Alexander Scriabin; Leoš Janáček - Sonatas & Poems

"Alexander Scriabin was born into a wealthy Russian family; he was of delicate build and health and full of mystical self-importance. Leoš Janáček was the son of a schoolmaster in Moravia, then part of the Austrian Empire, and financial constraints hindered his musical education. The closest he came to self-delusion was his long-term infatuation with a woman thirty-eight years his junior - which hardly compares with Scriabin's messianic pretensions. Scriabin published ten piano sonatas; Janáček one. Yet it would be difficult to find a more apt pairing of composers so surefooted in handling a style of their own forging.

"Scriabin's Piano Sonata No. 5 is intimately linked wit his twenty-minute orchestra score 'Le poème de l'extase'. The two pieces share adjoining opus number (Opp. 53 and 54 respectively), and Scriabin attached to the sonata part of the rather embarrassing literary poem he wrote to accompany the orchestral work. Despite the opus numbers, the sonata was written down after 'La poème de l'extase' had been composed and revised. However, parts of it had been sketched two years earlier, and Scriabin's wife, Tatyana, wrote in a letter that the composer could play the sonata through before he came to put it on paper in December 1907. In the same letter she wrote: 'I cannot believe my ears. It is extraordinary! That sonata pour out of him like a fountain. Everything you have heard so far is as nothing. You cannot even tell it is a sonata.'

"The most obvious way in which No. 5 differs from Scriabin's previous sonatas is in its one-movement form - a pattern that the composer maintained for his subsequent five sonatas. Whether or not one can tell 'tell it is a sonata' might depends on whether one attempts to analyse it aurally or through study of the score. There is a slow introduction, an exposition, a development section and recapitulation. Opposing key centres (principally F-sharp and B-flat) are utilized. Bookending this structure is an upward-rushing figure heard first and last in the work. But so fragmentary are the melodies, and so frequent the changes of time and key signature (along with specified rubato), that the architecture remains a background presence. What registers instead is the omnipresent tingle of dissonance, the twelve minute approach to a cadence that never happens, the sensually ecstatic delay of a full climax. The return of the opening gesture brings the work to a close that is quite unexpected but immediately convincing; instead of crashing out a few major chords, Scriabin snatches the music away from our hearing and into another realm.

"To attempt an alternative description of that ending, the music takes flight and disappears into the skies. The idea of flying preoccupied Scriabin - he and Tatyana reportedly undertook experiments in self-levitation, though the closest he seems to have come to achieving it is curiously light-footed way of walking. The second and final movement of his Piano Sonata No. 4 (1903) is marked 'Prestissimo volando' ('Flying as fast as possible'), so in a sense the upward rush with which the fifth sonata begins and ends is a logical progression from this. However, hearing No. 4 after No. 5 emphasizes how right Tatyana was to coo over the originality of the later work. The fourt sonata fits comfortably into one's picture of a Russian composer-pianist who favoured repertoire comprised Schumann, Chopin and Liszt. Well, perhaps not so comfortably. Once again an accompanying poems makes clear that this is intended to be music of eroticism, transfiguration and ecstasy.

"This time, though, the structure is a foreground presence. Although the fourth sonata is in two movement it is of shorter duration than the fifth, and is in fact the briefest of all Scriabin's sonatas. Concision is achieved partly through the dominance of a single theme. This is heard awaking from a dream at the beginning of the opening movement and is ruminated on until the second movement takes flight without a break. The composer really meant his 'Prestissimo' instruction: 'It must fly at the speed of light right at the sun, straight into the sun!', he exhorted one performer. The movement achieves its solar impact with a clangourous reprise of the first theme.

"The 'Deux poèmes', Op. 32, were written in 1903, the same year as the Sonata No. 4. The first shares the key of F-sharp major with the fourth and fifth sonatas - a favourite key signature for Scriabin, if for a few other composers. It is a work of grace and liquid lyricism; the composer frequently included it in his recitals. 'Vers la flamme' ('Towards the flame') is a late work, written in 1914. It was apparently intended to be an eleventh piano sonata, but was published as a 'poème'. It has been suggested that Scriabin was short of income and did not have time to work it into finished form, but it is hard to think of it in these terms. Rather, it is Scriabin's - and piano music's - 'Rite of spring'. One again we are taken on a journey to conflagration, but the process is altogether more shattering than in the fourth sonata. Melody is reduced to its primitive minimum. There is no key signature because there is no key. In a crescendo from glowing quietude to vibrating violence, all we take for granted about pianism reaches meltdown.

