I'm listening to a favourite Decca CD of music for harp, either solo or with orchestra, featuring the great harpist Marisa Robles and the Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields. There are three harp concertos recorded in 1980, and the disc is filled up with three sets of solo variations which come from an earlier (1966) recording.
The harp has not been a favourite instrument as a soloist with many composers, but those who truly understand its capabilities have given us a handful of masterpieces, and the pieces on this recording all fall into that category in one way or another.
Handel's Harp Concerto has the dual designation of being for either harp or organ, and is more familiar in the latter form. But it was actually composed for the harp, most likely for the famed Welsh harpist William Powell. And indeed, the harp sound works (if anything) even better than the organ with the subdued, pastoral accompaniment for strings and 2 flutes or recorders. Each of the three movements brims over with beautiful melody, and the harp contributes elaborately decorated variants of the melody on repeats.
This is followed by François-Adrien Boieldieu's Harp Concerto in 3 Tempi, composed in 1795 after the 20-year old composer visited Sebastien Erard, the renowned Parisian instrument maker whose experiments and innovations culminated in 1810 with the perfected pedal harp still used today in symphony orchestras. Boieldieu's Concerto is very Mozartean in sound, as one would expect given the date, but develops a style all its own, a graceful galanterie entirely appropriate to the instrument. The first two movements have their beauties to be sure, but it is the final Rondeau which brings forth a melody so unique and lovely that it tends to keep replaying in your head long after you hear it!
The third concerto is by Karl Ditters von Dittersdorf, an Austrian composer whose work is now becoming more widely appreciated after lengthy neglect. This work in fact was a harpsichord concerto which Dittersdorf wrote in 1779 but left unfinished. It was rearranged for the harp (and completed and reorchestrated) by Karl Hermann Pilley. This score too is tuneful and engaging, and the writing for the soloist is made to sound entirely idiomatic as if conceived for the harp.
The remaining works for solo harp are a Theme, Variations and Rondo pastorale attributed to Mozart, a set of Variations by Handel, and Six Variations on a Swiss Song by Beethoven. All of these, too, offer much for the listener. None of the variations in any of these works actually becomes at all complex as in (for instance) some of Beethoven's piano variations.
The excellence of the playing by Robles and her orchestral supporters (led by Iona Brown) can be safely taken for granted, and the sound is very present and warm without observing the harp too closely.
This is a desert-island record if ever there was one, especially because of the beautiful Boieldieu concerto.
Wednesday 27 February 2013
Thursday 21 February 2013
Meet the Princess of Cyprus!
The Princess of Cyprus is one of the best-known figures (by name at least) in Romantic music. Her name (in Helmina von Chezy's flopperoo of a play) was Rosamunde, and she is known exclusively today by the music Franz Schubert composed for the one, the only, unmitigated disaster of a production. This should not be surprising, as a similar fate befell von Chezy's equally awful libretto for the opera Euryanthe, a work rescued only by the beautiful music Carl Maria von Weber lavished on von Chezy's flimsy text.
So what about Rosamunde, Fürstin von Zypern? Of course the third entr'acte of the score is one of the best-known pieces for orchestra by Schubert,and the second ballet is almost as well known. But that's precisely the trouble. They're known as independent pieces. There is almost a full hour's worth of music which Schubert composed for Rosamunde, and most of it is rarely if ever heard. So: everyone has heard of her, but not nearly enough music lovers have heard the score in its entirety. A pity. But there is hope. The work has been recorded in its entirety several times, and has been given a full performance on a few occasions.
The score opens with the overture to Schubert's earlier opera, Die Zauberharfe. Why? Apparently Schubert never had time to write an overture for Rosamunde. At the premiere production the play was prefaced by the overture to another early Schubert opera, Alfonso und Estrella. The overture to Die Zauberharfe was published at the same time as the music for Rosamunde, and that coincidence appears to be its only connection. It makes no matter. It's as tuneful as Schubert could make it, and that is recommendation enough.
