Album for the Mature 4

Complete Shorter Works for Solo Piano
by Johannes Brahms
Recommended Ages: 14+

The title above is actually on the cover of a Dover edition that I picked up on the cheap, perhaps at Barnes and Noble (where, if you're not too picky about editions, you can find some terrific music now and then). I'm not sure quite the same piano album exists in the catalog of other publishers. You probably have to shop for specific opus numbers or categories such as "Intermezzos" (or Intermezzi, "Capriccios" (??), or "Piano Pieces" (Klavierstücke), etc. The book I own is relatively worthless, as far as editorial scholarship goes; but it has the advantage of gathering together pretty much all the single-movement works by Brahms for "piano, two hands." This excludes three early Sonatas, several sets of variations (including the famous Variations and Fugue on a Theme by Handel, op. 24, which I have in a separate book), several posthumously published pieces without opus number (Gavottes, Gigues, Sarabandes: two each), and a considerable body of work for "piano, four hands" (including the famous Hungarian Dances). I am also an avid player of Brahms' Eleven Chorale Preludes for organ, published posthumously as op. 122; but again, that's a separate album, to be discussed another time, if not under another thread.

Johannes Brahms lived from 1833 to 1897. He was brought up in Hamburg (Germany), made his career in Vienna (Austria), and specialized in music that blended the richest harmonic and rhythmic innovations of forward-looking, late-Romantic music with forms and structures looking back on the Baroque and Classical periods. His four symphonies are tremendous achievements in the art; the first has been jokingly nicknamed "Beethoven's Tenth," and in my opinion, they just get better and better. His orchestra-choral works, including several pieces I have had the honor and pleasure of singing, are jaw-droppingly excellent. He also left behind a good deal of important chamber music, and a HUGE catalog of songs for soloists and for choir.

Brahms was a rough contemporary of Tchaikovsky (d. 1893), Wagner (d. 1883), Bruckner (d. 1896), neither of whom had much of an opinion of Brahms. Tchaikovsky, for example, called Brahms "that giftless bastard"—an insult that perplexes me, considering that I have never found Brahms' music lacking in inspiration, but I cannot say the same about Tchaikovsky. On a more positive note, he was closely associated with Schumann (d. 1856) and Dvořák (d. 1904), among other notable composers. I won't say that Brahms was the center of the musical universe in his time; but when the popular phrase "the three B's" classes him with Bach and Beethoven, it does not exaggerate much. And though the bulk of his solo piano works, apart from sonatas and variations, can fit in a single album (and not a very thick one), it is clear that Brahms, a pianist himself, saved the strongest feelings and the richest ideas for that instrument.

Besides Waltzes, with which we are already acquainted, the titles of Brahms pieces range from Scherzo to Ballade, from Rhapsody to Romance; but his favorite titles were Capriccio and Intermezzo. It is hard to express exactly what the difference is between these pieces. In form they are mostly ABA', with some customized fixtures added now and then. In rhythm they are not usually very danceable, even in an abstract concept of dance. A Scherzo was a type of movement frequently used in Romantic symphonies, chamber works, sonatas, etc., in place of the classical Minuet; it tended to be a brisk, energetic, dramatic piece, often in a duple (2/4) meter, though Brahms's is in a triple (3/4). A Ballade is basically a lyric piece inspired by, if not actually setting to music, a piece of narrative poetry (what we would call a "ballad"). A Rhapsody, generally a succession of dramatic musical episodes, takes its name from a Greek form of epic poetry. A Romance, when it isn't actually a type of song similar to a ballad, is an instrumental imitation of one. A Capriccio, or Caprice, is a quick, free-ranging piece, often either full of passion or technically demanding, if not both. Strangest of all Brahms' titles, but perhaps his favorite of all, is Intermezzo: literally designating a musical interlude between scenes of an opera or (in Brahms's symphonies, etc.) movements of a larger work, by the end of Brahms's career this title applied to masterpieces that could and did stand on their own—rich in expression, wide in dramatic scope, complete in form, and deep in meaning.

And now, to go through the Brahms album one piece at a time. We start with...

Op. 4—Scherzo in E-flat Minor(six flats)
Here's a video to make up for the fact that I can't share a personal testimonial about the joy of playing this particular piece.

I don't often attempt to play this huge, virtuosic, early work by Brahms. It's very fast, very loud and strenuous, very rasch und feurig (that's the tempo marking, in fact), and difficult enough to require more work than I care to devote to it. While it instantly puts to rest the misconception of Brahms as a composer chiefly of peaceful lullabies¹, that's about the only thing restful about it. Between you, me, and the wall, I don't really like it. I think it sounds shrill and, except for a peaceful second theme and some gentler passages in the two Trios, it treats the instrument very harshly. In this album, Brahms will have plenty of opportunity to put the lie to the misconception that he was chiefly a composer of lullabies; but I don't think we will ever again hear him do so with as little subtlety or variety as in this piece.

Op. 10—Four Ballades
No. 1 in D Minor ("Edward")

Here we find Brahms in his "legends of the past" register, one to which he often returned. Inspired by a traditional Scottish ballad he found in a German translation, it sings (without words) a tale well known on the folk-singing circuit: a youth comes home with blood on his sword; his mother asks him where the blood came from; and after at first telling a lie, he gradually reveals that he has killed his brother and must now go away forever. It's a good piece for learning to deal with rhythmic niceties such as 2:3 cross-rhythms, and developing your pedal technique to cover for the fact that two hands are really doing the work of three.

No. 2 in D Major

This piece opens with two themes in a gentle and peaceful mood—one syncopated, the other featuring widely-spaced, rolled chords. The mood grows stormy in a second section. A third segment is more playful, but takes on a more serious note as it transitions back to the second section. In the end, the peaceful opening returns.

No. 3 in B Minor (Intermezzo)

This number has some of the energy of the Scherzo op. 4, but only a fraction of its violence. The middle section has an innocent, childlike quality.

No. 4 in B major

The initial material of this piece is a slow-paced melody accompanied by downward arpeggios. In the second section, the melody moves into a middle voice, between a rocking accompaniment of steady eighths in the left hand and simultaneous eighth-note triplets in the right hand.² Particularly challenging are a couple of spots where a second middle voice borrows notes from both hands' accompaniment patterns. When the first part returns, the accompaniment has grown more jaunty. The texture settles down to quarter-note chords for a while (though with unusual phrase lengths), then returns to the "melody in the middle" style of the second section. The contrast between these two main textures is like a dialogue between two characters (a woman answered by a man), though we don't know precisely which characters they are or what ballad's words they are saying to each other, there is a certain tenderness and sadness and sense that the girl doesn't know what the boy feels, suggesting that Brahms may have been thinking of the crush of his life: Robert Schumann's widow Clara.

Op. 39—Waltzes

Brahms published several versions of Op. 39. The original version, I think, was for one piano, four hands. This he reduced to a two-hand version, and then an even more "Simplified Edition," for less skilled pianists. Some of the waltzes also exist in a "two pianos, four hands" version, for what it's worth. Both two-handed versions are in the Dover Edition I keep close to my piano. For the most part, either one is within the reach of an amateur of middling ability (e.g. yours truly); though the unsimplified version will require a bit more work. There are sixteen waltzes (Walzer) in the set. Unlike Chopin's pieces, they are not individually significant, equipped with multiple themes, a fully developed form, and a sense of being complete masterpieces in themselves. Rather, they are an interconnected series of musical miniatures in a simple, rounded-binary form. The longest of them is only a page and a half long; several of them are less than a page. And while some of them are independently more famous than others, they really form a single whole, played one after another. They make no pretensions to great art, but are simply attractive pieces in the popular dance form; nevertheless, they express a variety of moods and are sometimes breathtakingly beautiful. In my opinion, the tonal scheme that results from playing them as a set works better in the "original" two-hand version than in the Simplified Edition, which besides reducing the number of notes you have to play, also moves some of the pieces into an easier key. Here's a list of the numbers in this set with the keys they represent, to give you some idea of what you may be facing as you explore this set:

1. B major (5 sharps)
2. E major (4 sharps)
3. G-sharp minor (5 sharps)
4. E minor (1 sharp)
5. E major
6. C-sharp major (7 sharps; transposed to the white-note key of C in the Simplified Edition)
7. C-sharp minor (4 sharps)
8. B-flat major (2 flats)
9. D minor (1 flat)
10. G major (1 sharp)
11. B minor (2 sharps)
12. E major
13. B major (C in the S.E.)
14. G-sharp minor (transposed to A minor, with all white notes, in the S.E.)
15. A-flat major (4 flats; transposed to A, with 3 sharps, in the S.E.)
16. C-sharp minor (transposed to D minor in the S.E.)

Op. 76—Eight Pieces
No. 1 Capriccio in F-sharp Minor

Again, this is a piece I do not play much. Its rapid flow sixteenth-notes taxes my sight-reading abilities to the limit, and I tend not to invest much work in a piece that does not provide at least a little gratification on a cold read-through. But I have listened to recordings of it while following the score, and I appreciate its scintillating virtuosity, its dramatic sweep, the brilliant colors and textures of sound it draws from the piano.

No. 2 Capriccio in B minor

This is a fun, even humorous piece, definitely worth spending time practicing and stretching one's technique for. It opens with a staccato melody over an "oom-pah, oom-pah" left-hand pattern. It then plays around with chromatic sequences, flouncy grace notes, major/minor juxtapositions, and ostinato patterns in a middle voice while the outside voices in both hands dialogue back and forth. Brahms doesn't let up on the harmonic surprises, even as the piece finally dies away.

