Lutuslawski | Penderecki: Complete Music for Violin and Piano

LUTOSŁAWSKI | PENDERECKI

Complete music for violin and piano

(1913-1994)

KRZYSZTOF PENDERECKI ( b . 1933)

Complete music for violin and piano

DUO

Foyle-Štšura Duo wishes to thank the following organisations and individuals who have made this recording possible through their invaluable support:

The Nicholas Boas Charitable Trust, Olgarhythm Music Charity, Tania Assaf, Fabrice Bay, Susan Coontz, Astrid and Antonio Di Flumeri, Glyn Eggar, Sir Roger and Lady Gifford, Alicia Grimaldi, Alan Kerr, Dr Cornelia Krause, Francis Lacan, Marc and Lozea de Laperouse, Denis Loretto, Geoffrey Mitchell, Consolación Muñoz, Dame Janet Ritterman, Maureen and Geoffrey Rivlin, David Sanders, Romuald and Susan Szczetnikowicz, Clotilde Walewski, Nigel Woolner MBE, Richard and Jacqueline Worswick and other anonymous donors.

Recorded on 12-14 February 2018 at St Mary’s Parish Church, Haddington

Producer/Engineer: Paul Baxter

24-bit digital editing: Matthew Swan

24-bit digital mastering: Paul Baxter

Piano: Steinway model D, 2016, serial no 600443

Piano technician: Norman W. Motion

Cover photo © Kaupo Kikkas

Design: Drew Padrutt

Booklet editor: John Fallas

Delphian Records Ltd – Edinburgh – UK www.delphianrecords.co.uk

Small-scale chamber music was often not a pressing concern in the 1960s heyday of Polish modernist composition. Two of the period’s leading figures, Witold Lutosławski and Krzysztof Penderecki, had both been promising violinists in their youth, but their common focus now was on orchestral music, concertos, works for voices and ensemble, and, in Penderecki’s case, opera too. They also shared a gift for musical dramaturgy and stylistic innovation, balancing sophistication of construction with expressive immediacy. Here, though, the obvious connections between Lutosławski and Penderecki begin to run out, and it becomes more useful to consider their different responses to the circumstances that permitted their styles to evolve. The eventual destinations of their creative pathways are exemplified by the two major works on this album: Lutosławski’s Partita (1984) and Penderecki’s Violin Sonata No 2 (1999).

Between the invasion of Poland by Germany and Russia in 1939 and Stalin’s death in 1953, Nazi then Soviet repression and censorship reduced opportunities for Polish composers (during World War II) to write works to be made public and (under Stalinism) to explore stylistic innovations. Nonetheless, Lutosławski produced minor and major masterpieces during this period. If the latter include most significantly his Concerto for

Orchestra (1950–54), then among the former we must number Recitativo e arioso (1951).

A gift for Tadeusz Ochlewski, director of the Polish state music publisher PWM, the piece often recalls a key formative influence on Lutosławski: the French composer Claude Debussy, and in particular his three late sonatas, thematic traces of which can be found here. Also Debussian is the music’s exploration of intervallic colour – a key aspect of what would unfold over the next four decades as Lutosławski’s modernist style. Here, the diatonic purity of the violin’s line in the opening recitative is tinctured by a slight chromatic darkening. The rhapsodic aria unravels this expressive and structural knot.

Polish composers were anxious to re-engage with contemporary music by the mid-1950s: hence the surge of innovation that occurred when, after Stalin, they were finally permitted to compose what they desired, not merely as repressive political circumstances permitted. A younger generation of composers strode boldly into this new world; Lutosławski, and other older composers such as Grażyna Bacewicz (1909–1969), had already established an individual voice, and took time to absorb the new reality. A blanker creative slate may thus have been an advantage for those seeking swifter returns. Penderecki, certainly, fast emerged as the most confident exponent of

the rapidly expanding universe of Polish ultramodernism and, particularly, the musical style that came to be known as sonorism. In works including his famous Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima (written in 1960, it would become influential on art music, Hollywood scoring and beyond), Penderecki pushed the boundaries of conventional instrumental technique to fashion music of forthright gestural power and hyper-expressionistic intensity, especially when writing for strings. Indeed, one of his finest compositions of the 1960s – the supremely virtuosic, rumbustiously entertaining Capriccio for Violin and Orchestra (1966) – is the only major work of the decade by Lutosławski or Penderecki to feature a solo violin.