The Rosamunde music proper begins with an entr'acte in B- which is dramatic enough, and on a large enough scale, that some experts have suggested it might be the "lost" finale of the Unfinished (8th) Symphony. It certainly works itself up to a powerful climax in the closing bars.
The rest of the score consist of two more entr'actes, two short ballets, and several vocal numbers -- a song for soprano and chorus, and choruses for spirits, shepherds and hunters. All these vocal numbers are contrasted very effectively. There's also a charming little piece of shepherds' melodies, lightly scored for a chamber ensemble of paired clarinets, bassoons, and horns.
The recording I have is a 1991 DGG CD conducted by Claudio Abbado with the Chamber Orchestra of Europe, with the lovely voice of Anne Sofie von Otter in the song, and the Ernst Senff Choir providing the choral parts. Abbado seems to have been on a Schubert kick at the time, having just recorded the complete symphonies two years earlier with the same orchestra. I have that set too, and the light, sprightly playing of this orchestra is ideal for Schubert. Certainly the sound is not without weight when needed (in the first two Entr'actes, for instance).
What makes Abbado's recording especially delightful is the fact that the music is rearranged in order, so that pieces come in a musically-rewarding sequence rather than adhering to the dramatic order of events in von Chezy's play (we only know of the plot by reconstruction from referring to newspaper reviews of the premiere, anyway, as the full text has long since been -- mercifully -- lost). If you like Schubert, then it is surely worth your while to seek out this recording of Rosamunde!
So what about Rosamunde, Fürstin von Zypern? Of course the third entr'acte of the score is one of the best-known pieces for orchestra by Schubert,and the second ballet is almost as well known. But that's precisely the trouble. They're known as independent pieces. There is almost a full hour's worth of music which Schubert composed for Rosamunde, and most of it is rarely if ever heard. So: everyone has heard of her, but not nearly enough music lovers have heard the score in its entirety. A pity. But there is hope. The work has been recorded in its entirety several times, and has been given a full performance on a few occasions.
The score opens with the overture to Schubert's earlier opera, Die Zauberharfe. Why? Apparently Schubert never had time to write an overture for Rosamunde. At the premiere production the play was prefaced by the overture to another early Schubert opera, Alfonso und Estrella. The overture to Die Zauberharfe was published at the same time as the music for Rosamunde, and that coincidence appears to be its only connection. It makes no matter. It's as tuneful as Schubert could make it, and that is recommendation enough.
The Rosamunde music proper begins with an entr'acte in B- which is dramatic enough, and on a large enough scale, that some experts have suggested it might be the "lost" finale of the Unfinished (8th) Symphony. It certainly works itself up to a powerful climax in the closing bars.
The rest of the score consist of two more entr'actes, two short ballets, and several vocal numbers -- a song for soprano and chorus, and choruses for spirits, shepherds and hunters. All these vocal numbers are contrasted very effectively. There's also a charming little piece of shepherds' melodies, lightly scored for a chamber ensemble of paired clarinets, bassoons, and horns.
The recording I have is a 1991 DGG CD conducted by Claudio Abbado with the Chamber Orchestra of Europe, with the lovely voice of Anne Sofie von Otter in the song, and the Ernst Senff Choir providing the choral parts. Abbado seems to have been on a Schubert kick at the time, having just recorded the complete symphonies two years earlier with the same orchestra. I have that set too, and the light, sprightly playing of this orchestra is ideal for Schubert. Certainly the sound is not without weight when needed (in the first two Entr'actes, for instance).
What makes Abbado's recording especially delightful is the fact that the music is rearranged in order, so that pieces come in a musically-rewarding sequence rather than adhering to the dramatic order of events in von Chezy's play (we only know of the plot by reconstruction from referring to newspaper reviews of the premiere, anyway, as the full text has long since been -- mercifully -- lost). If you like Schubert, then it is surely worth your while to seek out this recording of Rosamunde!
