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Sunrise Music Series (2010/11) at the First Unitarian Society of Westchester

Frédéric Chopin - The Piano Music

Commemorating the 200th Anniversary of the Composer’s Birth

The Etudes The Preludes

The Polonaises The Ballades The Scherzos The Sonatas

The Nocturnes The Mazurkas

The Impromptus The Waltzes

* * * Introduction & Rondo

Fantasy, Berceuse, Barcarolle Andante Spianato & Grande Polonaise Brillante

Presented in 9 Programs September 19 – November 14, 2010

Alan Murray, piano

The Sunrise Music Series (2010/11)

The Sunrise Music Series is an informal series of early morning musical offerings hosted by the First Unitarian Society of Westchester (FUSW) with the intention of providing FUSW members and visitors from the community with up to an hour of quality weekly listening in a contemplative setting, surrounded by the natural beauty that is visible from the society’s sanctuary room. The performances are intended to be informal but nevertheless well-prepared offerings, as an interim step toward concert preparation.

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Frèdèric Chopin – The Piano Music The Etudes Sep 19 The Preludes Sep 26 The Polonaises Oct 3 The Ballades Oct 10 The Scherzos Oct 17 The Sonatas Oct 24 The Nocturnes(I), Mazurkas (I), and Impromptus Oct 31 The Nocturnes (II), Mazurkas (II), and Waltzes Nov 7 Introduction & Rondo,Fantasy,Berceuse,Barcarolle,Andante Spianato & Grande Polonaise Nov 14

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Alan Murray studied piano with Frances Wazeter, Allen Weiss and Robert Preston and has appeared as a concerto soloist with orchestras in Westchester and in solo and chamber music recitals. He holds a degree in physics and languages from Cornell, where he also received the university’s award for distinguished piano soloist. A specialist in the Financial Institutions Group at Moody’s Investors Service, where he focuses on the U.S., major Latin American and worldwide developing markets, Alan continues his musical interests in part by providing music at the early Sunday morning services of the First Unitarian Society of Westchester, where he enjoys blending classical music with diverse musical traditions from around the world. Alan’s near-term projects include programming a series of exhibits and musical events at his studio (www.Studio-Hollywood.com) devoted to jazz, classical and diverse cultural music and dance programs, literary readings, and exhibits of still and live arts, including discussions and dining.

Alan resides in Hastings with his wife Amada and daughter Celia, where they also own and operate Galápagos Books, a bookstore devoted to world languages, children’s and general interest books and multimedia educational materials.

http://www.studio-hollywood.com/

Sunrise Music Series (2010/11)

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Frédéric Chopin (200th Anniversary) – The Piano Music

The Etudes

Op. 10 No. 1 in C major - allegro No. 2 In A minor - allegro No. 3 in E major - lento ma non troppo No. 4 in C-sharp minor - presto No. 5 in G-flat major (“Black Key”) - vivace No. 6 in E-flat minor - andante No. 7 in C major - vivace No. 8 in F major - allegro No. 9 in F minor - allegro molto agitato No. 10 in A-flat major - vivace assai No. 11 in E-flat major - allegretto No. 12 in C minor (“Revolutionary”) - allegro con fuoco

Op. 25 No. 13 in A-flat major (“Harp”) - allegro sostenuto No. 14 in F minor - presto No. 15 in F major - allegro No. 16 in A minor - agitato No. 17 in E minor - vivace No. 18 in G-sharp minor - allegro No. 19 in C-sharp minor - lento No. 20 in D-flat major - vivace No. 21 in G-flat major (“Butterfly”) - allegro assai No. 22 in B minor - allegro con fuoco No. 23 in A minor (“Winter Wind”) - lento; allegro con brio

No. 24 in C minor - allegro molto con fuoco

Alan Murray, piano


Sunday, September 26, 2010


The Preludes

Op. 28 No. 1 in C major - agitato No. 2 In A minor - lento No. 3 in G major - vivace No. 4 in E minor - largo No. 5 in D major - allegro molto No. 6 in B minor - lento assai No. 7 in A major - andantino No. 8 in F-sharp minor - molto agitato No. 9 in E major - largo No. 10 in C-sharp minor - allegro molto No. 11 in B major - vivace No. 12 in G-sharp minor - presto No. 13 in F-sharp major - lento No. 14 in E-flat minor - allegro No. 15 in D-flat major (“Raindrop”) - sostenuto No. 16 in B-flat minor - presto con fuoco

No. 17 in A-flat major - allegretto No. 18 in F minor - allegro molto No. 19 in E-flat major - vivace No. 20 in C minor - largo No. 21 in B-flat major - cantabile No. 22 in G minor - molto agitato No. 23 in F major - moderato No. 24 in D minor - allegro appassionato Op. 45 in C-sharp minor - sostenuto

Alan Murray, piano


Sunday, October 3, 2010


The Polonaises No. 1 in C-sharp minor, Op 26, No. 1 Allegro appassionato

No. 2 in E-flat minor, Op 26, No. 2 Maestoso

No. 3 in A major, Op 40, No. 1 (“Military”) Allegro con brio

No. 4 in C minor, Op 40, No. 2 Allegro maestoso

No. 5 in F-sharp minor, Op 44 Tempo di Polacca – Mazurka – Polacca

No. 6 in A-flat major, Op. 53 (“Heroic”) Maestoso

No. 7: Polonaise-Fantaisie, in A-flat major, Op. 61 Allegro maestoso

Alan Murray, piano




The Ballades No. 1 in G minor, Op. 23 Largo – Moderato – Presto con fuoco

No. 2 in F major, Op. 38 Andantino – Presto con fuoco – Agitato – Tempo I No. 3 in A-flat major, Op. 47 Allegretto

No. 4 in F minor, Op. 52

Andante con moto

Alan Murray, piano




The Scherzos No. 1 in B minor, Op. 20 Presto con fuoco – molto più lento – Tempo I

No. 2 in B-flat minor, Op. 31 Presto – sostenuto – Tempo I No. 3 in C-sharp minor, Op. 39 Presto con fuoco – meno mosso – Tempo I

No. 4 in E major, Op. 54

Presto – più lento – Tempo I

Alan Murray, piano




The Sonatas No. 2 in B-flat minor (“Funeral March”), Op. 35

Grave - Doppio movimento Scherzo Marche funèbre: Lento Finale: Presto

No. 3 in B minor, Op. 58

Allegro maestoso Scherzo: Molto vivace Largo Finale: Presto non tanto

Alan Murray, piano




The Nocturnes, Mazurkas & Impromptus

The Mazurkas (Nos. 1–21 of 51) No. 1 in F-sharp minor, Op. 6, No. 1 No. 12 in A-flat major, Op. 17, No. 3 No. 2 in C-sharp minor, Op. 6, No. 2 No. 13 in A minor, Op. 17, No. 4 No. 3 in E major, Op. 6, No. 3 No. 14 in G minor, Op. 24, No. 1 No. 4 in E minor, Op. 6, No. 4 No. 15 in C major, Op. 24, No. 2

No. 5 in B-flat major, Op. 7, No. 1 No. 16 in A-flat major, Op. 24, No. 3 No. 6 in A minor, Op. 7, No. 2 No. 17 in B-flat minor, Op. 24, No. 4

No. 7 in F minor, Op. 7, No. 3 No. 18 in C minor, Op. 30, No. 1 No. 8 in A-flat major, Op. 7, No. 4 No. 19 in B minor, Op. 30, No. 2

No. 9 in A-flat major, Op. 7, No. 5 No. 20 in D-flat major, Op. 30, No. 3 No. 10 in B-flat major, Op. 17, No. 1 No. 21 in C-sharp minor, Op. 30, No. 4

No. 11 in E minor, Op. 17, No. 2

* * * * *

The Nocturnes (Nos. 1-10 of 19) No. 1 in B-flat minor, Op. 9, No. 1 – Larghetto

No. 2 in E-flat major, Op. 9, No. 2 – Andante No. 3 in B major, Op. 9, No. 3 – Allegretto

No. 4 in F major, Op. 15, No. 1 – Andante cantabile No. 5 in F-sharp major, Op. 15, No. 2 – Larghetto

No. 6 in G minor, Op. 15, No. 3 – Lento No. 7 in C-sharp minor, Op. 27, No. 1 – Larghetto No. 8 in D-flat major, Op. 27, No. 2 – Lento sostenuto No. 9 in B major, Op. 32, No. 1 – Andante sostenuto

No. 10 in A-flat major, Op. 32, No. 2 – Lento

The Impromptus No. 1 in A-flat major, Op. 29 – Allegro assai quasi presto No. 2 in F-sharp major, Op. 36 – Andantino No. 3 in G-flat major, Op. 51 – Tempo giusto No. 4 in C-sharp minor (“Fantasie-Impromptu”), Op. 66 – Allegro agitato – Largo – Tempo I

Alan Murray, piano


Sunday, November 7, 2010


The Nocturnes, Mazurkas & Waltzes

The Mazurkas (Nos. 22-35 of 51) No. 22 in G-sharp minor, Op. 33, No. 1 No. 29 in A-flat major, Op. 41, No. 4

No. 23 in D major, Op. 33, No. 2 No. 30 in G major, Op. 50, No. 1 No. 24 in C major, Op. 33, No. 3 No. 31 in A-flat major, Op. 50, No. 2 No. 25 in B minor, Op. 33, No. 4 No. 32 in C-sharp minor, Op. 50, No. 3

No. 26 in C-sharp minor, Op.41, No. 1 No. 33 in B major, Op. 56, No. 1 No. 27 in E minor, Op. 41, No. 2 No. 34 in C major, Op. 56, No. 2

No. 28 in B major, Op. 41, No. 3 No. 35 in C minor, Op. 56, No. 3

* * * * *

The Nocturnes (Nos. 11-16 of 19) No. 11 in G minor, Op. 37, No. 1 – Andante sostenuto

