Matsumura: Symphony nr. 1 - Stravinsky: Le Sacre du Printemps

Teizo Matsumura's First Symphony (1965) has already been included in this listening diary.  At that point, about a year ago, the only option to listen to this work was on NewMusicXX's YouTube channel. Meanwhile, this Naxos recording has also been issued in Europe and so now we can enjoy it in more optimal conditions. It's a 25 minute, brutal piece in a starkly expressionistic idiom. The CD booklet notes (by Koichi Nichi) provide some startling insights about Matsumura's inspiration leading to this work: "After writing Achime, Matsumura felt that he could no longer depend on polyphonic and homophonic techniques in Western music to provide his basic means of expression. His new aim was to write music 'conceived with an Asian mindset' and 'full of primitive energy directly rooted in the very origins of life'. The classic work for which he felt the strongest affinity was Stravinksy's Le sacre du printemps, but its optimistically diatonic melodies and clear rhythms linked to dance were no longer the sound he was seeking. Groping his way forward, he gradually became obsessed with a vague image of an enormous accumulation of chaotic sounds, until one day he was inspired by a photograph of a group many stone images of the Buddha. These took on the appearance of a huge swarm of locusts, wildly sweeping over the earth. Overwhelmed by the image, he determined to write an orchestral work full of such energy, setting to work on his Symphony nr. 1". Indeed, the music seems to reflect these apocalyptic images pretty well. The reading by the Irish RTE NSO led by Takuo Yuasa is impressively cogent. Technically the recording is only average with a sonic image that lacks subtlety and spaciousness. But I'm not complaining as otherwise we wouldn't be able to hear the piece at all.

I thought this audition was a good opportunity to explore Ivan Fischer's recently issued recording of Stravinsky's Sacre. I hold this conductor and his orchestra, the Budapest Festival Orchestra, in very high esteem and so I was quite curious to hear what his take was on this 'pièce unique' in the history of Western music. I am sad to say that I came away rather disappointed from this first audition. In fact, from the first bar to the last this reading left me stone cold. I found my mind wandering even during the most explosive tutti. Why was that? For a start I think it has a lot to do with the recording quality. I've heard many good things from Channel Classics but here they missed the mark. Curiously, the sonic picture of this SACD recording strikes me as exhibiting a strange blend of spaciousness and density. I can pick up the acoustic ambience of the Bela Bartok Concert Hall in Budapest's Palace of the Arts quite well. On the other hand there is no sense of depth to the sound at all. It's almost as if the brass section is sitting in my lap. Additionally and curiously, I find the recording lacking in dynamics. And finally there is this kind of sterile gauze stretched over the orchestra that keeps one from 'seeing the musicians' faces'. Indeed, timbres are annoyingly disembodied and 'digital'. They lack vibrancy and the slightly grainy textures that come with real music making. Immediately after the Fischer recording I put an LP on the Michell Gyrodec for comparison: Antal Dorati and the Detroit SO's late 1970s recording for Decca. The difference is immediately and abundantly clear. This is a recording that has amazing body and bite. The brass cut through the thicket like samurai swords. The strings have lifelike presence. And the percussion thunders with massive impact. And all of that in a sonic perspective of believable depth and dynamics. Dorati's reading of the Sacre is a terrifying affair. In contrast, Fischer's strikes me as rather civilised. There is nothing wrong with that. But if he wanted to make a point, it's not clear to me what it is. Textures are rather (but not very) clear, there are some interesting inner voices that come to the surface (but not consistently), tempi are on the whole on the brisk side although some sections (the Spring Rounds in Part I, for example) are taken more broadly. Sometimes I had the distinct feeling that Fischer's approach was a little too studied, hence my mind's propensity to wander. On the whole, the reading struck me as a passable effort. But for Fischer and his band, this is a letdown. There is still a Firebird Suite on this CD I have to listen to. But I'm afraid I'll have to provide some counterweight on Amazon for the glowing reviews that this recording is garnering.

André Devaere: Complete Works

This disc ended up in my CD player through a pleasant encounter that was facilitated by this very listening diary. It contains the complete compositional output of a turn-of-the-century Flemish composer who perished at the tender age of 24 in the early weeks of the First World War.