No. 3 Intermezzo in A-flat Major

This piece features a delicate main melody in off-the-beat quarter notes over a wide-spaced, strumming accompaniment. A brief, free second idea adds a touch more expressiveness before both parts are repeated.

No. 4 Intermezzo in B-flat major

This very chromatic, tonally unsettled but texturally relaxed piece majors in the effect of rolled chords that results from each voice moving on a different part of the beat. This alternates with a more agitated idea. At the climax of the piece, both ideas merge into one for just a moment.

No. 5 Capriccio in C-sharp Minor

Here a dark, chromatic melody in a 3/4 rhythm (3 beats to the bar) is accompanied by an even more chromatic run of eighth notes in the middle voice and a bass-line that moves in 6/8 (two beats to the bar). Again the subordinate idea is more agitated sounding, like a wild dance. Both ideas are repeated with variation, tending toward more rhythmic complexity and higher drama, until the thrilling (and highly virtuosic) upward rush of the final bars.

No. 6 Intermezzo in A Major

One of the most accessible pieces in this set, this piece only requires a wide-awake amateur to subdivide 2:3 cross-rhythms (almost unceasingly) and to negotiate richly chromatic melodies and harmonies. Beyond that, it isn't technically difficult. But to make it sound really good, you need to be confident of the notes and to play with sensitivity. It is on the mellower side, but its relative calm conceals an uneasy mind and deep, complex emotions. Not a lullaby!

No. 7 Intermezzo in A Minor

Framed by a simple, noble, poignant phrase, the main body of this piece is a harmonically rich melody over a left-hand pattern of rolling eighths. The tune is marked by rhythmic accents, hesitations, and phrasings in which the resolution of a dissonance in one voice dovetails with the beginning of a new phrase in another voice. Again, it's very accessible to the amateur, and rewards as much work as you can put into it.

No. 8 Capriccio in C Major

Here is a graceful, flowing piece which Kevin the amateur may find surprisingly approachable, in spite of the wide range of its left-hand arpeggios and the variety of rhythmic and harmonic highlights hidden within the right-hand part. It has a melody that emerges as if by magic out of a stream of eighth-notes, a mood ranging from sun-dappled sweetness to earnest dramatics, and harmonies that stretch the musician's appreciation of expressive beauty in unexpected directions. As a finale to this set, it is very effective!

Op. 79—Two Rhapsodies
No. 1 in B Minor

This is one of Brahms's big, dramatic showpieces. It begins with an instantly recognizable feature: the rhythm of a dotted quarter and three triplet sixteenths, followed by a strident phrase in dotted-quarter figures. This passage quickly subsides to a tense transitional theme in which the hands cross each other. After a repeat of the material so far, we discover a tender theme in D minor, accompanied by searching harmonies. The first theme comes back in a heated B-flat major passage, culminating in upward rushes of thirty-second notes that I tend to skip when I play this piece, because I'm a chicken. These flourishes effect the transition back to B minor, where a reprise of the opening theme finally loses steam in a long, written-out ritard. This concludes the A section, making way for the B section's "very sweet, expressive" theme in B major, with the melody in a middle voice while the uppermost voice plays a sort of pedal point. After spending a good deal of time on this material (including repeats), we go back through the considerable length of Part A and conclude with a light, mysterious coda.

No. 2 in G Minor

This sonata-form piece again shows Brahms in his high-powered, passionate mode. The opening melody requires hand crossings while the right hand holds down a rocking middle-voice accompaniment. After a transitional theme that runs plumb wild, we catch a brief glimpse of a haunting second theme. Almost half of the exposition is devoted to a striking codetta theme in D minor. The development focuses wholly on the first theme, going through three long pages and a variety of keys. This section peters out dreamily before the recap begins with a loud D major chord. And from there on everything else is the same as at first, except (with orthodox adherence to sonata-form procedures) that everything from the second theme onward is transposed so that the piece will end in G minor. That's what's going on under the hood; what you hear, however, is music of awesome seriousness and expressive power, building to a tremendous climax and dying away again, before two loud final chords.

Op. 116—Fantasies
No. 1 Capriccio in D Minor

I love trying to play this piece, but I never do it anything like justice. I really need to work on it! It's a very vast, furiously energetic piece full of big two-fisted chords, rhythmic displacements, thrilling crescendoes, cascading arpeggios in octaves, and a central passage in which eighth-note chords alternating between the two hands require a different kind of beaming than you may have seen before (i.e., with stems-up and stems-down notes sharing the same beam). Just to be able to whale on the keyboard and still make it musical—it's the kind of thing a stressed-out pianist needs now and then!

No. 2 Intermezzo in A Minor

The meditative opening theme of this piece is another in which the pianist is constantly playing 2:3 cross-rhythms. A second section has a delicate melody in high-register broken octaves, circling around almost amilessly, like buzzing insects. Then there's a third idea, honest and confiding in its simplicity, leading to a chromatic transition back to the tonic and the opening theme.

No. 3 Capriccio in G Minor

I hope my upstairs neighbors will one day forgive me for the noise I have made with this piece, and Brahms for the hash I have made of it. Brahms is again in his passionate register, exploring fascinating harmonic vistas through a melody plucked out of a gush of eighth notes. The middle section is a tender, noble, moving theme—again, with the notable 2:3 cross-rhythms—climaxing in big, rich chords that are ever so much fun to play.

No. 4 Intermezzo in E Major

Back to the meditative mood, Brahms tests the pianist's control of changing rhythmic patterns, hand-crossings, widely spread chords, and rich harmonic colors. The brief middle section has a nocturne-like quality, with parallel chords in the right hand part and rolling sixteenth-note patterns in the left. Instead of a full repeat of the A section, the piece ends with reminiscences of both sections.

No. 5 Intermezzo in E Minor

Here's another piece I have only recently begun to study. Brahms rode the outside edge of functional harmony in this piece. Its rocking, tipping theme also makes many demands of the pianist's hands—not least of which is the control to play it all with sweetness, grace, and "most intimate sentiment."

No. 6 Intermezzo in E Major

The A section of this piece mostly comprises a steady series of quarter-note chords, but their unusual harmonies may give the pianist a compensating sense of being challenged. The middle section features a lyrical tune against a rolling eighth-note accompaniment alternately involving both hands; again, expect some 2:3 cross-rhythms. The piece concludes with breathtaking tenderness.

No. 7 Capriccio in D Minor

Again, I have done what I can with this piece many times, but always way under the correct tempo. It's just too neat not to play; but its A section ought to sound like a lightning storm flashing from one side of the sky to the other: chords alternating with sixteenth-note arpeggios, rhythmic displacements, pregnant dissonances... The B section has a melody in quarter-note values, displaced by half a beat, running through the middle of an accompaniment of eighth-notes alternately climbing from below and falling from above. This builds dramatically, but to nothing like the fury of the returning A section with its rapid sixteenths and diminished-seventh-chord arpeggios, and thrilling closing chords that, again, are in proportion to the entire set, and not just this one piece.

Op. 117—Three Intermezzi
No. 1 in E-flat Major

A middle-voice melody, embedded within an E-flat pedal-point in both hands, conjures a moment of timeless, idyllic beauty. This contrasts gently with an E-flat minor middle section touched by the melancholy meditations of a nocturne.

No. 2 in B-flat Minor

Here is a piece that looks far more intimidating than it should. Its persistent runs of thirty-second notes, at the marked tempo of Andante non troppo e con molto espressione, are not all that difficult. And the effort of negotiating the many flat-signs (and some double-flats!) is repaid by a lovely theme in arpeggios, and a more chordal second theme whose bittersweet inner thoughts are evident in the underlying layer of chromatic movement. This section transitions gently back to the first theme. But it is the second theme, transposed to the tonic key, that finally closes the piece.

No. 3 in C-sharp Minor

This is one of my very favorite pieces. It begins with a dark melody in octaves, later heard in the middle of a texture between left-hand arpeggios and right-hand chords. The gentle middle section, in A major, has a melody full of long notes and wide leaps over rocking sixteenth-note figures, suggesting feelings of painful longing. Then the first section comes back with, if anything, richer harmonies than ever. I get verklempt just thinking about it. Remember that Rimsky-Korsakov piece I told you about long ago, the one that forced you to learn how to make a middle-voice melody sing while doing other stuff with both hands? The reason you'll want to practice that piece is so that you can play this.

Op. 118—Six Pieces
No. 1 Intermezzo in A Minor

Passionate, surging melody stretches above wide-ranging left-hand arpeggios. The harmony is enriched to within an ace of the limits of romantic tonality. And the set is off to a brilliant start.

No. 2 Intermezzo in A Major

When I want to wow somebody with the beauty of Brahms with just one piece, this is often the piece I go for. Similar in texture to the previous piece, it differs greatly in character: a tender, consoling, heartwarming melody that glows even in its deepest, darkest sonorities. The middle section is a gentle, sweet melody in F-sharp minor, featuring 2:3 cross-rhythms, a middle-voice countermelody, and a sort of inverted climax, in which a series of soft, simple chords seem to form the heart of the whole piece. When the A section returns, it is gently elaborated, mainly by the addition of some chromatic passing notes.

