Brahms 7 Fantasies

[ by Richard Goode]
JOHANNES BRAHMS
Seven Fantasies, Op. 116Born May 7, 1833, in Hamburg; died April 3, 1897, in Vienna.

Brhams completed the Seven Fantasies, Op. 116, in 1892, and they received their first complete Carnegie Hall performance on March 4, 1949, with Frank Glazer, piano. The first performance at Carnegie Hall of any of the Fantasies took place on November 29, 1902, with Ossip

Gabrilowitsch, who performed the Intermezzo in E Major, Op. 116, No. 4.Johannes Brahms’s “Paganini” Variations, Op. 35, completed at age 30, was his last large-scale keyboard work. His subsequent piano pieces were all cast in single-movement forms, most of them quite small. Far from being trifles, these were microcosmic “novels in miniature” wrought with jewel-like perfection, in which allusive intimacy rose to the truly oracular. One set of these Klavierstücke—the eight pieces of Op. 76—appeared in 1878, to be followed shortly after by the more extended Rhapsodies of Op. 79.

The Rhapsodies would have constituted Brahms’s early farewell to piano music had he persisted in his intention to retire from composition in 1890. However, the playing of a superb clarinetist soon lured him back to work, and 19 short piano pieces appeared in 1892–93, reaching print in four volumes as Brahms’s Opp. 116–119.

The present Op. 116 collection, titled “Fantasies,” comprises seven pieces and lasts some 22 minutes in performance. Brahms completed Op. 116 while summering at Ischl in 1892. Although the pieces may be played separately, Brahms unified the set by beginning and ending it with fiery Capriccios in the same key (D minor). Moreover, three leisurely paced pieces in succession (Nos. 4–6) share the note E as their key-center, suggesting a kind of slow movement, and the agitated main themes of No. 3 and the final No. 7 show a distinct family resemblance.

A burst of rage launches the opening Capriccio on its brief, breathless journey; later, abysses loom in passages where fateful bass descents that set the whole instrument aglow. The ensuing Intermezzo brings a plaintive minor-key melody over rocking rhythm. Purling filigree summons a nocturnal atmosphere, and a major-key transformation of the initial melody sings with openhearted ardor before the original plaint returns. Heroic derring-do invigorates the following Capriccio, cast in A-B-A form, with the rich-textured B-section reveling in a melody of noble grandeur.

No. 4 is again designated “Intermezzo,” although Brahms thought of titling it “Nocturne.” Opening with serene, introverted lyricism, it gradually sheds its reticence, as melody sings out over a rich bed of left-hand figuration. Enigmatic, fretful lilt marks the next Intermezzo, its melody stated in wistful, elusive fragments. Serenity and affection return in No. 6, where sonorous chordal outer portions surround a gently fluttering central episode. Agitated heroism dominates the final Capriccio, again in A-B-A form. The B-portion presents a tenor-register melody against a colloquy of upswoops vs. downswoops. The recurrence of A leads to an emphatic coda that crystallizes the opening music into crashing chords before winning through to triumph.

Mozart Piano Sonata K.311

[source: Wikipedia]
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 9 in D major, K 311 (284c) (1777) is a sonata in three movements:
Allegro con spirito
Andantino con espressione
Rondeau (allegro)
A typical performance takes about 15 minutes.

The first movement begins with a swift and cheerful melody which lasts for several measures and leads into a passage of rapid sixteenth notes. The section ends with four strong chords, quickly leaping into the second theme (which is repeated). A brief section of the second theme is then repeated in a minor key. With a few soft chords the movement gradually transfers into the swift original melody and closes.

The second movement, being more relaxed, starts with a slow melody accented by soft cadences with the left hand. Gradually the bass progresses with a moving ostinato into the second theme. The main melody is played again, followed by a short minor section. The original key is then restablished as the second movement ends.

The energetic and robust third movement, being the most technically demanding of the three, begins with several accacciaturas, and a sixteenth note passage introduces the second theme. The main theme is repeated and enters into a minor section. A rapid chromatic scale takes the piece back to the major key at the conclusion of the sonata.

Compositional method of Brahms

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Mozart Piano Sonata for 2 pianos, K.448

ReviewMozart reserved the key of D major for happy compositions usually calling for a degree of virtuosity, as may be easily heard in his Sonata for two pianos. This is a work in the galant style, light, brilliant, yet refined. Mozart wrote it for a performance he would give with Josephine von Aurnhammer, who also appeared with him in his Concerto for two pianos and orchestra. This two-piano sonata is clearly meant for public use, rather than as a teaching tool like his pieces for four hands at a single keyboard.