André Devaere was born August 28th (a Virgo, as I am) 1890 in Kortrijk in a family with 12 children. His father Octaaf was an organ player in the local Sint-Maarten church. His mother Hermine died at an early age, leaving Octaaf to take care of nine children. André's brother Antoon, who would go on to become a painter, later wrote about his father: "He lived a very withdrawn life. After our mother's early death he felt lonely and spent much time in his study, where he would play the piano from time to time. In the morning mostly scales and etudes as technical work, whilst in the evenings we would hear Beethoven, Wagner, Liszt and Bach." One wonders who took care of the kids ...

Anyway, André would turn into one of the most promising piano virtuosos of the time. He was even followed by Princess Clémentine, Leopold II's youngest daughter. And he also had compositional ambitions. The result of his early efforts are collected on this disc: a few shorter piano pieces, a full-fledged 15 minute piano sonata, a short song cycle and two works for organ.

Whether he would have made it into an important composer is hard to judge from these works Stylistically they form a fairly heterogeneous collection. The piano compositions made not much of an impression on me. None of them show a strong grasp of musical form, whether classical or organic, in my opinion. Stylistically they meander between salon music and disjointed flourishes of Lisztian bravura. Harmonically the music seem to be quite unsettled with lots of dissonances and unresolved chords. Whether he was experimenting with an advanced idiom or simply missed the necessary skills to keep things more tidily together, I can't say. But the overall effect is rather kaleidoscopic.

The songs, set to French texts, rely on an at first sight more traditional musical language, connecting to Fauré and perhaps Debussy. But here too it is hard to get a grip on the melodic contours and harmonic foundation. But these songs are certainly not unpleasant to listen to and very well recorded too.

The two organ works have more to offer. It is particularly the last piece, Les Bourdons de Notre Dame de Courtrai, which I found rather captivating. This is a prelude and fugue that pays respect to André's teacher at the Brussels conservatory Edgar Tinel (1854-1912) as evidenced by the work's two key themes (TINEL (FBGEE) and EDGARD (EDGAD)). The deep bells of the Onze Lieve Vrouwekerk provide an ominous ostinato accompaniment. In the cogent form and alluring tonal palette we have evidence of a genuinely fertile musical imagination. The piece was finished in June 1914, just a few months before André was sent into battle.

For me the real value of this recording lies in the unexpected insights it provides in Belgium's musical life at the time when people like Mahler, Strauss and Debussy where the dominant forces in serious music. The 50-page booklet that accompanies the recording is a gem, featuring a rich collection of striking photographs and facsimiles and a well documented and richly informative essay by Hannelore Devaere. The report about André's short campaign in the Belgian army is harrowing, showing how the war turned a lively and hugely talented young man into a death-obsessed warrior. Thanks to DD for acquainting me with this work.

Debussy - Children's Corner

Children's Corner, composed in 1908, is another wonderful piece in the catalogue of the mature Debussy. In fact I'd consider the work as another set of six Preludes that specifically burrow into the lifeworld of the child. Despite its innocuous appearance Children's Corner sounds like a fiendishly difficult piece. Here are six of the most delicately etched mood pieces that require a hypersensitive response from the performer to minute changes in colour and line. Textures are as clean as a mountain spring, having nothing of the sfumato so characteristic of the Images, Estampes and (some of the) Preludes. Performers really have nowhere to hide.

Again it's Pommier that does it for me. His Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum sparkles like a glass of Champagne. Jimbo's Lullaby invades the child's slumber with a suitable mix of sadness and mystery. The Serenade for the Doll is simple and unaffectionate but resonates with unfulfilled yearnings. The Snow is Dancing is a startling blend of elation and barely suppressed terror. Another beautiful vignette is the The Little Shepherd, which captures the atmosphere of the great outdoors with uncanny, almost Bartokian precision and colour. Harmonically the latter two pieces seems to resonate with the whole-tone and modal scales so typical for the Hungarian composer. Golliwog's Cake-walk, finally, is suitably brash and droll.

