CHAMBER MUSIC PROGRAM NOTES
​by Judith Eckelmeyer

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The Cleveland Museum of Art
​Shura Cherkassky

Wednesday, April 8, 1992
​Gartner Auditorium

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Program

Johann Sebastian Bach  (1685-1750)​: Chaconne from Partita No. 2 in D minor, S. 1004, for solo violin
  ​Transcribed by Ferruccio Busoni

Robert Schumann (1810-1856)​: Etudes symphoniques, Op. 13
     1. Un poco piû
     2. Andante
     3. Vivace
     4. Allegro marcato
     5. Scherzando
     6. Agitato
     7. Allegro molto
     8. Sempre marcatissimo
     9. Presto possible
    10. Allegro con energia
    11. Andante espressivo
​    12. Finale: Allegro brillante 

Frédéric Chopin (1810-1849): Ballade No. 4 in F minor, Op. 52
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Frédéric Chopin: Nocturne in F minor, Op. 55, No. 1
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Frédéric Chopin: Scherzo No. 4 in E major, Op. 54
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Charles Ives (1874-1954): Three Page Sonata
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Paul Pabst (1854-1897): Concert Paraphrase of Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin

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Program Notes by Judith Eckelmeyer

The instrument known today as the piano is the product of about a century of evolution of the characteristic technical devices that separate it from its keyboard cousins, the clavichord and the harpsichord. The principal difference is the hammer which energizes the string: unlike the clavichord's metal tangent, it is leather-wrapped wood; and unlike the harpsichord's plectrum which plucks the string, the hammer strikes it. The striking action, too, differs from the clavichord: the latter's tangent remains in contact with the string as long as the key is depressed (permitting a delicate vibrato when the pressure on the key is alternately increased and decreased), while the piano's action is designed to allow the hammer to strike and then fall away from the string even if the key is held down. With the key still depressed the string continues vibrating because the damper remains lifted until the player releases the key. In addition to the proportionally larger size of the instrument's tone and its dynamic range, sostenuto (sustaining) and damping effects are possible with knee-activated levers (now foot pedals). This combination of devices intrigued composers like Haydn and Mozart, but Beethoven felt their limitations severely, until two significant improvements were made to the instrument during the second decade of the nineteenth century. The first was casting a metal frame to supersede the original wooden frame of older pianos, allowing greater tension to be exerted on thicker and heavier strings, thus raising the basic pitch of the tuning and accommodating much more forceful playing than was possible earlier. The second improvement was a modification of the hammer itself: it was no longer covered with leather but with felt, giving a fuller, richer tone quality. These two changes, along with improved lever action and the consistent quality available through the mechanized production methods of the Industrial Revolution, brought the piano to its maturity. It is this powerful, flexible, responsive, and timbrally vital instrument that challenged composers from Beethoven's late years to the present.

Concomitant with the metamorphosis of the piano during the first quarter of the nineteenth century was its increasing popularity as a solo concert instrument for the virtuoso. The dazzling skill of Mozart, Beethoven, Clementi, Hummel, and Czerny had started this trend; with Czerny's pupil Franz Liszt the European musical scene literally burst into bloom with a host of superb pianists. Most of these performing stars developed not only prodigious technical facility--speed, accuracy, power, varieties of touch, control of complex patterns for all fingers working at once--but also wrote music with which to proclaim and celebrate their abilities. It should come as no surprise that the composers of great piano works were almost without exception splendid concert pianists to begin with; they knew thoroughly and intimately the technical mechanism, potential, and timbral resources of the instrument for which they wrote. What is surprising is that, in spite of the rich crosscurrents of borrowed techniques and influenced styles we can trace in the music of these composers of a common era, a great variety of individuality could be accommodated on one instrument.

The enthusiasm of the nineteenth-century piano virtuosi for their instrument appears to have carried with it an occupational conceit shared by their brethren, the organists; to wit: that through the technological marvels of their instrument and their own supernormal abilities they could absorb and reconstitute the forces of an entire orchestra, becoming the embodiment of both the conductor and all the instrumentalists in a grand, one-person feat. Organ builders increased the number and varieties of reed and string ranks to simulate orchestral instruments and enhanced possibilities for subtle and gradual dynamic changes; the legacy of their product exists today in large, "romantic" church, concert, and theater organs. Pianists, on the other hand, exploited the techniques of refined dynamic control and timbral nuance through touch and articulation of the keys and control of the sostenuto and damping pedals. The literature of this period for both organ and piano is rich with transcriptions and paraphrases of works originally written for orchestra, and there are works for both instruments bearing generic terms (such as symphony) principally associated with the orchestra. That many of these works are infrequently performed today is an indication of the tremendous change in the taste of both public and performer since the last century and perhaps says something about the modern performer's altered view of the role of the artist in society.

