NOTES ON VOLUME I
Fritz Kreisler was a dominant influence during my formative years. There is little doubt of it in my mind. From the time I was five years old, I was trundled back and forth to the Philadelphia Academy of Music, where I heard many of the famous violinists of the ‘20s, and was fascinated by them. However, it was always Kreisler who left me with a special afterglow that stayed on and on. His glorious sound engraved itself in my mind’s ear and indeed never left it. The dignity of the man and the nobility of his performances were equally unforgettable. Kreisler records were favorites in my home; I listened to the old Red Seal Victor 78 rpms with great eagerness and often committed his recorded pieces to memory before the music became available to me. This faculty for rapid memorization played a part in a subsequent meeting with Kreisler.
It was Ernest Schelling, the American pianist and conductor, who first introduced me to Kreisler. He and Kreisler were close friends and often spent their summers together at Schelling’s home in Celigny, Switzerland. Schelling became widely known as “the father of the Children’s Concerts.” The kids loved Schelling, who was a very warm and friendly man, and affectionately called him “Uncle Ernest.” His concerts were immensely popular and became a part of the New York Philharmonic, the Philadelphia Orchestra and the Boston Symphony concert series.
I was eight years old when I was brought to Schelling’s attention, and he frequently invited me to appear as violin soloist at these concerts. Schelling became my sponsor and arranged for my early lessons with Leopold Auer and it seemed natural that he would want Kreisler to hear his protegé. A meeting was arranged that took place in Schelling’s New York home and Kreisler listened to me attentively as I played through parts of a Boccherini Violin Concerto (a seldom performed work), some of Mozart’s A Major Concerto and a few of Kreisler’s own compositions. Then Schelling, who loved practical jokes, said, “Wait a moment, Fritz! I would like our young fiddler to play an unpublished piece for you, which we hope you may recognize.” And so I began the introduction of Kreisler’s own cadenza to the first movement of Beethoven’s Violin Concerto, which I had previously heard Kreisler perform at two successive Philadelphia Orchestra concerts and which I had committed to memory. At the conclusion of the cadenza, Kreisler responded with delight and amusement, especially since the composition had not yet been published.
After dinner the distinguished guests were assembled in the resplendent music room, and a small boy, with a violin tucked under his arm, made his way toward the piano, escorted by Schelling. Just as we were about to begin, Schelling turned to Kreisler, who was seated in the audience, and said, "Fritz, our young friend is about to play several of your pieces. Since you know them so much better than I do, won't you please come up here and play them with him?" Kreisler, always gracious, sat himself at the piano, and after asking me what I wanted to play, smiled encouragingly, and we began his Prelude and Allegro. I remember that he did not refer to any of the music on the piano rack, and that his accompaniments were "recomposed" on the spot improvisato. They contained many new and unfamiliar harmonizations as well as intriguing countermelodies. He was obviously an excellent pianist, with a delicate touch and an infectious rhythm. I do not know which one of us had a better time, and it was an experience that filled me with pride and joy.
Throughout the ensuing years, my involvement with Kreisler's music was constant, and it was, therefore, no sudden whim that inspiredmy desire to record his complete violin music. I was delighted when Musical Heritage Society - for whom I had previously recorded the solo Sonatas and Partitas by Bach, and the Sonatas for Violin and Piano by Mozart with Artur Balsam asked me to record the Kreisler works. After I had finished my research of Kreisler's violin music, I was astonished to find that his output added up to some 130-odd works entailing eightand-a-half hours of playing time. Since
the project was to focus mainly on the "miniatures" with piano accompaniment and the few without piano, I felt it advisable to exclude the large resettings of the Paganini and Tchaikovsky concerti. Also excluded are the cadenzas to the violin concerti of Beethoven, Brahms, etc., since their rightful place is in the context of the major works they were designed to serve. I chose to omit the arrangements for solo violin and orchestra of such compositions as Tartini's Devil's Trill Sonata, Prelude and Allegro, etc., since, to the best of my information, these orchestrations were intended for specific purposes such as the broadcasts of the Bell Telephone Hour (which frequently featured Kreisler as guest soloist with its orchestra), and other special occasions. In each instance, and even in the case of the Concerto "In the style of Vivaldi," the violin and piano version came first.
As to sequence and order of presentation, the two main divisions of Kreisler's output are: the original works and the transcriptions. These groupings can be further subdivided into the "Viennese" category and those works which were attributed tosuch composers as Pugnani, Couperin, Padre Martini, Wilhelm Friedemann Bach and others. (This latter innocent deception need not be gone into at this point, save to mention that when the "plot" was uncovered, it caused a minor scandal throughout the music world of the '30s.)
The transcriptions seem to congregate most happily into ethnic divisions relating to the birthplaces of the composers (Russian, German, Spanish, etc.). There are also natural groupings by violinist-composers (Paganini, Wieniawski)
and pianist-composers (Rachmaninoff, Chopin, Paderewski, Godowsky), as well as a few examples of pieces by friends - American Vice President (under Coolidge) Dawes, and the theater organist Elmer Owens, for whom I am quite sure that Kreisler rendered far more than mere yeoman service in his recompositions.
My dear teacher, Efrem Zimbalist, also a close friend of Kreisler, revealed to me that a work by Cottenet called Chanson Meditation is in reality pure Kreisler. There are also old recordings by Kreisler containing his arrangements of bygone show tunes, like "Poor Butterfly" (Raymond Hubbel) and "Blue Skies" (Irving Berlin), as well as excerpts from his own operetta Apple Blossoms. Most of these appear to exist only on the recordings Kreisler made of them. They can be reconstructed from the recordings, but I hesitated to launch on such a project for fear that "tinkering" might well prove a disservice to the composer. I have, therefore, been content to direct my efforts to the bulk ofvalidated material, and find that to be of quite sufficient importance.
A few words about the performing style of Kreisler's music seem to be in order at this point. If ever there was a champion of the style galant, Kreisler was its most eloquent spokesman. In sharp contrast to the "heavenstorming" antics of some of his contemporaries, and ever a gentleman, he always treated the violin like the lady she is. Aside from the more visible "Viennese" aspects of his charm, perhaps the most subtle and important underlying factor was his flexible sense of the tempo rubato, or outof-time-but-in-time of his rhythmic
sense. It is of interest to relate what has often been said by many of the conductors with whom Kreisler appeared as soloist, that "he was one of the easiest people to accompany, because his basic rhythm was as stable as the Rock of Gibraltar." No matter how freely Kreisler played it was always easy to find him at the bar line. This effect can never be imitated by mere willful rhythmic imbalance or by arbitrary capriciouness. Such effect in the performance of Kreisler's music must always result in distortion.
As a composer, Kreisler was undoubtedly completely at home in the miniatures. A large work like the String Quartet, which I have played so many times and adore, for all its appropriate length, emerges more as a connected series of episodes rather than an integral work of large dimensions. Kreisler must not be faulted for this, but rather praised in the same light that a remarkably gifted short story writer would be appreciated. In music we have a far greater percentage of epic writers than masters of the short story, and there is no question that Kreisler was a complete master of the short form. About works such as the Devil's Trill, Brahms' Hungarian Dances or Dvorák's Slavonic Dances, one must not expect definitive, Urtext restorations. It is my belief that Kreisler naturally paraphrased any such material that interested and inspired him to free flights of fancy. His wonderful harmonic sense, which enabled him to modulate with the ease of a Richard Strauss or a Schubert, combined with a limitless ability to create endless fascinating countersubjects, are the hallmarks of his unique
talent as a composer. A close study of his piano parts reveals his fluency and skill in writing for that instrument.
