Orion Weiss’ latest release is part of a 3-part series that he describes in his forward as having both historical and personal context. While it’s shaped around the trajectory of the two World Wars, it is not without parallel, as he notes, to the ‘chaos’ of the modern day. Arc I features three iconic works by pre-WWI composers: Granados, Janáček, and Scriabin.
While the chosen works are admittedly emotionally heavy, Los Requiebro from Goyescas (track 1) at least offers the listener a fresh start–what Weiss refers to in his notes as the starting point of ‘hope’. The outstanding clarity in his articulation adds to Granados’ intricate textures a refined virtuosity. The same clarity creates the rhythmic pep in the enjoyable El Fandango (track 3); here, Weiss successfully manages to keep the distinct identities of the singing lines in the right hand and the march-like accompaniment to create a multidimensional picture.
Quejas (track 4) expresses mournfulness on an intimate level; the pianist’s well-rounded tone quality and shades of softer dynamics adjust seamlessly to the trajectories of the phrases. The major key section at 3’33” is quite nice, combining tinges of mystery and reminiscence in an almost dreamlike capacity. El amor y muerte (track 5) plunges further down the emotional rabbit hole, but this is the only movement I felt did not leave as much of a mark as the others. While Weiss delivers turbulence in the sprawling arpeggios and runs, the opening unison motif feels too rushed. Listen to Alicia de Larrocha’s 1977 account, and you’ll truly get the sense of a fiery, inescapable finality.
In some ways, Janáček’s Into the Mists lends a more enigmatic view into darkness than the brooding and passionate Granados. Tonal ambiguity underlies the Andante (track 7), but in moments clearly in minor mode (1’12”), Weiss evokes a doleful mood: the well-voiced delicate chords sound like raindrops. The Molto Adagio (track 8) takes its time in an introspective fashion but avoids sounding too languid, thanks to the pianist’s attentiveness to the two-note phrase structures.
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The enigma of the Janáček takes a sharp turn toward esotericism in Scriabin’s Op. 68 “Black Mass” Sonata, which probes the dichotomy between delirious and dark. This relationship begins fairly quickly as we hear in the opening moments alone. Nuances of each presence depend vastly upon interpretation: Sofronitsky’s (barring the very fuzzy recording quality) goes from mellowness to ominous crackles of thunder; Horowitz’s (from his 1965 Carnegie performance) opens more contemplatively but transitions into a stark agitation with the absence of pedal and some very crisp staccatos. Weiss’ interpretation, for me, creates less divergence on the whole but is by no means lackluster. The rhythmically consistent intervals create an almost hypnotic feel that’s only to be deftly pierced by the dissonant chords (courtesy of a little extra bit of voicing for the top note.)
In the quieter moments of the Sonata (1’42” onwards), Scriabin offers us a chance to dwell and even revel in his lush tonal language. Weiss plays with undoubted sensitivity, but I occasionally felt like a museumgoer only able to pass by but not fully immerse myself in each painting. What it comes down to is perhaps a matter of minutiae: while he maintains the overall pacing and unity of the work, the truly organic ebbs and flows that we hear in Yevgeny Sudbin’s exceptional recording (BIS 2008) are not as present as I’d hoped for.
While the choice of works is not necessarily new, what drew my interest was their role in Weiss’ larger objective–something he describes eloquently and sincerely in his foreword. His ensuing notes on the music cover general structural and key elements; included quotes from each composer show how they link to the central theme. The solid sound engineering brings us close enough to the piano to appreciate the subtleties of the music but prevents the more climactic moments from sounding oppressive in any way.
The arc, Weiss writes, is inverted, and these darker works will eventually give way to something more hopeful. Indeed, Weiss’ musical and largely convincing performances explored the more despairing aspect of emotion yet did not leave me feeling worn out. With an offering of this promising caliber, I certainly look forward to the rest of the journey.
Arc I
Orion Weiss – Piano
First Hand Records, CD FHR127
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