Classical

This version of the ballet, called Chopiniana, was first produced at a charity performance at the Maryinsky Theatre, St. Petersburg, on March 8th, 1908. The thought of creating a Chopin ballet had come to the choreographer in a music shop while turning over the pages of Glazunov’s Chopiniana, a suite composed of orchestrations of four Chopin piano pieces—a polonaise, nocturne, mazurka and tarantella. Fokine added to these a waltz—the Op. 64, No. 2 in C sharp minor—which Glazunov also orchestrated at his request.

The ballet opened with a stately Polonaise danced by the corps de ballet in rich Polish costumes. In the Nocturne, Chopin himself was depicted, seated at his piano in a ruined monastery and menaced by the ghosts of dead monks as he attempted to compose. The Mazurka showed a Polish wedding celebration, at the height of which a young girl left her elderly husband-to-be to run off with her lover. The Waltz was a classical pas de deux in which the costume worn by the danseuse (Anna Pavlova) was copied from that originally worn by Taglioni in the famous 19th-century Romantic ballet La Sylphide. This pas de deux of a sylph and a poet was to be the nucleus around which Les Sylphides as we know it was to grow. The ballet concluded with a Tarantella danced by a gay Neapolitan throng.

Dissatisfied with the ballet, Fokine produced a second version of Chopiniana, danced by students of the Imperial Ballet School at a pupils’ performance on April 6th of the same’ year. The C sharp minor Waltz was retained in Glazunov’s orchestration, but otherwise. a new suite of Chopin pieces was assembled by the choreographer and this time orchestrated by Maurice Keller. The setting was now a moonlit glade and all the danseuses wore white muslin ballet dresses á la Taglioni, the single male dancer the traditional romantic costume of white tights and silk blouse under a short black velvet tunic. When Fokine joined Diaghilev the following year to help form a company with which to acquaint Western Europe with the glory of Russia’s ballet achievement, Chopiniana was taken into the repertoire and renamed Les Sylphides, on the suggestion of Alexandre Benois, who designed a new decor for the production first given at the Theatre du Chatelet, Paris, on June 2nd, 1909. Since then Les Sylphides has been produced by practically every ballet company of note.

The Prelude in A major, Op. 28, No. 7, heard first as a short overture, establishes the rapt, dream-like atmosphere that is later sustained throughout even the most animated sections of the choreography. The Nocturne in A flat major, Op. 32, No. 2, danced by the full company, is followed by the Waltz in G flat major, Op. 70, No. I, a rhythmically intricate solo for a premiere danseuse. Then, to the Mazurka in D major, Op. 33, No. 2, the danseuse Rolle emerges from the shadows to cross and circle the stage in bounding grands jetes. To the Mazurka in C major, Op. 67, No. 3, the premier danseur performs an elegant variation In which the basic steps of the Polish mazurka can be clearly’ discerned. An exquisitely restrained solo for a premiere danseuse is danced to the same A major Prelude that has already served as overture. The Waltz in C sharp minor, Op. 64, No. 2, is the music for the pas de deux performed by the leading ballerina and male dancer; and finally the Grande Valse brilliante in E flat major, Op. 18, is danced by the entire company.

The difficulty of preserving the Intimate delicacy of Chopin’s music while at the same time making it theatrically effective has taxed the ingenuity of many arrangers since Les Sylphides was first given. Disliking Keller’s orchestration, Diaghilev commissioned a fresh version from four Russian composers—Stravinsky, Tcherepnin, Lladov and Glazunov. Other composers, who have orchestrated the music include Taneyev, Gretchaninov, Rieti, Gordon Jacob, Benjamin Britten and Ainslie Murray and Felix White. Gretchaninov’s version Is heard on this recording and the order in which the dances are played, which differs from that adopted in the ballet, is as follows: Prelude, Op. 28, No. 7; Nocturne, Op. 32, No. 2; Waltz, Op. 70, No. I; Prelude, Op. 28, No. 7; Mazurka, Op. 67, No. 3; Mazurka, Op. 33, No. 2; Waltz, Op. 64, No. 2; Grande Valse brillionte, Op. 18.

dance music for three-quarters of a century. Johann Strauss, Senior, the founder of the dynasty, was the first to be acclaimed ” Waltz King “. But the crown was soon wrested from him by his eldest son, Johann the Younger, who surpassed his father’s achievement in every field, except possibly as a conductor. But if the name of Strauss is synonymous with the Viennese waltz, it should not be forgotten that the family—including the other sons Josef and Eduard—wrote an even greater number, all told, of polkas, galops, marches and quadrilles to satisfy the insatiable popular demand of the day.