Sunday 17 February 2013
Mass Meets Symphony
Recently I've been listening to several old favourite recordings of symphonic Masses from the 18th and 19th centuries. When I say "symphonic Masses" many people will automatically think of Beethoven's monumental Missa Solemnis, which is actually a choral symphony in all but name.
What many music lovers do not realize is that the Missa Solemnis, as grand as it is, really is as much evolutionary as revolutionary. The same, by the way, is also true of its close neighbour, the Ninth Choral Symphony. In these two huge works, Beethoven did not rework the art of music wholesale as some would have you believe, but developed the received traditions and conventions further and faster than they had ever been taken before. None the less, he was working within a long tradition of composing Mass settings with full orchestra when he wrote the Missa Solemnis.
Indeed, the symphonic Mass developed almost hand-in-hand with the Viennese symphony itself, and to demonstrate that you have to look no further than Haydn. Alongside his 104 symphonies, Haydn composed well over a dozen settings of the Mass with orchestras of varying sizes. His church orchestra was no different from the orchestra employed in his symphonies at the same period. Where the Haydn Masses differ from the Baroque models is in the employment of the group of soloists from time to time as a quartet, alternating with the full chorus. Haydn's practice in the use of soloists set a model that continued to be followed by composers for well over a hundred years.
The Great Seven were composed near the end of his career for the nameday of Princess Esterhazy, and are all fine works worth your time. My own favourite, though, is the earlier Missa cellensis (often inaccurately called the "St. Cecilia Mass"). This huge setting (about 65 minutes long) reaches back to the Baroque tradition for its structural model. It's a "cantata mass" in which each of the six sections of the Ordinary is broken into further sub-movements, alternating solos and choral numbers. However, the first movement with its plain slow introduction followed by an allegro that can only be called "jolly" is pure unadulterated Haydn, at his most irrepressibly cheerful.
Already, conventions had grown up around the composition of such Masses, and Haydn duly observes them, notably the use of fugues for such climactic passages as Cum sancto spiritu, Et vitam venturi saeculi, Osanna in excelsis and Dona nobis pacem. There are also marvellous inventions like the dark bass aria (not baritone, bass) of the Agnus Dei. But the general tone of the whole Mass is joyful and energetic, and it's great fun to sing too. For this or any of the Haydn Masses your best bet is the marvellous cycle conducted by Richard Hickox on Chandos Records' Chaconne early music label.
Some years later, the Prince Esterhazy commissioned another nameday Mass for the Princess from none other than Beethoven. It's only because of the monumental Missa Solemnis that Beethoven's Mass in A Major is considered unworthy. That's an unfair judgement, because in any other company it would be acclaimed a masterpiece. It's odd, too, because no one suggests that the grandeur of the Eroica and Choral Symphonies in any way negates the value of # 1 and # 2!
The Mass in A lasts about an hour, and is plainly written within the same received tradition that Haydn and Mozart did so much to establish. It's a more noble, serious work than the Missa Cellensis, and the orchestra carries its fair share of the musical argument alongside the singers. There are the obligatory fugal passages but, like Haydn, Beethoven has put in a fair share of ear-catching innovations and memorable melodies as well. I have a beautiful old DGG recording under Karl Richter, who was a leading choral conductor in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s. His performance is nimble and thoughtful at the same time, and the recorded balance is clear for both orchestra and choir. In the CD reissue it comes coupled with an early-stereo account of the better-known Coronation Mass by Mozart, conducted with great vigour by Igor Markevitch.
The third Mass I want to mention today is a later work from the Romantic era. However, Franz Schubert was plainly working within the same received tradition. His Mass No.6 in E-Flat is another hour-long work, written for a normal Schubert orchestra and choir, and five soloists -- the unusual number includes 2 tenors. Like the other composers I've mentioned today, Schubert uses his soloists from time to time as an ensemble and includes several of the obligatory fugues. Where this Mass scores over the others is in its use of melody. Schubert, ever the supreme melodist, certainly could not switch off his melodic gift just because he was composing to a sacred text. That brings up an interesting point: Schubert's Mass settings are all unusable for the church service because in each case he deliberately omitted the line "et in unam sanctam catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam" from the setting of the Credo. Exactly why he did so is not definitely known, although there has been much speculation about the omission -- certainly not an accidental one!
