Alan Fraser Russian Recital

Alan Fraser Russian Recital Original Cover showing Scriabin & Rachmaninoff 1892, Alan Fraser 1982

Alan Fraser Russian Recital Original Cover showing Scriabin & Rachmaninoff 1892, Alan Fraser 1982

ALEXANDER SKRYABIN   (1872 – 1915)

Sonata  #3 in F sharp minor, op. 23  (1897)

Drammatico

Allegretto

Andante

Presto con fuoco

Vers la Flamme, op. 72  (1914)

NIKOLAI MEDTNER  (1880 – 1951)

Folk Tale in E minor, op. 10 #3 (The Knight’s March – 1908)

Folk Tale in F minor, op. 27 #3 (1913)

Folk Tale in E flat major, op. 27 #2 (1913)

MIHI BALAKIREV (1837 – 1910)

Dumka (1900)

SERGEI RAHMANINOV  (1873 – 1943)

Sonata #2 in B flat minor, Op. 36  (1913)
(in the arrangement by Vladimir Horowitz)
.
.

ALEXANDER SKRYABIN

Etude in D sharp minor, op. 8 #12


Alan Frasr Russian Recital: Excerpts from the booklet text

The music on this CD speaks of a land, a people governed by values profoundly different from our own. It reflects the life of a culture which hasn’t yet lost that indefinable yet essential something which Western ‘civilization’ seems often so insidiously, so easily to have destroyed…

Alexander Scriabin

Photo of Alexander Scriabin given to Alan Fraser by Alexander Scriabin, great-grand-nephew of the composer

…Skryabin writes, “I can’t understand how to write only ‘music’ now. How uninteresting it would be.  Music, surely, takes on idea and significance when it is linked to one single plan within a whole world-viewpoint… Music is the path of revelation… how potent a method of knowledge it is” …Boris Schloezer, Skryabin’s brother-in-law, describing the Sonata No. 3 in F sharp minor: “Skryabin became aware of himself… He had to bring into full consciousness the liberating joy he had found within… This joy lived deep within his soul, and it could not bear the light of day. It flickered, then went out…”

Skryabin in his 20′s

…Vers la Flamme’s opening motive questions tentatively in sighs plangent with dolorous, unfulfilled longing. The work’s thematic cell, a single two-note falling motive is a cogent and potent expression of desire, be it sexual or spiritual in nature. The ‘desire’ motive, initially dark and lethargic, later grows in power and intensity until it is singing, sweet, electric white and intense, swimming, flying in a sea of turbulence and foaming activity… …For Skryabin, religious feeling and physically passionate love were linked rather than separated, ecstasy being the common denominator. All is synthesis: matter and energy, carnal and spiritual love. The flame may be the energy of the atom, but even the quantum physicists now tell us that matter and spirit are one… Surely the flame, ecstatic in nature, has the potential to redeem rather than to destroy, inner desire both constituting the flame and fueling the journey towards it. …With his Sonata #2 in B flat minor Sergei Rakhmaninov, beloved composer of the piano concerti we know so well, has written a veritable concerto without orchestra: in its grandeur and magnificence of scope it equals the emotional intensity of the better-known symphonic works. The motivic economy of Op. 36, its ingenious use of orchestral colours, its highly evolved yet apparently free compositional process, its rich texture and expression, all mark it as one of Rakhmaninov’s unacknowledged masterpieces. Op. 36 stands as convincing evidence: Sergei Rakhmaninov was anything but an anachronism of the Romantic era, a far greater and more modern composer than the hack spinner of movie melodies so many believe him to be…


