In the nineteenth century it was Franz Liszt who really pioneered the idea
of piano transcriptions of major works by other composers. This was not
only with the aim of providing material for his own recitals but also with
the more laudatory intention of bringing to public attention music that
might otherwise have languished unheard.
In the twentieth century this mantle has been prominently assumed by Ronald
Stevenson, who not only championed much music by unfashionable composers
who were neglected by the musical establishment – Alan Bush and Bernard
Stevens, for example, although there have been many others – but also added
his own contributions to the music to render it more pianistic in style.
On this three-disc compilation Murray MacLachlan can only provide us with
a sampling of Stevenson’s achievements in this regard; and although the
music is not as naturally adventurous as Stevenson’s own compositions, everything
here still has his stamp upon it.
There is indeed some surprising material here, not least the treatment of
Ivor Novello’s We’ll gather lilacs which forms the second movement
of Volume II of L’art nouveau du chant, which almost sounds like
an arrangement for some Palm Court or other but it is a very high quality
arrangement. Other music here is much more adventurous, such as the Scottish
Ballad No 1 which treats the theme of Lord Randall with a
degree of freedom that brings it close to Stevenson’s own music, with a
sprinkling of ‘wrong notes’ that sound positively Graingeresque. The Chopin
arrangements which form much of the content of the first of these three
CDs also have a decidedly Stevensonian spice to them which makes them much
more than simply virtuoso display pieces; the arrangement of the Andantino
prelude [track 16] is particularly winsome and irreverent. His combination
of Chopin with Rimsky-Korsakov’s bumble-bee [track 21] is glorious fun.
The second disc offers more substantial fare, beginning with the ‘concerto
for solo piano’ Le festin d’Alkan – echoing Alkan’s own title Le
festin d’Ésope as well as his contribution to the solo piano concerto
repertoire. Like Alkan’s own music, this is a real tour de force
demanding the most virtuoso playing. In three movements Stevenson produces
a whole series of amazing variations and fantasias on various themes by
Alkan. He employs a crazy variety of extreme virtuosic writing which echoes
Alkan himself. Alkan’s cheeky sense of humour is also captured. The last
movement produces a raging torrent of scales and chords that challenges
MacLachlan to the utmost.
The two Sonatas based on unaccompanied violin works by Ysaÿe inevitably
bring to mind Busoni’s similar transcriptions of Bach sonata and partita
movements for solo violin. Much more than simple transcriptions, they fill
out the music with pianistic figuration which enhances the content of the
originals. The employment by Ysaÿe of the Dies irae in the Second
Sonata (track 8) brings overtones of Rachmaninov, but Ysaÿe and Stevenson
treat the plainchant melody very differently from the obsessive Rachmaninov,
even when the music comes close to The isle of the dead just before
the end of the first movement or to the Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini
during the second.
The Norse Elegy was written in memory of the wife of Percy Grainger’s
surgeon, and pays tribute to Grainger in the employment of a motif from
the Grieg Piano Concerto which Grainger had championed in its early
years. It is a beautifully poised piece with all the freshness of a Scottish
folksong, ending with some key-shifting harmonies that startle and enthral
at the same time. The Canonic Caprice draws on material from Manuel
Rosenthal’s Carnaval de Vienne (which in turn drew from Johann
Strauss, with Die Fledermaus much in evidence) and is much more
light-hearted, not to say effervescent, deconstructing the theme with all
the vigour of Ravel’s La Valse.
The third disc opens with two basically straightforward Mozart transcriptions
which leave the originals harmonically undisturbed. The Melody on a
ground of Glazunov again hardly steps outside the parameters of the
original until some Stevensonian touches in the final bars. The Ricordanza
di San Romerio, described as a ‘pilgrimage for piano’, pays tribute
to Liszt’s Années de pélérinage but again remains faithful to its
model.
The arrangements of Purcell which follow are described by the composer as
‘free transcriptions’ but there is nothing in the harmonic treatment of
these pieces which Purcell himself would have failed to recognize. That
is until we get to the Little Jazz Variations – which may be more
bluesy than jazzy, but are certainly twentieth century although far removed
from Jacques Loussier.
The Two music portraits are original pieces written for children,
miniature waltzes portraying Charlot and Garbo. Murray MacLachlan in his
booklet notes describes them as “among the smallest shavings from Stevenson’s
workbench” but they are delightful and welcome nonetheless. The final three
tracks give us three further ‘free transcriptions’ on Renaissance music,
this time of pieces by John Blow. Again there is nothing here which the
original composer would not have recognised.
Murray MacLachlan has long been a champion of Stevenson’s music – his recording
of the two Piano Concertos has recently been reissued, and is a
magnificent achievement. His playing throughout these discs is as masterly
as one would expect, and he is superbly recorded in a properly resonant
and slightly distanced acoustic which nevertheless allows everything to
be clearly heard. In a review one has only room to notice a few of the many
felicitous touches in his playing, but his delicate filigree in the Chopin
arrangements cannot be allowed to pass without remark, nor his whirlwind
treatment of the left-hand ‘contrapuntal study’ on the Minute waltz
(CD 1, track 23). The pianist also contributes extensive booklet notes which
explore every facet of the music over a wide-ranging essay of some fourteen
pages, which add to the value of the issue.
It might be thought that three CDs of piano arrangements and transcriptions
might be all too much to be digested at one sitting, but in point of fact
there is such variety and imagination in the various treatments of the material
that boredom or fatigue never becomes a factor. Indeed one might have wished
for more. One omission that I do regret is Stevenson’s beautiful arrangement
of the Song of the minstrel from Alan Bush’s magnificent opera
Wat Tyler, but that is already available in a performance by the
composer himself. Incidentally is it not about time that we had a recording
of Wat Tyler, or indeed of any of Alan Bush’s operas? There are
certainly performances of three of these in the BBC archives (Men of
Blackmoor and Joe Hill as well as the earlier work), and although
Alan Bush told me that there were a considerable number of errors in the
vocal performances in Wat Tyler these should certainly not stand
in the way of a commercial release. Another omission here is the Minuet
and Funeral March from Havergal Brian’s Turandot, also arranged
by Stevenson and recorded by him for the BBC. The BBC have at least two
complete recordings of Brian operas – The Tigers and Agamemnon
– in their vaults. Indeed they have an enormous archive of live and
studio performances of rare British music of all sorts; if only they could
be persuaded to release their tapes of some of them, it would be a rare
treat. Private tapes of some of these performances can be found on the internet,
but we really need properly re-mastered commercial transfers.
Enough of tangential observations. Let us be grateful for what Murray MacLachlan
has provided us with here – a superlative collection of some superlative
arrangements and realisations by one of the great masters of the keyboard.
A big thank you to everyone concerned with this marvellous release.
Paul Corfield Godfrey
A superlative collection of some superlative arrangements and realisations
by one of the great masters of the keyboard. A big thank you to everyone
concerned with this marvellous release.
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