"Compare any photographs of Scriabin and Janáček and you immediately know these are contrasting characters. Scriabin, with his haughty manner and waxed moustache, looks like a stage magician - or, more accurately, he was exactly the kind of eccentric aristocrat on which a conjuror might base his stage persona. Janáček, solid and buff, with unruly hair and a scrubbing brush moustache, looks more like the proprietor of a successful brewery, with a seat on the local council. Yet his music, too, could have visionary qualities. His piano music in particular is haunted by tragic recollections and anxious foreboding.

"Whereas the piano was a central focus for Scriabin throughout his career, Janáček's solo piano compositions were largely confined to the period 1900-1912. These years were a turning point for the composer personally and professionally. His 1904 opera 'Jenůfa' was successfully premiered in Brno, but for the time being rejected by Prague. The bitterness Janáček felt about this was intensified by the identification in his mind between the opera and the death of his beloved daughter Olga, aged twenty-one, in 1903. He had already lost a song thirteen years earlier. This second blow contributed to the breakdown of his previously happy marriage. Though he and his wife Zdenka stayed together, the bond between them was gone.

"The cycle 'On the overgrown path' cannot be separated from these circumstances. The picturesque titles were added late in the day at the request of a friendly critic; despite their gnomic quality there are keys to the heartache within the music. The origin of the work lies in contributions to anthologies of harmonium music: three of the pieces appeared in this form in 1901, already with the 'Overgrown path' title, which is a Moravian equivalent of 'down memory lane'. By 1911 the cycle has become a ten-movement piano work and was published as such. Without cataloguing the precise sequence in which the individual pieces were composed, it is worth noting that the first and last pieces - 'Our evenings' and 'The barn owl has not flown away!' - were written before Olga contracted typhoid fever. Therefore the anguish that disturbs the recollection of summer evening walks, and the ill omens associated with the appearance of the owl in folklore, were premonitions before they became memories.

"Only one title needs further explanation. Frýdek was the home town of the composer's grandfather, where the Basilica of the Visitation of the Virgin Mary was a place of pilgrimage, hence the hymn tune in 'The Frýdek Madonna'. Other than that, one detail might be taken as emblematic of the chilling presence that dominates the cycle. In 'The barn owl has not flown away!' the harbinger of death, with its flapping wings and two-note cry, first appears separately from a calmer, consoling chordal theme. Within this tranquil second subject is a curious single-crotchet bar of silence. In subsequent reprises even this silent beat is invaded by the owl's music.

"We owe it to the pianist Ludmila Tučková that we can hear Janáček's Piano Sonata '1.X.1905, From the street' today. She gave its first performance, in Brno on 27 January 1906. When rehearsals began the sonata had three movements. But, racked with self-doubt, the composer ripped out the third movement, a funeral march, and burnt those pages. The premiere did nothing to assuage his depression, and after it he flung the remaining movements, torn to pieces, into the Vltava river. Regret at his own actions afflicted him even while his eyes retained the impression of the pages 'floating like swans'.

"However, Tučková had secretly copied the first two movements, fearing the worst after the destruction of the third. It was not until 1924, the year of Janáček's seventieth birthday, that she had the courage to tell the composer. Fortunately he sanctioned publication and performance as a two-movement work. Its violent history befits an inspiration: on the date the work commemorates, a Moravian carpenter, František Pavlík, was bayoneted to death by the forces of the ruling Austrians for supporting the foundation of a Czech-speaking university.

"The first movement ('Presentiment') opens with a plaintive treble melody that tries to rise free as rumblings in the bass threaten to engulf it. Bass and treble are briefly locked together in a panic-stricken trill that resolves into the chordal second subject, which becomes more emotionally disturbed than first impressions suggest. After an exposition repeat the development proceeds in eruptive fashion, its energies troubling the recapitulation's opening. The final chord is a solemn bell toll.

"The second movement ('Death') broods over a single melodic phrase. Though context and expression change, the sad truth it contains will not go way. In the central section, which grows to a tragic climax, this phrase develops into a coherent melody, jangling with the rhythms of Czech speech; musical characteristics of both these section combine in the closing stanza. Finally, another eerie bell-chord brings the darkness." (Brain David. From the liner notes.)