The opening Allegro con spirito begins with a trilling fanfare, then immediately launches into a quick, bubbling theme, followed by a somewhat more chordal, low-key, second subject adorned with witty grace notes; a third section returns to the spirit and technique of the first part, but without quite quoting the earlier material until the very end. These are the building blocks of the sonata-form movement, which, after an exposition repeat, launches the development section with a descending version of the opening fanfare, sounding like the subject of a fugue. Mozart never really embarks on counterpoint, though, and after a very few bars he moves impatiently to the recapitulation.

The Andante begins with a seemingly simple yet highly adorned melody and flowing accompaniment that might serve nicely as an aria or duet in The Magic Flute or Così fan tutte. The theme of the middle section in this ABA movement is more spare, almost a lullaby. A quiet, tinkling delicacy pervades most of this movement, particularly upon the return of the A section, after a transition that is almost substantial enough to serve as yet another section.

Finally, the Molto allegro movement leaps off the page with a spirited tune that might be called "galloping" if it weren't so elegant. This is the recurring theme that binds together a rondo featuring an assortment of highly contrasting melodies, one of which -- heard early on and returning at the end -- includes a Turkish-style cadence that calls to mind Mozart's famous Rondo alla turca.

As an aside, this sonata was the one used in the scientific study that tested the theory of the "Mozart Effect," suggesting that Classical music increases brain activity more positively than other kinds of music. ~ All Music Guide

Brahms: Drei Intermezzi (Op 117)

Occasionally unsure what title, if any, he should give a piece, Brahms came to use the term intermezzo as a rubric under which he could file anything that was not especially whimsical or fiery. The Three Intermezzi, Op. 117, do not require the technical facility necessary to perform many of his earlier works, but an incisive musicality is paramount for a proper understanding of these musical miniatures. The fact that they are all marked Andante also presents a problem for the performer, who must probe the details of each work and stress the contrasting elements.

All three Intermezzi of Op. 117 were written in the summer of 1892, the year of their publication. This is one of the rare cases in which Brahms gave a specific title for an entire set of pieces. Two of the three Intermezzi received their first performances shortly after they were written: No. 1 on February 18, 1893, and No. 2 on January 30 of the same year.

Prefaced by lines from Herder's translation of Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament, a Scottish lullaby, the first Intermezzo is in E flat major and cast in ABA' form. The central section, on E flat minor, obscures the 6/8 meter before returning to the major mode for the modified reprise of the first section.

A sonata-form movement in B flat minor, the second Intermezzo provides an excellent example of thematic transformation. The first theme, traced by the uppermost thirty-second notes in the arpeggios of the first two measures, becomes the second theme, played in the top notes of block chords 30 measures later. Because the rhythmic movement from note to note is changed and the textures of the two passages are very dissimilar, it takes a perceptive pianist to locate and bring out the transformed melody. Brahms chooses the relative major, D flat, for the second theme while the development section is built around the fluid arpeggios of the first theme. In the recapitulation, the second theme, truncated and transformed, vacillates between the tonic major and minor.

Brahms once referred to the third Intermezzo of Op. 117 as "the lullaby of all my grief." In C sharp minor, the piece is in ternary form (ABA'), with a central section on A major. Section A consists of two ideas, the first stated in parallel octaves. The entire complex is repeated, although the melodies are accompanied differently and some segments appear in a higher register. The move to A major for the B section creates a sense of relaxation as the leaping theme, again with right-hand octaves, provides a stark contrast to the linear, opening idea. A brief transition leads to the return of section A, re-harmonized and in a form more akin to its second half than to the beginning. ~ All Music Guide

Dances in Bulgarian Rhythm (6), for piano (Mikrokosmos Vol.6/148-153)

These six dances comprise the final works in Mikrokosmos, Bartók's masterful set of 153 pieces of progressively challenging piano compositions, meant primarily as an instructive collection for students. But, of course, the composer fully intended professional pianists to take them up, as well. These Six Dances in Bulgarian Rhythm are probably the most technically demanding works in the collection. Interpretively, too, they challenge the pianist both in his or her skills in keyboard coloration and in capturing the Bulgarian rhythmic folk idiom.

As most are aware, Bartók was a devoted collector and arranger of folk music. In this set he first touched on Bulgarian rhythmic elements in Bulgarian Rhythm I (No. 113) and Bulgarian Rhythm II (No. 115), and would return to the subject again in his arrangement for two pianos of No. 113, which appears as No. 1 in Seven Pieces from Mikrokosmos, for two pianos.

The first of the six dances here certainly displays a folk flavor, but one many will hear as Spanish, notably in the lively main theme. Still, that characteristic is partial and largely heard in the colorful, rhythmic exoticism of the thematic material. This dance lasts just under two minutes, and its light, glittering manner will appeal to most listeners' tastes.

The second dance opens with a driving, colorful rhythm, again invoking the spirit of Spain. Here, however, an Eastern European ethnic character is more in evidence, even if there is less a sense of the dance here. The music is more toccata-like, too, though full of color and lively rhythm. This piece lasts about a minute.