I compared with a few other readings. In the autumn of his career Nelson Freire's reputation has reached Himalayan heights. But his take on Debussy's Children's Corner sounds too self-conscious to my ears. And much of it is drenched in a uniform sauce of grandfatherly benevolence. Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli is very much the opposite with clinical readings that decidedly lack poetry. I'm not even going to mention Monique Haas who seems to invade the keyboard as if she was clad in a suit of armour.

This is special: Horowitz playing the Serenade as an encore. Amazingly slow (a full minute slower than Pommier) but amazing in its affective scope too ...

Debussy: Pour le piano

The Debussy saga continues with a marvelous piano work largely new to me. Pour le piano (1894-1902) is usually considered to be heralding Debussy's mature compositions for the instrument. Although some commentators hold forth that his true piano style only emerged with the Estampes, written and published in 1903. I find Pour le piano interesting because it seems to connect so well with the works of his final years. Similarly to the Etudes and En blanc et noir, this is a suite that bears an abstract title and consists of movements with no references to exogenous visual or narrative elements (but rather to the baroque models that Debussy would continue to hold dear). The music has something of the vigour of those later works too. The opening Prelude, with its mixture of brash virtuosity and introspection, would not be out of place in the later set of Etudes. The Sarabande, already written in 1894, is a graceful and luminous aria and one of Debussy's most felicitous melodious inventions (it is perhaps better known in Ravel's orchestration). The closing Toccata gushes forth like a glittering waterfall. I wouldn't be surprised if it transpires that Debussy had been inspired here by Ravel's Jeux d'eau, composed and premiered in 1901.

The reading that captivated me most has been recorded by Jean-Bernard Pommier, included in a bargain-priced edition of orchestral, piano and chamber works originally recorded by Virgin. I don't know much about Pommier (I have just one other CD with Mozart sonatas of his in my collection) but he seems to stand out with an energetic but very classical, poised way of music making: textures are clean, lines clearly contoured, and articulation is unfussy. In Pommier's zesty and confident reading the three movements of Pour le piano really sparkle. Virgin's clear and well balanced technical recording reinforces these qualities.

Monique Haas' recording of this work could not convince me. As in the Etudes, she seems to  hammer the keyboard with clenched teeth. I find her reading to miss subtlety and buoyancy. And the 1970s Erato recording (now repackaged as Warner) is in its coarseness and hollowness really below par.

Dutilleux: Métaboles - Sibelius: Violin Concerto - Prokofiev: Symphony nr. 5

A second live concert in merely three days. And again on invitation by a generous friend. How lucky can you be?! This time we had the Concertgebouw Orchestra on the Bozar stage, led by Valery Gergiev. I was under the impression that we were only going to hear the Sibelius and Prokofiev and so I was surprised when just before the concert the full orchestra was seated with scarcely any room for a soloist. Once Gergiev, with his characteristically fluttering downbeat had put proceedings in motion, I had to guess for a minute or two what composer we were listening to. However, Dutilleux' orchestral palette is so distinctive that it didn't take long to find out that we were hearing his Métaboles. I love this work and Gergiev and the orchestra did it proud with a very precise, lively and atmospheric performance. Bravo! Next was the Sibelius concerto with Leonidas Kavakos as a soloist. I may have one or two recordings of his in my collection but that's pretty much it. So I didn't have a clear picture of what kind of violonist Kavakos is. I was surprised by his rather light, silvery and almost feminine tone. His playing has an appealing purity and unaffectedness and his stage presence radiates a calm that is readily taken up by the orchestra. So we had an almost intimate Sibelius produced by an orchestra-soloist combo that really seemed to listen to one another. No pyrotechnics, no overcooked pathos, but plain music-making at a very high level. One doesn't ask for more. I was pretty elated by this performance. Kavakos offered an interesting, 20th century encore that I couldn't place but I'd love to be able to identify.

