Four Horns in Five Tcherepnin Leaves

A featured composer this month on these blogs is Nikolay Tcherepnin, the first in line in the mighty Tcherepnin compositional dynasty, carried forth by his more famous son Alexander Tcherepnin (author of that dang Bagatelle) and his lesser-known son Ivan Tcherepnin (a guy we might be getting to in a future article).  He closed out my Baba Yaga article a bit ago and you'll be seeing the Big Show article in the coming days but here's a skinny version: Nikolay Tcherepnin (1873-1945) was one of the best students of Nikolay Rimsky-Korsakov and inherited his mentor's deftness for orchestration and advanced harmonies and taste for the fantastic, writing for the Ballet Russes with great success and generally kicking ass and taking names.  That Big Show article is going to go over a LOT of music and discuss his place in both Russian and French musical history, so before we get navel-deep in his oeuvre let's dip a toe first with a peek at his excellent contribution to an unfortunately neglected instrumental grouping.

French horns have a reputation for being the most difficult instrument in the standard orchestra to play next to the bassoon, but it makes up for its technical beastness with a warm, pleasant tone, graceful technique and a wide note range.  Because of this horn ensembles have a special appeal and surprising effectiveness, and the most common of these is the horn quartet.  One nice thing about these groups is that you can just use the same instruments and get full coverage from soprano to bass, so quartets are both attractive and economical, allowing players to switch parts easily.  The most famous piece for horn quartet is probably the 1952 Sonata by Paul Hindemith, a work that stuck in the mind of Michael Tippett when he wrote his own horn quartet in 1957, also a Sonata.  Other modern composers to tackle the genre include Jean Françaix, Carlos Chavez, Christian Wolff and Leslie Bassett, a richly diverse bunch if I ever saw one, as well as a heap of lesser-known composers whose contributions to the oeuvre could be worth a spin.  As for the last (*COUGH* ONE BEFORE LAST GOOD SIR *COUGH*) century the coverage is spottier and mostly relegated to third banana names.  Tchaikovsky wrote a short Adagio when still in school and scored it for horn quartet, though I can't tell if he meant it to actually be played with four horns or he was just sick of writing string quartets; a Notturno by Rimsky-Korsakov gets played frequently but I couldn't find the score; and some other works pop up which seem like they're not worth our time.  However, our good friend Nikolay took a crack at it in 1910 and came up with six elegant miniatures, published as his op. 35 and freely available on IMSLP.  Not only are they some of the most charming and assured brass ensemble works of la Belle Epoque but five of the six are leaf-sized, making them an easy fit for this October's slate of articles.

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Things begin preciously with a "Nocturne" in D-flat, the best nocturne key in my humble opinion, and eschews the pianistic nocturne signature of bass arpeggios with a more manageable contrapuntal tack.  The part-writing here is accomplished without being showy, essential for the mood, and the distant quality of the horn timbre, as well as the tendency by hornists to avoid vibrato, makes this opening as satisfying as it is quiet.

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The second quartet is an "Old German Folk Song", once again given the air of a melody drifting across an alpine valley.  The melody is allowed more sweetness to start and later echoed at pp, only to be all shook up by fanfarish interjections.  There are small details that add to the atmosphere of the piece, a notable one being the quite long pedal tones in the fourth horn, especially that last one, letting the melody repeat into nothingness as if watching the setting sun.  The most important detail, however, are the moments of silence, and if pulled off well they can be essential dramatic statements, proving that silence is the most underrated aspect of music.

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The fourth piece is in the rare "Choeur dansé" form ("Dancing Chorus"), one that I've only ever seen in a scant handful of other pieces:the closing movement of Lyadov's 8 Russian Folk Songs, op. 58, a piece for string quartet by Rimsky-Korsakov written for a collaborative set with Glazunov and Lyadov, a number from a ballet by Jacques Herz (who?) and one of a set of piano pieces by Nikolay Shcherbachyov, another student of Rimsky-Korsakov's who may or may not appear in these blogs (and who also had two relations who were composers, a distant cousin and a nephew).  It's most likely a Russian folk song form that I'm unfamiliar with and hasn't been used much outside of Rimsky-Korsakov's circle (that Herz piece might mean something else, for example), combining heavy chordal writing with lively rhythms.  This is one of the more anodyne ones but isn't without quaint charm, and is arguably the one most likely to be heard in a turn-of-the-century gazebo being performed by a municipal group, much like the Oskar Boehme Sextet.