No. 150 features less rhythmic drive: although the music often goes at breakneck speeds, with frantic rhythms accompanying, the tempo slows and accelerates alternately, thus imparting an elastic sense to the flow of the music, thereby yielding contrast and much color. This one-minute gem has somewhat less an ethnic character than most of the others here.

The next dance, as Bartók pointed out, divulges a Gershwinian influence and is certainly one of the most jazzy pieces the composer ever wrote. The lively rhythms and early-twentieth century American jazz idiom give this minute-and-a-half work an attractive character that most listeners will find to their liking.

The penultimate dance is quite the opposite of the last: though it is lively and light, it exhibits a sunny, playful manner in its driving, rhythmic character, its music remaining, however, firmly on European ground. Lasting about a minute, this dance, like all the others, will both challenge the student and please the listener.

At two minutes, No. 153, the final dance, is the longest of the six and possibly the finest. The music is pure Bartók, much of it reminiscent of his writing in the finale of the Third Piano Concerto. The theme is lively and bright, and the rhythm brimming with energy, both elements combining to yield a colorful but slightly more serious-minded manner than exhibited in the other dances. ~ All Music Guide

Igudesman & Joo

Programme Notes

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Martha Argerich Interview

Martha Argerich

Martha was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina on 5 June 1941, a year and a half before her countryman Daniel Barenboim. A kindergarten pupil when she was two years and eight months old, Martha was taunted by an older friend (he was five) who proclaimed that she couldn't play the piano. She went immediately to the piano and played a tune that the teacher had often played for the class. She played it by ear and played it perfectly. The teacher immediately called Martha's mother to report the incident: according to Argerich, she began her first piano lessons at five all because of this little boy who challenged her.

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As Maria Montessori phrased it, children live in an environment created by adults. Prodigious children may live in a world particularly ill-adapted to their own needs, repressed by their more powerful elders who undercut their will and constrain them. Some musical prodigies survive such dire circumstances and aggressively emerge from their perilous journeys as they approach maturity. Argerich was able to attain such equilibrium only gradually. Until she was approaching 25 she lived an unstable existence as a pianist, rebounding from depression to exaltation in an emotional state bordering on dysfunctional. Perhaps at the root of this anguish was the paradox that despite her love of playing the piano, she already disliked being a pianist.

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Throughout the Busoni competition, Martha never worked at the piano between rounds. She didn't want to practice if she wasn't going to get through. She merely waited to see if her name was announced, and when it was, she would go to work for the next round.

Marth won the Busoni competition and immediately prepared to enter the Geneva competition. Suspicious of the nature of competitions and so unsure of her own role in them, she gave way to her eccentricites, refusing to play the Liszt rhapsody all the way through in the practice studio, not even from her own security. It hardly mattered. Martha won the competition as she had in Bolzano, garnering lavish press reviews as the victor in two renowned international music competitions, the Busoni and the Geneva, that had taken place just 3 weeks apart.

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After studying with Friedrich Gulda in Vienna, Marth went to Italy to study with Arturo Benedetti-Michelangeli, then returned to New York where she endured a devastating emotional crisis. For one year Marth completely withdrew from playing the piano and simply spent her days watching television. Some friends, among them Fou Ts'ong, the Chinese born pianist and husband of Zamira Menuhin, tried to help 21 year old Marth recover her identity as a pianist but without success.

In 1963 her mother encouraged her to enter the Queen Elisabeth competition in Brussels but of course this was an impossibility since Martha was no longer prepared by this time having been away from the piano for almost 3 years.

She did go to Belgium and the night before the competition said to herself "Well, now Martha, it is over for you. You have been a pianist, but now you are not."
The next morning she went to seek help from Polish born pianist Stefan Askenase. She went with the firm conviction that somehow she would tell him that since she knew languages, she would become a secretary. Once she had arrived at the Askenase home, she was greeted by his wife, a woman of great strength and fortitude who ultimately would help Martha change the course of her unpredictable professional life.

She went everyday to talk with Mrs Askenase and soon started to believe that she could, little by little, begin to play again, all the while questioning what was wrong that held her in check. When finally she had broken through her bond of insecurity, she went to Warsaw to compete in the Frederic Chopion International Competition.

Eight difficult years had elapsed since Martha's success in the competitions in Bolzano and Geneva, years in which one personal conflict followed another but in Warsaw 1965 Martha reigned supreme over 85 young pianists all over the world. One would never have known that the young woman from Buenos Aires had recently been idle for 3 years watching television in New York, constantly considering whether to withdraw permanently from the piano.

As David Feldman has said, "In the lives of musical prodigies, the importance of balance - of the coordination of a totally appropriate set of conditions necessary for development - cannot be overemphasised. When motivational force comes from within the precocious child and is on the mark, it is a force to reckon with; when that force goes awry, it can be baffling and destructive."