For me the greatest problem as an interpreter of Kreisler's music lies in realizing its specific character in the terms of one's own identity. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, possibly captivating and charming in a youngster, but humiliating in an older, mature artist. My close identification with Kreisler's style could be a hazard. However, our lives are not shaped by a single influence. So much has come to pass in my own existence, both personally and musically, and so many different influences have had a share in shaping it, that I do not have to make any special effort to avoid the temptation to copy Kreisler. Much as I love his playing, I have had no desire to hear his own recordings during the course of this project, except for a possible spot-check of a tempo or a change in notation. It is amusing to note in this regard, by the way, that I have heard three different recordings of Kreisler playing his Caprice Viennois, and no two are alike in notation or articulation.
Kreisler's skillful writing for the piano demands a good deal more from the pianist than a merely note-perfect rendition. In this respect I am especially grateful for the interest and collaboration of Milton Kaye, a fine colleague and a valued friend of long standing. His sensitive insight into the unique style of this music made possible that wordless communication without which spontaneity so often drowns in a sea of endless analyses. I should also like to offer a father's gratitude to his younger son,
Eric, who assumed the responsible burden of editing the tapes for this album.
-Oscar Shumsky
Kreisler was one of the most popular concert artists of his time. His playing was so memorable that people who heard him 30 or more years ago, or who have heard his recordings, still speak of his performances as though they had heard him last night. It would appear as though he devoted himself to practicing the violin for hours, if not days, before his concerts.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. Once his concert career was underway, he rarely practiced the violin more than an hour or two a day. In fact, he hated practicing and allowed himself to be quoted on the subject:
"I hesitate to say how little I practice, because young violinists might think they don't need to practice. Yet it is precisely if one practices well in youth that the fingers should retain their suppleness in later years. The idea, however, of being compelled to practice several hours daily is the result of self-hypnotism, which really does create the necessity. I have, on the contrary, hypnotized myself into the belief that I do not need it, and therefore I do not I can regain my best form in three hours. How sad it is that in these days the emphasis is on how many hours one practices!"
One of his wife's favorite comments on this subject was: "Think what a great artist he might be if he had practiced!" Despite what might
seem a negation of the value of practicing, however, Kreisler always justified his attitude by pointing out that he had practiced long and hard as a student.
Kreisler, as Shumsky indicated above, was also a good pianist, and the following anecdote illustrates not only Kreisler's unwillingness to rehearse, even before a performance, but just how good a pianist he was. It seems that he was scheduled to play the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in London, but arrived at the rehearsal sans violon, much to the irritation of the conduc-tor and musicians. Undaunted, Kreisler sat down at the piano and played the entire concerto from memory, discussing all the while the type of phrasing and interpretation the conductor and musicians could expect at the concert.
Like many successful musicians, he was kind and generous, almost to a fault, a fact which led to his being accused of sending money to Austrian soldiers during World War I. He finally had to write a letter of explanation, which was published on November 7, 1917, in The New York Times. In this "White Paper of an Artist's Life in America in Wartime," he explained that he was not on furlough from the Austrian Army, and that the money he sent to Austria was for his father, who was 74 and partially paralyzed. Additional monies, he said, were sent monthly to orphan children of friends of his who were killed during the war, as well as some funds which he sent monthly to wounded Russian and Serbian soldiers whom his wife had nursed while he was at the front. According to a contemporary New York Times report, "There are at least 1,500 men and women,
artists and would-be-artists, in the warstricken capitals of Europe for whose support he has made himself responsible."
In 1902 Kreisler married Harriet Lies, "and they lived happily ever after." He was very devoted to her and his family, and frequently mentioned her when he was interviewed. In a magazine interview in 1916 he is quoted as saying: "I never cease to be thankful for having the constant inspiration of my devoted wife. She helps me in ways which can never be put in actual word form. An artist should marry young and if he doesn't marry young, he should marry anyway." For her part, Mrs. Kreisler once told the violinist's friend and biographer, Louis Lochner, "I live for nobody but Fritz”. In a profile of the composer, Helene H. Smith wrote in the November 28, 1928, issue of The New Yorker, "his adoration of her has provoked more gossip than most men's infidelities do."
Kreisler's compositions for violin and piano fall roughly into three categories: 1) nationalistic, i.e., those pieces based on Austrian or other national songs, dances or rhythms; 2) pseudo-18th century; 3) arrangements and transcriptions. In addition to composing and arranging well over a hundred of these short pieces, he also wrote a String Quartet in A Minor and (with Victor Jacobi) an operetta, Apple Blossoms, concerning which the critic of Theatre World wrote in 1920 (five months after the show opened): "To appreciate the wonderful material offered at the Globe is to be in love with it; and to suddenly come upon it... is like meeting the pal one's been searching for all one's life abruptly, face to face."
Perhaps the most popular of Kreisler's shorter works are those in his Austrian (specifically Viennese) style. Characteristic of these pieces is an almost Straussian use of cross-rhythm and and occasional abrupt misplaced accents modulations more characteristic of Richard Strauss. Liebesfreud and Liebesleid were, according to the composer, written in the style of Lanner (a contemporary of Johann Strauss the elder), and were first listed on programs as posthumous works by that composer. There is not only a delicious use of cross-rhythms, but the piano part frequently contains imitative writing derived from the violin part, all occurring within a flowing waltz rhythm. Kreisler was so successful at capturing the early 19th-century Zeitgeist that when he programmed Liebesfreud and Liebesleid as unknown works by Lanner and played his own Caprice Viennois at the same concert (listing himself as the composer), the critic of the Berliner Tageblatt took him to task for his audacity: "A feeling slightly akin to bad taste was engendered by the somewhat daring juxtaposition of Kreisler's CapriceViennois to be sure a charming offering and the dances of Lanner, these delightful genre creations filled with Schubertian melos and reflecting the good old Vienna days, for which encores were enthusiastically demanded." Kreisler answered by saying that the "Lanner" dances were actually by himself, and he was mystified when critics and musicologists alike refused to accept him as the composer.
The second phase of Kreisler's music was his compositions in the style of various 17th- and 18th-century composers. For years he had
been performing such works as Vivaldi's Concerto in C, an Andantino by Padre Martini, a Praeludium and Allegro by Pugnani, and the Sicilienne et Rigaudon by Francœur. He claimed that he had found old manuscript copies of these compositions and merely copied them. He did tell a few of his friends, however, that he had actually written them. In 1935 Olin Downes accidentally stumbled upon the truth when he tried to locate the original version of Pugnani's Praeludium and Allegro for a lecture-demonstration he was to give with Yehudi Menuhin. Not finding the original in the Library of Congress or the New York Public Library, he contacted Kreisler's New York publisher, Cari Fischer, and was told that Kreisler had written it. A cable was sent to the violinist asking him whether he was the composer of the piece and he answered, saying:
"Your statement is absolutely correct. The entire series labeled 'Classical Manuscripts' are my original compositions with the sole exception of the first eight bars of the Couperin 'Chanson Louis XIII,' taken from a traditional melody. Necessity forced this course upon me 30 years ago when I was desirous of enlarging my programs. I found it impudent and tactless to repeat my name endlessly on the programs."
Shortly after this he made a general announcement in the newspapers that he had not discovered the 18th-century works in question but had actually composed them. Needless to say, there were a lot of red faces in the music
world. Much to Downes' and Kreisler's surprise, the English critic Alfred Newman took exception to the hoax, and an international war of words took place on the pages of The New York Times which consisted of Newman's attack, Kreisler's answer, Newman's reply and Kreisler's final words. Newman maintained that it was a cheap trick which anybody could have executed, but that a man with Kreisler's reputation should not have done. In his last letter, Kreisler suggests that if Newman could write a successful piece in the style of a second-rate Bach or Handel he would "make humble apologies." Downes later wrote in the Times:
"Let us admit that Mr Kreisler has hoaxed us rather handsomely. Has not the principal harm, if any, been done to the feelings of the hoaxed? Nothing has been taken from the reputations of composers of the past, nearly all of them minor figures of certain epochs No one of them lost royalties or reputation by a device which has again and again been employed in the history of art, and nowhere more harmlessly than in the present instance."
