Piano Potpourri, No. 2 (CD Reviews)

By Karl W. Nehring

William Byrd – John Bull: The Visionaries of Piano Music. (CD 1) Byrd: Prelude (Parthenia 1); Pavan "Sir William Petre"; Galliard (Parthenia 3); The Battell: The Flute and the Droome; The wood so wild; The Maiden Song; John come kiss me now; Bull: Fantasia (Fitzwilliam 108); Fantastic Pavan (Fitzwilliam 34); Fantastic Galliard (Fitzwilliam 35); Canons 51 - 48 - 39 - 7 - 15 – 114; Prelude "Laet ons met herten reijne"; Carol "Laet ons met herten reijne"; Les Buffons; Walsingham; Byrd: Pavana "The Earle of Salisbury"; Galliard (Parthenia 7); Galliard in C major 'Mistress Mary Brownlow'; The Bells; (CD 2) Bull: Chromatic (Queen Elisabeth's) Pavan; My Grief; Byrd: O mistress mine, I must; The Second Ground - 16 Variations; Bull: Prelude (Fitzwilliam 43); Melancholy Pavan; Byrd: Earl of Oxford's March; Ut re mi fa sol la; Ut, mi, re; Bull: Canons 68 - 78 - 79 - 65 - 3 – 53; Byrd: Walsingham; Sellinger's Round; Bull: Fantasia on a Fugue of Sweelinck; Telluris ingens conditor: Nos. 1, 2, 3, 6, 7. Kit Armstrong, piano. DG 486 0583.

When I first encountered this new album from the young American pianist Kit Armstrong (b. 1992), I had a vague recollection of hearing a recording of some music of Byrd played on a modern piano by the late Glenn Gould (you can read a discussion of Gould’s approach to this music by jazz pianist Ethan Iverson here). Needless to say, that was many years ago, so it was with fresh ears that I eagerly auditioned this 2-CD set in which Armstrong presents music by William Byrd (ca. 1540-1623) and John Bull (ca, 1562-1628) that he has transcribed for the modern piano. To keep things in perspective, Bach was not born until 1685, so this truly is some early keyboard music, written originally not for the piano, or even the harpsichord, but for the virginal or organ. About his motivation for bringing us this music, Armstrong writes: “The motivation for doing this recording comes from not wanting to keep these pieces as historical artefacts…. We should be thankful to two composers who, probably for the first time in our history, had a vision of instrumental music as being just as profound as anything we find in the cultural experience of humanity. A lot of what has defined our musical culture – self-expression and self-immortalization – is found in the keyboard music of Byrd and Bull, which contains so much from the hearts and minds of both men… With these recordings I wish to tell my story of of the creation of a musical universe, at whose dawn stood two contrasting figures from England’s Golden Age: William Byrd and John Bull. As their personalities infused the vessel of keyboard music, a universe was born, of which they became the fabric, that would define the art of music for evermore.”

So what of the music itself? How does the music on this recording sound to modern ears? As you might expect, the overall impression is similar to that made by the keyboard music of Bach. If you are familiar with the sound of a virginal or harpsichord, you will recognize that sound as transcribed for piano here. There are trills and ornamentations, plenty of counterpoint, a relatively straightforward harmonic structure, and a strong sense of energy and purpose. Especially in Byrd, Armstrong plays with a delicate touch, painting with watercolors as it were. You can discern some stylistic differences between Byrd and Bull; to these ears, at least, Bull seems a bit more direct and assertive than Byrd, more inclined to contrast and drama. Byrd is more subtle, more restrained. Both, however, are capable of sustaining musical interest throughout this generously filled program. The recorded sound is clear and focused, and Armstrong has provided extensive liner notes that delve into the music of both musicians and their place in music history. For those who enjoy piano music and are looking for something both different and fascinating – not to mention musically satisfying – Kit Armstrong delivers the goods.

Chopin: Complete Nocturnes. (CD 1) 3 Nocturnes op. 9; 3 Nocturnes op 15; 2 Nocturnes op 27; 2 Nocturnes op. 32; 2 Nocturnes op. 37; (CD 2) 2 Nocturnes op. 48; 2 Nocturnes op. 55; 2 Nocturnes op 62; Nocturne in E minor op. post. 72/1; Nocturne in C minor op. post. KK IVb/8; Nocturne in C sharp minor op. post. KK Iva/16. Jan Lisiecki, piano. Deutsche Grammophon 486 0761.

