Pianoroll

The life and music of the great Czech composer Leoš Janáček (1854-1928) are filled with tragedy, despair, and sadness. Nevertheless, he always finds a way to inject some kind of humor in his music, and if not humor, his music has a sense of “contentment.” That contentment is present at the end of the Sinfonietta, at the end of the first movement of the violin sonata, and at the end of the second string quartet “Intimate Letters,” the last piece he completed before he died, in 1928. These three pieces end on the same chord, D flat major (in the case of the violin sonata it forms a beautiful dissonance with E flat), Janáček’s favorite chord. In moments of despair (not only at the end of a piece), Janáček turns to D flat major to calm down, achieve comfort, and to please himself and the audience.

Here’s an example from the middle of the second movement of Janáček’s violin sonata. The movement is in E major.

The characteristics of the melody in D flat major (starting from the second bar) are peace, contentment, ease, and good temper. Shortly before the D flat major of contentment, this is what Janáček wrote:

Notice the harmony in the third and fourth bars. These are harmonies of discontent, frustration, despair… but eventually Janáček finds his way to peace in D flat major.

In this example from the violin sonata Janáček uses D flat major without any dissonances. At the end of the first movement, that is how Janáček finds contentment:

This time Janáček uses an E-flat dissonance. He obviously liked this combination because he used it elsewhere, as for example in the last movement of the Sinfonietta and in the last movement of the second string quartet, “Intimate Letters”). In these seven bars, the D flat major chord appears in bars 3, 4, and 7. Notice how before every one of these bars you can feel the despair in the music, especially in bars 1-2. The despair is manifest also in the harsh, percussive-like (perhaps Bartók-like) sound, which is resolved by the violin on its warmest string, the G-string.

One of Janáček’s most famous works, the Sinfonietta, also ends in D flat major. There is a link below to a performance by Pierre Boulez, which I like very much and I reference in the following discussion. It is the fifth movement, which begins in E flat minor, a key that is also significant in Janáček’s music, being the opposite of D flat major: a key of despair, doubt, and sadness, as reflected in the beginnings of both movements of the piano sonata “I. X. 1905,” a sonata of death and mourning. The beginning of the Sinfonietta’s finale also marks the beginning of doubt and sentimentality. Janáček uses extensively the clarinet and flute sections, in dialogue with each other. At 4:55 there is a direct quote from the beginning, the Fanfare. At 5:32 Janáček goes to the key of D flat minor, perhaps signaling the D flat major of hope. After visiting various keys, notably G flat major and A flat major, Janáček reaches the desired destination of D flat major at 6:24, although he doesn’t use a “clean” chord as in the second movement violin sonata, but mixes it with beautiful dissonances, notably G flat and E flat (as in the first movement of the violin sonata). Although the E flat dissonance appears frequently in final D flat major chords, Janáček ends the Sinfonietta in a “clean” D flat major chord that begins with the full orchestra and is held by the winds and the brass.

The last movement of Janáček’s last work, the second String Quartet, “Intimate Letters,” begins as a folksy dance in A flat minor, a key without a specific meaning for Janáček, as opposed to D flat major or E flat minor. The movement begins highly tonally but becomes very dissonant and intensive, with highly dissonant sections verging on atonality, such as this one:

The first occurrence of D flat major in this movement is not as a resolution or a sign of contentment but more as a gesture of hope, a highly artistic gesture that takes advantage of the rich sound of the string quartet:

These are the final twelve bars of this string quartet. The D flat major appears in bar 4, and as you can see, it isn’t a clean D flat major. Janáček decides to end his final work on a dissonance, D flat major with the dissonance of a half-tone, trilled E flat.

Below are links to performances of the pieces I mentioned:

Violin Sonata, first movement, performed by Josef Suk and Jan Paneka: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vyy1-EqmpLg

Violin Sonata, second movement, performed by Josef Suk and Jan Paneka: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eCzLDoYKpJw&feature=related

Sinfonietta, fifth movement, performed by Pierre Boulez conducting the BBC Symphony Orchestra:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5QBSMjdIFI

Piano Sonata “I. X. 1905,” first movement performed by myself (there is a better interpretation by Nikolai Lugansky, but unfortunately it is not available on YT): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_uLCUW_1no

Piano Sonata “I. X. 1905,” second movement performed by myself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLMVll8gtWQ&feature=related

String Quartet No. 2, “Intimate Letters,” fourth movement performed by the Alban Berg Quartet:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0_fAN3gT5E

I find Chopin’s Scherzo No. 3 Op. 39 to be unique among the four that he wrote. There is a “motif” that repeats throughout the scherzo, which I call the orchestral motif.