Performer: Stephen Hough

1. Alexander Scriabin - Piano Sonata No. 5, Op. 53: Allegro. Impetuoso. Con Stravaganza – Languido – Presto Con Allegrezza

2. Leoš Janáček - On The Overgrown Path, Book 1: Our Evenings

3. Leoš Janáček - On The Overgrown Path, Book 1: A Blown-away Leaf

4. Leoš Janáček - On The Overgrown Path, Book 1: Come With Us!

5. Leoš Janáček - On The Overgrown Path, Book 1: The Frýdek Madonna

6. Leoš Janáček - On The Overgrown Path, Book 1: They Chattered Like Swallows

7. Leoš Janáček - On The Overgrown Path, Book 1: Words Fail!

8. Leoš Janáček - On The Overgrown Path, Book 1: Good Night!

9. Leoš Janáček - On The Overgrown Path, Book 1: Unutterable Anguish

10. Leoš Janáček - On The Overgrown Path, Book 1: In Tears

11. Leoš Janáček - On The Overgrown Path, Book 1: The Barn Owl Has Not Flown Away!

12. Alexander Scriabin - Poème In F-Sharp Major, Op. 32 No. 1: Andante Cantabile

13. Alexander Scriabin - Poème 'Vers La Flamme', Op. 72

14. Leoš Janáček - Piano Sonata '1.X.1905, From The Street': I. Presentiment. Con Moto

15. Leoš Janáček - Piano Sonata '1.X.1905, From The Street': II. Death. Adagio

16. Alexander Scriabin - Piano Sonata No. 4 In F-Sharp Major, Op. 30: I. Andante

17. Alexander Scriabin - Piano Sonata No. 4 In F-Sharp Major, Op. 30: II. Prestissimo Volando

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Alexander Scriabin - Preludes; Etudes; Piano Sonatas Nos. 4 & 5

"A classmate of Rachmaninoff's at the Moscow Conservatoire, where his professors were Anton Arenski and Sergei Taneyev for composition, and Vassili Safonov for piano, Alexander Scriabin (1872-1915) occupies a place totally apart in Russian music. Rejecting vocal music and borrowing of elements from folk tradition, he wrote exclusively for the piano and for the orchestra. His music language followed a long and constant evolution, showing the influences of Chopin and Liszt during the early years, then going through Wagnerian period before reaching an atonal style, looking far ahead toward the sound world of the twentieth century. His ouput for solo piano is made up of a large number of miniatures often grouped into sets: preludes, etudes, mazurkas, nocturnes, waltzes, poem, as well as various isolated pieces and ten sonatas, a genre which had been clearly neglected during the second half of the nineteenth century and to which Scriabin was one of the first to return regularly.

"His Sonatas nos. 4 and 5 are representative of the evolution of the form, which tends to abandon the traditional cycle in several movements in favour of the sonata-poem and at the same time they reflect the philosophico-spiritual thinking of the composer, known as an emblematic representative of Russian symbolism, with his inclination towards cosmic mysticism. The Sonata no. 4 in F-sharp major, op. 30 (1903) is in two movements. Its programme was defined by the composer as: 'Man's exhilerating race towards the star, symbol of happiness.' An 'Andante' serving as an introduction allows a glimpse of the star through its delicate shimmering, hardly rising above the nuance of pianissimo; the harmony feels a lot like Wagner - 'Tristan!' The principal movement 'Prestissimo volando' follows on, taking up the theme and bringing it to a climax in an intoxicating ecstatic surge.

"The Sonata no. 5, written as a single movement, does however juxtapose several episodes with different tempi; it is the last to possess a key signature, initially the same F-sharp major, associated by Scriabin with spirituality, but afterwards a series of several different tonalities, followng the progressive principal. Contemporaneous with 'The Poem of Ecstasy' for orchestra, it uses four lines from the latter's program: 'I summon you to life, O mysterious forces! Swallowed up in the dark depths of the creative spirit, preliminary signs of life, to you I bring audacity'. Occasionally the Sonata no. 5 reminds us of no. 5, of which the beginning can be deciphered in the long episodes (marked 'Languido'). For the most part, it is animated by a powerful vitality, with leaps and repeated energetic jolts, stamping chords and eloquen indications of interpretation: 'Allegro impetuoso con stravaganza', 'Allegro fantastico', 'Leggerissimo volando', 'Presto giocoso, estatico'... The syncopated rhythms abound and the superposition of different rhythmic formulas is a sign of the wider application of this manner in the later works of the composer.

"We go a decade back in time with the two sets of Preludes op. 13 and op. 16, composed in 1895 as a continuation of the great collection of the 24 preludes of op. 11, an homage to Chopin, which Scriabin then wanted to duplicated, dividing up his inspiration over several sets (op. 12, 15, 16, 17). The Preludes of op. 13 follow on the the first six keys, alternating between major and minor (C, a, G, e, D, b). The first is a 'Maestoso', very diatonic in texture, with chords in dotted rhythms moving in march tempo. The 'Allegro' which follows is very different, it is a virtuoso piece, in a finely crafted design with semiquavers in the right hand. After a discreet and rocking 'Andante', the three final pieces - two 'Allegros' and a final 'Presto' - resemble piano 'Studies', focusing respectively on the superposition of quintuplets onto triplets, sixths, and octaves with huge leaps in the left hand.

