Rachmaninoff Prelude in B minor Op.32 No.10

Rachmaninoff, c. 1936

Rachmaninoff reportedly considered this his favorite of his preludes. He wrote it in the summer of 1910 at Ivanovka, his family's country estate, having just returned from his first American tour, a homecoming of his own. The pianist Benno Moiseiwitsch, a close friend who recorded it in 1940, said the composer told him it was inspired by Arnold Böcklin's painting Die Heimkehr (The Homecoming). But Böcklin's return is not a joyful one. A solitary figure seated by a still pool, gazing at a darkened house with a single lit window.

Arnold Böcklin, Die Heimkehr (The Homecoming), 1887. Private collection.

The piece opens almost motionless: a slow, dotted figure in the low register that keeps circling back on itself, like a thought you can't put down. Then it builds, the chords thickening and the bass ringing like bells, to a climax that is as close to a cry as anything Rachmaninoff wrote. And then it doesn't resolve so much as subside, back to where it began, quieter and changed.

That shape is the hardest part to play. The climax wants everything, and it's easy to pound. But the real work is in the return, letting the last pages be soft without being empty. I'm not sure I've gotten there yet. I may never.

Lia (center) at her dads' wedding.

A year ago I played La fille aux cheveux de lin at the funeral of my dear niece, Lia. As the anniversary of her passing approached, I once again turned to art, and to this prelude. I didn't know its story when I chose it, but the homecoming fits: returning to a familiar place and finding it changed.

I'm still struggling to make sense of it, and expect I never will. What I know is how much I miss her goofy laugh, her indelible and subtle smile, her love for all, especially her family and cousins, including my Noah, Charlie, and Sabine Smith.

Rachmaninoff Prelude in G major Op. 32 No. 5

I had a good excuse to learn this beautiful piece. My horse Fritz (far right) mule-kicked my right hand a month ago, fracturing three metacarpals and requiring significant surgery—thanks again, Dr. Evans. Piano playing is some of the best physical therapy for this type of injury, so as soon as I was able, I learned Bach's B minor Prelude from WTC I, and next this gem from Rachmaninoff.

Both pieces ask the right hand for independence, but of different kinds. The Bach holds two voices in one hand, requiring sustained pitches, stretches, and finger substitutions, though at a tempo that lets you find them. The Rachmaninoff wants that same independence at speed and with a light touch, in the leggiero passages and the trills. My hand is still gaining strength, and not being able to rely on it has made me listen harder for the balance and voicing I’m after.

Bach Prelude in B minor BWV 869

My family enjoys riding horses. Here are my daughter Sabine and me on a ride this summer in the Salt River Range in Wyoming. My horse, Fritz, is pictured on the left.

Unfortunately, while Sabine and I were catching our horses last month, Fritz spun 180 degrees and mule-kicked me with both hind legs, metal shoes and all. His right hoof got my leg—no fracture but a bad bone bruise. His left hoof got my hand. I suffered three midshaft metacarpal fractures, index, middle, and ring fingers.

Here are the x-rays, from the emergency room that night on the left and after surgery on the right. I'm told there was significant comminution, where the bones broke into several fragments, creating gaps at the fractures. I was fortunate to find one of the top hand surgeons in the country, Dr. Brady Evans at Stanford. He used three screws to repair the metacarpals. I owe my hand, my art, and much more to this wonderful surgeon and the amazing team at the Orthopaedic Clinic at Stanford. I could not be more thankful.

After the surgery, I visited Fritz in our pasture. He came up to me, muzzled his head next to mine, and then sniffed my cast. Maybe he was saying sorry.

They removed my splint a few days ago, and I started basic physical therapy on my hand. It turns out that playing piano is some of the best exercise for the recovery of fractured hands.

Today, sixteen days after surgery, I recorded Bach's Prelude in B minor BWV 869, the last from his WTC book 1. It's not clean, yet still Bach. I chose this piece because it's delicate enough to avoid real exertion at this stage in my recovery, while holding two voices in one hand requires independence, stretching, finger substitutions, and sustained pitches—all useful for physical therapy. Oh, and you can see Sabine's dog Peanut in the background.

La fille aux cheveux de lin

Remembering my dear niece, Lia Smith, the girl with flaxen hair.