The rapidity and assurance of Penderecki’s journey toward these avant-garde high water marks pays testament to the extraordinary nature of the cultural-historical moment known as the Polish Thaw – the post-Stalinist and socialist realist trickle, then torrent, of compositional re-engagement with modern music and, with it, the fashioning of individual musical styles capable of making a mark in the post-World War II new music marketplace. The process of catching up with fifty years of musical innovation was compressed, in Poland, into a period of about five years. The contrast between Penderecki’s Sonata No 1 for violin and piano (1953) – a piece composed

before he had begun intensive studies as a composer – and his Three Miniatures of 1959 is instructive in this regard. The first of the miniatures is a series of exploded musical intensities, fruit of Penderecki’s absorption of new music from western Europe (Boulez, Nono, Stockhausen); the second, for violin solo (utilising the piano box as a resonance chamber), is a declamatory recitative, injecting the pointillistic style of the first with a dramatic directedness that distinguishes Penderecki’s experiments from his models; the third is more lyrical, and conventionally dialogic between piano and violin, as the musical line is exchanged between partners – although more arresting, at first listen, may be the quasi-sonorist effects plucked from the piano and squeaked out of the fiddle.

The earlier Violin Sonata No 1 had displayed similar confidence, but in this case the stylistic context was Poland’s feisty take on neoclassicism, a manner evinced by other pieces of the period such as Bacewicz’s magnificent Concerto for String Orchestra (1948) and, slightly later, the astonishing Sonata for Two Violins (1957) by Penderecki’s exact contemporary Henryk Mikołaj Górecki. The Penderecki sonata’s opening Allegro is cast in a slimmed-down sonata form, the profile of its two themes – a warped march and more pensive second melody – straightforward to

follow across the movement. It is more difficult to hear the Allegro’s notional pitch centre of F as an anchor, or to perceive further vestiges of the tonal architecture traditionally associated with this form. The work’s opening piano gesture – a swift accrual of savage, clustered dissonance – obliterates such certainties. The Andante second movement serves, longerrange, as an upbeat to the finale, but locally as an intensification of the Allegro second subject’s introspection: Bartókian dark-nightof-the-soul music of considerable textural inventiveness, including weird double- and triple-stopped flutterings. The closing Allegro vivace reprises the shape of the opening movement – a tightly compressed sonata form, its casting thematic, not tonal – to the extent that, by its end, one might begin to hear the entire piece as a kind of sonata deformation, with the first movement an exposition, the second a developmental space, and the third a reprise of the first, recasting its ideas in a parallel world.

The direction of Lutosławski’s modernist development had already been established, in quite fundamental ways, before the Polish Thaw. While his works of the 1960s exhibit some strikingly avant-garde developments, by the decade’s end Lutosławski was creating a series of extraordinary pieces (in the space of ten years his Symphony No 2, Livre pour orchestre,

Cello Concerto, Preludes and Fugue and Les espaces du sommeil) which balance modern innovations with deeper wellsprings of structure and expression. His Debussian approach to twelve-note harmony – expressive and structural contrasts derived from differentiated types of interval combination – is one example of this balancing act, and just as audible, if not more so, in the series of pieces he composed for solo violin in the 1980s and 1990s than in his tonal Recitativo e arioso. Subito (1992) was the last in this series (although he was composing a concerto for violin when he died in 1994). Commissioned as the test piece for an international violin competition in Indianapolis, the work’s Italian title (meaning ‘sudden’) relates to one of its challenges: rapid switchbacks between scherzo-like episodes and dizzyingly lyrical refrains, each with a different intervallic quality. The piece’s structure gradually reverses (and bridges) the polarity of its two components – the initially short episodes eventually dominate the music – with memorable writing in the ecstatic refrains, which recall heady atmospheres conjured by another early Lutosławski influence, Karol Szymanowski (1882–1937), not least in his violin-and-piano Mythes of 1915.

