I didn't think it was possible for Mendelssohn to not be cheery - Variations Serieuses

While the writing here is very much in line with what is expected from Mendelssohn, the prevailing mood of this piece is decidedly not.  Sure, he has passionately written works - see his violin concerto, for instance.  But, to me, this piece is quite a bit different even from that.  I got a sort of intensity and passion in a way that is unexpected for him - something that goes beyond 'I write what I like to' or 'I'm trying to impact the listener's emotions.'  This work doesn't feel like it was written for the listener at all - which makes it no less enjoyable, but means that that enjoyment is secondary to the composer liking his own work.

I feel like Mendelssohn is always honest in his work - the exuberance in his happier works doesn't feel forced.  But then, neither does this work... he is able to capture something that is perhaps a bit outside his normal element, emotionally speaking, but composes convincingly.  Perhaps it is all of his other works being sincerely emotionally stable that keeps us entertained here, when Mendelssohn lets out the reins a little bit - still poised, still eloquent, he doesn't set out to let everything go as a Clara Schumann or a Robert Schumann when Clara's not around - but rather has us understand an emotion without having to see that he is absolutely in the throes of it.

Keep Developing... waay before the development. People will love it. Brahms - Sonata nr 3 Op. 5

I really enjoy the fact that Brahms' work in most of the major idioms pushes their bounds while still abiding by the rules.  His ability to write a sonata is unquestionable, but what makes this sonata truly remarkable in my mind is the fact that while listening, I forget that it's a sonata.  Sure, the formal elements are in place, but, I still find myself asking "what's next?" rather than simply ticking off the pieces of the sonata as they go by.  

That being said, there is one very unsurprising fact about this sonata:  it is written by Brahms.  From the very opening, it is obviously him.  Melodies in octaves, thick chordal writing, bombastic, triumphant themes... juxtaposed against lush melodies, of course.  Hallmarks of Brahms' writing for the piano.  And yet, we are willing to listen to him do these things over and over, because he does them so well, and with a sort of variety.  He gives us himself in writing - has his listeners say 'oh, Hi Brahms' before beginning his transformations - a hard trick to pull off so well over and over without someone eventually saying 'write something different!'

Decidedly NOT the Nutcracker - Tchaikovsky's Dumka

While most of his output was decidedly not what the Mighty Five may have wanted him to produce, Tchaikovsky nevertheless has his nationalist moments.  This piece, along with his first sonata, seem to fit into that category, drawing on folk themes and, in the case of this Dumka, structures, to create works.  It should also be noted that Tchaikovsky made significant contributions to the canon of vocal works used in the Orthodox church... perhaps he wasn't so far off from nationalistic aims as everyone surmises him to be.

In this work, I don't hear the Tchaikovsky that is evident in so much of his symphonic work.  Sure, there are ornamented passages, and devices that he would use in later works, but overall, he keeps things quite a bit more simple than what is to come in his writing.  I appreciate this very much - the work maintains virtuosity without overwrought figures that create emotion.  There is already so much contrast of character from one iteration of the theme to the next, that heightening those shifts artificially would have, to me, made the piece seem more forced than well composed.  That being said, in his later works, those devices are not necessarily wrong... they just wouldn't fit as well here.  To that end, most critical views of his sonata say similar things, often asking why folk themes are so embellished, why he would include such opening material, and so forth, although I wouldn't go as far as to say the addition of that material in the sonata is wrong.  

Theres more notes on this paper than there is paper - Rachmaninoff's Etude-Tableaux, Corelli Variations, bm Prelude

There is no denying the virtuosity required to play any of the works of Rachmaninoff being examined here.  The incredibly thick textures that underscore rather simple melodies require skill and artistry to maneuver through.  Without those two things, so much of these works would either be unexecutable, or executed in extremely poor taste.  Who hasn't heard a pianist decide to really bang the snot out of any one of these?  (And by any of these, I of course mean the prelude...)