The centrepiece of this Mass, and one of its most unforgettable moments, is the setting of Et incarnatus est. It opens as a gently lilting 9/8 song for tenor with a typically Schubertian outpouring of lyrical melody. At the second iteration the tenor is joined by a baritone, and then by another tenor, and each of the singers is given a new melody with its own distinctive character which miraculously harmonizes with the others. The music then clouds over and, with no change of tempo or rhythm, rolls right into the restlessly energetic minor-key setting of Crucifixus which rises to a chromatic climax evoking the tragedy of Golgotha.
My recording of this Mass comes on a Telarc CD conducted by the noted American choral conductor
Robert Shaw with the Atlanta Symphony Chorus and Orchestra. It comes in harness with the earlier, and even lovelier, chamber-scaled Mass # 2 in F Major. With the splendid performances, and Telarc's realistic sound, this is a record to treasure.
What many music lovers do not realize is that the Missa Solemnis, as grand as it is, really is as much evolutionary as revolutionary. The same, by the way, is also true of its close neighbour, the Ninth Choral Symphony. In these two huge works, Beethoven did not rework the art of music wholesale as some would have you believe, but developed the received traditions and conventions further and faster than they had ever been taken before. None the less, he was working within a long tradition of composing Mass settings with full orchestra when he wrote the Missa Solemnis.
Indeed, the symphonic Mass developed almost hand-in-hand with the Viennese symphony itself, and to demonstrate that you have to look no further than Haydn. Alongside his 104 symphonies, Haydn composed well over a dozen settings of the Mass with orchestras of varying sizes. His church orchestra was no different from the orchestra employed in his symphonies at the same period. Where the Haydn Masses differ from the Baroque models is in the employment of the group of soloists from time to time as a quartet, alternating with the full chorus. Haydn's practice in the use of soloists set a model that continued to be followed by composers for well over a hundred years.
The Great Seven were composed near the end of his career for the nameday of Princess Esterhazy, and are all fine works worth your time. My own favourite, though, is the earlier Missa cellensis (often inaccurately called the "St. Cecilia Mass"). This huge setting (about 65 minutes long) reaches back to the Baroque tradition for its structural model. It's a "cantata mass" in which each of the six sections of the Ordinary is broken into further sub-movements, alternating solos and choral numbers. However, the first movement with its plain slow introduction followed by an allegro that can only be called "jolly" is pure unadulterated Haydn, at his most irrepressibly cheerful.
Already, conventions had grown up around the composition of such Masses, and Haydn duly observes them, notably the use of fugues for such climactic passages as Cum sancto spiritu, Et vitam venturi saeculi, Osanna in excelsis and Dona nobis pacem. There are also marvellous inventions like the dark bass aria (not baritone, bass) of the Agnus Dei. But the general tone of the whole Mass is joyful and energetic, and it's great fun to sing too. For this or any of the Haydn Masses your best bet is the marvellous cycle conducted by Richard Hickox on Chandos Records' Chaconne early music label.
Some years later, the Prince Esterhazy commissioned another nameday Mass for the Princess from none other than Beethoven. It's only because of the monumental Missa Solemnis that Beethoven's Mass in A Major is considered unworthy. That's an unfair judgement, because in any other company it would be acclaimed a masterpiece. It's odd, too, because no one suggests that the grandeur of the Eroica and Choral Symphonies in any way negates the value of # 1 and # 2!
