Schumann and period instruments
These tracks have been recorded on an 1862 Erard grand piano. Sébastien
Erard was one of the most significant, if not the most significant, piano maker
of his time, whose numerous inventions from the 1820s onwards gradually
transformed the fortepiano into the modern grand piano we know today.
From a pianist's point of view, the period between the 1830s and 1890s is an extremely interesting one. This was a time when various piano companies - some
of which are still in business - were in active competition, coming up with their
own technical solutions, plagiarizing each other, or doggedly holding on to traditional principles. This pluralism was significantly influenced by the numerous pianist-composers of the day, among them Robert Schumann.
In order to conceptualize and interpret the piano literature of this period,
it is imperative to be aware of the contrasting and highly developed timbral
characteristics of its instruments. This forces the performer to avoid the
temptation of defining the sound through the features of the modern piano. The Schumanns didn't own an Erard grand piano, a high-end luxury
instrument of its day, but Erards were the primary concert instrument choice
of numerous pianists, including Liszt. It is likely that Clara Schumann and
Joseph Joachim performed the violin sonatas on instruments much like the
ones we use on this recording.
At the time of writing, it is not yet common to perform Schumann's music
on period instruments (although, fortunately, highly accomplished performances do exist!), and so it is pertinent to draw attention to how dissimilar these instruments are to their contemporary offspring. The Erard grand
piano I play on is extremely agile, with a brilliant tone, but a big sound or wide dynamic range are not among its attributes. Musical gestures speak in
expressive, short-lived moments on this instrument, which is why one has
to inspect Schumann's markings closely and utilize all dynamic, tempo, and
timbral means available in shaping the resulting sound. Certain expressive
devices used by Baroque musicians have proved helpful: for example, chord
arpeggiation is a useful tool for balancing and creating dynamic variation.
Another characteristic feature of the Erard heard on this recording is its
sluggish damping rate which creates a specific kind of distortion around the
pitches. This can sometimes be a challenge when seeking clarity in complex,
articulated textures, but it also assists in painting wondrous musical landscapes in dusky outlines. - Emil Holmström
The first time I truly immersed myself in the world of unvarnished gut strings
was when I took part in the founding of the Ristiveto Festival in Helsinki, with
the uncommon objective of performing late Romantic and early modernist
repertoire on period instruments. The unfamiliar touch appealed to me immediately, and I noticed that my 250-year-old violin adapted to the change very
well. There was a human quality to the multifaceted and warm, nuanced timber,
while altering my playing technique felt like an ongoing pleasant challenge.
With unvarnished gut strings, the tone doesn't come to you for free, and
they are quick to punish any careless or too forceful attempts. The dynamic
range, especially on the high E string, is limited, and the modern way of playing with a high degree of pressure tends to break the tone. Fortunately, the
Erard grand piano is the perfect companion within this softer sound world.
Schumann's sonatas were relatively unknown territory for me until Emil
and I decided, in 2016, to tackle all three of them as one project. These works - which are not particularly attractive to most violinists - take their time to
grow on you. Playing the sonatas of Beethoven and Brahms can be more immediately rewarding, as they do greater justice to the violin's bright, singing
qualities. Schumann, on the other hand, loves to dwell in the middle register,
and his melodic writing can shift abruptly into a thorny dance. Yet, at the
end, I have completely lost myself to this music. All the inner turmoil, restlessness and struggle make the inherent beauty and ecstasy all the greater.
The music lives in this moment, not as something to be admired from afar.
The middle movement of the first sonata is a winding and chattering song,
simple and friendly. It is followed by the much more peculiar finale: like
the stern hammering and yakking of a relentless machine, which gets interrupted by an enraptured and quintessentially Schumann-esque triplet-based
theme. The first movement brings to mind, at the risk of cliché, a tempestuous sea, an ever higher reaching wave. The second sonata is a long and solemn magnum opus, an aptly named Grosse Sonate. Its expansive, sturdy outer
movements bookend middle movements soaked in fantasy. The piano part
of the slow movement floats at times into outer space, enriching the simple
melody. The trio sections of the Scherzo create an intimate atmosphere and
bring comfort in the midst of all the violent hammering.
It is the third sonata - like a wounded animal, patched up in bandages -
that has become the nearest to both our hearts. Hidden away by Clara Schumann, this last extensive composition by Robert has been written only moments before his confinement in a mental institution. The first movement,
while tearing itself apart, also introduces one of the most tender secondary
themes. On this recording, the sonatas are not ordered chronologically but
with an eye towards an effective concert program. - Eriikka Maalismaa