After the break we were treated to Prokofiev's magnificent Fifth. Sadly Gergiev's reading did not convince me. Maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise as I disliked his Prokofiev recordings with the London SO so much that I gave them away. I found these readings to sound disjointed, an impression that was reinforced by the highly artificial, collage-like recording. Also tonight the symphony didn't gel. Of course, my immutable reference in this particular work is the truly heartwrenching 1979 recording with Bernstein and the Israel PO. I relistened to it a while ago. As far as I can say, the problem with Gergiev's approach is the choice of tempi, and their interrelationships. In the first movement, exposition and development section were taken at roughly the same tempo with the coda coming in with a slight accelerando. Bernstein takes the exposition (very) slow, but speeds up the development section to tremendous effect. In the coda the tempo slackens again which gives appropriate emotional pause. In addition to the tempo I had the impression that the orchestra was not going full throttle. For me, this introductory Andante has to be cataclysmic and with Bernstein and the Israelis it absolutely is. The performance tonight was rather too straight-laced, the percussion session holding back a lot of their firepower.  

Gergiev's second movement, Allegro marcato, was very well done. Very sprightly, with razor sharp strings. The Adagio then was the real disappointment. Instead of an extatic love song we had a prosaic, rather brisk romp. The finale, then, was ok but by then it was too late to save the performance. All in all sadly not convincing. But, hey, you can't win them all. I was grateful for a very engaging first half of the evening. Thanks to CB for the treat. 

Mozart: Piano Sonatas nr. 8 (KV 310) and nr. 14 (KV 457), Fantasie KV 475

Sokolov’s recital brought that interesting A minor Mozart sonata again to my attention. Today I listened to a reading by Maria Joao Pires. It’s part of her second cycle recorded for DGG in the early 1990s. Her first cycle (from the 1970s on Erato) has been recently reissued by Brilliant Classics. This particular disc in my collection was included in a limited edition 25-CD box issued by DGG on the occasion of Mozart’s 250th anniversary.

Pires’ take on the Allegro maestoso of KV 310 is brisk and finely chiseled. It lacks the weight and momentum of Sokolov’s reading but contains enough light and shade to keep the listener engaged. The Andante cantabile is presented in a wonderfully sensitive way. This is really a highlight. The Presto is deftly dispatched too. All in all this strikes me as a very mature reading that leaves little to be desired.

The other pieces in this collection are played at a similarly high level. The beautiful Fantasie KV 475 (1785) must be one of Mozart’s most darkly romantic inventions, almost Schubertian in its Weltschmerz. The other sonata included on this disc is KV 457, the only other one in a minor key (composed in 1784). It even surpasses nr. 8 in heft and dignity.

All in all a beautiful collection that is worth being rediscovered. The technical quality of the recording is fine, even if the piano sounds a tad dry.

Rameau: Suite en ré - Mozart: Sonata for Piano, KV 310 - Brahms: Händel Variations, 3 Intermezzi op. 117

Yesterday I was generously invited by HVC to a solo recital by the Russian pianist Grigory Sokolov. I've known Sokolov for a while and collected the few available recordings on the Naive label. I witnessed him live two years ago, with, amongst others Chopin's Etudes op. 25. He is likely not a household name, maybe not even for seasoned music lovers. This is due to his very limited discography and his seeming allergy to the traps of stardom. Interviews with him are few and far between. With his rather bulky posture he doesn't correspond to the aesthetic norms imposed by the contemporary music industry. And as far as I know he focuses to a large extent on the solo repertoire and plays only few concertos, eschewing the glamour of playing with a symphony orchestra. But for those in the know Sokolov is one of the most gifted pianists around. He is often mentioned as the natural heir to Sviatoslav Richter.

HVC thinks Sokolov is seeking out the extremes in his interpretations. I agree that there is something larger than life in his performances but it doesn't strike me as forced or recherché. He just happens to project the music on a grand scale, and he has the physical power and stamina to support this with a way of playing that in its granitic and sometimes volcanic qualities is fully commensurate with this panoramic vision. The grandeur is saved from bombast by Sokolov's remarkably poised tone. Yesterday again I've been marvelling at it. It's as if it is composed of a perfectly balanced mix of the four elements: earth, fire, water and air. It has depth and translucence, speed and liquidity all at the same time. Add to that his exceptional technical prowess which gives his playing an air of inevitability and you have to my mind a quite intoxicating mix.