Father Strauss is represented on this record by the work by which he is nowadays best remembered, the Radetzky March—though his contemporaries would no doubt have plumped for his Lorelel-Rheinkldnge Waltz or Donaulieder. It was composed as a tribute to General Radetzky after his victories at the head of the Hapsburg armies over the Italian forces in 1848. Revolution was in the air in Vienna, Radetzky was the popular hero of the Republicans, and tempers ran high. Strauss, a loyal monarchist, had intended his new March merely as an expression of patriotic feeling, but it was invested by the Viennese with a political significance it was not meant to carry, and the resulting outcry did great harm to his reputation. However, the matter was soon forgotten and the March came to be regarded as Austria’s unofficial national anthem.

As with his waltzes, the marches and polkas of Johann II show a greater sophistication than those of his father. The glittering Oriental colouring of the Egyptian March recalls the turquerie of Mozart’s Entfuhrung. Dedicated to Archduke Friedrich of Baden, the March was first heard at one of the promenade concerts given by the Strauss Orchestra at the famous Baden-Baden Spa. The Annen Polka, with its wistful feminine charm, stands out as something of an exception among Johann’s hundreds of racy polkas. It can be taken as a portrait of his mother, Anna Strauss, after whom Strauss, Senior, also named a polka.

As their titles suggest, Thunder and Lightning and Explosions are two of the most exuberant of Strauss’s polkas, their unbuttoned boisterousness making a perfect contrast with the delicate plucked-string effects of the famous Pizzicato Polka, a joint composition of Johann and his brother Josef, who quite possibly contributed the Trio section. Tritsch-Trotsch, another popular favourite, amusingly depicts the tittle-tattle of scandal-mongers and gossips. The Overture to Waldmeister is all that is ever heard nowadays of Strauss’s penultimate operetta. The story, about a village whose inhabitants become mysteriously Inebriated, was blamed for the work’s failure, though Brahms admired it and left a token of his respect for the composer by adding a counter-melody for the first violins to the waltz theme at the point where It returns near the end played by the flutes.

David Hunt

But the elements of pageantry, excitement and sensuality found even more triumphant expression in Opus 35 —which is Scheherazade. Rimsky always regarded this work with special interest and affection, suspecting perhaps that here he had created his immortal monument.

The career of Rimsky-Korsakov got off to a singularly unpromising start.

In the Navy circles in which, as a midshipman, young Rimsky moved, he was conceded to be indifferent officer material but a first-rate musician.

Among musicians, he was rated a rather bad pianist.

On reaching his twenty-first birthday in 1865, Rimsky had yet to decide just where he belonged. He loved the sea; but the dull, vulgar, and inhuman life with the Tsar’s Imperial Navy depressed him. And although he possessed an unmistakeable musical gift, Rimsky’s disposition was better suited to being an aristocratic young dilettante than to study, practice, and serious composition.

Yet, from such lean beginnings finally emerged one of the most astonishing talents in music!

Of the group of rebellious Russian composers later to be immortalized as the Mighty Five, Rimsky is considered by many as the mightiest. Balakirev, Cui, Moussorgsky, and Borodin made up the rest of the coterie. These five young men were the musical manifestation of the drive toward nationalism which all Russia was feeling at the time. Together they waged war on traditional “conservatory” music, as symbolized to them by Rubinstein and Tchaikovsky. Each of the five had his special genius to contribute. But none of the group (and, indeed, very few composers before or since) addressed himself with such success to the imagination of his listeners, as did the composer of Scheherazade.