The Mass in A lasts about an hour, and is plainly written within the same received tradition that Haydn and Mozart did so much to establish. It's a more noble, serious work than the Missa Cellensis, and the orchestra carries its fair share of the musical argument alongside the singers. There are the obligatory fugal passages but, like Haydn, Beethoven has put in a fair share of ear-catching innovations and memorable melodies as well. I have a beautiful old DGG recording under Karl Richter, who was a leading choral conductor in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s. His performance is nimble and thoughtful at the same time, and the recorded balance is clear for both orchestra and choir. In the CD reissue it comes coupled with an early-stereo account of the better-known Coronation Mass by Mozart, conducted with great vigour by Igor Markevitch.
The third Mass I want to mention today is a later work from the Romantic era. However, Franz Schubert was plainly working within the same received tradition. His Mass No.6 in E-Flat is another hour-long work, written for a normal Schubert orchestra and choir, and five soloists -- the unusual number includes 2 tenors. Like the other composers I've mentioned today, Schubert uses his soloists from time to time as an ensemble and includes several of the obligatory fugues. Where this Mass scores over the others is in its use of melody. Schubert, ever the supreme melodist, certainly could not switch off his melodic gift just because he was composing to a sacred text. That brings up an interesting point: Schubert's Mass settings are all unusable for the church service because in each case he deliberately omitted the line "et in unam sanctam catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam" from the setting of the Credo. Exactly why he did so is not definitely known, although there has been much speculation about the omission -- certainly not an accidental one!
The centrepiece of this Mass, and one of its most unforgettable moments, is the setting of Et incarnatus est. It opens as a gently lilting 9/8 song for tenor with a typically Schubertian outpouring of lyrical melody. At the second iteration the tenor is joined by a baritone, and then by another tenor, and each of the singers is given a new melody with its own distinctive character which miraculously harmonizes with the others. The music then clouds over and, with no change of tempo or rhythm, rolls right into the restlessly energetic minor-key setting of Crucifixus which rises to a chromatic climax evoking the tragedy of Golgotha.
My recording of this Mass comes on a Telarc CD conducted by the noted American choral conductor
Robert Shaw with the Atlanta Symphony Chorus and Orchestra. It comes in harness with the earlier, and even lovelier, chamber-scaled Mass # 2 in F Major. With the splendid performances, and Telarc's realistic sound, this is a record to treasure.
Wednesday 13 February 2013
The Victorian Parlour Comes to New Life
One of the recurring themes of this blog is the way that music can be phenomenally popular for a time, and then suffer a fall from grace and popularity to the very depths of scorn.
This cycle, of course, mirrors the conditions of life generally, so astutely observed by an anonymous mediaeval poet and so memorably set to music by Carl Orff in the opening O Fortuna of his Carmina Burana.
I've had several pieces up for discussion at one time or another that have followed this pattern. Now you're getting a double serving of them in wholesale quantity.
The Canadian pianist, Robert Silverman, recorded two CDs for Marquis Records of piano pieces which were beloved of our Victorian ancestors and have for the most part fallen into disuse since. The two records were issued separately under the title The Parlour Grand and have since been reissued as a 2-for-1 CD set. The title, of course, refers to the grand piano in the formal front parlour of a well-to-do Victorian home and the music that would be found stacked on top of it.
What you are most likely to recognize in this album's cover are the titles of a number of pieces which are almost obligatory points of reference in books set in this time period. Among the contents you may well recognize three or four tunes which are equally obligatory in the soundtracks of films set in this era. But for the most part, you will probably find yourself discovering this music for the first time. If that is so, you will likely be pleasantly surprised (as I was) at how melodious, well-crafted and effective these pieces are. Whenever I listen to this album, I inevitably come away humming one of the tunes to myself!
If there's a single overriding reason why most of this music has been neglected for so long, it can be summed up in the pithy proverb, "Familiarity breeds contempt." These two discs are full of very good pieces of music, but none of them is a great enough masterpiece to survive the over-familiarity which was their fate in the late 19th century.