Not only are the two phrases divided, the two parts of the phrase are “played by different instruments.” If this were an orchestral piece, the beginnings of the phrases would be played by a certain group of instruments, and the extensions would be played by a different group. This is the “orchestral effect,” and it shows up often in the scherzo, especially in parts that are not so “pianistic.” This is what makes this scherzo so unique. The other three scherzos, especially the first, are very pianistic, and they display a great amount of virtuosity, as does the third. But the third, with all its virtuosity (Arthur Rubinstein said that it took more energy out of him than any other piece, and he played Brahms’ Second Concerto and Liszt’s First), is much more orchestral and in my opinion, and it is the deepest of the four. In every section of this piece, this motif is repeated.

After the introduction, Chopin exposes the first (and main) theme of the piece, beginning from the Risoluto.

This is one of the clearest examples of the orchestration of this piece (although Chopin was not the greatest orchestrator…) The Risoluto begins with the tutti, until the long G# tenuto. After that, it is a clear solo (perhaps a bassoon or another wind instrument). After the short solo, there is another explosive tutti. All of these “split personalities” that appear in the scherzo are very difficult to bring out, and I find it lacking in most of the performances (Argerich, Pogorelich, Pollini, Ashkenazy, and even Horowitz). What I’m looking for in a performance of this scherzo is a distinct difference between the Risoluto and the three-bar solo that comes after it. After the role-playing of the beginning, Chopin develops the first theme, starting at the last bar of the first line.

Although there is no real orchestral role-playing here, I’m still inclined to think that this is less pianistic than Chopin’s other scherzos. Because of the orchestration, I find this piece very colorful, and this is what I’m looking for in a performance. As it happens, most performances do not bring out the color and the excitement of this piece. I find most performances very “scientific.” Moreover, many performers forget the meaning of the word “scherzo” when they play this piece. Scherzo, after all, is a joke, something humorous.

This scherzo is also the most dramatic of the four. The other scherzos, at the beginning, go straight to the theme. This scherzo doesn’t. There is a sense of insecurity, of lack of confidence before the scherzo really “begins” and the festive atmosphere to the piece takes over.

After the rhythmic first theme, Chopin introduces a lyrical section. I find this section the most orchestral of all.

Here the distinction is even clearer than before. The phrases are divided into groups or four bars. For example, the first four bars are played by strings, and they hold their last note while a harp plays a fast descending passage (This section reminds me of Rachmaninov).

Chopin finishes the melody in this pattern, then expands it in a late romantic (Wagner/Brahms/Rachmaninov) style.

Notice that the harp line always remains, while the other lines constantly change in this section. Chopin literally repeats the section twice, but with a change in texture and orchestration. This is where the orchestral motif comes in. Additionally, the soaring melody is followed by a disconnected, mysterious, and even unmelodic connecting line.

Finally, comes the part that I see as purely pianistic.

After this part, Chopin repeats the lyrical section and prepares the rhythmic first section in a most beautiful way that reminds me of a professionally filmed movie, with mastered fadeouts and transitions. Chopin combines the lyrical middle section with the rhythmic, assertive first section in an amazingly smooth way, but not in a kitschy way or in bad taste. Everything is in the right proportion, at the right time. As the recently heard subject of the lyrical theme dissolves, the first theme approaches. This is one of the most difficult places in the scherzo to perform, and many people fail to bring out the first theme while fading out the lyrical theme. Suddenly the lyrical theme appears, but not in D flat major but in E major.

This is another moment of insecurity, like in the beginning. And shortly after the presentation of the lyrical subject in E major, Chopin “restarts” the process of bringing back the first theme. This is also part of the “joke,” of the humor that is present in this piece.

