The Russian Album

This recording encompasses a broad cross-section of the Russian romantic idiom ranging from the strict contrapuntal genius of Sergei Taneyev to the irresistible lushness of Felix Blumenfeld and Sergei Rachmaninov. The equally vital element of mysticism, which ultimately emerged in the later works of Alexander Scriabin, is not represented here, but one captures glimpses of its potential in the Sonata–Fantasy.
The evolution of Alexander Scriabin's compositional style is generally believed to have been influenced first by Chopin, then by Wagner before finally achieving the uniquely rarefied essence present in the later works. Such a simplistic characterization of his stylistic development would have never occurred to Scriabin himself and in fact, his extreme egocentric constitution would have taken great offense to it. He would most certainly have taken issue with being likened to Wagner, whose Walküre and Siegfried provoked this reaction: "The intention is always greater than the performance. There are two or three heavenly moments - the rest is despicably boring!" Scriabin would have much more preferred being recognized as the singular great genius that he thought himself to be - influenced by no one, but responsible for influencing all others that followed. He represented the very epicenter of creation and all artistic inspiration began and ended with him.
Many psychiatrists maintain that Scriabin was hopelessly frozen in the primary narcissistic phase of childhood development in which the child views himself as the center of all existence, in symbiotic unity with the mother. Eventually, in extreme cases of abnormal development, this symbiotic unity is radically extended to include the entire universe. This results in a drastically overestimated sense of personal worth. Freud coined the term "oceanic" to describe this type of maladjusted perspective. The psychoanalyst Argelander interprets Freud's use of this term as being linked to the so-called "Ur-dreams" common to most children, which include the desire to fly in the air, to blissfully float on the water forever, or to embark on adventuresome journeys to exotic places throughout this world and beyond. Scriabin did in fact lose himself in such childhood fantasy as an adult and there is ample testimony in his own works to support this assumption.
For instance, concerning his Ballade, composed when he was just sixteen and later published as the Prelude in E minor, Op. 11, No. 4, he made reference to a "beautiful foreign land." Also, the poem which serves as the program to the Fourth Sonata, lends a quasi-mystical flavor to the idea of far away places by indicating that the land of Scriabin's dreams has evaporated and relocated on a distant star to which only the soul can fly. Another striking manifestation of the Freudian concept of the oceanic perspective is demonstrated in the Sonata–Fantasy, which was said by the composer to have been inspired by the sea, in all its vastness and power. Indeed, the work's opening gesture in triplets immediately creates a vivid image of waves gently lapping against the shore. Whereas the first movement depicts the sea in its tender and caressing spirit, the furious and agitated finale aptly suggests its capacity for unbridled ferocity.
Whereas Scriabin concerned himself with the cosmos and rarefied emotional states, Sergei Taneyev represented the epitome of pragmatism. Student of Tchaikovsky and Nikolay Rubinstein, and teacher of both Rachmaninov and Scriabin, Taneyev was practically deified in Russia for his theoretical writings on counterpoint. By no means a musical progressive, his main compositional influences were Bach and several Renaissance figures of the Franco-Flemish schools of mass composers. Taneyev was a supremely practical musician, both admired and criticized for his manner of solving musical problems with the impeccably logical precision of a mathematician. He held steadfastly to the aesthetic that music is not merely a vehicle for the expression of wayward passions, but that it possesses an inherent code of law and order which has the power to liberate a composer's creativity, depending on how well this law and order is understood.
It is refreshing to note that Taneyev was not only highly respected by his colleagues, but also very well-liked and considered a most generous and warm-hearted man with a winsome, charismatic personality. He did not pursue a life in the fast lane, nor was he possessed by an overly ambitious will to acquire fame and glory. On the contrary, he lived life at a moderate pace, which afforded him the tranquility he required to work thoroughly and diligently.
Taneyev exhibited prodigious talent as a pianist early on, making his debut with the Brahms First Concerto at age eighteen. Several months later, he gave the premiere of the Tchaikovsky First Concerto and subsequently premiered all of Tchaikovsky's works for piano and orchestra.
The Prelude and Fugue, Op. 29 represents a great success in Taneyev's œuvre. The hauntingly beautiful prelude contradicts the established notion that he lacked the imaginative endowment to produce worthwhile lyrical music. The fugue represents a magnificent hybrid of formal perfection and bravura character of the highest order.
Felix Blumenfeld, disciple of Anton Rubinstein, was known primarily for the development of a pianistic style that paved the way for a future generation of great pianists including Horowitz, Barere and Neuhaus, Blumenfeld's nephew. Accounts verify that Blumenfeld encouraged a flat-finger technique, a keen awareness of sound and tone color, and the recognition of the virtues of all voices — not only the most prominent ones — that form the textural fabric of the music.
At the time of the Revolution in 1917, and a few years thereafter, Kiev provided a safe haven for many artists and intellectuals. In spite of sporadic invasions by Germans, White Russians, Bolsheviks and independent Ukrainian Socialist forces, Kiev was spared the brunt of the violence and famine that mercilessly ravaged Moscow and Petersburg. Blumenfeld was one of the several artists to seek refuge in the relatively peaceful environment that Kiev had to offer, assuming a position as a professor of piano at the Conservatory in 1918.
An unusually handsome man of medium height, sporting a carefully manicured handle-bar moustache, Blumenfeld was prone to a fair number of vices. The entire right side of his body was tragically paralyzed due to syphilis by the time he took his post in Kiev. The Etude for the Left Hand Alone, Op. 36 was composed during the first decade of the twentieth century, long before any trace of the impending paralysis had even appeared. This attractive virtuoso piece is exquisitely well-wrought and obviously the work of an expert pianist whose understanding of the instrument's capabilities is exceptionally developed.
Originally, Sergei Rachmaninov had planned to forge a programmatic work out of his First Sonata. For reasons that remain unclear, the idea of an overt program was ultimately abandoned, but very strong evidence exists to support the notion that the characters of Faust, Gretchen and Mephistopheles are suggested in each of the respective movements.
Besides obvious references to the Faust legend, two allusions related to the Russian Orthodox Church are extensively utilized: bells and chant. The most blatant references to bells are found throughout the third movement. Chant is also used at several points in the piece, but most notably in the second theme of the first movement. The Dies Irae quote in the finale lends credibility to the fate-laden Faustian program and reinforces this work's expression of despair and profound seriousness.
The composer's extreme pessimism regarding the piece's anticipated lack of success is clear in his frustrated claim that it is much too long and difficult and therefore very few if any pianists would ever bother to learn it. The truth is, the First Sonata remains among the least played pieces by Rachmaninov, but its merit is gaining recognition among pianists and audiences alike. From the fateful summons at the beginning to the cacophonic wailing of bells at the end, it is in fact a work of extreme technical and textural complexity, requiring the utmost stamina from the performer. It is marked by a tendency to dwell in a single key area for long periods of time, thus enhancing its stark and somber qualities. This is not a piece of typically luscious, inspired melody. Contrarily, Rachmaninov gives us an opus relatively devoid of tunes, exhibiting a predilection for thematic material of a primarily motivic nature.

--Notes by Nicholas Roth

© 2001 Nicholas Roth