjoy!

Posted on by tjphilbrick

Brahms – Sextet in B-flat major

Hello all,

Our music for this week is the Sextet in B-flat major by Johannes Brahms.

There are very few string sextets in existence. Schubert and Bocherinni are two of the composers who have written sextets, but Brahms’ B-flat sextet is considered the leading work in this relatively niche field. Many musicians consider this to be rather ironic since, as a pianist, Brahms struggled tremendously when writing for stringed instruments. His genius at the keyboard somehow didn’t entirely translate over to his compositions for strings despite his close friendship with the legendary violinist Joseph Joachim. Nonetheless, he wanted to compose a string sextet in honor of his dear friend Robert Schumann and, in particular, he wanted to explore the strengths of the deeper stringed instruments – the viola and the cello. It is therefore no surprise that the opening melody of the piece is played by the cello and the opening melody of the second movement’s variations scheme is introduced by the viola.

The sextet has four movements: Allegro, Andante, Scherzo, and Rondo. Listen for themes that get repeated throughout the work. For instance, you’ll hear the main melody of the first movement being recycled in the fourth movement at different points. You might also listen for the portions of this theme that Brahms sprinkles throughout all four movements. You will never hear the theme in its entirety, but you may – if you listen closely – have a deja vu moment once in a while.

Enjoy!

 

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Borodin: An Introduction

Hello all,

Our music for this week is the Borodin String Quartet No. 2 in D Minor.

(this is a link to just the first movement).

You are probably familiar with Borodin for his famous orchestral composition “In the Steppes of Central Asia.” Unfortunately, this seems to be his only well-known work despite his production of numerous other beautiful pieces of music.

Borodin wrote the following string quartet as a love letter to his wife Ekaterina on the 20th anniversary of their marriage. He represents himself in the cello line (he was, unlike many of the other composers we have listened to, not a child prodigy and would often make jokes about how terrible of a cello player he was). His wife is represented in the first violin line, which carries the majority of the melodic material. The first movement is blissful, charming, and representative of a deepening love over the decades. You will hear the cello and the first violin carrying on a sort of dialogue throughout the first movement in particular. Borodin shirks the tradition of having a slow second movement and follows the opening movement with a lively Scherzo, in which he pairs two dances – a Gavotte and a Waltz – in a relaxed romp through sonata form. Listen for these two different dances and the two themes that they represent – Borodin intended for them to reflect the personalities of himself and his wife. The third movement, the Nocturne, is the most famous portion of the quartet. It is the essence of the love letter and features a tender conversation between Borodin and Ekaterina over a glowing layer of accompaniment by the second violin and viola. It is a melody that is hard to forget. In fact, the Nocturne was used as the foundational melody for the song “And This is My Beloved” from the 1953 Broadway musical Kismet. The ending movement, a Vivace, simply provides a light-hearted ending to the quartet despite the fact that most listeners would probably have been very happy to have the Nocturne continue for as long as possible.

Enjoy!

 

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Arthur Rubinstein at the keyboard

Our music for this week is the Piano Concerto No. 2 by Camille Saint Saens, performed by the great Arthur Rubinstein.

Saint-Saens is a bit of an anomaly. He lived during the era of Debussy and Stravinsky, but he scorned their modern pretensions and composed music that harkened back to the golden era of Romantic music. This piano concerto is perhaps the pinnacle of his pompous style, as it incorporates the compositional styles of his contemporaries but only enough to overshadow them with the Romantic grandeur of Saint-Saens’ preferred style.

The story of its composition is astounding. The renowned Russian pianist Anton Rubinstein (not to be confused with the above-mentioned Arthur Rubenstein) came to Paris to visit Saint-Saens and decided that he wanted to learn how to conduct. Saint-Saens obligingly lent him the baton for a concert, and the pianist was so thrilled by the experience that he asked Saint-Saens to compose and play a piano concerto while he (Rubinstein) conducted the orchestra. Although there were only two weeks until Rubinstein left town, Saint-Saens managed to create, master, and perform this concerto in just 10 short days.

You will recognize the format of this work – three movements with alternating tempos, ending with a faster movement. However, unlike most concerti, the first movement is not an exposition of virtuosity but rather a slow, pensive contemplation. The opening of the concerto is striking because it is colored by a flourishing cadenza, but the main theme carries a much more sombre tone. As a joke toward one of his disdained colleagues, Saint-Saens based the main melody of the first movement on a nursery rhyme written by Gabriel Faure for his nieces to use while learning to play piano. Saint-Saens takes this simple tune and shatters it into a myriad of colors and textures that Rubenstein does a marvelous job of interpreting. Interestingly, the work both begins AND ends with a cadenza, which is a soloistic demand not usually placed on performers.

 

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A Virtuoso

Our music for this week is “Nel cor pui non mi sento” form Giovanni Paisello’s opera “La Molinara,” or “The Miller-Woman.” However, instead of being performed in an operatic format, we’ll be hearing it playing in a transcription for solo violin by the Russian legend Leonid Kogan.

There isn’t much to say about the music. It simply takes the primary themes of the opera and piles them high with tricks for the violinist to utilize in his or her attempt to dazzle the audience. Sarasate, the great 19th-century Spaniard who supposedly mastered all of Paganini’s caprices by the age of 12, did this quite often. For instance, he took all of the famous themes from the most famous opera of his time (Carmen), transcribed them for violin, then stuffed it to the gills with nearly impossible tricks for the violinist to (hopefully) master.

Leonid Kogan, however, deserves significant mention. He was born into a poor Ukranian family who recognized his enormous musical potential and moved to Moscow in order for him to study with the famous pedagogy Abram Yampolsky. After playing for the French virtuoso Jacques Thibaud, Kogan broke onto the world scene when he won the Queen Elizabeth Competition in Brussels. However, Kogan’s success was sadly short-lived. The Soviet government had already found its favorite musician in the legendary violinist David Oistrakh, and it endlessly promoted and favored his (admittedly tremendous) talents. This led to an over-shadowing of Kogan’s entire career; his musical gifts were never recognized by his own country. For instance, he was never able to own a Stradavarious violin as he so desperately wanted to. Instead, he had no choice but to use the Guarneri violins that the Soviet government loaned him. Despite these difficulties, he was awarded some of the highest musical honors in the world throughout his lifetime and performed up until the day he died. (This is, believe it or not, not a joke – he performed the Beethoven concerto in Vienna at 7pm on December 17, 1982 and passed away in his sleep later that night).

Enjoy!