Once again, Chopin perfectly combines the lyrical subject and the energetic, virtuosic motif. The right hand is lyrical while the left hand is energetic and virtuosic, a true split personality.

Chopin builds a massive crescendo and lightly hints at the first theme (using octaves), but without repeating it. Instead, he finishes with a highly virtuosic and pianistic coda.

The “orchestral effect” doesn’t appear any more in the form in which it appeared before. From here on, Chopin returns to his standard pianistic style of writing. This is why I find this scherzo so unique, especially in its middle lyrical section, when the “orchestral effect” appears.

Performances

There are many performances of this scherzo that I don’t like, including those of Ashkenazy, Argerich, Pollini, and Horowitz. My favorite performance is by the great Chopin interpreter Arthur Rubinstein. Not only does the orchestral effect come out so well, but this is the most “romantic” one of the performances I have heard. The romantic phrasing and sound make it for me the ideal performance of this scherzo.

To be played freely or not?

The fourth (and final) movement of Leoš Janáček’s beautiful Violin Sonata (written in 1914, first performed in 1922) is a slow movement (Adagio). However, frequently, when performed, it doesn’t give the impression of a slow movement but of a very energetic one, and if played well, it gives the impression of a continuation of the scherzo-like, folksy third movement. This is the end of the third movement:

And this is the beginning of the fourth:

The fourth movement, as I see it, should be played with a lot of rubato, and should give the sense of a “free” movement. I see the complicated rhythmic patterns as an expressive tool, not as a metronomic one (as in Chopin and Beethoven, when a lot of notes are crammed into one or two beats, they shouldn’t be played metronomically). Consider this bar:

Although the 32nd notes fit perfectly into 6/8, I think it is more of a gesture of freedom, invoking a Gregorian/religious atmosphere. Generally, in Janáček’s music the emotional atmosphere is more important than the metronomic rhythmic presence. First comes the imagery (impressionism), and then the analysis. (The same is true of impressionist composers like Debussy and Ravel, where a lot of the music-making is in the imagery and in the atmosphere. When playing composers of the Brahms/Wagner type, the rhythmic presence plays a greater role in the music-making than it does in the non-aligned, impressionist composers). The piano solo that comes shortly after this bar must be played in time – there isn’t any other way to play it. It is a continuation/contrast to the bar that came before the piano solo (played only by the violin, and in the same format as the bar above). After a 12-bar piano solo, Janáček introduces a new section.

This section is provides a high contrast to the previous ones. It is in 2/4 time, and the violin plays a clear rhythmic pattern of 16th notes. Although I keep repeating that this movement should be played freely, these 12 bars must be played in time, to contrast with the previous free section and to lead into the next section, especially the next bar. I see these 12 bars as a gap in the flow of the music, something that the audience (especially people who are hearing this sonata the first time) doesn’t expect to hear. So when I’ll play this sonata (I hope soon…), to strengthen the rubato atmosphere of the final movement I’ll play these 12 bars in time. Janáček continues with one connecting bar, then goes on to a different section (beginning with the Poco più mosso).

The transition between the two sections is very “rough” and untraditional. Normally, composers develop more the transition, giving it more time and making sure that there is a “flow” between the sections. Janáček, however, decides to go straight to the next section (which is the build-up to the climax of the sonata) and leave it as is, sort of a “collage.” Note that this is typical of Janáček. He does the same in his piano sonata (I. X. 1905), in the symphonic poem Taras Bulba, and in the opera Jenůfa… This is one of the characteristics that make Janáček’s music so unique and so recognizable. Janáček uses a certain pattern, a certain motif, to bring us to the climax of the sonata. He repeats this pattern many times, so that the transition to the climax is obvious. The build-up to the climax begins as follows:

The climax:

In a way, Janáček returns to the first movement (Con moto), using tremolos and an energetic atmosphere. The first movement begins with:

After the stormy, energetic climax, the sonata winds down and returns to the opening theme of the fourth movement and to the first motif played by the violin. The sonata closes quietly.

Notice that the opening theme of the final movement is the same theme of the climax.

