
2010 saw the centenary of both Schumann’s and Chopin’s birth. In 2011 we pay tribute to their great co-Romantic Franz Liszt. Liszt’s reputation has fluctuated wildly (unlike that of his two contemporaries), and it is only in relatively recent times that his true stature has been fully realised. Though he was possibly the greatest, and certainly the most charismatic of pianists, his compositions embraced many areas of music. But if his symphonic poems, Masses, oratorios and songs are often musically revolutionary, his piano music takes precedence both for its quantity and its quality. This ranges from music once considered unplayable – time was when audiences came to see whether Liszt had more than ten fingers – to works of a dark-hued austerity. One has only to compare “La campanella” (from the Paganini Études) with the “Angelus” (from the third book of the Années de pèlerinage) to become aware of the extent of the composer’s journey. Both pieces evoke bells, but there the similarity ends. True, Liszt’s prodigious gifts and his early flaunting of his Bird of Paradise feathers caused unease and contempt in many quarters. For Clara Schumann he showed “too much of the tinsel and the drum”, while Mendelssohn was enraged by Liszt’s easy familiarity with his music, to which he added sundry ornaments and elaborations of his own. Chopin, too, although he never lived to hear Liszt’s truest masterpieces, saw him as an outsized charlatan (“I still say that he is a clever craftsman without a vestige of talent”).
Today the situation could hardly be more different and, as Nelson Freire’s wide-ranging programme shows, Liszt was a true master of an ever-varying style and achievement. The B minor Ballade gives us Liszt at his most opulent and rhetorical and has been aptly characterised as “concerned less with personal suffering than with great happenings on the epic scale … tragedies of public more than private import”. Most notable after the storming eloquence of the principal theme’s last appearance (a clear inspiration for the very Lisztian cadenza of Grieg’s Piano Concerto) is the Ballade’s serene close, a subtle alteration to the original and bombastic conclusion.
The Nineteen Hungarian Rhapsodies form Liszt’s tribute to the land of his birth with their contrasting lassú (slow) and friss (fast) sections (though he spoke Hungarian only in his music). They have been decried as paste rather than diamonds and are of mixed gypsy rather than genuine Magyar origin, but their freshness and vitality remain uncompromised. For this recording Nelson Freire has avoided the most popular of the Rhapsodies (nos. 2, 6, 12 and 15) and chosen no. 3, one of the least-played.
With the Valse oubliée (the first and most popular of four), Nelson Freire gives us a single excursion into Liszt’s late manner and music of an elusive, bitter-sweet nostalgia expressed with a novel economy. Returning to Liszt’s earlier, more picturesque brilliance, Waldesrauschen, the first of two concert études dating from 1862–63, may lack the ambivalent tonality of the Valse oubliée which was to make of Liszt a prophet of the twentieth century, but its luminous, shimmering texture already points the way to works such as “Ondine” from Ravel’s Gaspard de la nuit.
The three Petrarch Sonnets form the expressive centre of the Années de pèlerinage Book 2, Italy. And just as Book 1 records the sights and sounds of Switzerland’s alpine magnificence, so the second and third books show themselves no less susceptible to the art and literature of Italy. Liszt’s vocal settings of Petrarch were composed in 1838, and their transformations into some of the most ardent and luxuriant piano pieces were published between 1847 and 1858. The composer’s chameleon-like ability to change and, indeed, transfigure his own and other people’s work is hauntingly evident in the three ultra-Romantic idealisations of a fourteenth-century poet. Sonnet no.104, the most familiar of the three, remembers unrequited passion.
“Au lac de Wallenstadt” (no. 2 from the first of the Années de pèlerinage, Switzerland) is prefaced by some lines by Byron: “thy contrasted lake / With the wild world I dwell in, is a thing / Which warns me with its stillness to forsake / Earth’s troubled waters for a purer spring”. Marie d’Agoult, Liszt’s mistress of the moment, could hear “a melancholy harmony, imitative of the sigh of waves and the cadence of oars”.
Liszt’s six Consolations, which were completed in 1850, take their title from poems by Sainte-Beuve dedicated to Victor Hugo. Sometimes considered “consolations” for those unable to cope with Liszt’s more difficult pages, they are nonetheless demanding in other, more lyrical and serene ways. The first is wistfully and gently wayward, and its deceptive modulations could easily have developed into an earlier and more customary grandeur. The second is a classic instance in miniature of Liszt’s elaboration rather than development of an essentially simple “vocal” idea. Like the second, the third Consolation is very much for those who delight in Liszt’s most tactful poetry; one of his many unofficial tributes to Chopin, this meditation on the opening of the D flat Nocturne, op. 27 no. 2 is understandably among Liszt’s most popular compositions. The hymnal piety of the fourth is not without fervour, and the urbane charm of the fifth is finely countered by the sixth, music of greater boldness, enlivened by terms such as “vibrato” and “appassionato”.
Finally, “Harmonies du soir” is the eleventh and most opulent of Liszt’s formidably entitled Études d’exécution transcendante. These were composed in three versions, the first a rudimentary flexing of muscles, the second of self-defeating difficulty, and the third a clarifying and refining of its predecessors. “Harmonies du soir”, as its title declares, is a study in impressionism and many of its massive chord sequences are a prophecy of things to come. Messiaen may have made little mention of Liszt, but the influence is unmistakable.
Nelson Freire’s qualities have been admirably summarised by Ivan Davis, the brilliant American virtuoso. For him Freire is “natural (both in pianism and musical honesty), provocative (why didn’t I think of that?) and inevitable (a totality of technique and temperament)”. On a personal note, a friend challenged me some years ago to identify the pianist on a much-loved recording. What I heard was a flawless fusion of gifts: freedom and elasticity, a wholly personal, yet never obtrusive rubato, and a seductive magic which was hard to place but haunting and immaculate. I hazarded some guesses before settling for Nelson Freire. It was indeed Freire, and that recording, taken from a live recital at the Gusman Cultural Center in Miami, remains a priceless collector’s item.
(Bryce Morrison)Franz Liszt (1811 - 1886)2 Etudes de Concert, S.1451. No.1 Waldesrauschen [4:00]
Années de pèlerinage: 2ème année: Italie, S.161
2. 5. Sonetto 104 del Petrarca [5:57]
3.
Valse oubliée No.1 in F sharp, S.215 [2:45]
4.
Ballade No.2 in B minor, S.171 [13:43]
Années de pèlerinage: 1e année: Suisse, S.1605. 2. Au lac de Wallenstadt [2:45]
6.
Hungarian Rhapsody No.3 in B flat, S.244 [4:25]
6 Consolations, S. 1727. No. 1 in E major (Andante con moto) [1:42]
8. No. 2 in E major (Un poco più mosso) [2:31]
9. No. 3 in D flat major (Lento, placido) [4:22]
10. No. 4 in D flat major (Quasi adagio) [2:59]
11. No. 5 in E major (Andantino) [2:21]
12. No. 6 in E major (Allegretto, sempre cantabile) [2:11]
13.
Harmonies du soir [8:37]
2011 Decca
1 CD DDD
478 2728 3 DH
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