No. 3 Ballade in G Minor

I annoyed my upstairs neighbors today with this rip-roaringly feisty piece (albeit awfully under-tempo), full of bashing chords and thrilling dramatics. The theme of the dreamy middle section, initially in B major, comes back briefly at the very end. It seems to say something about how, for some heroes, death is like falling in love.

No. 4 Intermezzo in F Minor

Here the two hands converse with each other in nervous little broken-chord figures. When they get a head of steam going, they almost break free of the gravity of tonality. Then they calm right down for a middle section in which four registers of the keyboard form a deceptively peaceful dialogue, made up of hand-crossings, chromatic harmonies, and monosyllabic murmurs. When the first theme returns, it has become urgently excited.

No. 5 Romance in F Major

The melody of this "song without words" is found mostly in octaves in the middle of a chordal texture played by both hands. Its exquisite sweetness and moving expressiveness combine to make it another beauty spot, akin to No. 2 of the same set. At the middle of the piece is a set of variations on a four-bar phrase, like a miniature passacaglia in D major. Anything you may have learned from Chopin about grace-notes and tuplet rhythms (such as five sixteenth-notes to a quarter-note) will come in useful here.

No. 6 Intermezzo in E-flat Minor

Again, the look of this piece is apt to put amateur pianists off, but at its slow Andante, largo e mesto tempo, its thirty-second-notes aren't too fast. The real challenges of this piece are keeping a steady pulse, subdividing the rhythm correctly, and navigating the tricky chromatics. In effect this is a nocturne, with a melody (sometimes two at one time) full of thoughtful musing, over a background of rippling arpeggios. The middle section is a little crisper, and even grows quite massive in its assertive power. But immediately after the climax, it dies back to a reprise of the opening theme.

Op. 119—Four Pieces
No. 1 Intermezzo in B Minor

The set opens with a short (two-page) piece in a slow 3/8 meter. At first it gives an impression like raindrops running down a windowpane. A second theme in D major is warmer, rising through chromatic deviations to a pair of well-judged climaxes, perfectly in proportion to the subdued tone of the piece. On its return, the first theme picks up some extra decoration, and the piece ends with gentle sadness. Like a good cry on a rainy day, it's all healing and not much drama.

No. 2 Intermezzo in E Minor

Starting softly but with agitation, the opening theme's rhythm is at first marked by pairs of sixteenth-notes alternating between both hands. This rhythmic figure continues to serve as a motto for the piece even after we have seen variants of the same theme in steady triplet-eighths, then chords rapidly alternating between the two hands, then straight eighth-notes against a rolling accompaniment of sixteenth-notes. As so often, Brahms spotlights the richness of his harmony even at the expense of melodic beauty. The middle section features a graceful waltz theme in E major. Like the dreamy episode in op. 118 no. 3, this theme, or at least a nostalgic memento of it, comes back after the return of the agitated first theme and furnishes the closing riff of the piece.

No. 3 Intermezzo in C Major

More middle-voice melody animates this playful little piece, whose wit extends to something like a musical equivalent of doubles entendres. Don't let its blithe innocence and lighthearted sparkle fool you; some of the harmonic juxtapositions in this piece are among the alternatives to "I-IV-V-I" chord progressions that Brahms explored at symphonic length.³

No. 4 Rhapsody in E-flat Major

After a relatively long absence, Brahms's aggressive mode is back—and none too soon! In his last stand-alone piano work, Brahms whales on the keyboard like never before: big thick strong chords, deep growling sonorities, a C minor pedal point in one episode, twittering ornaments in another—ye gods, my neighbors must hate me! Especially when I forget that it's only 7:00 on Saturday morning (oops)! Episode 1 comes back with thrilling force, then the opening theme appears in a poky, perky guise. After a harmonic bridge passage, the keyboard abuse returns with deafening vengeance, not omitting a coda of massive... er, massiveness. Brahms, a lullaby composer? See how well you sleep with this piece banging on your ear-bones!

Trust me, if your piano can stand up to this treatment, it's ready for anything. And as for you... well, after years of fiddling with the pieces in this book, I'm not much closer to having any of these pieces concert-ready. But I have derived many fulfilling hours out of playing them as best I can (barring, you know, serious practice). And I think the exercise has advanced my sight-reading abilities and general keyboard proficiency by light years. Maybe it's hell on my neighbors, but to me it's a world of exquisite colors, textures, emotions, and energies that I am eager to explore, again and again.

---

¹Somewhere else on Youtube—and this you can find for yourself—there is a video of a pianist-comedian doing impressions of how several great composers might have written "Happy Birthday." Predictably, the Brahms version is based on his eponymous lullaby. Don't be fooled. Brahms' music covers a wide range of expression, but on average it is much more assertive and thrilling than this gentle, soporific caricature of him. If anything, Op. 4 shows that his first instinct as a composer was, indeed, to be harsh and strident to a fault. He mellows nicely as he goes on.
²Typical Brahms! If you don't love 2:3 cross-rhythms, you may want to shop elsewhere. If you're willing to learn that they're "not difficult," this album will open many beauties to your view!
³See especially the first movement of his Third Symphony.

Tacky Hymns 41

Lest we never finish this labor of love (because of which we kid), we continue our kidding at the expense of Evangelical Lutheran Worship and those of its hymns that, when rubbed against Lutheran parish worship, produce a hair-raising potential for Tackiness on Holy Ground.

It may be a good sign that in the section of 25 hymn numbers starting with 626, there is nothing egregiously tacky until hymn 633. There is even a moving hymn translated from the work of Dietrich Bonhoeffer (626). But with 633 we get "We've come this far by faith" (Excerpt: "Oh, can't turn around, we've come this far by faith"). Albert Goodson wrote the words and music in 1956 for a Baptist church radio choir. It's a classic example of a modern African-American gospel hymn, perhaps even one of the handful of such hymns most closely identified with that slice of the cultural pie. My tired, disillusioned eyes read the words of the refrain (sung by "All") and see a story people tell themselves when they are tearing down traditions (good or bad) and setting a progressive course for the future (with or without a command from God). As one example, take the change this song's inclusion in a Lutheran pew hymnal represents: a turning aside from the tradition of hymnody sung by the congregation (the stanzas are so unequivocally assigned to "Leader" that the music is not even provided), and from lyrics that teach the message of the cross (while this song only preaches encouraging generalities). I pity anyone who comes away from the Baptist church, wanting to be Lutheran, and lands in a church that sings songs like this. It is a formerly Lutheran church that has come thus far toward becoming a Baptist church. The only difference is that the Baptists do it better.

After that the angel of sarcasm passes harmlessly over several more hymns, including one with music by Marty Haugen (635 "We walk by faith," 19th-century lyrics by Henry Alford), a Herman Stuempfle hymn contrasting the shortness of our lives with the eternity of Christ (636 "How small our span of life"), a Susan Briehl lyric set to music by Robert Buckley Farlee (637 "Holy God, holy and glorious"), none of which I can complain about, though I would like to. Honesty compels me to hold back my poison pen until 638 "Blessed assurance" by Fanny Crosby—but I have already been there, so I won't go there again. So the next righteous target of my wit is...

639 "When we are living" (Pues si vivimos), a three-stanza hymn available in both English and Spanish. The text is translated in part from a paraphrase of Romans 14:8, and in part from a hymn by Roberto Escamilla. The credits at the bottom of the page hint that this hymn comes to us by way of the Methodist tradition. There is little harm in the piece, though its strongest statement of the Gospel is "we belong to God," and it ends ends on a note of moralism (it is good to help and feed the poor and troubled). I don't see what's so great about it that it nosed past many excellent Lutheran hymns that didn't make it into ELW. Unless... could it be?... it's that Multiculturalism thing again!

641 "All are welcome" (first line: "Let us build a house where love can dwell") is a five-stanza Marty Haugen opus. Like many of his melodies, the tune TWO OAKS sounds like a compromise between chorale and pop song, oozing folk appeal. Meanwhile the lyrics smell of a long, luxurious wallow in the mud of ecumenism. Stanza 1 urges us to build a church where "the love of Christ shall end divisions," a safe and accepting place "built of hopes and dreams and visions." Stanza 2 comes close to a description of the church as one that hears God's prophetic word; but there is a gap between that and Haugen's language "prophets speak, and words are strong and true" (good for them), while "all God's children dare to seek to dream God's reign anew" (as if their dream is just as valid as the prophets' words). Stanza 3 is yet one more Marty Haugen lyric about the Lord's Supper that doesn't commit itself as to whether Christ's body and blood are taken by mouth—an omission remarkable in a Catholic author, unless he is really trying that hard to bridge the differences between all Christians. Stanza 4 is the social justice stanza, where we accept the outcast and stranger by "bring(ing) an end to fear and danger"—which only sounds like a Christ-like attitude until you reflect that when Jesus called sinners, he called them to repent; and when he welcomed them, it was with forgiveness of their sins. Call it an uncharitable doubt, but I feel it nevertheless: a doubt that this is the kind of welcome Haugen means. The concluding stanza is just too precious: "Let us a build a house where all are named, their songs and visions heard and loved and treasured, taught and claimed as words within the Word." You know, a church that doesn't distinguish between the true faith and false doctrine. And its message (refrain after refrain): "All are welcome in this place." That's nice. But after greeting them with this warm hug, what is this place really giving them? What assurance, based on what authority? What blessing, directed by what power? Is the church to be nothing more than a spiritual sort of sonic shower, where we cleanse each other by the good vibrations emanating from our sanctified wills? If so, how do our wills become sanctified??