Performances
This is one of Janáček’s best known pieces, so there are many performances of it. The one I like best is by Vadim Repin and Nikolai Lugansky (especially the final movement). I like other performances by Suk (who died recently) and Kremer (although I generally find him too aggressive for this piece). Vadim Repin and Nikolai Lugansky recorded this sonata on their new disc, which also contains two other beautiful violin sonatas, Grieg’s second violin sonata and Franck’s violin sonata. I strongly recommend getting it.

The book “Alfred Brendel about Music” is a collection of thirty-seven essays by Brendel, and three interviews with him.

Brendel, widely considered a Schubertist, also writes a lot about Liszt. Some consider it strange that an intellectual like Brendel spends so much time on Liszt. He starts by saying “If one should happen to play a Beethoven sonata in the same programme, they are apt to shut their ears, as it were, and project onto the performance all the prejudices they have against Liszt: his alleged bombast, superficiality, cheap sentimentality, formlessness, his striving after effect for effect’s sake.” I totally agree with what Brendel says in this sentence. For one should remember that Liszt, who was the “man of the big occasions,” was still an intellectual pianist. He was the one to combine bombast with thoughtfulness. So what Brendel says is that the “bombastic pianists” who play Liszt (Cziffra, Richter, Kissin, Ginzburg, Berman, Horowitz, Jando and many others) completely changed the conception of the composer. It can be said that they “brainwashed” the audience with their ideas. I’m not saying that I don’t like the way these people play Liszt (I think that they play Liszt better than Brendel in certain cases), but there is a very intellectual take to Liszt, too. Liszt, after all performed music of the Classical period (as well as the Romantic period and his own compositions).

In my opinion, Brendel does not address enough the real virtuosic aspect of Liszt. The way he puts it, Liszt can be taken as intellectually as Schubert and Schumann. He also makes a point with which I highly disagree, about paying a great deal of attention to the pedal marks in Liszt. This means playing lines after lines from the Mephisto Waltz no.1 on one pedal, while not using any pedal for lines upon lines where the pedal is needed. In the Fantasy and Fugue on the Theme B-A-C-H Liszt does not indicate any pedal for over five lines. I don’t think any pianist in his right mind (not even Brendel) would keep his foot off the pedal in these lines.

“It is a peculiarity of Liszt’s music that it faithfully and fatally mirrors the character of its interpreter. When the works give the impression of being hollow, superficial and pretentious, the fault lies usually with the performer, occasionally with the (prejudiced) listener, and only rarely with Liszt himself” Brendel writes. I totally agree with this. The composer wrote all of his works for himself to perform. It is a completely different type of intellectuality in music, the intellectuality of the overall effect, projecting a certain image that goes along with the music (Années de Pélerinage suites, Villa d’Este, Venezia e Napoli). The same goes for Scriabin, Rachmaninoff, Prokofiev and even Brahms. By contrast, about Rachmaninoff, Brendel says the following: “Composers as dissimilar as Liszt and Rachmaninov are sometimes mentioned in the same breath, as if genius and the art of elevated conversations were only one step apart. When the difference between a great man and a grand seigneur is so lightly ignored, one must regard any enthusiasm for Liszt with caution.” I agree that there is a very big difference between Liszt and Rachmaninov, but I also think that the composers are not so dissimilar (again, not that they are similar). Rachmaninov’s music is basically Liszt extended. While Liszt makes an effect of an extra-musical idea (literature, nature…), Rachmaninov makes a grand effect (grand seigneur) with his music, fitted to the concert hall. Again, original Rachmaninov is not what pianists today make out of him (Richter, Lugansky, Kissin, Gilels, Ashkenazy, Watts, Entremont, Bronfman, Horowitz, Gavrilov, Volodos, Jando and many others). Rachmaninov today is one of the “bangiest” composers for the piano, since pianists take advantage of the big chords, the very pianistic qualities in the music… Don’t get me wrong, all these pianists play Rachmaninoff well, it is just not authentic Rachmaninov. Rachmaninov himself never banged on the piano. So in this way, Liszt and Rachmaninov are similar (as are Brahms, Busoni, Prokofiev, Bartok and Scriabin).
After all, Brendel is still the most thoughtful of pianists. So his take on Liszt is extreme. Extremely intellectual. Liszt is double-sided: both virtuosic and intellectual. If Ginzburg had written this essay, he would not have paid much attention to the intellectuality and the complexity of Liszt. He would have paid more attention to the effects themselves, and to the “overall” effect. What makes good Liszt is a combination of the two sides.

