Matt Dibble: 24 Preludes & Fugues
Divine Art

Before London-based composer Matt Dibble passed away in May 2021 (the cause complications from the AstraZeneca Covid-19 vaccination) at the age of forty, he reportedly told his mother his dream was to have pianist Freddy Kempf record the preludes and fugues he'd been creating in secret over six years and that were completed three months before his death. Determined to make that wish a reality, Dibble's friends raised funds to cover recording expenses and recruit Kempf for the project. While the composer and pianist never met, the latter's indelible and enthusiastic performances on this posthumously released collection indicate that a connection of the deepest kind was forged between them.

The immense weight of tradition associated with preludes and fugues is less relevant in Dibble's case than expected. Of course any composer embarking on such a project is fully aware of J. S. Bach's iconic Das Wohltemperierte Klavier (The Well-Tempered Clavier, 1722) as well as sets by other composers, including Dmitri Shostakovich's. To his credit, Dibble didn't let such precedents inhibit him creatively; on the contrary, the undertaking seemed to liberate him and encouraged him to indulge himself to the fullest creative degree. That feeling of freedom was, one guesses, reinforced when the pieces were composed in private and thus suggest Dibble venturing deep within to give voice to his most personal self; it's also noteworthy that in the work's forty-eight pieces, only three include subtitles.

Dibble's love of multiple genres emerges in 24 Preludes & Fugues, where conventional barriers between blues, jazz, pop, and classical dissolve. Structural continuity is, however, established when the last note of each fugue becomes the first note of the prelude that follows, and the work is also neatly tied together when the last note of the final fugue is the same as the first note of the opening prelude. Another structural aspect is worth clarifying too, specifically the fundamental difference between prelude and fugue. The parts in each pairing are separated by a difference in character, the prelude being the free-form structure that anticipates the more formally defined fugue. On the one hand, there's a quasi-improvisatory form, on the other one whose successive patterns adhere to long-standing rules of counterpoint. While Dibble's handling of the prelude and fugue forms is freer than the Bach model, being aware of such details makes listening to the pairings all the more engrossing. Still, even with such structural details in place, the field within which the material was created reflects no stylistic constraints restricted Dibble's creative vision.

While subtitles were kept to a minimum, markings appear throughout that would have helped guide Kempf in crafting his interpretations. One reads “as if humming – an echo of a memory” and another “slow (but not that slow).” And, as mentioned by Jon Hargreaves in liner notes, the marking included with the final fugue, “Defiantly, almost aggressively, positive and energetic,” is telling in the way it seemingly embodies the composer who created it. Hargreaves also notes that different parts nod to both classical and jazz artists, from Bach and Debussy to Evans and Jarrett. Educated at the University of York and the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, Dibble was, after all, a composer and pianist but also a clarinetist and saxophonist who played in a number of bands and released six solo albums. He found a fitting partner in the London-born Kempf, whose prior recordings of recitals and concertos by Tchaikovsky, Schumann, Prokofiev, and Gershwin have brought him critical acclaim. He's appeared with some of the globe's most prestigious ensembles, appeared on many of its greatest stages, including the Berlin Konzerthaus, the Concertgebouw, the Sydney Opera House, and Tokyo's Suntory Hall, and is currently keyboard professor at Munich City Music School.

With only five of the forty-eight tracks nudging into the three-minute zone, most are miniatures that enter and exit with dispatch. Yet even with brevity in play, there's no shortage of elaboration when each piece is a fully developed entity. Moods change with regularity, with one rhapsodic (“Fugue on Ab3”) and others pensive (“Fugue on Ebm3”), theatrical ("Prelude on E3”), brooding (“Fugue on B3"), introspective (“Prelude on F#3”), ornate (“Fugue on A3”), and florid (“Prelude on Gm3”). Whereas “Fugue on Am3” and “Fugue on Gm3” evoke Bach in their contrapuntal design, “Prelude on A3” hints at Ravel with a faint echo of Le Tombeau de Couperin and “Prelude on F#m3” Scriabin in its macabre tone. “Prelude on Bb3 (‘Alone – 5AM'),” on the other hand, recalls the sophistication and ruminative lyricism of Bill Evans. Undoubtedly two of the prettiest are “Prelude on Bm3” for its solemnity and lyrical quality and “Prelude on B3” for its gently flowing ripples. While blues touches emerge in “Prelude on Fm3,” “Fugue on F#m3,” and “Prelude on F3,” the entangling and knotty “Prelude on C#m3” flirts with jazz when it ventures into boldly chromatic territory. The declamatory and grandiose "Prelude on C3,” by comparison, is punctuated with crushing chords.

August 2024