"The Five Preludes of op. 16, lacking any virtuosity, essentially cultivate a lyrical vein. The 'Andante' (B major) is calm and majestic with a dialogue between the intermediary voice and the melody of the highest voice. In the enigmatic 'Allegro' (g-sharp minor) short bursts begin pianissimo before a double-'forte' affirmation. The tonal purity of the 'Andante Cantabile' (G-flat major) creates a contemplative atmosphere which carries through to the total austerity of the 'Lento' (E-flat minor) which follows. The cycle concludes on a lighter not, in the F-sharp major on an 'Allegretto', bathed in freshness.

"At the heart the Scriabin Etudes are eight pieces from op. 42 (1903) which are a reflection of the evolution of his language during the course of this central period of his creative life. The Etude no. 1, 'Presto', exploits the superpositions of rhythms, which is already beginning to become a constant feature of his writing. The very brief Etude no. 2, lacking any verbal indication of tempo, presents quintuplets in the left hand over which is added a motif initiated by a dotted rhythm. The Etude no. 3, 'Prestissimo', is also short because of its rapidity and is sometimes nicknamed 'The Mosquito', it has a delicate texture of shimmering triplets in the upper register of the keyboard. With the Etude no. 4, 'Andante', we come back to some of Scriabin's lyrical writing which likens this study to a romance or a nocturne. The apex of this cycle is the Etude no. 5, 'Affanato', which its author frequently played himself; a striking, obsessional theme appears over rumbling arpeggios, before being answered by a beautiful vibrant melody. The Etude no. 6, 'Esaltato', seems to contain within the contour of its theme a few reminisces of the previous study, as well as the second of the set. Extremely short, the Etude no. 7, 'Agitato', in triplets over semiquavers, requires the hands to stretch wide. The last, 'Allegro' in ABA form, begins in the manner of an 'impromptu', then in its central section provides a contrast with a solemn song.

"As well as the pieces assembled into cycles, we can also find in Scriabin a certain number of isolated works. It is to the year 1903, visibly a very productive year, that the 'Tragic Poem' and the 'Satanic Poem' can be dated. The first begins abruptly, without an introduction, diving immediately into the heart of tumultuous events. The almost incessant hammering chords, then the large and rapid arpeggios in the left hand hardly give any respite to the pianist. In this central section appears a declamatory melody in the medium register of the keyboard (indicated in the score as 'Irato, fiero'), which lends the piece a certain theatrical dimension. As for the 'Satanic Poem', it serves as a response to the diverse variants of Liszt's 'Mephisto-Waltz'. Playing on the homogeneity of contrasts and the subtle logic of unpredictable juxtapositions, it gives us a glimpse of all aspects of the evil spirit, in turns enigmatic, insidious, cunning and lethargic, sneering and sardonic (with the indication 'riso ironico'), which loses control in a frightening frenzy.

"'Toward the Flame' is one of Scriabin's last compositions, written in February 1914. We can follow the journey of a sonic entity from its conception to its spectacular blossoming. The first part, static with long chords punctuated by impulsions, give the impression of making an effort to break free and acquire an autonomous existence. Once this stage has been overcome, the movement takes shape and we can follow the metamorphosis of the theme through the flaring up of colours which turn into a blazing apocalyptic inferno characterised by trills, tremolos and rapid beating chords. 'Towards the flame' is a post-echo of the Symphonic Poem 'Prometheus' written four years earlier, in which the element of Fire was in the same way the vector of the messianic exaltations of the composer. (André Lischke, tr. Christopher Bayton. From the liner notes.)

