Haydn’s sonata nr. 47 in b flat was published in 1776.  Haydn composed many sonata’s, of which many have been lost.  ‘Only’ 55 sonata’s survived.  Five of these have been composed in minor.  The 47th sonata is one of them.  This Sonata is typical of Haydn’s ‘Sturm und Drang’ period.  This period was actually induced by Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, de second composer son of the great Bach.  His Sturm und Drang style brought Haydn into a more dramatic and expressive style.

Moreover, this period of Haydn also coincided with the continued rise of the Pianoforte.  This sonata is clearly not composed with the harpsichord in mind.  Its dark opening and tense progressing create the tragic mood of this Sturm und Drang sonata.  Especially the last part of the sonata radiates in brilliance.  The theme is folksy, as often the finales of Haydn are.  The repeating notes are also brought into octaves and are the basis of all kinds of contra punt.  The result is powerful, stylish and inescapable.

Joseph Haydn : Sonata no. 47 in b minor, Hob. XVI:32

Adagio From Toccata Adagio And Fugue In C Major BWV 564

A world of illusions ... even real because sometimes an illusion can imitate reality, but it is better ... not to get illusions !!

Illusions

When listening to the Mazurka in G minor, Op. 24 No. 1, from the very first bars we are overcome by the reflective tone present in the kujawiak melody – a melody for which the folk original has even been found (the song ‘Czemu nie orzesz, Jasieńku, czemu nie orzesz?’ [Why aren’t you ploughing, Johnny, why aren’t you ploughing?]). This reflective tone can be heard in the rhythmic wavering, defined with the word rubato, in the seemingly uncontrolled rises, then falls, of the minor-mode melody and in the little subtleties of the harmonic accompaniment. The main idea of this mazurka, which is also the first idea, has its (slightly contrastive) complement: a couple of brighter bars in the relative major. A genuine contrast only comes with the euphoniously (in thirds) harmonised mazur melody (in E flat major). This takes on the role of the former trio, though here it is organically merged into the whole of the lyrical narrative. Unlike in the former trio, instead of calming it brings enlivenment. A particularly personal note comes through when the opening theme returns. At first, in the masterful change of timbre: a shift of key and mode (from E flat major to the original G minor). And immediately afterwards, bars that bring a quieting of the voice, a slowing of the tempo and submergence in thought.

Kazimierz Brodziński, whose lectures at the University of Warsaw were attended by Chopin, characterised the elegy genre (in his treatise O Elegii [On the elegy], from 1882) as follows: ‘An elegy conveys only tempered feelings: mirth, no longer present; sorrow, assuaged’. One might say that Chopin’s mazurkas adopted this idea.

‘One could listen to it endlessly…’ such was the impression received (and noted down) by Ferdynand Hoesick. And what he read from this music, he summarised as follows: ‘the most eloquent expression of longing for a happiness irrecoverably lost’. Jan Kleczyński’s interpretation took a different tack. He admired what he called the ‘wondrous simplicity’ of this Mazurka, but also the ‘photographic faithfulness with which [Chopin] captures the popular spirit’. However, Kleczyński was perhaps swayed by the similarity between the opening theme and the folk original. The presence of folk music previously heard is unquestionable in the G minor Mazurka, yet it forms no more than a point of departure. At the point of arrival, we find folklore experienced and internalised, expressed as the composer’s own music. The G minor Mazurka gained considerable popularity. It was one of those transcribed for voice by Pauline Viardot.

Wilhelm Popp transcribed this Mazurka (actually quite deftly) for flute and piano, whilst Józef Nowakowski, needlessly and infelicitously, set words by some third-rate poet to its tune.

Author: Mieczysław Tomaszewski

Frédéric Chopin: Mazurka Op. 24 no. 1 in G minor

For any pianist, interpreting Pictures from an Exhibition is a double challenge. The first is certainly technical, but this is not the more important. By contrast, conveying the variety of atmospheres is extremely tricky. Are these the successive scenes of an ‘opera without words’? The slightest difference in inspiration between the pictures, the slightest hint of illogical construction can annihilate the dramatic progression of the whole. Jean-Philippe Collard’s version stands out for its fluidity and wonderful naturalness. He constantly renews his touch, thinking of Pictures from an Exhibition first and foremost . . . in its orchestral dimension. The artist never tries to do too much, painting each picture with imagination but sobriety, always taking care over balance. Thanks to this sense of narration, Baba Yaga and The Great Gate of Kiev hit the interpretative bull’s-eye. His overflowing energy recalls a certain Horowitz, with whom Jean-Philippe Collard forged a close friendship in those crucial years when artistic maturity is moulded. Composed in 1896, the six Moments musicaux bear witness to Rachmaninoff’s melodic genius. In these pieces, he pays homage to several composers of the Romantic era, including Franz Schubert who himself wrote a set of Moments musicaux. Slavic melodies, hectic rhythms, meditations or reminders of the power of the symphony orchestra mingle in these pieces by the Russian composer, which evoke impressions rather than places or characters.

