The second of her 6 Études de concert Op.35, Cécile Chaminade’s (1857-1944) ‘Automne’ was composed in 1886 in Périgord (the regional name of the Dordogne), where the composer holidayed with her family each year during September and October. Beginning tenderly with a stepwise melody in the middle of the piano’s rocking, accompaniment-texture, the music grows to a contrasting middle section marked ‘con fuoco’ (‘with passion’). This is poignant and characterful music that reflects the beauty of Autumn, evoking images of falling leaves, fading light, and a sense of nostalgia. A quintessential example of Chaminade’s ability to blend technical virtuosity with rich expressiveness, ‘Automne’ encapsulates the romantic spirit of the late 19th century in a voice that is distinctively the composer’s own. The piece is dedicated to Polish-French pianist and composer, the Countess ‘Mademoiselle Hélène Kryzanowska’.

Benjamin Tassie, 2024

Cécile Chaminade’s (1857-1944) ‘Autrefois’ is the fourth piece in the composer’s collection, 6 Pièces humoristiques Op.87 (Six humorous pieces). Translated as ‘in the past’ or ‘formerly’, ‘Autrefois’ is nostalgic and bittersweet in character. Composed in 1897, the compisition begins with a gentle, ornamented theme, marked by subtle shifts in harmony. This music is then contrasted with a middle section comprised of cascading figures and rich chromatic textures, before the piece then returns to the tranquillity of its opening musical idea. Appoggiaturas (short notes that ‘decorate’ the melody), dynamic contrasts, and chromatic voice-leading – within the work’s formal structure – make this a piece rich with expressive and interpretive potential, typifying Chaminade’s talents with deeply characterful and pianistic writing.

Benjamin Tassie, 2024

Composed in 1892, Cécile Chaminade’s (1857-1944) Les Sylvains (commonly translated as ‘The Fauns’) is a characterful miniature built around two contrasting musical ideas – the first, a gravely lyrical melody with gently pulsating accompaniment; the second, a playful and capricious texture in the piano’s higher register, perhaps reminiscent of the mythical faun’s exuberant flute music. ‘Sylvains’ means ‘of the forest’ and this is music that richly evokes an enchanted woodland: arpeggios and glissandi cascade playfully and brightly, alternating in contrast with the darker colours of the piano’s lower register before, finally, the music gradually disappears ‘al niente’ (to nothing) into the forest’s depths.

Benjamin Tassie, 2024

In December 1836, Schumann finished what he called his ‘Sonata for Beethoven’, inspired by an appeal published in 1835 (to mark what would have been Beethoven’s 65th birthday) for a monument to the composer in Bonn. Schumann suggested to his publisher Kistner that the proceeds from sales should go towards the appeal. Kistner turned the work down and Schumann made a number of revisions, calling the work Dichtungen (‘Poems’) until shortly before sending it to Breitkopf & Härtel in January 1839, at which point he settled on Fantasie. While any explicit Beethoven link had been dropped, and the work now carried a dedication to Franz Liszt, at least one Beethovenian allusion remains in the third movement: a passage in the left hand is a slowed-down version of the persistent rhythm from the Allegretto of the Seventh Symphony. Moreover, Kenneth Hamilton has detected ‘the ghost of Beethoven’s Sonata Op. 101 hovering over certain elements of the work’, adding that the sonata was a favorite of both Schumann and Mendelssohn.  

It is unusual to have a fantasy in three distinct movements and perhaps Schumann had in mind the ‘quasi una fantasia’ subtitles of Beethoven’s Op. 27 sonatas. The first movement, marked to be played with ‘imagination and passion’, is an innovative reinvention of sonata form, with unconventional key relationships (suggestive of Schubert), and striking structural innovations, notably the seemingly self-contained interlude placed at the moment where the recapitulation might be expected to arrive. The second movement depicts Schumann’s imaginary army of Davidsbündler (League of David) marching against the Philistines. Dominated by an obsessive dotted rhythm, this is Schumann at his most flamboyant, with a vertiginous coda where the leaps become ever wider before the grandest of conclusions. The third movement is a complete contrast: the music is poetic, restrained, and noble – and surely full of quiet longing for Clara (whom he was finally to marry in 1840). When she received a copy in May 1839, she reported that she was ‘half ill with rapture’. The demands of the work are formidable and Clara never played it during Schumann’s lifetime. Liszt was immensely proud of the dedication, considering the Fantasie to be among the greatest of Schumann’s piano works, but while he played to Schumann and taught it to students, he never performed it in a public concert. It was only with the next generation – many of them pupils of Liszt and Clara Schumann – that the Fantasie was established as one of the masterpieces of the Romantic piano repertoire. 

Nigel Simeone © 2024 

This little sonatina, lasting under five minutes, was written for my friend (and fellow Gordon Green student) Philip Fowke in celebration of his 70th birthday. It is ‘nostalgica’ on three levels: firstly, it was commissioned by my old school, Chetham’s; secondly, it deliberately utilises a romantic musical language of yesteryear; but most importantly it evokes literal homesickness for the places of our youth, in this case the little ‘sonatina’ village of Lymm in Cheshire.

The first movement is in ABA form and is made up of two contrasting but equally lyrical motives. A dotted rhythm gesture appears in the final bar and becomes the theme of the second movement. The Finale plays with these three ideas, tossing them around in a spirit of celebration.

I The road from Danebank

Danebank was a grand country house which gave its name to today’s Dane Bank Road. Along and about this road are places resonant with memories for me, not least the nursing home where my mother lived her final years. By happy coincidence some of Philip Fowke’s forebears, the Watkin family, lived at … Danebank.

II The bench by the Dam

Lymm Dam is the picturesque source of the village, a calm lake whose surface reflects mature trees and the handsome steeple of the parish church. I had a bench installed there commemorating my parents. Drive a few miles down the road and you’ll find the birthplace of John Ireland whose musical shadow falls over this pastoral movement.

III A gathering at the Cross

Lymm Cross is a monument at the heart of the village and this movement is an affectionate tribute to the countless friends and family members who have gathered for parties and dinners and carol-singing within striking distance of its crumbling sandstone structure over many years.

Sir Stephen Hough, May 2022

Chopin developed many new forms of piano music, from the kind of audacious miniatures found among the mazurkas to extended single-movement works such as the ballades and scherzos. But he also wrote three piano sonatas, drawing on structures inherited from Mozart and Beethoven. The Piano Sonata No.3, Op. 58, was completed in 1844 and its first movement is in sonata form. Even so, the music seems closer to the world of Chopin’s ballades than to any classical models, particularly in the rhapsodic development section. The outer sections of the Scherzo are filled with rapid movement, the ideas delicate and airy, while the slow Trio is richly harmonised but never loses its hints of unease. After a declamatory opening, the slow movement – a Chopin nocturne in all but name – is dominated by the song-like melody heard near the start, the mood changing for a dream-like central section before returning to the opening idea. The finale has a seemingly unstoppable momentum and energy, and for Marceli Antoni Szulc, Chopin’s first Polish biographer, this movement evoked images of the Cossack Mazeppa on a galloping horse.

© Nigel Simeone