It is to the lasting credit of Mili Balakirev, leader of the young dissidents, that he saw beyond Rimsky’s ignorance of harmony, notation, and the use of the musical instruments themselves. With a teacher’s intuition, Balakirev guessed at Rimsky’s latent greatness and goaded his protege to abandon mere musical dabbling. Not only was such waste of talent an abomination, but the Mighty Five needed a major musical work with which to gain recognition and stature. Thus Rimsky-Korsakov’s First Symphony, performed in 1865, was also the group’s first public testament.

The audience applauded, then gasped, as the composer was brought out onto the stage wearing his Naval uniform! But by September of the same year, Rimsky’s sailing days had ended, and he settled down to work in St. Petersburg. As he learned, he composed. And as he composed, he learned. Two fresh works: Sadko (1867), a symphonic poem; and the opera, The Maid of Pskov (1868 ) further established his success.

Yet he was scarcely prepared, in 1871, for an incredible stroke of luck: his appointment to a professorship at the St. Petersburg Conservatory. Urged on by his friends (particularly by Balakirev who jumped at the chance to plant one of his rebels in the hostile Conservatory), Rimsky accepted the post. Had he known a little more about music at the time, he would have been appalled at the magnitude of his own inadequacy. When the realization did smite him, it was too late to back out.

By diligent application and brilliant bluffing, Rimsky managed to hide his ignorance from his students and, eventually; to keep one jump ahead of them. As the composer explains: “… having been undeservedly accepted at the Conservatory as a professor, I became one of its best and possibly its very best pupil!”

He was engrossed in some revisions of Borodin’s Prince Igor when he received the inspiration for an orchestral piece derived from and suggesting the exotic tales of the Arabian Nights. And, in the summer of 1888, the symphonic suite in four movements — entitled Scheherazade, was completed.

In all of music it is hard to single out another composition equalling Scheherazade’s power to liberate the imagination of the listener and send it flying by magic carpet to the strange and wonderful world which Rimsky-Korsakov conjured up—a land of Oriental splendor—of djinns and magical fantasies-of heavy-lidded princesses — glistening Nubians — cruel Caliphs — beautiful slave-girls dancing and stamping their little belled feet in the crowded bazaar.

Each listener, according to his special mood and fancy, may improvise symbols of his own — just as did the composer of the music and the choreographer of the famous ballet based upon it.

For Rimsky-Korsakov intended his tone poem to be evocative rather than narrative. The “kaleidoscope of fairy-tale images”— as he himself characterized it — shifts from one to another with no continuing plot.

The titles of the four movements: The Sea and Sinbad’s Ship; The Kalander Prince’s Tale; The Prince and the Princess; The Bagdad Festival and the Ship Dashing Upon the Rock Surmounted by the Bronze Statue of a Warrior — serve mainly as thematic cues. The combined effect of these four movements is a melodic reflection of some of the tales by which the Sultana Scheherazade —over a period of A Thousand and One Nights — charmed her surly husband, the Sultan Schahriar, out of the notion of executing her.

The first violins establish the theme of Scheherazade as narrator. This same theme, repeated and embellished, leads to other musical figures and to other images. Wood-winds, horns, harp, cymbal, and tambourine take their turns assembling the mosaic of sound and enchantment.

Here is magnificent proof of Rimsky-Korsakov’s pain-fully acquired virtuosity. Every symphonic ornament is exhibited in this satisfying work, as though the composer had challenged not only himself but the orchestras and. conductors who would perform it. A concert showpiece from the day of its debut, Scheherazade makes exacting demands, ranging from pianissimo solos to its fortissimo climax and exploiting all of the colorations and shadings of musical sound.

No amount of repetition can diminish the vitality of such a composition. It brings something new and wonderful to all who hear it for the first — or for the hundredth — time.