Jean-Philippe COLLARD // RACHMANINOFF - Six Moments Musicaux Op.16 n° 1

The second of the Op. 24 Mazurkas, in C major, is essentially a kind of folkloric cliché. A folk provenance can be found in all its themes: in the opening theme, which brings the gestures and movements of an oberek; in its complement, inviting us to dance and click our heels; and also in the theme that is coloured with the so-called Lydian fourth. In fact, the fifteen bars from bar twenty-one are in the Lydian mode. An echo of rustic music-making can also be heard distinctly in the central part of the work, transferred to a flat key and adhering to the rhythms of a foot-tapping mazur. Huneker, a pupil of Chopin, says: “The trio is occidental, and in the entire piece leaves a vague impression of discontent; the refrain recalls the Russian bargeman’s songs utilized at various times by Tschaikovsky”.
Here, as in the first mazurka from opus 24, the folk elements are a point of reference, although undoubtedly more distinctive than in the previous piece. Chopin’s imitable style is manifest in this miniature in both the overall design and the peerless epilogue; the sounds of the tuning of basses, repeated from the lead-in, pass into music that seems to move away from us, to grow fainter, ever closer to silence; finally, those moments when one kind of music passes into another, as if unnoticed, in contemplation, led by a changeable, modulating harmonic pulse.

Source: Mieczysław Tomaszewski

Frédéric Chopin: Mazurka op. 24 no. 2 in C major

Third place in the set of mazurkas published as opus 24 is occupied by a Mazurka in A flat major, one of five that Chopin composed in this preferred key of his. One might say of this piece that it is rather humble. It has not won any great popularity, although it is undeniably beautiful full of attractions. Within the Op. 24 set, its destiny might be deemed that of an intermezzo between two particularly distinctive, and indeed famous, mazurkas: the C major and the B flat minor.
The Mazurka in A flat major received an exceedingly simple, yet quite specific, form. The dance melody, derived from a kujawiak, proceeds in a twelve-beat rhythm, instead of the usual eight-beat pulse. One might say that this mazurka is monothematic, as only the opening theme plays a crucial role, appearing four times. There is also a different melody, perhaps not even a melody, but merely a motif, repeated many times. For a moment, it interrupts the measured rhythm of the dance, knocking it out with a new rhythm – a duple rhythm, unexpected in a mazurka.
It seems this mazurka could be played endlessly, entwining the basic theme with a couple of a couple of bars of that quasi-duple vignette. The A flat major Mazurka also ends unusually, the melody dissolving in spontaneously fading and softening figuration: an exquisite coda!

Source: Mieczysław Tomaszewski

Frédéric Chopin: Mazurka Op. 24 No. 3 in A flat major

This is the most important of this set of four mazurka’s. It is quite celebrated and regarded as a masterpiece. Huneker, a pupil of Chopin, called it beautiful and exquisitely coloured. Anton Rubinstein, the famous 19th pianist, was supremely fond of this mazurka and played it often. As a result, this mazurka is sometimes dubbed as ‘Rubinstein’.
It begins with a two-part search for a path or a thread. The opening theme, of distinctly kujawiak provenance, is shaped before our eyes, freeing itself from constraint and hesitation before growing to its full sound and attaining a moment of ecstasy or delight. The complementary idea, unfolding in the bright key of the relative D flat major, brings a moment of amusement or play, scherzando, closer to salon waltzes than to country mazurkas. And then suddenly, in the midst of this swirling ballroom, sotto voce, like a voice from a distant world, we hear a purely folk melody, distinguished by its Lydian fourth, clearly discernible in the unison texture. Then another dance derived from a kujawiak melody, though a different melody than before. The swinging and swaying reaches a peak. But perhaps the most memorable part of all is the finale – or more properly the epilogue. At first we hear a soft phrase, cast out against changing chords supported by a single note that lasts insistently and endlessly. And then the music softens, falls and dwindles. The accompaniment stops. The phrase is heard for the last time in the utmost silence and solitude.

Source: Mieczysław Tomaszewski

Frédéric Chopin: Mazurka Op. 24 No. 4 in b flat minor 'Rubinstein'

Frédéric Chopin: Ballade no. 4 op. 52 in f minor

#068. We praten met collega Jelmer Mommers over zijn boek. Klimaatverandering komt er sowieso, en dat is tamelijk deprimerend. Gelukkig is het niet enkel treurnis.

Hoe gaan we dit uitleggen? (met Jelmer Mommers)

Music and playing it enable me to connect to parts new and deeper in myself.  It can be pure magic.  It is breathing in a whole different way.  In all these ways it catalyzes daily personal and professional renewal.  It enriches the father and grows the son.


Erlköning:

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

"Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?" –
"Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif?" –
"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif."

"Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir;
Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand." –

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?" –
"Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind." –

"Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein." –

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?" –
"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau. –"

"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt." –
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!" –

Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

Frédéric Chopin: Ballade no. 4 op. 52 in f minor

Franz Klonnek