No. 12 in G major, Op. 37, No. 2 – Andantino No. 13 in C minor, Op. 48, No. 1 – Lento

No. 14 in F-sharp minor, Op. 48, No. 2 – Andantino No. 15 in F minor, Op. 55, No. 1 – Andante

No. 16 in E-flat major, Op. 55, No. 2 – Lento sostenuto

The Waltzes No. 1 in E-flat major, Op. 18 (“Grand Valse brillante”) – Vivo

No. 2 in A-flat major, Op. 34, No. 1 (“Valse brillante”) – Vivace No. 3 in A minor, Op. 34, No. 2 (“Valse brillante”) – Lento No. 4 in F major, Op 34, No. 3 (“Valse brillante”) – Vivace No. 5 in A-flat major, Op. 42 – Vivace No. 6 in D-flat major, Op. 64, No. 1 – Molto vivace

No. 7 in C-sharp minor, Op. 64, No. 2 – Tempo giusto No. 8 in A-flat major, Op. 64, No. 3 – Moderato No. 9 in A-flat major, Op. 69, No. 1 – Lento

No. 10 in B minor, Op. 69, No. 2 – Moderato No. 11 in G-flat major, Op. 70, No. 1 – Molto vivace

No. 12 in F minor, Op. 70, No. 2 – Tempo giusto No. 13 in D-flat major, Op. 70, No. 3 – Moderato No. 14 in E minor, Op. Posthumous – Vivace

Alan Murray, piano


Sunday, November 14, 2010


Conclusion: The Other Major Works

The Mazurkas (conclusion)

No. 36 in A minor, Op. 59, No. 1 No. 44 in C major, Op. 67, No. 3 No. 37 in A-flat major, Op. 59, No. 2 No. 45 in A minor, Op. 67, No. 4

No. 38 in F-sharp minor, Op. 59, No. 3 No. 46 in C major, Op. 68, No. 1 No. 39 in B major, Op. 63, No. 1 No. 47 in A minor, Op. 68, No. 2

No. 40 in F minor, Op. 63, No. 2 No. 48 in F major, Op. 68, No. 3 No. 41 in C-sharp minor, Op. 63, No. 3 No. 49 in F minor, Op. 68, No. 4

No. 42 in G major, Op. 67 No. 1 No. 50 in A minor, Op. Posth., No. 1 No. 43 in G minor, Op. 67, No. 2 No. 51 in A minor, Op. Posth., No. 2

* * * * *

Introduction & Rondo, Op. 16

Fantasy, Op. 49

Berceuse, Op. 57

Barcarolle, Op. 60

Andante Spianato & Grande Polonaise Brillante, Op. 22

The Nocturnes (conclusion)

No. 17 in B major, Op. 62, No. 1 – Andante No. 18 in E major, Op. 62, No. 2 – Lento No. 19 in E minor, Op. 72, No. 1 – Andante

Alan Murray, piano

Frèdèric Chopin

Biographical Notes

Chopin: Apotheosis of the Piano

(excerpts from ‘Lives of the Great Composers’, by Harold C. Schoenberg) Most of the romantic composers had a parti pris about romanticism. They were propagandists; they played or conducted one another’s music; they wrote reviews and articles about the new styles and theories; they helped one another as best they could; and as teachers, some of them passed their aspirations to the oncoming generation. Not Frédéric Chopin. He would have none of it. Indeed, he disliked romanticism. He though Liszt’s music vulgar, did not like Schumann’s music at all, and had nothing to say about the works of Berlioz or Mendelssohn, though he was the friend of all of those great men. He approached Beethoven with a mixture of admiration and dislike; the ‘thunderer’ was too big and uncouth, and Chopin felt uncomfortable in his presence. If he heard any music by Schubert, he did not mention it. The only two masters who meant anything to him were Bach and Mozart. For them he had nothing but praise.

He was not widely read, nor did he respond to romantic art. His teaching – which was how he supported himself in grand style – was private and largely confined to society. Elegant pupils would enter Chopin’s studio and put their twenty or thirty francs on the mantelpiece while he looked out of the window. He was a gentleman, and gentlemen did not soil their hands with anything as vulgar as business transactions. He liked to move in aristocratic circles, and was greatly concerned with style, taste, clothes, and bon ton.

One of the greatest pianists in history, he gave very few concerts during his life and was primarily a salon pianist. He was physically frail and his playing at best never had much sonority. Toward the end it was a whisper. His last public appearance in Paris took place in 1835, when he was just twenty-six. For the rest of his life – he was born in 1810 and died in 1849 – he gave only three more recitals, and those were semi-private, before a carefully selected audience. He did a great deal of playing at musical parties. Chopin and Liszt would play four-hand music, perhaps with Mendelssohn turning pages, while awaiting his turn at the keyboard. Around the piano might be Berlioz, Meyerbeer, Delacroix, Heine, and George Sand.

Chopin fit beautifully into the mad, bad, sad, glad Paris of the 1830s and 40’s. Although he did not have many close friends, he knew everybody and everybody liked and respected him. They knew he was a genius. He was not only a genius as a pianist; he was creatively a genius, one of the most startlingly original ones of the century. And Paris those days was highly experienced in judging genius. It was the intellectual and artistic capital of the world. Chopin arrived in Paris in 1831 and spent the rest of his life there.

Chopin’s thinking and composition was revolutionary; he developed an altogether new kind of piano playing; his daring, yet refined harmonic sense; his experimentation with a kind of piano sonority that once and for all released the instrument from the past. In the young Chopin a musical fermentation went on, and he found that he had to change the rules. “You know”, his father wrote, “that the mechanics of piano playing occupied little of your time, and that your mind was busier than your fingers. If others have spent whole days working at the keyboard, you rarely

spent an hour playing other men’s music.” Thus as a musician Chopin was one of the lucky ones: a natural technician with an easy style, a composer who decided early on to write only for the instrument that he loved. And when he improvised on some Polish tunes while living in Vienna, Chopin himself said, “people were dancing up and down in their seats.” How, they kept asking, could Chopin have learned so much in Warsaw?

Pre-romantic pianists of the day would run well-drilled notes up and down the keyboard, with little or no pedal. Using high finger strokes, playing from hand and wrist, rather than elbow and arm, they had little idea of the coloristic resources of the piano, an instrument that by 1830 was very close in action and sonority to the concert grand of today. Chopin made his Paris debut early in 1832. Liszt and Mendelssohn were present, and the recital was the talk of Paris. After that, there was no more nonsense talk about who among the dozen or so pretenders was the greatest of the composer-pianists.

Chopin’s life changed when he was introduced to George Sand by Liszt. He was twenty-six and she was thirty-two years old, already a famous novelist, equally notorious for her independence and her disdain for the proprieties. Of sharp intelligence, for a time she wore men’s clothes, smoked cigars, and had a succession of lovers.

Chopin had no false modesty about himself and his work. As early as 1831 he was writing about his “perhaps too audacious but noble wish and intention to create for myself a new world.” He did precisely that. As a pianist he created a style that dominated the entire second half of the nineteenth century and was not substantially changed until Debussy and Prokofiev came along. It was a style that broke sharply from everything that went before it. For the first time the piano became a total instrument: a singing instrument, an instrument of infinite color, poetry, and nuance, a heroic instrument, an intimate instrument. Schumann’s piano music, wonderful as it is, original as it is, sounds thick by comparison. Chopin’s music flowed naturally out of his own way of playing the piano, and as a pianist he was light-years ahead of Schumann, exploiting the instrument in an idiomatic and completely modern manner. In any case, the new ideas about pedaling, fingering, rhythm, and coloristic resource that Chopin invented were immediately taken up by every one of the younger pianists.

Many professionals of the day could not follow him. But Mendelssohn ultimately surrendered, followed by everybody else. “There is”, Mendelssohn wrote, “something entirely original in his piano playing and it is at the same time so masterly that he may be called a perfect virtuoso… He produces new effects, like Paganini on the violin, and accomplished things nobody could formerly have thought practicable.”

Even the great Liszt was not too proud to learn from Chopin. Between the two was an uneasy friendship. They saw a great deal of each other, but there may have been an unconscious hostility. Chopin envied Liszt his strength, his extroversion, his virility, his power to hypnotize large audiences. “Liszt is playing my etudes,” he wrote to Stephen Heller, “and transporting me outside of my respectable thoughts. I should like to steal from him the way to play my own etudes.” But there was an element of vulgarity and fakery to Liszt that repelled Chopin. Occasionally, Chopin burst into spitefulness as in a letter to Jules Fontana: “One of these days he’ll be a member of parliament or perhaps even the King of Abyssinia or the Congo – but as regards the

themes from his composition, well, they will be buried in the newspapers.” Liszt, on the other hand, sincerely admired Chopin’s pianism and adopted many of his ideas. Chopin showed that the piano could be much more than a virtuoso instrument even in virtuoso music; and, more importantly, Chopin’s music showed that even the wildest flights of virtuosity could have a musical meaning. Chopin’s filigree and bravura, in his mature works, never is mere show-off. He introduced the concept of functional ornamentation.

Two things about Chopin’s piano style – and by extension, as always, his music – are of extreme importance: his ideas about rubato, and his classic bent. Rubato, which had been the subject of much discussion by performers as far back as Mozart and C.P.E. Bach, is a kind of displacement in which the rhythm is delicately altered but never the idea of the basic meter. It gives variety and added interest to a phrase. Every sensitive musician uses it; the device is equivalent to variation of line in a drawing by a master. Chopin, with his Polish dance heritage, used such a pronounced rubato that listeners unaccustomed to it were taken aback. One fine pianist of the day noted that a remarkable feature of Chopin’s playing “was the entire freedom with which he treated the rhythm, but which appears so natural that for years it had never struck me.” Yet despite his romantic rubato and his extremely romantic music, Chopin had a strong classic streak in him. He always had a metronome on his piano, insisted that his pupils play in strict time, gave them plenty of Bach and Mozart, and went into a tantrum when rhythmic liberties were taken.