Chopin: Complete Nocturnes. (CD 1) Nocturne No. 1 in B-Flat Minor, Op. 9 No. 1; Nocturne No. 2 in E-Flat Major, Op. 9 No. 2; Nocturne No. 3 in B Major, Op. 9 No. 3; Nocturne No. 4 in F Major, Op. 15 No. 1; Nocturne No. 5 in F-Sharp Major, Op. 15 No. 2; Nocturne No. 6 in G Minor, Op. 15 No. 3; Nocturne No. 15 in F Minor, Op. 55 No. 1; Nocturne No. 16 in E-Flat Major, Op. 55 No. 2; Nocturne No. 7 in C-Sharp Minor, Op. 27 No. 1; Nocturne No. 8 in D-Flat Major, Op. 27 No. 2; Nocturne No. 9 in B Major, Op. 32 No. 1; Nocturne No. 10 in A-Flat Major, Op. 32 No. 2; (CD 2) Nocturne No. 11 in G Minor, Op. 37 No. 1; Nocturne No. 12 in G Major, Op. 37 No. 2; Nocturne No. 17 in B Major, Op. 62 No. 1; Nocturne No. 18 in E Major, Op. 62 No. 2; Nocturne No. 13 in C Minor, Op. 48 No. 1; Nocturne No. 14 in F-Sharp Minor, Op. 48 No. 2; Nocturne No. 21 in C Minor, Op. posth.; Nocturne No. 19 in E Minor, Op. posth. 72 No. 1; Nocturne No. 20 in C-Sharp Minor, Op. Posth. Alain Planès, 1836 Pleyel piano. Harmonia Mundi HMM 905332.33.

Chopin: Nocturnes. (CD 1) Nocturne in B Flat minor Op. 9 No.1; Nocturne in E Flat Major Op. 9 No. 2; Nocturne in B Major Op. 9 No. 3; Nocturne in F Major Op. 15 No. 1; Nocturne in F Sharp Major Op. 15 No. 2; Nocturne in G minor Op. 15 No. 3; Nocturne in C Sharp minor Op. 27 No. 1; Nocturne in D Flat Major Op. 27 No. 2; Nocturne in B Major Op. 32 No. 1; Nocturne in a Flat Major Op. 32 No. 2; Nocturne in G minor Op. 37 No.1; Nocturne in G Major Op. 37 No. 2; (CD 2) Nocturne in C minor Op. 48 No. 1; Nocturne in F Sharp minor Op. 48 No. 2; Nocturne in F minor Op. 55 No. 1; Nocturne in E Flat Major Op. 55 No. 2; Nocturne in B Major Op. 62 No. 1; Nocturne in E Major Op. 62 No. 2; Lento Con Gran Espressione in C Sharp minor 'Nocturne', Kkiva/16; Nocturne in E minor Op. 72 No. 1: Nocturne in C minor Kkivb/8; Anonymous: Larghetto in C Sharp minor 'Nocturne Oublié', Kkanh. Ia/6; Nocturne in E Flat Major Op. 9 No. 2B. Stephen Hough, piano. Hyperion CDA86351/2.

For fans of Chopin’s Nocturnes, these three recent releases truly do represent that old phrase, not heard so much these days but certainly appropriate in this case, “an embarrassment of riches.” Although I have made my choice as to which is the collection that will remain on my shelf as a replacement for the venerable Rubinstein set that I had owned for many years but finally traded in at some point when I had decided that because I was not much of a Chopin fan and in truth of all his music could bring myself to listen only to the Nocturnes (and only very occasionally to them), perhaps it was time to simply let them go. And truth be told, I had not really missed hearing the Nocturnes until Fate, the Public Library, and Public Relations all played a hand in my so-called life, the end result being my renewed love for Chopin’s marvelous music and grateful appreciation for the artistry and dedication of these three remarkable musicians.

As you can see from the track listing above, each of the three musicians takes a slightly different approach to the order on which they present the Nocturnes. There are other differences in their presentations, too. Lisiecki and Planès present the standard set of 21, while Hough throws in a couple of extra variants. Lisiecki and Hough play modern pianos, while Planès uses an 1836 Pleyel concert grand, the type of piano favored by Chopin himself. (The liner note gives detailed information on this piano; however, neither the Lisiecki nor Hough releases specify the particular piano employed.)