642 "Ubi caritas et amor" ("Where true charity and love abide") is a Taizé setting of a 9th century Latin antiphon that I like to associate with the gorgeous choral setting by Maurice Duruflé. Jacques Berthier's setting is pitifully thin, plain, and abrupt beside it—accessible to a church choir (singing in parts) or a congregation (singing in unison), but so short and of such negligible musical merit that one might ask why they would be interested. The English translation is presented as the alternative option. Maybe singing it in Latin makes it seem deeper or more significant. It's not that the words lack meaning. It's just that where there is time for a hymn in the service, much more can be done than this song does.

643 "We are all one in Christ" (Somos uno en Cristo) is translated from a Spanish ditty of unknown authorship, whose single stanza can also be sung in Spanish. Gerhard Cartford's translation actually flatters the original Spanish somewhat. Where a literal translation would get us no further than "We are one in Christ, we are one, we are one, only one," and repeat, the hymnal's translation adds, "We are one body, all one people out of many." Our passion for cultural diversity burns so warmly that we are now improving on Hispanic lyrics, so our people will appreciate them more than they deserve.

646 "The peace of the Lord" (La paz del Señor) is another three-stanza hymn, all of which can be sung in either Spanish or English. The original version is by Anders Ruuth; the English text, copyrighted by the Lutheran World Federation(!?), is by our old friend Gerhard Cartford. Each stanza begins with the lines "The peace of the Lord, the peace of the Lord, the peace of the risen Lord Jesus." Then they branch out into the following profundities: "The peace of the Lord is for you and for me, and also for all of God's children" (st. 1); "The peace of the Lord is among us right now, so open yourselves to receive it" (st. 2); and "The peace of the Lord kept within cannot live, so open yourselves now to share it." This is the message world Lutheranism is spreading, beginning from Jerusalem (by which I mean the Spanish speaking world), spreading to Judea (the English speaking world), Samaria (let's say, deepest darkest Africa), and the rest of the world. It's a message in which the peace of God is no longer a mystery passing all understanding, but an inert object that can and must be acted upon by our will, if it is to have any effect in us and on the world around us. Dear God, aren't you lucky that we believe in you?

648 "Beloved, God's chosen" is a hymn by Susan Cherwien, set to the tune ANDREW'S SONG by Robert Hobby (b. 1962). Of this tune I would say that, if Lutheran congregations can learn to sing it and like it, that encourages me that they will soon stop complaining about those awkward and angular tunes from the Reformation era. It has some tricky intervals, and whether it earns them by sounding particularly inspired is—ahem—open to debate. As for Cherwien's text... One of the first things I notice is that it has three stanzas, but stanzas 1 and 3 are identical. Again, is that earned?—debatable! Part of the debate (and this will count for half of your final grade) is whether there is any gospel in this hymn at all, and whether a certain sense of being a paraphrase of material from the Epistles section of the New Testament warrants that omission. Remember, we're talking about the context of Lutheran congregational hymn singing here! Does it not seem at all odd to have nothing but "be thus" and "do this" preached at you in a Lutheran hymn? And finally, there is a bit of verse-making awkwardness here too; such as the line "Let singing thanksgiving to God ever rise"—a "garden path sentence" if I ever read one.

649 "Behold, how pleasant" (Miren qué bueno) is a paraphrase of Psalm 133, in both Spanish and English, by Pablo Sosa. It's a text that I like so well that I once set it to music myself. There's nothing wrong with the text of this hymn. I just don't see what's so great about the setting that, etc., etc., etc., skip to "oh, yeah! cultural diversity!" and cut.

650 "In Christ there is no east or west" is an anthem to ecumenism by John Oxenham (1852-1941), set to the tune McKEE, derived from an African-American spiritual. I like the tune, as adapted by Harry Burleigh (1866-1949); it has a ruggedly American profile, a greater than typical melodic range, and more than its fair share of interesting surprises. This doesn't stop me from questioning whether it really gels with the musical spirit of Lutheranism, or whether it's fair to expect Grandma and Grandpa Smurf's congregation to throw their heads back and belt it out. And while there's some truth (from the standpoint of "I believe in the one holy catholic and apostolic" etc.) in what Oxenham's text says, there's also a wide zone of potential interpretations into which one could stumble, in which it is at least mildly ridiculous to deny the existence of divisions between Christian communions, divisions that exist sometimes for important reasons. Understood from the perspective that there is no distinction between Jew or Greek, slave or free, barbarian or Scythian, African or Indian or Chinese, or what have you, I'm totally with you. (Oxenham hints at this in stanza 3, "whate'er your race may be"). But then in stanza 4 we come to the phrase "All Christly souls are one in him." Christly? What do we have to do to be Christly? Come on, ELW! Where's a footnote when we need one?

Album for the Mature 3

Waltzes
by Frédéric Chopin
Recommended Ages: 14+

Strike while Chopin is hot, I always say! And since I've been shouting up his Mazurkas, I also want to mention his Waltzes. The dance known in German as Walzer, and in French as Valse, became the fashionable rage of Vienna as far back as the early 1700s. Its distinctive features were a 3/4 rhythm, often supported by an "oom-pah-pah" bass line; a gliding, spinning motion by the dancers; and what scandalized the morals of the day, the innovation of requiring dance partners of the opposite sex to hold each other in a close embrace.

Composers like Johann Strauss I and his sons Johann II, Josef, and Eduard, contributed many orchestral waltzes to the dance-hall of their day—music that may now be heard in the concert hall, but that was originally intended to be danced to. All I have to say is "Blue Danube" and you're probably hearing one of their tunes in your head right now. The Waltz influenced many other styles of dance and remains, to this day, the bedrock of ballroom dancing throughout the world.

Chopin, on the other hand, wrote his Waltzes—or rather, Valses, as he usually titled them—to be performed in concert by a solo pianist. His Waltzes range from slow and stately to lightning-quick, from the brevity of the famous "Minute Waltz" to the expansive length of a "Grande Valse Brillante" (one of which, ironically, was orchestrated after Chopin's death as part of a ballet suite, so it was danced to after all).

So, he didn't invent the Waltz (or Valse). Not even nearly! And he didn't introduce it anywhere that it wasn't already known and in fashion. But he created enduring art music based on it—to wit, this album of piano pieces, many of which are within the reach of a well-coordinated amateur pianist. With steady practice, all of them are more or less doable.

I first played a Chopin Waltz for a piano recital when I was of middle-school age. I still play them often, though not as much as the Mazurkas. There are two reasons for that. The less important reason is that I have to work a bit harder at them. More important is the fact that there are just fewer of them. While Chopin left us 51 "numbered" Mazurkas (and we saw some editions that include 56 or 57 of them!), there are only 20 "numbered" Waltzes by Chopin. Two of those are now considered spurious.¹ And one of them, which bears no title except the tempo marking Sostenuto, is only counted as a Waltz by some authorities, but not by others. Willard Palmer, who edited the cheapo Alfred Edition of Chopin's "Waltzes (Complete)" that I play from, evidently falls in the latter camp, because his book only contains 17 Waltzes—and the way he numbers them is confusing, because the "official" numbering (listed here) puts them in a different order. So again, I'm going to ignore the numbering of the Waltzes and rely as much as possible on opus numbers and the like.

Chopin published eight of the Waltzes during his lifetime: two of them as separate opus numbers, and the rest in two sets of three Waltzes each. In the years immediately following his death in 1849, Chopin's friends published five more in two posthumous opus numbers. The other four authentic pieces, definitively titled Waltz or Valse, came to light by ones or twos between the 1860s and as recently as 1955. A few more are thought to exist somewhere, but whoever owns them isn't sharing—a situation that makes steam toot out of my ears when I think about it. Several more are known of but believed to be lost forever. But who knows? Many lost masterpieces (and Doctor Who episodes), never expected to be seen again, have come to light in recent years. The world may some day know the charm of another Chopin Waltz or two.

But for now, it's a grim fact: though they are valued at least as highly as his 50-odd Mazurkas, and on average they are longer pieces, Chopin's known Waltzes number only 17 or so. And more than half of them are of the "opus posthumous" persuasion. Luckily we won't see quite as many instances as in the Mazurkas of posthumous pieces that would have been better left unpublished. In spite of Palmer's editorial note opining that the posthumous Waltzes are of lower quality, owing to the fact that Chopin worked really hard to spruce up the ones that he intended to publish (as well as his habit of giving "dashed off" Waltzes as gifts to his girlfriends), the Chopin Waltz legacy is pretty solid. There are only two or three of them that I would rate as "not so hot." And the other good news is: This post won't be too long, since there aren't as many pieces to hash over!