Here is Brendel playing Liszt’s Petrarch Sonnet No 104:

There are two great performances of Scarlatti’s most beautiful sonata. The performances are by Dinu Lipatti and by Vladimir Horowitz. I personally like Horowitz better than Lipatti in this sonata. Both take the sonata at the same tempo. Dinu Lipatti’s version is much more in the style of the baroque. However, one must remember that Scarlatti himself wouldn’t have wanted his music to be played in a baroque-ish way. Scarlatti, who lived in Portugal, led a very isolated life. Therefore, he wrote music mostly for himself. His music was “far out” and ahead of his time. Scarlatti, whose dates are 1685 (the same year as Bach and Handel) – 1757, wrote music that is more suitable for the piano than the harpsichord. Scarlatti’s music is piano music. If Scarlatti could have, I think he would have used extreme basses on the piano, certainly in some of his more “wild” sonatas (K299, K261, K348, K358, K387, K416). What I find amazing in Scarlatti is the desire for modernism, for the techniques that we use in playing the modern piano: pedals, rubato, strong dynamics…

The sonata begins quite simply, presenting a melody four times.

I especially like the sequence of harmonies that come after the melody. No other composer of Scarlatti’s time would do this:

Between these chords, there are four dotted notes that should be played as ornaments. Their order is similar to that of a mordent. Actually, Lipatti plays these notes in a more ornamental way. After this, the “second subject” appears, although because this is not written in classical sonata form, it is not a proper second subject, but it plays the role of one.

Scarlatti combines the outlines of the two subjects to end the exposition and to structure the piece.

Lipatti

Dinu Lipatti’s performance is very much in the style of baroque. However, in this sonata he starts the trills from the note of the trill, something that is not typical for baroque music. His dynamics are “minimal.” This is something that I would prefer not to do in Scarlatti, who was a “futurist” composer and was ahead of his time. Lipatti remains in the “quiet” style of playing throughout the exposition, and starts a mild crescendo in the second section of the piece. Shortly after, he returns to the same quiet style of playing. In my opinion, Scarlatti sonatas must be played with a lot of contrast. Lyrical, wild, percussive, eccentric, orchestral, and many more qualities must be present when playing Scarlatti. Scarlatti is so much different from Bach, Handel, Rameau, and all the other composers who lived in the time of the baroque. Lipatti is too “straightforward” in his performance, and there aren’t enough Scarlattian qualities in his playing. But don’t get me wrong, Lipatti is still my favorite pianist! And I don’t think anyone can match him. Still, I think that Horowitz plays this particular sonata better than Lipatti because of the Scarlattian qualities that Horowitz displays in his playing.

Lipatti begins the sonata very articulately, emphasizing every eighths note of the bar, creating an effect of .  I think that the sonata should start with more phrasing, as Horowitz starts it, creating an effect of three fourths. The sonata is written in three fourths, not in six eighths. Although this is the most “elegant” of Scarlatti’s sonatas, it is still not as elegant as Lipatti plays it, and Lipatti is not Scarlattian enough, not even for this sonata. (For the same reasons, I prefer Jenö Jando’s performance of Bartok’s Piano Concerto No. 3 over Lipatti’s.)

Horowitz

Vladimir Horowitz’s performance of this sonata is, in my opinion, the best of the best. Horowitz’s sound possesses all the qualities needed in this piece. Horowitz remains in the three fourths beat throughout the sonata, which is the right way to play it. When Horowitz plays it, the whole structure stands out before the listener, and the phrasing is very clear. This is what lacks in Lipatti’s playing. Moreover, Horowitz is not so “conservative,” and he dares do things such as rubatos, fermatas, drastic dynamics, which Lipatti doesn’t. Horowitz “stretches” the phrasing the way he wants it, not allowing himself to be limited by the rules of the baroque. He plays the sonata in his regular romantic style (drastic basses, dynamic changes, etc.). But then again, this is in the style of Scarlatti.