The affective charge of the most powerful moments in Lutosławski’s Partita (1984) stand in marked contrast to Subito’s refrains –

equally intense, but much darker in tone. One of his leanest, most focused compositions, it cuts quite a contrast to the Technicolor sprawl of its popular predecessor, Symphony No 3 (1981–83), while packing no less of an emotive punch. (The composer clearly felt its impact: highly uncharacteristically, he was observed crying during performances of Partita.) The opening Allegro giusto features Lutosławski’s most extended metred writing since the start of the 1960s, when he had begun to develop the ‘limited aleatory’ style which in Partita is confined to two short interludes and to the work’s climax – a chance-influenced procedure whereby each player has a block of notated material to perform soloistically but simultaneously, like concurrent cadenzas. The effect is tantalising in the interludes, savage at the climax.

The first movement’s motoric outer panels relax into the refrains of its central episode; the Presto finale moves several gears higher, reaching the ferocity of its climax via a ramp of textural and rhythmic intensification recalling later Ligeti. It is the central Largo, though, that leaves the strongest impression. While its central passagework recaptures the wistfulness of the opening movement’s cantabile writing, it is framed here by a devastating two-stage lament, the second part of which seems to shatter, at its

culmination, the piece’s musical material. This is one of those moments that call into question the composer’s statements about his later music’s lack of a relationship to the traumas and losses that had marked the first forty years of his life. Lutosławski’s tears, like the Largo, suggest a more delicate story of music and context.

Different times and different contexts haunt the most elongated composition on this disc, Penderecki’s Violin Sonata No 2. Duration, of course, never equates simplistically to substance. Yet over its 35 minutes, his second sonata for these forces accrues a poignant kind of broken-down gravitas. According to Penderecki, the piece was completed on the final day of the twentieth century, and it can be heard to embody millennial tensions, ones which connect to concerns Penderecki had already expressed in the later stages of his career. The composer has become, in a sense, a musical and real-world environmentalist. At his Kraków home, he tends an impressive arboretum of trees; in much of his later music, he curates a version of music history in which his voice extends a neo- and post-Romantic canon linking Mahler to Shostakovich to … Penderecki. If this implies over-confidence, the music itself – like much of the work of his models – admits a disarming blend of doubt and fragmentation.

By comparison with the lean intensity of the five sections of Lutosławski’s Partita, the five movements of Penderecki’s sonata spread their material across the longer spaces required for the emergence of its pensive narrative and the strange little reveries that provide its most touching moments. The opening Larghetto, for instance, introduces the lethargically zigzagging chromatic motif that will unify the work. It promotes a sense of tonality (each zig feels like a leading note) but of slippage too (every zag undermines its predecessor’s hint of tonal centricity). In the Larghetto, furthermore, the tentative opening yields to a shocking chromatic rupture – quadruple stopping, forearm clusters on the piano – outdoing the opening of Penderecki’s first violin sonata for savagery while recalling his ultra-modernist period. Yet this is not to be the prevailing expressive register of this music: instead, it is the ragged wound (read ‘modernism’) that the remainder of the piece will seek to heal through quasi-Romantic means.

The moral of this sonata’s tale, though, is that one can never go back. At the climax of the Allegretto scherzando, the wound threatens to open again. Tonal anchoring (G minor is unproblematically the tonic here) and a play on stylistic types – the knowing playfulness recalls both Mahler and Shostakovich –

prevent disintegration. A more difficult question is how to hear this tonal music alongside the previous movement’s posttonal chromaticism: an extended flashback to a different time, revisited to draw on its strengthening irony? Perhaps this empowers the ensuing Notturno, a broken shadow of the scherzando, distorting and fragmenting the earlier movement’s ironies. Yet the dream state also yields, in three moments of poignancy, a tranquillo that seems to step across the centuries from one fin de siècle to the next – as does the satirical waltz ushered in by the second tranquillo, which unleashes this movement’s revisiting of the sonata’s wound.