Op. 18—Grande Valse Brillante in E-flat major

Like several of Chopin's Mazurkas, this piece starts with a four-bar introduction of a single note repeated over and over. In this case, however, the accelerating crescendo of B-flats is a distinctive feature that causes ears around the world to perk up in recognition. Then commences the first of an embarrassment of melodies following each other in a rich, 10-page progression—a tune that belongs to what I have elsewhere described as Chopin's "spectacular register," and that has a subordinate theme in A-flat with a repeated-note motif. Episode 1 shifts to D-flat major and a smoothly soaring theme; it too has a subordinate idea in A-flat, with strongly accented rhythmic displacements. Episode 2, also in D-flat, has a hint of a hop in its step; its middle section (for in this piece, even the episodes have middle sections) is full of twittery grace notes and blithely dissonant chromatics. Then comes Episode 3(!) with a single period of gliding melody, preparing for a spectacular return of the introduction and a souped-up rearrangement of the opening theme and its stuttering subordinate tune. After a big climax brings the music to a halt, Chopin devotes two whole pages to a "big finish" coda full of reminiscences of themes heard throughout the piece. Frankly the music goes a bit crazy; though don't be deceived by the notation loco at measure 284 (it's only a courtesy reminder to play the right-hand part in the octave at which it is written). You'll know what I mean. And you may realize, when you play it or hear it, that you already know this piece as well as The Blue Danube.

Op. 34—3 Grandes Valses Brillantes:
No. 1 in A-flat major

After 16 bars of virtuosic flourishes by way of prologue, a cheerful theme kicks in with parallel sixths in the right hand. Connected to this is a passage full of arch-shaped arpeggios. After a repeat of this theme group comes another A-flat melody whose main rhythmic feature is an accented note tied across the barline. Rhythmic quirks continue to flood in, from groupings of 13 eighths to be squeezed into three beats, to a jaunty D-flat major melody full of chromatics and dotted rhythms. Chopin again spends 10 pages playing with all these ideas, and saves plenty of space for a dramatic coda.

No. 2 in A minor

Noble and mournful, the first melody of this piece appears in an inner voice played by the left hand. Other themes seem to comment on this significant statement, the excess of their emotion bursting forth in groaning chromaticism, gasping hesitations, odd rhythmic groupings such as seven eighths to two quarter-note beats. A second main theme in A major adds poignancy rather than sunshine, especially when it turns into a minor-key variation of itself. The first time Section A returns, it omits the opening cello theme; but when it does appear after a reprise of Section B, we greet it like an old friend. And then, on page 6, when the piece is almost over, Chopin introduces a new melody for the left hand. After one more entrance of the opening theme, the piece comes to a low-key end.

No. 3 in F major

The melody that grows out of the 16-bar intro is a kissing cousin of the famed Minute Waltz (about which, see below): a stream of rapid eighth-notes in a four-beat pattern that circles whimsically above the three-beat waltz template. A carefree second theme in B-flat relaxes the bustle a bit. Then there comes a page of even more laid-back melody, with plunging long notes alternating with trippy little grace-noted arpeggios. The return of the opening theme on page 4 signals that the end is at hand; but it is the third theme that finally rings in the closing chords.

Op. 42—Valse in A-flat major

A long trill ushers in a clever theme in which the right hand seems to be playing in 6/8 while the left hand plugs away in 3/4. A second theme features straightforward eighth-note runs rocketing into a high register and plunging back down. It is this theme that keeps coming back like a refrain after a series of quaint episodes. Around page 5, the texture calms down a lot, with a practically singable theme that relies on the expressive harmony for its effect. Only on page 7 does the hemiola theme return, only to be followed by reminiscences of the other ideas, solemn unison passages, a long rising chromatic run, and pages and pages of coda in which the second theme seems just about to carry away the prize when the hemiola theme gets the last word.

Op. 64—3 Valses:
No. 1 in D-flat major

This is the so-called Minute Waltz, though I think the idea that it must be played as fast as humanly possible may exaggerate Chopin's intentions somewhat. Even so, I don't know that anyone has actually succeeded in performing it flawlessly in under a minute; so take these nicknames with a grain of salt. Again, part of the fun of this prelude is the four-note pattern that flies above the 3/4 Waltz pattern with a sort of 2:3 orbital resonance. The running eighths do step out for a breather while a secondary theme in longer note-values sells the emotional heart of the piece. Kevin had better be practicing his 4:3 cross-rhythms, though; not to mention 8:3 ones for the final downward rush.

No. 2 in C-sharp minor

This piece is one of my favorites in this album. It isn't just the fact that I played this piece in a recital. It might have to do with my intuition that this was an especially congenial key to Chopin. There is just something warm, homey, and humane about this piece's main theme, so delicately tinged with sadness. Always appended to it is a somewhat faster passage of running eighths whose shape, for all its athleticism, adds a poignancy of its own. This is the part the comes back as a refrain, not only after the first theme but also, without it, after the middle section in which, not for the first time, Chopin shows his preference for flat keys by converting the parallel major of C-sharp into its enharmonic equivalent, D-flat. This tune is full of yearning, and once more, challenges the pianist to master tricky rhythmic groupings and cross-rhythms.

No. 3 in A-flat major

This piece is one of several by Chopin that uses "wrong-note" chromatic effects to distort one's experience of dissonance and harmony, while expressing feelings so powerful that only by an act of genius could the cultured smoothness of a Waltz contain it. At the center of the piece is a "cello" tune for the left hand against a throbbing right-hand accompaniment, in the distant key of C major. When the main theme comes back, it carries its potential to destroy the tonal system so far that, at one crucial point, it modulates to the "wrong" key! The piece ends in a glittering shower of eighth-notes.

Op. 69—2 Valses published posthumously in 1852:
No. 1 in A-flat major

This piece immediately thwarts one's expectation that a "posthumous" work will be bland and unremarkable. Instead of the sort of "dominant, tonic, dominant, tonic" monotony we saw in the worst of Chopin's posthumous Mazurkas, we get a bass line sliding languidly downward beneath a melody so rich in chromatic dissonance and rhythmic variety that it will test the pianist to his limit. Again a bit of jumping seems to be added to the dance pattern in the subordinate theme, whose bright E-flat major contrasts strikingly with the piece's overall gloom. Section B has two melodic ideas of its own, one of which seems to be vamping aimlessly while the other climbs upward with urgent determination, only to find itself back at the vamping theme again and again. The opening theme finally returns, decorated by such touches as a rising stream of 13 eighth-notes within a two-beat span. Wow.

No. 2 in B minor

Here is another movingly beautiful piece that frequently expresses pain through the deliberate deployment of "wrong notes." It also subtly varies its main theme, using a variety of interesting chromatic detours. The middle section feints toward a consoling B major, only to darken to a B minor variation of itself. One thing is clear above all: getting the notes right is only the tiniest part of playing this piece well. Delicacy of touch and sensitivity of expression will make it or break it.

Op. 70—3 Valses published posthumously in 1855:
No. 1 in G-flat major (six flats)

Sort of a toy waltz, this piece features a playful, tinkly melody in a super-high register of the keyboard. There are plenty of wide leaps, chromatic twists, and unusual grace-notes to make it a toy for grown-ups, though its harmony is no more adventurous than it needs to be. The second theme is even more "nothing special," suggesting that this may be one of the less finished pieces in this album. But it is fun to play!

No. 2 in F minor

Here is another piece of elegiac lyricism, which to me seems to be in the same class as the best of Chopin's Waltzes. The B section, in A-flat major, comes back at the end, giving the piece the unusual form "ABA'B'."

No. 3 in D-flat major

This is an unusually contrapuntal Waltz, with the right hand playing two lines of melody that share a chromatically inflected conversation. A secondary idea in the A section casts these two voices in a more homophonic role, like chords being strummed on a guitar. The B section, in G-flat major, again has two melodic ideas, one of them calm and gentle but with an undercurrent of emotion, the second (modulating back to D-flat) rather playful. The return to the A section is not written out, which is unusual in Chopin.²

Without Opus Number
Valse in A-flat major (published in 1902)

This is the Waltz that the current numbering identifies as "No. 16" but the Alfred Edition as "No. 14," for what it's worth. It is another Waltz in Chopin's athletic register, full of running sixteenth-notes from beginning to end, except for a bit more rhythmic variety in the brief central Trio. That rhythm, however, seems derivative of themes heard earlier in this album. It's a charming little virtuoso showpiece (mainly for the right hand), but otherwise nothing special.

Walzer in E major (published in 1871-72)

By general consensus, this piece is numbered as "Waltz No. 15," and it bears the unique distinction of actually being titled in German rather than in French. Perhaps this shift of emphasis accounts for its Viennese flavor: a broad, popular, sentimental tune, sticking close to the 3/4 beat pattern and the expected harmonies, and only briefly relieved by any particularly pianistic figuration. It could almost have been written by a member of the Strauss family and only afterward arranged for the keyboard. But it falls very comfortably under the fingers!

Valse in E minor (published in 1868)

Officially (now) listed as No. 14, though Alfred lists it as No. 16, this piece erupts dramatically from a low to a very high register, and its melody runs up and down the keyboard with a gravity-proof litheness equaled only by its expressive lyricism and stormy histrionics. The middle part is relatively calming, but the outer sections are simply thrilling—Chopin in top form!

Valse in A minor (published in 1955)

No. 19 by the most recent numbering, No. 17 in my book, this three-page chit of a Waltz is both the last and the least representative of Chopin's work in this form. Like his posthumous A minor Mazurkas, it opens no particularly interesting vistas. It sets a deeply melancholic mood and sticks to it with doggedness unrelieved by any harmonic, structural, or pianistic innovations. With lyrics set to it, perhaps in some Eastern European language, it would probably be described as a "Romance" and might even become quite popular among people nostalgic for the old country. But it's a disappointing way to end an album in which Chopin so often seems to be pointing the way ahead toward ground that was still to be broken at the time of his death. Take it as an expression of your sadness at the unfinished work of this great creative artist, and you might find it answers very well.

