Oddly enough, while the sleeve-notes are comprehensive, especially where
these two concertos are concerned, there isn’t actually too much background
on the composer himself. All this is despite this being a Norwegian
label.
Pianist and composer Thomas Dyke Acland Tellefsen was born in 1823, and
died in 1874, contributing some forty-four opus numbers, including solo
piano works, chamber music, and these two piano concertos. He dedicated many
of his compositions to the Polish, Russian and French aristocracy.
The youngest of six siblings, Tellefsen was born in Trondheim, where
originally he studied with his father. Shortly after his first public
concert in 1842, Tellefsen went to Paris, where he later attended some of
Friedrich Kalkbrenner’s classes. During the years 1844 to 1847, he was
taught periodically by Chopin (1810-1849), who also became his personal
friend, and had considerable influence of Tellefsen’s musical taste, playing
style, and, more importantly, his compositions. When Chopin died Tellefsen
took over some of his pupils, and toured England and Sweden on several
occasions, as a very successful pianist.
Tellefsen’s two piano concertos were written in the years before and after
1850, respectively, at a time when Schumann’s A minor Concerto had just
appeared (1845), as had Liszt’s Piano Concerto No 1 (1849). Tellefsen’s
oeuvre makes no attempt to follow in Liszt’s footsteps, in terms of thematic
transformation, or, indeed, in Schumann’s use of an opening gambit for the
piano alone. This is something which Tellefsen’s compatriot, Grieg, would
later feature so dramatically in his own piano concerto of 1868. Tellefsen’s
contribution belongs more firmly rooted in the virtuoso tradition, in which
the works of Field and Chopin were among the most influential.
Both of Tellefsen’s concertos are in three movements, and are built on
conventional formal principles. He employs a classical orchestra, which he
uses with considerable skill. The piano and orchestra are more equal
protagonists than in Chopin’s two concertos which could always be played as
piano solos. Tellefsen uses a double exposition, but where the piano still
plays an important part. In Mozart concertos the piano usually remains quiet
until the orchestra has given out both themes, in a more skeletal form,
before the soloist then becomes involved in a second exposition, which is
far more elaborate and extended. As for the slow movements, both Tellefsen
examples have a clearly defined A-B-A ternary design, cast rather as piano
nocturnes with orchestral accompaniment. In terms of the finales, in the
first concerto he uses a Norwegian bridal march as the main subject
(
cf Grieg), while in the second he uses a charming ‘Mouvement de
Tarantella’, which does bring to mind similarly-named works by Chopin and
Liszt. Strangely the otherwise excellent sleeve-notes refer to this as ‘a
dance of Spanish origins’, whereas it actually hails from Italy, and is also
quite popular in Argentina. Chopin, on the other hand, uses material based
on Polish folk music – a krakowiak in the E minor Concerto (1830), and a
mazurka in the F minor (1830). In Tellefsen’s second Concerto, a short and
gentle bridge-passage leads from the end of the slow movement direct into
the finale.
Tellefsen himself appears to have preferred the
Concerto No. 2,
and it has since enjoyed greater popularity both during his lifetime and
after his death. Indeed there are certainly far more Chopin fingerprints in
the second work, both harmonically, as well as melodically, although the
filigree type of melodic decoration, or fioriture, so characteristic of the
Pole’s writing, doesn’t really feature in the Norwegian’s palette. There are
some attractive moments in the
Concerto No. 1, too, and especially
in the slow movement, but Tellefsen seems to have forged a more individual
musical style by the time of the second concerto.
The recording is first rate, and the orchestral playing equally good,
especially some of the short solo passages in the second concerto. Einar
Steen-Nøkleberg is an outstanding player — who has also recorded
Tellefsen's solo piano music for
Simax — and tackles the piano’s bristling technical
difficulties with great panache, while bringing a sincerity of approach in
the quieter and more introspective moments.
We can never have too many Romantic Piano Concertos to enjoy and, even if
the second one by Tellefsen doesn’t quite hit the spot, when compared to
Chopin or Grieg, it definitely deserves a place on that list.
If you’re still undecided, then here are two critics’ reports from a 1972
performance of the
G minor Concerto given in Trondheim by
Steen-Nøkleberg:
‘There are Chopinesque features in all three movements of Tellefsen’s
piano concerto; in some cases these features dominate. Of interest is the
personal character of the work as a whole. Tellefsen was by no means a
lesser composer than his teacher. Tellefsen’s thematic material is equally
as strong as that in Chopin’s two piano concertos. Spontaneous passages are
sometimes juxtaposed in glaring contrast, such as in the last movement where
a lyrical, Chopinesque passage swirches
[sic] (switches) suddenly
over to a Norwegian folk dance.’ (Alf Jørgen Hurum,
Aftenposten, 2
November 1972).
The Trondheim newspaper
Adresseavisen’s music critic wrote about
the use of folk music material in the third movement and considered these
elements to be a highly positive feature of the work. At the same time he
found Tellefsen’s treatment of the traditional material quite different from
Grieg’s later that century:
‘It was the last movement, however, which came as a surprise, and I could
see many in the audience moving to the music when Tellefsen introduced a
lively Halling (a Norwegian folk dance) to his Parisian interior. Both Grieg
and Svendsen later used this tune, […] but Tellefsen did it while both of
those masters of our golden age were still at school. It may be that Grieg
and Svendsen had more of a feeling for the folk tune’s true character;
Tellefsen, however, is just as Norwegian in his finale as Chopin is Polish
in his, which include a mazurka and a krakowiak. The halling may have come
over as a little forced in its Parisian surroundings, but it was
entertaining.’ (J.H. Henriksen,
Adresseavisen. 2 November
1972).
If they wrote this purely about the first concerto, then without a doubt
they would have been in ‘superlatives overdrive’ when similarly enthusing
over the second.
Philip R Buttall