Peformer: Vadym Kholodenko

1. Six Preludes, Op. 13: I. Maestoso In C Major

2. Six Preludes, Op. 13: II. Allegro In A Minor

3. Six Preludes, Op. 13: III. Andante In G Major

4. Six Preludes, Op. 13: IV. Allegro In E Minor

5. Six Preludes, Op. 13: V. Allegro In D Major

6. Six Preludes, Op. 13: VI. Presto In B Minor

7. Five Preludes, Op. 16: I. Andante In B Major

8. Five Preludes, Op. 16: II. Allegro In G-Sharp Minor

9. Five Preludes, Op. 16: III. Andante Cantabile In G-Flat Major

10. Five Preludes, Op. 16: IV. Lento In E-Flat Minor

11. Five Preludes, Op. 16: V. Allegretto In F-Sharp Major

12. Piano Sonata No. 4 In F Sharp Major, Op. 30: I. Andante

13. Piano Sonata No. 4 In F Sharp Major, Op. 30: II. Prestissimo Volando

14. Poème Tragique In B-Flat Major, Op. 34

15. Poème Satanique In C Major, Op. 36

16. Eight Etudes, Op. 42: I. Presto In D-Flat Major

17. Eight Etudes, Op. 42: II. In F-Sharp Minor

18. Eight Etudes, Op. 42: III. Prestissimo In F-Sharp Major

19. Eight Etudes, Op. 42: IV. Andante In F-Sharp Major

20. Eight Etudes, Op. 42: V. Affanato In C-Sharp Minor

21. Eight Etudes, Op. 42: VI. Esaltato In D-Flat Major

22. Eight Etudes, Op. 42: VII. Agitato In F Minor

23. Eight Etudes, Op. 42: VIII. Allegro In E-Flat Major

24. Piano Sonata No. 5 In F-Sharp Major, Op. 53

25. Vers La Flamme, Op. 72

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Alexander Scriabin - Mazurkas

"Alexander Scriabin was born in Moscow on Christmas Day of 1871, according to the Julian calender (also called Old Style), which was used in Russia until early 1918, when the country joined the rest of the world in adopting the Gregorian calendar.

"Scriabin's musical talent was discovered early; he studied piano with the famous teacher and menot Nikolay Zverev, also a teacher of Rachmaninoff, and was destined to become one of the Moscow Conservatoire's most famous graduates. Only three years after his graduation, he was already a hot topic: the prominent music critic, writer, and editor Nikolay Findeizen wrote that Scriabin's name was on everyone's lips, from Rimsky-Korsakov to Stasov, and much was expected of him. Mitrofan Belayev, a wealthy industrialist, music publisher, and philanthropist who supported many promising Russian musicians, committed to publishing Scriabin's works, no matter what they were. Although Scriabin looked like a young boy at the time, aged 24, Findeizen remembered that he already was speaking like a true and mature artist, pronouncing that to sell his works would mean to 'sell off his own inspiration.' However, the lifeline provided by Belayev (and later other publishers) was not something the young composer could do without.

"As an artist, Scriabin developed in the musical environment in Moscow where Beethoven, Chopin, Schumann, and Tchaikovsky were revered and diligently studied, where Wagner's music influenced even the staunchest defenders of traditional harmony and melody (like Sergey Taneyev), and where the virtuoso genius of Anton Rubinstein reigned supreme. Scriabin's composition teacher at the Moscow Conservatoire, Sergey Taneyev, was himself a student of Tchaikovsky, but he struggled to find common language with his talented student. Having never really understood Scriabin's creative genius, he could only offer comments on the rules of composition, and shake his head in disbelief at Scriabin's adventurous departure from them. Taneyev sarcastically noted that for the first time in his life he met a composer who, instead of giving his compositions tempi indications, gave them praises instead: 'divine', 'grandiose', 'sublime', etc.

"When in 1902 Scriabin visited Taneyev and spoke about his philosophical views, the astonished Taneyev noted Scriabin's pronouncements in his diary: 'I am I', 'the world is my creation', and 'I am above God'. The music of Scriabin's Third Symphony, however, which was performed in Moscow at the same time, left Taneyev feeling 'as if beaten up by sticks'. Later, Scriabin would develop his aesthetic philosophy and devotion to mysticism into a kind of Messianic vision, and an actual belief that he was destined to bring about the dissolution of the world itself through his mutli-media creation, 'Mysterium'. This he did not finish, having died rather prosaically at the age of 43 from sepsis caused by a sore on his lip.

"Scriabin composed prolifically and predominantly for the piano. Only a handful of works were written for orchestra, although these remain as popular as his piano compositions.

"As a performer, he was described by one of his contemporaries, Leonid Sabaneyev, as a 'magician of sounds'. Although Scriabin insisted on playing in large hall, his pianism was most suited to smaller venues, and ideally to an intimate circle of a salon. He simply did not have enough physical power, a result of his small stature and frailty and also due to a recurring strain in his right hand caused by the over practice of Liszt's 'Don Juan Fantasy' for his graduation recital in 1892, but he more than compensated for it with the mesmerising brilliance and imagination of his tonal nuances. It was as if this alchemist of sounds possessed a secret with which he was able to transform the sounds of the piano into a variety of orchestral timbres.

"Scriabin was close to the family of Boris Pasternak, whose younger brother remembered the impression left by his playing: it was as if, against all physical laws and the mechanics of the instrument, he did not press the keys down, but rather appear to be extricating himself from the keyboard. This appearance of fluttering of the fingers above the keyboard created the unique sound for which Scriabin was remembered by so many of those who heard him play.

