William Bolcom: The Complete Rags. Marc-André Hamelin, piano. Hyperion CDA683991/2.
By Karl W. Nehring
Many older listeners were likely first exposed to ragtime music by Marvin Hamlisch’s performance of Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer” piano rag from the soundtrack to the 1973 hit film The Sting. Hamlisch’s performance was released as a single and became a radio hit; suddenly ragtime music was “in” and veteran ragtime piano players such as the late, legendary “Eubie” Blake enjoyed a sudden surge in media popularity. It turns out that American composer William Bolcom (b. 1938) had developed an interest in piano rags pre-The Sting, studying the rags of Scott Joplin in the late 1960s and trying his hand at writing some rags of his own.
“My growing familiarity around 1967 with Scott Joplin’s opera Treemonisha inspired my very first rag, Glad Rag, which quotes that opera in a transitional passage,” he recounts in his helpful, in-depth liner notes. “A very personal rag, Lost Lady is a lament for a failed marriage. But a real epiphany for me soon after that break-up was meeting James Hubert ‘Eubie’ Blake in 1966—at eighty-six, he was one of the few still-performing practitioners of the urbanized ragtime (called ‘stride piano’) of James P. Johnson and Thomas ‘Fats’ Waller. Bolcom goes on to recount that “Eubie and I became friends and gave concerts together frequently. (Purely by example Eubie was showing me how artificial was the division between composing and performing, which had become de rigueur in music; I consider him my last great teacher).”
By Karl W. Nehring
“My growing familiarity around 1967 with Scott Joplin’s opera Treemonisha inspired my very first rag, Glad Rag, which quotes that opera in a transitional passage,” he recounts in his helpful, in-depth liner notes. “A very personal rag, Lost Lady is a lament for a failed marriage. But a real epiphany for me soon after that break-up was meeting James Hubert ‘Eubie’ Blake in 1966—at eighty-six, he was one of the few still-performing practitioners of the urbanized ragtime (called ‘stride piano’) of James P. Johnson and Thomas ‘Fats’ Waller. Bolcom goes on to recount that “Eubie and I became friends and gave concerts together frequently. (Purely by example Eubie was showing me how artificial was the division between composing and performing, which had become de rigueur in music; I consider him my last great teacher).”
Canadian pianist and composer Marc-André Hamelin (b. 1961) is widely known for his technical prowess and willingness to perform and record music outside the classical keyboard mainstream. Those qualities serve him – and us – well as he turns his attention in this release to the complete collection of Bolcom’s piano rags (27 in all, seven of which Bolcom wrote in collaboration with his friend William Albright) on this two-disc set. If this review communicates nothing else, let it get across these two points: First, this is serious music, written by a serious composer and played by a serious, gifted pianist. Not in any way is this some sort of novelty or crossover album. Second, this is an album of entertaining music that is entertaining precisely because it has been composed, performed, and recorded by serious professionals and can easily withstand the rigors of repeated listening. The album includes rags that will appeal to a broad spectrum of attitudes and emotions, from sad to glad and trad to rad and plenty of shades in between. Even for those unfamiliar with ragtime or stride piano, the piano rags of Bolcom as played by Hamelin and recorded by Judith Sherman and crew would be a great place to start.
Beethoven: 33 Variations Op. 120 on a Waltz by Diabelli. Mitsuko Uchida, piano. Decca 485 2731.
Last week’s New Releases No. 33 included a review of an ECM New Series CD by the Danish String Quartet that featured a performance of one of Beethoven’s late quartets. If you are familiar with those works, you know that they are both beautiful and sublime, at times seeming to originate from some realm almost beyond human comprehension, a world of timeless beauty with which Beethoven was somehow able to communicate. His late piano works, especially his final sonata, Op. 111, also have that sense of other-worldly beauty, a great performance evoking in the listener a sense of the transcendent.
Sometimes overlooked in the catalog of Beethoven’s late works for piano is his Diabelli Variations, a composition that was actually his final large-scale work for solo piano. The story behind the piece is a convoluted one. In brief, the composer and publisher Anton Diabelli had entered into a partnership in 1918 with an art dealer named Pietro Cappi. To call attention to their Vienna business, they hit upon the scheme of asking 50 notable musicians form throughout the Austro-Hungarian empire to provide a brief variation on a simple waltz tune that Diabelli had composed. The project wound up taking several years to pull together (no fax machines, no cell phones, no internet…), so the final version did not appear until 1824, in a printed volume that featured variations by the 50 composers, who were presented in alphabetical order. The variations included were of little lasting musical value, with the exception of a waltz by Schubert. Along with the volume containing the 50 variations, Cappi and Diabelli also published a companion volume: a reissued collection of Beethoven’s 33 variations of Diabelli’s waltz.
