On Thursday evening I went to Carnegie Hall to hear a recital given by pianist Sir András Schiff. The programs consisted of four works, two each by Janáček and Schumann divided evenly between the evening's two halves.
The two works by Janáček were On an Overgrown Path, Book I (1900-1911) and Sonata 1.X.1905, "From the Street" (1905).
Janáček wrote only a few pieces for solo piano; in addition to the two performed at Thursday evening's recital there is really only the 1912 In the Mists. Nevertheless. these works have been appearing with increasing frequency in recent years in recitals given by virtuoso pianists. This is all the more interesting considering the extent to which his work was overlooked not only during his lifetime but for many decades following his death. There are several reasons for this. First and foremost, as a native of Moravia Janáček was not so much cut off from the musical trends of his time - he did after all study, however unhappily, at both the Leipzig Conservatory and the Vienna Conservatory - as he was indifferent to them. It is impossible to fully appreciate Janáček's music without understanding the depth of his fervent Czech nationalism as clearly evidenced in the background to the composition of 1.X.1905. The short, highly emotional work was written in direct response to the stabbing of a Czech activist by an Austrian soldier and as such is one of the most explicit political statements in the entire repertoire. So traumatized was Janáček by the incident he himself had witnessed that he even attempted to destroy the score. It was only in 1924, six years after the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian empire, that the composer finally allowed the work to be published when finally informed that the first two movements had in fact survived thanks solely to the efforts of pianist Ludmila Tučková who had secretly copied them in order to save them from Janáček's destructive impulses.
On an Overgrown Path also contains autobiographical elements, but in this case they are far more personal. One aspect of Janáček's nationalism was his intense study of Moravian folk music, a subject on which he became an expert. Like Bartók after him, Janáček incorporated many of the elements of this folk music, such as its irregular rhythms, into his own compositions but in his own idiosyncratic style. These folk influences can clearly be heard in On an Overgrown Path, Book I, of which certain movements - "Words Fail," "Good Night," "Unutterable Anguish" and "In Tears" - constitute his heartfelt response to the death of his daughter Olga. Even the movement titled "The Barn Owl Has Not Flown Away" possesses funereal overtones as it refers to the folk belief that a hovering owl presaged a death in the house. It should be noted that all these titles were added only after the work had been completed.
Janáček was definitely a musical pioneer, but it is only in recent years that he has begun to receive his due. As a 2013 master's thesis by Laura Hrivnak points out:
"Janáček was the first composer to do many things. He was collecting folk songs and incorporating their traditions in his music before Bartók. He annotated the 'concrete music of life' in form of intonations derived from speech, sounds in nature, and even birdsong before Messiaen. He experimented in using all twelve tones as a basis for a harmonic system before Schoenberg. His opera, Jenůfa, which closely resembles Berg’s groundbreaking, realist opera, Wozzek, preceded it by eighteen years."
The two Schumann works were Davidsbündlertänze, Op. 6 (1837) and the Piano Sonata, No. 1 in F-sharp minor, Op. 11 (1832-1835).
Both these works are very early pieces written at a time when Schumann was besotted with the teenage Clara Wieck and, perhaps because Clara was a piano virtuoso, was composing almost solely for the piano. The self-published Davidsbündlertänze, in particular, was intended as a loving tribute following a period of estrangement. Schumann began composing it less than a week after after the two had become secretly engaged and he himself referred to it as a Polterabend, a traditional form of party held on the eve of a wedding. Even more telling was his use in the first movement lebhart of a mazurka composed by Clara for her Soirées musicales, Op 6. The Op. 11, on which Schumann worked for three years, was also a love letter to Clara even if he did begin composing it while still engaged to Ernestine von Fricken. Here again Schumann borrowed from Clara in the opening movement allegro vivace, this time from her Dance of the Phantoms. He then went on to describe the work to Clara as "a cry from my heart to yours."
What's far more striking than Schumann's infatuation with Clara is the presence in both these works of the composer's alter egos, Florestan and Eusebius, their purported composers, who reflected the contrasting aspects of Schumann's personality, i.e., Florestan was disruptive and somewhat manic while Eusebius was calmer and more meditative. In light of Schumann's mental breakdown two decades later, it's tempting to see these imaginary characters as early symptoms of bipolarity. The opposing influences they had upon the composer can most easily be found in Davidsbündlertänze in which the movements, each carefully inscribed with the name of the character who inspired it and sometimes the names of both, veer erratically from one mood to another and thus have an unsettling effect on the listener. While Schumann no doubt intended the references to these characters to be playful, they can also be viewed on a more serious level as indicative of a deep conflict within his own psyche.
Sir András Schiff is a consummate pianist - the recitals of late Brahms pieces I heard last season (see my posts of 4/7/18 and 4/9/18) can only be described as historic - and his performance on Thursday evening was a fine as any I've heard. If I have a quibble, it's with the program itself. I would greatly have appreciated more variety. If I remember correctly, the original program, as announced in the Carnegie Hall subscription renewal package I received in early 2018, called for a performance of the Bartók Piano Sonata, a work I'd honestly much preferred to have heard. While I greatly enjoyed the Janáček pieces, I was not overly impressed by the Schumann works. He was without doubt among the finest composers for solo piano - I consider his Fantasie in C major a masterpiece - but I don't believe his genius was fully in evidence in these early pieces. Nevertheless, it's always a privilege to hear Sir András perform no matter what music he chooses to play.
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