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Arguably the loveliest of the set is no. 5, "A Russian Folk Song", very Russian indeed and incredibly delicate.  The gradual introduction of interweaving lines is so fine as to send shivers down the spine, and you don't often see a canon at the unison but dang does it ever work here.  Once again Tcherepnin lets certain players stand alone in a field, never using too many notes, and generally writes the song that makes the young girls cry*.

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The closing quartet is a grand chorale, based on "A Mighty Fortress is Our God", one of the best-known hymn tunes of all time.  Each section of the melody is spiced with little moving parts and harmonic subtleties, keeping things fresh even as they're as old as time, a stirring end to a stirring set.  There's one missing here, though, and while I can't talk about it because of its length I can certainly show it, and I can note that it's an excellent bridge between 2 and 4 and easily the most exciting one of the set.

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I can also toss in this performance, one that really shows off the round tone and expressive capabilities of the horn.  See you in the big Tcherepnin tchowcase...

~PNK

*Under no circumstances will I apologize to Barry Manilow for my actions.

Two Jots from the Early Prime of Kabalevsky

Pedagogical music is great - it's necessary, accessible and has attracted the work of big name composers from across the ages.  The only catch is that, because much of it is simple by design, people who are famous primarily for their pedagogical work, such as Aleksandr Grechaninov, see their other works neglected because audiences don't expect their stuff to be up to "concert" standards.  Case in point: Dmitry Kabalevsky (1904-1987), one of the most famous Soviet composers of all time and one of a scant handful to see their work imported to the US back when we thought that was A-O-K (the '30's and '40's).  Known for his third Piano Concerto and his ballet suite The Comedians, Kabalevsky's most commonly-played stuff are his easier piano pieces, such as the first piano Sonatina and his Variations in D, both of which have been in countless piano collections in the last several decades.  These works are unchallenging for mainstream audiences, not only for their technical ease but also their pleasant Neoclassical language which was forced upon Kabalevsky by Stalinist compositional policy.  Most of Kabalevsky's work is similar in tone if not technical difficulty, but one can find more adventurous stuff if they dig a bit deeper.  My favorite work of Kabalevsky's is one of these alluring few and was written very early in his career, back in the twilight of the hayday of Soviet modernism before the clamps came down.

The Four Preludes, op. 4 were written between 1927 and 1928, the last couple of years before the end of a glorious era in Soviet arts administration that can best be described as a virtuosic free-for-all.  Guys like Roslavets, Mosolov, Lourie and many more really did whatever the hell they wanted in the name of modern music, and it all came crashing down because Stalin and the new, Proletarian-minded arts boards new just enough to be wrong.  Thankfully Kabalevsky wasn't gulag'd and his works have been preserved, such as these warmly experimental miniatures.  The first two are leaf-like so they get the spotlight today, and they're also wildly different from each other.  The first has a precious, childlike melancholy about it, the compact simplicity of the main motive contrasted against aching, chromatic chord undulations in the B section.  This section is a fine example of how tonality can be bent nearly to breaking without sacrificing a good melody/harmony relationship.  The second prelude is almost an etude, a fleet and lovely parallel fourths exercise and showcase for extended modal harmony.  I'd be tempted to add a subtitle about ocean spray or flying, especially because of the excellent decision (either by Kabalevsky or the editor) to add ritenuti here and there to give the impression of sharp swaying.  The other two preludes are a bit longer than these, but because I'm feeling generous (especially after coming off of a spectacular evening performing with my chamber group Cursive) I'll toss in the other two preludes free of charge.

That last one especially sounds quite modern for the time, though not dissonant - makes me think of a wine festival or cottonwood fluff.  Here's a fine recording of the set by Alexandre Dossin, a pianist I had the pleasure of seeing live at UPS many years ago.

~PNK