Scheherazade
Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908)
Scheherazade, Op 35 (1888, arr. piano, Etsuko Hirose)
Sergei Bortkiewicz (1877-1952)
Oriental Ballet Suite: Thousand and One Nights, Op 37 (publ. 1928)
Etsuko Hirose (piano)
rec. 2024, Théâtre Georges-Leygues, Villeneuve-sur-Lot, France
Danacord DACOCD985 [71]
With releases ranging from Biarent and Balakirev to Liapunov and Vladigerov Japanese-born pianist Etsuko Hirose is no stranger to the byways of piano literature and having many of her discs in my collection I can attest to the skilful and sympathetic interpretations these composers receive at her hands. In her latest release she immerses us in the worlds of Scheherazade’s intriguing stories, a thousand and one tales of love, magic and wonder that ultimately saved her life. In the context of this recital it matters not that the tales were brought together at different times; the tale of Sinbad and his seven voyages for instance was already in existence and was added later as it fitted in so well with the style and scope of the narrative.
Rimsky-Korsakov’s glorious symphonic suite Scheherazade is a favourite on disc and in concert and pianists from Sergei Prokofiev onwards have felt inspired by its passion and epic sweep to transcribe all or part of it for the piano. My particular favourite is Florian Noack’s suite of excerpts (La Dolce Volta LDV121 review) but I am very glad to welcome Hirose’s own stunning transcription of the entire work. She seemingly manages to include every detail, including beautiful harp effects, timpani rolls that would appear to require a third hand and instrumental colour with subtle changes of register and pedalling. Impressive as she is in the grander moments of the Sea and Sinbad’s Ship, the first movement and its rolling waves, it is her balancing of voices and delicacy of rhythm and texture in The Young Prince and the Young Princess that caught my ear. As if all this wasn’t enough Hirose evokes more wonder in the absolute tour de force that is Festival in Baghdad – the Sea – the Shipwreck on the Rocks where she matches the orchestra’s colour with pianistic colour and a bewildering range of techniques to bring Rimsky-Korsakov’s giant landscape into just two, albeit supremely gifted, hands.
Sergei Bortkiewicz was born in Ukraine and studied in Russia, with Karel Pieter Hendrik van Ark and Anatol Liadov, and Leipzig with Liszt pupil Alfred Reisenauer and Salomon Jadassohn. He was well on his way to being a successful composer but the first world war and the Russian revolution had other ideas. He found some success in what is now Istanbul and thence settled in Vienna where his cello concerto and violin concerto were premiered. His success at this point led to him being one of the composers that Paul Wittgenstein approached for left hand works which saw the composition of the second piano concerto for left hand alone and, somewhat later the original version of the Russian Rhapsodie. Many of his scores were lost in the bombing of the second world war and with his style of rich romanticism falling out of favour in the post war years he was mostly forgotten after his death in 1952. Alongside a decent body of piano works he wrote songs, chamber works and orchestral music including two symphonies, the second of which I believe remains in manuscript though it has been recorded (Hyperion Records CDA67338 review).
His ballet Thousand and One Nights is as unknown as Rimsky-Korsakov’s suite is familiar. He conceived it as an orchestral work but it was first published as a piano solo and only appeared in its orchestral guise later. Despite initial popularity it has completely disappeared from view. The score of the orchestral version is readily available but the solo by Rahter was much harder to come by and though Danacord don’t claim it this appears to be a world premiere recording of the piano version; I can’t say that I am aware of a commercial recording of the orchestral version either so hats off to Hirose for this excellent recording. Rimsky-Korsakov didn’t choose specific tales to base his suite on, rather getting a feel of the characters and vistas that the stories revealed. Bortkiewicz’s ten pieces are based on certain stories contained within the epic though the fanfare like opening piece, Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid, portrays a real person who was immortalised in several of the 1001 stories. Its harmonies announce straight away that this is set in some exotic land and the juxtaposition of chords continues this in the story of the poor fisherman in which said fisherman nets a genie. Bortkiewicz does not tell the tale instead relying on local colour and the rhythm of the gently lapping waves. The Dance of the Young Girls is a lilting piece whose gentle harmonies play over an almost constant D in the bass while an altogether more exuberant dance, Oriental this time plays out next, dazzling and shimmering. The Enchanted Castle is portrayed by the enigmatic rising and falling notes of the opening that appear throughout, only interrupted by slow and thoughtful chords. Scheherazade is of course the central character but the Sultana who betrayed Sultan Shahriar and colours his vision of woman as faithless, leading to the events of the story is not heard of that often. Bortkiewicz paints this character, Zobeïde, in languorous and sultry mood with short descending chromatic lines similar to those in Rimsky-Korsakov’s Song of India or Hymn to the Sun; it is a wonderful little tone poem. The Dance of Mourning is typical Bortkiewicz with its modal melody, slow juxtaposition of two chords and the kind of descending chromatic passages that can be heard in many of his works, notably as a thematic device in the second piano concerto. The score gives its English title as Dream dance, mistaking Traum, dream for Trauer, mourning; the CD gives the correct English translation. Zobeïde makes another appearance, this time as a participant in Dance of the three sisters, an enchantingly buoyant waltz that gives little clue to the fate of the two spiteful sisters who are turned into black dogs. Bacchanal is suitably festive and has the same kind of harmonic feel that Borodin’s little petite suite serenade has when it is transformed into Night of my nights for the musical Kismet though the fast paced gait of this drunken celebration is more boisterous. Magic inhabits the final number to its core; the wicked magician escapes from the bottle is packed full of the sort of whole-tone writing that has accompanied sorcery and enchantment for years uncounted. As the magician makes his final stealthy steps to freedom Bortkiewicz, consciously or not, briefly echoes the octave tritone opening of Liszt’s Dante Sonata before his creeping footsteps are lost to the distance.
This is a brilliantly colourful and exotic collection of pieces that will hopefully reach now a wider audience and Hirose is as fervent here as she is in Scheherazade. The two are ideal companions and this is as good a disc as any to make the acquaintance of Sergei Bortkiewicz whose romanticism was born into the wrong era but who is now finding a wider audience.
Rob Challinor
Previous review: John France (November 2024)
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