An Allegro fourth movement propels the sonata back up-tempo, with toccata-like episodes developing the work’s opening motif. These are interspersed with rhapsodic passages that gain in expressivity as they lose momentum, the violin briefly singing in a tradition shared by Lutosławski and Szymanowski. Its most upbeat passage then refashions a Shostakovich-like two-step into the launch pad for a feroce (‘ferocious’) dissipation of musical logic. In its aftermath, the Andante finale emerges as a reprise of the piece’s opening. Nostalgia cannot heal – indeed ultimately it can only widen – the tear in this musical

fabric. Hence the poignancy of the Andante’s reprise of the tranquillo material, the nearly tonal piano chords interlaced by the violin’s tense but lyrical working through of the chromatic opening idea. An uneasy ending fashions, to its composer’s credit, no simplistic rapprochement. If Penderecki sometimes sounds – in word and score – like a reluctant Noah, here his ark of musical memories is last glimpsed heading out on a darkened sea, toward an uncertain, possibly unreachable shore. Thus does Penderecki capture something of the extended moment of millennial anxiety in which the twenty-first century seems to have been floating since the night he completed his score.

© 2019 Nicholas Reyland

Prof Nicholas Reyland is a musicologist with research interests including recent Polish music, screen scoring, and the analysis of music composed since 1900. His books include studies of Lutosławski, film music, musical narrative, and music and the body. He is Head of Undergraduate Programmes at the Royal Northern College of Music, Manchester.

Biographies

Praised for ‘playing of compelling conviction’ (Daily Telegraph) and ‘astonishing mutual feeling, understanding and responsiveness’ (Seen and Heard International), Foyle–Štšura Duo won the Beethoven Piano Society of Europe Duo Competition and the Salieri–Zinetti International Chamber Music Competition in 2015. Since then they have performed recitals at Wigmore Hall, the Purcell Room, Buckingham Palace, Bridgewater Hall, Usher Hall and the Amsterdam Concertgebouw, as well as in the New York Chamber Music Festival, the Cervantino Festival in Mexico and the Evgeny Mravinsky Festival in Tallinn and St Petersburg. Their performances have been broadcast on BBC Radio 3, NPO Radio 4 and Estonian Klassikaraadio.

Formerly Park Lane Group, Kirckman Concert, Making Music and Live Music Now artists, and having taken masterclasses with both Stephen Kovacevich and Maxim Vengerov, the duo are now City Music Foundation Ambassadors. In 2018 they record a World War One-themed recital for Challenge Records, in addition to the present album for Delphian.

Michael Foyle won The Netherlands Violin Competition 2016, giving an acclaimed performance of Szymanowski’s Concerto No 1 with the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra. In 2017–18 he returns to the Rotterdam Philharmonic and Polish Baltic Philharmonic with Korngold’s Concerto, and makes his Cadogan Hall debut playing Prokofiev’s Concerto No 1 with the English Chamber Orchestra. Other London appearances this season include performances of the Beethoven, Dvorak, Elgar and Tchaikovsky concerti.

Born in Ayrshire in 1991, Michael gave his concerto debut in the Edinburgh Festival Theatre aged eight. He went on to win the BBC Young Musician of the Year Tabor Award in 2008 and the Royal Overseas League String Competition in 2013, before studying at the Vienna Konservatorium with Pavel Vernikov and in London with Maureen Smith and Daniel Rowland. Upon graduation from the Royal Academy of Music, he was awarded the Regency Prize for Excellence and the Roth Prize for the highest violin mark of the year. He has premiered solo and chamber works by over 25 living composers. Michael plays a Gennaro Gagliano violin (1750) on loan and is represented by Interartists Amsterdam. In addition to his solo and chamber performances this season, he appears as guest leader of the BBC Symphony Orchestra and is a Professor of Violin at the Royal Academy of Music.

