Sinner, Don’t Let This Harvest Pass
Cassandra Miller (b. 1976) & Michael Finnissy (b. 1946)
Sinner, Don’t Let This Harvest Pass (2014)
Robert Schumann (1810-1856)
Geistervariationen (1854)
Michael Finnissy (b. 1946)
RS Geistervariationen (2021)
Cassandra Miller (b. 1976)
Philip the Wanderer (2012)
Joseph Havlat (piano)
rec. 2026, Ayriel Studios, Yorkshire, UK
Reviewed as a digital download
Métier MEX77145 [69]
“Sinner, Please Don’t Let This Harvest Pass” is a traditional African-American hymn first arranged and published in 1907 by Harry T Burleigh. In its simplest form, the hymn has four verses with lines in AAAA form, as in many folk and early blues songs. The melody, cast in E minor, is appealingly eerie and suits the rather macabre lyrics, urging the listener to seek salvation before it’s too late. “Sinner, please don’t let this harvest pass/and die and lose your soul at last.”
Florence Price incorporated it into her Fantasie Nègre No. 1 in E minor (1929) which has been recorded by pianist Samantha Ege (review), but classical listeners are more likely to know it from ‘Spirituals’ albums by various singers. Leontyne Price recorded a rather ornate version in 1970 with a choir backing her, while Marian Anderson in 1947 set down a keening, urgent account in keeping with the spirit of the song.
One day, in August 2014, Canadian composer Cassandra Miller wrote to Michael Finnissy and sent him a piece she had written inspired by that very Marian Anderson recording. Miller had, she writes, already used the melody in an earlier collection, but this was something different. Finnissy wrote back with great enthusiasm and his own response, and the idea occurred to them that if they each wrote one more variation, then there could theoretically be one per verse in the original hymn. However, they decided on the suggestion of the great pianist Jonathan Powell to re-order the variations as a “musical palindrome”, or, if you like, a Finnissy sandwich, with Miller’s 2 variations forming the bread – so I am no longer entirely sure which variation corresponds to which verse.
The experience of listening to the world premiere recording of Miller/Finnissy Sinner, Don’t Let This Harvest Pass (the word ‘please’ having been dropped from the title) is an utterly unique one. First, there are not many collaborative variation cycles, but perhaps there should be. Most people enjoy having a wide range within a set of variations, and you are almost guaranteed that with multiple composers.
First, Miller’s opening, marked Either Strident or Striding or Somewhere in Between, opens with a subdued, syncopated rumble, which fades out for a statement of the theme. The syncopated chordal idea returns with force. But then, even having listened to this album a number of times, I am still caught off guard by how different the approach is in Finnissy’s contemplative, expansive Sostenuto. Legato. It’s remarkably soft and dreamy, without any of Finnissy’s signature dissonance until around the two-minute mark. I was introduced to Finnissy really through his Verdi Transcriptions (review), but here, we only build slowly and gradually towards something that sounds like that. The effect is riveting. His second variation, an Andante mosso is brief, characterised by lots of pedal and rolling chords. It has a chilly, wintry affect drawn from the best of late Romanticism. When Miller picks things up again for the conclusion, we have a resolution of a sort. The movement is marked Sweetly, with Forgiveness and Patience, and it, rather like Finnissy’s first variation, is spacey and dreamy, although we are in solidly tonal territory here. Let me say in summary that I was not expecting to feel such a sense of catharsis from a work that is only 17 minutes long.
Schumann’s Theme and Variations in E flat major for piano (WoO 24), nicknamed the Geistervariationen, makes for a perfect pairing. One could easily describe the theme as ‘hymn-like’, and most of the variations are introspective, desolate and “dissociated”, to borrow a term from Robert Beattie’s review of Andras Schiff’s performance of them (review). Their genesis is a famous part of Schumann lore – his final completed work, dedicated to Clara just as he was taken off to an asylum. Schumann was experiencing some form of hallucinations at this point; he believed there were spirits dictating music to him, who threatened to send him to hell. These are the Geister referred to in the piece’s nickname (although the theme actually comes from Schumann’s own Violin Concerto). I find them to be a set I can only listen to rarely, for that reason. The mood is disconsolate, lacking Schumann’s usual drama and colour. There is no sense of fight, but there is also no acceptance. They just sound like a broken man.