In all, Kreisler wrote 16 compositions of varying length under nearly as many names. They are as follows:
Concerto in C Major - Vivaldi
Allegretto in G Minor - Porpora
Andantino-Padre Martini
Aubade Provençale - Couperin
La Chasse-Cartier
Scherzo Dittersdorf
Sicilienne et Rigaudon- Francœur Study on a Chorale-Stamitz
Tempo di Menuetto - Pugnani
Preghiera Padre Martini
Minuett-Porpora
Praeludium and Allegro-Pugnani
La Précieuse - Couperin
Chanson Louis XIII et Pavane - Couperin Allegretto-Boccherini
Tambourin - Leclair
For the sake of completeness, we should probably add Cottenet's Chanson Meditation, which Shumsky quotes his teacher Efrem Zimbalist as saying was also written by Kreisler.
The third category of Kreisler's compositions consists of his arrangements and transcriptions of works by other composers, such as the dances by Dvorák and Brahms, Tartini's Devil's Trill Sonata, etc. Frequently this meant transposing the original, adding new harmonization and a completely new accompaniment. This practice was not, of course, new with Kreisler, since Bach did the same to Vivaldi, and Mozart did the same to Handel, to name but two wellknown pre-Kreisler arrangers.
The compositions included in this recording contain samples of each of the three categories mentioned above. The first six include some of Kreisler's most popular genre pieces. The first, Austrian Imperial Hymn, is an arrangement for unaccompanied violin of Haydn's wellknown melody. In making what Kreisler calls a "tran-
scription," he has actually reharmonized and adapted the original in such a way that it sometimes sounds as though it were being performed by two or three violins instead of one.
Caprice Viennois is one of the most popular of Kreisler's Viennese compositions. It is in four sections, with a whimsical introduction followed by a slow, rather wistful, waltz. Section three begins with the violin playing the same five notes with which the piece began. This humorous motif is followed by a scherzo-like section in which the underlying 3/8 time is disguised to sound like 2/4 time. The waltz melody returns, slightly modified, and the entire work closes with a return of the opening fivenote motif and a repetition of the penultimate measure of the introduction.
The next three pieces, Liebesfreud, Liebesleid and Schön Rosmarin are waltzes in the Viennese tradition of Lanner and Johann Strauss, Sr., although Kreisler originally said that the first two were composed by Lanner. Because of the key relationships and certain melodic and rhythmic similarities, Liebesfreud and Liebesleid might well have been written in close succession, rather like contrasting aspects of the same musical personality. They were, in fact, published consecutively as Nos. 10 and 11 of the "rediscovered classical manuscripts" Kreisler said he found. The quiet ending of Liebesleid is a particularly effective close, and is also to be found in several of Lanner's waltzes. It is interesting to note that originally Strauss, Sr., and Lanner (friends and joint-conductors of the Strauss-Lanner Orchestra during the first quarter of the 19th century) wrote their early
waltzes just for strings, giving a prominent part to a solo violin, which they played themselves. Schön Rosmarin is very much in the style of the waltzes of the elder Strauss, including the crossrhythms and modulations in the middle section.
Except for the violin cadenza with which it opens, the Viennese Rhapsodic Fantasietta is a kind of concert waltz for violin and piano; each instrument has a part of equal importance. Like many such works, it was not meant for dancing, but rather as a kind of idealization of the waltz. Because of its length and varying moods, all in waltz time, it is akin to a small non-programmatic tone poem in the style of Richard Strauss. In addition to its wealth of melodic and harmonic ideas, there are fascinating countermelodies that seem to grow out of the harmony or accompaniment.
14
The next six pieces represent nearly half of the Pugnani, Boccherini and Couperin works which Kreisler wrote. Several of them are nearly as popular now as when they were written. The Pugnani Praeludium and Allegro is a real showpiece for the violin, requiring broad bowing for the former and short precise bowing for the latter. Boccherini's Allegretto is in the nature of a gavotte, with a few modulations remarkably in advance of the time it was supposed to have been written. On purely stylistic grounds, the Allegretto (in the style of Nicola Porpora) is one of Kreisler's most successful compositions. Nowhere does the work show anachronistic modulations, for example, and the realization of the continuo, while florid in places, is always in good taste, and such as one might find in those
of Brahms and Respighi, and other late 19thcentury editor-composers. The violin part is quite typical of those written during the second quarter of the 18th century by Veracini and Tartini.
La Chasse by Cartier is a hunting scene. The violin part is written so that it could probably be played without any accompaniment. The Grave by Friedemann Bach is written primarily with the violinist's broad, flowing tone in mind. Francœur's Sicilienne is followed by an Allegro. It is practically a perpetual motion for the violin. The Tempo di Menuetto consists of the same tune played three times, with minor changesoccurring in each repetition. A short trio is followed by an abbreviated repetition of the minuet.
Gypsy Caprice is a bravura piece for the violin with long, brilliant scale passages and an occasional cadenza. The most interesting feature of this work is the manner in which it builds from a quiet, slightly embellished melody to one of highly charged emotional intensity. Shepherd's Madrigal is a pastoral work in three-part form. The middle section gives the impression of being in two different keys at the same time, the violin in one and the piano in the other. Section three is an abbreviated repetition of part one. Kreisler wrote the Recitativo and Scherzo-Caprice for unaccompanied violin for his friend Eugène Ysaÿe. It exploits violin technique to its fullest.
The Toy Soldiers' March is a delightful miniature. Constant imitation between piano and violin gives the work a little extra spiciness and animation. Cavatina is a Richard Straussian song without words, or Kreisler in a post-Wagnerian mood. La Gitana, subtitled "Arabo-Spanish Gypsy Song of the 18th Century," is a striking
example of the genre piece at its best. It is full of brilliant effects in the violin and the equally important piano part. Flamenco mood and color are in evidence from beginning to end. A lyrical second section, in Major, is followed by a short coda which recalls the intensity and rhythm of the beginning.
The remaining 12 pieces represent Kreisler as an arranger and editor. The Dvorák Humoresque is a fairly straightforward arrangement of the well-known piano piece, but his arrangements of the Slavonic Dances are in a category by themselves. Originally for piano four hands, Dvorák later arranged them for orchestra. In making his arrangements for violin and piano, Kreisler retained the spirit of the originals but quite literally rewrote entire passages of some of them. On occasion he omitted parts of one dance and replaced them with melodies from another.
The Slavonic Dance No. 1 is actually based upon two different dances part of Op. 46, No. 2, and the middle section of Op. 72, No. 1. Yet despite the fact that he has changed the key and the harmony, combined parts of two diferent dances, and rewritten the accompaniment, the result is a remarkably unified composition, which captures the musical spirit of the original.
Slavonic Dance No. 2 is also from Op. 76. Kreisler has literally adapted Dvorák's original for piano and violin, retaining not only the orignal key, but most of the original harmony and even the original accompaniment, making allowances, of course, for the different medium.
While the first dance had nearly as much Kreisler as Dvorák, No. 2 is a masterpiece of
arranging, and one is tempted to think that had de Musique," the composer whose La Chasse Dvorák made the arrangement, this is the way Kreisler wrote "in the style of"! The realization of he would have done it. Slavonic Dance No. 3 is the continuo part to Tartini's Fuge is not onlya slightly shortened arrangement of Dvorák's Op. 76, No. 8. Although it has been transposed a halftone lower, Kreisler has generally followed the harmonic scheme of the original fairly closely, notwithstanding the substantial changes in the accompaniment which were made in order to adjust it to the color and technique of the piano.