“Yesterday, we heard Henri Herz perform,” wrote Joseph Filtsch to his parents. “His execution is elegant, agreeable and coquettish, but without subtlety. What a difference between him and Chopin, whose fingers sing and bring tears to your eyes, making anybody who is sensitive tremble with emotion… Thanks to this flexibility that he can play black notes with his thumb or a whole series of notes with two fingers only, passing the longer finger over the shorter and sliding from one note to another.” These were practices condemned by the classic teachers. Black notes were not to be played with the thumb. Filtsch goes on to describe Chopin’s rubato. “To his pupils he says: ‘Let your left hand be your conductor and keep strict time.’ And so the right hand, now hesitant, now impatient, is nevertheless constrained to follow this great rule and never weaken the rhythm, of the left hand.” (Mozart had expressed almost the exact same thought over a half-century previously. Joseph Filtsch, incidentally, was a pianist who had come from Hungary with his younger brother Karl to study with Chopin. Karl was enormously gifted and was by far the best pupil Chopin ever had. Liszt heard him and said that when the youngster started playing public, then he, Liszt himself, would shut up shop. Poor Karl died at the age of fifteen.

As a composer, Chopin has survived all changes of fashion and is as popular today as he ever was. Almost everything he composed in the active repertoire. Can this be said of many other composers? He found his style very early, and after the Etudes of Op. 10 – many of which were composed before his arrival in Paris – there was no substantial change, except perhaps a greater depth to his music, but very little in the way of technique, harmonic ideas, or melody. He also had worked out the basic style of his mazurkas and nocturnes in Poland. If there was one thing Chopin loved, it was beautiful singing, and many of his melodic ideas came from the great vocal stylists of the day.

Another aspect of his musical style was Polish nationalism, as represented by the mazurkas and polonaises. To Europe, these were strange and exotic. Chopin was the first of the great nationalists. The great nationalists do not copy folk melodies. They do not have to. The folk tradition is part of their background, their racial subconscious. It emerges as an evocation of homeland, even if no actual folk-tune quotations are used. In his mazurkas and polonaises, Chopin echoed the melodies with which he had grown up. In his other music he was much more a cosmopolitan, though here and there a folk tune can make its appearance.

Chopin never gave anything but abstract titles to his music, and in this he was different from the other romantics. The well-known titles of certain of Chopin’s etudes, preludes, polonaises and mazurkas are all romantic inventions, generally supplied by publishers. In none of Chopin’s music are there any programmatic implications, thought it is claimed that the four ballades were inspired by poems by Adam Mickiewicz, the Polish patriot. If this is true, Chopin was remarkably quiet about it. The only names Chopin gave to the overwhelming majority of his music (the Polish songs excepted) were generic: etude, prelude, polonaise, ballade, scherzo, sonata, fantasy, nocturne, mazurka, impromptu, waltz, variations, concerto.

In his youth his music was graceful, exuberant, inventive, and full of brilliance, marked by a decided predilection for virtuosity, and was composed as vehicles for public performance. It is often breath-taking, sparkling and coruscating, taking complicated figurations and breaking them up or spreading them over the keyboard so that the notes scatter like pinpoints of flame. Few composers have had Chopin’s gift for modulation, his taste in combining pure virtuosity with an aristocratic and poetic kind of melody. That could be heard from the beginning, and he never changed his approach. As he grew older his forms became tighter, and every note had a point. The music could be difficult, but it also was condensed and under perfect control. It had dissonances, including harsh seconds and ninths, which sounded intolerable as the classic pianists played them, and the new generation of pianists had to learn how to handle them, how to make them glint and resolve though a skillful use of the pedal. Those chromatic and daring harmonies were a seminal influence on nineteenth-century music thinking. Chopin influenced Wagner and later composers, and he anticipated Debussy ( who in turn, with his own set of Etudes – would pay tribute to Chopin’s masterpiece set) with free-floating pedal effects and near-impressionist harmonies in some of his works. The delicate, sickly, Polish composer put a mighty hand on the future of music.

Delicate and sickly; but that does not mean his music lacks power. Most of Chopin’s major works – especially the etudes, preludes, polonaises, ballades, scherzos and sonatas, in addition to his fantasy and barcarolle – contain majestic utterances. Lyric and spontaneous as his music often sounds, it was the product of much work and thought. He did not rush his ideas to paper, as Mozart and Schubert so often did. Chopin was a slow worker who would not let a piece of music be published until he was satisfied that it was as jeweled, as flawless, as logical as he could make it. Initial ideas came fast, but working them into the appropriate form could be excruciating. Many of his compositions resulted from improvisations, as Filtsch has described the way Chopin worked: “The other day (in March 1842) I heard Chopin improvise at George Sand’s house. It is marvelous to hear Chopin compose in this way. His inspiration is so

immediate and complete that he plays without hesitation as if [the music] had to be thus. But when it comes to writing it down and recapturing the original thought in all its details, he spends days of nervous strain and almost frightening desperation. He alters and retouches the same phrases incessantly, and walks up and down like a madman.” Even when a work was published, Chopin was not satisfied. He would make changes whenever he could, and in many of his works there are differences between the French and German editions, some of them significant.

His music is all of a piece. Whether tiny, as in the prelude in A major, which lasts no more than twenty seconds, or extended, as in the B minor sonata, it is for the most part a highly precise, condensed form of music in which a single idea is exploited. The single-idea aspect of Chopin comes in the etudes, preludes, mazurkas and nocturnes, although in the longer etudes, mazurkas and nocturnes subsidiary ideas make their appearance. The works in larger form – the ballades, scherzos and F minor fantasy – are Chopin’s own solution to the problem of sonata form. Classic sonata form did not interest him very much, and his own sonatas achieve a copybook form that just passes; what both saves and elevates them is the wealth of ideas and the extraordinary freedom with which he moves within the confines of the form.

Several elements of his music suggest classicism and, in particular, his beloved Bach. The twenty-four Preludes (Op. 28) follow the idea of the Well-Tempered Clavier, going though all the major and minor keys in the circle of fifths. And the Etudes begin on a similar suggestion, but quickly part ways. Could the very first Prelude and Etude – both in C major, and both based on arpeggiated chords – be implied compliments to the C major Prelude that opens Bach’s great *Well-Tempered Clavier+ series? If Chopin’s are played at very slow tempo, there are startling relationships among these works.

Once Chopin had established himself, there was remarkably little criticism of his music. It was accepted as the work of a master. As Liszt wrote in 1841, “This exquisite, lofty and eminently aristocratic celebrity remains unattacked. A complete silence of criticism already reigns about him, as if posterity already had come.” Liszt was only stating fact. Certainly the informed composers of the day – Liszt, Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Berlioz – knew that Chopin was an immortal; that within his self-imposed limitations he was perfection itself. Other composers have had their ups and downs. Chopin goes steadily along, and the piano literature would be inconceivable without him.

* * * * *

From ‘The Life of Chopin’, by Franz Liszt “As the manifold forms of art are but different incantations, charged with electricity from the soul of the artist, and destined to evoke the latent emotions and passions in order to render them sensible, intelligible, and, in some degree, tangible; so genius may be manifested in the invention of new forms, adapted, it may be, to the expression of feelings which have not yet surged within the limits of common experience, and are indeed first evoked within the magic circle by the creative power of artistic intuition.”

“In making an analysis of the works of Chopin, we meet with beauties of a high order, expressions entirely new, and a harmonic tissue as original as erudite. In his compositions, boldness is always justified; richness, even exuberance, never interferes with clearness; singularity never degenerates into uncouth fantasticalness; the sculpturing is never disorderly; the luxury of ornament never overloads the chaste eloquence of the principal lines. His best works abound in combinations which may be said to form an epoch in the handling of musical style. Daring, brilliant and attractive, they disguise their profundity under so much grace, their science under so many charms, that it is with difficulty we free ourselves sufficiently from their magical enthrallment, to judge coldly of their theoretical value. Their worth has, however, already been felt; but it will be more highly estimated when the time arrives for a critical examination of the services rendered by them to art during that period of its course traversed by Chopin.”

“The frail and sickly organization of Chopin, not permitting him the energetic expression of his passions, he gave to his friends only the gentle and affectionate phase of his nature. In the busy, eager life of large cities, where no one has time to study the destiny of another, where everyone is judged by his external activity, very few think it worthwhile to attempt to penetrate the enigma of individual character. Those who enjoyed familiar intercourse with Chopin, could not be blind to the impatience and ennui he experienced in being, upon the calm character of his manners, so promptly believed. And may not the artist revenge the man? As his health was too frail to permit him to give vent to his impatience through the vehemence of his execution, he sought to compensate himself by pouring this bitterness over those pages which he loved to hear performed with a vigor [Footnote: It was his delight to hear them executed by the great Liszt himself.—Translator.] which he could not himself always command: pages which are indeed full of the impassioned feelings of a man suffering deeply from wounds which he does not choose to avow. Thus around a gaily flagged, yet sinking ship, float the fallen spars and scattered fragments, torn by warring winds and surging waves from its shattered sides.”

* * * * *

Frèdèric Chopin – The Piano Music

Program Notes

The Etudes

In his 24 Etudes, Chopin set out to explore the furthest extremes of keyboard virtuosity – creating a Magna Carta of piano technique – while maintaining his customary and uniquely poetic sensibility. “Etude” means “study”, and every one of these studies addresses a specific technical concern. Yet they are much more than mere exercises; in fact, Chopin single-handedly transformed the etude into concert-grade material. Arthur Rubinstein, who played Chopin the world over for three quarters of a century, found the etudes daunting, declaring later in his career: “To do them justice is a most difficult task, which I haven’t had the courage to attempt.” And noted musicologist Sir Donald Francis Tovey observed: “No other composer has so nobly overcome the immense difficulty of writing works that systematize and exhibit one by one the extreme resource of the modern pianoforte, while at the same time remaining spontaneous music of a high order.”