"As for performing his own works, Sabaneyev believed that no one could compare with him in being able to transmit 'his own delicately sensuous, erotic moments in his compositions'. Scriabin never performed the same piece in the same way, as if the work was an independent entity, plastic and living and breathing on its own accord, allowing Scriabin to interpret varied nuances of its existence on the piano.

"In the beginning of his professional career as a pianist and composer Scriabin was drawn to, and influenced by, the music of Chopin - the undisputed poet of the piano. And Chopin, in turn, was inspired and drawn to the mazurka - the only form in which he composed regularly throughout his short life, and which he elevated into an intensely personal and nostalgic art form.

"The mazurka, orginally a Polish country dance, developed from the ancient 'Polska' and its descendants, 'kujawiak', 'oberek' and 'mazurek', a folk dance in triple time with strong accents on the second or third beat. The mazurka was popular in Mazovia, the area around Warsaw, and from there conquered European ballrooms in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, even reaching America in the nineteenth century. Throughout the vastness of nineteenth-century Russia, the mazurka was a very popular dance, not least in glittering ballrooms in the estates and palaces of the nobility. Although today the mazurka in classical music is first and foremost associated with Chopin, it was explored by various composers from Glinka to Balakirev, through Debussy and Scriabin, and is still cherished in Poland, in the works of Szymanowski, Maciejewski, Gradstein and other.

"Scriabin composed his 'Ten Mazurkas, Op. 3' between 1888 and 1890, publishing them in 1893. Although often compared in style or at least in inspiration to the musical language of Chopin and Schumann, Scriabin's voice is unmistakable here. It is not surprising to hear these influences - virtually every Russian composer (especially if he was also a pianist) of that period grew up on a diet that included a large of these composers' music. But there is also Wagner, whose music Scriabin may have first encountered at the home of Taneyev, and who influenced many Russian composers of the period. These pieces show that, despite his youth, Scriabin already possessed the very special talent of being able to distil a mood or a sentiment in just a few pages. Many of his mazurkas found their way into his concert programmes throughout his performances career. For example, Op. 3 No. 4 already charmed Anton Rubinstein who had come specially to hear the young Scriabin perform at his final exam at the Moscow Conservatory in 1892.

"The 'Nine Mazurkas, Op. 25' were composed between 1898 and 1899. Bursting with harmonic and melodic invention, these pieces show Scriabin's imagination taking flight with chords already often built on fourths and not thirds. Here, the composer is starting to push harmonic and melodic invention to their extremes, delaying harmonic resolution, blurring the lines between the distinct lilt of the mazurka and often entering the realm of a dream waltz, or a tone poem. Scriabin further enhances the form with the use of unsual and innovative pedalling and also his very distinctive polyrhythmic and polyphonic writing, often in a single hand. In the mazurkas Op. 25 Scriabin goes further than before in his aim to be able to capture a fleeting dream, a mood, a scent, into sounds that take flight and are burning with an inner flame - something that Scriabin wanted his music to encapsulate. In his last ever public performance in St. Petersburg on 2 April, 1915 Scriabin included his mazurka Op. 25 No. 4 into the programme.

"The 'Two Mazurkas, Op. 40', published in 1903, are more economic and concise in their means of expression, and show the spiritual, intimate, distilled light of Scriabin's sound world. Written around the same time as the prophetic Fourth Sonata these mazurkas are already pointing to completely new harmonic and philosophical directions that were to dominate Scriabin's mind from then on.

"The 'Mazurkas in B minor and F major, although published in 1893, with the date of composition given as 1889, were most likely composed between 1884 and 1886, when Scriabin had barely entered his teenage years. These two pieces had to wait half a century before they were included into Scriabin's collected works, edited by Konstantin Igumnov (a pianist well known as one of the important Scriabin interpreters). These are two contrasting pieces, with the dreamy and lyrical B minor, to the jubilant and full of youthful exuberance in F major. However, the F major mazurka could also be interpreted in a subtler, more melancholy and introverted way, despite its brightness and openness.

"'Op. 2 No. 3 (Impromptu à la mazur)' was published in 1889, and strictly speaking, this is not a mazurka but rather an improvisation on and contemplation of the form. This charming work shows just how personal a form the mazurka had already become to the young composer, about to take flight into the far reaches of his very own musical universe." (Anastasia Belina. From the liner notes.)