---

¹i.e., they weren't really written by Chopin.
¹Instead, the B section ends with the notation D. C. al Fine, which saves trees I suppose—though it also means there is no specially written coda, no surprise twist at the end.

Album for the Mature 2

Mazurkas
by Frédéric Chopin
Recommended Ages: 14+

The Polish-born Chopin (1810-1849) was a fixture of the Parisian cultural scene. He specialized in performing at the piano for small private audiences or small public gatherings. Other than two concertos, a few pieces for piano and orchestra, a couple works for cello and piano, some Polish songs, and a piece for flute and piano, he wrote almost exclusively for piano solo. His writing broke new ground in the world of Romantic music, with regard to harmony, the treatment of dissonance, the blurring of tonality, and the blending of ethnic and folk elements with forms and stylings of high artistic culture. He wrote several large-scale works for piano, including three Sonatas, four tremendous Ballades, an album of 24 Preludes, and two sets of 12 Études. Other single-movement pieces that he wrote may now be found collected in albums according to their respective forms or designations, such as Waltzes, Polonaises, Nocturnes, Impromptus, Rondos, Scherzos, etc.; though during Chopin's life, and even posthumously, many of these pieces were published either as separate opus numbers, or in groupings of two or three. Such is the case with Chopin's Mazurkas, as we will see below.

The Mazurka is a lively Polish dance in 3/4 time. It has a characteristic rhythmic pattern, illustrated here; though as Chopin proves, this can be varied to some degree without obliterating the sense of "mazurkaness." Chopin wrote tons of these pieces—as many as 58 of them have been published, and several more are believed to exist—covering a wide variety of moods and textures. In general these are brief pieces in a 3-part, A-B-A' form. The melodies often express a certain melancholy passion, but their range of moods runs from joyful triumph all the way to bitter despair. The left-hand part is often a type of "oom-pah-pah" pattern, though Chopin's incorporated more-than-traditionally sophisticated harmonies. And the significance of these pieces, as expressions of Polish nationalistic feeling, are a mark of the spirit of their time when many composers were importing folk elements (rhythms, scales, turns of melody, etc.) from their respective nationalities (Danish, Czech, Russian, etc.) into the traditionally French/German/Italian order of musical art. For all Wagner's ridicule of Chopin as a composer for the right hand, Chopin's Mazurkas demand nimbleness and sensitive expression in both hands, forcing the pianist to improve his technique without being out of the reach of a fair-to-middling note reader.

To be able to play all 58 of Chopin's extant Mazurkas, I would advise you to invest in an Urtext edition. But I must confess that I've been making do, lo these many years, with a cheapo Dover edition that only includes the 51 "numbered" Mazurkas, in numerical order. These include the Mazurkas that were published with opus numbers, including a couple of posthumous opus numbers, plus two Mazurkas that were published separately during Chopin's lifetime. So this run-down of Chopin's Mazurkas will only include the ones numbered 1-51—though, for the most part, I'm going to ignore this numbering and stick to "Op. x, No. y," a much more reliable method of keeping the pieces straight. For now, I don't have any plans to change editions. Urtexts are expensive and, for my purposes, the Dover (edited by Carl Mikuli) has been sufficient. And now, in brief, Chopin's Mazurkas...

Op. 6—4 Mazurkas:
No. 1 in F-sharp minor (3 sharps)

This piece is in something like a rondo form, with an opening refrain that returns after each of two contrasting episodes. First the melancholy refrain, notable for a triplet-eighth pattern that sometimes displaces the mazurka's dotted rhythm onto beat 2, is repeated in full. Then there's a passionate episode in the dominant¹ key of C-sharp, punctuated by loud C-sharp octaves, and rounded off by a return to the refrain; this section is also repeated. The second episode features an anxious-sounding theme with lots of twitchy little grace-notes; then the piece concludes with a final return of the refrain.

No. 2 in C-sharp minor (4 sharps)

This piece opens with an eight-bar introduction in which the melody is embedded in the middle of a dominant drone, like a hurdy-gurdy tune. The refrain, eight bars of chromatically-colored melody with a lively mazurka rhythm, is immediately repeated. Episode 1 (a jaunty little tune in the dominant key of G-sharp), together with the return of the refrain, is also repeated. Then we get Episode 2, a brighter and more expansive ditty in A major, modulating² to G-sharp again, and bringing back the introductory passage before a double statement of the refrain (slightly varied the second time) closes the piece.

No. 3 in E major (4 sharps)

Again, this piece has an introductory idea in which the left-hand plays open fifths (initially E-B) and the right-hand crosses over to play a descending riff in a deep bass register. The bright, jaunty main melody is based on a broken E-major chord; it ends with the introductory riff transposed up to B major, the dominant, and is immediately repeated. A majestic episode, also repeated, works its way back to the tonic. The music proceeds through another pageful of contrasting ideas before bringing back the introduction again, only now in A major. This heralds the return of the refrain, which on its second repetition is modified to form a brief, gentle coda.

No. 4 in E-flat minor (6 flats)

After the longest piece in this group (No. 3 ran for 3 pages) comes the shortest, only one page long. Quick, simple, direct, it has the rounded binary structure³ characteristic of classical minuets and the like. The only innovative thing about it is the use of chromaticism to color the harmonies and to shape the direction of the melody. Plus, there is something cool about the way one of the inner voices shares the burden of the melody with the topmost voice of this delicately textured miniature.

Op. 7—5 Mazurkas:
No. 1 in B-flat major (2 flats)

Chopin has returned to his usual Mazurka proportions (2 pages) with a piece whose first move is to take off like a rocket. On its way back down it hits what may sound like "wrong" notes, but their wrongness is what is so right about this piece. The refrain returns as expected, though with some added decorations, after each of two refrains: a carefree one in F, and a strange, exotic-sounding, perhaps Central-Asian influenced second episode over a G-flat drone.

No. 2 in A minor (no sharps or flats)

This ABA-form piece is the epitome of the type of up-tempo melancholy that seems to be a default setting in the Mazurka. There is something especially unsettling about the lack of a firm bass note on beat 1 of each measure, the chromatically downward-slipping harmonies, and even the central B section, whose relatively sunny, A major tinted surface covers an inward sense of being trapped in an endless cycle. At the heart of this aimless meander is a passage in F-sharp minor given to explosions of violent frustration. Chopin saves space by writing Da Capo al Fine⁴ at the end of the B section, rather than writing out the return of section A.

No. 3 in F minor (4 flats)

This 3-pager is another instance of Chopin opening with a deep, dark, portentous introduction. The main theme has a touch of tragic melodrama in it. Though several distinct episodes follow it, this theme is not heard again until the end of the piece. The first episode leads from F minor to the cheerful relative key of A-flat major. Here Chopin uses the notation stretto⁵ in an atypical sense, meaning "a slightly faster tempo." Episode 2, following without a break, is in a triumphant D-flat major; then there's a sort of "cello" episode in E-flat minor, with the melody in the left-hand part and the right hand providing chordal accompaniment. After a souped-up repeat of the introduction, the main theme returns, dovetailing into a gentle coda.

No. 4 in A-flat major (4 flats)

This charming, rondo-like piece has two episodes, the first of which is repeated along with the return of the refrain after it. The piece, though generally of a bright and genial character, revels in chromaticism, including (at the end of Episode 2) a whisper of the rather remote key of D major.

No. 5 in C major (no sharps or flats)

Again the set concludes with a dinky little one-page piece, though it could also be the longest Mazurka of all. Why? Because it ends with the notation Dal Segno senza Fine⁶, which means that everything except the four-bar introduction is to be repeated over and over, world without end. The pianist who obeys all markings to the letter had better avoid this piece, because to play it as marked would be a sort of damnation, accompanied by music of rather slight merit.

Op. 17—4 Mazurkas:
No. 1 in B-flat major

The A section of this piece is one of the few "Type A Personalities" to grace Chopin's Mazurka Album. Virile and joyful, albeit touched with chromaticism, it contrasts charmingly with a playfully skirlinig E-flat major B section. This was one of the first mazurkas by Chopin that I played, and it remains a favorite to this day.

No. 2 in E minor (1 sharp)

This piece opens with a threat of insufferable sentimentality that, fortunately, it does not fulfill. Instead, its A section ascends to a high register with music of exquisite feeling. As in many other instances, the B section has a touch of drone bass in it, but this also is relieved by something more dramatic and interesting.

No. 3 in A-flat major

Something about the main theme of this A-B-A structure makes me think of those restless nights when one is too tired to read and yet too restless to sleep. The A section has a secondary theme in B-flat minor that adds some exotic touches, yet keeps the same sense of anxious thoughts turning in tight circles. Section B's main theme, in E major, is more expansive, perhaps the most enjoyable music in the piece; it too, however, has a rather pointless secondary theme, sort of a scale study in B major.

No. 4 in A minor

Chopin breaks the pattern of his previous sets of Mazurkas by concluding this one with a longer-than-usual (four page) masterpiece, one that makes technical demands on the pianist above the norm for this album. For example, there are several runs of 15 eighth-notes that are supposed to be played over the accompaniment of a steady(ish) pulse of three quarter-notes. Have you been practicing your quintuplets, Kevin? Be sure to drill your chromatic scales, while you're at it. But it will be worth the extra homework, because this piece is such a heartbreakingly beautiful example of Chopin's genius. Slow, expressive, colored by more of those down-sliding harmonies, it tells a story that seems to come straight out of the heart. It's a compendium of romantic-era keyboard embellishments. Its middle section in A major challenges you to play two rhythmically independent voices with the same hand. And instead of bringing back the full A section, Chopin truncates it and adds a killer coda, concluding with a repeat of the hauntingly inconclusive introduction.