His Brussels recital started with a long suite by Rameau, obviously intended for the harpsichord. Sokolov has a number of these pieces in his repertoire, including work by Couperin, Froberger and Byrd. I'm not at all sure that this is the kind of music that puts Sokolov's art in the best possible light. It seems to be much bound up with the instrument it was conceived for. So, particularly in the slow movements you get the impression of listening to quite simple, almost folkish pieces with elaborate right hand figurations pasted on top. The fast movements, however, had something of that irresistible energy, terraced dynamics and fluidity of line that Sokolov is able to infuse his music with. Then Mozart's serious Piano Sonata nr. 8, KV 310 (1778). Allegedly written in conjuction with his mother's death, it is one of only two Mozart sonatas in a minor key. The quasi monothematic first movement was played with tremendous panache. In its propulsive energy I was reminded of Gulda and maybe even Lipatti. The slow movement came across very well, with a marvelously introspective central section. A short Presto in rondo form brought the first part of the concert to an end.

After the break the programme was fully devoted to Brahms. First Sokolov played the Variations and Fugue on Theme by Händel, op. 24 (1861). It's not a piece I'm particularly fond of and Sokolov didn't change that. Many will disagree but to me the level of musical invention in this piece does not seem to be at a consistently high level. There are marvelous episodes, of course, not in the least the crowning fugue but perhaps the scope of the work exceeded Brahms capabilities who was after all not even 30 years old. Maybe I'm just talking nonsense here. Anyway, Sokolov sovereignly knows his way with piece, sculpting it as if it was out of marble, lending it an air of brazen monumentality. It's impressive how he is able to capture that archtypical Brahms sound, which is really undescribable. The final fugue, which transported us back to Bachian rather than Handelian roots, was an amazing feat which Sokolov offered with an almost orchestral splendor. And all of that dashed off with a surprising equanimity of the person behind the keyboard. The recital closed with the three Intermezzi, op. 117. A weird choice, as far as I'm concerned, to follow up the expansiveness of the Variations with these autumnal, brooding pieces (the famous 'lullabies' to Brahms' sorrows). At this stage I felt my mind wandering, saturated by all the felicities of the evening. The audience responded rapturously, seducing Sokolov (without relinquishing his totally uncommunicative mien) to play two encores: another Brahms piece (not sure what it was) and something I seemed to recognise as a short excerpt from Händel's Water Music.

This was a remarkable recital.

Debussy: Noctures, Images, Jeux, Le Martyre de Saint Sébastien

Decca collected a significant portion of Debussy's orchestral works in a bargain priced 4CD-box, three discs of which are devoted to Charles Dutoit's 1990s recordings with this Montreal orchestra of the time. The final disc contains a heterogeneous mixture of shorter pieces sampled from recordings by Haitink, Chailly and Ansermet. The collection is not complete as it misses out on the Rhapsodie pour clarinette and the two Danses, for example. But it includes less obvious works such as the Boîte à Joujoux and the symphonic pieces from Le Martyre (both by Dutoit).

I was curious to hear these recordings as I assumed that Dutoit would have a handle on this particular repertoire. In his best recordings with the Montreal orchestra he was able to summon a glowing aura of Gallic precision, refinement, abundance and agility (not in the least helped by Decca recordings that were fully in tune with the spirit pervading these readings). It's a vibe that is bound to paint an indulgent smile on a listener's face. These Debussy recording did, unfortunately, not fully convince me. Not that the music making is unsatisfactory, but there's a coolness and matter of factness to the proceedings that I find unusual for this combo. I've listened umpteen times to the Nocturnes over the past months and I can safely say that they will never become my favourite pieces. They just leave me rather indifferent. And Dutoit and his Montreal band didn't change this at all. The full set of Images were already a good deal more interesting, but there was nothing particularly outstanding here. There's a point where I'm always particularly attentive to which is the transition from Iberia's Parfums de la nuit to the Matin d'un jour de fête. Debussy mentioned about this that in his mind it sounded as if it wasn't composed at all. Well in the Dutoit reading there was very little of the evanescence that Debussy would expect. It all sounds rather prosaic, reinforced by an indifferent recording ambience. With Jeux I became slightly more enthusiastic. It's an analytic and bracing reading which goes well with this particular piece. It's always amazing to try and keep track of the caleidoscopic succession of motives, most of them just a few bars long, and to realize that it all adds up to a very compelling whole! Finally, the four symphonic extracts from Le Martyre de Saint Sébastien. For me these pieces remain some of the most compelling music Debussy ever wrote (which doesn't make me much of a Debussyist, I guess). Certainly a lot better than the lacklustre version by Salonen and the LAPO but Dutoit's reading did not match the otherworldly atmosphere that Wand is able to conjure.