Glenn Gould

[Herbert Gould, remembering his son's infancy]

As soon as Glenn was old enough to be held on his grandmother's knee at the piano, he would never pound the keyboard as most children will with the whole hand, striking a number of keys at a time; instead he would always insist on pressing down a single key and holding it down until the resulting sound had completely died away. The fading vibrations entirely fascinated him.

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Glenn had no difficulty directing his mind. He played multiple chess games blindfolded, memorised complex scores while talking on the telephone, and listened to two radios simultaneously while studying Schoenberg's difficult Opus 23. He aroused attention, however, when he appeard to fidget on stage during the orchestral tuttis of the Beethoven concerto in his first performance with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. The critic had no idea that before leaving home for the concert Glenn had bid a loving farewell to Nicky, his shedding dog. By the time of the concerto's rondo movement, he realised his black trousers were covered in dog hair and was busying himself picking them off. All went well until he lost track of which tutti was in progress, but he quickly composed his thoughts and played well to the end: "I had learned the fist valuable lesson of my association with the T.S.O - either pay attention or keep short-haired dogs"

Bejun Mehta

For someone who would end up singing and for whom language and self-expression would be major themes, I was ironically nonverbal as a baby. I exhibited little interest in speech for most of my first year and a half, and my taciturnity was a subject of some discussion between my parents. Then one day, I suffered quite a fall from my high chair, smacking my head on the kitchen table on the way down. After the crying had subsided, bones were checked, and I was safely reinstated in the chair, my mother recalls that I immediately began speaking in complete, correct sentences. The baby-talk stage was essentially skipped. Apparently, I had been steeping in language and understanding all along, and had just been waiting and observing until I felt I had learned enough to commit to it myself; the blow loosed the floodgates. My mother relates that she and my father looked at each other in amazement at this leap - together, my parents and I were beginning to discover evidence of my accelerated faculties

Yo-Yo Ma

Yo-Yo Ma: "My parents, being musical, obviously hoped that I would love music. They were ambitious for me to do my best and set very high standards, and yet they were careful not to exploit me as a child prodigy. I am grateful for this. They seemed to understand that an early physical facility has to be combined with a mature emotional development before a healthy musical voice emerges.

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I had always kept my emotions bottled up, but at Meadowmount I just ran wild. The whole structure of discipline collapsed. I would leave my cello outside, not worrying if it might rain and run off to play ping-pong. I exploded into bad taste at every level. I took some white paint and decorated the stone walls with graffiti. When Galamian found out, he was horrified. I knew I had gone too far, and spent a whole day washing the walls.

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Yo-Yo struck out on his perilous journey to maturity, rebelling against the strict decorum of his childhood. He returned to Juilliard in the fall and clad in a leather jacket for his lesson with Leonard Rose, offered his teacher an outpouring of swear words. "But Mr Rose took it in his stride and saw me through that phase. All I was trying to do was to be accepted as one of the guys, and not be considered a freak."

At this critical time in his adolescence Yo-Yo began to doubt whether he wanted to become a professional musician. having played cello since he was four, he found it difficult to separate his personal identity from his musical one, "It seemed as if the course of my life had been predetermined and I very much wanted to be allowed a choice".

When he was sixteen, Yo-Yo went for the first time to study at Rudolf Serkin's summer school at Marlboro, Vermont. " I was there four summers and I think my love for chamber music really developed". He became engrossed in playing chamber music with his peers and has ever since believed that the basis of all music making is found in a chamber music approach.

Jacqueline du Pre

[Iris du Pre, Jackie's mother]

Jackie could sing in tune before she could talk. One day after her bath I was drying her on my lap and I started to sing "Baa Baa Black Sheep"; she began to sing with me - just the tune. After a short while I stopped singing but she continued right through the end.

Jackie's choice of the cello as an instrument was firmly established one afternoon when we were listening to various instruments being demonstrated in a Children's Hour programme. As soon as she heard the cello, she said "Mummy, that's the sound I want to make"

I began to write little pieces of music for her, pieces suitable for someone her age and ability. I illustrated them with small sketches around the sides and slipped them under her pillow while she slept. In the morning she would waken early, leap out of bed to get her cello and play the latest composition, before even bothering to get dressed.

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After her lessons she would usually go to see Mr Walenn and sit on his knee for a short chat. On one such occassion she interrupted the conversation by putting her head on one side and listening intently tothe chimes of the grandfather clock in his office. After a moment or two she said "Do you know that that clock is out of tune?" She has always had the most amazingly good ear.

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When, after a competitive festival in London, a concert was given by the prizewinner, at which Princess Marie Louise presented the prizes, I recollect very clearly that we had a disappointed and rather dejected daughter to cope with because the Princess was not wearing a crown.