Op. 24—4 Mazurkas:
No. 1 in G minor (2 flats)

This piece opens with another one of the more famous melodies in the album, a tune both noble and mournful, full of nationalistic yearning. It's a simple piece with two episodes, one in F major and and the other in E-flat major, each complimenting the mood of the refrain.

No. 2 in C major

Demure innocence is the character I would ascribe to this four-page piece. It remains bright even through its contrasting episodes in F and D-flat. The piece also features an oscillating introductory pattern that returns at the end, and a long transition back to the last refrain that may really be the emotional heart of the piece.

No. 3 in A-flat major

This little number is downright perky, as Chopin Mazurkas go. Like several before it and more to come, it makes interesting use of hemiola⁷ and chromatically rich sequences.⁸

No. 4 in B-flat minor (5 flats)

By contrast with the previous pieces in this set, this one is rich and strange, full of daringly original harmonies and textures. It begins with a striking introduction in which the right hand plays two voices edging closer together by alternating chromatic steps. Then comes a darkly exotic dance with two melodic voices on top of the accompaniment; the middle voice becomes increasingly active on each return of the refrain. One of the episodes is whimsical and jaunty; another introduces a mournful theme in bare octaves. Melody after melody unfolds in rich profusion, and the last half of page 4 is coda that dies away with heartstring-tugging soulfulness.

Op. 30—4 Mazurkas:
No. 1 in C minor (3 flats)

Graceful, almost delicate perhaps, this piece is one of several in this album that could serve as a typical example of a Chopin Mazurka. So maybe that's a nice way of saying there isn't much special about it. But it is written to the same standard of artistry and craftsmanship as everything in this book, so don't sniff at it.

No. 2 in B minor (2 sharps)

Here is another Mazurka of the type that eschews the usual dotted-eighth rhythm, often employing triplet-eighths instead. The first episode is remarkable for its depiction of one doggedly climbing upward. Immediately following it is another episode in which the same two bars of melody is repeated over and over, taking a variety of meanings from the changing harmonies beneath it.

No. 3 in D-flat major (5 flats)

The main theme in this piece considers a musical "To be or not to be?" as it dithers back and forth between major and minor versions of the same phrase-ending. It also has one of the more challenging left-hand parts so far in the book. The first episode is in the key of C-flat major that you thought I kidding about in my post on how many keys there are. See? It's a strong, middling-long (3-page) piece with some very assertive passages and an unusually strong ending.

No. 4 in C-sharp minor

Pianists with small hands will have to compensate by rolling the widely-spaced left-hand chords in this piece. Not that the right-hand part lacks its share of fingering challenges, including some decorative flourishes. One gets the impression this was one of Chopin's favorite keys, from the amount of good material he gives it in this album—including this 5-page piece. It's comparatively hard, but it's full of richness.

Op. 33—4 Mazurkas:
No. 1 in G-sharp minor (5 sharps)

Here is another short, charming, relatively simple (ABA) piece that could be taken as a typical example of the form.

No. 2 in D major (2 sharps)

Lightweight in touch but not in scale or expression, Chopin uses the major key to a touching effect in this 4-page piece. Part of what makes the main melody so endearing is the effect of hearing it repeated in the dominant key of A. The B-flat major episode adds a note of martial courage, while the transition back to D has an anxiously searching quality. The accelerating coda sinks in both pitch and volume while playing with an inner-voice variant of the main tune.

No. 3 in C major

What lifts this piece above the level of the "typical example" is the unusual transition to the key of A-flat for the B section, quite distant from C major.

No. 4 in B minor

A lot of pianists may come to consider this five-page piece one of their favorites in the album. The refrain's main theme expresses a feeling of nighttime loneliness and sighing, contrasting with a C-major second idea in which the right hand crosses below the left to play a "cello" melody. The passionate first episode flips around to the flat side of the tonal system, a sort of B-flat major tinged with minor-key inflections. After another refrain the first episode returns, immediately followed by the consoling gleam of B major in Episode 3. After entertaining a series of ideas in this key for almost two whole pages, Chopin uses an unaccompanied left-hand melody to make the transition back to the refrain, where the tension between B minor and C major prolongs the wistfully whispering ending.

Op. 41—4 Mazurkas:
No. 1 in C-sharp minor

The complex rhythms and harmonies of this piece combine with chromatic and modal effects in the melody to make this one of the stranger-sounding Mazurkas so far: majestic and yet uncertain, it only gradually reveals where it is going and what key it stands on. After four pages it climaxes with desolately crashing octaves, subsiding at last into a peaceful sense of arrival.

No. 2 in E minor

There is something of a cry of anguish in the melody of this Mazurka as well, particularly when each repetition of the main melody ends in a passage of naked octaves. It's a good piece for learning to play chords that require your thumb to play two notes at one time. The B major middle section brings back the character of a drone with the melody in the middle, a texture we haven't seen for a few opus numbers.

No. 3 in B major (5 sharps)

The rule for this piece seems to be irritating repetition relieved, now and then, by brief passages in octaves. It doesn't really get going, for my money, until almost Page 2, by which point it is halfway over. There are, however, some interesting harmonic twists and a very clear structure, which may make it a profitable piece for study and analysis.

No. 4 in A-flat major

This piece sounds brighter, and therefore perhaps lighter (weight) than most in this book, almost like a piece of popular entertainment that accidentally got mixed up with a collection of art. But that impression is contradicted by the sophisticated way the central B section works its way to the distant key of C major and back again; to say nothing of the surprise ending in the middle of a reprise of Part B. At the opus-number level of context, it's like letting a novel end in mid-sentence: very whimsical and perhaps disturbing.

Op. 50—3 Mazurkas:
No. 1 in G major (1 sharp)

This piece is an example of Chopin in his spectacular mode. Episode 1 is a bit of exotica in E minor; following a repeat of the fanfare-like refrain is a cello melody in C minor. Episode 3 is G minor-ish but contrives to sound more remote and exotic. The coda exploits more of the major-minor ambiguity that Chopin so often uses.

No. 2 in A-flat major

After an eight-bar intro, Chopin introduces a melody full of languid chromatics. The F-minor first episode contrasts so gently with the refrain that it almost sounds like a subsidiary idea, though it never returns; whereas the entire second episode, a jaunty passage in D-flat major, is repeated in two segments before the final return of the refrain.

No. 3 in C-sharp minor

After two four-page Mazurkas, Chopin caps this opus number with a six-pager—ensuring that subscribers got their money's worth, no doubt! Though his C-sharp minor Mazurkas as a group are among my favorites, this one in particular stands out with its pleading theme, treated contrapuntally, followed by subsidiary themes in A major and G-sharp minor, rather like the subject groups of a sonata than episodes in a rondo or da capo form. The first real "episode" as such is a B major melody that cycles repetitively over a variety of harmonies, relieved by a contrasting central section of its own. Then all three themes of the first section come back, leading finally to an amazing two-page coda based on the first theme. After traveling vast tonal distances rich in harmonic scenery, the piece dies away slowly and gently except for a few loud, final octaves. The day I first played through this piece, I felt I had made an awesome discovery.

Op. 56—3 Mazurkas:
No. 1 in B major

A cello melody opens this piece, sequencing through a series of keys before finding its way to G major by measure 6; only in bar 16 does Chopin strongly assert the home key of B. This tentative searching and triumphant arrival are the main contrast of this piece, in spite of Episode 1's burbling stream of E-flat major melody. Episode 2 is the same material as Episode 1, only transposed to D major; this, together with a sort of "development-cum-coda" added to the third repeat of the refrain, suggests again a variant of sonata form. It also has one of the stronger endings in the album.

No. 2 in C major

There is something exotically Eastern about the chromatic inflections and melodic repetitions, combined with dronelike ostinato, of the main idea in this piece. Again Chopin provides contrast with a cello-tune episode, this time in the relative key of A minor. Several other contrasting ideas, all similarly tinged with ethnic hues, cross the stage without a break before the A section returns.

No. 3 in C minor

This is the piece that brings out the importance of holding a tied-over note in the middle voice while both hands play several bars of music for the outer voices. The result is one of the most interesting and effective of Chopin's Mazurka themes, part of a refrain that comprises several distinct ideas, all of which are repeated before he begins introducing contrasting sections. Without describing the other themes in detail, let me simply say they are equally effective and show their author in command of a wealth of inspiration. And again, the depth and breadth of six pages of marvelous music give a satisfying ending to a small opus number.

Op. 59—3 Mazurkas:
No. 1 in A minor

As increasingly happens as this book progresses, we find in this piece another melody that everybody who has played or listened to a quantity of piano music should know. The whole first page is a fully-formed musical period, headlined by a tune that at times droops with despair, and then aspires upwards with urgency. The first episode searches anxiously through several "sharp side" tonal areas before coming back to the refrain on page 3. then the piece explores the "flat side" with a momentary sideways slip into E-flat major, which Chopin humorously treats as an uncorrected mistake before returning home to A minor for a musing, and perhaps amusing, coda.

