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Describing
someone as 'eccentric' tends to have the side effect of dehumanising them; thus Alkan began to be seen as a
strange and even cold individual, whose impossibly difficult piano music was
supposed to exhibit the same characteristics, and whose final demise was rather
comical. In truth, Alkan was an intelligent, lively, humorous and warm person (all
characteristics which feature strongly in his music) whose only crime seems to have been
having a vivid imagination, and whose occasional eccentricities (mild when compared with
the behaviour of other 'highly-strung' artistes!) stemmed mainly from his hypersensitive
nature.
As for Alkans 'impossibly difficult' piano scores, frequently described
as setting tremendous, sometimes insurmountable technical challenges for the performer:
alas this is also part of the Alkan legend that has been so exaggerated that is has
possibly now become one of the biggest obstacles to getting his music more widely known.
Initially it was a great way to attract publicity when Alkan advocates such as Raymond
Lewenthal and Ronald Smith played up the difficulties of the music. It seemed an obvious
way of drawing attention to music that is after all often extremely virtuosic in
character. It was a great way for the music to get noticed and it worked. But in
attracting the public it appears to have scared off pianists! And Alkan needs pianists!
The more his music is performed, and the more variety of interpretations his music
receives the better it will be for the composer. Make no mistake, Alkans music, in
his more demanding scores isnt easy to play, but the truth is that most of the
music, while sometimes taxing - particularly from a stamina point of view, is still well
within the limits of any virtuoso pianist, and certainly never as demanding to play as the
frequently performed studies of Chopin, or concertos of Rachmaninov. Its not even
true, as is sometimes said, that you need large hands to play Alkan: with one or two
exceptions the vast majority of Alkans chords fall within the span of an octave. And
there is also plenty of scope for the amateur pianist. Many of Alkans delightful
miniatures fall well within the grasp of amateur pianists and can be extremely rewarding
to play (to this end the pianist Ronald Smith prepared for publication a delightful
collection of 'easy' Alkan pieces, which was put out by Alkan's publishers, Billaudot of
Paris).
As
with most myths, the truth in Alkan's case is often more interesting than the fiction. And
the very stories about Alkan that were exaggerated to attract the publics attention
are now forming an obstacle to the further exploration of this remarkable mind. It's now
time, for Alkans sake to dispel the myths and let people get to know the real human
being behind this remarkable music.
So
who really was Alkan? Alkan was born in Paris
in 1813. His real name was Charles-Valentin Morhange but he decided to adopt his
fathers first name Alkan. Alkan came from a highly musical and talented family and
right from a very early age he showed an amazing precociousness, entering the Paris
Conservatoire when he was only 6 years old, giving his first public performance at the age
of 7 (as a violinist, not as a pianist!), and graduating with first class honours in
harmony at the age of 13. By his mid-teens he was composing and performing music that
displayed a highly original imagination and a breathtaking keyboard skill. By the 1830s
Alkan was emerging as one of the foremost virtuoso pianists of Paris.
Its important to remember that Paris
at this time, at the beginning of the 19th century, was a cultural magnet for so many
European artists. Resident aliens included the likes of Chopin, Liszt, and Hiller and
Alkan was soon mixing in their circles, sharing the concert platform with them and
becoming a friend, and next door neighbour even, of Chopin. Alkan worshipped Chopins
personality and music, and no doubt Chopins early death at the age of 39 left a big
void in Alkans life. Unfortunately for Alkan his career also suffered from
disadvantages that were beyond his control. Being a 'home-grown' talent in Paris, he
didn't benefit from the glamour that came with imported talent, such as a Polish Chopin or
a Hungarian Liszt. In addition Alkan was Jewish, at a time when anti-semitism was fairly
rife in France.
Its possible Alkans career might have developed more if he had spread his
wings further afield to other countries, but he enjoyed the musical scene of Paris
and was reluctant to move. Perhaps a different, more positive and outward going
personality facing these same disadvantages could have overcome them, but Alkans
highly sensitive and introspective character made the obstacles he encountered in life
seem insurmountable. Sadly for us, the failure of Alkans career to truly blossom as
it deserved was certainly a contributing factor in the neglect his music suffered after
his death, even despite the support and admiration of such people such as Debussy, Ravel
and Rachmaninov.
