Skalkottas' 32 Piano Pieces (as usually known-the correct title is given in

the header) is one of those works whose stature has hitherto been funded on

hearsay and legend, much like the cases of Ives' Fourth or Havergal Brian's

Gothic Symphonies, or Sorabji's Opus Clavicembalisticum, until these works

were recorded. Like the Sorabji, Skalkottas' cycle represents the fullest

panoply of pianism its composer was capable of at the time, though in the

Greek's case this manifests itself by way of an equally exhaustive range of

styles, from high serialism (albeit Skalkottas' own complex brand, not his

teacher Schoenberg's) to ragtime, simple diatonicism to crunching chord

clusters that belie the date of composition-the summer of 1940.

Twenty-two of the pieces here receive their first ever outing on disc, but

in a very real sense these are almost all first recordings since-as

Christophe Sirodeau's extremely detailed (if at times somewhat apologetic)

booklet essay reveals-the present issue uses Skakottas' two manuscript

scores rather than the various error-strewn published versions. (A

definitive edition is clearly essential.) Examination of these manuscripts

has clarified for the annotator many aspects of the music previously

misinterpreted as eccentricities on behalf of the composer-even by

wellintentioned friends and colleagues-and revealed the underlying presence

of the Golden Section in much of the cycle's structure. Sirodeau's

explanations of this for many listeners esoteric subject (likewise of the

composer's love of number games also evident in abundance) are detailed and

invaluable, though some may find them confusing.

In the end, as with the dozens of motivic interconnections between the

pieces, what counts is that the listener hears the cycle as a coherent whole

without necessarily being able to pinpoint how the effect is achieved. This

ultimately depends on the performance, which is magnificently realised.

Given the use-and general unavailability-of the original scores one cannot

fairly compare Samaltanos' accounts with those of the few pieces that have

been recorded before, except to hazard a general view that his are never

disadvantaged. He is certainly the best recorded and, Paris- and

Moscow-trained, clearly possesses a formidable technique. His playing is

crisp and focussed, forceful and delicate as required. Only when further

recordings of the same scores occur will one be able to judge adequately how

much real interpretation of his is present (as, for example, in the infamous

Catastrophe in the jungle, No.4) with its clusters and wild expressionism.

At this juncture, though, Samaltanos is as committed a premiere advocate as

the composer could have wished for. Hearing these accounts one wonders how

these marvellous works could have lain unplayed for so long.

The Golden Section also seemingly explains the odd disposition of the works

across the two discs. The first lasts just over three-quarters of an hour,

ending with the best-known and mostplayed piece of the 32, the Passacaglia,

No.15. The remaining seventeen-plus the Four Studies (1941) and First Suite

(1936)-are crammed onto a 74-minute Disc 2. There is much to be said

musically for starting the release with the major item and Sirodeau regards

the Passacaglia as 'the culmination, the real heart of the cycle' with its

centre 'placed asymmetrically, between the Passacaglia and the Nocturne.' I

cannot say that I entirely agree, though prefacing the 32 Pieces with the

First Suite would seem to provide the set with a chronological and temporal

balance (with discs of 62' and 57'). There is, as Sirodeau concedes

indirectly, an argument for splitting the cycle after the Nocturne (No.16)

which would accord with its two apparent diurnal progressions: from the

initial Andante religioso to the Nocturne, and from the ensuing seventeenth

piece, Dawn Serenade of a Young Girl to the final set of dances. The

Passacaglia is undeniably one of the cycle's peaks, but I prefer to see it

as the third of a series of longer items that tend to cluster towards the

centre of the cycle. This cluster begins with the Intermezzo (No.13),

reaches its peak with the Berceuse (No.20, the longest piece of all at 8'

32", which Sirodeau himself admits to be "the emotional summit of the

cycle") and concludes with the Menuetto (No.23). This group is even framed

by two 'serenades' of medium length: Little Serenade (3' 22") and Italian

Serenade (2'40"). Dividing the set after the

Berceuse would provide two discs of 66' and 54' apiece.

 

 

Unsurprisingly, next to the 32 Pieces, the 4 Studies and First Suite (Nos.

2-4 and other piano pieces are slated for a further release) make less of an

impression than they otherwise might do. Both repay perseverance, the

Studies in particular for their harder-edged, more homogeneous textures

giving an indication, perhaps, of the direction Skalkottas' piano writing

might have moved in, just as the Suite shows where the 32 Pieces came from.

BIS' sound is stunningly clear and immediate, as if Samaltanos really was in

the room with one. And when all is said and done, his storming rendition of

the Suite's Presto-Prestissimo finale is a brilliant conclusion to what was

2001 's finest piano release.

 

 

Guy Rickards

Tempo Magazine