Indian Lament (Kreisler's title) is another Dvorák composition the slow movement of the Sonatina, Op. 100 for violin and piano freely arranged (with a coda by Kreisler) for the same instruments. The Slavonic Fantasy is based on several melodies by Dvorák and dedicated to the violinist Carl Flesch.
The Tartini-Kreisler Variations are based on the Gavotte from Corelli's Sonata X from Op. 5. Originally Tartini wrote 50 variations on Corelli's theme, which were to be performed over the same bass part, and called the work "The Art of Bowing." Each variation was written to demonstrate a particular type of bowing. In preparing his "edition," Kreisler begins with a modification of Tartini's Variations 11 and 13, and from then on writes his own variations, making use of presentday violin technique within the harmonic and melodic framework of the Corelli-Tartini original. The piano part has been composed with the needs of Kreisler's own composition in mind, and is not an attempt to realize a continuo part in 18thcentury style. In consulting an early
edition of the Tartini work, this writer was surprised to note that it contained the autograph signature of the real "J.B. Cartier, de l'académie musical but as the work builds in tension, does the realization build in complexity.
The Sarabande and Allegretto are two movements from Sonata 1 of Corelli's Op. 5. In the original, the Sarabande is called simply "Adagio," and the Allegretto is called "Allegro." Kreisler has discarded virtually all of the ornamentation that Corelli wrote and kept only the unadorned melody and most of the original har mony, although he had added a three-measure ending of his own. In the Allegretto, Kreisler has generally retained the original harmony implied by Corelli's figured bass, but he has occasionally changed the rhythm and octave of the bass part.
The only other change he made was to add two measures to the ending in order to heighten the musical and dramatic effect. Corelli's La Folia consists of several variations for violin over the same bass melody, or slight modifications of it. Kreisler modifies the original bass somewhat and uses some of Corelli's original violin part, slightly altered. As the work progresses, Kreisler takes increasing liberties with the original, and frequently omits Corelli's violin part in favor of one of his own. Despite the obvious "updating," however, Kreisler has superimposed a modern masterpiece upon the skeleton of the old one. The Concerto in C by Vivaldi was an attempt to recreate the style of that master as it was understood in the 1920s, when only a few of his violin concerti were known. Kreisler wrote it first for violin and piano, but later
arranged the piano part for string orchestra. While the first movement may contain some musical inconsistencies, the slow movement does capture the spirit of Vivaldi's slow movements very nicely. The last movement is lively and full of "Baroque" violin figurations.
Kreisler's edition of Tartini's Devil's Trill realization of the continuo Sonata consists of and suggested bowings and phrasings. The realization captures the rhythm and accents of the violin part admirably, and is less florid than those of Casella and Respighi, who did realizations of Vivaldi sonatas and other Baroque works at about the same time.
In the original, Tartini indicated by a fermata that the violinist can improvise a cadenza just before the end of the last movement. Kreisler has taken this opportunity to write a cadenza which is, if anything, more devilish to play than the original Devil's Trill. While the three- and four-note chords are difficult enough, he has also written complicated two- and three-note trills which require tremendous technique and stamina.
-Douglas Townsend
NOTES ON VOLUME II
Of all the violinists active during the first half of the 20th century a golden age of string players two were accorded special reverence: Jascha Heifetz (1901-1987) and Fritz Kreisler (18751962). Curiously, both were born on February 2. Destiny obviously intended a musical career for Kreisler. He learned to read music at the age of three, before he had even mastered the alphabet. So rapidly did Kreisler
progress on the violin at the hands of his father, an accomplished amateur violinist, that when he was seven he became the youngest person ever admitted to the Vienna Conservatory. Here he studied violin with Joseph Hellmesberger and theory and harmony with Anton Bruckner ("not a good teacher," Kreisler later divulged, "though a magnificent, exemplary human being"). Kreisler won the Conservatory's Gold Medal when he was but 10 years old, an unprecedented achievement.
From his native Vienna, Kreisler went to the Paris Conservatoire, where his composition instructor was Léo Delibes. Delibes liked one of Kreisler's tunes so much that he "borrowed" it to serve as the motif of his famous Coppélia waltz. Kreisler's violin instruction at the Conservatoire came from Joseph Massart, the teacher of Wieniawski. "Massart," recounts Kreisler, "laid stress on emotion, on feeling, and not on technique." In 1887, at the age of 12, Kreisler graduated from the Conservatoire, sharing the Premier Prix with four other violinists, all nearly twice his age. He received no further formal music training of any kind.
Kreisler's performing career officially began during the 1889-90 season, when he accompanied the celebrated pianist Moriz Rosenthal in a 50-concert tour of the United States. From young Fritz's point of view, the tour was only moderately successful. He returned to Vienna and for the next six years barely touched the violin.
But by 1896 the call of music grew too strong. Kreisler made his debut as soloist with the Vienna Philharmonic under Hans Richter in
1898, and with the Berlin Philharmonic under Arthur Nikisch the following year: both events were enthusiastically acclaimed. And thus Kreisler's remarkable international career was under way.
Stated simply, Kreisler loved to play the violin. During one season in his unusually long career of more than 60 years, Kreisler presented 260 concerts in the U.S., Europe, Egypt and South America. Probably no other artist maintained such an arduous schedule. As Rachmaninoff put it, "Fritz gives so many concerts that he doesn't need to practice." Perhaps this was by design, for Kreisler hated to practice. Kreisler stated his feelings this way: "I never practice before a concert. The reason is that practice numbs the brain, renders the imagination less acute, and deadens the sense of alertness that every artist must possess...Technique is decidedly not the main essential of a concert violinist's equipment. Sincerity andpersonality are the first main essentials... to me,music is an entire philosophy of living. What I say in music is that part of my deepest inner being that can never be put into words." Kreisler knew that his methods were not suitable for everyone; largely for this reason he never accepted a pupil. He possessed effortless manual dexterity ("I don't think of the mechanics at all. A musician who does have to think of the mechanics is not ready for public performance") coupled with a phenomenal memory. Kreisler never played from a score, feeling that to do so deprived him of spontaneity. But he would habitually place a score in front of him so as not to upstage his accompanist.
More than just a great artist, Kreisler was a noble spirit. He was exceptionally learned, and well versed in numerous languages, including Greek and Latin. His rare book collection ranked among the most distinguished ever assembled by an individual. During the First World War Kreisler served in the Austrian Army; these wartime experiences are vividly recounted in Four Weeks in the Trenches (1915; reprinted in an expanded edition by Paganiniana Publications in 1981), a narrative of surpassing humanity and compassion. Kreisler's generosity was legendary. During the Depression and world wars he personally contributed enormous sums of money to aid needy artists and the down-and- out of every description. A New York Times story from ca.1915 reported that "there are at least 1,500 men and women, artists and would-be artists, in the war-stricken capitals of Europe for whose support he has made himself personally responsible." In 1949 Kreisler auctioned off his fabulous rare book library, painstakingly and lovingly accumulated over the course of 40 years, to raise over $120,000 for charity.
Even in an age of great violinists Kreisler's playing stood out. Boris Schwarz's appreciation in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians is typical: "There was never any conscious technical display. The elegance of his bowing, the grace and charm of his phrasing, the vitality and boldness of his rhythm, and above all his tone of indescribable sweetnessand expressiveness were marvelled at." Kreisler was especially renowned for his seemingly infinite variety of coloristic shadings, for his liberal but not indiscriminate use of portamento (a glid-
ing from one note to another so that the intervening pitches also sound) and for his incomparable singing line. No less an artist than the soprano Nellie Melba once advised an aspiring student: "Hear Kreisler play and you'll know how to phrase in singing." Kreisler achieved his flowing quality in part from his innovative employment of a very rapid, continuous vibrato. His bowing and fingering were equally distinctive. He eschewed the customary shoulder cushion, contending it dampened his tone. According to the esteemed violist William Primrose, who collaborated with Kreisler in a recording of the violinist's A Minor String Quartet, Kreisler's "inner rhythm... was indescribable... if one looked down the aisle at people who had their legs crossed, one would see many feet swinging in time with Kreisler's playing."