Debussy: Etudes II - Chopin: Etudes, op. 25

I'm getting hopelessly behind with the listening diary. Not that I'm spending that much time with music. But I've been writing so much lately that I often don't have the patience to sit down again in front of the keyboard and articulate my listening impressions. So here goes in an effort to bring the whole thing up to date again.

In the wake of the Lang Lang concert, I relistened to a recording of the Chopin op. 25 Etudes by Roustem Saitkoulov, a relatively young Russian pianist of Tatar descent. In 1999 he got the opportunity to record a very fine album for EMI in their Debut series dedicated to Etudes from an eclectic mix of composers (in addition to Chopin also the Russians Arensky, Stravinsky, Scriabin, and Prokofiev). However, after trailing the internet I must conclude that in the meantime his career has not been able to capitalise on this initial success. In any case, his discography is very limited. That does not diminish in any way the pleasure I've had over the years in listening to his rendering of the Chopin Etudes. It's a great interpretation and for me frankly remains the best I've heard. Saitkoulov welds the different strains in this music - supremely lyrical belcanto, romantic introspection, Lisztian grandeur, baroque sternness - into a compelling whole. His playing seems to conjure an effortless grandeur. There's even a symphonic dimension that emerges from his interpretation, with the first six Etudes coalescing in a long introduction of increasing complexity, Etude nr. 7 figuring as a marvelous slow movement, followed by a short scherzando intermezzo (8-9) and the final three Etudes as a monumental finale to the whole edifice. Here is an interesting study guide on the op. 25 that clearly shows what is involved in bringing these pieces to life. Following it alongside an audition of Saitkoulov's rendering deepened my admiration for his artistry. This is a recording I will often return to.

I then went back to Debussy's Etudes, more particularly the second book of the collection of 12. Over the past two weeks I've listened to them many, many times, contrasting three different readings. First, Uchida's justly celebrated 1990 recording on the Philips label (a Gramophone award at the time). Then the classic rendering by Monique Haas (1909-1987), recorded by Erato in the early 1970s. Finally I've been able to snap up an obscure LP with a recording of the Etudes by a Belgian pianist, Marcelle Mercenier (1920-1996; on the Musica Magna label). I've not been able to retrieve the recording date but I guess it is somewhere late 1960s, early 70s. Also, it's astonishing what little information there is to be found on the web regarding this pianist. Here is an obituary published in the Belgian francophone newspaper Le Soir, but that's about it. She taught in Bruxelles and Liège conservatories and was primarily active in the avant garde community. Stockhausen dedicated his first set of Klavierstücke to her. I must also have her recording of the Boesmans piano concerto in the OPL jubilee box.

Anyway, all of these recordings have something to offer. Mercenier is by far the slowest of them all, and yet her reading doesn't plod. It feels like a shadowy, tentative exploration of a complex, multi-layered universe. It's a very distinctive voice we are hearing here which doesn't really sound like Debussy (even like late Debussy). Only in the final etude ('pour les accords') her approach is too deliberate. Debussy allegedly felt this piece shouldn't sound too heavy and in Mercenier's approach it does. All in all a worthwhile reading that I will revisit.

Monique Haas' recordings Debussy recordings have a certain reputation. It's her second take on the Etudes, after her 1957 recording for DGG. Compared to Mercenier, her playing is much more bracing and edgy and brings out the modernist character of these pieces. Technically, the recording sounds a little coarse too, reinforcing the feeling of abrasiveness. This is a reading that asks for a certain commitment from the listener. But it's certainly interesting and worth repeated auditioning.