I would give my opinion on Rachmaninoff, but I'm pretty sure it's similar to so many other people.  I don't have particularly intellectual reason for liking his works, but I do anyway.  I haven't played anything of his, really, so the joy of playing is not within my reasons.  But, there is a reason that he was popular with audiences.  Although virtuosic, his music is mostly accessible to the average listener.  I find this to be true even with the Corelli theme and variations, which falls into a genre that I admittedly don't particularly care for.  Perhaps it is because of the raw emotional content, and the variations of 'background noise' that he creates, that endears his music to the listener.  These pieces bring into sharp focus the idea of 'composing against a backdrop' discussed - and those backdrops are pianistic masterwork.

Wow, Brahms, I liked you until... Variations on a theme of Paganini, Variations and Fugue on a theme of Handel

Brahms is a pretty cool guy.  Most pianists probably agree.  I know these are not real statistics, but I include them anyway to set the tone of the rest of this entry.  I don't want to not like these pieces.  I know they're brilliantly constructed (especially the fugue...) but... I just... can't.  There's too much going on here for me to absorb.  I understand that so many people really love these works... I understand that he was praised so much for the Handel variations.  Even so, I have this prejudice against the genre as a whole.  Sure, there are some that are fun, and these are by no means the most boring... but I get tired of the same material over and over.  I am glad that Brahms at least varied them enough to keep me interested, if not completely entertained.  Perhaps I just need a longer attention span.  Hm...

I think I just done heard a color! - Scriabin's Etudes, Vers la Flamme, Sonata No. 5

I was not expecting these works at all upon first listening. I knew that Scriabin was disconnected from the aims of the Russian composers that immediately preceded him, but I was not expecting such a radical departure from the sounds of Russia, and the sounds of the Romantic period in general. The etudes seemed very cerebral in nature, which coincides with the amount of thinking Scriabin did, both about the piano world, and everything else that surrounded him. He describes his musical work as a kind of working towards a philosophy - of justifying a world view using the notes of his composition. And if that doesn't necessarily come across, at least the intensity of thought needed to do something like it does in his works.

I was especially fond of the Sonata, although I enjoyed Verse la Flamme as well. The sounds that Scriabin is penning throughout these works feel impressionistic to me rather than being the product of linear thought and progression. I am particularly satisfied with his employment of these sounds and textures in the sonata form, where he manages to make the work one cohesive unit, while still employing techniques that would have been new to the world at the time.

Sonata in b, Religious Pieces, Var. on Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen

I'm not a big Liszt fan, but I definitely enjoyed both Funerailles and Benediction de Dieu dans la Solitude. The sonata and variations are impressive as well. It is interesting to note with this entire set just how different this Liszt sounds from the Liszt of the transcendental etudes and opera reductions that were his staples. In these pieces I hear the kind of maturity that a man that has given up on the 'rockstar' life might later develop: a kind of intensity and virtuosity honed through years of playing, but now complimented by a new, more thinking-man's approach to composition. Funerailles and the variations are both far more adventurous harmonically than earlier Liszt, although this entire set seems to point to a level of chromaticism not employed in his earlier works.

It is also quite a switch to hear such religious influence, but this again can be explained by Liszt's life to that point. The end of the Variations, for instance, for a moment, anyway, plays like a very virtuosic hymn, and the fact that it is a tribute to Bach can't be overlooked either - as he was the original church keyboardist... all in all, I think I would like more of Liszt's output from this period, if these works are any evidence.

Auf Schnell! Auf Schnell! - Schumann's Sonata in gm, Fantasy

A whirlwind tour would not begin to describe this piece. While virtuosic, and still remaining close to the center of the keyboard, Schumann crafts perhaps his most lasting contribution to the sonata genre with great precision, and a passionate five-note theme that could denote some sort of... manly attraction to... a woman? Named Clara? The other three movements are no less demanding, although the second movement provides a break from the flurry of notes surrounding it. The third movement scherzo is very similar to the first in terms of chord voicing, but is perhaps a little more dance-like than the first movement. The fourth movement moves by very quickly as well, but calms down after the initial theme has been presented.

