Charles-Valentin Alkan: Complete Organ Works, Volume II—13 Prières, Op. 64; 12 Études pour les pieds seulement, Nos. 1-6; Benedictus, Op. 54. Joseph Nolan, organ. Signum Classics. $19.99.
Schumann: Transcriptions by Andreas N. Tarkmann—Waldszenen for Chamber Orchestra; Concerto for Violin transcribed for Clarinet; Tarkmann: September—Intermezzo for Clarinet and String Orchestra. Roeland Hendrikx, clarinet; Lithuanian Chamber Orchestra conducted by Vilmantas Kaliunas. Coviello Classics. $20.99.
The rediscovery of Alkan has understandably focused on his enormous pianistic talents, both as composer and as performer. But Alkan was in fact a keyboard virtuoso, not specifically wedded to the piano. Joseph Nolan is demonstrating that fact quite clearly in his ongoing cycle of Alkan’s music for organ, showing that Alkan – like Liszt – created considerable music for both keyboard instruments. In Alkan’s case, in fact, make that all three keyboard instruments, for Alkan was also a noted virtuoso on the pedal piano, a now-nearly-obsolete instrument that organists could use for practice (since it did not require installation in a church or concert hall) and that performers, definitely including Alkan, could use to display compositions requiring more than the two hands available to piano soloists. In fact, Alkan’s works for pedal piano tend to be listed by him as being for piano three hands if the pedal piano itself is not available – or, failing all that, to be played on the organ. Nolan’s second volume of Alkan’s organ music actually includes a heaping helping of pedal-piano material played on the organ, and is all the more intriguing as a result. The 13 Prières, Op. 64, were designated as being for organ or pedal piano or piano three hands, and under Nolan’s two hands (plus two feet) they are quite impressive, filled with characteristic Alkan oddities and also with a firm sense of control and exploration that lifts them well past the realm of character pieces. Alkan’s skillful mood-setting is continually apparent. There is something spooky about No. 3; No. 6 features unexpected interjections; No. 8 has the fastest tempo marking of the set (Tempo giusto) and seems far too ebullient to be labeled a prayer – unless one remembers that some prayers are expressions of joy and are anything but plaintive. No. 10 is rather weirdly marchlike, and in No. 12, dissonance sneaks into an Allegretto that is otherwise light, bouncy, even jaunty. The set ends Largement et Majestueusement with a piece in which a theme of purity and clarity emerges to supplant the magisterial opening. This is an impressive set of short works – but not as unusual as the 12 Études pour les pieds seulement, the first six of which are heard here (the remainder will presumably follow in a later volume, although the information provided with this disc does not explicitly say so). The notion of composing works only for the pedals of the pedal piano would seem nearly inexplicable for anyone other than Alkan, whose exploratory urges were pretty much unbounded. Hearing Nolan negotiate the organ pedals in so exemplary a manner calls up visions of all sorts of twists and turns and bodily impossibility. The acrobatics required to play these pieces make it seem that the performer must be a contortionist to negotiate them – a very, very skilled contortionist. The third piece, Fughetta, and the fourth and fifth, both marked Moderato, all require levels of pacing and accuracy of execution that are prodigious indeed, and Nolan is all the more impressive for the striking evenness of his playing, which makes it seem as if these short pieces are trifles – which they most definitely are not. The longest work on the disc, lasting about nine minutes here, is Benedictus, Op. 54, and this is a tour de force in many ways – as well as an education in the differences between organ and pedal-piano performance. It is well worth searching for a pedal-piano version of this piece online and listening to it in juxtaposition with Nolan’s organ performance to get an idea of just how wide-ranging Alkan’s thinking and performance capabilities were. The two versions become a study in contrast: the power and dynamism of the organ, called forth so well by Nolan, contrast with the contrapuntal clarity and elegance of the pedal piano, which was Alkan’s first choice for this piece. Nolan’s excellent survey of Alkan’s organ music is becoming an invitation to a further rethinking of the many astonishments of this composer, for whom, it turns out, keyboards of all sorts were entry points to musical experiences unlike any others of his time. Or ours.
The clarinet is scarcely the oddity that the pedal piano is nowadays – certainly since Mozart’s time, it has been quite familiar and much-loved by composers, performers and audiences. But there is something different about its handling by Andreas N. Tarkmann (born 1956). Tarkmann listens to music composed one way and hears it as if it was composed in a different way. He has, for example, transcribed a number of Mendelssohn’s Songs without Words for oboe and string orchestra, producing music that remains curiously true to the works’ underlying spirit even as it presents an aural palette unchosen by the composer. Tarkmann has now turned his attention to Schumann and to the clarinet, for which Schumann certainly knew how to write, witness the Fantasiestücke, Op. 73, for clarinet and piano, and the unusually scored and unusually warm Märchenerzählungen, Op. 132, for clarinet, viola and piano. What Schumann never did was to produce a clarinet concerto – so Tarkmann gives him one, courtesy of an arrangement of Schumann’s Violin Concerto in D minor. Dating to 1853 – the same year as Märchenerzählungen – the concerto has a complex history, was not performed until 1937, and has never garnered as much attention or interest as other important Schumann works. It is important, however, and the potential gain from hearing it played on an instrument other than the violin is at best arguable. Tarkmann nevertheless has re-created it as a clarinet concerto, and it has to be said that it is quite interesting, albeit somewhat quixotic, to hear it in this guise. The arrangement is a clever and skillful one that acknowledges the clarinet’s emotive capabilities while transferring the virtuoso requirements of the concerto, sometimes a bit uneasily, to the solo wind instrument. It is the lyricism of the concerto that is accentuated by Tarkmann, and Roeland Hendrikx presents it with considerable élan, the slow central movement being especially affecting. The finale does not lie as comfortably on the clarinet, although Hendrikx certainly plays it well, and the Lithuanian Chamber Orchestra under Vilmantas Kaliunas provides an attractive accompaniment. In this form, Schumann’s concerto is mostly a curiosity: there is no particular rethinking here, no special level of insight generated by use of the clarinet rather than the violin, although listeners familiar with the concerto may find it intriguing to contemplate it in this unexpected fashion. Much the same can be said of Tarkmann’s chamber-orchestra version of the very familiar Waldszenen, Op. 82. Being better-known than the violin concerto, Waldszenen may be somewhat riper for reconsideration, or consideration from a different angle. Certainly it is atmospheric in unexpected ways: Jäger auf der Lauer, for example, has greater implied menace here than on piano, while Verrufene Stelle is more overtly ominous than on keyboard. In fact, what Tarkmann has done here is to make the implications of Schumann’s piano suite into more-definite character pieces. This makes the music in some senses more accessible, although it has never really seemed inaccessible on piano. Kaliunas does as good a job here as in the concerto, but the whole question of “why?” remains unanswered for both arrangements. Of course, it is easy to respond with “why not?” – and listeners comfortable with that will find this a (++++) CD, although others may look at it more quizzically and rank it as a (+++) offering. For both groups, the three-minute encore written by Tarkmann himself, September, is a pleasant clarinet-and-piano trifle that has the sound of film music – think of a love scene in the countryside. The piece does not aim high, but it reaches its intended level without apparent difficulty, closing the disc with a pleasant mixture of calm and beauty.
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