Uchida's version seems to be the best of all worlds. I admire the feline quality of her playing, investing these very difficult pieces with an amazing suppleness. With the Etudes Debussy moved out of his colouristic orbit into a more abstract universe. I feel they partake from the same spirit as his En blanc et noir, where he explored a much more neutral and steely palette. He went beyond 'impressionism', latching on to the strong, twisted lines of cubism. Not surprising, maybe, given his obsession with what went on in the trenches around him in those times. These are elusive pieces. You can continue to listen to them without ever getting the feeling of being intimate with them. And yet there is great beauty and dignity in these muted colours and strong contours.

Debussy: En blanc et noir

One of the late Debussy works totally unknown to me is his En blanc et noir for two pianos. The work dates from the same explosive summer of 1915 that yielded the Etudes. The summer was charged in more than one sense. Not only was Debussy able to shatter an illness-ridden creative impasse with a dramatic surge of inspiration. From his refuge at Pourville-sur-mer, a picturesque village on the Alabaster coast near Dieppe, he must also have been able to hear the ominous drone of artillery barrages on the Western front only 100 km away. It has been suggested that En blanc et noir has been marked by Debussy's obsession with this violent conflict. It is true that the slow second middle movement has been dedicated to a fallen French officer. And the musical fabric is occasionally traversed by martial motifs such as bugle calls and drum rhythms. But there is as much, if not more, of familiar Debussy emblemata - the toy shop, the nocturnal sea, the drawing room - in this music as there is of carnage. To me, the piece, in all its brevity has the character of a summation, a retrospective glance on a creative path and a life. To be sure there is nothing cheesy about it. We find a similar edginess as in the late sonatas and in the Etudes. Oftentimes the music reminds me of Bartok in its percussive violence and pared down palette. No doubt the clear outlines and shadowy colours were the result of compositional intention. Hence also the title: in white and black. In a letter Debussy referred to Velazquez as an inspiration: "These pieces need to draw their colour, their emotion, simply from the piano, like the 'grays' of Velazquez, if you understand me". Allegedly, the 17th century Spanish master was an important source of inspiration for the Impressionist painters. Paul Roberts in his book on Debussy's piano music quotes Renoir as saying that "... I have found that it is only with black that you can infuse a certain lightness into your painting ... There is nothing more difficult in painting than black and white. Manet's blacks are so beautiful and always done with one brush stroke." Then Renoir went on to talk about Velazquez, of his light shadings, made up of black and white. Another inspiration could have been the symbolist Odilon Redon who produced a great many 'noirs' up until the 1890s (after which he worked almost exclusively in colour). However, I haven't been able to find much evidence of a relationship between Redon and Debussy. Anyway, the ambiguous relationship between earthiness and evanescence that Debussy seemed to be after in this piece, is fascinating.


En blanc et noir consists of three movements, the first of which is a raucous waltz ('avec emportement') built from cascading arpeggios.The second movement ('lent, sombre') is the heart of this piece: it meshes Bartokian night music with a children's song and an almost comical battle music. But there are also reminiscences of the world of the Preludes, with solemn chords drifting in like a warm summer wind. Also in the final Scherzando, dedicated to Stravinsky, the spirit of the Hungarian fellow traveller is close, I find. Some of the right hand flourishes might have come straight from a Bartok piece. Despite the percussive harshness, there is also gaiety and tomfoolery in this music. It reminds me again of that anecdote in which Debussy spent the evening with his guests drawing pigs without lifting the crayon from the paper.

The link between Debussy and Bartok is tantalising. For Bartok the French master stood out above all. I assume this went deeper than simply Debussy "representing the ever-present mood, timbre and good taste of French impressionism" (Janos Demenyi in The Bartok Companion). There is a spiritual kinship between the composers that can not be overlooked. Furthermore, in their approach to the keyboard both adopted an essentially percussive style. Indeed, as Roberts points out in his book Images "this might seem a paradox, considering his mastery of delicate nuance and understatements". However "unlike Bartok, who exploits the percussive nature of the piano through rhythm and accents, articulated the moment the hammer hits the string, Debussy explores the resonances created after the impact of the hammer, as the sounds are dying away". Roberts draws a parallel then with the Javanese gamelan, of which Debussy was very fond: "One of the remarkable features of gamelan music is the way it shows us that percussion is a phenomenon of resonance as much as accentuation". 

The mercurial performance recorded by Bishop and Argerich leaves absolutely nothing to be desired.