It would be apt to describe the fantasy as a flurry of notes as well, with a simple melody laid atop a very active texture. However, the melodies here seem quite a bit more somber, despite the texture employed, bordering at times even upon melancholy. It is also worth noting just how long this fantasy is. The first movement alone well surpasses the ten minute mark - interesting for something so loosely structured as a fantasy. However, Schumann's mastery of characterization makes the time spent worthwhile, maintaining interest through character shift. The second movement is far more triumphant in character than the first - block chord accompaniment push the bright melody forward from the outset, which is followed by a section of more subdued imitative patterns between the bass and soprano voices. The third movement calms down even more, as Schumann nearly writes a lullaby to finish the piece.

Like Chinese Food? (Balakirev's Islamey)

I understand that this is an 'oriental fantasy,' but I feel like it is more similar to the Chinese take-out, and here's why. I'm listening to this Islamey, which I admittedly like, but I start thinking about why I like it, and I come up with the following answers:
1. It has a simple melody which is basically not developed.
2. Development happens by changing the accompaniments.
3. It is harmonically similar to music written by the other... of the Mighty Five?

Time for a whirlwind-tour-of-the-world-style-analogy:
ORIENTAL FANTASY(Islamey):RUSSIA::CHINESE FOOD:AMERICA

This piece is really just oriental enough to pass as foreign in Russia, just as Chinese food that is orderable is really only Chinese enough for Americans to say "ooh! Chinese! That's exotic... I'll have the number 2 please." I mean yeah, there's some open fifth passages and things... but... Russian. Which makes sense, but, more math for you:
RUSSIA (not equal to... they don't make a button for this) Orient.

But, I wouldn't suggest passing it up because of it's dis-Orientation... or you'll miss out on some interesting piano writing.

I'm Chopin... but, uh... Not. (Field Sonata in F-Sharp Minor, Nocturnes 4 & 5)

When I listen to Field's works, a movie immediately springs to mind. That movie: Amadeus. Why? Because in the film (for all of us that haven't seen it a trillion times) Mr. Salieri is in competition with W.A. Mozart, the clearly better composer. Such it is with Field and Chopin, but I don't think the competition was so direct. Both Field's sonata and nocturnes are simplistic, and do not exploit the instrument as Chopin's works do. His melodies are simpler as well, lacking the embellishment that we have come to expect in a nocturne, due in large part to Chopin's operatic melody lines. I found it really hard to get all that excited about these works, to be honest. They feel underdeveloped, but have their place. I know he did it first, but... I can't bring myself to more than passing amusement. I want pretty overtones locking in, and melodies that don't lay in perfectly rhythmically over the accompaniment. While formally well composed, and technically correct, these pieces lack the 'so-what' factor that makes me care, as a player or listener.

Bowties, butterflies, masks! (and a kitten?) Oh my! (Schumann's Papillons, Carnival, Kreisleriana)

How programmatic can you get in twelve minutes? Well, if you're Schumann, writing a piece, you can tell the story of two adolescents crashing a swanky ball and making eyes at some girl across the room. And, what's more, you can even recount the whole story with your grandfather at the very end! Papillons, in several characterized movements, tells Jean Paul's Flageljahre. A youthful Schumann composes this work, and it is evident. Spirited and well-written, it is nevertheless far less intricate than his later works.

Carnaval is similar in construction, but has the intricacy that Papillons lacks. A set of character pieces as well, this one details both imaginary characters and real people (a girlfriend of his, his beloved, though perhaps not beloved yet Clara, and Chopin), and introduces us to Eusebius and Florestan, who are to appear in his pieces and his literary works. Amazing though, that the whole work is built upon a four-note theme, revealed in the mysterious 'sphinxes' which he scores in the middle of the piece. While they are often not performed, some performers do improvise freely on them (Rachmaninoff is a notable example). Schumann leaves no performance notes for the Sphinxes however, so it is not known whether that is his intent or not.