I will note at the outset that although I found some differences among these three recordings, which was certainly to be expected, I found all three to be of high quality. But yes, when push came to shove, I was able to pick a favorite. So, let’s take a brief look at all three.

First up is the version by the young Canadian-born pianist of Polish ancestry, Jan Lisiecki (b. 1995). This recording recently received a generally favorable review from my colleague and friend Bill Heck, who goes into much more detail than I am going to delve into in his review, which I would encourage you to read here. In his liner note remarks, Lisiecki observes of the Nocturnes that “They embody what I cherish most in his music: the yearning, captivating melody, the framework he provides for flexibility, the endless fresh ideas. Chopin was a master of the piano, using its full range of tonal possibilities while spinning long, melodic, cantabile phrases over a rich harmonization. The Nocturnes hail from the night – a magical time of endless possibilities – and present a personal story from the interpreter to the listener. They are a canvas, a sphere to dive deep into one’s own emotions and thoughts. Yet, most importantly, they remain elegant and simple. After all, as Chopin himself said, ‘Simplicity is the final achievement. After one has played a vast quantity of notes and more notes, it is simplicity that emerges as the crowning reward of art’.” You can tell from listening to this performance that Lisiecki clearly loves this music, for he plays it with heartfelt expression. As Bill noted in his review, Lisiecki sometimes tends to play slowly; some listeners will like this approach, others might find it a bit, well, too slow at times. But not all of his playing is on the slow side, and overall this is a fine release. The recorded sound is excellent, full and clear and vibrant.

Next up is the recording by the French pianist Alain Planès (b. 1948), which sounds significantly different from the Lisiecki recording. Planès notes of the Pleyel piano used in his recording that “it has three distinct registers: a treble that is light and harp-like, a velvety middle register, and a bottom register with round and clear bass note – sonorities which combine together better than on the more evenly voiced pianos of today. By way of illustration, I would suggest listening to the second nocturne from Opus 55, which amply highlights the fine qualities of the instrument: this piece is not unlike an operatic aria for soprano and tenor, each of the voices embodied by a different register, thus reinforcing the impression of a dialogue.” The booklet includes a photo of the piano, which is an imposing work of art. Note that this is a concert grand piano, not a small fortepiano of limited volume. Its keyboard has only 80 keys rather than today’s 88, but is capable of projecting some volume. I will say that as I listened to this recording, I was at first struck at how modern the piano sounded (I will confess I was expecting a sound closer to that of a harpsichord); however, as I listened longer and more intently, as much I enjoyed the music, I could never get completely past the recorded sound. I am not sure how much of what bothered me was the piano or the way it was recorded. The bothersome aspect was that there were times when the piano sound seemed to be fragmented, with various registers coming from different areas – but not only from left to right, but also from front to back. For more casual listening, everything was just fine, and I really enjoyed Planès’s interpretations, but when I sat down and listened closely, there were times when I found myself distracted by the sound. The sound is clean, clear, and dynamic; it is the image of the instrument that never seemed correct, at least in my setup. Perhaps it would sound just fine in other systems; in any event, it is a recording worthy of an audition for lovers of the Nocturnes.

British pianist Stephen Hough (b.1961) introduces his recording by noting that, “Chopin wrote no operas, even though that art form was his favorite and singers, not pianists, were his musical heroes, And despite his love for the human voice, he barely wrote any songs either -- fewer than twenty, with only two published in his lifetime. These unambitious ditties, with their stiff, plain vocal lines, accompanied by frequent um-cha-cha vamping, seem puzzling from this pianist-composer who idolized the human voice. Enter the nocturnes – a corpus of some of the finest operatic arias ever written. Here bel canto melodies abound, dramatic, tender and tragic, with virtuoso decoration reminiscent of a coloratura diva.” Interestingly enough, Hough, like Planès, calls out Op. 55 No. 2, opining that its “miraculous interweaving (interchanging) of melody, harmony, and counterpoint creates a seamless robe of ecstasy.” Curious, I spent some time comparing the Planès and Hough recordings of this particular Nocturne. In both recordings, it was easy to hear what both pianists had found special about this piece, with its singing quality and feeling of dialogue. The sound of the Pleyel brought out the drama, while Hough and his modern piano emphasized a beautiful singing quality. Indeed, that beautiful singing quality is what made the Hough recording my favorite of the three. He has a touch at the keyboard that seems to bring out the beauty of these pieces by truly making them sing. The engineering helps, too, as Hough’s piano seems to be recorded just a bit more distantly, giving it a slightly warmer, enveloping sound. As I said at the outset, these are three fine recordings, each worthy of audition, but the Hough recording has that extra measure of beauty that makes it my first choice.