No. 2 in A-flat major

Starts out promising little more than mellow, major-key sentimentality. Then Chopin slathers on an extra layer of chromatic richness, along with a melodically active middle voice. After an episode that, in a way peculiar to Chopin, delays resolving harmonically to the expected tonic chord, the refrain returns in a cello variation, then in a coda that builds harmonic and dramatic interest until a chromatic run of eighth-notes near the end.

No. 3 in F-sharp minor

The dark anxious agitation of this piece is (one imagines) like that of a rainy Warsaw afternoon, full of descending sequences that somehow suggest a certain fussy repetitive business, akin to OCD. A brief A major episode sheds a ray of sunlight into the murk. The longer second episode in F-sharp major is full of jumps and flourishes, like a wet bird trying to shake its feathers dry enough to take off. The feeling of obsessiveness creeps in again at the end of this episode, then calms down during the transition back to F-sharp minor for the refrain. The five-page piece ends in a longish coda (more than a page) rich in textural and harmonic developments, comparable to op. 50 no. 3.

Op. 63—3 Mazurkas, the last to be published in Chopin's lifetime:
No. 1 in B major

I just made the acquaintance of this piece as I was preparing to write this. Lovely! I don't know how I've missed it, except—as you may have noticed—there are a lot of pieces in this album! With a lot of wide-spread chords in the left-hand part, it comes across with a kind of strumming, guitar-like effect. That and its relatively sunny disposition, full of masculine verve, make one think of holidays in Spain. The B section is a bit lighter and gentler, in A major. At four pages in length, this is the only piece in this opus number longer than two pages.

No. 2 in F minor

The first note of this tune is a dissonant "wrong note," triply emphasized by its length, rhythmic placing, and dynamic markings. It comes across as a scream of anguish, dominating everything else in the A section. The atmosphere lightens somewhat in the B section, though the tonal contrast to the relative key of A-flat major is no more than one would expect. Chopin's chief objective in this piece seems to be re-educating us about the use of dissonance—a task he accomplishes with the first note of the right-hand part, and each repetition thereof.

No. 3 in C-sharp minor

This little group ends with a melancholy little number so graceful that it could almost pass as a waltz; the classic Mazurka rhythm doesn't appear until measure 19. Its phrasing also reminds me of "December" in Tchaikovsky's Seasons, though Chopin uses chromaticism differently. The B section in this ABA structure is in D-flat major, a key that on the page looks deceptively distant from C-sharp minor, though to the ear it is equivalent to C-sharp major. Did Chopin notate the key change this way simply because it is easier to read five flats than seven sharps? It doesn't seem in character for him to be afraid of fistfuls of accidentals; so I have to conclude that he was playing a psychological trick on the performer. Imagine the difference it might make in his interpretation of the piece!

Op. 67—4 Mazurkas, published posthumously in 1855:
No. 1 in G major

Like a previous G major Mazurka, this piece shows Chopin in his brilliant, lively register. The A section has a central idea leaning toward the dominant key of D; the B section, in C major, features a passage of hurdy-gurdy drone in the left-hand part. It comes to a very strong, assertive ending.

No. 2 in G minor

Delicate, graceful, and touched by a sobbing gesture, the main melody of this piece is nevertheless too sweet to be considered really tragic. It's more like having a good cry, relieved by a smile of B-flat major in its B section. The most touching part is probably the unaccompanied phrase of melody that makes the transition back to the A section for a last, indulgent sniffle.

No. 3 in C major

This is one of the most simple, straightforward pieces in the album, with an intuitively satisfying melody touched by a sense of wit and the appeal of a popular lyric. The very brief B section suggests D major as the secondary tonal area, but it more or less vamps until section A is ready to return.

No. 4 in A minor

Though no longer than any of the other pieces in this opus number (two pages each!), this Mazurka has a depth of focus and richness of color absent in the others. It suggests perhaps that Chopin's publisher chose arbitrarily from manuscripts left behind by the late master, and that this is the only one of the four that really represents Chopin at his maturest. Adding a bit more weight to it (at least superficially) are the repeat signs that, in effect, make it almost half-again longer than each of the other pieces in this opus. The middle segment is in the parallel key of A major, but this slight tonal contrast takes nothing away from the sense that Chopin is opening a view deep into his complex character.

Op. 68—4 Mazurkas, also published in 1855:
No. 1 in C major

This is a charming, bright, lively piece, full of popular appeal. I would place it on a level similar to some of Scott Joplin's piano rags (which may be featured on this thread someday). But again, I don't think it represents the most mature side of Chopin as a creative artist. The chromatic touches seem superficially stylish, rather than expressing complex and contradictory feelings. The F major middle section strikes me especially as thin stuff—though as I say, always charming.

No. 2 in A minor

This piece illustrates that my problem with No. 1 of this opus was not simply an artifact of being in the key of C major. Even in a minor key, this piece has less bottom in it—less creative dash and unconventionality—than most anything seen so far in the album. I mean, just look at the left-hand part; there is hardly an unexpected chord anywhere in it, all perfectly tonal and predictable. The touches of chromaticism in the right-hand part are (here's that adverb again) superficially exotic sounding, but no more than that. The A major central section, unlike that of op. 67 no. 4, really makes one feel we haven't gone anywhere much. The best that can be said of this piece is that its pianism is exquisite: the notes fall under the hands as if of themselves, and the instrument responds with attractive sonorities. But I'm not sure Chopin would have published this piece if he'd had any say in the decision.

No. 3 in F major (1 flat)

Again this is a bland Mazurka, more the kind of piece that shows the flawlessness of Chopin's pianistic writing, and that perhaps more faithfully conveys an idea of what a traditional Mazurka might sound like, without having the composer's peculiar character imprinted on it. The B-flat major middle section skirls briefly in a high register over droning fifths, reminiscent of bagpipe music; I think this is also an artifact of an early attempt by Chopin to translate traditional Mazurka stylings into written piano music.

No. 4 in F minor

Here is one piece in this opus worth working up enough moisture in your mouth to spit on it. Like one of the previous Mazurkas, it ends with a Dal segno senza Fine notation, making it possible (at least in concept) to repeat this piece in a perpetual loop, world without end, or until your piano strings lose their tension. Unlike that earlier chit of a piece, this one isn't mind-numbingly dull. In fact, it is so daringly chromatic that it almost obliterates one's sense of tonality. I hesitate to guess whether it represents an experiment at the end of Chopin's life, or a fit of youthful brashness before our Fred figured out how to load chromaticism into a Mazurka without unspringing the whole tonal system. Either way, it's interesting to play through once or twice in a row—challenging, elusive, and at times almost arbitrary sounding—and it was a foreshadowing of things that were to come.

And finally, two mazurkas published separately, without opus number:
Mazurka No. 50 in A minor, subtitled "Notre Temps"

This four-pager is more like it—more like Chopin in his prime, that is. A Chopin unafraid of stressing an augmented triad (beat 2 of bar 2). A Chopin who, even in his predictable moments, wrote like a virtuoso in command of the full range of the keyboard. A Chopin who could spice up a long melodic passage in bare octaves with a few off-beat and often dissonant chords. A Chopin with the confidence to write a dotted-eighth figure immediately followed by triplet eighths, and mean it. I like this piece. I wish I knew it better; but knowing that the "posthumous" end of the album was stocked with juvenilia of a lower standard of artistry, I have unjustly neglected it. It turns out this isn't a posthumous piece after all; it and the next piece were both published in 1841—even before opus 50!

Mazurka No. 51 in A minor, dedicated to Émile Gaillard.

Again, I am chagrined to find that I have unjustly neglected this piece until now, perhaps confusing it with one of the "posthumous" A minor Mazurkas, of which I have so low an opinion. This may even be a more interesting piece than "Notre Temps," opening with a cello melody. Fellow Dover Edition cheapskates, watch out for a misprint in the left-hand part in the second measure of the B section (after the key change to A major), where the last eighth-note in the top line should be an F-sharp, not an E. The first tenor note in the fourth-to-last measure of the first A section may also be a misprint; I would be surprised if Chopin didn't mean for it to be an E. Again the middle section features a melody in ocaves, this time fully accompanied by the left hand. And though the numbering of the Mazurkas gives the false impression that this piece was Chopin's last word on the form, the coda of this four-page piece—featuring a right-hand trill for 10 bars, culminating in an acrobatic leap two octaves up—puts a magical "FINIS" on the last page of the album.

---

¹In musical analysis, "dominant" means the fifth note of the scale, and the major triad built on it; in Roman-numeral notation, V. When the "tonic" (i) is F-sharp minor, the dominant key (V) is C-sharp major.
²i.e., changing key.
³i.e., the material from Section A comes back at the end of Section B, and both sections are repeated.
⁴literally, "From the top to the end." Fine ("end") is written at the end of the A section.
⁵literally, "tightening." In fugues, stretto designates overlapping entries of a fugue subject.

⁶literally, "From the symbol without end." The symbol in question looks like this. The more usual marking Dal Segno al Fine or al Coda means you go back to the point in the music where this glyph appears and play from there, either to the end (Fine) or to another marking that looks like a gun-sight, which means "skip from here to the Coda," a concluding passage similarly marked.
⁷i.e., alternating rhythmic groupings of 2 and 3.
⁸i.e., short melodic and harmonic patterns repeated at different pitch-levels.