Wait, what? Reissued? Well, it seems that Beethoven thought the 50-composer idea was not something he wanted to be involved with, so he dismissed the idea of submitting a single variation out of hand. However, according to the liner notes, “Beethoven had in any case always been attracted by the challenge of building large edifices out of less than first-rate material, and he found Diabelli’s waltz a rich source for elaboration, setting to work on it almost as soon as he received it. Approximately two-thirds of the ‘Diabelli’ variations were written in 1819, before he laid the project aside in order to begin work on his Missa solemnis. By the time he returned to the variations, towards the end of 1822, Beethoven had not only finished the Mass, but had also composed his last three piano sonatas, Opp. 109, 110 & 111. The experience of the late sonatas clearly left its mark on those portions of the ‘Diabelli’ Variations that came after them. But more than that, the journey from the mundane to the sublime may be shorter than we imagine, and Diabelli’s innocuous little waltz tune, with its simple tonic-dominant harmony and its bass line giving out the falling interval of a fourth, from C to G, and then a fifth, D to G, is first cousin to the wonderfully serene ‘Arietta’ on which the finale of Beethoven’s last sonata, Op. 111, is based.” Cappi and Diabelli had received far more than they had requested from Beethoven, so in June of 1823 they published an advertisement for the score in the Weiner Zeitung (founded in 1703, still being published, one of the oldest newspapers in the world) that heralded:
We present here to the world variations of no ordinary sort, but a grand and important masterpiece, worthy of being added to the immortal creations of the old Classics, and in a manner that only Beethoven, the greatest living representative of true art, can supply. The most original structures and ideas, the boldest musical transformations and harmonies are here exhausted, every pianoforte effect based on a solid technique is employed; and this work is all the more interesting through the circumstance that it is elicited from a theme which no one would otherwise have supposed capable of a working-out of in the manner in which our exalted Master stands alone among his contemporaries. The splendid fugues, Nos. 24 and 32, will astonish all friends and connoisseurs of serious style, as will Nos. 2, 6, 16, 17, 23, etc. the brilliant players; and altogether all these variations, through the novelty of their ideas, care in working out, and beauty in the most artful of their transitions, will entitle the work to a place beside Sebastian Bach's famous masterpiece in the same form. [The Goldberg Variations]
Japanese-born British pianist Mitsuko Uchida (b. 1948) has long been one of my favorite musicians. Not only does she play wonderfully, but her modesty and charm are world-class, as you can see for yourself in this video from 2012 on the occasion of her being presented an award from the UK’s Royal Philharmonic Society: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHh7pDApfCA. Perhaps even more indicative of her modesty and charm is this promotional video for her new recording of the Diabelli Variations: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z38Y8LfJHXY. Despite a long career throughout which she has been known primarily as a specialist in the Viennese masters who has won wide acclaim for her performances and recordings of Mozart, Schubert, and Beethoven, this new Decca release is Dame Mitsuko’s first recording of the Diabelli Variations. Her performance comes across as thoughtfully balanced, able to express depths of emotion without ever sounding forced; neither too excitable or rushed in the lighter moments nor overly drawn-out and melodramatic in the softer, more reflective passages. Particularly noteworthy is the way the recording closes out, Variations XXIX-XXXIII. These variations have a little bit of everytbing, blessed with some of the most sublime soft and slow passages extant. (unless you are perhaps quite young, XXXI will likely have you reflecting on mortality), culminating with Variation XXXIII, marked Tempo di Minuetto, moderato, and sounding like one final farewell dance. This is a truly first-rate recording of a sometimes-overlooked masterpiece.
Reynaldo Hahn: Poèmes & Valses. Contains selections from Le Rossignol Éperdu (53 Poèmes pour Piano) and Premières Valses. Pavel Kolesnikov, piano. Hyperion CDA68383.
Not having heard of either the composer or the performer before receiving this release for review, I really had no idea what to expect, but once again this is one of those cases of being most pleasantly surprised by what awaited me when I finally got around to giving this CD an audition. It turns out that Reynaldo Hahn (1874-1947) was born in Venezuela but his family moved to Paris when he was a child and he wound up spending most of his life in the City of Light. According to Wikipedia he was a composer, conductor, music critic, and singer who was most well-known during his lifetime for his songs, of which he composed more than 100. His portrait in the CD booklet bears a remarkable resemblance, at least to these eyes, to some I have seen of the famous French composer Claude Debussy.
As for the performer, Russian pianist Pavel Kolesnikov (b. 1989), a bit of digging around on my part quickly revealed that he has been gaining a reputation as a remarkable young pianist of exceptional sensitivity and touch, with an ability to tease out the poetry woven into the printed score. Although the Tchaikovsky concerto certainly is far different from Hahn’s music for solo piano, this brief video clip offers some insight into who Kolesnikov is both as a musician and as a person: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkyPk6DHOX8.