​Bach wrote extensively for instruments during his employment at the court of Anhalt-Cöthen (1717-1723), including the sonatas for solo flute, cello, and violin, although the solo violin works first appeared in publication more than 120 years later. The three sonatas and three partitas for solo violin form a set of six works arranged so that each sonata is followed by a partita (dance suite); the sonatas lack dance rhythms and movement titles, thus distinguishing them from the partitas. The fifth and last movement of the second partita is a chaconne, which. as a genre, originated from a dance and uses the rhythm of the triple-meter sarabande; its essence is, however, a variation procedure in which the constant element is a general harmonic progression while the variables are the bass line, melody, and texture.

Busoni's transcription of Bach's famous Chaconne was not the first for piano. Brahms, a pianist by training and reputation, was also a scholar who discovered in Bach's music many wellsprings for his own performance and composing. He transcribed the Chaconne almost note-for-note as a solo for left hand alone so that the player could get some sense of the musical and technical demands on the violinist in the original version. Unlike Brahms, however, Busoni expanded the original texture of the Chaconne, particularly toward the powerful conclusion, making it more "orchestral" in its volume, range, and density. Busoni's legendary love of Bach's music and his knowledge of and passion for the piano are nowhere more fully and impressively blended than in this transcription

​Schumann's Etudes symphoniques, Op.13, are a set of variations on the composer's own theme. They explore a wide variety of styles and technical problems, as do traditional study pieces, but they far exceed traditional studies in their musical demands and unification through the theme. Their closest artistic forerunner is Chopin's Op. 10 etudes, which are also musically demanding but are not conceived either as a set of variations or as a monument to orchestrally-based density and power.

Schumann began working on the Etudes symphoniques in 1834, entitling them "Studies in the orchestral character by Eusebius and Florestan" ("Etüden im Orchestercharakter von Eusebius und Florestan"). The reference to the fictional Eusebius (the dreamer) and Florestan (the impetuous romantic) who appear throughout his writings (he was a prolific journalist and author), forms a precedent for another and later project, the creation of the so-called Davidsbündler (League of David, who will slay the Philistines). In Schumann's writings, Eusebius, Florestan, and the moderate Raro carry on dialogues about musical issues and current composers and their works, but they are also expressions of his own unhealthy mood fluctuations. By 1834 Schumann had abandoned his career as a concert pianist owing to the disfigurement of his fingers by syphilis. But 1834 also saw the completion of another "orchestral" piano work, the Studies in the form of Free Variations on a Theme of Beethoven; the theme was the Allegretto of the Symphony No. 7.

The Etudes symphoniques were first published under that title in 1837; a new edition appeared in 1852 under the title "Etudes en forme de Variations." Some modern recording include posthumous variations among the original twelve etudes. The set is dedicate to the English composer and pianist William Sterndale Bennett, who had met and become a good friend of Schumann in Leipzig in 1836. The twelfth and last etude (called "Finale" in the later edition), written after Bennett's arrival, commemorates this friendship with a quotation of "Du stolzes England, freue dich" (You proud England, rejoice) from Marschner's opera Der Templer und die Jüdin, based on Sir Walter Scott's Ivanhoe (Schumann actually read Ivanhoe in 1837). Clara Wieck, a superb concert pianist who later married Schmann, played three of the etudes at their first public performance in 1837.

The twelve etudes of the original version of the work subject the theme to astounding processes and styles. The first is fugal; the second dramatic and expressive; the third arpeggiated; the fourth a chordal canon; the fifth scherzando and staccato with careful pedal requirement; the sixth in bravura agitated style; the seventh almost a perpetual motion, the eighth a Bach-like toccata or fantasia; the ninth mostly staccato with a stunning effect in a pedaled passage; the tenth another perpetual motion with soprano melody; the eleventh a soprano melody with left-hand tremolo effect in the style of Chopin. The twelfth etude is an extended rondo movement beginning allegro in brilliant style with a march-like fanfare idea; the first contrasting section contains developmental expansion, and the second contrasting section is much more delicate, with a lovely melody on top. After a long retranslation, the first material returns and concludes with a wild, chromatic, brilliant extension worthy of any celebratory symphony.

Chopin's late piano works are less dazzling explorations of the instrument's colors than the earlier etudes, preludes, and mazurkas. The delicate ruffles of filigree are fewer, and the ornaments have largely disappeared into the fabric of the larger whole. The three works on this program--the last ballade, a late nocturne, and a scherzo--all originated in 1842-43. Of these, the Nocturne contains the greatest amount of flourish, yet even this is relatively sedate in comparison with earlier works which exploited the most delicate touch (at which Chopin was unsurpassed). Precisely because the laciness has been abandoned, these works require the pianist to translate technique into musical information on both the small and the large scale.

The Ballade alternates passages of melancholic lyricism with contrasting sections: the first a major-key passage, the second almost barcarole-like, and the third filled with development-like chromatic changes and great rhythmic activity. After the final, more ornate return of the original theme and a contrasting cadence, the work rushes to a brilliant conclusion.

