Franz LISZT (1811-1886)
Schwanengesang: Vierzehn Lieder von Franz Schubert, S.560 (1839) [59:34]
Quatre Valses oubliées, S.215 (1881-1884) [19:43]
Can Çakmur (piano)
Rec. January 2020 at Wyastone Concert Hall, Monmouth, UK
BIS BIS2530 SACD [80:12]
For some reason, the transcriptions of Franz Schubert’s lieder by Franz Liszt for solo piano get little attention or respect. The collected works of Liszt published in the early 20th century failed to include those pieces at all. Seldom recorded as a whole, except in Leslie Howard’s herculean set of Liszt’s piano works, they seem like a very odd choice for a young pianist making what appears to be his second recording. But Can Çakmur, a Turkish pianist born in 1997, chose these pieces for this intriguing disc from BIS.
Franz Liszt, upon his retirement from the concert stage in 1837, began writing transcriptions of Schubert songs with the intent of making Schubert a household name. He succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. Publishers were soon demanding more and more of Liszt’s Schubert transcriptions, so that he ultimately wrote 56 of them, mostly between 1837 and 1840. Among them are transcriptions from several song cycles, including Winterreise and Die schöne Mullerin.
Schwanengesang, D.957, was not a proper song cycle, at least as intended by Schubert. Rather, it was a set of seven lieder on poems by Ludwig Rellstab, another set of six lieder on poems by Heinrich Heine, plus what is generally regarded as Schubert’s last song, Die Taubenpost, assembled into a single grouping by the publisher Tobias Haslinger after the composer’s death. Liszt sometimes takes Schubert very literally, and at others adds flourishes, but always keeps the structure of the song rather than going into a fantasia on the lied. However, Liszt felt free, when transcribing them, to rearrange the songs into a different order. Çakmur similarly has no compunctions about putting Liszt’s transcriptions into yet a different order, to tell a story of loss.
Individual pieces of note are the vast drama of Der Atlas, the haunting beauty of Ständchen (which frankly I prefer in Liszt’s version over Schubert’s original), and the nervous power behind Aufenthalt. Çakmur clearly has an affinity for In der Ferne, which he describes in the notes as “the finest of all the Schubert song arrangements by Liszt.”
There are not a great many other complete recordings of this group of transcriptions against which to weigh Çakmur, but he acquits himself quite well. By comparison, Murray Perahia makes Ständchen almost seem cheerful. Çakmur, while somewhat mournful, is not nearly as lugubrious as Leslie Howard. Oxana Yoblanskaya’s rendition of the song on Naxos is very similar to Çakmur’s, but not nearly as well-recorded.
Jorge Bolet takes Aufenthalt much more slowly and relaxed than Çakmur, but with great confidence. Howard is completely lacking in the power that Schubert (and Liszt) expressly call for. Yoblanskaya seems to be hollowed out by comparison and completely misses the point.
Perahia’s version of In der Ferne is completely calm and almost motionless; Çakmur takes the piece at about the same speed as Perahia, but demonstrates far more forward motion that helps keep the listener’s interest. In all, Çakmur does as well, or better, with these pieces as any of the competition.
Çakmur has a delightful gentle touch, but is well able to call on reserves of power when necessary. His technical skill is not in question; often on careful listening one wonders how he is playing some passages without a third hand. In fairly early Liszt works such as these, it’s always a temptation to make the virtuosity the point of the exercise. Çakmur instead holds a rein on the pyrotechnics, keeping them in service of the music. Throughout, no matter how pianistic the writing, Çakmur maintains the vocal line of the songs first and foremost. This is a difficult balance, but very well maintained here.
As a companion piece, Çakmur provides works from Liszt’s old age, the four “Forgotten Waltzes.” These short pieces are like a memory of waltzes written decades earlier that come half-remembered to him and often drift away into nothingness. They show some of the hallmarks of Liszt’s old age, including his growing fondness for minimalism and interest in experiments in atonality.
The first waltz is Chopinesque, bearing a whiff of the brimstone of the Mephisto waltzes. As the piece progresses, it becomes a clear precursor of the Impressionists. Waltz #2 ventures into atonal waters, while the third Forgotten Waltz shimmers with Debussy-like undulations. The final waltz, which remained unknown and unpublished for many years, truly forgotten, is a mixture of rage and submission to the ethereal and the eternal. The gentleness of Çakmur’s touch is entirely appropriate to these works that depend on a sense of memory, like a tune that is just out of reach.
The first Valse oubliée is by far the best-known of the quartet, and it has been recorded by quite a few pianists, often as an encore piece. Among them, Alfred Brendel treats it as a virtuoso display. Rubinstein gives a darker interpretation, descending into terrifying madness; it’s tremendously effective but I’m not sure that’s what Liszt had in mind. Byron Janis, like Çakmur, treats the waltz with delicacy, similarly playing with the notion of memory, but he takes it at a more breakneck speed.
John Ogdon’s recording of waltz #1 is similar in character to Çakmur’s interpretation, but the recording is utterly dismal and sounds like his piano is under water. Leslie Howard’s recording is workmanlike, with little emotion: he plays the notes but that’s about all. Probably the best version I know of is that of Michel Dalberto, whose heavy use of rubato is very effective and would probably please Liszt. Sviatoslav Richter gives a brilliant performance in the 1958 Sofia live performance, with a liquid technique and amazing velocity, but the sound is dismal. Çakmur more than holds his own with this group, at worst in the second rank among some of the greatest.
Çakmur provides thoughtful and extensive notes on each piece, as well as his reasoning behind his ordering of the segments in the Schwanengesang. He is clearly a cerebral pianist in the best sense of the word. This is a young man to watch. The recording quality is up to BIS’ usual high standards, with excellent dynamic range and beautiful clarity and immediacy.
Mark S. Zimmer
