“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
The Nationalist Movement in Nineteenth-Century Spain*
The nationalist movement in Spain first emerged in the early 1830's as a
reaction against the virtual monopoly that Italian composers and singers
exercised over the lyric theaters of Spain, and in particular the Royal Theater of
Madrid. Supplanted by Italian opera, Spain's native lyric theater had completely
vanished by that time.26 The first successful opposition to this foreign
domination emerged during the 1840's in the form of the modern zarzuela; a
home-grown genre of musical theater with spoken dialogue, characteristic and
often humorous Spanish subjects, and typically Spanish songs, dances and
instrumentation (i.e., guitars and castanets were added to the orchestra). (…)
*http://www.lib.umd.edu/PAL/YALE/albeniz3.html
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“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
Isaac Albéniz (1860-1909)
Born in Camprodón, Catalonia, Spain, 29 May
1860; died in Cambô-les-Bains, Spain, 18 May
1909) was a Spanish composer and pianist. He
wrote a lot of piano music. His best known work
is the collection of 12 piano pieces called Iberia
which have lots of exciting Spanish rhythms.
These pieces are very difficult to play. He also
wrote several zarzuelas (light-hearted Spanish
operas) and he tried to make the zarzuela more
serious, but the public did not want that. He
helped to make Spanish music more popular in
other countries.
His Life
Albéniz started to learn the piano when he was three. His elder sister taught
him. He was a child prodigy who first performed at the age of four. When he
was seven he passed the entrance examination for piano at the Paris
Conservatoire, but he was not given a place because they thought he was too
young. A year later his father lost his job, so he took his two children on tour so
that they could give concerts and earn some money. In 1869 the family moved
to Madrid, but Albéniz had an unsettled childhood. He twice ran away from
home, giving concerts in various places and even escaping as a stowaway to
South America where he visited Argentina, Uruguay, Brazil, Cuba, Puerto Rico
and then the USA. He returned to Spain in 1873. By the age of fifteen, he had
already given concerts all over the world. After a short stay at the Leipzig
Conservatory, in 1876 he went to study in Brussels. In 1880, he went to
Budapest wanting to study with Franz Liszt, but Liszt was not there.
In 1874 his sister wanted to become a singer at the Teatro de la Zarzuela.
When she did not get a place there she committed suicide.
Albéniz continued to travel all over the world. In 1883, he met the teacher and
composer Felipe Pedrell, who inspired him to write Spanish music such as the
Suite Española, Op. 47. The fifth movement of that suite, called Asturias
(Leyenda), was later arranged for guitar. It is probably the most famous piece
for classical guitar. The composer Francisco Tárrega made guitar arrangements
of many other piano works by Albéniz. Albéniz once said that he preferred
Tárrega’s guitar arrangements to his own original piano versions.
During the 1890s Albéniz lived in London and Paris and wrote mainly theatrical
works. In 1900 he started to suffer from Bright's disease and started to write
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“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
more piano music. Between 1905 and 1909 he composed his most famous
work, Iberia (1908), a suite of twelve piano "impressions".
His orchestral works include Spanish Rhapsody (1887) and Catalonia (1899).
In 1883, the composer married his student Rosina Jordana. They had three
children, Blanca (who died in 1886), Laura (a painter), and Alfonso (who played
for Real Madrid in the early 1900s before becoming a diplomat).
Albéniz died on 18th May 1909 at the age of 48 in Cambô-les-Bains and is
buried in Barcelona.
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“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
Suite Iberia *
IBERIA is not simply the pinnacle of
piano music by Albéniz, but also one
of the most exalted forms of universal
pianism, both of its period and of all
time. If we were to search for a
formula capable of clearly explaining
its most peculiar form, we would be
led to Franz Liszt, but quickly
transferred to a Spanish flavor, in
particular
an
Andalusian
one,
explored through an instrument of
great personal imprint. The famous “suite”, as it is known, spans Four Books, of
three pieces each, and is in its totality summed up explicitly by the following
subtitle: 12 nouvelles “impressions” en quatre cahiers. This is overlooked, or at
least rarely highlighted, by commentators of IBERIA, by Isaac Albéniz, that is,
its fundamental nature of “impressions”, as the author himself concedes to his
admirable work, somewhat derived from the type of memory which inspires
fantasy to write, a few staves in our case, without submitting to any preestablished moulds. It is precisely as such that IBERIA is penned: essentially
grouping compositions centred around popular and well-loved Andalusian
themes—and, as we shall see, LAVAPIÉS is no exception—capable of reaching
directly and entirely anyone who stops to listen.
