Tuesday, May 29

Pictures at an Exhibition: a somewhat heretical view...

I was listening to this work the other day, in a highly praised (live) recording made by Sviatoslav Richter in Prague. It is indeed a great recording (one of many of this work made by the great pianist), actually one of the best I’ve ever heard. And, again, I had this disturbing thought that I want to share with you… It is a work that, to me, does not “fit” well with the piano. There is something annoyingly un-pianistic about it. I know I am an exception about what is commonly believed to be the piano piece par excellence! But it is enough for someone to hear Ravel's marvelous orchestral transcription to realize how much better the work sounds in its orchestral version. The big and long chords, the various effects, the huge dynamics, the vast variety of colors – all these can best be served by a large orchestra; such is the “size” of the sound that a piano, however powerful the interpreter, falls short in comparison with the orchestra. I cannot help but thinking that Mussorgsky had an orchestral sound in mind when composing his Pictures

I apply what I said to this work only, not as a general rule. Actually, in most cases (if not all), the original composition  always stands above any transcription. And, in the past, I've written about the danger of composing deplorable transcriptions when the transcriber does not “respect” the limits of the instrument to which he/she is transcribing. 

I remember practicing the Pictures when in London, in 1999. It is a huge work requiring real guts to play it in public… After practicing the piece on-and-off for a couple of months, I eventually gave up on it. I like hearing it from time to time though. No doubt, this is a monumental piece of music; yet my concerns about its pianistic qualities are always there...

Wednesday, May 23

Suite Bergamasque...

It's really strange (and fascinating). I have listened to some works in the (not so distant) past and was left completely unimpressed. And I listen to the same works later and fall in love with them. It's difficult to explain why; I suppose, as the saying goes: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven". This is from the Old Testament (the book of Ecclesiastes) which, actually goes on to say: "a time to love and a time to hate". So it seems that this could apply to music too! 

There are several pieces I have in mind which fall within this category, the more recent one being Claude Debussy's Suite Bergamasque. I began to practice that about 2 weeks ago, and realized very quickly the hidden difficulty that lies under an apparently easy score: the secret in this music is to transform the sound into color, the score into a painting; the impressionistic style requires a very particular touch, a kind of a very special softness and "vagueness". It's very early to write anything more about this (though I have played Ravel and Debussy in the past). I shall need time, not to learn the notes (which should be fairly straightforward) but to emerge into this atmosphere and get a hold of what I am doing. 
Four pieces, each one a whole world: the dynamic prelude, the mysteriously playful minuet, the poetic clair de lune, and the joyful passepied. Together with the Children's Corner and Images, this is my favorite work by the composer. 

What can I say about clair de lune? Nothing, perhaps, except the poem of Paul Verlaine which inspired Debussy to write this music...

Votre âme est un paysage choisi
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.
Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune
Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,
Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau,
Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres.


Ps. Yesterday I was watching a wonderful film I Capture the Castle, based on the classic novel by Dodie Smith (which I love),  and at some point the clair de lune could be heard in the background; it fitted so well with the atmosphere and beauty of this film...

Thursday, May 17

Martino Tirimo's Recital: Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

I had the fortune, once more, to listen to this great pianist, in a recital that he gave on Friday 11 May, in "Parnassos" Concert Hall, a lovely venue in the center of Athens. This time Tirimo chose to play an all-Tchaikovsky program. 

He began with "the Seasons" (op. 37a), one of the most interesting works that the Russian composer wrote for solo piano. It's a work I  particularly love (I am always very fond of music that evokes the change of seasons), for it reminds me of my childhood: it is then that one experiences more vividly the change of time, weather and season. This change is powerfully reflected in this series of 12 pieces (one for each month), through a great variety of styles, moods and colors. Just to give you an idea, here are the titles of every piece:

  1. January: At the Fireside
  2. February: Carnival
  3. March: Song of the Lark
  4. April: Snowdrop
  5. May: Starlit Nights
  6. June: Barcarolle
  7. July: Song of the Reapers
  8. August: Harvest 
  9. September: The Hunt
  10. October: Autumn Song
  11. November: Troika 
  12. December: Christmas 

Listen, for instance, to the Barcarolle (June) (probably the best-known of the set) [here with the unmistakable genius of Michail Pletniev]. 



 In a completely different atmosphere, September depicts a hunting scene (move to 5:15):








Tirimo's exploration of this musical kaleidoscope was masterful. Not only did he bring out the uniqueness of each of the 12 pieces; he managed to present a unified whole (as opposed to a fragmented perspective) - and this is nothing less than a achievement. 

After the interval, Tirimo played for us a song (op.40/2), a mazurka (40/4) and Dumka (op.59). I personally do not think there is much in these works, although the russian-ness of the Dumka does speak to my heart. 

On the contrary, Martino's final work (Nutcracker, Orchestral Suite op.71 - tr. by Michael Pletnev) is, really, Tchaikovsky at his very best. This is an impressive, very successful transcription made by a great pianist. Here, Martino brought out all the qualities of this music: the hidden melodic lines were clearly and subtly articulated; the dynamic "palette" was infinitely rich, and the technical bravura was exceptional! This final piece was a revelation, both regarding the genius of Tchaikovsky and the undisputed pianistic qualities of the performer. 
All in all, a musical feast for those lucky to be in Parnassos Concert Hall last Friday.