Alan Fraser Russian Recital: Complete Booklet Text

Alan Fraser

Alan Fraser, 1995

The music on this CD is thoroughly Russian. It speaks of a land, a people governed by values profoundly different from our own. It reflects the life of a culture that hasn’t yet lost that indefinable yet essential something which Western ‘civilization’ seems often so insidiously, so easily to have destroyed. It is colourful, deeply emotional music. Nothing pale, nothing half-hearted. Whatever is felt, be it joy or sorrow, is felt to the uttermost depths. And somehow it lends sense to this perplexingly attractive passage from Tolstoi: “… a vague and quite Russian feeling of contempt for everything conventional, artificial, and human – for everything the majority of men regard as the greatest good in the world… this strange and fascinating feeling… that wealth, power and life… all that men so painstakingly acquire and guard – if it has any worth has so only by reason of the joy with which it can all be renounced. It is the feeling that induces a volunteer recruit to spend his last penny on drink, and a drunken man to smash mirrors and glasses, for no apparent reason and knowing that it will cost him all the money he possesses: the feeling which causes a man to perform actions which from an ordinary point of view are insane, to test, as it were, his personal power and strength, affirming the existence of a higher, non-human criterion of life.” The works of the two most important late Russian Romantics, Sergei Vasiliyevitch Rakhmaninov (1873 – 1943) and Alexandr Nikolayevitch Skryabin (1872-1915) share many national characteristics: strong emotional expression, distinctive harmonic flavour, fervent and fecund melodic invention – yet there are differences. Skryabin the mystic, of Russia, yet always striving for something not only beyond Russia but beyond this world altogether. Rakhmaninov, ironically the one forced to leave Russia at the height of his compositional powers, remaining rooted deeply in his motherland both spiritually and stylistically. The ecstasy and despair of intense spiritual struggle were almost like a drug for Skryabin; Rakhmaninov spoke in a language of more human, flesh-and-blood emotions. Where Skryabin’s scores are littered with directions intended to evoke graphic and explicit inner states. Rakhmaninov preferred merely to imply the inner emotional drama by purely musical means: the art was in the unspoken communication.

Alexander Scriabin, 1892

Alexander Scriabin, 1892

Alexander Skryabin, 1892 The young Skryabin was both extremely religious and highly sensual. These quotes from his personal diaries show his relationship to God as arising from actual sensation, inner processes that he felt and described, rather than from conceptualized systems of thought: “I thank you for all the fears which your trials and tribulations aroused. You made me know my endless power, my unlimited might, my invincibility. You gave me the power of creativity. ‘Mighty is he who feels defeat and overcomes it! ‘Religious feeling is an awareness of the divine in oneself… prayer is a élan towards God. ‘Like the word of Christ, As the deed of Prometheus, I clothed thee, O world of mine, With a single glance, And by my one thought.” In his excellent biography, Faubion Bowers accuses Skryabin of megalomania and delusions of grandeur evident in such statements as “I am God” and “I create the world as I glance upon it”. But if (as G. I. Gurdjieff notes) there exists knowledge which cannot be apprehended in normal states of consciousness, then Skryabin’s so-called egomaniacal statements could merely indicate the higher level of psychical intensity required in any true creative act — an act which accesses knowledge or information direct from God or the collective unconscious. He who plunges into this higher level but does not create, we call a madman. The creative process requires that same mad plunge, but done with tremendous courage and presence of mind. It actually demands the risk of one’s sanity in order to create!  Skryabin writes, “I can’t understand how to write only ‘music’ now. How uninteresting it would be.  Music, surely, takes on idea and significance when it is linked to one single plan within a whole world-viewpoint… Music is the path of revelation… how potent a method of knowledge it is… how much I have learned through music! All I now think and say, I know from my composing.” Boris Schloezer, Skryabin’s brother-in-law, describing the Sonata No. 3 in F sharp minor: “Skryabin became aware of himself… He had to bring into full consciousness the liberating joy he had found within… This joy lived deep within his soul, and it could not bear the light of day. It flickered, then went out… Skryabin was one of the few who summoned an ancient god from within the depths of his being and gave external consciousness to it”.

Natalya Sekerina, 1894 (Skryabin's first love)

Natalya Sekerina, 1894 (Skryabin's first love)

