While I have to admit knowing very
little about Carlos Guastavino, I have
found out enough about the Argentinian
‘soul’ in the past few years to hear
that instantly recognisable fingerprint
from bar one of the earlier works, Gato,
and Bailecito in this collection.
With some sense of familiarity in even
this to me unknown region of music,
I am on more secure ground having long
owned a number of Nimbus sets played
by Martin Jones, among them the Brahms
complete set, and his Beethoven Sonatas
– which is pipped by the earlier of
Barenboim’s sets on EMI, but not by
such a huge margin.
Carlos Guastavino would
have none of the avant-garde style of
composing, staying close to his roots
in references to his national folk music,
Mis Amigos and other subjects
close to home. In this he contrasts
with some other names from this region,
such as Alberto Ginastera and Mauricio
Kagel. Guastavino was himself a renowned
pianist, and this is reflected in the
masterly way in which he treats the
instrument, utilising every expressive
means to embellish and highlight a distinctive
melodic voice, in turn an aspect of
the composer’s numerous and highly well
regarded songs. Even when all hell is
breaking loose, such as in the final
Presto of the 1945 Sonatina,
the South American rhythms and lyricism
fight through defiantly, as if possessing
the spirit of Liszt and making him just
that bit more approachable and appealing.
The 1945 Sonatina
is relatively light in character,
despite the rich pianism of its writing.
The 1947 Sonata is its more serious
sibling, with the minor key expressing
melancholy through much of its opening
Allegretto intimo movement. There
is however more a joyous mood created
in the following Scherzo, with
some manic left-hand activity in the
exposition. After a searching Recitativo,
a Fuga y Final concludes the
piece in triumphant spirit.
Calum MacDonald has
written some detailed and informative
notes on the works in this set, and
while none of the music is particularly
difficult to follow or comprehend, it
is always useful to have the ‘added
value’ of some analysis and comparison.
Ravel’s piano music is held as a reference
for some of the Sonata in C sharp
minor, but the subsequent Tres
Sonatinas, written while the composer
was in London, hark back once more to
Argentinian rhythms, Sombre ritmos
de la manera popular argentines.
The dancing quality of much of this
music carries through in Estilo,
and the three descriptive Preludios
of La Siesta. Despite the
approachability of the subjects and
origins of Guastavino’s music, the tunes
are always of the highest quality, the
expression having a high-octane and
irrepressible energy and impact.
The second disc is
devoted to two cycles. Diez Preludios
has the subtitle sobre temas
de canciones populares infantiles,
being settings of Argentine children’s
songs. These are done in a highly inventive
way, bringing in descriptive writing
such as the twinkling figurations in
¡Cuantas Estrella! or ‘How Many
Stars!’, and the fugal Un Domingo
de Manana, or ‘A Sunday Morning’,
which conjures a solemn religious feeling
through some sophisticated counterpoint.
The other major 1950s cycle here is
the Dies Cantilenas Argentinas,
which evoke places, people or flowers.
The pieces here are less concise than
with the children’s songs, and contain
more detailed character studies such
as a work which might be seen as the
composer’s musical portrait of his sister,
Ina. This is a movement called Adolescensia,
in which there are more intricate and
chromatic means employed than in many
of the other pieces. Some of the movements
can be seen as ‘imaginary portraits’
or vignettes, others set a memorable
scene, such as the final Cantelina La
Casa or ‘The House’, which is a
piece of richly nostalgic and reflective
beauty; like many of the other works
in this cycle incorporating more than
a little of Scriabin’s ruminative undulations.
The third disc brings
us the two Tres Romances Nuevos,
the third of which was intended, but
apparently never written. These almost
programmatic works describe dancing
joy on the one hand and the sorrow of
unrequited or lost love on the other.
Pueblito, mi Pueblo or ‘O little
town, my town’, was one of the composer’s
early hits as a song writer, and this
version was re-set for piano solo in
1957 with a dedication to his parents.
Las Presencias or
‘Appearances’ is a set of five musical
depictions of people, some real, some
imaginary. Most of these characters
have an infectious sense of dancing
joie-de-vivre in the individual
characters. Mariana, by contrast,
is a more lyrical, sadly reflective
song-without-words, with a striking
bi-tonal passage just towards the end.
In 1966 Guastavino provided Las Presencias
with a quasi-companion cycle called
Mis Amigos, ‘My Friends’, each
of whose characters is also associated
with a street or location in Buenos
Aires. The composer’s later style became
more sparing, but the Argentinian romantic
soul and character is still very much
in evidence through the cantabile
and semplice markings. When
you get to know these ‘songs’ well enough
as friends, you find you can take them
with you anywhere, whistling the tunes
and wondering from where you remember
them.
Guastavino’s last piano
pieces return to the Cantos Populares
area of his earlier work, but showing
a fascinating development in approach
and outlook on the style and genre of
both his personal and his national heritage.
The ‘songs’ are in many ways distilled
to their essence in these pieces. They
are still written pianistically, but
with no wasted notes and certainly hardly
any extra thickening of textures these
pieces retain a spontaneous feel though
truly sophisticated and effortless sounding
technical expertise.
Taking in the entire
piano output of a single composer in
virtually one sitting has been an interesting
experience, and under the eminently
capable hands of Martin Jones the music
is brought to life in a most colourful
and immediate fashion. The recordings
are set in the familiar resonance of
the Wyastone Leys concert hall and are
very good indeed. Nimbus is persisting
with their Ambisonic UHJ encoded techniques,
so the stereo spread on conventional
equipment is not as pronounced as you
might encounter in more ‘normal’ recordings,
but I don’t find this much of a problem
here. The effect is that of having the
piano just a little further away that
you might normally expect in a studio
recording, but there is no perceived
loss of detail or dynamics. Carlos Guastavino
is at the very least my discovery of
the month, and with its enticing combination
of nostalgia, musical and personal observation,
dancing rhythms and peerless singing
melodies, I would recommend this new
set to one and all.
Dominy Clements
Martin Jones (piano) 