The Nocturne is less extensive than the Ballade. As is typical of the genre, it is in a three-part structure, with the central portion more vigorous than the outer portions. There is an unusual poignancy in the restrained simplicity of the opening measures; when the material returns after the digression, its melody is rendered more passionately in a triplet setting that is allowed to soar ultimately to the highest octave of the instrument before settling into the final, placid chords.

The Scherzo is unlike its earlier siblings; while they are in large part dark, brooding, passionate works, this one is much more Mendelssohnian in form--fast, light on its feet, whimsical, airy, and charming. Tempo and meter shifts, as well as rapid texture and range changes, add to the mercurial sensation of the work.

Ives's Three Page Sonata originated as just that: a spoof of the formal sonata set forth on three pages of score. The date of the original version of the work is August 1905, "at Saranac Lake", according to Ives's own note. This pencil version was written in sketch-like fashion with apparently hasty decisions on repeats, oddities (even for Ives!) in application of accidentals and other notational details, and Ives's memos to himself for inserting signs for a coda and other routings through the maze of repeats. In the last measure he reminded himself: "Doh! chord. R.H. [?] Tonick! Good Nit[e] Shirt." (The latter quoted in John Kirkpatrick's edition of the sonata published by Theodore Presser Company, 1949 and 1975, p. 22.) Ives evidently toyed around with this work after a break of nearly fifteen years; two passages intended for insertion were found on the same manuscript as the Third Orchestral Set of 1919. Among the curiosities of the work (always a delight to explore in Ives's music!) is the composer's use of the motif B-A-C-H (B-flat, A-natural, C-natural, B-natural in German musical usage), about which Kirkpatrick writes:

"Given [the] take-off character [of the sonata], it is surprising that the piece contains the B-A-C-H motif over forty times (counting retrogressions but not variants with changed intervals)--a theme Ives would have regarded most reverently. It is just possible that, after concocting Holding Your Own for Gustave Bach in 1903 'in memory of his old forebear' (Memos, p. 34, 264), Ives may have felt he'd treated Bach facetiously and been haunted by an impulse toward some worth act of devotion. What more worthy than a vigorous composition aspiring to a Bach-like integrity and filled with Bach's name, first like a statement of allegiance, later like a private secret." (Ibid., 14)

Another curiosity is that Ives intended that, if necessary, additional performers could be enlisted to assist the principal soloist in playing all the notes. Ives was certainly not one to kowtow to the cult of the virtuoso!

The sonata is in three connected "movements"--Andante, Adagio and Allegro-March Time (leading to a Più mosso, both revisited). the B-A-C-H motif appears immediately in parallel fourths in the right hand. Its retrograde, only a few measures later ("How many measures?" is a question that doesn't apply; Ives didn't include regular bar lines for the first twenty-one eighth-note values, and the meters change when he did write them in!) sounds just about like "...country 'tis of..." from the first line of "America." This is an audible delight. Another one is found in the Adagio, where the astute listener will recognize the Westminster chime melody among a series of very high notes which rides over the gently shifting and rocking middle-range chords and bass line.

Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin was successfully premiered in Moscow at the end of March 1879. The story of the rakish dandy, Onegin and the young, middle-class Tatiana provides colorful scenes of peasants, ballrooms, a duel at dawn, and a lyrical nocturnal meditation. Tatiana, while destines to love Onegin and be jilted by him, eventually marries Prince Gremin and in turn refuses Onegin's love. In Tchaikovsky's hands, the characters' moods become the principal issue. Where the plot provides opportunity for ballet, however, Tchaikovsky is in his element. The brilliant polonaise at the St. Petersburg ball at the beginning of Act III is one of the most memorable moments of the opera.

Paul Pabst was the younger son of August, a cantor and organist in Königsberg and director of a music school in  Riga; Paul's brother, Louis, was a concert pianist who traveled widely in Europe, England and Australia and eventually taught in Moscow. The three were composers of note in their day. Paul, however, was a pupil of Liszt and made his career performing, teaching, and writing for piano. He, too, went to Moscow, where he taught at the Conservatory. Like Liszt, he created successful paraphrases for the piano, but Pabst specialized in operatic music, The best known of his paraphrases is the one on Eugene Onegin.

Judith Eckelmeyer © 1992

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As Shura Cherkassky's Gardner Auditorium performance is not available on YouTube, please enjoy these performances:

Bach's Chaconne from Partita No. 2 in D minor, S. 1004 for solo violin
Transcribed by Ferruccio Busoni
Shura Cherkassky, piano

Schumann' Etudes symphoniques Op. 13
Shura Cherkassky, piano

Chopin's Ballade No. 4 in F minor, Op. 52
Shura Cherkassky, piano

Chopin's Nocturne in F minor, Op. 55, No. 1
Shura Cherkassky, piano

Chopin's Scherzo No. 4 in E major, Op. 54
Shura Cherkassky, piano

Ives' Three Page Sonata
Shura Cherkassky, piano

Pabst's Concert Paraphrase of Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin
Shura Cherkassky, piano 

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