Kreisler's compositional output was surprisingly large. Among his works are two string quartets, two operettas (Apple Blossoms, 1919; Sissy, 1933), celebrated cadenzas for the Beethoven and Brahms concerti and for four concerti by Mozart, more than 60 transcriptions and arrangements, and at least that many original violin pieces. He even wrote a college song, "Pioneers of Wisconsin," for the University of Wisconsin. Most of Kreisler's music dates from relatively early in his career; his Beethoven cadenza, for instance, is a product of his 19th year. There is a reason for this: namely, that almost all of Kreisler's violin music was written for a practical reason: to expand and individualize his repertoire. When this task had been accomplished, the urge to compose grew less pressing.
Kreisler was unprepared for the popularity of his works. Yet Wilhelm Strecker, of the music publishers B. Schott's Söhne, knew a good thing when he saw it. Strecker offered Kreisler $1,000 for 20 of his short pieces and arrangements. Within six months of their first printing in 1910 more than 70,000 copies had been sold.
Though intended solely to divert and enchant the listener which they do to near perfection. Kreisler's works are much more than mere period pieces. Inevitably they went out of fashion as recitalists began giving over their programs almost entirely to long and serious works. Now that the value of the short and sweet has begun to dawn on concert artists once more, Kreisler's œuvre is staging a well- deserved come back. As the great French violinist Jacques Thibaud observed: "When people point out that Fritz's pieces are 'only' small, I remind them that Chopin, too, wrote many, many small pieces which are now part of the musical treasure of the world... Kreisler's music is good for the soul. It is poetry. It is feeling. He is a real romanticist."
Kreisler's rare ability as a composer (and performer) to personalize a work - whether original or an arrangement is what makes his compositions so special. Without ever invoking virtuosity for its own sake, Kreisler makes his works truly idiomatic through the use of stopped notes, harmonics and pizzicati, special bowings and fingerings and characteristic ornamental figures. His music is invariably clear in structure and straightforward in content. Like the man himself, it is honest, unpretentious, bubbling over with warmth and good humor.
With Kreisler's retirement from the concert platform in the late 1940s and the emergence of a new breed of violinists, his music slowly began to disappear from recital programs. Violinists began eschewing lighter works for fear they would not be regarded as "serious" artists. The optimistic humanity which is the essence of Kreisler's art had become increasingly estranged from contemporary musical life. More and more, however, the younger generation has begun toappreciate the value of such lighthearted and modest creations, and Kreisler's works havecommenced a return to favor. Not only do audi-ences love the beautiful melodies and glittering virtuosity, but violinists have come to appreciate how idiomatically and inimitably Kreisler exploits all those things a violin can do well. Indeed, in their perfection of detail and mastery of technique Kreisler's short pieces occupy the same exalted pantheon in the world of light music as Sousa's marches and Strauss' waltzes.
Though Kreisler rarely took more than a day to write out his miniatures, they were by no means hastily tossed off. "He never puts them on paper until he has worked them out fully in his head," noted his beloved wife, Harriet Strecker, contributed this observation: "Very few people have any conception of the painstaking care and devotion with which he worked up his 'small' pieces how conscientiously and frequently he first practiced them hundreds of times and tried them out on the public before he entrusted them to the printer with the last final touches and nuances."
Like Mahler in Das Lied von der Erde, Kreisler
suggests an oriental flavor by means of a pentatonic (five-note) scale. (Mahler and Kreisler were great admirers of one another, incidentally.) But few listeners are likely to dis-cern much that is specifically Chinese in Tambourin Chinois. It is in fact a virtuosic obstacle course, Allegro molto, quasi presto, able technical impediments over the course of four octaves: double-stops, rapid chromatic scales, stratospheric harmonics - all while preserving the music's charm. The form is A B A. Whereas the outer sections are powerfully rhythmic, with all manner of surprising accents, the B section is slow and improvisatory (rubato, con sentimento), more gypsy-like than oriental in character.
In the days before the availability of recordings of just about every piece ever written, arrangements of standard classics provided a real service. Beautiful music that would other wise rarely be heard was made accessible to amateur musicians and to anyone attending a recital. Moreover, arrangements allowed artists to enrich the repertoire for their instruments. One basic concern governed Kreisler's arrangements: to make them as effective as possible for the violin. Thus he might simplify an accompaniment so that the solo part would emerge more clearly, embroider a melody with double stops or other violinistic devices, insert cadenzas, or place a line in a more telling range. Occasionally he would discreetly enrich the harmonies. Naturally he devised appropriate bowings, fingerings, phrasing and articulation. But rarely did Kreisler make major changes to awork's structure or tonal plan. In other
words, Kreisler did not try to transform a work into his own image, but rather to effectively transfer it from one medium to another.
Though he never had a piano lesson in his life, Kreisler was by common consent an extra-ordinary pianist. Attested no less an authority than Paderewski: "I'd be starving if Kreisler had taken up the piano. How beautifully he plays!" Around 1925 Kreisler made player-piano recordings for Ampico of eight of his most popular works. His piano accompaniments, whether for his own works or his arrangements of others, are deceptively simple, artfully conceived to unobtrusively support the violin.
In selecting what music to arrange, Kreisler looked for one of two things: showpiecesdesigned to provide the violinist with a thorough-going workout, and works of the purest melodic beauty, which allowed him the fullest opportunity to exploit his inimitable singing tone.Tchaikovsky's Andante Cantabile is just such a melody. Kreisler extracted it from the slow movement of Tchaikovsky's First String Quartet (1871). Tchaikovsky himself borrowed the melody from a folk tune he overheard at Kamenka. Kreisler was hardly the first to arrange this movement: Leopold Auer, Wilhelm Fitzenhagen, and many others were quick to adapt it to their own purposes. So popular did the movement become that Tchaikovsky lamented to his brother Modest in 1884: "They don't want to know anything else." Kreisler's version is essentially a transcription. He preserves Tchaikovsky's original keys, and retains his textures as closely as possible. Kreisler's violin line is practically identical to Tchaikovsky's first violin
part, save for the removal of Tchaikovsky's direction con sordino (with mute). The movement has an ABA Coda structure. The A section, in B-flat, is sweetly singing, with an occasional added beat typical of folk melodies. The B section's melody (Tchaikovsky's own) is in the same lyric vein, but placed in a higher range, with pizzicato accompaniment. Lovers of Stravinsky are more likely to recognize the Humoresque than lovers of Tchaikovsky or Kreisler, for Stravinsky took a youthful Tchaikovsky piano piece and worked it prominently into his ballet Le baiser de la fée (The Fairy's Kiss). Tchaikovsky's original, his Op. 10, No. 2, dates from 1872. Tchaikovsky himself arranged it for violin and piano five years later. Once again, Kreisler preserves the composer's structure (A B A), key plan and pitch level. But he makes the piece thoroughly violinistic. The jaunty G Major A section gets enlivened throughout by double stops. At its return, delicate harmonics are introduced. The intervening E-flat Major B section, based on a French folk song, begins innocently enough, but soon it too gets Kreisler's patented double stop treatment. There is a quiet tremolo coda.
Chant sans paroles (Song Without Words) also derives from an early Tchaikovsky piano work, published as Op. 2, No. 3, the last of the set Souvenir de Hapsal (1867). It became so popular that Tchaikovsky's publisher Jurgenson issued 17 different arrangements. Structurally the piece is a slightly altered A B A. The return of the A section (in F), rather than being literal, partakes more of reminiscence. After adding two introductory bars, Kreisler sticks pretty
close to Tchaikovsky's model for the A section, bringing the insouciant melody to the fore with minimal distraction. In the B section (A Major) Kreisler transfers Tchaikovsky's soaring contrasting theme up an octave (it was originally for left hand), to stunning effect. Kreisler rewrote ikovsky's coda, placing the theme in ethereal harmonics.
