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

Rieti's Crumb of a Lullaby

After much rumination I regret to announce that I don't "get" Vittorio Rieti (1898-1994).  A man who saw the entirety of the 20th century pass before him, his grew out of the post-WWI Italian Avant-Garde and honed a semi-ironic Neoclassical voice, only deepening his own groove long after his work became marginalized in an uncaring America.  He's one of those rare cases where I have trouble telling whether or not he's serious or ironic in his mature style, a burbling, deceptively simple approach that is as close as one can get to a Neoclassical counterpart to Max Reger's swiftly tilting Romanticism.  A charitable interneter uploaded a bunch of his piano works to Scorser, Russia's response to IMSLP's copyright crackdowning, and you can click here to stick a toe in Rietian waters (but only click the "PDF" buttons).  I've managed to record a few particularly accomplished miniatures, including these two works from his 6 Short Pieces (1932), "Elegy" and "Barcarole":

Both of those works exhibit his mature style with grace and unexpected beauty, though they occasionally swoop through their chord changes a bit quickly for my taste.  The third piece I recorded comes from a decade earlier, the opening to his Avant-Garde miniature set Briciole (literally "Crumbs").

One of a handful of his works in the public domain (available here as a Google Books scan), Briciole is the most available works from his striking early days as a Futurist.  Featuring a satirical blend of Chopin and Debussy, a Marionette dance and two pieces about music boxes, the "Berceuse" is the best and easiest to advertise of the set.  Using a simple, hypnotic rhythmic structure, Rieti bets all his chips on pinging, clustered harmonies and plays to win.  The audience is given a stepwise melody to follow, meaning that thick chords, such as the mid-register clusters in measure 3 don't seem like cheap special effects, and liberal pedal use brings out the nocturnal mystery of his textures.  The slightly differing, icy arpeggios up high are a particularly subtle effect, high enough that holding down the pedal blurs them enough to the point that the listener can't tell how they differ but know something's up.  The lullaby has no real conclusion, just a variation and final sparkle as the sleeper falls into the Deep.  While I can't say I'll become a huge fan of Rieti his Berceuse is a strange and inviting window into the hall of mirrors that was inter-war European experimentalism, though ultimately it may lead to an entirely unseen realm.

~PNK

A Tansman Dumka for Friday

Though he's not talked about much today, the music of Alexandre Tansman (1897-1986) was once very popular, as he was one of the most prolific and high-profile figures in French Neo-Classicism in the years between the World Wars (and beyond).  The Neo-Classical style utterly dominated French music at the time, and it's all to easy to write off its authors as riding trends (much like the American populist style of the 40's and 50's), but when they were good they were good, and Tansman had a consistently excellent grasp of the language that bespoke a personal identity.  Though he lived and worked in France for the majority of his life, he was Polish by birth and maintained a strong sense of his heritage in his works.  His Quatre Danses Polonaises from 1932 are an excellent synthesis of Polish folk music and Neo-Classical techniques, and as I perused it a leaf blew my way that resonated very well with the Holiday conurbation.

(Click for larger view)

One of Tansman's prettiest pieces, the Dumka keeps a deep emotional resonance so treasured in Eastern European music, at once yearning and dolorous.  Much like Debussy's The Girl with the Flaxen Hair, Tansman is able to use modern harmonic and textural techniques in a way that doesn't distract from the tune, or its recognizably Polish harmonic structure.  Americans are trained to think of snow whenever we hear Slavic music, so the Dumka may spark those warm Christmas feelings in US listeners.  I personally think that Lutoslawski's 20 Polish Christmas Carols is the definitive document of Eastern European Christmas music, but I can't fit that into a leaf article (but perhaps Re-Composing).  The Danses Polonaises also exist in an orchestral version, and that's the version I've got a recording of.  The Dumka is the third movement, and shows off Tansman's creativity in orchestration - with a haunting treat in the last five measures.  The other dances are pretty boss, too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WERhS1jnVXY (embedding disabled, sorry)

~PNK

Poulenc's Gloaming Sarabande

Though Francis Poulenc (1899-1963) needs no introduction here, it's important to note his career's parallel-yet-opposed relationship to Stravinsky's, from era touchpoints to their wildly differing interpretations of Neo-Classicism.  By the '60's, each man had attained lasting and unprecedented acclaim in their own craft, and at this time Stravinsky entered a super-concentration phase.  Perhaps his advanced age had given him the wisdom to say just as much with one stroke as others would with five, and I can't help but think that Poulenc felt the same of his own work.  He had never shied away from simplicity before, but now the close was near and the need to choose his words may have risen in priority.  Just a few years before his death, he wrote the Sarabande, his only work for guitar.

(Click for larger view)

The other leaf on David Leisner's album Music of the Human Spirit, Poulenc's meditative dance is a far and melancholic cry from Lou Harrison's Serenade.  Working with a slow heartbeat and the semi-stunted, chest-born resonance of the guitar, he weaves a haunting song with a minimal, yet effective, antique modality.  Much like Harrison he banks on repetition, getting a lot of mileage out of strains so natural they feel ingrained in our collective memory.  This isn't Neo-Classical so much as it is Neo-Baroque, harking to Dowland's lachrymose.  The guitar stands in for a lute, and the more limited resonance of the lute would work wonders here.  Once again Leisner's recording is my favorite, but there are about 17 dozen YouTube performances to choose from, including the very nice one below.  Consider the Sarabande a gift from me to you for a rainy day - Washington has entered the Wet and Dark, and so this piece seems more than necessary.

~PNK