Here are the two great performances. I’m eager to know which one you like better.

I have been practicing Schumann’s Faschingschwank aus Wien (Carnival Scenes from Vienna), Op. 26 (1839-1840). In the words of Steven Coburn, it is an unusual work, more integrated than a suite, but not as much as a sonata. The first movement, Allegro in B-flat major, is very nearly a suite in itself, the principal idea in 3/4 time alternating with six contrasting episodes. The second movement is a wistful Romance in G minor. The third movement, a Scherzino in B-flat major, but without trio, is laid out in two-bar phrases. An Intermezzo in E-flat minor, which carries an impetuous melody with a pulsating accompaniment. The long Finale in B-flat major, the mostdifficult of the movements from a technical point of view, is in a conventional sonata form. The word “Faschingschwank” contains the letters ASCH SCHA in that order of appearance. Schumann used these notes in sequence as melodic material for this work.

In the first part (Allegro), the repeating theme represents Florestan in the middle of a Carnival, a parade. All the other parts (with the exception of the part in F-sharp major, which is a heroic march) represent Eusebius. The “heroic waltz” in F-sharp major is on a military theme   that leads to a parody of the French anthem in A-flat major.

Yes, it is a parody. The French anthem is scored in 4/4, but in Schumann’s Faschingschwank aus Wien (in which the Allegro is in 3/4), the anthem appears as a “military waltz,” preceded by a barcarolle in G minor. Note that Schumann uses different metronome marks in different places of the piece. The first theme, in B-flat major, repeats before and after every section. Schumann uses the same rhythm throughout the first part of the cycle, 1 quarter and 4 eighth notes (there are two exceptions, when Schumann uses chords). One of my favorite parts in the piece is the coda.

The theme of the Coda appears before in an earlier section, which is a chorale.

Note the difference between the keys in the two examples. The chorale is in E-flat major, whereas the coda is in B-flat major, the opening key of the Allegro.

The Romance in G minor is short, and in my opinion it carries one of the most beautiful melodies in all of Schumann’s piano music.

Notice that the melody is in C major, whereas the Romance is in G minor. All the other pieces in this cycle start by giving the listener a clear idea of the key and the tonal structure. The Romance is the exception.

Allegro (in B-flat major):

Romance (in G minor):

Scherzino (in B-flat major):

Intermezzo (in E-flat minor):

Finale (in B-flat major):

The Romance starts out with a fairly dissonant harmony, then in the second bar of the phrase goes to G minor. But even then, the  G minor doesn’t stand out very clearly. As I said above, there is a melody in the Romance which is in C major, making the Romance the most multi-tonal and somewhat atonal piece in the cycle, because it begins unclearly in G minor and moves to the sub-dominant, C major. Finally, it ends in a “Baroque-ish” way, in G major,

making it even more clear that this is the least tonal piece in the cycle. The transition to C major is very well prepared, because Schumann doesn’t stay long in G minor in the beginning, but goes to A minor through a small hint of C major. From A minor, Schumann naturally switches the key to C major. But the transition back to G minor is not at all natural. There are no hints of going back to the tonic, and Schumann wrote a fairly dissonant transition. Again, this is the least tonal part of the cycle, and Schumann ends up in G major. Very few performances of the Romance actually bring out the harmonic outline of the piece.

The Scherzino is probably the “simplest” piece of the set.  It uses rather simple harmonies (I, IV, I, I, V, I) in the first subject. And it has a fairly simple rhythm.  One might notice that the first subject of the Scherzino has the same harmonic outline as Brahms’s St. Anthony Variations.

Schumann: 

Brahms:

The Scherzino continues in a completely conventional way, moving the theme to F major, the dominant. But shortly afterwards Schumann switches keys in a sequence that leads to A major. My favorite part of the Scherzino is the very unusual transition back to the tonic (B-flat major).

The Intermezzo is a fierce piece, and it can be described perhaps by the fact that Schumann builds the piece on half-tones and neighbor notes.