Kolesnikov says that although at first he struggled to understand Hahn’s works, to get below the surface. It was the piece Éros cache dans les bois (“Eros hides in the woods”) that suddenly sparked his interest. “Gone were my initial reservation about these works; I surrendered myself to the music, which in itself is at once uncertain and precise, and was won over.” As he began to comb through Hahn’s piano pieces, finding that “some of the works left me unmoved, but others {a lot of them} took me back to those first impressions of mystery and apprehension, in which the listener is situated at the boundaries of familiarity” the COVID-19 lockdown suddenly hit, which for the pianist “seemed like the ideal moment to get started… After a few days of procrastination, I found the resolve to start conceiving this recording… for this recording I used a Yamaha CFX, whose sound is less textured than the usual concert Steinway. I specified that the piano be tuned in such a way as to maximize the extreme sensitivity of the keys, with closely positioned microphones. This serves to highlight a flurry of detail; but one has to be extremely attentive, for the downside of this placement is that it accentuates absolutely all the weaknesses, albeit microscopic.”
Hahn’s music is hard to pin down. It definitely sounds French, something like a mix of Satie, Debussy, perhaps Ravel – but not really just like any of those more familiar names. And when I say “Hahn’s music,” I need to point out that as you can see from the header above, the selections on this recording are taken from two different collections, the 53 Poèmes of Le Rossignol Éperdu (“The Bewildered/Distracted/Distraught/Ecstatic Nightingale”) and the Premières Valses (“First Waltzes”). There are 25 tracks in all: 9 Poèmes, 6 Valses, followed by 10 more Poèmes. The Poèmes have a more airy, other-worldly feel to them than do the Valses, which are livelier and more grounded, although still unmistakably French in character. Moreover, the Poèmes that Kolesnikov has chosen for the closing portion of the program are generally longer than those that he chose to open the program. Despite my clumsy attempts at describing it, this really is delightful music. If you like the piano music of Ravel, Satie, or Debussy, then I believe there is a good chance that you will find this music enjoyable. Kolesnikov is an impressive young pianist from whom I expect to we shall hear more from in the future. For now, we have this recording to savor.
KWN
Sometimes overlooked in the catalog of Beethoven’s late works for piano is his Diabelli Variations, a composition that was actually his final large-scale work for solo piano. The story behind the piece is a convoluted one. In brief, the composer and publisher Anton Diabelli had entered into a partnership in 1918 with an art dealer named Pietro Cappi. To call attention to their Vienna business, they hit upon the scheme of asking 50 notable musicians form throughout the Austro-Hungarian empire to provide a brief variation on a simple waltz tune that Diabelli had composed. The project wound up taking several years to pull together (no fax machines, no cell phones, no internet…), so the final version did not appear until 1824, in a printed volume that featured variations by the 50 composers, who were presented in alphabetical order. The variations included were of little lasting musical value, with the exception of a waltz by Schubert. Along with the volume containing the 50 variations, Cappi and Diabelli also published a companion volume: a reissued collection of Beethoven’s 33 variations of Diabelli’s waltz.
Wait, what? Reissued? Well, it seems that Beethoven thought the 50-composer idea was not something he wanted to be involved with, so he dismissed the idea of submitting a single variation out of hand. However, according to the liner notes, “Beethoven had in any case always been attracted by the challenge of building large edifices out of less than first-rate material, and he found Diabelli’s waltz a rich source for elaboration, setting to work on it almost as soon as he received it. Approximately two-thirds of the ‘Diabelli’ variations were written in 1819, before he laid the project aside in order to begin work on his Missa solemnis. By the time he returned to the variations, towards the end of 1822, Beethoven had not only finished the Mass, but had also composed his last three piano sonatas, Opp. 109, 110 & 111. The experience of the late sonatas clearly left its mark on those portions of the ‘Diabelli’ Variations that came after them. But more than that, the journey from the mundane to the sublime may be shorter than we imagine, and Diabelli’s innocuous little waltz tune, with its simple tonic-dominant harmony and its bass line giving out the falling interval of a fourth, from C to G, and then a fifth, D to G, is first cousin to the wonderfully serene ‘Arietta’ on which the finale of Beethoven’s last sonata, Op. 111, is based.” Cappi and Diabelli had received far more than they had requested from Beethoven, so in June of 1823 they published an advertisement for the score in the Weiner Zeitung (founded in 1703, still being published, one of the oldest newspapers in the world) that heralded:
We present here to the world variations of no ordinary sort, but a grand and important masterpiece, worthy of being added to the immortal creations of the old Classics, and in a manner that only Beethoven, the greatest living representative of true art, can supply. The most original structures and ideas, the boldest musical transformations and harmonies are here exhausted, every pianoforte effect based on a solid technique is employed; and this work is all the more interesting through the circumstance that it is elicited from a theme which no one would otherwise have supposed capable of a working-out of in the manner in which our exalted Master stands alone among his contemporaries. The splendid fugues, Nos. 24 and 32, will astonish all friends and connoisseurs of serious style, as will Nos. 2, 6, 16, 17, 23, etc. the brilliant players; and altogether all these variations, through the novelty of their ideas, care in working out, and beauty in the most artful of their transitions, will entitle the work to a place beside Sebastian Bach's famous masterpiece in the same form. [The Goldberg Variations]
Japanese-born British pianist Mitsuko Uchida (b. 1948) has long been one of my favorite musicians. Not only does she play wonderfully, but her modesty and charm are world-class, as you can see for yourself in this video from 2012 on the occasion of her being presented an award from the UK’s Royal Philharmonic Society: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHh7pDApfCA. Perhaps even more indicative of her modesty and charm is this promotional video for her new recording of the Diabelli Variations: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z38Y8LfJHXY. Despite a long career throughout which she has been known primarily as a specialist in the Viennese masters who has won wide acclaim for her performances and recordings of Mozart, Schubert, and Beethoven, this new Decca release is Dame Mitsuko’s first recording of the Diabelli Variations. Her performance comes across as thoughtfully balanced, able to express depths of emotion without ever sounding forced; neither too excitable or rushed in the lighter moments nor overly drawn-out and melodramatic in the softer, more reflective passages. Particularly noteworthy is the way the recording closes out, Variations XXIX-XXXIII. These variations have a little bit of everytbing, blessed with some of the most sublime soft and slow passages extant. (unless you are perhaps quite young, XXXI will likely have you reflecting on mortality), culminating with Variation XXXIII, marked Tempo di Minuetto, moderato, and sounding like one final farewell dance. This is a truly first-rate recording of a sometimes-overlooked masterpiece.
Reynaldo Hahn: Poèmes & Valses. Contains selections from Le Rossignol Éperdu (53 Poèmes pour Piano) and Premières Valses. Pavel Kolesnikov, piano. Hyperion CDA68383.
As for the performer, Russian pianist Pavel Kolesnikov (b. 1989), a bit of digging around on my part quickly revealed that he has been gaining a reputation as a remarkable young pianist of exceptional sensitivity and touch, with an ability to tease out the poetry woven into the printed score. Although the Tchaikovsky concerto certainly is far different from Hahn’s music for solo piano, this brief video clip offers some insight into who Kolesnikov is both as a musician and as a person: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkyPk6DHOX8.
Kolesnikov says that although at first he struggled to understand Hahn’s works, to get below the surface. It was the piece Éros cache dans les bois (“Eros hides in the woods”) that suddenly sparked his interest. “Gone were my initial reservation about these works; I surrendered myself to the music, which in itself is at once uncertain and precise, and was won over.” As he began to comb through Hahn’s piano pieces, finding that “some of the works left me unmoved, but others {a lot of them} took me back to those first impressions of mystery and apprehension, in which the listener is situated at the boundaries of familiarity” the COVID-19 lockdown suddenly hit, which for the pianist “seemed like the ideal moment to get started… After a few days of procrastination, I found the resolve to start conceiving this recording… for this recording I used a Yamaha CFX, whose sound is less textured than the usual concert Steinway. I specified that the piano be tuned in such a way as to maximize the extreme sensitivity of the keys, with closely positioned microphones. This serves to highlight a flurry of detail; but one has to be extremely attentive, for the downside of this placement is that it accentuates absolutely all the weaknesses, albeit microscopic.”
Hahn’s music is hard to pin down. It definitely sounds French, something like a mix of Satie, Debussy, perhaps Ravel – but not really just like any of those more familiar names. And when I say “Hahn’s music,” I need to point out that as you can see from the header above, the selections on this recording are taken from two different collections, the 53 Poèmes of Le Rossignol Éperdu (“The Bewildered/Distracted/Distraught/Ecstatic Nightingale”) and the Premières Valses (“First Waltzes”). There are 25 tracks in all: 9 Poèmes, 6 Valses, followed by 10 more Poèmes. The Poèmes have a more airy, other-worldly feel to them than do the Valses, which are livelier and more grounded, although still unmistakably French in character. Moreover, the Poèmes that Kolesnikov has chosen for the closing portion of the program are generally longer than those that he chose to open the program. Despite my clumsy attempts at describing it, this really is delightful music. If you like the piano music of Ravel, Satie, or Debussy, then I believe there is a good chance that you will find this music enjoyable. Kolesnikov is an impressive young pianist from whom I expect to we shall hear more from in the future. For now, we have this recording to savor.
KWN
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