WILLIAM STEINBERG is justly celebrated as one of the foremost conductors of our time. Coming to the United States in 1938 with a European reputation of the highest order, he has since distinguished himself with equal success and acclaim on this continent. His memorable appearances with most of the nation’s major symphony orchestras are climaxed now in his permanent conductorship of the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, with which he displays the full scope and sensitivity of his magnificent talent. Among their recordings are these works:
BEETHOVEN: Symphony No. 6 (“Pastoral”) P-8159
SCHUBERT: Symphony No. 2 Symphony No. 8 (“Unfinished”) P-8162
STRAUSS: Till Eulenspiegel Death and Transfiguration P-8291
BEETHOVEN: Symphony No. 5 Symphony No. 8 P-8292
RACHMANINOFF: Symphony No. 2 P-8293
TCHAIKOVSKY: Serenade in C Major PROKOFIEV: Classical Symphony P-8290
TCHAIKOVSKY: Symphony No. 5 in E Minor P-8325

The former, the composer’s first essay into the ballet world, was partly a matter of financial necessity and partly a desire to experiment in a new medium. Its initial failure in 1877 was it is said, due to the music being too impressive for audiences brought up to believe that in ballet the music should he of secondary importance. A later production at the Maryinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg two years after Tchaikovsky’s death was a huge success. and the ballet has since been performed the world over in its various forms. although it was not till the Royal Ballet performance in 1934 that the full-length version was staged outside Russia. Based on “The Nutcracker & The Mouse King”. Alexander Dumas’ version of an E. T. A. Hoffman story. the Nutcracker (or “Casse Noisette”) also survived an initial flop to become one of the most popular items in the repertoire and its music some of the best-loved of all time. Here we have five of the Danses Caracteristiques, including the Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairy, the first piece ever written to feature the celesta, then a new invention by Auguste Music!.

Leo Delibes (1836- 1891) Although “Iii Source” is generally credited to Delibes, a large part of the music was actually written by Ludwig Minkus (1827 1896). As a ballet it has been overshadowed by Delibes’ later “Coppelia” and “Sylvia”. but the music (particularly the charming little waltz. known under the ballet’s alternative title of Naila) remains familiar, and the Dance Circassienne in particular is a welcome and lively addition to these ballet scenes.

Georges Bizet (1838- 1875) The second suite of Bizet’s incidental music to Alphonse Daudet’s play “L’Arlesienne” was compiled after his death and re-scored for larger orchestra by Ernest Guiraud. who included the Minutetto from Bizet’s earlier “Fair Maid Of Perth”. The Farandal is basically a peasant dance based on a Provencal melody Dance des Chivaus-Frus, but set to the counterpoint melody of the Marcho dei Rei it becomes an exciting and superb orchestral show piece.
Arthur Jackson

The Czechs call their great river the Vltava, but it is known in German as Moldau, and it is under this name that Bedřich Smetana’s tone poem has won world fame. Smetana, even more than Dvořák, was the Czech composer who best expressed his country’s nationalistic pride. According to one story, on a visit to Liszt in Weimar Smetana heard a Viennese composer named Herbeck remark that the Czechs were imitative rather than original, and he determined to prove him wrong. He did so by eventually producing two undoubted masterpieces, the opera The Bartered Bride and the symphonic cycle My Fatherland (Má Vlast), from which The Moldau is taken.

It took Smetana five years (1874-79) to complete Má Vlast, and his purpose was simple: he wished to exalt his country, then under Austrian rule. He dedicated his symphonic cycle to the city of Prague, and he selected as the subjects for its six tone poems the various historic and geographic sites which symbolized some aspect of his nation’s greatness. The second of these was the river Moldau, and Smetana himself has left us a graphic description of what he meant to depict in this tonal portrait:

Two springs pour forth in the shade of the Bohemian forest, the one warm and gushing, the other cold and tranquil. Their waves, joyfully flowing over their rocky beds, unite and sparkle in the morning sun. The forest brook, rushing on, becomes the River Moldau, which, with its waters speeding through Bohemia’s valleys, grows into a mighty stream. It flows through dense woods from which come the joyous sounds of the chase, and the notes of the hunter’s horn are heard ever nearer and nearer.
It flows through emerald meadows and lowlands, where a wedding feast is being celebrated with song and dancing. At night, in its shining waves, wood and water nymphs hold their revels, and in these waves are reflected many a fortress and castle—witnesses of bygone splendour of chivalry, and the vanished martial fame of days that are no more. At the Rapids of St. John the stream speeds on, winding its way through cataracts and hewing the path for its foaming water through the rocky chasm into the broad river bed, in which it flows on in majestic calm toward Prague, welcomed by the time-honoured Vysherad [the citadel], to disappear in the far distance from the poet’s gaze.