In addition to the above-mentioned Schiff, Dasol Kim on the Aperté label earlier this year set down a wonderfully sensitive recording. Havlat falls between the two. Schiff is quicker, letting the work stand on its own, simple and unflinching. Kim is very slow, achingly slow. Havlat’s approach is a ‘best of both worlds’. It’s a very beautiful performance: clear, controlled, but unafraid of pathos.
After Schumann’s death, the young Johannes Brahms borrowed the theme to the Geistervariationen for his Op. 23 Variations on a Theme by Robert Schumann for piano four-hands. It is rightly understood as a heartfelt tribute to his mentor, ending in a quasi-funeral march (review). It is this piece that inspired Finnissy to write his RS Geistervariationen, another world premiere on this album. A substantial work lasting 26 minutes, Finnissy transcribes sections of the Brahms piece, but adds his own voice into the mix. The juxtaposition of Brahmsian classicism with Finnissy’s use of microtones really does pay fitting tribute to the Geistervariationen. I have to commend especially the final movement, the Chor der Geisterstimmen aus der Ferne, which imagines what those spirits might have sounded like to Schumann.
In the booklet, Havlat writes that in transcription, one finds ‘ghosts’ of the music being transcribed. At this double stage of removal, we’re working with ghosts of ghosts of Geister, if you will. Oddly enough, I found the idea of ‘historical fiction’ coming to mind when I listened to Finnissy’s RS Geistervariationen. In the genre of historical fiction, art of the present comments on the past in some way, and, in an ideal case, the reader learns something about both. I think that this piece shines a light on Schumann and Brahms, by interpreting them, but it also works perfectly well as a piece of contemporary piano writing.
Our last transcription, Miller’s Philip the Wanderer, takes us far from the asylum on the banks of the Rhine where Schumann died. Specifically, it takes us to south-east Africa.
According to the South African Music Archive Project, Zhuake Masingi made a recording in 1954 of a piece called Mandowa, which they categorise as a “tumbling dance tune” of the Ndau culture. That places us in Mozambique/Zimbabwe. Masingi is playing a Mbira dza WaNdau, which I gather is a type of kalimba, or ‘thumb piano’. The recording barely lasts for more than a minute, but it’s a blast: cascading, intricate rhythms that call to mind a carillon.
Miller was inspired during her studies with Finnissy to transcribe this recording using what the booklet identifies as ‘a rhythmically hyper-rigorous computer-generated MIDI’. It was heavily revised following a workshop with pianist Philip Thomas, and, lacking any clues to the contrary, I suppose he might be the titular Philip.
Philip the Wanderer is a strange work. Rather than being a traditional transcription, aspects of the original piece seem to be removed from their original contexts and given much more attention and space. I would compare it to zooming into specific details of a painting. The whole first section is Gently Rumbling Without Direction, and it surely is. The effect is atmospheric and rather visceral, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t overstay its welcome. Things look up markedly with Broadly, Surveilling the Great Expanse (I love Miller’s movement designations). Here I can recognise bits of Masingi’s Mandowa, and the spirit of the tumbling dance. The third movement is supposed to bring everything home Joyfully, Jauntifully, as if Running Away from Regret Itself, but Havlat holds back a little, wisely imparting a valedictory character to the whole album.
Joseph Havlat has released a number of albums over the past few years specialising in contemporary music. He is also featured on the recent Sally Beamish tribute album, which I thought was lovely (review). His performance on this album greatly impressed me: he is prepared to leap from 19th-century romanticism to New Complexity to Zimbabwean dance without breaking a figurative sweat. He is an artist to bookmark; I’m excited to see what he does next. Métier’s engineers make sure he is recorded in perfectly clear, ideal sound. I actually think that was one of the first things I noticed about the album, before I’d wrapped my head around Miller’s first Sinner variation. The booklet is also a treat, with lots of email correspondence between Miller and Finnissy about their collaborative work. Maybe I’m too much of a historian, but I love being able to read things like that.
I do feel the need to say that this album may not be for everybody. Three of the four works are impossible for me to describe without using the word ‘haunting’, and if someone told me they found it a little too intense to listen to this album, I wouldn’t blame them. For my part, though, I’m so glad I did. What an experience.
Aidan Gray
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