Chopin was barely 23 years old when his first set of Twelve Grand Etudes (Op. 10) was published in June 1833 and proclaimed, in no uncertain terms, the sudden maturity of an extraordinary young composer. The etudes Op. 10 were dedicated to Franz Liszt, who was already recognized as the greatest pianist of his time, and who played them with a brilliance that the frail Chopin could not approximate. We can only imagine the impact that the opening etude (in C major) must have made on pianists and audiences alike at the time of its debut. Never before had there been piano music of such expansive sweep and muscular energy; it is as if Chopin had somehow managed to yoke a simple chorale melody to the rushing fury of a waterfall. The second etude (in A minor) couldn’t be more different: a soft chromatic exercise that sweeps quietly up and down the keyboard. Of such contrasts, heroic and intimate by turn, are these etudes made. Far and away the best known of the set is the tender and introspective No. 3 (in E major). Chopin himself confessed that he had never written another melody like it. The fourth (in C-sharp minor) shatters this tranquility altogether with a torrent of cascading scales and arpeggios. No. 5 (in G-flat major), almost entirely on the black keys, sustains the kinetic energy, but here with charm, sparkle and wit. No. 6 (in E-flat minor) sustains the alternating major/minor key pattern of the preceding etudes, but changes the character entirely, with a brooding accompaniment supporting a sorrowful song above it. Chopin favored song above all other art, and this work, along with No. 3, and Op. 25 No. 7 in C-sharp minor, constitute tributes to this ideal. Both No. 7 (in C major) and No. 8 (in F major) are proudly exuberant works that give their noble melodies to the left hand, while demanding filigree accompaniment from the right. No. 9 (in F minor) is marked ‘molto agitato’ and has a feverish intensity that ultimately releases its accumulated energy in a rapid octave repetition toward the end, before quietly subsiding. Etude No. 10, based on octave and sixth-intervals, is a study in varying shades, rhythms, textures, and touch, as well as harmonic modulations, all applied to a fundamentally unvarying underlying note pattern. No. 11 (in E-flat major) employs the arpeggio in a novel way, in comparison to No. 1, as well as Op. 25 Nos. 1 and 12. The last of the Op. 10 etudes (in C minor) was supposedly written in a fury in 1831 after Chopin learned that Warsaw had been seized by Russia. Whether or not this story is true, the etude is a fiercely passionate work, concluding with a chord sequence that seems radical and brusque.

By the time Chopin’s second set of etudes (Op. 25) was published in 1837, he was a celebrated figure, with a number of masterpieces behind him. And so the arrival of his new etudes did not – could not – have the same seismic impact of the original collection. Yet the music is at least as inspired and the demands no less challenging. Chopin’s friend and colleague Robert Schumann likened the opening etude in Op. 25 (in A-flat major) to an

Aeolian harp. “Throughout all the harmonies one always heard in great tones a wondrous melody,” he wrote. “After the etude a feeling came over one as of having seen in a dream a beatific picture which when half awake one would gladly recall.” He went on to describe the second etude (in F minor) as “charming, dreamy and soft as the song of a child singing in its slumber.” (Schumann himself provided his own memorable musical depiction of a child drifting off to sleep in his Kinderscenen.). The following three etudes (in F major, A minor and E minor) each explore melodies set against – or woven into – repeated rhythmic figures, with the last of these enveloping a sublime intermezzo and ending with a sweeping arpeggio in E major that resonates as the work comes to a close. The etudes in G-sharp minor and D-flat major are based on intervals of thirds and sixths, the first with a left hand melodic accompaniment, and the second with the figure itself providing the melody. The etude in C-sharp minor is an operatic duet, into which Chopin weaves an elaborate accompaniment. The G-flat major etude, the shortest of the set, is a dizzying study in the alternation of legato and staccato. The final three etudes represent Chopin at his most affecting and ambitious. The B minor contrasts a brooding and raging double-octave tirade against a tender singing intermezzo in the parallel major key. The A-minor etude unleashes elemental ferocity. The four opening measures – the only moments of repose in the piece – were added to the score as an afterthought at the suggestion of a friend. It was a stroke of genius; the element of contrast endows this etude with an entirely new dimension. The final etude (as if more could be said after the seeming finality of the “Winter Wind”) seems to hearken back to the very first (Op. 10, No. 1). Both are studies in racing arpeggios, and both possess monumental energy and grandeur. Yet there is a world of difference: the C major is brilliant and sparkling as it embarks on the grand journey that is Chopin’s 24 Etudes, while the final utterance, in C minor, brings this journey to a close with a sense of tumultuous cataclysm; only in the final four measures do clouds part, coming back full circle to a resounding affirmation in C major. Notes by Tim Page (SONY Classical, SK 61885), edited and revised, with additional commentary, by A. Murray

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The Preludes

Chopin's 24 Preludes, Op. 28, are a set of short pieces for the piano (certainly more diminutive and less complex, but no less varied and perhaps even more inventive, than his already completed monumental set of 24 Etudes), one in each of the twenty-four keys, presented sequentially. The preludes were published in 1839 and dedicated to Joseph Christoph Kessler, a composer of piano studies during Chopin's time. Ten years earlier, Kessler had dedicated his own set of 24 Preludes, Op. 31, to Chopin. Although the term prelude is generally used to describe an introductory piece, Chopin's preludes stand as self-contained units, each conveying a specific idea or emotion. The Op. 28 preludes were commissioned by the piano-maker and publisher Camille Pleyel. Chopin wrote them between 1835 and 1839, partly at Valldemossa, Majorca, where he spent the winter of 1838/39 and where he had fled with George Sand and her children to escape the damp Paris weather.

Due to their brevity and apparent lack of formal structure, the Op. 28 preludes caused some consternation among critics at the time of their publication. No prelude is longer than 90 measures (No. 17), and the shortest, No. 9, is a mere 12 measures. Robert Schumann wrote: "They are sketches, beginnings of études or, so to speak, ruins, individual eagle pinions, all disorder and wild confusion." Franz Liszt's opinion, however, was more

positive: "Chopin's Preludes are compositions of an order entirely apart... they are poetic preludes, analogous to those of a great contemporary poet, who cradles the soul in golden dreams…” Since then, the preludes have become a staple of the concert repertoire, and a benchmark for clarity of pianistic expression and execution. One noted musicologist has written: "if all piano music in the world were to be destroyed, excepting one collection, my vote should be cast for Chopin's Preludes." And some pianists, listeners and musicologists would argue that as a single collective work the 24 Preludes ensure Chopin’s immortality in the piano literature.

Despite the lack of formal thematic structure, motives do appear in more than one prelude, and there are many parallels to the Etudes. Individually, they are fine pieces in their own right. But – as with the Etudes – when presented as a single collective work, it quickly becomes apparent that the fabric of the work rests not simply on the pieces themselves, but also on their positioning alongside one another, in the intended order. The Chopin preludes are at once twenty-four small pieces and one large one. As is evident at the start of each piece, connections to and contrasts with the previous one add further dimension to the work. In his preludes, Chopin explores unprecedented depths of introspection and lets his eyes rest on unfathomable gulfs, while employing a remarkable economy of expression. Alongside several very brief preludes, concentrated with a minimum of gestures and a maximum of intensity (e.g. Nos. 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 11, 20) stand others more extended in length that are clearly ‘studies’, or sketches for studies (e.g. Nos. 3, 8, 12, 16, 19, 23, 24), or else in the nature of nocturnes, though without florid ornamentation (e.g. Nos. 13, 15, 17, 21). No. 7 has a mazurka gait; in Nos. 10 and 22 it is possible to recognize an affinity to Paganini’s Caprices; and the hint of improvisation in No. 18 seems to suggest a dramatic setting. No. 14 (in E-flat minor) bears striking similarities, with its tight triplet figuration and haunting chromaticism, to the finale of Chopin’s (“Funeral March”) Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minor, and No. 22 (in G minor) reveals similarities to the first and second movements of that same work.

The subdivision could be carried further, no doubt; but these short indications are enough to explain Schumann’s judgment, which emphasizes the extreme variety of the Preludes and the presence in them of musical intuitions of a febrile nature, that communicate the very essence of extremely diverse states of mind. Chopin’s harmony, too, has an originality of genius and some of the greatest examples of this are found in the Preludes.