The music illustrates this programme with admirable clarity and beautiful colours. Flutes depict the first gushing spring, clarinets the second. The flowing Moldau theme first appears in the strings; it gives way temporarily to the romantic sounds of a hunt (horns and trumpets), and to the rhythms of a polka, indicating a rustic wedding on the shores. There are suggestions of moonlight on the waters (muted strings, embellished by woodwinds and harp), and then, after the Moldau theme is briefly restated, the river courses through the turbulent rapids. Finally, the Moldau theme takes command in its full majesty as the mountain stream becomes a mighty river flowing past the citadel Vysherad, reflecting in its waters the glories of a great people, and then receding into the distance, with two decisive chords signalling an end to the work.
The Moldau theme itself is a stroke of genius. Few melodies could suggest a river more vividly than this flowing, rolling music, whose very phrases lead into one another with a constant forward surge. It is music of majestic spirit, tinged ever so slightly with sadness (its first appearance is in a minor key), and somehow having the flavour of a folk song. Oddly enough, the Central European folk melody which served as Smetana’s inspiration for this work was later adapted as the Zionist hymn Hatikvah (The Hope) and eventually became the national anthem of Israel. Thus, The Moldau, in a way Smetana never dreamed of, became an expression of the unconquerableness of the human spirit.

Just as The Moldau is Smetana’s greatest symphonic work, so The Bartered Bride is his operatic masterpiece. Stage performances of this bubbling rustic comedy have increased in recent years, but audiences continue to know the work chiefly through the Overture and Three Dances which typify its gay’ and cheerful spirit. The Overture ranks with Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro Overture as a pure distillation of comedy into music. It is compounded principally of material from the Act II Finale of the opera, and is one of those pieces that make thematic analysis seem superfluous and pretentious. The Three Dances are a Polka, a Furiant, and the Dance of the Comedians. All stem from the colourful stage action, the Polka occurring at the climax of Act I, when a group of Bohemian villagers stage an impromptu dance, and the Furiant at the outset of Act II, following a joyous chorus in praise of beer – “a heavenly gift, which drowns all trouble.” The final dance takes place where a circus troupe arrives on the scene and performs a pantomime act.

Antonin Dvořák succeeded Smetana as Bohemia’s leading composer and won even wider acclaim abroad. His Slavonic Dances, which first made his name known in his own country and beyond, were written both in two-piano and orchestral versions.

The Carnival Overture, written in 1891, has remained one of his most popular compositions. It originally was part of a symphonic work which Dvořák took with him on his visit to the United States in 1892, and which he conducted at his debut concert in New York’s Carnegie Hall. This tripartite work was entitled Triple Overture: Nature, Life, Love.

Subsequently, the parts were separated, and the Life portion was published under the title Carnival. Never noted for its subtlety, Carnival’s spirited Slavonic measures provide a rousing picture of mirth and merriment. Dvořák once said that this work was meant to depict the feelings of “a lonely, contemplative wanderer reaching a city at twilight when a carnival is in full sway. On every side is heard the clangour of instruments mingled with shouts of joy and unrestrained hilarity of the people giving vent to their feelings in songs and dance tunes.” A quieter middle section, full of murmurings of winds and strings, suggests that, even during the revelry, there is a passing moment for pastoral romance. The Carnival Overture remains in our day, no less than in Dvořák’s, a brilliant and exciting orchestra showpiece.

The list of composers of other nationalities who have sought inspiration from Spain is indeed lengthy and includes such diverse musicians as Domenico Scarlatti, Boccherini, Glinka, Rimsky-Korsakov, Balakirev, Moszkowski, Liszt, Chopin, Lalo, Chabrier, Bizet, Debussy, Ravel, Elgar, Lord Berners and William Walton.

Scarlatti and Boccherini made their homes in Spain, the former spending nearly thirty years at the Spanish court and thoroughly imbibing the Spanish idiom. Some of Scarlatti’s essercizi (sonatas) might almost be Spanish dances, for the influence of the jota and other dance forms is there for all to hear. Some of his pieces, too, reflect the influence of the guitar. Boccherini admitted to some of his music being inspired by the playing of Padre Basilio, a noted guitarist of the time, and he even wrote three quintets for strings and guitar.