Maksim Štšura won first prizes at the Beethoven Intercollegiate Piano Competition (2013), the Estonian Piano Competition (2008), the Steinway-Klavierspiel-Wettbewerb in Germany (2004) and the International Frederic Chopin Piano Competition in Estonia (2000). He has appeared as soloist with orchestras such as the Amadeus Chamber Orchestra, Estonian National Symphony Orchestra, St Petersburg State Academic Symphony Orchestra, Wiener Kammersymphonie and the Chester Philharmonic Orchestra. As a chamber musician he is in great demand, collaborating with Jakobstad Sinfonietta (Finland), Mediterranean Chamber Brass (Spain) and Florin Ensemble (UK) among many others.

Maksim studied at the Estonian Academy of Music and Theatre with Ivari Ilja and on exchange at the Hochschule für Musik und Theater Hamburg, before moving to London to complete his Masters and Artist Diploma degrees with Gordon Fergus-Thompson at the Royal College of Music. He has additionally received masterclasses from Dmitri Bashkirov, Stephen Hough, John Lill and Eliso Virsaladze. Alongside his performing career, Maksim is currently completing a doctoral course at the RCM, where his research is focused on piano transcriptions of contemporary orchestral scores. He is a Trustee of the Mills Williams Foundation.

Henryk Mikołaj Górecki: Choral Music

National Youth Choirs of Great Britain / Mike Brewer

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The unique sound of the National Youth Choir of Great Britain is an ideal match for the choral music of Henryk Mikołaj Górecki, music of a monumental radiance which demands a huge and rich sonority. Alongside the ever-popular Totus Tuus, this resplendent recording also contains his 1972 Psalm setting Euntes ibant et flebant, and two recent works here receiving their premieres on disc: the luminous Lobgesang and the thrillingly massive Salve, Sidus Polonorum, for choir, organ, piano and percussion.

‘Performed with a consummate poise which allows this sublime sound to float heavenwards … Breathtaking’

— The Independent, April 2012

The Last Island: chamber music by Peter Maxwell Davies

Hebrides Ensemble

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Peter Maxwell Davies’s later music powerfully evokes the isolated majesty of his Orkney island home, yet it also bears witness to his talent for friendship – to his associations, both personal and musical, with friends and supporters in Scotland and further afield. Among the warmest was with William Conway, whom Davies first encountered as principal cellist of the Scottish Chamber Orchestra and for whom he wrote the demanding solo part of his second Strathclyde Concerto. And it was for Hebrides Ensemble, founded by Conway in 1991, that Davies wrote several of the most impressive and personal works to arise from his late engagement with chamber music – a genre in which he had previously worked rarely, here revealed as the ‘last island’ of this remarkable and prolific composer’s output.

‘Beguiling, even transfigured … Vivid performances’

— Sunday Times, August 2017

softLOUD: music for electric & acoustic guitars

Sean Shibe

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Royal Philharmonic Society Award-winner Sean Shibe makes his second outing on Delphian with a programme of radical contrasts that showcases virtuosity at both extremes. The gentle beauty of Scottish lute manuscripts and of two short instrumental solos by James MacMillan is confronted by, and holds its own against, music by New York-based composers Steve Reich (a breathtaking recording of the now-classic Electric Counterpoint), Julia Wolfe and David Lang.

ROYAL PHILHARMONIC SOCIETY AWARDS 2018

Instrumentalist Award – shortlisted Young Artist Award – winner

‘Sean Shibe has made one of the best recordings of Electric Counterpoint ever’ — Steve Reich

Solitudes: Baltic Reflections

Mr McFall’s Chamber

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No one knows quite when tango was established in Finland, but the style has a long history there – still little known to outsiders – and combines rhythmic interest and yearning melody with a distinctively Nordic melancholy. In this ingeniously curated programme, two Finnish tangos from the 1950s and a tango-based work by Finnish classical composer Aulis Sallinen are woven into a bold tapestry of music from the Eastern Baltic seaboard. Longing, sadness, and a heightened sense of nature infuse all of these works, which also reveal intriguing stylistic connections: the rocking accompaniment of Sibelius’s Einsames Lied seems to prefigure the ‘Baltic minimalism’ of Vasks, Pärt and Zita Bružaitė, while Olli Mustonen’s Toccata alternates rhythmic verve with a rich vein of reflective memory. These original compositions are complemented by Robert McFall’s own sensitive arrangements for a core McFall’s line-up of five strings and piano, and the programme culminates in a truly unique version of Sibelius’s famous Finlandia Hymn.