There is still another aspect of the Preludes to which attention should be drawn, and one to which Schumann alludes, namely the organic unity of the work as a whole. In contrast to the many diverse, “centrifugal” characteristics of the preludes there is a rigorous overall organization reflecting a clear purpose present also in the Etudes (particularly in Op. 10) but not as completely realized as here. The scheme comprises all twenty-four keys, major alternating with relative minor, ascending by sharp keys as far as No. 13 (in F-sharp major) and descending by flat keys from No. 14 (in E-flat minor). Also essential is the importance of the principle of contrast, the steady alternation in expressive attitudes. Furthermore, analysis reveals internal links between motivic cells which recur throughout; and these facts serve as clear evidence of an underlying unity of design forming a link with the tradition of the prelude as an educational piece forming part of a systematically organized collection. Chopin is known to have been a great admirer of J.S. Bach, and the sequential traversal of the 24 major and minor keys, not to mention the striking similarity of The opening prelude – with its C-major based arpeggiated chord pattern and modulations –

to Bach’s are clearly direct tributes to Bach’s masterpiece, The Well-Tempered Clavier. In fact, the apparent paradox between a systematically organized underlying unity and an extreme diversity of music intuitions constitutes one of the most significant elements in the experimental boldness that marks the Preludes: not a simple link with the musical past, but the creation of a microcosm in which the logic of the internal structure is used to unfold new ideas of form. The Prelude in C-sharp minor, Op. 45 was composed in 1841 and dedicated to Princess E. Czernicheff. This piece, which also serves as a fitting encore to the Op. 28 set – as a tranquil denouement to the cataclysmic finality of No. 24 – features widely extending basses and highly expressive and effective chromatic modulations over a rather uniform

thematic basis. Notes by Wikipedia (Chopin),Paolo Petazzi (trans:M. Cooper;DG 413796-2), edited and revised by A. Murray

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The Polonaises

The polonaise is, by tradition, a stately Polish processional dance that had its roots in folk wedding dances, from which it separated and then entered the dance repertoire of the nobility. The Polish name of the dance, polonez, derives from the French term polonaise which was introduced in the 17th century. As this dance, among others, became popular among people of higher status, the music was transferred to the instrumentalists who accompanied court dances. In this form it was transformed into the most highbred expression of the Polish national spirit and became in the process the most representative of Polish dances throughout Europe.

During the period of the partitions when Russia occupied one-third of Poland, Russian composers were attracted to the form of the polonaise, which acquired a meaning of "dignity" and "royalty" and was often associated with the appearance of the Tsar, or in general, the rulers. It also appeared in Russian operas as a symbol of the Polish gentry (Mussorgsky's Boris Godunov, Tchaikovsky's Onegin). Moreover, the nostalgic polonaises of Michał Kleofas Ogioski, especially his "Farewell to the Homeland," became extremely popular in Russia and have been arranged for a variety of instrumental settings.

As the polonaise became chiefly instrumental, it underwent stylistic and formal changes. In particular, melodies became wider in range and more ornamental.

There are two characteristic rhythmic patterns that allow one to recognize the polonaise: (1) the succession of one eighth-note, two sixteenths and four eighth-notes at the opening of the dance (depicted at left, above), and (2) the cadential formula of four sixteenths followed by two quarter notes (depicted at left, below).

Although many composers (among them Bach, Brahms, Liszt and others) composed polonaises, it was Chopin who established himself, unequivocally, as the greatest composer of polonaises in classical music, and whose works for piano made this dance the musical symbol of Poland and Polishness. The series of seven Polonaises that were published – with his authorization – during his lifetime (another nine were published without his authorization, posthumously, and two were published during his youth by his father, but also without his authorization) set a new standard for music in the form, and were rooted in Chopin's desire to write something to celebrate Polish culture after the country had fallen

into Russian control. Chopin’s nationalism was a great influence and inspiration for many other composers, especially Eastern Europeans, and he was one of the first composers to clearly express nationalism through his music. Furthermore, he was the first composer to take a national form of music from his home country and transform it into a genre worthy of the general concert-going public. For Chopin, these compositions are the finest expression of his nostalgic grief with respect to the struggles of his homeland. Although Chopin began work on the polonaises in his native Poland, it was only later, in Paris, that his genius matured and where he would master this compositional form and his creative style. Chopin’s Polonaises are signature works, thrilling in their splendor, rancor, contrasts, and pianistic invention. The two polonaises of Opus 26 were composed in 1834 and 1835. The opening polonaise, in C-sharp minor, is a tragic and grand proclamation, which quickly shifts as it reaches a more lyrical theme. A work of indecisive quality, it displays two main characters: an angry, frantic Allegro appassionato, as well as a tender and passionate meno mosso. The E-flat minor polonaise is a masterpiece of fire, color and variety. The suspenseful Maestoso beginning sets the mood for a most spectacular flash of vitality. The Meno mosso is a beautiful chordal statement. This polonaise is sometimes referred to as The Siberian Revolt. It is also said to be one of Chopin’s most realistic compositions. The two polonaises of Opus 40 were composed in 1838. The A-major (“Military”) is perhaps the best recognized, but also the shortest in duration of the seven. It is a majestic burst of chordal energy: Allegro con brio creates a mood of vibrant glory. Anton Rubinstein, the pianist and composer, saw in the C-minor polonaise a gloomy picture of Poland’s downfall, whereas in the A major polonaise a portrait of its former greatness. The polonaise in F-sharp minor – perhaps the grandest of entire set – was composed in 1840 and 1841 and, according to Liszt, signified the “lurid hour that precedes a hurricane”. Its melodies are powerful and are presented in octaves, first in the treble, followed by the bass. The middle section is a mazurka and is deceptive in its tranquility, which is altogether shattered with startling and sweeping figures that precede the return of the main theme and coda. The polonaise in A-flat major (“Heroic”) ranks among Chopin’s best-known works. Its opening octave and chromatic chordal progression sets the stage for what is perhaps Chopin’s most fiery nationalistic work. The majestic octave sequence in E major, overlaid with a brass-like march – which comprises the middle section of this work – resounds with the hooves of a proud cavalry. Following is a gently melodic transition section, after which Chopin returns to the main section in a tour de force finale.

The “Polonaise-Fantaisie”, the final of the seven, was composed just four years before Chopin’s death (1845/46). Consistent with its title, this work breaks with precedent by moving away from a more strict march structure, to a more loosely structured fantasy based largely on the classic polonaise rhythms. Alternately proud, reflective, brooding, defiant, and ultimately triumphant, it is a masterpiece and stands among Chopin’s most exalted creations.

Notes by PMC Polish Dance and chopinmusic.net; edited, revised, w/additional commentary by A. Murray

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The Ballades

Chopin – whose etudes, preludes, polonaises, scherzos, nocturnes and sonatas are largely free of extra-musical references – was the first composer to introduce into instrumental music the term “ballade”, associated previously with vocal works of a narrative and epic-

lyrical character. Although he told Schumann that he had been inspired by the poems of Adam Mickiewicz, Chopin was probably only acknowledging in the name “ballade” a certain poetic kinship or a generalized cultural affinity. A more compelling reason behind the choice of the title may lie in the pieces’ lyrical and narrative flow, which is of a purely musical nature and generates forms that are not governed by the normal principles of dramatic expression. Although there are two groups of themes and a number of development sections, these do not constitute a musical structure that can be described as sonata form. Time and again, Chopin avoids launching the “recapitulation” with the first theme and re-establishment of the initial key, orthodox procedures which might, however, have lowered the tension and compromised the music’s vigorous momentum and the emotional drama it has generated. With all their variety of expressive character, the Ballades also have in common the “narrative” gait of 6/8 meter (6/4 in No. 1).

Unfettered by formal conventions, their structures are nevertheless utterly convincing, and it is the richness that ensues from this extended narrative context that makes the Ballades arguably Chopin’s finest musical achievement. In the First Ballade, in G minor, (completed in 1835 but begun possibly as early as 1831), a strong poetic-narrative atmosphere pervades the opening bars: the piece does not begin in the home key and soon reaches an enigmatic dissonance. When the first theme enters, it comes as a remarkably intense breath of epic lyricism, featuring a mysterious dialogue between an arpeggiated motif in the middle register and a sustained legato in the high register. A transitional episode and developmental passage bring about a growing excitement that subsides only with the arrival of the tender, magically lyrical second theme. A new transitional section follows the development of the first and second themes, and both themes take on a new character – passionate and intense. The tumultuous, fiery coda (presto con fuoco) brings this highly original, coherent and richly expressive work – the first in which Chopin’s grasp of larger forms manifests itself with such originality – to a close. Although the Second Ballade, in F major, was completed in 1839, Chopin had been working on it since at least 1836. He dedicated it to Schumann, who had dedicated his Kreisleriana to Chopin in 1838. The first idea (Andantino) seems to emerge from a mysterious remoteness, almost as if from the distant past. Although apparently simple, it is prolonged with great subtlety until suddenly being shattered by the violently contrasting and stormy second theme (presto con fuoco). The abruptness of this dramatic break has led several commentators to identify as the work’s inspiration Mickiewicz’s poem Switez, which recounts the tale of maidens who drowned themselves in Switez Lake, Lithuania, in order to escape from the violence of Russian invaders. A development of the first theme leads to moments of intense unrest and to a restatement of the second theme – a continuation of the unconventional development section rather than an actual recapitulation, which contains a reprise of the first theme in the low register. A sequence of trills lead to a simmering coda (Agitato), followed by a last statement of the opening theme, perhaps representing the “suffering of the epilogue”. But here again it would be advisable to interpret the theatricality of the Ballades’ dramatic progress in strictly musical terms. Unlike the first two, the Third Ballade, in A-flat major, (composed in 1840-41) is not marked by distinct contrasts: there are clearly recognizable affinities with the material used for the two theme groups which, once again, are marked by a continuous fluctuation of expressive movements rather than adherence to conventional forms. What immediately strikes the listener in the first theme group is the captivating contrapuntal writing and shifting registers. Two bars of hesitation separate the first theme from the broad and varied second, elements of which prevail in the ensuing development. Particularly in the

last third of the Ballade, an ethereal lightness gives way to feverish conflict. Within this impassioned atmosphere, once again, even the return of certain elements in a brief final synthesis does not serve to convey the impression of a conventional recapitulation. The Fourth Ballade, in F minor, (composed in 1842) is generally considered the greatest of the four – a masterpiece of Chopin’s richest maturity – encompassing pathos, mystery, and the furious turbulence of an epic drama. Categorizing its structure is just as challenging: after seven bars of hesitant introduction, the wistful first theme (embellished by ornate arabesques) is soon subjected to variation and development, while the suave second theme is introduced, almost as an apparition, after nearly 80 bars, followed by new development and variation of the first subject (which returns, among other guises, as a three-part canon). In addition to Chopin’s interest in counterpoint, what is especially striking in the final Ballade is the prevalence of half-tone shadings, mysterious and suggestive. Yet the music again attains moments of deep expressiveness: the only return of the second theme culminates in an intensification, followed by a dramatic and tempestuous episode leading to a succession of ghostly chords. This moment of tender repose (or is it instead tense anticipation?) is broken by the raging coda’s reply of overwhelming, tragic violence. Notes by Paolo Petazzi (trans:CM Perselli; DG 289 459 683-2);edited/revised with additional text by A. Murray