Performer: Peter Jablonski

1. 10 Mazurkas, Op. 3: No. 1 In B Minor

2. 10 Mazurkas, Op. 3: No. 2 In F-Sharp Minor

3. 10 Mazurkas, Op. 3: No. 3 In G Minor

4. 10 Mazurkas, Op. 3: No. 4 In E Major

5. 10 Mazurkas, Op. 3: No. 5 In D-Sharp Minor

6. 10 Mazurkas, Op. 3: No. 6 In C-Sharp Minor

7. 10 Mazurkas, Op. 3: No. 7 In E Minor

8. 10 Mazurkas, Op. 3: No. 8 In B-Flat Minor

9. 10 Mazurkas, Op. 3: No. 9 In G-Sharp Minor

10. 10 Mazurkas, Op. 3: No. 10 In E-Flat Minor

11. 9 Mazurkas, Op. 25: No. 1 In F Minor

12. 9 Mazurkas, Op. 25: No. 2 In C Major

13. 9 Mazurkas, Op. 25: No. 3 In E Minor

14. 9 Mazurkas, Op. 25: No. 4 In E Major

15. 9 Mazurkas, Op. 25: No. 5 In C-Sharp Minor

16. 9 Mazurkas, Op. 25: No. 6 In F-Sharp Major

17. 9 Mazurkas, Op. 25: No. 7 In F-Sharp Minor

18. 9 Mazurkas, Op. 25: No. 8 In B Major

19. 9 Mazurkas, Op. 25: No. 9 In E-Flat Minor

20. 2 Mazurkas, Op. 40: No. 1 In D-Flat Major

21. 2 Mazurkas, Op. 40: No. 2 In F-Sharp Major

22. Mazurka In F Major

23. Mazurka In B Minor

24. Impromptu À La Mazur In C Major, Op. 2 No. 3

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Alexander Scriabin - Symphony No. 1; Prometheus: The Poem of Fire

"Come, all peoples of the world,

Let us sing the praise of Art!

Glory to Art,

Glory forever!"

(Excerpt of the words in the final movement of Alexander Scriabin's 'Symphony No. 1'.)

"There was no doubting the young Russian composer Alexander Scriabin's (1872-1915) high ambitions when he presened his first symphony to the public. With its six-movement, hour-length duration, incorporating a grandiose choral final, complex chromatic harmonic language and self-composed text paying tribute to the universal greatness of art, Scriabin made a grand entrance on the international symphonic stage. Beethoven's ninth might well have served as a mode, but the symphony's harmonic language owes more to Tchaikovsky, Strauss, and above all, Wagner. For Scriabin, this grand symphonic project was the start of an even greater artistic plan. His ambitions reached far beyond the traditional boundaries of music and into the realm of philosophy and existentialism.

"Russian composer, philosopher and mystic Alexander Scriabin was one of the most eccentric and mystic figures of the age of modernism. His innovative sounds and utopian ideas challenged not only performers and audiences of the time, but also the boundaries of our thinking, the categories of history, and the limitations of art. His apparently egocentric view of the world, his megalomania and delusions have been psycho-analyzed, ridiculed and dismissed. He genuinely believed that art in general, and his own music in particular, could change the world and raise humankind to a higher level of awareness. His plan was that his musical oeuvre would culminate with 'Mysterium', a workd in which all art forms came together, time and space dissolved and all present participated in a spectacular transendence.

"One of the first steps towards this utopean moment was the 'Symphony No. 1' which Scriabin began drafting in 1899 and completed in 1900. By that time, he had discovered two of his most important conceptual bases. The first of these was Russian symbolism, especially the symbolism associated with the ideas of Alexander Soloviov in which art plays a defining role as a builder of bridges between extreme contrasts in life and the world, taking on almost religious functions. In many ways, 'Symphony No. 1' gives voice to Soloviov's 'theurgical' understanding of art - implicitly in the first five movements and explicitly in the final movement's verbal tribute to the unfathomable greatness of art. Although the words are not Soloviov's own, Scriabin has captured a similar spirit and world of ideas.

"Scriabin's second conceptual basis was the music and ideas of Richard Wagner. In Wagner's concept of the 'Gesamtkunstwerk' Scriabin found a cautious variant of what he himself so strongly believed in. Of perhaps greater relevance in this context was the fact that Wagner's harmonic language provided a decisive point of departure for Scriabin around 1900. He was one of the few Russian composers who took Wagner seriously, incorporating chromaticism and extended traditional harmony within his own musical style, eventually taking both to their very extremes. Scriabin was so deeply engrossed in Wagner's ideas that between 1902 and 1903 he planned a grandiose, philosophical opera based on the myth of Eros and Psyche, the inspiration for which undoubtedly lies in Wagner's 'Tristan und Isolde'. Scriabin eventually abandoned the project but carried Wagnerian compositional techniques and stylistic elements forward into his first two symphonies.