Debussy came across Alkans music as a student at the Paris
Conservatoire in the 1870s and was extremely fond of Alkan's miniatures for piano. Like
Chopin, Alkan composed almost exclusively for the piano. Amongst his 75 opus numbers is
the mammoth "Twelve Studies In All The Minor Keys", Opus 39, a work that takes
over 2 hours to perform complete and which contains within it a 3 movement Concerto and a
four movement Symphony, both for solo piano. But in
complete contrast to this work, Alkan also wrote a myriad of delightful miniatures
depicting a wide variety of moods; these are the pieces Debussy was so smitten with.
Listening to these pieces it's easy to hear what attracted Debussy to this music,
particularly in such a piece as "Les Soupirs" from Alkan's set of 48 Esquisses,
with its enticing harmonies, and its musical depiction of a single emotional mood (in this
case sighing).
Aside
from the difficulties Alkan faced in his career, another much more personal event clearly
left a big emotional scar on the young composer. On February
8th 1839
a child was born who would later adopt the name Delaborde and become one of Frances
most successful pianists. Delabordes mother was a wealthy piano pupil of Alkan.
Delabordes father was not the womens husband but her teacher Alkan. In a city
where scandal was nothing new, the event nevertheless appears to have had a dramatic
effect on Alkans character. For the next 6 years Alkans name is absent from
all musical journals, and instead of seeking the limelight Alkan appears to have sought
refuge in his compositional studies. The father and son relationship was never spoken of
publicly in Paris,
and relations between the two were always strained. Yet the young Delaborde was always
welcome at Alkans home, and after Alkans death Delaborde continued to champion
his fathers music.
When Alkan wasnt performing, or grappling with the turmoil of his
private life, his main source of income, as with Chopin, came from teaching. For a while
he was a professor at the Paris Conservatoire. Alkan clearly took his teaching seriously
and was very much looking forward to the possibility of becoming the head of the piano
department at this illustrious institution. He was after all the most distinguished
Parisien pianist eligible for the position when it finally became vacant in 1848. But
internal politics, anti-semitism, and possibly an underlying awareness of Alkans
slightly gauche and shy personality led the powers that be to overlook him and appoint
Alkans own pupil, Marmontel, to the position: Marmontel was a mediocre teacher of
solfege who could barely play the piano himself, but thanks to this appointment went on to
teach the next generation of French musicians, including Bizet and Debussy, and in 1858
was awarded the Legion of Honour, Frances highest award. By contrast Alkan languished, falling back on his
private teaching and nursing his wounds.
Alkan
was a sociable person with a great sense of humour, who always enjoyed a good intellectual
argument with close friends, though he often suffered from acute shyness and
introspection. When his career didnt blossom as he had hoped, together with the
turmoil of his private life, his introverted side got the better of him and his
introspection invariably turned more often to depression, as he spent more and more time
in his own company. His personality was such that he tended to dwell on the sad events of
his unfulfilled life. Sometimes he could dispel his moods by his work, sometimes not. As
he wrote to his friend Hiller in 1861:
Im
becoming daily more and more misanthropic and misogynous
nothing worthwhile, good or
useful to do
no one to devote myself to. My situation makes me horridly sad and
wretched. Even musical production has lost its attraction for me for I cant see the
point or goal.
It
was possibly at times like this that Alkan would have emersed himself in his other great
passion outside of music, the study of theology. He had a passionate interest in the
Bible, including the New Testament, his Jewish background notwithstanding. His music is
filled with religious allusions and he once said if he could have his life over again he
would like to set the entire Bible to music! Although his enthusiasm for this daunting
project was never realised he did get as far as a complete translation of the Bible from
Hebrew to French! Many of Alkan's works with religious themes were written for the
pedalier, a piano fitted with the pedal mechanism of an organ so that his feet could be as
busy as his hands! Sadly this instrument is now obsolete and a large and important body of
Alkan's music cannot thus be heard today (some of Alkan's works for pedalier have been
performed on the organ, but the instrument is inappropriate to these unusual pieces which
need the sound world of a piano for them to be heard as the composer intended them).