"La fille aux cheveux de lin" by Claude Debussy, from Preludes Book 1, and set to the French poem by Charles-Marie-Leconte de Lisle:

Sur la luzerne en fleur assise,
Qui chante dès le frais matin?
C'est la fille aux cheveux de lin,
La rose et le lys en sa face.

Upon the clover in bloom sitting,
Who sings from the cool morning?
It is the girl with flaxen hair,
The rose and the lily in her face.

Opening on a pentatonic melody, sans rigueur, we notice a plagal cadence to M3, IV/I to G-flat major, softly establishing the home key, or with my interpretation, a modest prayer.

Later, before the this same melody returns in a higher register, we have a deceptive cadence at M79, instead of returning to I (G-flat), we move to IV (C-flat), or the the plagal chord at M2. I interpret by design, setting up the return of the original melody, this time "from above", a remininscence of the past.

Liszt Wiegenlied S. 198

It snowed two nights ago. More snow is expected this week. It's such a pretty time of the year. I was looking out my bedroom window yesterday morning and noticed not just the leaves but all of the crows, migrating south for the winter. Nature's cycle and time continue.

I'm working on several Brahms Op 76 (but lack enough time for them), some Bach Sinfonia (all full pieces and each one a gem), and a new piece I'm writing. I somehow stumbled across this Liszt lullaby (because I was missing my daughter). So I decided to spend a day on it and record it, after insisting that said daughter (Sabine) learn it too.

I believe the piece is Liszt's own piano transcription of his last orchestral tone poem, "Von der Wiege bis zum Grabe" ("From the Cradle to the Grave"), composed in Rome around 1881/82, near his 70th birthday. Aside from his frequent travels, including to Rome, I believe Liszt was mostly living in Weimar at the time, and possibly wrote the piano transcription there. Liszt had an accident where he fell down the stairs in a hotel in Weimar in July 1881, which dramatically impacted his health and outlook.

It's a simple piece yet shows Liszt's creative side, his unusual form, his willingness to step through unexpected chromatic modulations and harmonies, and his use of motivic fragments in place of melodies. Hints of impressionism? Most of all I love the ambiguous sense of perceived time. I can't decide if I'm in the present looking back at a remininsence or actually experiencing that same remininsence. I find myself floating between the two perspectives. Similarly, the close of the piece doesn't quite resolve the tonal ambiguity of the open, despite ending where it began, on the mediant. The last bars invert the gesture of the opening bars, 3-5-6, this time 6-5-3, with the submediant, A-minor, in focus once more. I'm reminded of migrating crows and the changing colors of the leaves.

Étude-Tableaux No. 4

I finally finished my next work in the set of Études-Tableaux piano pieces I'm composing and performing, modeled after Rachmaninoff's own sets. Here I continue my study in polytonality, except this time use whole tone scales throughout. It seems whenever anyone uses whole tones it must be a reference to Debussy? In this case, no, although Debussy's works are often present in my mind. Instead I was attempting to manage the perception of time, noting that whole tone scales float somewhat. The absence of semitones creates challenges of harmonic structure and progression, the motion towards a goal perhaps. Yet that was the point of using the whole tone scales—avoiding the progress towards a given "goal" (e.g. riding east.) I use ambitus to suggest soft modulations. The piece opens with both whole tone scales together before moving in and out of diatonic harmonies that eventually and finally resolve to the implied theme in A-minor.

I recorded the piece at my home here in Fairview, Wyoming on a Yamaha S400 piano. It snowed again last night.

Étude-Tableaux No. 4 score

Bach take ii + Chopin and Janáček

More piano recordings. I worked on the 4th and 18th Preludes and Fugues from Bach's Well Tempered Clavier, Book 1. I also recorded a Chopin Etude and the second movement from Janáček's Sonata 1905. All of these works were shared with my piano studio at Stanford, where we continue to meet virtually to discuss and perform music together.