Notice the two A notes in the first bar that clash with the melody, and the two G notes that also clash with the melody.  The piece sounds fairly virtuosic. But although the background notes in the right hand do indeed go extremely fast, the melody is much slower. The technical difficulties in the Intermezzo don’t match the musical difficulties in this piece, bringing out the melody and its clashes with the neighbor notes. The Intermezzo reminds me a little bit of the Rondo form, with the melody appearing a large number of times in all kinds of different forms.

The Finale starts with triumphant B-flat octaves, with brilliant arpeggios between them.

It is the most challenging technically in the entire cycle. It is filled with fast arpeggios, chords, and passages that require crossing the hands at a very high tempo. The patterns that appear in the Finale are somewhat reminiscent of a Beethoven piece, with a melody moving in both hands, while both hands also play unchanging notes beneath the melody. There is frequent use of pedal points, too. Like in many fast Schumann movements, there is a melody that could also serve as a romance, but the melody is distributed between many virtuosic notes. It is reminiscent of the orchestration of a harp accompanying a solo instrument (violin, flute…)

The melody eventually leads back to the tonic, B-flat major. The Faschingsschwank aus Wien ends very triumphantly, giving the listener the feeling of a long-planned finale.

The best performances of this piece are by Murray Perahia and Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli. Michelangeli plays best the Scherzino and the Intermezzo, Perahia the Allegro, Romance, and Finale. I don’t like the performances of Arrau, Richter, Gavrilov, de Larrocha, Brendel, Demus… and many more. Most of these performances I dislike for the same reason: there is not enough drama in the playing. One must remember that Schumann wrote incidental music for Eusebius and Florestan.

Last year, the great musician and violinist, Joel Lester, conducted a workshop in Jerusalem about Bach’s music for violin solo and asked us to play the Preludio of Partita No. 3 in E major with Schumann’s piano accompaniment. In the video linked below, Daniel Askarov played the violin and I played the piano accompaniment, with Joel Lester turning the pages. (Joel Lester turning pages for me reminds me of a funny story about Enescu and Schnabel, which I will tell you at the end of this blog.)

As I played Schumann’s piano part I was wondering why on earth would Schumann add a piano accompaniment to Bach’s perfect music for violin solo. Joel Lester said that in Schumann’s days these things would not be played without an accompaniment.
This year, when I started playing the violin part of the Partita, I finally understood the meaning of Schumann’s piano accompaniment. It is amazing how identical it is to the phrasing of the Bach Partita. Schumann studied Bach extensively and his accompaniment can be used as an exercise in counterpoint and in phrasing. Schumann might have thought that Bach needed more counterpoint and polyphony in his violin Partitas, so he added his piano accompaniment which makes it sound more harmonically and polyphonically present.
And here is the story about Enescu and Schnabel. It involves the Romanian violinist Sandu Albu, a friend of Enescu’s. It took place in the late 1920s in New York when Sandu Albu was touring in New York and his accompanist turned sick. As luck would have it, he ran into Enescu in the street and asked him if he would accompany him that evening on the piano, and Enescu said, no problem, he could do it. Later that day, Enescu ran into Schnabel, who asked if Enescu wanted to go to the movies with him. Enescu said he had a concert, but if Schnabel would turn pages for him, they could go out afterwards. Schanbel said no problem, he’d turn pages for Enescu. Next day, in the New York Times review, they wrote the following about the concert: “The music was very good, but there was a slight problem with the casting: Enescu should have been on the violin, Schnabel on the piano, and Sandu Albu should have been turning pages.”