Skryabin himself appended to the sonata a literary program, “States of Soul”: “I: The free, untamed Soul plunges passionately into an abyss of suffering and strife”. “II: The Soul, weary of suffering, finds illusory and transitory respite. It forgets itself in song, in flowers. But underneath the false veil of fragrant harmonies and light rhythms this vitiated and uneasy Soul still suffers…” “III: The Soul floats on a tender and melancholy sea of feeling, amongst the wraithlike charms of Love, sorrow, secret desires, inexpressible thoughts”. “IV: Now the elements unleash themselves. The Soul struggles within their vortex of fury. As the storm reaches its climax, suddenly the voice of the Man-God rises up from within the Soul’s depths. The song of victory sounds triumphantly. But it is weak still… When all is within its grasp, it sinks back, broken, falling into a new abyss of nothingness.” Thus in the first movement a literal battle is waged between the upper and lower registers, the bass insisting on its proud, martial call to arms (a characteristic motive of Skryabin’s which is to become the motto for the sonata) while the treble spins its soulful, striving melody in juxtaposition. Subsequently, a lyrical second melody (1:07) and a friendly third theme game of tag (1:24) provide some relief from the suffering and strife. Finally the opening theme, transformed into an optimistic F sharp major (1:53), is set against its foil, the gentler second theme (2:04), the former musical adversaries now live in harmony. The intensity of the battle rises again through the movement’s development section (2:28) until the Soul proves itself equal to all challenges and finally revels in a full-blown expression of its power (4:12) at the moment of recapitulation. This glorious movement draws to a close with one more victorious statement (5:52), one last triumphant unification of the disparate psychical elements, a first taste of approaching bliss… In the following movements the sonata’s upward leaping motto is transformed to evoke different ideas: in the Scherzo it becomes a restless, march-like accompaniment cautioning us that conflict still lurks under the surface calm. Indecisive, searching harmonies (0:03, 0:05, 0:10) also contribute to a feeling of false repose… In the Andante, Skryabin, sublime and ecstatic, spins one of his most eloquent melodies. Yet even here all is not complete rest: the energy of the battle call manifests in a bell-motive (0:09, 0:19): the Soul’s power never dissipates completely, not even in moments of blissful stasis. In the recapitulation, the underlying subtle series of sighs intensifies the feeling of desire and longing (2:24), until finally the masculine element responds with “his” rendition of the divine song (3:14)… All falls to blissful stasis, the sonata’s motto returns softly in the major (3:58). But then a transformation occurs in the other direction, from major to minor (4:03), and the realization slowly dawns that this was but a pause before the plunge into the vortex.

Skryabin's second wife Tatyana Schloezer

Skryabin's second wife Tatyana Schloezer

In the Finale the battle call motive finally appears in the treble, linked to the borrowed cantabile second theme from the first movement, now grotesquely transformed and extended chromatically downward (0:00). This new hybrid theme, sick, threatening, and devilish in character, is set over a maniacally surging and fiendishly difficult left hand figuration. This hellish movement, struggling between dark and light, good and evil, God and the Devil, seems to express Skryabin’s contention that “to be an optimist in the real sense, one must have suffered despair and triumphed over it.” Yet at the final cadence, after a glorious ff apotheosis of the blissful third movement theme (5:20) and one last momentary glimpse of hope (6:12), dark wins over light. Schloezer comments: “In short, this is the tragedy of a personality unable to bear his own deification into the Man-God. At the very moment he sounds his song of triumph he sinks into the abyss… the winds blow the dust even of supermen into space.” “Early in my life, in Paris, I led an extremely corrupt life. I tried everything… I drowned myself in pleasures, and was put to the test by them. Without this there is no triumph… I have known since then that the creative act is inextricably linked to the sexual act… Maximum creativity, maximum eroticism…” Following Op. 23 a quantum transformation takes place in Skryabin’s work as he develops his mature, ecstatic style. The music of Vers la Flamme Op. 72 has evolved light years from the Romanticism of the 3rd Sonata: its synthesized harmonies creating a mystical, super-concentrated emotional expression. Whereas the 3rd sonata begins with an exultant and powerfully affirming upward surge, Vers la Flamme’s opening motive questions tentatively in sighs plangent with dolorous, unfulfilled longing. The work’s thematic cell, a single two-note falling motive (1:09) is a cogent and potent expression of desire, be it sexual or spiritual in nature. The ‘desire’ motive, initially dark and lethargic, later grows in power and intensity until it is singing, sweet, electric white and intense, swimming, flying in a sea of turbulence and foaming activity (3:15). The directions in the score clearly indicate Skryabin’s intentions: we move from  “sombre” (dark) (0:01) to “avec une emotion naissante” (with a nascent emotion) (1:51) to “avec une joie voilee” (with a veiled joy) (2:00) to “avec une joie de plus en plus tumultueuse” (with a joy more and more tumultuous) (2:45) to “eclatant, lumineux, ff ma dolce” (clangorous, luminous, fortissimo but sweet) (3:15).