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The Scherzos

There are only two examples before Chopin of a self-contained composition for piano being called a “scherzo” (literally “joke”, in Italian), including one of Beethoven’s bagatelles (Op. 33) and two pieces by Schubert (D593). But none of these isolated precedents, or any of the scherzos which Beethoven and many others after him included in symphonies, sonatas or other multi-movement works compare in any way with the four extended pieces by Chopin. Chopin’s share with the classical scherzo only the ‘presto’ tempo indication, ¾ time, and an ABA structure with a central trio, which Chopin in fact reinterprets each time he uses it. Although it was traditional to have a clear break between the outer parts and the central section, there was absolutely no precedent for the violent lacerations, the dramatic contrasts, which give each of Chopin’s first three Scherzos its own unmistakable imprint, while the Fourth exhibits a special, and no less remarkable, character. Their intensity of expression, poetical richness and astounding originality place the Scherzos among Chopin’s masterpieces. In them the technique of deriving themes from basic motifs reaches new heights of conscious refinement. Each has a different formal layout, yet Chopin achieves a perfect match between the internal logic of the constituent elements and the overall structural pattern. The Scherzo No. 1, in B minor (composed in 1831-32, some say 1830-31) was started in Vienna and finished in Paris. There has been wide speculation that the origins of the piece are autobiographical, linked to Chopin’s reactions to the news of the Tsar’s repression of the Polish insurrection and the questions this raised about his life in Vienna. Yet the disturbingly violent emotions of the piece, its relentless, unremitting tension and the wrenching contrast of the central section make any autobiographical interpretation seem inadequate. The two opening seventh chords, in different registers, are laid out in such a way as to highlight their sharply dissonant character. The opening idea races on, with an initial rising thrust and incessant, whirling quavers (eighth-notes). It is linked subtly to the second, clearly contrasted idea, a sort of poetical reworking of a cadenza. The central trio, in B major, marked molto più lento (much slower), quotes the melody of a Christmas

folksong from Mazovia, “Lulaj-ze Jezuniu”, an unreal, magical vision rendered more poignant by the wonderful piano writing, where a repeated F-sharp in the upper register provides a hypnotic dominant pedal-note. When the melody has appeared three times, alternating with an original idea of Chopin’s, a seventh chord brusquely announces the return of the first part. The tension is incandescent. Following a somewhat embellished reprise of the opening material – a technique Chopin uses repeated in the scherzos – the coda culminates in fortissimo repetitions of a striking, even shocking, dissonance (a ninth chord built on E-sharp) before hurtling to its conclusion. The richly varied material of the Scherzo No. 2, in B-flat minor (composed in 1837) offers contrasts of a different character from those in the First Scherzo, and the inclusion of a development section after the central trio makes for a more complex overall structure. The extraordinarily incisive elements of the first idea create a grimly disturbing tension, with chords answering dramatically the anxious questions posed by the mysterious sotto voce thirds of the opening. There follows a long, cantabile in D-flat major of quivering intensity. The central trio presents two themes in uninterrupted succession: the first is peaceful, vaguely reminiscent of a chorale, while the waltz-like second theme in D-sharp minor brings with it a repeated, striking and restless five-note figures (two quavers and a triplet) in an inner part. Ever more urgent and feverish, this figure dominates the second part of the dramatic development section that follows and perhaps constitutes the expressive climax of the Scherzo. Following the reprise, a crescendo leads to the compact, racing and agitated coda. With the Scherzo No. 3, in C-sharp minor (composed in 1839 on Majorca) the traditional layout seems still further away. After an introduction, there are two clearly contrasted themes, the second of which undergoes particularly complex changes. The 20-bar introduction provides an astonishing opening, with its incredibly daring uncertainties of rhythm and key. It gives way to the sharply etched first theme, with its double octaves creating a harsh and incisive, but dramatically exciting, profile. There is no transition to the second theme, a melody in D-flat major with the solemn pace of a chorale, its four phrases cast in organ-like sonorities, separated by airily descending arabesques of magical lightness, almost like iridescent glitter falling from above. A development section elaborates these ornamental figures and the chorales. The arrival of the reprise is announced by elements of the opening theme. The chorale returns in D major, falling back in a sadly brooding E minor. The coda – certainly one of Chopin’s most powerful – begins in hazy uncertainty, then builds to enormous tension through a soaring chordal arc before erupting in a sizzling release, the double octaves returning in the final measures to bring the work to a devastating conclusion. In the Scherzo No. 4, in E major (composed in 1842) the classical ABA structure returns in a highly elaborate form. Diaphanous in coloring, elusive, variegated, the piece stands apart from its predecessors, as if it had passed through a magically purifying expressive filter. It seems to soar and hover above the clouds and there is an enormous richness of shading. The thematic material is multifaceted and interwoven, elaborated with remarkable subtlety and complexity. The first group offers a range of motifs, from the mysterious hints of the opening to a series of chords soaring airily on high. Another idea

leads to the central trio in C-sharp minor – sweet and singable, with a delicate chiaroscuro shading. The reprise is skillfully varied, expanding the work’s radiance and highlighting a bird-song-like cadenza against a backdrop of trills, before the final ascending scale dissolves this magical vision. Notes by Paolo Petazzi (trans: C. Whyte; DG 431 623-2); edited and revised with additional text by A. Murray

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The Sonatas

Of Chopin’s three published piano sonatas, only the second and third survive as concert staples and command the full respect of pianists, audiences and critics alike; the first (Op. 4) is a student work that reveals Chopin’s early talents, but at a clearly underdeveloped level. Chopin’s published output is exceptional among the great composers for the fact that essentially all of his works remain in the active performance repertoire to this day; the first sonata being a notable exception. The B-flat minor and B minor sonatas, however, stand as the composer’s two large-scale works that at once complement each other in spirit and reveal Chopin’s extraordinary freedom of creative expression within the confines of the classical sonata form. They are two of the most finished and coherent contributions to this genre, which by Chopin’s time had become something of a rarity. In the case of the Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minor, Op. 35, all four movements are in minor keys and the Marche funèbre is not only the poetic center, but was also the starting point of the work, dating from 1837, followed by the other three movements two years later, in 1839. Links between the Marche and the other movements are deep, including affinities between the opening three-note motif in the bass of the first move-ment and the dramatic first subject, with its panting anxious motion. The second subject makes use of the same intervals. Such structural affinities take their place beside sharp expressive contrasts: the breathless excitement of the first subject (in B-flat minor) being set against the comparatively terse, hymn-like intensity of the second (in B-flat major). The development is concise and taut, and the recapitulation begins with a transposition of the second subject, omitting the first altogether, which instead re-appears in the brief, intense and frenetic coda. The violent contrasts in the organization of the first movement reappear in the Scherzo, between the opening section and the dazed lyricism of the trio, which recalls the Polish song Niepodobienstwo (“Impossibility”); this similarity has given rise to various improbable ‘programmatic’ interpretations. In fact, its shape has already been anticipated in the final bars of the first part of the Scherzo; yet another instance of affinities between moments of entirely different expressive character. The most significant example of such integration, however, is the link between the principal idea of the Funeral March and the opening of the first movement (the first five notes are the retrograde inversion of the melodic outline of the Marche). Relationships of this kind, and the links between the trio sections of the Scherzo and the Marche, create the unity of this sonata underlying the violent contrasts that led Schumann to deem it scandalous, suggesting that Chopin had "simply bound together four of his most unruly children". The ‘scandal’ of Op. 35 lies chiefly in the character of the two last movements, whose intransigent coherence of expression does little to redeem the gloomy tensions of the first two movements. As universally familiar as the principal theme of the Marche funèbre may be, it is the D-flat major interlude that immortalizes this work, and whose celestial luminosity sets the solemn funeral procession in stark relief. The radicalism of the astonishing Finale never ceases to surprise, and although Schumann could not accept it, he did not fail to recognize its enigmatic spirit and his characterization reveals

a puzzled admiration for these bold harmonic sequences and spectral gesticulations “with no melody”. Chopin himself likened the finale to hushed “gossip following the

funeral march”, and Arthur Rubinstein aptly characterized it as “wind howling around the gravestones”. The Sonata No. 3 in B minor, Op. 58 (composed in the summer of 1844) is of an entirely different character and reveals an extraordinary wealth of imagination, with moments of lofty and luminous lyrical inspiration. This quality sets the work in a special light (similar to how the E major Scherzo, Op. 54, sets itself apart from the earlier three), both ‘distant’ and reflective, sharing characteristics of Chopin’s other late piano works such as the Berceuse (Op. 57) and the Barcarolle (Op. 60). The opening movement begins in martial character, but heavy chords and filigree soon give way to a melodic second theme. The extended lyrical line of the second subject begins a blossoming of motifs that continues through the exposition. The development revisits the dramatic tension of the opening, then transitions to a rambling fantasy of musical ideas. The two principal themes of this movement, which concludes in a sunny B major, share a common nucleus, revealing Chopin’s coherent thematic organization in this expansive work. The Scherzo (in the distant key of E-flat major, with a trio in B major) has an airy lightness and magical quality. Following a brief, solemn introduction, the Largo is suggestive of a nocturne: the cantabile melody evokes the human voice through its miraculous purity, and shares an affinity with the first movement’s second theme. The atmosphere is one of singular refinement, and the middle section has an extraordinarily magical quality, like the trio of the Scherzo, again evoking a sense of ‘distant’ light. A bold and bracing octave chordal transition ushers in the Finale’s restless excitement and feverish impetus. Marked presto non tanto, it is intense yet perfectly controlled, but it belongs to a very different world from that of the Largo. The finale is a rondo, and each return of the theme heightens the rhythmic density and intensity. The coda brings this monumental work to a sparkling and triumphant conclusion, thoroughly vanquishing the morbid gloom of the earlier sonata.