Kreisleriana is similarly programmatic. Written after E.T.A. Hoffman's 'autobiographical' work/cat commentary duo, it is an attempt to capture the spirit of the novel. However... I have one small problem with the work... I don't hear a cat, nor the divide between cat and man that the work describes. I'm glad it inspired him and all, but I really miss the characterization that is so evident in the other two pieces we have studied.

Promenade, all through the set. (Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition)

The programmatic structure which Mussorgsky creates through Pictures, while grand in construction, is fairly regularly understood. The sounds that he employs are surprising, but only outside the context of the music of Russian romantics (minus those westernized sillies, like Tchaikovsky). All in all, Pictures is a piece that could be portrayed as fairly un-remarkable based on a simple description of it's concept. Yes, each movement does match a real image, presumably, and the character of each image is, at least in this writer's opinion, aptly matched. But, we've seen all of this. The things that are being described are all typical Romantic concepts.

So, what's different? What makes Pictures one for the galleries, rather than storage, metaphorically speaking? I would argue that it is the promenade theme that not only makes the piece unified, but that drives it forward to a stunning conclusion in the Great Gate at Kiev. It is his recharacterization of this theme over and over that amazes me, and the way that the theme is so open to transformation. The fact that the meter is mixed (5/4 and 6/4, or originally 11/4) allows accent to be moved to different parts of the phrase, and calls to mind Russian folk music. The theme constructed on a nearly larger-than-life scale, but, in successful performances, conviences an audience to believe in it's magnitude.

Pressing your ear to a seashell produces the ocean. Pressing your ear to a fjord produces... Grieg. (Sonata, op 7, Lyric Pieces)

Grieg always impresses me with his ability to be interesting with simple materials. His Lyric Pieces, and Sonata (op. 7) are no exception to this rule - while not overtly complex, they are able to capture a sound and color that is unique among piano writing to Grieg - they are folk sounds, sure, but crystalline and more harmonically spacious.

The Lyric Pieces are interesting in their simplicity. Each is short, and highly characterized - many are programmatic - so much so that he could have easily called these either character sketches or preludes, and either would be nearly as fitting as 'lyric pieces.' However, to do so would ignore the strength of his melodic composition. So many of these pieces are 'lyric' not in the sense that they 'could be sung,' but more in the fact that they nearly require the piano player to sing along internally to create them as emotionally resonant musical statements.

The Sonata, while far more virtuosic than the Lyric Pieces, contains many of the same elements. Simple thematic elements combine to create a form that is functional and followable, even to the average, untrained listener. The opening theme carries through to the fourth movement of the sonata, unifying the piece from end to end. The inner movements are stunning both in their lyric quality, and their ability through harmony to suggest the kind of space of emotion that Grieg intends, without imposing it upon listeners. It contrasts well with the directness of the first movement.

"I Want a boat like that, Daddy!" - Faure's Barcarolle No. 5, nocturne 13

Although there are moments of relative calm, and the piece is strikingly beautiful, one thing is definitely certain: the boat ride Faure takes us on in his Barcarolle no. 5 is far from perfect. The use of the left hand to create lines that offer a counter-argument to the soaring lines in the right is perhaps the most salient feature of this work. Not that Barcarolles are static, but they seem to me to be a little more predictable in nature than this particular work. I like that this is less predictable, and the interesting choice of darker motivic material than what might be expected in a 'typical' Barcarolle. The entire work feels like it is subverted - a Barcarolle that isn't, but that eventually comes to a place of tranquility.