Scriabin's Aunt Who Raised Him

Scriabin's Aunt Who Raised Him

For Skryabin, religious feeling and physically passionate love were linked rather than separated, ecstasy being the common denominator. All is synthesis: matter and energy, carnal and spiritual love. The flame may be the energy of the atom, but even the quantum physicists now tell us that matter and spirit are one. Vers la Flamme’s development of the single desire motive, culminating in a tremulous vibrato, could portray the mounting excitement of a woman’s excited, half-desperate cries signaling approaching delirium (4:22). But, the inner mounting flame could equally be one of religious, mystically fervent joy. One of his last works, Vers la Flamme is as misunderstood as anything Skryabin ever wrote. Even Vladimir Horowitz comments, “This is psychedelic music dealing with the mysterious forces of fire and the atom that can destroy all of humanity. Skryabin previewed a vision of the atom bomb”, and the maestro adds massive, explosive basses and octave doublings to prove his point. But surely the flame, ecstatic in nature, has the potential to redeem rather than to destroy, inner desire both constituting the flame and fueling the journey towards it. The 3rd sonata opens in exultation but ends in annihilation, as if the young Skryabin could not handle the mystical fires he had discovered. But the energies, which earlier consumed him, have now become agreeable food for the mature composer. No more the abyss: in Vers la Flamme Skryabin soars ever higher, ever closer to his Creator, to the Source. The Folk Tales of Nikolai Medtner exude Russian nostalgia and atmosphere, mitigated by the influence of Medtner’s German ancestry. In The Knight’s March he revels in various contrapuntal practices, first presenting two contrasting themes (0:01, 1:32), then combining them contrapuntally (2:18), in canon, (2:35), in augmentation (2:53), and finally in a stretto fugato which rises in chromatic sequence (3:12)! This tour de force culminates with a graphic depiction of the left, right, left, right footsteps of the knight’s inexorable progress (3:43)… In the opening theme of Op. 23 #3, the 2nd  (0:10) and 3rd (0:15) phrases are fragments of phrase #1 (0:01) in harmonic sequence, and the 4th (0:19) is an exact inversion of phrase #1! Op. 23 #2, a light and humorous romp with an energetic final flourish, provides us with a few moments of comic relief… The word dumka comes from the Russian dumati, to ruminate – in this case, in classic Russian style, on the utter futility and meaninglessness of existence! The musical form is a type of Slavonic folk ballad, alternately elegiac and madly gay. Unlike Tchaikovsky’s popular composition of the same name, Balakirev’s Dumka is virtually unknown even in the land of its composer. Unjust neglect indeed… Notice the figuration in the interludes (1:30, 3:24) which will provide the model for the closing measures of the Rakhmaninov sonata’s first movement.

Sergei Rakhmaninov 1892

Sergei Rakhmaninov 1892

With his Sonata #2 in B flat minor Sergei Rakhmaninov, beloved composer of the piano concerti we know so well, has written a veritable concerto without orchestra: in its grandeur and magnificence of scope it equals the emotional intensity of the better-known symphonic works. This sonata has been derided by critics as second-rate music, which only a Horowitz could redeem with a much more than first-rate performance. In fact, the motivic economy of Op. 36, its ingenious use of orchestral colours, its highly evolved yet apparently free compositional process, its rich texture and expression, all mark it as one of Rakhmaninov’s unacknowledged masterpieces. Op. 36 stands as convincing evidence: Sergei Rakhmaninov was anything but an anachronism of the Romantic era, a far greater and more modern composer than the hack spinner of movie melodies so many believe him to be. The dramatic intensity of the 2nd Sonata is achieved with great economy of thematic means – one motivic cell: a descending chromatic scale ending with a quick leap down a fourth. This motive has something of a ‘Fate’ quality about it (think for instance of the opening bars of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony), yet it also contains strange echoes of Skryabin’s ‘desire’ motive, lending it a passionate intensity that could be even sexual. From the moment this appears in a flurry of sound (0:07) it permeates the whole work as Rakhmaninov creates atmospheres of feeling by means of shifting, contrasting sound textures rather than by full-fledged thematic development. The haunting 2nd theme (2:08) is derived from the same chromatic falling figure, now a melancholic, lonely call across the vast Russian steppes. At times Rakhmaninov’s use of substitution tones and unusual modal flavours brings this music to the brink of atonality, as with the ‘pealing bells’ of the first movement (6:19). Many moods are evoked with bell sounds elsewhere as well: from the first movement’s thunderous, cataclysmic return of its opening theme (6:30) to the pathetically pealing of a single high tone in the slow movement (1:21). The composer wrote, “The sound of church bells dominated all the cities of the Russia I used to know – Novgorod, Kiev, Moscow. They accompanied every Russian from childhood to the grave. All my life I have taken pleasure in the differing moods and music of gladly chiming and mournfully tolling bells. This love of bells is inherent in every Russian…”