Notes by Paolo Petazzi (DG 415 346-2) and Wikipedia; edited and revised with additional text by A. Murray

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The Nocturnes

"Songs of the night", "piano bel canto": such is how Frederic Chopin's nocturnes are usually described. They are signature Chopin, and among his best known and most beautiful works. The genre of the piano nocturne was created by the Irish composer and pianist John Field (1782-1837), to whom Chopin referred. The nocturne, perfectly suited to the mood of the era, evokes with its very name romantic images of the night, the moon, and all the shades of lyrical and dramatic expression associated with them. Its poetry is shaped by an atmosphere of intimacy and reverie. Works for piano in this idiom were written by others, but it was Chopin, above all, who raised the nocturne to the pinnacle of poetry, becoming its most celebrated master. He composed and published his nocturnes over many years: the first date from 1830 and 1831, the last from 1846. Eighteen nocturnes were published by the composer in the following opuses: 9, 15, 27, 32, 37, 48, 55 and 62, bracketing the Etudes Op. 10 and the

Polonaise-Fantaisie, Op. 61. An additional nocturne was published posthumously, Op.72). Although they evolved in line with Chopin's style, the nocturnes possess a number of constant features. They are typified by a tuneful and ornamented melody, with a left-hand accompaniment based on flat or broken chords. This tunefulness and the rich and refined ornamentation point to the vocal character of the melodic line, bringing to mind the bel canto Italian operatic style (Chopin was a great admirer of Bellini). With regard to their form, most of the nocturnes can be compared to the operatic da capo aria with ornamented reprise: it is a tripartite reprise form, in which the outer sections are characterized by a lyricism and tunefulness, dwelling on a particular mood, whereas the middle section brings turbulent contrast, a dramaticism and animated ‘action'. The opposition between tunefulness and agitation remains crucial, although there are works that adhere to a dreamy cantabile throughout. The ornamentation of the nocturnes evolved over successive opuses, gradually becoming an increasingly integral element of the melody and a source of rich coloration, and not only an exterior addition. The nocturne idiom also influenced other works, including some etudes, preludes, ballades, and sonatas.

Notes from The Fryderyk Chopin Institute by Artur Bielecki; edited by A. Murray

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The Mazurkas

Uniquely Polish dance miniatures, the mazurkas are the most numerous group of works by Chopin (51, 49 in thirteen opuses, and two published posthumously). Several others remained in manuscript form. Alongside the polonaises, they are the most ‘Polish’ of Chopin's works. There would be no mazurkas without Polish folk dances and music. With his mazurkas, Chopin forged an unparalleled model of the musical stylization of traditional, national, authentic folk repertory. Chopin composed mazurkas virtually throughout his life, from around 1825 (aged 15) to 1849. These miniatures came to form a weighty tome of the composer's most personal musical inspirations, a lyrical ‘journal' of his life. It is perhaps in the mazurkas, more than in any other works, that Chopin allows the listener into his ‘heart's sanctuary’. Pianistically uncomplicated, the mazurkas display an inexhaustible wealth of melodic invention and of harmonic, rhythmic and, above all, expressive nuances. They demand of the pianist "at the same time an almost naive freshness and a mature mastery", said Tomaszewski. Drawing on the Polish traditions of the folk mazurka, but also of the popular and stylized mazurka, the composer made direct reference to three folk dances which he knew well from numerous visits to the Polish countryside: the mazur, kujawiak and oberek. All three are in triple time and have a characteristic rhythm. The mazur, lively and temperamental in character, in a brisk tempo, with a tendency towards irregular accents, forms the basis of many Chopin works. The kujawiak (from the region of Kujawy), is characterized by a slow tempo, with a tuneful melody. Finally, the oberek is a lively dance in a quick or very quick tempo, with a cheerful or even exuberant character. It is possible to find clear similarities between certain mazurkas and authentic

Polish folk tunes, yet Chopin never quoted from an authentic folk melody. To the contrary: in his mazurkas he creates a brilliant, sublimated synthesis of many elements of folk provenance, not infrequently combining in a single mazurka features from more than one dance. Indispensable to the interpretation of these works is rubato – the use of free accelerations and decelerations. Chopin usually published mazurkas in sets of three or four to a single opus. His early works in the genre still display clear hallmarks of typical piano miniatures (small dimensions, symmetry of sections), while the late mazurkas turn into expansive ‘dance poems', in which Chopin employs exceptionally refined harmonic means-even polyphony.


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The Impromptus

In Chopin's day, impromptus existed generally in the style of improvised variations, written on popular themes (e.g. from operas), as well as free-standing works created in promptu, (i.e. spontaneously, in an improvised way). Chopin's impromptus are moderately expansive works, somewhat longer than the nocturnes, but shorter than the ballades and scherzos. Chopin drew on the tradition – largely as defined by Schubert – of the impromptu as an autonomous work. His four impromptus are generally marked by cheerful expression (major keys dominate), devoid of dramatic features. They are of similar construction: a tripartite reprise form (ABA and coda), with the outer sections dominated by a sustained, heightened motion with a meandering melody stretched across very broad arches, while the middle section usually features a lyrical song in much slower motion. So it is the "reverse pattern" to the convention of the nocturne, to which the Chopin impromptu is in some way akin. These works captivate with their airiness and poetic mood, their unparalleled subtlety and the "delicacy of the line" with which these "musical landscapes" are drawn. The essence of these unique compositions is not easy to grasp. The three opused impromptus are distinguished by the purest genius and a masterly refinement. Despite similarities in their overall conception, each one is different. The Impromptu in A-flat major, Op. 29 (1837) - a work "light as foam and bright in color” (Zielinski) - has a lacily delicate figuration in its outer sections and a tuneful melody, of nocturne-like expression, in the middle section. The most mysterious piece is the archly refined Impromptu in F-sharp major, Op. 36 (1839-40). Its form is more complex than that of the other three, its narrative somewhat capricious and surprising. It is a work that is strikingly distinctive. Firstly, it begins, not in lively motion, but contrarily with a quasi-nocturnal, slow-moving theme. Secondly, the middle section (in the key of D major) is marked by a wholly unexpected and gradually heightening heroic tone. Thirdly, the heroic episode breaks off quite suddenly, and by means of an extraordinary modulation - perhaps the "oddest" in the whole of Chopin - the composer returns to the main theme, subjected to variations. The Impromptu in G-flat major, Op. 51 (1842-43) is similar in form to the A-flat major, but is calmer than that earlier piece. This is music of great distinction and reflection. The Fantasie-Impromptu in C-sharp minor, Op. 66 (1833-34, but published posthumously in 1855), the earliest of all, wins over the

listener with its very showy virtuosity, and its external pianistic luster is equally as important as the calm, lyrical song in the middle section. Only three of them were opused and intended for print by Chopin. Interestingly, it is the C-sharp minor impromptu, rejected by Chopin as unsuitable for publication and only published after his death by Julian Fontana under the title Fantasie-Impromptu, Op. 66, which has gained particular popularity among pianists and listeners.


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The Waltzes

The Waltzes are among the best known and loved of Chopin's works. He wrote some 25 works in this format, of which eighteen have survived. Of these eighteen, Chopin opused and intended for publication eight compositions: Opp. 18, 34, 42 and 64; the remaining waltzes were published after the composer's death, including those of Opp. 69 and 70 and the E minor waltz, Op. posthumous. Chopin's waltzes reflect varying styles, as the composer drew on several traditions of this dance. In his youth, he became acquainted with functional waltzes, both in Poland (where "walcerki" were often danced) and in Vienna, during his stay there. Chopin's waltzes were also influenced by Schubert and the music of Weber, especially his famous Invitation to the Dance. Yet Chopin's waltzes are entirely original in conception, giving us music that is inimitable, recognizable from the very first bars, full of elegance, charm and brilliance, and not infrequently marked by profound expression. There are short pieces, which can be defined as typical dance miniatures, and also more expansive waltzes, with the character of dance sequences. Chopin created some of his waltzes as compositional "gifts", writing them into albums as keepsakes; these belong to the "private" strand in his oeuvre, not intended for publication, and the composer also had no intention of publishing a number of youthful waltzes from his Warsaw period. Of a different character are the concert waltzes from the "official" strand in the Chopin oeuvre. Their dimensions are larger, and the pianistic splendor incomparably greater. Here the degree of artistic refinement reaches its peak, particularly manifest in the rich melodies and subtle harmonies. Among these eight masterful waltzes, two fundamental character-types are evident. The first, more numerous, is the striking waltz of virtuosic panache - the valse brillante, as the first four (Opp. 18, 34) of the set are classified. This type of composition might begin with a distinctive introduction and end with a virtuosic coda. The second type is melancholic, although it should be remembered that both these types are also present among the waltzes of the "private" strand. For the listener, however, classifications of ‘concert’ vs ‘salon’ waltzes are of little significance. Captivated by the magic of Chopin's waltzes, we simply follow the composer's inspiration.