While I feel the obvious comparison for the nocturne would be one with Chopin, but I'm not sure exactly how encompassing that comparison would be. There are obviously bel canto melody lines, in places, sure, but, the work is much more textured, and more layered than what Chopin wrote in his nocturnes. There are points where the simplicity of a Chopin nocturne is emulated, but the build to climax steers this nocturne away from that. Faure's work also seems more informed by what might later be called an impressionistic mindset, although I wouldn't go so far as to say that this work is nearly that. Rather, it seems to be caught between the two.

A summary of the life and emotions of one Johannes Brahms - Pieces, op. 118

It is fitting that this collection of pieces is the last published in Brahms' lifetime. To me, it serves as a neat and tidy summing up of who Brahms was as a composer. The whole set is intimate and introspective - perhaps even a bit more somber compared to other collections of works by Brahms. It breaks away from the somber only once, with the unbridled Ballade in gm, returning to being passionate in such a large way at the end of the set in the second half of the last intermezzo.

While listening, I felt as though I detected a quiet longing, that incorporated itself into nearly every moment of these works. The Romanze makes this strikingly evident, but even the Ballade and last Intermezzo seem to contain this element. Curious, that the other figure who calls this 'melancholy' idea to mind is Clara Schumann, and sure enough, this set is dedicated to her. This makes sense to me, in an emotional context. How could Brahms be writing a set of pieces, near the end of his life, and not reflect back on one of the ones that he at the very least looked after, and upon, with fondness.

It's Like A Car Wreck - Brahms Ballades, op 10.

When I think of car accidents, I think of two things. One, my own driving record - which, while less than outstanding, does not contain any accidents where I am at fault, and two, the automatic human response to anything which they can ascribe a prescribed set of emotions. It is interesting to me the types of responses that a car accident can get. Everything from the neighborhood kid that is like 'whoa totally awesome look at the smashed metal' to the introspective soon-to-be mother who wonders what it will be like to protect her child from a world so full of violence, even though that violence might be accidental. Some rubberneck, some feel compelled not to look at all, but most lie somewhere in between, experiencing for themselves a little bit of meaning that they need to discover, and therefore do.

I feel like this set of Ballades is similar to a car accident in this sense. Each ballade has a strength of character and conviction, whether it's the melancholy and nearly over-exuberant conversation found in the "Edward" ballade, or the explosive intermezzo. Brahms, even in these early works, demonstrates a remarkable ability to capture intense human emotions, and then lavish in the result that comes from juxtaposing them. Because of that juxtaposition, and the ability to recognize the elements of either side, we each understand sections of these works similarly. But, I would venture to guess that the synthesis that happens when sections are taken together, or the group of pieces is taken as a whole, would hit each person very differently - something that is often not true, but that in this case is perhaps one of the more compelling features of these shorter works. They are concise, they happen quickly, and they have a lasting impact. Brahms - a car crash? Absolutely.

One-Two-Three-ONE-TWO-THREE-Again-Two-Three I'm Exhausted (Saint-Saens' Etude en Forme de Waltz))

Waltzing: the lopsided dance of love.

Unless, of course, you're Camille Saint-Saens. If you are, then you see the waltz as a chance to really get all of your ya-yas (a technical term) out in one all-technique-encompassing storm of notes that is at once elegant and terrifying. Reminiscent perhaps of Chopin's waltzes, combined with Liszt-ian technicality, this piece is one that seems to be a proving ground for the pianist who truly wishes to dance on the keys.

Although I am not one to lobby for virtuosity over substance, here, the virtuosity actually becomes a part of the substance of the piece - lending this particular waltz is rambunctious, free-spirited nature. Perhaps it is a forerunner to Ravel's great piano work, La Valse?

If Bach was a Romantic (well, he did have a lot of kids...) - Franck's Prelude, Chorale and Fugue

So, any time that the words "Prelude and Fugue" are mentioned in the keyboard world, the three names that spring to mind are Johann, Sebastian, and Bach, and rightly so. He set the standard for the form with his Well-Tempered Clavier (books 1 and 2), and his influence in the form would be almost impossible to escape (not that anyone would want to.)