Kudos, then, to Silverman and Marquis for taking so much care to bring this unjustly-neglected music to the wider public again. Performances throughout are of excellent quality -- no surprise to anyone familiar with this fine artist's work. The Marquis sound is nicely judged too, neither too cramped nor too spacious, and with the piano observed not-too-closely by the microphones. The net result is a vivid evocation of a world long gone. I almost feel I could look around the room and see pieces of period china appearing on the tables or antimacassars on the chair backs when listening!
This cycle, of course, mirrors the conditions of life generally, so astutely observed by an anonymous mediaeval poet and so memorably set to music by Carl Orff in the opening O Fortuna of his Carmina Burana.
I've had several pieces up for discussion at one time or another that have followed this pattern. Now you're getting a double serving of them in wholesale quantity.
The Canadian pianist, Robert Silverman, recorded two CDs for Marquis Records of piano pieces which were beloved of our Victorian ancestors and have for the most part fallen into disuse since. The two records were issued separately under the title The Parlour Grand and have since been reissued as a 2-for-1 CD set. The title, of course, refers to the grand piano in the formal front parlour of a well-to-do Victorian home and the music that would be found stacked on top of it.
What you are most likely to recognize in this album's cover are the titles of a number of pieces which are almost obligatory points of reference in books set in this time period. Among the contents you may well recognize three or four tunes which are equally obligatory in the soundtracks of films set in this era. But for the most part, you will probably find yourself discovering this music for the first time. If that is so, you will likely be pleasantly surprised (as I was) at how melodious, well-crafted and effective these pieces are. Whenever I listen to this album, I inevitably come away humming one of the tunes to myself!
If there's a single overriding reason why most of this music has been neglected for so long, it can be summed up in the pithy proverb, "Familiarity breeds contempt." These two discs are full of very good pieces of music, but none of them is a great enough masterpiece to survive the over-familiarity which was their fate in the late 19th century.
Kudos, then, to Silverman and Marquis for taking so much care to bring this unjustly-neglected music to the wider public again. Performances throughout are of excellent quality -- no surprise to anyone familiar with this fine artist's work. The Marquis sound is nicely judged too, neither too cramped nor too spacious, and with the piano observed not-too-closely by the microphones. The net result is a vivid evocation of a world long gone. I almost feel I could look around the room and see pieces of period china appearing on the tables or antimacassars on the chair backs when listening!
Sunday 10 February 2013
Even When The Composer is Well-Known....
Although I seem to write mainly about little-known composers, part of my self-imposed mandate is to examine lesser-known works by well-known composers. And it's fascinating to see how every composer you can think of has these little-heard pieces, sometimes small and insignificant, but sometimes of such scale and power that you have to wonder how they ever got overlooked.
Today's example contains some of the most poetic music of Chopin. The "poet of the piano" of course composed hundreds of works for his beloved instrument, and it's only natural that quite a few would remain unknown.
It seems to me that pianists who want to display the poetry of Chopin at full tilt in live recital generally head for the Nocturnes. Other pianists, knowing their audiences' predilection for pianistic fireworks, take on the Scherzi, Preludes, Ballades, or Polonaises -- or the Sonatas. That leaves the Mazurkas as the poor sisters of the Chopin oeuvre -- well-known by name but not nearly as often heard.
I've just been listening through the two well-packed Decca CDs that contain Vladimir Ashkenazy's complete survey of all 69 of Chopin's Mazurkas. Only a few are well-known to me, and I suspect that is because they are contained in the Royal Conservatory of Music's examination lists -- so I heard those few in all the piano recitals I attended while I was a student.
The mazurka is a traditional Polish dance form in triple time, but unlike the waltz or valse it has the accent on the second or third beat of the bar. It's generally in a lively tempo. Now, before you sit down to listen to (or play through) Chopin, discard that definition!