Scherzo, the last piece in this Tchaikovsky group, is the least well-known. It comes from middle movement of the Souvenir d'un lieu (Souvenir of a Dear Place), Op. 42 (1878) for violin and piano. Whatever fame this work today stems from the fact that its first movement was originally intended for Tchaikovsky's violin concerto.
Kreisler's published version of the Scherzo ntains the words revised and edited by. Kreisler's revisions were minimal. He renotated piano part for ease of reading, an inveterate liberty. As was always his custom, he added fingering, phrasing and articulative marks to the violin line. An occasional dynamic ts altered. Tchaikovsky repeats the melody of the Trio verbatim, while Kreisler raises the tune octave. Beginning with the retransition back the opening section Kreisler again virtually plicates Tchaikovsky, throwing in an occasional pizzicato chord. The biggest alteration comes at the very end, where Kreisler adds several extra bars for a more brilliant conclusion. This piece, like most of the others recorded on this album, falls into
straightforward A-B-A form. The heavily accented A section is a blaz-perpetuo moto in B-flat marked Presto giocoso; the contrasting B section in A-flat contains a sweeping theme marked con molto espresione ed un poco agitato.
Kreisler's love for virtuosic excitement and a good tune was not restricted to the standard repertoire. For example, he had great admiration for the work of his eccentric Australian contemporary Percy Grainger (1882-1961). Around 1922 Kreisler asked Grainger for permission to arrange his setting of Irish Tune from County Derry. Grainger refused, arguing that his harmonies would poorly suit the violin, and suggested Kreisler make his own version. This Kreisler did. The violinist's setting of the traditional Londonderry Air (often called "Danny Boy") is simplicity itself. To a straightforward piano accompaniment Kreisler reiterates the touching melody, each time at a higher pitch and dynamic level. After reaching the point of greatest intensity, Kreisler sings the grand tune oncagain, this time quietly, dolce, with high harmonics and double stops. The tune gently evaporates in the violin's stratosphere.
In 1924 Kreisler sought permission to arrange another Grainger composition, Molly on the Shore: Irish Reel. This time Grainger relented. Unfortunately Grainger was not very pleased with Kreisler's final product. In plain language, Grainger objected because Kreisler made his music violinistic. Kreisler was careful to note freely arranged on his score. Grainger based his piece on two authentic Irish folk tunes which alternate and return in a clever combination of rondo and variation form. Kreisler tightened Grainger's rather loose structure and reshaped the piece into a virtuosic tour de force,
transferring almost all interest to the violin. Note how graphically he evokes the sounds of a country fiddler. Interestingly, Kreisler reduces Grainger's suggested metronome mark of half note equals "between 126 and 144" to "between 112 and 116."
Recital programs in Kreisler's time differed greatly from those of today. They typically fell into three parts. The first featured a major sonata, say by Bach, Beethoven or Brahms. The second generally consisted of a concerto with piano accompaniment (remember, this was in the days when concerti were not so regular a feature of symphony programs as now). The third and final portion invariably contained a selection of shorter, lighter pieces such as might serve as encores today.
It was into this latter group that the vast majority of Kreisler's compositions belonged. As befits a good encore, they were essentially of two kinds: a brilliant virtuoso piece designed to rouse the audience; a luscious singing melody calculated to calm them. To continue our number game, these encore-type pieces fit neatly into three general categories. First, the arrangements of familiar tunes by established masters. Second, the Kreisler originals in Viennese idiom. Finally, those neoclassical works written "in the style of assorted Baroque and Classical”.
composers.
This third category includes nearly 20 works. Though as a whole these are not as well-known today as pieces in the other groups, during Kreisler's lifetime they were extremely popular. Despite Kreisler's hints to the contrary, the public unquestioningly took them to be authentic
works by little-known masters of the past, modestly modernized by Kreisler. The violinist, who loved a good joke, decided to play along. In an interview printed in The New York Times on November 9, 1909, Kreisler informed his fans: "I discovered the pieces in an old convent in the south of France. I have altogether fifty-three manuscripts of this sort in my possession... Five of them are more or less valueless... Forty-eight of them are gems... Naturally, this music was not all written for the violin. I have arranged some of it for my instrument. I have made a few minor changes in the melodies, and I have modernized the accompaniments to some extent, but I have tried to retain the spirit of the original compositions. Nineteen of these forty-eight melodies have found their way to my programs, and they have never been played by anyone else." In a subsequent interview with The New York Herald Kreisler further revealed that the monastery was located at Avignon, and that the monks were paid "about $8,000 for all they had."
Not until 1935, when Kreisler was 60, did the true story emerge. As chance would have it, Olin Downes, the chief music critic of The New York Times, was unable to track down the manuscript of Pugnani's Praeludium and Allegro for a lecture he was preparing. Downes questioned Kreisler directly and the violinist unhesitatingly admitted the hoax: "The entire series labelled Classical Manuscripts are my original compositions... Necessity forced this course upon me thirty years ago when I was desirous of enlarging my programs. I found it impudent and tactless to repeat my name endlessly on the programs.”
One member of the press, Ernest Newman, the distinguished chief music critic of The London Times, did not take Kreisler's little game so lightly. Newman, evidently embarrassed by having been fooled over the course of so many years, published a pair of acrimonious columns accusing Kreisler of unethical behavior. Kreisler, of course, had the last laugh. Downes phrased it nicely: "Mr. Kreisler has added to the gayety of nations and the violinist's repertory. Shall we begrudge him that? Should the man who kissed the wrong girl in the dark condemn the practice of kissing?" The entire story is recounted in hilarious detail in Louis P. Lochner's fascinating biography Fritz Kreisler (1950; expanded edition by Paganiniana Publications, 1981), which provided abundant source material for this essay.
As an amusing footnote, Kreisler's wife later confessed: "That whole yarn about the monastery was pure bunk... Fritz sometimes got the names of the old masters to whom he ascribed his works by simply looking in Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians." Though many of Kreisler's friends and fellow musicians knew the true origin of these gems, it is not really so astonishing that Kreisler's high jinks fooled the general public for so many years. After all, Porpora, Pugnani, Cartier, Martini, Francœur and the like, are hardly household names even now. At the beginning of the century precious few people could claim familiarity with their music. Today we live in a much more historically enlightened age, so that though the actual composers may not be wellknown, the prevailing Baroque and Classical styles are. To any educated ear Kreisler's music partakes far more of the 19th
century than the preceding two. His harmonic language in particular reflects the chromatic vocabulary of his time. Apart from its unprecedented mastery of violin technique, Kreisler's music breaks no new paths. It is always firmly tonal. And yet it is deceptively sophisticated in its perfection of detail. Though Kreisler's pieces may be traditional, they are never predictable.
The Chanson Louis XIII et Pavane, supposedly "in the style of Louis Couperin," is the only one of Kreisler's Classical Manuscripts that is not completely original. Kreisler revealed in his 1935 exchange with Downes that the Chanson's first eight bars derive from a traditional melody. It is a noble tune, in A Minor, marked semplice. So effortlessly has Kreisler integrated it into his own idiom that one would never guess that the continuation was not part of the original melody. Kreisler requests that this movement be played with a mute. The mute is removed for the ensuing Pavane, which differs from its predecessor both in mode (D Major) and tempo (fast). The serene poise of the Chanson gives way to high-spirited rhythmic animation. A brief Adagio coda brings the work to its quiet end. Dittersdorf's Scherzo is a gay work whose spirit is more akin to a minuet than to a scherzo (of which Dittersdorf probably never wrote one) in the Beethovenian sense. The outer sections are in fact marked grazioso. Kreisler conceives his Trio with contrast in mind: it is in a new key (from B-flat to E-flat) and consists largely of sparkling staccato arpeggios.
