I thoroughly enjoyed
reviewing Michael Habermann’s Sorabji
recital on BIS (http://www.musicweb-international.com/classrev/2003/Jun03/SORABJI_piano_haberman_bis.htm)
and it was a delight to learn about
this recording’s existence, then to
have all expectations realized on hearing
it.
These three discs (attractively
priced at three-for-two) include some
smaller chips off the workbench as well
as major works such as Le jardin
parfumé and Gulistan
(of which more later). Habermann’s staunch
advocacy of this most fascinating yet
elusive of composers, as in the case
of the BIS disc, is of interest not
only to pianomaniacs but also to the
general music lover.
It is a good idea to
subdivide the product into three sections,
one per disc: Early Works; Nocturnes;
Assertive Works. Whether it was such
a good idea to begin the third volume
with a quarter of an hour excerpt from
O.C. is more debatable (after all, there
is much else that could have been substituted),
but this is perhaps the only quibble
I have.
The first disc presents
recordings from various sources (see
the appendix to Rob Barnett’s review
of this product for full discographical
details: http://www.musicweb-international.com/classrev/2003/Dec03/sorabji_BMS.htm).
In the Hothouse (1918) prefigures
Le jardin parfumé in its
sensuous harmonies and Debussian cascades
(nice and even in this performance);
its partner piece on this disc, the
Toccata of two years later (they
were published together in 1922 as ‘Two
Piano Pieces’), is a listener-friendly
romp. Despite the booklet’s assurance
that there are ‘jagged rhythms and biting
dissonances’, the bite is more of a
playful nip and the world of Prokofiev’s
famous offering in this form is a long
way away. Along with several other performances
on this first disc, this was taken from
a 1980 MusicMasters LP, recorded in
1979. The analogue recording is remarkably
clear and true.
The two Fantaisies
that follow both come in around the
quarter-of-an-hour mark. Note that the
tripartite Fantasie Espagnole
(1919) is not to be confused with the
Sorabji transcription of Ravel’s Rapsodie
espagnole which Habermann recorded
on the above-mentioned BIS disc. The
present Fantasie Espagnole owes
much to Albéniz, updated into
the Sorabjian mould. Languid in aspect,
Habermann throws off decorations almost
nonchalantly – around 8 minutes in,
the figure of Albéniz really
starts to kick in. Only a hard touch
in the right hand around 10’45 detracts
slightly.
The second Fantaisie
is subtitled ‘Hommage à Johann
Strauss’ and was composed six years
later. Habermann gave the world première
of this piece in Baltimore in 1982,
according to the booklet notes; yet
the discographical notes give the present
recording, dating from 1984, as the
world première. Whichever is
the case, this is an enchanting work.
Sound clusters may not immediately suggest
anything overtly Waltz-King-isch,
yet the misty textures evoke, in this
instance, warm nostalgia. Even at forte
and fortissimo, this is perfumed music.
The music opens out as the piece progresses
and Straussian elements (initially predominantly
rhythmic) become ever more readily identifiable.
Sorabji’s favourite device of juxtaposing
aggregates makes for exciting listening.
All that effort for what sounds like
a remarkably small audience …
The contrast of the
ensuing three pastiches is marked. All
three are brief (around the four minute
mark). The pastiche on the ‘Hindu Merchant’s
Song’ (also known as the ‘Song of India’
from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Sadko)
is serene and beautiful. Again, Habermann
gave the world première of this
piece in 1980 – the present recording
comes from a MusicMasters disc. It would
make an ideal point from which to start
listening to these discs, especially
as Habermann’s sensitivity to the ebb
and flow of the melody is so magical.
Habermann’s suggestion,
in relation to the Pastiche on Bizet’s
Habanera that ‘Carmen’s tobacco factory
has moved to the marijuana field’ is
both amusing and remarkably accurate.
It is quite a silly trifle (‘some find
the piece hilarious’, says Habermann)
and would make a wonderful encore. It
is followed by one of Sorabji’s two
arrangements of Chopin’s ‘Minute’ Waltz.
This one complements the 1933 Pasticcio
capriccioso (on BIS CD1306). The
Pastiche, like the Pasticcio
capriccioso, shows that there is
less of a gap between Sorabji and Chopin,
more of a chasm. Listen around the three-minute
mark for a characteristically Sorabjian
profusion of trills.