Sergei Rakhmaninov 1890

In the achingly tender Lento, the descending scale idea appears in a rocking barcarolle (0:16-0:30), but this theme is suffused with such underlying fervour that it too must eventually erupt in a passionate improvisation on the sonata’s thematic cell (Rakhmaninov’s desire motive?) (3:22) before returning to an intense, heartfelt intimacy. In the Allegro molto the descending scale is again transformed, now into an orgiastic, technically brilliant and difficult, glass-smashing Cossack dance (0:10) which shows no sign of letting up until the thematic cell again interrupts (1:05) and leads to the second lyric theme, one of the most beautiful in all Rakhmaninov’s oeuvre  (1:33). Does this mad dash paint Mephisto’s entrance, or could it be a joyous extravaganza of two lovers? Whatever the hidden program, the energy and excitement mount through the Finale’s ensuing development (2:51), its recapitulation (3:52), its repeat of the second theme in a full-orchestra extravaganza (4:45) and its brilliant coda (5:45), culminating in a triumphant eruption of technical and sonic brilliance. Rakhmaninov, having shortened and simplified Op. 36 in 1931, later allowed Vladimir Horowitz to restore much of the original material leaving only some revisions intact. After Rakhmaninov’s death Horowitz continued to experiment. For example, his brilliant stroke of substituting a rising chromatic bass line for the original tonic pedal in the final bars (5:54) appears only on his 1979 recording. He also reworked much of the passagework of the third movement, emendations, which appear in neither Rakhmaninov text. I base my performance mainly on the last of the Horowitz reworkings, with a few additional modifications of my own. The well-known ‘encores’ need little commentary. Rakhmaninov’s G sharp minor prelude, op. 32 #11, calls to mind pale yellow sun sparkles on a breeze-swept sea, a ship poised to sail, passengers about to leave Russia their homeland, never to return. Following Rakhmaninov’s delicate and intimately lyrical G major prelude, our program comes full circle with Skryabin’s Op. 8 #12, an etude in legato playing both for the right hand octave melody and the left hand accompaniment with its nimble thumb movements. I have tried to highlight the work’s tragic, singing quality, too often neglected in performances of the “racket in D sharp minor.”

- liner notes by Alan Fraser

Alan Fraser  Recording in Town Hall, Subotitsa

Alan Fraser Recording in Town Hall, Subotitsa

Produced by Alan Fraser Recording Engineer: Alan Fraser Digital editing and mastering: Alan Fraser Re-mastering: Morris Apelbaum, Silent Sound Studios, Montreal Booklet text: Alan Fraser French translation: Benjamin Waterhouse Colour photo of Alan Fraser by Zlatko Silver Teleki, Silver Photo Studios, Novi Sad, Yugoslavia Black and white photos of Alan Fraser by Howard Bornstein, California and Clarke Fraser, Montreal Recorded September 17-19, October 14, December 7, 14 1997 at Subotica Town Hall, Yugoslavia. Steinway piano tuned and maintained by Olah Gyorgy and Alan Fraser. Last but not least, thanks to: Debi, Megan, Idries, Clarke, Beryl, Norah, Noel, Scott, Prof. Jokuthon Kadirova-Mihailovitch, Prof. Lauretta Milkman, Prof. Alan Belkin, Prof. Tom Plaunt, John Browning, “G.” and his descendants including Maria Rankov, Pauline de Dampierre and Tom Daly; Sam Slutsky, Misha Petrovitch, Sun Zhen Zhun, Jane Kee, Moshe and his descendants especially Jerry Karzen; Werner and his descendants including Dennis Percy and Alain Chalifour; John Seely, Brana, Otilia, Vrhovac Biljana, Bana, Baldomero, Bob McAlear, Medvedeva Irina Andreevna (Glinka Museum, Moscow), A. Scriabin (the composer’s great-grandnephew, Chairman of the International Scriabin Society), Alan Walker, the Art Academy of Novi Sad, SNP Novi Sad, the Town of Subotica, Vera and Boban Milovanovitch, Fridrih Lindemann, Atsa of ProFoto Novi Sad, Paul McGoldrick, and many others who helped… you know who you are! Exceptionally grateful thanks to Morris Apelbaum of Silent Sound Studios, Montreal, and… A special thanks to my two mentors: Phil Cohen, a man of true vision and genius, and Kemal Gekich, a most highly esteemed colleague and dear friend whose youthful exuberance, personal magnetism, scathing wit, incisive perception, selfless dedication and awesome talent have all left their mark both on me and on this record…

Town Hall, Subotitsa Yugoslavia

Town Hall, Subotitsa Yugoslavia