There seems not much doubt, from the character of the music, that Chopin was intent on broadening the definition of mazurka. Some of his dances have an unmistakable first-beat emphasis. The typical um-pa-pa bass of the Viennese waltz is very clearly present in a number of these pieces. Some are slow, wistful, dreamy, every bit as poetic as the Nocturnes. Others are hectic and propulsive in a way that brings them close to the Scherzi. As in all of Chopin's music, interesting and unusual harmonies and key sequences abound -- and memorable melodies are found everywhere. The one characteristic that does derive from the traditional dance form is the frequent repetition of sections of melody.
These Mazurkas are, on the whole, relatively short -- and that may be another reason for their relative neglect by virtuoso pianists, who often want to stun their audiences with the sheer scale and scope of what they are playing. However, if my description makes this music sound boring, tedious, or repetitive, I can only assure you that Chopin's Mazurkas are anything but that. A succession of 69 pieces in triple time could get tedious, but I can listen to these works by the hour! Others might prefer to dip in for shorter spans of time, and that's fine too. The important thing is to give the entire collection its day in the sun. If you simply jump to the well-known half-dozen pieces you will be cheating yourself out of some marvellous music.
And since Ashkenazy is, for me, the pre-eminent Chopin pianist of the modern era, I saw no reason to look anywhere else when his album came to hand. Nor was I in the least disappointed -- rather, I was enthralled. Other Chopin lovers will have their own favourite pianists, too, and that is as it should be. But do give the complete Chopin Mazurkas your time, and I think you will find yourself making some new musical friends just as I have done!
Today's example contains some of the most poetic music of Chopin. The "poet of the piano" of course composed hundreds of works for his beloved instrument, and it's only natural that quite a few would remain unknown.
It seems to me that pianists who want to display the poetry of Chopin at full tilt in live recital generally head for the Nocturnes. Other pianists, knowing their audiences' predilection for pianistic fireworks, take on the Scherzi, Preludes, Ballades, or Polonaises -- or the Sonatas. That leaves the Mazurkas as the poor sisters of the Chopin oeuvre -- well-known by name but not nearly as often heard.
I've just been listening through the two well-packed Decca CDs that contain Vladimir Ashkenazy's complete survey of all 69 of Chopin's Mazurkas. Only a few are well-known to me, and I suspect that is because they are contained in the Royal Conservatory of Music's examination lists -- so I heard those few in all the piano recitals I attended while I was a student.
The mazurka is a traditional Polish dance form in triple time, but unlike the waltz or valse it has the accent on the second or third beat of the bar. It's generally in a lively tempo. Now, before you sit down to listen to (or play through) Chopin, discard that definition!
There seems not much doubt, from the character of the music, that Chopin was intent on broadening the definition of mazurka. Some of his dances have an unmistakable first-beat emphasis. The typical um-pa-pa bass of the Viennese waltz is very clearly present in a number of these pieces. Some are slow, wistful, dreamy, every bit as poetic as the Nocturnes. Others are hectic and propulsive in a way that brings them close to the Scherzi. As in all of Chopin's music, interesting and unusual harmonies and key sequences abound -- and memorable melodies are found everywhere. The one characteristic that does derive from the traditional dance form is the frequent repetition of sections of melody.
These Mazurkas are, on the whole, relatively short -- and that may be another reason for their relative neglect by virtuoso pianists, who often want to stun their audiences with the sheer scale and scope of what they are playing. However, if my description makes this music sound boring, tedious, or repetitive, I can only assure you that Chopin's Mazurkas are anything but that. A succession of 69 pieces in triple time could get tedious, but I can listen to these works by the hour! Others might prefer to dip in for shorter spans of time, and that's fine too. The important thing is to give the entire collection its day in the sun. If you simply jump to the well-known half-dozen pieces you will be cheating yourself out of some marvellous music.
And since Ashkenazy is, for me, the pre-eminent Chopin pianist of the modern era, I saw no reason to look anywhere else when his album came to hand. Nor was I in the least disappointed -- rather, I was enthralled. Other Chopin lovers will have their own favourite pianists, too, and that is as it should be. But do give the complete Chopin Mazurkas your time, and I think you will find yourself making some new musical friends just as I have done!
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