Orion Weiss: Arc II: Ravel, Brahms, Shostakovich
First Hand Records

One of the more interesting things about Orion Weiss's Arc trilogy has to do with shape: in place of the standard rise-and-fall associated with classic narrative form, the pianist's three parts progress from hope to despair before recovery brings with it resilience and renewal (it's impossible to ignore the parallel to our own longed-for overcoming of the pandemic). Another notable facet involves timelines: whereas Arc I features solo piano works from 1911-13, those on Arc II encompass a larger temporal span, with twentieth-century pieces by Ravel and Shostakovich coupled with earlier ones by Brahms. What connects the four on the second volume is that each captures the composer grappling with death, loss, and grief in musical terms. Needless to say, all of them are well-served by a pianist whose playing's characterized by sensitivity, nuance, and insight. Weiss uses his virtuosic command to amplify the essence of each piece and the emotions the composers distilled into their writing.

Even if Arc II symbolizes humanity's lowest point and though sadness and despair do surface in its selections, listening to the recording is no depressing slog. That's immediately evidenced by the inclusion of Ravel's Le Tombeau de Couperin (1914-17), which, of course, has melancholy moments but lively ones too. When asked to explain why the works ‘musical tombs' were not only elegiac, Ravel replied, “The dead are sad enough, in their eternal silence.” He certainly had much over which to grieve—the death of friends and his beloved mother—yet nevertheless elected to compose music brimming with life. Testifying to Weiss's exceptional technical ability, his essaying of the “Prelude” transfixes for the radiance of the performance but also the clarity with which he weaves its trilling patterns into a spellbinding tapestry. Delivered at a high velocity, the material pulls one helplessly into its world. Pitched at a comparative hush, the “Fugue” proves as seductive for the intricate web its spidery figures form. The consummate delicacy with which Weiss renders “Forlane” and “Menuet” magnify their haunting beauty; “Rigaudon,” on the other hand, captivates for its blithe tone and the closing “Toccata” for its breathless energy.

We leap back sixty years for the kaleidoscopic Variations on a Theme by Robert Schumann, Op. 9 (1854), a heartfelt homage Brahms wrote as a twenty-year-old following his mentor's attempted suicide and subsequent institutionalization. He wasn't writing at a remove, by the way, the young composer having become acquainted with the Schumann family four months prior to those developments. One might see the work, then, as an expression of condolence, with Brahms referencing other works by Robert and Clara's own set of variations on the same theme. The sombre melody stated, it's then elaborated on sixteen times, each one different and the entire emotional gamut seemingly being run. Yearning, anger, sadness, placidity, solemnity, joy—all and more emerge before the eighteen-minute piece quietens and then seemingly evaporates.

Another dramatic time change occurs, this one leaping ninety years ahead for Shostakovich's Piano Sonata No. 2 in B minor, Op. 61 (1943). Described by Weiss as “emotional, romantic, wild, and raw,” the three-part work was dedicated by the composer to his piano teacher and friend, Leonid Nikolayev, who died during the mass evacuation from Leningrad. After the “Allegro” begins with animated flurries, a prototypical Shostakovich theme, this one martial and sardonic, appears, and it's at this moment that a transition into despair begins to seem inevitable. The central “Largo” paints a desolate scene of hazy impressions, though faint glimmerings of better days are audible too. The last movement towers over the others, however, in its extensive examination of a prayer-like theme and variations. The latter are obsessively undertaken, the theme attacked from multiple angles without its haunting echo ever getting lost in the process.

Two short settings by Brahms conclude the recording, a pair from 11 Chorale Preludes, Op. 122 (1896). Coming forty-two years after the earlier work, the work finds the composer near the end of his life and looking to centuries-old Lutheran hymns for comfort. Transcribed for piano by Ferrucio Busoni, the organ settings were composed after Clara Schumann's funeral, an event to which Brahms responded, “Now I have nobody left to lose." His grief is summarily captured in the yearning of the tenth chorale, yet a feeling of peace is also imparted. The sober eleventh takes that a step further in anticipating death and expressing gratitude for the release from earthly pain. The vestiges of hope that emerge in these short statements naturally anticipate the upward movement promised by the final Arc chapter. The conclusion of the trilogy, formally titled Arc III: From Young Composers, Times of Joy, After World War I, After World War II and featuring material by Schubert, Debussy, Brahms, Dohnányi, and Talma, is scheduled to appear in 2023 and will, one suspects, reward as plentifully as the first two parts.

December 2022