Bach Prelude No. 4 in C sharp minor

Bach Fugue No. 4 in C sharp minor

Bach Prelude No. 18 in G sharp minor

Bach Fugue No. 18 in G sharp minor

Chopin Etude Op 25 no. 1 in A flat major

Janáček Piano Sonata 1.X.1905

Bach Prelude and Fugue No. 4 in C sharp minor, BWV 849

Relative to San Francisco, it's very quiet here in Fairview, Wyoming, especially in the early spring, as the aspens don't yet have leaves to rustle in the wind, and the forest birds are just arriving from their winter sojourn. There were no jets flying over the valley this afternoon, and I heard no coyotes—they only howl at night.  However, I did hear Peanut snoring again.

Amidst this mostly quiet afternoon, and following recordings of the Prelude and Fugue No. 18 in G sharp minor from Bach's Well Tempered Clavier Book 1, I worked on Bach's Prelude and Fugue No. 4 in C sharp minor, also from Book 1.  I love the Prelude, so lyrical and inquisitive.  A real gem.  The Fugue is a tough—one of the more complex pieces I've studied.  I imagine it will take time to truly understand the piece, all of the lines, the five voices in counterpoint, the masterfully developed and contrasting subjects, creating the fugue's austere, tender, yet tormented character.  It continues to grow on me.

We always learned in music theory class that you should prepare a dissonant note or chord, perhaps with a suspension, thoughtful voice leading, passing tones, etc.  Yet Bach, despite being the reference standard for tonal music theory, doesn't seem to care for such rules and uses unprepared dissonance throughout this fugue, starting with the second note of the subject—B-sharp, the leading tone, which doesn't resolve to the tonic.  True to form, as we encounter the final cadence in bar 112, following a big dominant chord, we get a jarring and once again unprepared dissonant chord.  

While Bach often uses the Picardy third to end a minor piece in the major key, here he introduces the E-sharp four bars early in a deceptive cadence, an augmented A-major chord (VI7+), first inversion.  Not expected.  When you look at Bach vertically, to me his music often seems more dissonant than, say, that of Ives.  Yet typically, within the context and horizontal flow of the piece, nothing sounds dissonant, as Bach manages to take our ears to many foreign lands that don't seem so foreign.  But not this time.

Here is the prelude, followed by the fugue.

Prelude No. 4 in C sharp minor

Fugue No. 4 in C sharp minor

Bach Prelude & Fugue No.18 Book 1 WTC in G sharp minor BWV 863

While sheltering in place here in Fairview, Wyoming, I recorded the Prelude and Fugue in g-sharp minor, no. 18 from J.S. Bach's Well Tempered Clavier, Book I.

It's been such a difficult month -- my heart goes out to all those who are suffering or are sacrificing for the rest of us.  I can only imagine what it must be like to be working in the ER in NYC or in a distribution center or as a grocery clerk.  I feel very thankful for all of these people.

I'm also thankful that we can turn to music at such times.  I see so many people singing around the world on Smule.  It warms my heart.

I recorded the prelude and fugue on a Yamaha S400 piano.  It's soft and seems to work well for Bach.  I've actually been playing a lot lately, including quite a bit of Brahms.  I'm just trying to find the time to sit down, breath, and record.  The iPhone mic isn't great but will have to do.  Stay safe everyone.

Chorale No. 5

Remembering my father, again, I was reflecting with a close friend today on music I wrote years ago, including this piece, set to Psalm No. 6.  The piece was both dedicated and directed to my mother.  I'm not certain she cares for the piece as much as I do.

Here are the score and a piano recording of the chorale, which I just recorded tonight.

Chorale No. 5 (score)
Chorale No. 5 (piano)

I also include the text to Psalm No. 6.  The music is set to only the first six lines of the Psalm, which possibly makes some sense (or not) when you consider the change in tone and perspective of the Psalm after the sixth line.

6 O Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure.

2 Have mercy upon me, O Lord; for I am weak: O Lord, heal me; for my bones are vexed.

3 My soul is also sore vexed: but thou, O Lord, how long?

4 Return, O Lord, deliver my soul: oh save me for thy mercies' sake.

5 For in death there is no remembrance of thee: in the grave who shall give thee thanks?

6 I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.

7 Mine eye is consumed because of grief; it waxeth old because of all mine enemies.

8 Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity; for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping.

9 The Lord hath heard my supplication; the Lord will receive my prayer.

10 Let all mine enemies be ashamed and sore vexed: let them return and be ashamed suddenly.