Synthetic Nostalgia for Sunday

Much like the hullabaloo created by the revival of Entartete Musik - music suppressed by the Third Reich - there was similar hubbub when, around the same time, there was a big revival of Russian Classical composers who were suppressed by the Soviet Empire.  Most of this music, though much of it was written before the revolution, was created in that wonderful window of the first decade of the U.S.S.R.'s existence, ending around 1928 or '29 when hearings were held decrying Avant-Garde music as "formalist" and not fitting the Social Realism that was gaining traction in the government's eye.  This first decade, what I call the Lunacharsky* era, was presided over by Anatoly Lunacharsky, the first Soviet People's Commissar of Education, who was ousted by Stalin during his rise to power.  Lunacharsky was an interesting figure, one that was able to run the state censorship board while allowing many fascinating artistic movements, such as Futurism and Constructivism, to work with the freedom they'd had in the previous decade, as well as saving many historic buildings from destruction by the Bolsheviks by arguing for their architectural value.  The Classical music being written at this time was some of the most invigoratingly original music to ever come out of Russia, taking the baton from Scriabin's late mystical music and running in all sorts of incredible directions, creating what I think of as the Scriabinist school.  While there were a ton of great composers working during this period and the years leading up to it three in particular were singled out as the most important composers of the time.  Two of them, Alexander Mosolov and Arthur Lourié, excelled brilliantly in Futurism, "machine music", such as Mosolov's The Foundry, and striking experiments in engraving.  The third, Nikolai Roslavets, was dubbed the "Russian Schoenberg" for his experiments in "synthetic chords".  Roslavets flew right out of the gate with his first compositions in the 1910's, crafting passionate, dark rhapsodies in strikingly exotic harmonies, using them so naturally that the pieces surge with depth and meaning.  His emotional range was so great that he wrote his blackly iridescent Three Etudes for piano (1914) -

- relatively hot on the heels of the lush impressionism of his Nocturne for oboe, two violas, cello and harp (1913), one of the most ingenious unused chamber groupings I've ever seen, so unique that it is literally the only piece in its genre:

It's easy to see that Roslavets never had to sacrifice the heart of his music in order to push boundaries, and his craftsmanship and sincerity weren't stunted even when he became a victim of political maneuvering and purges like so many of the best and brightest of his generation and he was forced to simplify and "tonalize" his language.  After his death his apartment was ransacked by a Soviet goon squad and many of his scores were confiscated; a lot of them are lost to this day.  Luckily we still have most of his work and many previously lost scores have been reconstructed, making everything in print one way or another.  I was lucky to find a collection of his piano pieces at a used bookstore of all places, and among them were some of my favorite Roslavets pieces, the Five Preludes (1919-22), which ends with a disarmingly wistful ditty.

While the Preludes are all written in Roslavets's highly individual Scriabinist language, the fifth prelude is a fond look back at tonality.  The extended tonal chord progressions are almost too traditional even for the more conservative composers of his time, banking heavily on the great sensitivity that seasoned performers of Scriabinist music get so good at.  This idea is actually more Schoenbergian than you'd think, as he ended his 1913 free atonal song cycle Pierrot Lunaire with a song that makes meaningful reference to the key of E major called "O Alter Duft", or "O Scent of Old".  While Schoenberg's use of major chords was more ironic than sentimental, very much fitting the pessimism and horror of the cycle, it seems that Roslavets needed the solace and warmth of the circle of fifths.  The older I get the more I realize that the only thing that really helps a piece of art become timeless is sincerity and hopefully the world will be able to see Roslavets's music as being more timeless than most - the fact that you can get many of his scores for free here is a good start.

~PNK

A Lithuanian Nightingale for Saturday

The recent resurrection of the amazing works of Vytautas Bacevicius has put a new face on Lithuanian classical music, and I'd bet dollars to donuts that the bulk of American music lovers didn't know Lithuania even had a face of classical music.  This is understandable, as Lithuania is a small country tucked away in a corner of what was the Eastern Bloc for most of the 20th century, and before that the most exposure it got artistically might have been its passing inclusion in Alfred Jarry's batshit anti-art masterpiece Ubu Roi.  However, one name did rise to international prominence at the beginning of the 20th century, not only in music but in painting and literature - Mikalojus Konstantinas Ciurlionis.  A dedicated proponent of the symbolist movement, Ciurlionis crafted a considerable body of paintings and musical pieces that show a vivid and fearless imagination with an emphasis on epic fantasy and rich aesthetics.  Before we get to his music I need to show more of Ciurlionis's boss paintings:

Now that's the kind of thing that inspires people to go to art school.  It's clear that Ciurlionis had a passion for unique naturalism, and few piano pieces of his live up to that goal better than The Nightingale, op. 19, no. 3:

Many of Ciurlionis's pieces are miniatures in a Scriabinist vein, though the textures and harmonies he uses are very different, leaning towards sturm und drang forebodingness.  One wouldn't think that a nightingale would inspire creeping dread but Ciurlionis did it and did it with real craftsmanship.  The piece is essentially variations on an ostinato, the first measure in the left hand transposed and unfurled over and over while a right hand whistles and dances in the air.  The melodic figures here are highly chromatic and skewed towards odd angles, deftly imitative of how varied and improvisatory the song of the nightingale really is.  His tempo marking, Con grazia e rubato, quasi un' improvvisazione, allows the pianist to bend and sworl through the bird's turning song, and this pianist takes great and wonderful license in this regard.  It's a great addition to a long line of fascinating nightingale pieces (though nothing will beat Ervin Schulhoff's Bass Nightingale) and a sly introduction to Ciurlionis's very personal music, and at leaf length what more could you need?

~PNK

Roy Recounts His Snowprints

Australia's leading impressionist, the Re-Composingly featured Roy Agnew was very familiar with the miniature, with several sets and suites under his belt by the time of his death.  The beginning of the 20th century revolutionized the piano miniature as the premier workshop medium for modern music, as they didn't take up too much time and one performer could manage a considerable range of colors and moods with little time and effort.  1927 saw Agnew well into his mature style, and his 3 Lyrics featured some highly sophisticated and many-colored music - though only one leaf, perhaps his lone leaf.

(Click for larger view)

The textures of Winter were exploited by a whole host of impressionists, and perhaps following in Debussy's footsteps Agnew illuminates snow's ability to mute the world.  The pulsing pedal note (note held beneath shifting upper harmonies) has long been a fascination of piano composers since Chopin, and what floats above Agnew's E is among his most enchanting, Scriabin-esque harmonies.  Even the most abstruse composers employ an internal logic in their writing, and Agnew's approach to pan-tonality appeals both to pianistic chord construction and stepwise horizontal movement - a reminder that seemingly predictable paths can lead to surprising destinations.  The Falling Snow also adheres to starkly simple motivic development, so logical as to be almost primeval.  As the frozen months approach these pieces will become more and more invaluable for singing the psyche, and if I've got the time I'll make a better effort to record The Falling Snow a bit better than the performance below - though to be fair the performer appears to be quite young.  It's such a lovely piece that it deserves better than that, but for now we'll have to do - thankfully it's only October.

~PNK