from
The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I
Prelude & Fugue No. 1 in C Major
Prelude & Fugue No. 11 in F Major
Prelude & Fugue No. 14 in F-sharp Minor
Prelude & Fugue No. 19 in A Major
|
Johann
Sebastian Bach
(1685-1750) |
Sonata
No. 3 in C Major, Op. 2, No. 3
Allegro con brio
Adagio
Scherzo: Allegro
Allegro assai
|
Ludwig
van Beethoven
(1770-1827) |
INTERMISSION |
from
Eight Concert Etudes, Op. 40
(composed 1984)
Etude No. 5, "Shuitka" (Joke)
Etude No. 6, "Pastoral"
Etude No. 7, "Intermezzo"
|
Nikolai
Kapustin
(born 1937) |
from
Twenty-Four Preludes, Op. 53
(composed 1988)
Prelude No. 11 in B Major
Prelude No. 12 in G-sharp Minor
Prelude No. 13 in G-flat Major
Prelude No. 18 in F Minor
Prelude No. 17 in A-flat Major
|
|
Notes
on Kapustin
Nikolai
Kapustin, born in 1937 in Gorlovka, Ukraine, is one of those rare musicians
thoroughly steeped in jazz and classical music. He studied piano at
the Moscow Conservatory with Alexander Goldenweiser, perfecting Chopin,
Liszt, and Rachmaninoff. After his graduation in 1961, he toured the
Soviet Union for 11 years with the Oleg Lundström Jazz Orchestra.
Since the mid 1980s, he has devoted himself almost exclusively to composing,
and has produced over 100 works, including 12 piano sonatas and 6 piano
concertos.
My
first acquaintance with Kapustin's music came through Steven Osborne's
CD on Hyperion, released in 2000, which includes the first two piano
sonatas and several of the Preludes, Op. 53. In spring 2004, Hyperion
released Marc-André Hamelin's recording of Kapustin's piano works,
which includes the Eight Concert Etudes, Op. 40. Nikolai Petrov has
also recorded some Kapustin, as well as Kapustin himself. The music
is not yet published in the west.
The
music brings to mind the following hybrid: What if Rachmaninoff lived
in Oscar Peterson's body? The result—virtuosity with swing, pianistically
full textures couched in jazz harmonies. Kapustin's music is all written-out—every
last detail—so no improvisation is called for. But, at some points,
the music lopes along with a true stride feel straight out of Erroll
Garner or with lean, blazing licks rivaling Chick Corea.
Etude
No. 5, "Shuitka," is certainly no joke for the poor pianist,
charged with keeping a constant, semi-dodecaphonic series of eighth
notes going in the left hand, while the right hand hammers out blues
chords. The piece is a wacky boogie-woogie, whose relentless intensity
makes me call it the "Industrial Strength Boogie-Woogie."
Etude
No. 6, "Pastoral," may be too virtuosic for anyone to think
about sitting underneathe the trees on a warm spring day. The melody
sounds vaguely Appalachian, vaguely banjo-esque, and the spirits are
cheery.
Etude
No. 7, "Intermezzo," starts out like a lazy stride piece with
rich chords, something Art Tatum might have improvised. Indeed, I think
of Tatum's version of "I'm In the Mood for Love," in D-flat
major, the same key as this Intermezzo. At the second chorus, however,
a flurry of right-hand thirds breaks out, becoming increasingly wild
and furious. I always imagine, "What if Art Tatum had played Chopin's
'Thirds Etude,' Op. 25, No. 6 ?"
Prelude
No. 11 is a slow, grinding Memphis blues in 12/8 meter. A cloud of Marlboros
thickens the air, the drink of choice isn't Dr. Pepper, guitars twang.
It is hard to believe Kapustin has never set foot in the United States,
let alone on Beale Street.
Prelude
No. 12 sounds, variously, like an Argentinean tango or a 1970s TV detective
show. Swing emerges midway through, gliding by eight different key centers
in as many seconds.
Prelude
No. 13 sounds like a tribute to Dave Brubeck's and Paul Desmond's "Take
Five," an inevitable consequence of the opening comp and five beats
to the measure. The mood is definitely Desmond—subdued and lyrical
(for awhile, anyway). The key, G-flat major, is another link, being
the relative major of "Take Five"'s E-flat minor.
Prelude No. 18 is a medium swing bagatelle in 3/4 meter. As in all of
Kapustin's works, the chords are rich and the tonalities fleeting.
Prelude
No. 17 sometimes reminds me of what one of those novelty pianists used
to play on the Lawrence Welk Show—a hopelessly hokey rag on a
rigged piano. But this prelude, so drenched in high-spirited virtuosity
and sophisticated harmonies, is too compelling to be called camp. I
wonder what James P. Johnson, the "Father of Stride," would
have thought if, through some fantastic displacement of chronology,
Nikolai Kapustin had entered one of those Harlem apartments in the 1920s
where a Rent Party was taking place (all the best stride pianists together
in one place, trying to outdo each other), and played this prelude?
The "P" might then have stood for "Pummeled by Kapustin."
---John Salmon