Bonus Recommendation:

Hough, Stephen.  Rough Ideas: Reflections on Music and More. Farrar, Straus and Giroux (2019).

It turns out that Stephen Hough (rhymes with “rough,” as he helpfully points out in the introduction) is as adept at the computer keyboard, or tablet, phone (crazy 21st century!), or even pen and tablet, as he is at his piano keyboard, for Rough Ideas is a delight throughout its 400+ pages. Don’t be intimidated by its size, because the book consists of brief essays – “reflections” – most of which are only a page or two long. These essays are divided into several sections, titled Forum (covering a variety of general music-related topics, with titles such as “Can you be a musician and not write music?,” “Gay pianists: can you tell?,” and “Can atonal music make you cry?); Stage (covering both live performance and recording, with titles such as “Routine on a concert day,” “Humiliation and vomiting at the keyboard,” “Can wrong notes be right?”, and “Stanly Kubrick and recording”); Studio (covering issues related to practicing, playing, and teaching, with titles such as “Random practice tips,” “Depressed: the amazing world of the pedal,” and “Trying to practice away from the piano and trying to try to pray”); People and Pieces (covering composers, compositions, and musicians, with titles such as “How much do we need to know about composers?,” “Mompou and the music of evaporation: a note for a CD,” “Chopin and the development of piano technique,” “Debussy and Ravel: chalk and cheese,” “Glenn Gould and modern recording,” and “RIP Lou Reed”); ... and More (covering a variety of topics, with titles such as “Paul Klee at Tate Modern,” “Maths and music: joined at the hip or walking down different paths?,” “The essence of underpants and the lap of luxury,” “Willa Cather, Thanksgiving, and the soul of America,” and “Encouragement, falsehood, and Auschwitz”). One of the great things about a book laid out in this manner is that it is convenient to pick it up, read a few entries, then put it down to read it later at your convenience. But it also flows well should you decide to read it pretty much straight through, as I did. Hough truly does as write as nearly as well as he plays (or perhaps has editors as skilled as his engineers, although I favor the former explanation, as I suspect he would also).

As Hough explains in his introduction, “Mostly I’ve written about music and the life of a musician… Other subjects appear too, people I’ve known, places I’ve travelled to, books I’ve read, paintings I’ve seen. Even religion is there: the possibility of the existence of God, problems with some biblical texts and the challenge involved in being a gay Catholic, and abortion. I’ve placed these reflections in a separate section so that readers allergic to such matters can avoid them and we can remain friends.” Allow me to point out just a few highlights that offer a hint of just how wide-ranging and stimulating these reflections are. In “Two women, two songs: in and out of harmony,” Hough quickly analyzes two wildly successful popular songs about women, reflecting on how although both the women and the music of Jobim’s “Girl from Ipanema” and the Beatles’ “Eleanor Rigby” were totally different, both were remarkable compositions. “Stanley Kubrick and recording” explains how seeing a documentary on how Kubrick went about filming The Shining set an example for Hough as to how to go about making a recording. In “Glenn Gould and modern recording,” Hough reflects on Gould’s decision to abandon live performance in favor of recordings in light of how the recording industry has changed since Gould’s time, speculating about how Gould would have embraced the Internet. “Beef Stroganoff and a bag of bones” recounts an experience Hough had when he was living in New York and an elderly but formidable Russian woman cooked some Beef Stroganoff for him. It was so delicious that Hough asked her for the recipe. “Well dear,” she replied, “I don’t like to give it to people. You see, it all goes back to when I was in Paris. General Stroganoff wrote it out for me himself.” Well. okay then… That is just a tiny sampling of some of the delights – there are more than 100 more – to be found in this stimulating and entertaining volume that should appeal to a broad spectrum of classical music fans.

KWN