Out of the Silence: orchestral music by John McLeod

Evelyn Glennie, Royal Scottish National Orchestra / John McLeod, Holly Mathieson

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Energetic and active in his eighties, John McLeod continues to enjoy a resurgence heralded – among a flurry of commissions and premieres – by Delphian’s 2015 album of his chamber music. Its distinctive colour and drama are equally evident in the orchestral works assembled here, three of them under the composer’s own baton. The Shostakovich Connection (1974) and Out of the Silence (2014) pay homage respectively to the Russian master’s Fifth Symphony and to the maverick yet impeccable craftsmanship of the Danish composer Carl Nielsen. The Percussion Concerto – a substantial display piece – makes full use of the extraordinary talents of Evelyn Glennie, for whom it was written thirty years ago, while the Hebridean Dances, in lighter vein yet no less vivid, bring proceedings to a rousing finish.

‘Beginning in hushed tones, this develops into something magical … [The Percussion Concerto] is particularly impactful, utilising the nuanced sounds of every instrument’ — BBC Music Magazine, August 2018

Lyell Cresswell: Music for string quartet

Red Note Ensemble

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Two ends of the world are bridged in the compositional output of Lyell Cresswell, whose unique body of work has been a vital presence in his adopted home of Scotland for four decades now while retaining qualities of light, space and openness that evoke his native New Zealand. The imposing String Quartet plays host to a wealth of detail which enriches but never obscures the ‘long, strong tune’ that threads through the work. Capricci is a set of vividly individual dances, Ricercari a sequence of variations inspired by Cresswell’s favourite living painter. Instrumental virtuosity comes to the fore in Kotetetete, whose title puns on ‘quartet’ and on the Maori word for ‘chattering’.

‘The arched intensity of this performance is breathtaking’

— The Scotsman, April 2018

Valentin Silvestrov: Piano Sonatas

Simon Smith

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Following his acclaimed recording of Alfred Schnittke’s complete piano music, Simon Smith turns his attention to Schnittke’s near-contemporary, the Ukrainian composer Valentin Silvestrov (b. 1937). Smith’s precision and technical agility make him the ideal choice for this first survey to focus on the 1970s – an important period in the formation of Silvestrov’s later style. The Classical Sonata is an ostensibly Mozartian work in which nothing is quite as it seems, while its three numbered successors provide further glimpses into Silvestrov’s unique relationship with memory and the past: this is deliberately hazy music, whose precisely notated pedal effects and nuanced half-lights leave the listener suspended, as Tim Rutherford-Johnson’s poetic and informative booklet essay puts it, ‘among glitter and the clouds’. Concluding the disc, the short Nostalghia represents the mature Silvestrov, with its yearning melodic fragments and complex emotional undertow.

Rachmaninov / Shostakovich: Sonatas for cello and piano

Robert Irvine, Graeme McNaught

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‘Rarely can [the Rachmaninov] have been recorded in a performance of such potent and poetic intensity, intelligence and clarity as that which … Irvine and his responsive, vital pianist, Graeme McNaught, give here. Shostakovich’s Cello Sonata is equally well done: poised, subtle and controlled where it needs to be, but appositely pugnacious, brittle and pointed in the scherzo’ — Sunday Times, July 2008

‘… performances of exhilarating musicality and intimate understanding. Proof couldn’t be stronger that it’s not always the most marketed names that produce the finest interpretations’ — Classic FM Magazine, September 2008