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Neither composer, of 
                course, was much known for piano composition 
                and in that shop-soiled critical pronouncement 
                of which we are all guilty "there 
                are no masterpieces here." That 
                phrase is however generally qualified 
                by a ‘but’ and it must be said that 
                Sticken does us a real service in uncovering 
                these lesser known examples of Martin 
                and Honegger’s inspirations (literally; 
                Martin was inspired by Dinu Lipatti 
                in the Preludes and by Segovia in Guitare, 
                Honegger by Bach in his tribute piece). 
                The recordings were made in radio studios, 
                I’m assuming for broadcast. Whether 
                they were or not the piano sound is 
                rather hard and there’s a distinct lack 
                of bloom and sympathetic acoustic. Good 
                for clarity, not so good for warmth. 
                Which isn’t entirely inappropriate because 
                some of these short pieces – some of 
                Honegger’s last all of 24 seconds – 
                do have a brittle whimsy about them: 
                but not all. 
              
 
              
Martin’s Huit Préludes 
                pour le piano date from 1948. They open 
                sternly with a Grave full of space and 
                questing runs, embrace a quizzically 
                insistent Allegretto with a rather hypnotic 
                drive and expand to the insect like 
                scamper in the unusual Vivace. This 
                is a delicious piece of naughtiness. 
                The Andantino grazioso’s more elliptical 
                cast would have been well suited to 
                Lipatti’s penetrating sense of depth, 
                though once again Martin ensures that 
                there’s a real sense of motion and movement; 
                this is the spirit that animates the 
                whole cycle. But it’s the penultimate 
                Lento for which Martin reserves the 
                greatest weight, a six and a half minute 
                span of rather unsettled writing reaching 
                a peak of abstract tension. All this 
                is swept away by the driving high spirits 
                of the Vivace finale. Guitare 
                was written in 1933 and sent to Segovia. 
                I remember reading the guitarist’s autobiography 
                and laughing at his description of ‘My 
                Shelf of Forgotten Music’, a presumably 
                huge slush pile full of the discarded 
                votive offerings of two or three generations 
                of composers. Well, Martin’s Guitare 
                is doubtless there because Segovia never 
                even acknowledged receipt and the composer 
                very sensibly and practically arranged 
                it for piano. One can hear the Iberian 
                influence and also the chordal/single 
                note dichotomy that Martin explores 
                all too well and is duly present in 
                the arrangement. It’s a four-movement 
                work, about eight and a half minutes 
                long in this performance with the expected 
                indications of Prelude, Air, Pleinte 
                and Comme une gigue. It’s variously 
                plaintive and full of fresh air effectiveness. 
                He returns to the Spanishry forty years 
                later in the Fantasie sur des rhythms 
                flamenco, dance rhythms of brio in the 
                Rhumba but more engagingly cultivating 
                notable treble sonorities in the Soleares 
                third movement. 
              
 
              
Honegger’s contribution 
                here is much slimmer. The Bach tribute 
                was written in 1932, using the familiar 
                BACH motif and spicing it with some 
                modernistic colour. He manages to evoke 
                Bach without really letting us in on 
                the act – the harmonic sophistication 
                is splendidly achieved. It was part 
                of his contribution to a musical supplement 
                of a music journal – Malipiero, Poulenc, 
                Roussel and Casella also contributed. 
                Le Cahier romand consists of five slivers 
                of pieces, each dedicated to a friend. 
                They all involve technical dexterities 
                and compositional enthusiasms – the 
                rich contrapuntalism of No. 3 and most 
                startling of all the pungent rhythmic 
                syncopations of No. 4 Rythmé 
                (aptly titled). Sept pièces brèves, 
                written slightly earlier, is cut from 
                the same kind of cloth. Concise, insistent 
                with a cosmopolitan pastoralism fully 
                furnished with harmonic spice these 
                pieces are a fine way to while away 
                seven unurgent minutes. Try the puckish 
                fourth, the glinting insistence of the 
                second (Vif) or the concentration of 
                the second slow movement, No. 5, or 
                the ebullient violence of the concluding 
                No. 7. 
              
 
              
Though they may represent 
                only a small, relatively insignificant 
                component of Martin and Honegger’s creative 
                work these slight pieces are representative 
                of much of their aims and compositional 
                methodology. They may not often demand 
                to be played – but they are valuable 
                to know. 
              
 
              
Jonathan Woolf