Le Précieuse (The Precious) is another work allegedly modeled after those of Louis
Couperin. As is characteristic of the French Baroque, a descriptive title is affixed. Marked Allegreto con spirito, this piece conveys enormous warmth. La Précieuse is cast into a modified A B A form, with the return of the A section abridged. Contained within the initial A sections is a tranquillo subsection with dotted rhythms in the piano supporting chains of legato sixteenth notes in the violin. The B section, in G Major (the outer sections are in D), gives Kreisler an opportunity to display his genial good humor while inventing all sorts of idiomatically violinistic ornaments. Note that in this piece, as with a high percentage of the original Kreisler works discussed herein, the tonal relationship between the first and second sections is tonicsubdominant (I-IV) instead of the far more traditional tonic-dominant (I-V). It is with such touches that Kreisler reveals his quiet originality.
Kreisler's Andantino "in the style of" Padre Martini serves no other purpose than to supply the violinist an opportunity to display his most gorgeous singing line. Such directions as dolce, espressivo and semplice provide the clues to this work's character. Technically, the Andantino falls into two thematically related sections, each immediately repeated.
Tambourin was an old Provençale dance in lively 2/4 time which drew its name from the small twoheaded medieval drum which served as percussive accompaniment. Rameau's operas are full of stylized tambourins. The extent of Kreisler's familiarity with French Baroque music, that of Rameau in particular, is not known. But he certainly captures an authentic quality here. Repeated notes on the piano
emulate a drum, while the violin dances around irresistibly, mostly in its upper register (tambourins were originally rustic pieces played on a small, fife-like flute). Periodic downbeat octaves in the violin suggest medieval drones. The structure fits into a straightforward A B A, with the B section in the parallel minor.
The third Louis Couperin inspired work on this album- Aubade Provençale - has a less common form, but one that is no less clear: ABAB. The two sections contrast in every respect. The Andante opening, in B-flat, shifts continuous (and effortlessly) between duple and triple meter and expressively exploits the A and D strings. Marked tranquillo, it has one of those eloquent, slightly melancholy tunes Kreisler seemingly had a patent on. Following it is an Allegro ma non troppo in C Minor which is strongly rhythmic, with much syncopation and dotted notes. It is thoroughly un-Baroque in character. Kreisler end his Aubade Provençale in D Major, a key different than the opening. An aubade, incidentally refers to morning music, as distinct from serenades, which are evening pieces. During the17th and 18th centuries, aubades were played in honor of nobility at levees.
Kreisler's Porpora Minuett is the longest and most technically demanding of the "in the style” works on this album. The grand D Major minuet labeled Allegro, features imposing double stops, crisp dotted rhythms and large leaps. The Trio in G (another subdominant relationship), consists entirely of long legato arpeggios, to be played piu tranquillo, dolce. These arpeggios range over two-and-a-half octaves and require immense dexterity to produce the requisite fluidity.
No composer can lay claim to a great melodic gift more than Franz Schubert. The melody of his piano Impromptu, Op. 90, No. 3 is quintessential Schubert. Kreisler had the good sense to do as little as possible to the heavenly tune. He transposes the piece up a step, from G-flat to Aflat, a key better suited to the violin. Toward the middle of the Impromptu, Kreisler raises the theme an octave. As for the accompaniment, Kreisler retains Schubert's ongoing triplet pattern while ever so slightly enriching the harmonies. We are left with an unaffectedly tender melody which is repeated on different, increasingly lovely levels.
The incidental music Schubert wrote in late 1823 for the drama Rosamunde (allegedly in five days, according to the librettist's son) is fairly well-known today, thanks to recordings. But it was probably not often heard in Kreisler's time. The play itself proved an abject failure. At any rate, Kreisler's arrangement of Schubert's concluding ballet is sheer delight. Predictably, the form is that old standby A B A, with a lilting A section in G Major and a darker middle section in G Minor, which leads into a meltingly lyric transition back to the opening. Kreisler retains Schubert's original keys but changes the phrasing and adjusts the tempo from Andantino to Allegretto Moderato. He places the melodic lines in double stops almost throughout. Schubert's repetitions are condensed, and a new ending devised. (As a point of interest, note how Shumsky brings an authentically Kreisleresque rhythmic swagger to the opening.)
In 1827 Schubert published a set of six Momens musicals [sic], Op. 94. The earliest of Kreisler here. It dates from ca. 1823. Its form may be outlined as ABCA Coda. Each section gets repeated before proceeding to the next This miniature possesses a playful march character. Kreisler's principal contributions are transposition up a step from F Minor to F-sharp Minor, and the pervasive use of double stops.
Weber's Larghetto is the least well-known of the pieces on this recording chosen by Kreisler for transcription. It derives from the slow movement of the first of Weber's Six sonates progressives for piano with violin obbligato (1810)The movement in question is marked Romanze Larghetto. It is in flowing 6/8 meter and AABB Coda form. The two sections are thematically related. Both boast melodic lines of nearSchubertian grace. Kreisler preserves Weber's original key (B-flat), and instructs the soloist to play "con espressione ma molto semplice”.
Haydn's Hungarian Rondo is one of those movements which, like Tchaikovsky's Andante Cantabile, have totally eclipsed the larger work from which they were extracted. In the early years of this century Eulenburg published Haydn's Piano Trio in G (H. XV:25) as his Trio No. 1. Actually, it is one of his last, having been written in 1795. The Rondo all'Ongarese wil doubtless sound familiar to many a music aficionado who is blissfully unaware of its origin. Haydn's Rondo consists of a Presto perpetuo moto theme in G Major interrupted by two episodes in G Minor, each of a pronounced folksy dance-like nature. Kreisler transferred the
principal tunes to solo violin and updated the violin writing to include plenty of gypsy-ish stopped notes.
Another famous work known to thousands who will immediately recognize the tune but not the source is that Gluck piece Kreisler labels Melodie. It derives from the "Dance of the Blessed Spirits" in Gluck's opera Orfeo ed Euridice (1762). This dance sets the stage for the scene in the Elysian Fields in Act II where Orfeo will track down his beloved Euridice Curiously, Kreisler does not employ the complete dance, but only the darkly tranquil D Minor middle section. This section was not part of Gluck's original score, but an addition for the 1774 Paris production. Gluck's scoring for solo flute and string quartet was much admired by Berlioz, who quoted it in full in his orchestral treatise as a model of how to write for flute. It is a "very sublime lament of a suffering and despairing departed spirit," Berlioz maintained. Kreisler essentially preserves Gluck's conception. He transfers the solo line to violin, subdues Gluck's "walking" bass, slightly alters some of the ornamentation, and adds a brief coda.
It is unfortunately not common knowledge that Mozart was a terrific violinist. Some of his best concerted violin music is found not in the concerti, which were all written before he turned 20, but concealed in larger works. Such an instance is the Rondo arranged by Kreisler, one of three concerted movements placed within Mozart's eight-movement "Haffner" Serenade, K.250 (1776). Like any good rondo, Mozart's consists of a theme which alternates with a series of contrasting episodes. Mozart's theme
is an irresistible moto perpetuo; his interludes are invariably more lyrical in nature. Kreisler keeps Mozart's key scheme, transfers some of Mozart's orchestral first violin parts to the soloist, and alters articulation a bit. To the scherzo-esque rising trill theme following the opening perpetuo he introduces a few surprising rhythmic accents in the piano. But Kreisler's major changes come under the guise of abridgement and expansion. For example, some of Mozart's plentiful thematic returns he curtailed for the sake of conciseness. This abridgement became essential since Kreisler's cadenzas greatly increase the length of the piece. Today fermata signs such as Mozart scattered throughout his score tend to hear one thing only: a pause for breath. But in sold works in Mozart's time they indicated some sor of cadenza or lead-in to the orchestra's return Kreisler interpreted all three in this sense, concocting cadenzas of increasing length and bravura. The final one leads directly to a double stop statement of the main theme and an invigorating conclusion.