A shift in recording
quality and image (the piano suddenly
appears more distant) for Habermann’s
own input into this project. A pastiche
of a pastiche-meister may be a risky
undertaking – actually, Sorabji responded
by dedicating to Habermann the 93-page
Golden Cockerel Variations. Habermann’s
effort is an affectionate and fun way
to end the first part of this trilogy.
Part Two presents ‘Nocturnes’
and begins with the most famous of them,
Le jardin parfumé (this
piece formed the substance of Habermann’s
own doctoral dissertation). Coming in
at nearly twenty minutes, this work
was inspired by a book written by the
Arabian Sheik Nefwazi, around the 1400AD
mark. The dynamic level rarely peaks
above mezzo-piano throughout and there
is little doubt that its sensuous beauty
rivals (and maybe outdoes) the headier
regions of the French Impressionists.
At times, Messiaen lurks in the shadows;
at others, Scriabin. But the canvas
is Sorabji’s, and it is difficult to
imagine a more committed account than
this, nor one more beautifully recorded.
The primal octaves
that open Djami are eloquent
testimony to Habermann’s assertion that,
‘Djami is one of the most ethereal,
other-worldly compositions ever written’.
Scintillating scales threaten to shoot
off the top end of the piano. Even for
Sorabji, this is heady and decadent.
The piece is a hymn to love in sound
– to take one example, the astonishing
delicacy around the 18’50 mark carries
a very powerful emotive point.
The final Nocturne,
Gulistan (‘The Rose Garden’)
is heard here recorded at its world
première. It is absolutely hypnotic,
not to mention cripplingly difficult
in its demands. All credit to Habermann
for maintaining the atmosphere whilst
not drowning the whole in pedal. When
Sorabji pares down the textures towards
the end the result is heart-stopping.
By the way, the poem ‘The Rose Garden’
upon which this is based is available
for viewing on the web at http://classics.mit.edu/Sadi/gulistan.html.
The third disc contrasts
significantly. The granitic ‘Introito’
and ‘Preludio-Corale’ from Opus Clavicembalisticum
perhaps does not begin as impressively
as in Jonathan Powell’s hands at the
Purcell Room recently (http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2003/July03/sorabji169.htm)
– one just does not get the same impression
of being in the presence of a vast edifice.
Interestingly, Habermann asserts that
Sorabji ‘composed even larger works
that still remain unpublished’. The
mind boggles …
The opening section
of the Prelude, Interlude and Fugue
is the kind of running passage-work
that Sorabji writes like nobody else.
In effect, the flow of notes could go
on forever. Some hiss is evident on
the analogue recording (1984). The interlude
is static and delicate, yet not perfumed
this time, perhaps in accordance with
the more ‘serious’ form in use. The
Fugue sounds almost jolly to begin with,
but (no surprise) gets more concentrated
later on.
Two much smaller pieces
provide relief. The Fragment for
Harold Rutland seems to make passing
reference to slow, late-night jazz;
the Fantasietta sul nome illustre
dell’egregio poeta Christopher Grieve
ossia Hugh M’Diarmid (the title
takes almost longer to type than the
piece takes to listen to!) is, as Habermann
quite rightly states, Sorabji’s world
in miniature. It exudes a patently mysterious
aura.
Quaere reliqua hujus
materiei inter secretiora (‘Seek
the rest of this matter among the things
that are more secret’) is shifting and
restless, reminiscent on more than one
occasion of late Liszt piano pieces.
It has the manner of a fragment. There
is a strange shift in recording perspective
at 1’36. Nevertheless, this performance
is quite an achievement in its almost
unremitting bleakness, presenting a
most disturbing musical experience.
Finally, St. Bertrand
de Comminges: "He was laughing
in the tower" is another work
with bleak aspect. Based on a ghost
story, it does get animated, but the
concentration remains forever dark.
The textures at around 12’00 become
tremendously disembodied. This is a
haunting (pardon the pun) and impressive
way to close a major survey of the piano
music of Sorabji.
This set is certainly
one to return to frequently. The works
all repay frequent rehearings.
Colin Clarke
see also review
by Rob Barnett
Michael Habermann (piano)