Of the non-Spanish composers mentioned above, Lalo, Chabrier, Debussy and Ravel assimilated the Spanish style most successfully, Chabrier visited Spain during the summer of 1882 and made for Andalusia post-haste where, notebook at the ready, he listened to all the Spanish music he could and jotted down as many melodies and rhythms as he could manage. On returning to France he incorporated some of these ideas in an orchestral work. The composition, which he called Espana, was first heard at a Lamoureux concert on 6th November, 1883, where it received a most enthusiastic reception from the audience. In the opinion of Manuel de Falla “no Spaniard has succeeded better than Chabrier in giving us, with such authenticity and genius, the version of a jota as it is ‘shouted’ by the peasants of Aragon in their nocturnal rounds.”

Debussy visited Spain on one occasion only, when he attended a bullfight at San Sebastian, and it was the authentic cante jondo singers at the Paris Exposition of 1889-1890 who really drew his attention to Spanish music. His own works which are Spanish in style include the orchestral Iberia, La puerta del vino, Soiree dans Grenade, the second movement of the String Quartet, which bears the indication “Assez vif et bien rythme,” Mandoline, and Danse Profane. Debussy furnishes an impressionist’s view of Spain and a coloured postcard from Falla was sufficient inspiration for the piano prelude La puerta del vino, where the curving melody of the cante jonde is cleverly hinted at. Of the second movement of the String Quartet, Falla wrote that it “might pass for one of the finest Andalusian dances ever written.”

Ravel’s parents lived in Spain for a lengthy period and the composer himself was born within a short distance of the Spanish border in the Basque town of Ciboure. It therefore seemed natural that he should succumb to the lure of Spain. Spanish traits are displayed in the Rapsodie espagnole, though he does not employ actual folk tunes. Another work very Hispanic in colouring and feeling is Alborada del gracioso. Although his opera L’Heure espagnole is set in Spain and is one of his most brilliant efforts in a lighter vein, it does not evoke the Iberian peninsula to the same extent as the other works mentioned.

Edouard Lalo was a Frenchman of Spanish descent and his Spanish Symphony – really a violin concerto in five movements – was written for Pablo de Sarasate, the celebrated Spanish violin virtuoso. The work was given its first performance by Sarasate and the Colonne Orchestra of Paris at the Theatre Chatelet on 7th February, 1875.

The initial movement (Allegro non troppo) of the Symphonic espagnole opens with an introduction which utilises material from the first subject. The orchestra plays the theme fortissimo and it is developed to serve as an orchestral ritornello. The violin then enters and some development takes place. Passage work ensues, leading to a short tutti, and the second theme is announced by the soloist. There is little true development but the recapitulation is elaborated. A brief coda, based on the first theme, terminates the movement.

The second movement, sometimes omitted in concert performances, is a Scherzando (Allegro molto), beginning with a sprightly prelude played by the orchestra. The solo violin introduces a cantabile theme which is developed and one recognises figures from the opening in the accompaniment. The recapitulation is normal.

The third movement, an Intermezzo (Allegretto non troppo), is also sometimes omitted. It starts with an energetic theme on the strings which, after discussion, is interrupted by the soloist with a fresh theme. An animated episode develops from this, furnishing the soloist with opportunities for displaying his technique. The theme introduced by the violin after the orchestral prelude eventually returns.

The fourth movement, an Andante, opens with an orchestral prelude, after which the movement’s main theme, a cantilena, is heard from the violin and developed very simply. The second theme, also enunciated by the violin, is more ornamented. The first theme returns before a short coda ends the movement.

The Rondo-Finale (Allegro) opens with a spirited orchestral introduction, after which the soloist enters with the chief theme. The development of this theme and the presentation of one or two subsidiary themes provides the basis of the movement.

