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Ernest Chausson – Concerto for Violin, Piano and String Quartet

Our music for this week is the Concert for Violin, Piano and String Quartet by Ernest Chausson.

This is a bizarre piece of music. There are six instrumentalists, but it is not called a sextet. There is a solo violin part, but it is not called a concerto. It is named in the fashion of 16th-century dances, but the composer was adamant that it should not be danced to. In other words, we really aren’t sure what this piece is.

Chausson was a lawyer who also studied at the Paris Conservatory. His tragically short lifetime was packed with musical and non-musical endeavors. For instance, he spent years helping to rebuild the city of Paris in the 1850s while also managing a writers group, opening a salon, practicing law, exhibiting his art work at multiple Paris galleries, and composing music. And all this was before he age of 44, when he was killed in a bicycle accident while on vacation in the French countryside.

His compositional style is on full display in this piece. Those of you who are musicians may recognize stylistic elements similar to those of Cesar Franck, with whom Chausson happen to study with at the Paris Conservatory. Chausson, like Franck, is all about creating drama.  You will hear the thematic material being traded back and forth between the solo violin and the underlying piano part. At the same time, you will hear the string quartet building on that same theme in its own separate chromatic progression. Throughout the entire piece, Chausson continues to make references to the 16th-century dance forms that he sought to model this piece off of. The second movement, for instance, is a Baroque Sicilienne (a form of royal dance from French courts).

Chausson dedicated this piece to the famous Belgian violinist Eugene Ysaye, who gave the peace its first performance in Brussels. After the premiere, Chausson was overheard to say that the composition was an utter failure. Perhaps our taking the time to listen to it today is enough to prove him wrong.

Enjoy!

T

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Elgar – violin concerto

Our music for this week is third movement of the Elgar violin concerto, as performed by the former concertmaster of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, Joseph Silverstein. We have listened to another interpretation of the Elgar concerto before, but it was not nearly as good as this one (it was mine 😉

This performance is worth listening to because of the soloist’s ability to create a unique and memorable sound. This may sound simple, but it is the hardest thing in the world to do. Most violinists out there could play this concerto, but very few of them could make it sound as if they were improvising the notes on the spot. This performance shows an uncanny ability and an incredible giftedness that is hard to find. I want to take a few sentences to highlight some of the ways that this performer stands head and shoulders above most other performers you will hear today.

First of all, the sound is unbelievable. It has an amazing richness and fullness that is so hard to create without adding tension to the body. At the same time, however, the sound is amazingly lyrical and sensitive.

Secondly, the sounds never ends. Silverstein has mastered the art of the bow stroke to such a level that even when he is playing sharper notes or faster passages he is able to connect the sound. This is particularly effective in a romantic era composition like the Elgar concerto, because a connected sound is a more lyrical sound.

Third, Silverstein has a wonderfully smooth and continuous vibrato that sounds as natural as the human voice. Again, this is incredibly hard to do. He uses this vibrato to further create an impression that his sound never ends.

Fourth, he is technically on point. His intonation and execution are impeccable. Well those elements are not necessarily the determining factors for a great performance, his combination of perfect execution and a seemingly endless sound makes his performance all the more impressive.

Fifth and finally, you’ll notice that he is not throwing himself all over the stage like many of today’s musicians do. He has the maturity, composure, and concentration to let the music speak for itself without interposing a gymnastics performance on the audience as a compensation prize. Any musician who moves in that manner is compensating for something that he or she does not have. Silverstein, however, is as close to a complete mastery of the violin as I have ever seen.

Enjoy!

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Richter #4

 

Our music for this week is a performance of 2 preludes by Shostakovich with Sviatoslav Richter at the keyboard. The first is the A Major Prelude and the second is the A Minor Prelude. This recording was made in 1956.

I wanted to leave this for our last email on Richter because Shostakovich was Richter’s personal favorite. He performed one of Shostakovich’s preludes at almost everyone of his recitals.

There are 24 preludes, one for each of the major and minor keys of the chromatic scale (a scale that ascends by half-steps, not whole-steps). Every one of them has two parts – a prelude and a fugue. Each fugue has between two and five voices interweaving with each other. They proceed in relative major/minor pairs; for instance, C major and A minor go together, G major and E minor go together, etc. It is widely believed that the inspiration for these preludes comes from J.S. Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier, which also revolves around the circle of fifths. Shostakovich appears to reference Bach at multiple points through the preludes. For instance, he opens several of the preludes with the exact same notes that Bach uses in his preludes. You will hear in the A Minor fugue (the second piece) that the fugue has an almost identical opening theme to Bach’s A minor fugue. The A minor prelude is also written so that the pianist never leaves the hand position he starts in – this is also something Bach commonly did.

The inspiration for these preludes is worth mentioning. Shostakovich was a devoted member of the ruling Soviet Party, so – unlike Richter – he was treated with respect and admiration by the government. Shostakovich was sent abroad for ambassdor-type missions while Richter wasn’t allowed to leave Moscow. On one of these trips, he judged a Bach competition in Leipzig and listened, over the course of the few days of performances, to many renditions of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. This inspired him to write his 24 preludes.

The first piece (A major) is a three-voice fugue. Listen for a bass, a tenor, and a soprano voice. All three of them get their moment to shine, but listen for an abrupt shift to the bass voice right after the climax of the movement – this is his way of highlighted the oft-ignored pedal tone.

The second piece (A minor) is so similar to Bach’s style that it is hard to believe it was written by a 20th-century Russian. It is completely melodic – in other words, there are no dissonances whatsoever.

Enjoy!

 

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Richter #3

Hello all,

Our music for this week is the Piano Sonata No. 2 in D Minor by Sergei Prokofiev, performed by Sviatoslav Richter.

Unlike many other musicians (we won’t mention any names…such as Joshua Bell or Sarah Chang), Richter did not rest on his laurels. Instead, he worked constantly to expand his repertoire and learn new music. Almost every one of his performances included a recent composition by one of his fellow Russians – Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Stravinsky, and others. Over time, these contemporary Russian works became his signature.

One of the most incredible stories of Richter stems from his voracious appetite for new music and concerns the seventh piano sonata by Prokofiev. Prokofiev dedicated the sonata to Richter and asked him to premiere it. Richter agreed, and Prokofiev very reasonably assumed that the concert would be in several months. However, Richter confidently stated that he would play the entire thing from memory at his next recital in three days’ time. Not only did he successfully premier the work, but Prokofiev was heard to have wondered at how Richter’s interpretation of his music was better than his own!

This sonata was Prokofiev’s first experiment in what would become his very distinctive compositional style. Many of Prokofiev’s earlier compositions contain noticeable Romantic-era structures, but in his second Piano Sonata, Prokofiev began to leave those conventions behind and focus on the very unique harmonic sense that he is now known for. The brief first movement contains two themes. The first one should be easy to pick out, since it occurs at the very start of the piece and descends to a crashing halt. The second theme mimics the descending nature of the first theme but is more ethereal and less imposing. The third movement is the highlight of the piece. Dark, sombre, pulsating lines in the left hand coincide with a wandering line in the right hand as we hear the harmonic genius of Prokofiev come to life. Richter does a masterful job of creating long lines and phrases despite the disjointed nature of the notes. The phrasing feels so natural that we accept it immediately, but we must be careful not to take this for granted. The skill and emotional intelligence that it takes to create such natural phrasing amidst such difficult music is something that select few people have ever been able to do, and Richter is undeniably one of those few.

Enjoy!

 

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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!
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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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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!