Brahms' Hungarian Dances, with their juicy tunes and passionate gypsy inflections promised ideal material for Kreisler's arranging skills. Yet Kreisler is only known to have arranged one, the Hungarian Dance No. 17 in F-sharp Minor. He transposed it down a half step to F Minor, a key better suited to the violin Kreisler made one substantial structural alteration. In both versions a moody Andantino is followed by a footstomping Vivace in the same key. But Brahms goes on to introduce a molto dolce section in Csharp minor. Kreisler elim
nates Brahms' contrasting section entirely, supplanting it with an Andante in F of his own, devised based on the Hungarian Air by H.W. Ernst. Both Brahms and Kreisler return to a rousing restatement of the Vivace. Throughout the piece Kreisler liberally inserts such markings as rubato, appassionato and con accento e ritmo. As might be expected, his version exploits double stop technique to the fullest. To intensify the full-throated gypsy character (which is invariably what Brahms meant when he termed a work Hungarian), Kreisler often lowers Brahms' melodies an octave.
Schumann's Romance in A is the second of his Three Romances, Op. 94, for oboe and piano (1849). It contains still another of those exquisite melodies for which Kreisler had such an eagle eye. Predictably, the work is in A B A form. The songful outer sections are in A Major, the more animated middle section in F-sharp Minor, the relative Minor. Aside from a few subtle modifications of phrasing, articulation, dynamics and harmony, Kreisler's adaptation remains essentially literal.
Mendelssohn composed 48 short piano pieces under the heading Songs Without Words, all of them, according to his biographer Eric Werner, in some sort of A B A form. Mendelssohn's Op. 62, No. 1, subtitled "May Breeze" on Kreisler's score, dates from 1844. This is an essentially monothematic work, in which rhythmic motives extracted from the long-breathed melody provide a bit of tonal and coloristic contrast before the return of the theme. Kreisler transposes Mendelssohn's original down a sixth, from G to B-flat, thus couching
the violin line in a rich baritone throughout. He adds five bars of piano introduction to set the scene. Kreisler's musical interests extended considerably beyond the Austrian/German tradition. Nor were they limited to old music. During his lengthy career he introduced at least one cotemporary work to his repertoire each year- the most notable example being Elgar's Violin Concerto (1910), which he commissioned and premiered. Kreisler loved the splendidly colorful music of his Spanish contemporaries Albéniz (1860-1909), Granados (1867-1916) and Falla (1876-1946). His arrangements of a few of their more popular pieces conclude this album.
Tango and Malagueña come from Albéniz's suite España: Six Album Leaves, Op. 165 (published in 1890). They are the second and third works, respectively, from that piano collection. Malagueña is the Spanish equivalent of the Brahms and Haydn Hungarian Dances, only more authentic. It blazes with Spanish color in A B A form, the fiery A section surrounding a slow, rhapsodic middle one. Kreisler preserves the key structure of Albéniz's original, but otherwise takes considerable liberties. For example, nearly the entire violin part in the A section is Kreisler's invention: it provides rhythmic and harmonic (in the guise of double stops) reinforcement to Albéniz's self-contained piano part. In the middle section Kreisler adds a breathtaking cadenza. Likewise Kreisler inserts a rapid-fire spiccato passage at the end for a dazzling conclusion. He turned an idiomatic piano work into something thoroughly violinistic.
Tango, in syncopated 2/4, is a lighter, shorter piecealso A B A marked Andantino grazioso. Once again,
Kreisler's principal contribution is to make Albéniz's conception sound idiomatic for violin. Thus Kreisler freely inserts stopped notes and harmonics, and at the return of the A tune raises the pitch an octave. In the B section Kreisler goes all out with lavish ornaments not in the original. Tango is a classic example of how Kreisler could apply his full violinistic powers to a modest work without violating the character of the music.
The two final selections are both fire-breathers of the utmost brilliance. The Spanish Dance by Granados, arranged by Kreisler, stems from the fifth and best-known work in the collection Danzas españolas, Op. 37, composed between 1892-1900 for solo piano. It is entitled Andaluza (La Playera). In Kreisler's arrangement the gypsy-like main melody in E Minor gets reprised at higher and higher pitch levels and with increasing ornamentation. There is a lyric interlude in the parallel major which offers a contrast of mode (E Major) and meter (triple instead of duple). After reaching a powerful peak of intensity, marcando (stressed) and fortissimo, the melody dies away into an E Major chord.
4
Falla's Danse Espagnole emanates from his opera La vida breve (The Short Life), composed i n 1904-05. The dance appears at the end of Act II, Scene 1, where it accompanies wedding festivities. It is the most famous portion of Falla's score, deservedly celebrated. The piece is a jota, a dance of Aragon in rapid triple timetraditionally assisted by castanets. The form is ABA, with the molto ritmico outer sections in A Minor set against a more lyrical yet still forceful tune which traverses several key areas.
Kreisler sticks pretty much to Falla's layout in terms of form and key. But by means of such violinistic devices as those employed in Malagueña, Kreisler evokes an entire symphony orchestra. Every resource in Kreisler's awesome violinistic arsenalpizzicato, harmonics, spiccato, double, triple and quadruple stops - is brought to bear in this astonishing demonstration of Kreisler's incomparable wizardry.
-Derrick Henry
A legend in his time, Oscar Shumsky was hailed by the renowned Soviet violinist David Oistrakh as "one of the world's greatest violinists." Born of Russian parents in Philadelphia,he began to play the violin at the age of three. His advance was rapid and at the age of seven he appeared as soloist with the Philadelphia Orchestra performing Mozart's A Major Violin Concerto. Leopold Stokowski, who conducted the performance, pronounced young Shumsky "the most astounding genius | have ever heard."
He became the youngest pupil ever accepted by the famed pedagogue Leopold Auer and went on to complete his studies with Efrem Zimbalist at the Curtis Institute of Music. Subsequently he was invited to teach at that institute and has held similar positions on the faculties of the Juilliard School, Peabody Conservatory and Yale University.
One of the most versatile of musicians, Shumsky has maintained parallel activities as a conductor, chamber music performer and violist. He has been accorded a high measure of acclaim and respect in these related fields and steadily maintained a remarkable career whose brilliance has remained undimmed throughout the decades.
Milton Kaye studied at the Juilliard School with Carl Friedberg and later had training with Simon Barere. He appeared as soloist with the New York Philharmonic, the Philadelphia Orchestra and the NBC Symphony Orchestra. With Jascha Heifetz he toured in North Africa and Italy and made joint recordings in the United States with him. In 1975 he made his second European tour under the auspices of the U.S. State Department.
William Wolfram quickly catapulted to prominence after his prize-winning efforts at three major competitions: first prize in the Three Rivers Piano Competition in Pittsburgh; second prize in the 1983 Naumburg Competition; and the Peoples Choice Award from the International Chopin Competition. Following his Town Hall recital in April 1983 The New York Times proclaimed him "a young virtuoso of the first rank. Wolfram's technique is flabbergasting." Wolfram's teachers include Josef Raieff, Jacob Lateiner and Irwin Freundlich. He holds a degree from The Juilliard School of Music. Wolfram has recorded solo albums for the Eastern European labels Wifon and Polsky Nagrania.
HT E MUSICALHERITAGESOC I E YT EST. 1960 Additional information about these recordings can be found at our website www.themusicalheritagesociety.com All recordings ℗ 1982-1983 & © 2024 Heritage Music Royalties. Volume 1 Produced by Dr. Michael Naida & Frederick Bashour Volume 2 Produced by Gregory Squires
