Stephen Hough: Sonata
for Piano (broken branches)
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Prelude(Autumn) -
desolato 1:42 – fragile 2:46 - inquieto 3:34 – piangendo 4:18
– immenso 4:53 – sentimento 6:10 – malancolico 6:49 –
passionato 8:19 – freddo 10:11 – volando 10:52 – ritmico
11:14 – non credo 11:37 – morendo 13:18 – crux fidelis 14:04
– Postlude (Spring) 15:18
British
pianist and composer Stephen HoughÕs piano sonata broken branches from 2010 consists of
sixteen small subtly related pieces, in roughly as many minutes. In the
foreword Hough writes about Ófragments of fragilityÓ, a tribute to
Jan‡čekÕs On
an overgrown path, and a Óspiritual dimensionÓ. But I think there is more
to it than that. I think there is a story about a mind awakening, developing,
and facing its destiny.
The story
is flanked by a prelude and a postlude. Prelude (Autumn) is an announcement of what is
to come, setting the quite gloomy initial mood with a G sharp minor ostinato
and introducing some recurring elements, the most important being the rhythmic
breaks by frequent fermatas, and the ghosts, almost inaudible melody fragments
that live their own life, as shadows or echoes. The story proper begins with
the desolato,
a very unexciting piece of not wanting to leave the bed in the morning, or take
part in any activity whatsoever. In fragile we have our feet on the ground and
ideas are starting to form but they are very short-lived. The inquieto
contains some disturbing flurries, creating insecurity and interruptions but
certainly staying short of fear, leading to the piangendo, the first unbroken piece, a
sentimental and mournful remembrance.
New energy
levels are injected with the immenso, where we see a colossal moving machine or animal that can
be quite dangerous if it comes too close, but luckily it lumbers away. In a
reprieve we briefly enjoy the impressionistic sentimento, the most pleasant and
comfortable of all branches, before taking on the two central pieces. The malancolico
(the title stumps me, I find nothing of melancholy here) is a relentless run
exploring most of the keyboard, performed twice. It surrounds an inner sanctum
with a haunting slow melody in a low register, where ghosts echo it in the
extreme treble, in a different key and twice the speed. The following passionato is
declamatory in style and the most broken of all branches, and the only one
without an explicit metronome speed mark. We hear a strong argument put forth
repeatedly, but it seems to evoke more sadness than conviction. In the freddo we
withdraw to the realm of the ghosts, a world of murmurs and whispers.
We are now
propelled into the climactic resolution. In the realisation that this
meandering will lead nowhere we try an extremely strict regime. The volando has
hands flying all over the keyboard in an uninterrupted sequence of arpeggios.
The ritmico duplicates this harmonic
progression exactly, but with more compact chords and jagged rhythms. Finally
the non credo
reveals a grappling with existential questions. The themes are based on ascending
whole note scales and descending chromatic scales. Initially joyful and
boasting they gradually acquire more and more energy but fail to develop,
leading to panic. As we attempt to accelerate out of our misery the music just
breaks down. In the ugliest sequence I ever played the ghosts come alive and
escape off the keyboard.
A recovery
now appears totally improbable, as the morendo with a sequence of chromatically
descending chords depicts a corpse. The salvation comes out of the blue (but perhaps
salvation always does) in the 6th century hymn crux fidelis. The latin text is written
in the music as if it should be sung, though it goes far beyond comfortable
vocal registers. A rough translation according to ChoralWiki:
Faithful cross, above all
other,
One and only noble
tree:
None in foliage, none
in blossom,
None in fruit thy peer
may be.
Sweetest wood and
sweetest iron,
Sweetest weight is
hung on thee!
Amen
Even those
who are not devout catholics may appreciate the serene beauty and calm confidence
of this conclusion. A broken branch has been mended.
The Postlude (Spring)
copies the prelude exactly, but in the more cheerful G major. Hough writes
ÓBranches begin their lives anew in the Spring, and nothing is so broken that
it cannot be healed.Ó The very final notes in the extreme treble are dissonant, but by the
mechanics of the piano only the G major chord lingers at the end.
Joachim Parrow December 2012