Niccolo Paganini can, with justification, be called the ‘Liszt of the violin’. Like Liszt, he embodied in his playing the summit of technical wizardry to which his contemporaries aspired, and his reputation is still surrounded by an aura of mystery and legend. Like Liszt, too, he was also a composer, though not to such a prolific extent. More particularly, besides leaving a sizeable body of original music, he used other men’s compositions as vehicles for variations, fantasias and so on, and both of the pieces on this record are of this type. (Posterity has returned the compliment to Paganini whose own ’24th Caprice’ has been the subject of variations by many subsequent composers, notably Brahms, Rachmaninov, Boris Blacher and Lutoslawski). It is an interesting thought that much music, long neglected or forgotten in its original form, still has a claim to posterity through the reworking of other composers. Such might be said of Paisiello’s La Molinara, a two-act opera dating from about 1788 and long since banished from the stage along with his 100 or so others. Paganini based his variations on the bass aria ‘Nel cor pib non mi sento’ (a theme also used by Beethoven for the same purpose). It appears that several versions of this piece exist, the one on this record being a transcription from memory by Carl Guhr, first published in 1831. (Guhr was acquainted with Paganini and it was the latter’s playing which inspired him to write his treatise on ‘The Art of Playing the Violin’.) There are seven variations, one in G minor and the rest in G major. Each has some special form of virtuosity – in the third there are double shakes in harmonics, and in the last widespread ascending and descending arpeggios. The theme and third variation are written on two staves, one for the bowed melody played with the right hand, and the other for pizzicato notes that are played with the left. There also exist three other manuscripts of the piece, one in Paganini’s hand and entitled ‘Caprice’. They differ in many respects from the Guhr transcription and show that Paganini did not always play the piece in the same way as Guhr transcribed it. A programme of 1837 indicates that the composer also played the work with orchestra.

Rossini’s Mose in Egitto (‘Moses in Egypt’) provided the basis for the Fantaisie which was originally scored for violin with orchestra. Berlioz commented on this work, declaring that Paganini used the bass drum to better effect than in Rossini’s original aria (the ‘Prayer’ sung by the bass). Whereas Rossini had placed a drum-stroke on the first beat of the bar, Paganini placed it on the syncopated beat. When one admirer, while complimenting Paganini on this piece, happened to point out that Rossini had at least furnished him with a beautiful theme, Paganini replied “That’s true, but he didn’t invent my bang on the big drum”.

It is most likely that the present arrangement with piano accompaniment, as well as an arrangement for string quartet, were provided by the original publisher Ricordi. The violin part is written entirely for the G string in ‘scordatura’ (that is, the string is retuned a third higher to B flat). The introductory Adagio in E flat minor is based on the ‘prayer’ aria. The theme is repeated three times, the second time an octave higher, and the third time with harmonics. There then follows a ‘tempo alla marcia’ in the major key, which is a paraphrase of the march and chorus from the opera. Three variations, the third in harmonics, and a short coda conclude the piece.
© Art &Sound Ltd, 1974

SALVATORE ACCARDO was born in Naples on 26th September, 1941, and began to study the violin at the age of six under Luigi d’Ambrosia, Professor at the Conservatoire S. Pietro a Majella di Napoli, and later with Yvonne Astruc at the Academia Chigiana in Siena. He began his brilliant career at the age of fourteen, winning the National Competition ‘Arts’ in Milan, and was elected by the Chigiana Academy to play a Wieniawski Concerto on Italian Television. Graduating from Naples Conservatoire in 1956 he was the only one to reach the finals in the Geneva International Competition, being honoured with a special award. The following year he shared the first prize at Geneva in the Paganini Inter-national Competition and in 1958 was adjudged the winner, being granted the privilege of playing on Paganini’s violin -the famous ‘Guarnieri del Gesu’, the first competitor ever to do so. In 1965 he also won the ‘Diapason’ Prize with this inscription: ‘To Salvatore Accardo, a violinist of high calibre, a very young artist with much to commend him, who has established himself amongst the largest concert organizations of the world’. He has given concerts for the most important societies in Italy and in the capital cities of Europe. He completed his sixth tour not only in the United States but also in South America, and throughout he received outstanding support from press and public alike. He made a tour of South Africa in October 1968 and undertook a series of concerts in Japan during the 1968/9 season. Mr. Accardo has played with many famous orchestras, including the Berlin Philharmonic, the Lamoureux, the Suisse Romande, the Vienna Symphony, the Los Angeles Philharmonic, and in this country with the London Philharmonic.