As
well as being extremely scholarly and erudite on a vast range of topics, Alkan also had a
tremendous sense of humour (something that he was able to share with his neighbour
Chopin). Alkans ability to convey this humour so successfully in music is almost
unique. One of Alkans most notorious pieces is his "Funeral March on the Death
of a Parrot" (often mistakenly referred to as "Funeral March for a Dead
Parrot", though the reference to Monty Python's famously brilliant sketch is tempting
to make!). Alkan's own parrot memorial is an incredibly witty, clever, and marvellously silly
piece of music, and is actually a parody of Rossini, who had a penchant for parrots. The
work is scored for mixed voices and an unusual combination of wind instruments and
virtually the sole text is the French equivalent of the phrase Whos a pretty
Polly?! Another extremely witty work, though also with great moments of pathos, is
Alkans "Le Festin dEsope" (or "Aesops Feast"), a set
of piano variations in which each variation depicts a different animal or scene from
Aesops fables. Of course laughter and pathos are two very interlinked human
emotions, and not surprisingly, pathos is a characteristic of Alkans music
thats always close to the surface. In his marvellous piano prelude, "The Song
Of The Mad Woman On The Sea
Shore",
the intensity of Alkans despair, possibly born of his own experiences, is all too
vivid.
Away
from the vivid imagery of Alkans imagination, outwardly his life was very quiet and
uneventful. But every once in a while the regular routine of teaching and composing (and
translating the Bible) was interrupted by a sudden emergence back onto the concert
platform. In fact, later in his life, when the composer was in his 60th decade,
he began a regular, annual series of recitals in Paris.
His programmes revealed his catholic musical tastes as he performed works from virtually
every era of keyboard music, from Couperin, Rameau and J.S. Bach to his contemporaries,
Schumann, Mendelssohn, Saints-Saens, and of course his friend Chopin. By contemporary accounts, Alkan's piano-playing was known
for its predominantly legato
touch and its rhythmic firmness. A particularly vivid account of Alkan as a performer
comes from the composer Vincent d'Indy who heard him play Beethoven's Op.110 Sonata in the
1870s:
"I couldn't begin to describe what happened to
the great Beethovenian poem above all, the Arioso and the Fugue, where the melody,
penetrating the mystery of Death itself, climbs up to a blaze of light, affected me with
an excess of enthusiasm such as I have never experienced since. It had greater intimacy and was more humanly moving than
Liszt's performance...".
Another
account of Alkans playing, from a pupil of Liszt who heard Alkan play towards the
end of his life, describes how Alkan's performance retained an extraordinarily youthful
quality despite his appearance, which was frail and older than his years.
Alkans last years were lonely and sad. He never married and his
loneliness caused him much sorrow and despair. He died alone at the age of 74, not
killed by a falling book case, and having outlived his friend and neighbour Chopin by
nearly 40 years.
The
pianist Raymond Lewenthal wrote in the 1960s: "Alkan
seems to have something moving and exciting to say to people of our time. Audiences,
sophisticated and unsophisticated, respond to him." In all the years I
have been performing Alkan, from the first time I performed the "Concerto For Solo
Piano" back in 1978, to the occasion 18 years later, when I gave the first complete concert
performances of Alkans "Studies in all the Minor Keys, Opus 39" in Oxford,
England and at London's Queen Elizabeth Hall,
I have always been struck at the incredible enthusiasm that has greeted Alkans
music. Perhaps this is because behind all the virtuosity, and when all the myths are swept
away, what is left is a very simple, straight forward and honest voice, a voice that is at
the heart of the music and that listeners seem able to respond to instantly. When it comes
down to it, what makes Alkan's music so attractive to listeners is not the virtuosity of
the piano writing, though that can be exciting, nor the cleverness of the construction,
though that might be impressive. No, what grips listeners is the sheer passion of
Alkans music and the strength of his musical personality.
These notes ©
2002 Jack Gibbons |