Cesar Franck's Prelude, Chorale, and Fugue is an expansion of the Prelude and Fugue form that Bach devised both in terms of form and content. The most obvious difference is that Franck's work contains a chorale, another form Bach worked extensively in - which serves to connect the prelude and fugue in a more linear fashion in Franck's work. Franck also expands the form by incorporating more romantic textures and harmonies, but still maintains a harmonic structure that would be both sensible and functional in Bach's time. He also employs a similar length motive in his fugue, unlike Beethoven, who wrote extensive motives. It is also notable just how long this prelude, chorale and fugue is. Even not taking the extra section into account, this piece is substantially longer than the preludes and fugues that bach would have written for the keyboard.

Franck's work also seems to shift character quite a bit more than Bach's would have. In this sense, his Prelude, Chorale and Fugue is reminiscent of Mendellsohn's work in the same idiom. The intensity of Franck's work is inescapable, building through the prelude and choral to an emotionally intense fugue that is at once a challenge for the player as well as the listener.

Have Talent, Will Travel (works from Liszt's Annees de pelerinage, Bk. 1-3)

Mephisto Waltz nr. 1 - Builds to a climax that is fairly expected
Petrarch 123... pretty, simplified.
Dante sonata

All of Liszt's works to this point demonstrate virtuosity, and these selections from his Books of Pilgramage are no exception. However, these works seem to possess a certain character that is perhaps less present in his earlier works. The Mephisto Waltz is obviously virtuosic, but builds to its virtuosity. Some might argue that the build to virtuosity is somewhat predictable, and that the shape of the entire piece is one designed to provoke a response more to the virtuosity than the content of the piece. I felt that the climax arrived in a very predictable, typically Liszt-ian way. I feel very similarly about the Dante sonata. It feels very well constructed, but too typically early Liszt for my taste. While I recognize his contributions to the piano world, I still have a hard time with such raw virtuosity employed in such a manner.

That being said, the Petrach Sonnet 123 and Jeux d'eau a la Villa d'Este are stunning. Simpler perhaps, in construction and execution when compared with the sonata and waltz, but striking. The Petrarch Sonnet does have virtuosic moments, but lyricism seems to be the primary concern. Jeux d'eau... seems to move toward impressionism, looking perhaps forward to Debussy and Ravel in terms of texture, if not quite in harmonic construction. I felt that of all the pieces from the set, Jeux d'eau... was quite possibly the best marrying of Liszt's virtuosic writing with emotional impact. The build to a technically complex climax does not feel forced, but rather seems to grow organically from moment to moment.

Third time's a charm: Chopin's Sonata in bm, op 58

So maybe he did have to write to other ones before this one... but... it seems to have paid off. An enjoyable, if not somewhat disjoint sonata is one way to describe Chopin's op. 58. Another would be a 'ragtag collection of all his most unruly children' (thanks, Schumann). I think that the truth lies somewhere in between all of these statements.

Chopin, as a master of the smaller forms (the mazurka, the waltz, the ballade, etc.), is forced to reconcile that mastery with his failing in larger forms, such as the sonata. Sonatas two and three get attention for their writing, although it would be hard to call either of them well-organized when comparing to the example of, say, Beethoven himself, who Chopin did not find appealing.

Listening through the Sonata, it is immediately apparent that Chopin does favor the smaller forms, and their influences are strongly felt throughout the work. Themes, when they are developed, are often transformed into new characters, new miniature forms in themselves, that work themselves out in elegance and decoration rather than organization. The biggest unifying factor in these four movements is that they sound like Chopin, which explains Schumann's distaste. Perhaps if he had titled it 'sketches for piano,' or 'four short works' or something other than 'sonata,' those with more purist leanings would have been more satisfied. To the average listener though, the piece works. It is charming and profound, and possesses those qualities that endear so much of Chopin to the listening world.