Notes from The Fryderyk Chopin Institute by Artur Bielecki; edited by A Murray

The Other Major Works

Introduction & Rondo - Chopin’s Introduction & Rondo is a work of aristocratic

elegance from the composer’s early Paris years. By the time it was published in 1834 he was enjoying fame and a degree of fortune. It is an early work, belonging, like the Andante Spianato & Grande Polonaise Brillante, to the period of style brillant that was fashionable at time in Paris, but also one of considerable musical substance, clearly guided by the hand of a master. The Introduction, in C-minor, provide a marvelous sense of expectancy: serene, stately, elegant, almost detached at first, then intensifying to an eruption full of passion and fire, and resolving into an almost mystical, prophetic transition. The Rondo (in E-flat major) enters with crystalline and joyous sparkle, its main theme highlighting Chopin’s art of contrast and deft sense for color. A second theme, calmer but still lively, brings a stately air, supported by a leisurely triplet accompaniment. The work adheres to rondo form, with the main theme returning at the close. The thematic development is imaginative, and the keyboard writing supremely elegant, reminiscent of the finale from his first piano concerto.

Fantasy - The Fantasy (in F minor, completed and published in 1841) is one of the

pinnacles of Chopin's creative art. Expansively constructed, it belongs to the sphere of such epic-dramatic genres as the ballades and the scherzos, yet it occupies a distinctive, exceptional place among them. From Chopin's letters, we know that he employed the name ‘fantasy’ to describe works that, like the Polonaise-Fantaisie, reflected a freedom from artistic rules and a peculiar, romantic expression. In its construction, we find elements of various forms (e.g. sonata and cyclical). Yet despite its rigorous logic of construction, defining the F-minor Fantasy’s form is no easy task: it possesses moments that are very precisely formed and others of a looser character, akin to improvisation. In general terms, the flow of the work consists of an introduction with two march themes, a transitional and suspenseful arpeggio refrain that leads, in slightly varying form, first to an exposition of rich thematic material that concludes with yet another march theme, then to a reprise of the exposition a whole step below, and a third time to a middle section (lyrical, at a slow tempo, in the key of B major); the arpeggio figure reappears a fourth time to introduce the exposition and march in yet another key, and finally in the coda, reminiscent of the middle section.

Berceuse - The Berceuse (in D-flat major) is one of Chopin's most unusual and

extraordinary works. It dates from the late years in his output (1844-45). This short composition is a lyrical masterpiece. The origins of the Berceuse are probably linked to Chopin's enchantment with the eighteen-month-old daughter of his friend, singer Pauline Viardot. The little Louise won the hearts of Chopin and George Sand at Nohant in 1843: "Chopin adores her and spends his time kissing her on the hands", wrote Sand in a letter. And those moments spent playing with this charming infant may well have inspired the composer to write a lullaby-style piece. He produced a work that not only ideally fulfills the requirements of the genre, but is also composed in an exceptionally refined and masterful way. The work is based on a four-bar theme, which is followed by a series of sixteen ‘variants’ that transition from one another in a nearly imperceptible manner: not variations in the traditional sense, but rather a melody in a constant state of ‘becoming’. Throughout virtually the whole of the piece, the right-hand part is accompanied by a fixed bass formula in the left. Though purposely static and

monotonous, the listener feels not the slightest monotony, as the right-hand part elaborates with inexhaustible inventiveness a succession of ornamental figural transformations of the theme. These create a gentle and enchanted, transparent and trance-like, almost hypnotic, effect with their shifting forms, all in varying grades of piano and pianissimo dynamics. The arabesque-like ornamental devices and complex figures create unusual and innovative coloristic and tonal-harmonic effects, at times prefiguring musical impressionism.

Barcarolle - In the Barcarolle (in F-sharp major, from 1845-46) Chopin refers to the

convention of the barcarola: a song of the Venetian gondoliers which inspired many outstanding composers of the nineteenth century. Yet it is hard to find a barcarolle that would compare with Chopin's work for beauty and compositional artistry. The Barcarolle has a clear affinity with the nocturnes, and also with the Berceuse, proceeding in a moderate tempo, in 12/8 meter. The basis for its develop-ment is the tuneful melodic line, reminiscent in style of Italian bel canto. The melody, accompanied by a repeated bass-line figure, leads in characteristic doublings, primarily in thirds and sixths. The ornamentation of the melody, including double trills, contributes to an exceptional expressive and coloristic richness. The work’s original and daring harmonies make it one of Chopin’s most amazingly prophetic works. The ‘pre-impressionist’ blending of harmonic colors reaches its culmination in the admirable coda. It is not surprising that Debussy and Ravel and should have loved the Barcarolle, and Ravel in fact wrote of the work with astonished admiration: “this theme… is constantly clothed in dazzling harmonies. The melodic line is continuous. For a moment a melody emerges, is left hanging, then falls limply, drawn down by magical chords. The intensity mounts. A new, stupendously lyrical theme breaks out… A swift, shivering motif rises from the depths and hovers above precious and tender harmonies. Like the dream of some mysterious apotheosis…”

Andante Spianato & Grande Polonaise Brillante - The Andante Spianato and

Grande Polonaise Brillante in E-flat major, Op. 22, was composed between 1830 and 1834. The Polonaise, originally set for piano and orchestra, was written first, in 1830-31. In 1834, Chopin wrote an Andante Spianato in G major for piano solo, which he joined with the Polonaise with a fanfare-like sequence. The combined work was published in 1836. The Andante begins with an enchanting theme of romantic bent in the upper register. But there is a tinge of sadness in its beauty, which could perhaps be interpreted as the exiled Chopin’s homesickness for his country and family. The quiet rippling effect of the introductory Andante (spianato means ‘even’, or ‘smooth’) are realized in a gentle 6/8 meter. The serene middle section complements the overall texture of the movement. The polonaise opens with fanfare, and evolves into an ebullient and fearless dance from of which Chopin was an unparalleled master. Unexpected and brief excursions ensue, with almost ‘electric’ shocks of surprise and alarm, and the sweep and sheer poetic gusto was astonishing and at the time unequalled. As in the case with the Introduction & Rondo, but here even more so, the virtuoso brilliant style – marked by the sparkle and bravura of the piano writing – is exemplary, while at the same time the individuality of Chopin resounds in every bar. These works are filled with flashes of the genius that would soon carry Chopin to the supreme heights.

Notes from The Fryderyk Chopin Institute by Artur Bielecki; edited/revised with additional text by A. Murray

Sunrise Music Series (2010/11) Alan Murray, piano

Program Date Chopin (200

th Anniversary) – The Piano Music

the Etudes Sep 19 the Preludes Sep 26 the Polonaises Oct 3 the Ballades Oct 10 the Scherzos Oct 17 the Sonatas Oct 24 the Nocturnes (I), Mazurkas, Impromptus Oct 31* the Nocturnes (II), Mazurkas, Waltzes Nov 7* Intro & Rondo, Fantasy, Berceuse, Barcarolle, Andante Spianato & Grande Polonaise Nov 14

Schumann (200th

Anniversary) – The Major Works Fantasy, Carnaval, Arabeske Nov 21 Kreisleriana, Symphonic Etudes, Romance, Toccata Nov 28 Sonata #1 in F-sharp minor, Davidsbündlertänze, Waldscenen (“Forest Scenes”) Dec 5 Sonata #2 in G minor, Hümoreske, Papillons (Butterflies) Dec 12 Sonata #3 in F minor (Concerto without Orchestra), Fantasiestücke (Fantasy Pieces) Dec 19 Faschingsschwank aus Wien (Carnival of Vienna), Kinderscenen (Scenes fr Childhood) Jan 2 Gesänge der Frühe (Morning Songs), Blümenstuck (Flower Piece), Nachtstücke Jan 9

Ravel – The Piano Music Gaspard de la Nuit, Jeux d’eau, Sonatine Jan 16 Le Tombeau de Couperin, Valses Nobles et Sentimentales, Menuet Jan 23 Miroirs, Sérénade Grotesque, Pavane, Menuet Antique, a la manière de Chabrier, .. Jan 30

Debussy – The Piano Music Etudes, l’Isle joyeuse Feb 6 Preludes (Books I & II) Feb 20* Images, Children’s Corner, Arabesques, Danse, Masques Feb 27 Pour le Piano, Estampes, Suite Bergamasque, Nocturne, Rêverie, Ballade, .. Mar 6

Albéniz – Iberia, Navarra Granados – Goyescas, El Pelele Mar 13*/20

Beethoven: The 32 Piano Sonatas & Diabelli Variations (afternoons**, Mar 13–May 1)

Mar 13 (#1-4), Mar 20 (#5-10, incl ”Pathétique”), Mar 27 (#11-15, incl “Moonlight”, ”Pastorale”) Apr 3 (#16-21, incl “Tempest”, ”Waldstein”), Apr 10 (#22-26, incl “Appassionata”, ”Les Adieux”) Apr 17 (#27-29, incl “Hammerklavier”), Apr 24 (#30-32), May 1 (Diabelli Variations)

Rachmaninoff – Preludes, Etudes-Tableaux, Moments Musicaux, Sonatas Apr 3*/10*/17* Scriabin (Son. #2/5), Mussorgsky (Pictures at an Exhibition), Balakirev (Islamey) Apr 24* Stravinsky (Petrouchka), Prokofiev (Son. #7), Berg (Sonata), Bartók (Out of Doors) May 1

Brahms – Handel Variations, Paganini Variations, Sonata #3 in F minor May 8* Schubert – The Middle and Late Period Sonatas, “Wanderer” Fantasy May 15/22*

Franz Liszt – Major Works Sonata in B minor, Sonetti del Petrarca, Au bord d’une source, Vallée d’Obermann Jun 5 Dante Sonata, Legends, Hungarian Rhapsody, Spanish Rhapsody, Mephisto Waltz Jun 12 Transcendental Etudes, Opera Paraphrase, Liebestraum, Consolation Jun 19*

Programs at 8:00am (*7:30am, ** afternoon series times and location tbd)

Dedications

to the memory of

Ruth Gillett Murray

Frances Sikerzycki Wazeter

Allen Weiss

Francis Fioriti

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