"It is particularly in the two Allegro movement, and in parts of the final choral movement, that certain harmonic and melodic elements point towards 'Tristan' and other Wagner operas as possible influences. Scriabin operates within a similar late romantic, expressive idiom with extensive use of chromaticism and chord progressions on the very brink of conventional tonality. The symphony also offers lyrical passages in the spirit of Tchaikovsky, such as in the introductory Lento movement which more or less serves as a prelude. The concluding choral movement is perhaps the most special and gripping moment for many, particularly at the point where art is extolled in words and music in a complex fugal section preceding the mighty finale. In this final movement the orchestra is extended wiht soloists and a choir; the reference to Beethoven's ninth is as obvious as it is bold. By ending his first symphony in this way, Scriabin indicated his intention to take up competition with the musical giants of the past, and that his approach to art was both profound and ambitious to the extreme.

"Contrary to Scriabin's wish, the final movement was ommitted at the symphony's first performance in 1900, the publishers claiming that the choral part was 'impossible to sing'. In 1901, however, the workd was performed complete under the leadership of Vasily Safonov in Moscow. It never became part of the standard repertoire, but has gained renewed interest in recent years, parallel to Scriabin's growing international popularity. For Scriabin, the work was without a doubt a major step along the road to the Himalayas and the great mystery he envisioned for the future. He never made it that far, however, and when he died of blood poisoning at the age of 43, he left the world and humanity more or less unchanged. His output is nonetheless regarded one of the most fascinating in the history of western music; in the absence of the 'Mysterium', it is 'Prometheus - The Poem of Fire', his last symphonic work, and often referred to as his fifth symphony, that remains Scriabin's greatest musical legacy.

"It is quite incredible to contemplate the stylistic development that Scriabin's music underwent between the first symphony and 'The Poem of Fire'. One a decade separates the two works, yet they appear to inhabit two entirely different musical worlds. Not only have all traces of Wagner and Soloviov vanished from the harmonic language in 'Prometheus'; Scriabin has set aside the entire tonal fundament and diatonic key system. Instead, he uses octatonic and whole-tone scales and avoids the sensation of major and minor. From the very first chord, it is clear that we are in new and unfamiliar terrain. The distinctive, dissonant chord is Scriabin's musical signature and consists of the notes A, D-sharp, G, C-sharp, and F-sharp, known as the 'mystic chord'. A large portion of the work is built around the chord and its constituent notes in various forms and constellations.

"The mystic chord and all that came with it was not, however, the only innovation that Scriabin introduced in 'Prometheus'. Scriabin was blessed - or perhaps cursed - with a condition called synesthesia in which stimulation of one sense is experienced by a different sensory area of the brain - such as, in Scriabin's case, seeing colour when hearing music. In 'Prometheus' Scriabin took his multi-modality out of the orchestra to create and independent part for 'Luce' - a 'colour organ' or 'chromola'. Despite the title, Scriabin's work is only loosely based on the myth in which Prometheus steals fire from the gods and gives it to humans. Scriabin envisaged a colour organ in which two 'colour parts' were to be performed with the orchestra. One of the parts follows the chords, illustrating Scriabin's synesthetic linking of specific chords with specific colours; the other colour part has a slower rhythm. Even though the colour organ can only be experienced in the listener's imagination on this recording, it is testimony to Scriabin's innovative and original ideas.

"There can be little doubt that the audience found the music modern and unfamiliar when Serge Koussevitzky conducted it for the first time in Moscow in 1911. Scriabin's mystic harmonic universe is so distinctive that it still jogs listeners out of their comfort zone into uncharted waters. And even if a state of transcendence is not achieved, Scriabin never came closer to sublimity than he did at the conclusion of 'Prometheus - The Poem of Fire'. Choir and orchestra, sound, light, and colour all come together as the mystic chord finally resolves in a powerful and consonant major triad - a hint of the grand transformation that Scriabin had planned for us all, from the primeval dark of mysticism to the ecstatic enlightenment of a greater awareness. (Thomas Erma Møller. From the liner notes.)

Performers: Oslo-Filharmonien, Vasily Petrenko, Kirill Gerstein

1. Symphony No. 1, Op. 26: I. Lento

2. Symphony No. 1, Op. 26: II. Allegro Dramatico

3. Symphony No. 1, Op. 26: III. Lento

4. Symphony No. 1, Op. 26: IV. Vivace

5. Symphony No. 1, Op. 26: V. Allegro

6. Symphony No. 1, Op. 26: VI. Andante

7. Symphony No. 5, Op. 60 'Prometheus: The Poem Of Fire'

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