I want to tell you the story of a very unusual Pogorelich recital I heard in Jerusalem a few weeks ago (on March 17th).
When I arrived at the concert, a few minutes before it was to begin, Pogorelich was on stage playing Islamey with two fingers, dressed in a gym suit and wearing a Santa Claus hat. Islamey was not on the program. Some people applauded, but he told them that the concert hadn’t started yet. He then left to change and returned later with a page turner who stayed with him throughout the concert.
Pogorelich began with Chopin’s Nocturne Op 62 No 2 in the most bizarre interpretation I ever heard. He played it sooooooo slowly (with a metronome sometimes as low as 50) that it took him about 12 minutes – I kid you not. I was thankful he didn’t play Op 62 No 1, which is my favorite. For some reason, he chose to emphasize (bang?..) all the wrong notes, the ones that should be played piano. The unusual interpretation produced some whispers in the hall, and every few minutes he turned to the audience and said:
“Stop toking!”
After he finished the Nocturne, he got up and faced the audience:
“Let’s make e deel. You stay silent, I stay on steij. You tok, I go hom. We are in e concert, not in de Knesset.”
Someone must have said something rude (judging from the tone) in Serbian, and Pogorelich answered in Serbian (using the same tone). Then he sat down and played Chopin’s Sonata No 3 without any breaks between the parts. He didn’t even take his foot off the pedal between the parts. Again, there was some stir in the audience, and he continued yelling “Stop toking” every now and then. Pogorelich once said in an interview, many years ago, that you may not like how he plays Chopin, but you will remember it. Well, this was once concert I am sure to remember for a long time.
The concert reached its lowest point with Liszt’s Mephisto Waltz No 1.
Here is a Youtube rendition that illustrates the general style of his playing Mephisto these days (in 2 parts).

But the performance was not as good as the one on Youtube, and people really started talking, so there was more yelling from the stage.
After the Mephisto the piano was a mess, so during the break a tuner came on stage to fix it and bring it back into shape. Some people left at the intermission.

The second part consisted of Sibelius’s Venus Waltz and Ravel’s Gaspard de la Nuit. There was more “stop toking” during the Sibelius, and everyone started laughing. Someone yelled back:
“Start playing and we’ll stop talking.”
Pogorelich yelled back: “Ven I am play you are shut ap.” This piece was not a success, and people kept leaving.
The concert ended with Gaspard de la Nuit by Ravel, which was in fact the best part. But then a phone rang in the middle of the piece, and Pogorelich said:
“You are de chempions over us Serbs. Why you go to concerts? Stay hom.”
Then at bar 232 of Scarbo he snapped the lowest D# string on the piano.
After he finished playing he stood up, closed the lid and the keyboard of the piano, walked backstage and locked himself up in the green room. There was no encore, lol.

After the concert, a bunch of my friends and I went back stage to talk with him, but he was locked in his room for so long that we were about to go, when he came out of the room and seeing us said in Russian всего хорошего (“all the best”).
Before anyone gets any wrong ideas from this blog, Pogorelich is a phenomenal pianist, as can be seen both in his early and recent recordings. I think he plays Bach better than anyone. Watch this breathtaking performance from the English Suites and enjoy!

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Another awesome Pogorelich performance is Ravel’s Gaspard de la Nuit of 1983, maybe the best performance ever. Here is Ondine, the most difficult part.

The number of people who can play this piece well can be counted on one hand.

I recently heard an opera called Kullervo by Finnish composer Aulis Sallinen. I had no idea about Sallinen until I heard Kullervo (although I know quite a few contemporary composers), but right now he is (to me) one of the most amazing composers around.
Kullervo is a story based on runes (chapters) 31 through 36 of the Kalevala. It starts out with a fascinating introduction (Untamoinen verkot laski kalervon kalavetehen, have no idea what it means, lol). The chorus is accompanied by low wind instruments that sound to me like tuba, baritone, sarussophone, and such…
Here is a scene that can give you an idea of the type of music Sallinen writes.

Sallinen combines the traditional belcanto style with fierce, dreadful-sounding atonal harmonies. He also has harmonies, that at times sound very pretty and sweet (with pedal points, progressions in cycles of fifths, etc.), followed immediately by a frightful-sounding atonal part. I think this combination is very effective. Other composers who use this kind of mixture of tonal and atonal portions thrown together are Luca Francesconi, John Musto, Hans Werner Henze, to name a few.
I have now read the plot of the opera, but before I did, I knew that the opera was very tragic. The use of tonal harmonies to precede atonal harmonies is a sign of tragedy, of intensity. In the entire opera, Sallinen has not one really joyful or cheerful aria or chorus part.
The performance I heard is by the Finnish National Opera Chorus and the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Ulf Soderblom. You can find it on www.naxosmusiclibrary.com if you have a subscription ($150 for a year, but definitely worth it!).
BTW, I first heard this opera when I was in the car. I didn’t know who the composer was, so I was pretty sure it was Arvo Pärt, lol.