The original compositions of IBERIA are today kept as follows: EVOCACIÓN,
EL ALBAICÍN, MÁLAGA, JEREZ and ERITAÑA, at the Biblioteca de Catalunya
(Diputació de Barcelona); EL PUERTO at the Library of Congress in
Washington, D.C.; CORPUS-CHRISTI EN SEVILLA, RONDEÑA, ALMERÍA,
TRIANA and EL POLO at the Biblioteca del Orfeó Catalá, in Barcelona; and
LAVAPIÉS at the Museu de la Música (Ajuntament de Barcelona). Each one of
the Four Books carries a personal dedication: the Second in particular reads “to
Blanche Selva”, pianist of exceptional talent and inclination who debuted the
twelve works in an exemplary and true “tour de force”, between 9 May 1906 and
9 February 1909 at recitals in Paris or Saint-Jean de Lux, almost in synch with
the composer’s schedule. Nevertheless, IBERIA was not created with the great
French performer in mind, but for an extraordinary Spanish pianist, greatly
admired by Isaac Albéniz and linked to him by the bonds of an intimate
friendship:
*
this is a personal translation of parts of the book “Isaac Albéniz (Su obra para Piano)”, Antonio
Iglesias.
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“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
Joaquin Malats, concert pianist and composer alike, a Catalan acclaimed
throughout Europe, especially in Paris, who has yet to receive a suitably
praiseworthy tribute.
Out of six letters sent to him by the composer of the suite, which reached my
hands thanks to much-appreciated cooperation from his grandson Alfonson
Alzamora Albéniz, I would like to extract a few paragraphs relating to some of
the works. They are as such:
…with respect to Triana, you already know the profound emotion I felt
upon hearing it at your house; I owe you the greatest satisfaction I have
ever experienced in my long career as a composer: your grandiose
interpretation has managed to convince me that not in vain has so much
paper been blotted out throughout the course of my life. (Nice, 9
November 1906)
… This morning I received Lavapiés and this afternoon I shall send it to
you; I can’t be anymore diligent. I have the assurance that in your hands
Lavapiés will be a marvel, despite the fact that I consider it so extremely
difficult that if you can’t play it, I don’t think anyone else can… (Nice, 1
March 1907)
…I haven’t so much as paused for an instant: trips to Paris, trips to
London, trips to Belgium, concerts, competitions, exams, debuts;
basically, all work and no play, I’ve become mad, bored and desperate!!
On the other hand, you know Albéniz has but one type of talk, and that’s
good talk: you will consequently receive, in what’s left of June and July,
the aforementioned three Iberias… (Paris, 6 June 1907)
…and I can certainly announce a Málaga, which you will shortly receive,
and which I hope you will nurture with your usual brotherly
benevolence…; the concert in question you could perform as part of a
mixed programme, or else exclusively with the Iberias, I think it would
generate a lot of interest and that it would be a dignified comeback to the
French musical scene… (Paris, 2 July 1907)
…You liked Málaga, is that right?; in that case, that’s good enough; you
know that this work, this Iberia of my sins, I write essentially to you and
for you, and that the thought of the affectionate friend I have in you and
moreover, the thought of the marvelous artist you are, have inspired
these pages, in which I’ve placed my five senses, plus the ‘other’, that
which one places or doesn’t place, but which is always present, ‘once
presented’, in a manner that is completely unconscious. The second
number is titled Eritaña and comes across as an ‘afflictive Sevillanas’,
and the third will be called L’Albuféra and will be a ‘Valencian jota’…; my
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“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
physical self becomes everyday more nationalistic and bitterly complains
that it’s not toasting in Spain; I’m getting old… my bones weigh me down,
my flesh, and my thoughts… (Paris, 22 August 1907)
…jot down in your diary three concerts in Nice… the second will consist
of my twelve Iberias… the third will be a concert with two pianos for you
and I and which we’ll offer without charge and with more or less the same
programme as the one we gave in Tiana… (Paris, 2 October—year not
indicated but it’s not hard to confirm that it was 1908)
Albéniz exaggerates when referring to the level of interpretive difficulty found
in the incredibly beautiful LAVAPIÉS, considered the Madrid exception to the
Andalusian section much more because of its name than because of its true
essence. Certainly IBERIA is not a work “suitable for minors”, but at the time of
its writing this was overstated until legend established that it had caused the
death of someone who had attempted to perform all twelve pieces in their
totality… I shall try to clarify such exaggerations in the course of the proceeding
study, and I will also rebut its designation as “untouchable”, erroneous in every
way, especially in this day and age when not just the splendid grand piano itself
has evolved in an incredible manner, but interpreters have enriched their
abilities via technical means unimaginable in the times of Liszt or Albéniz…
Perhaps today the artist is less significant, but is it not completely evident that
the number and the technical means available to any given young pianist, as
shine in so many places, have increased in astounding proportions? IBERIA, it
is clear, has long enough ceased to be “untouchable”, and its author, who
seemed adequately satisfied with the interpretations of Joaquín Malats or
Blanche Selva in his time, would go mad with contentment upon hearing that of
Alicia de Larrocha, sensational and truly amazing. And it is not just her…
It is not easy to fathom that the entirety of IBERIA could have been written in
only four years, between 1905 and 1909. The level of interpretive difficulty
which I have briefly mentioned is one thing, but it is another, very different, to
comprehend its creative process: the adoption of themes and their
consolidation, development within a field of perpetually interesting modulations,
harmonic adventurousness, ornamental elements in which the classic triplet or
mordent are inseparable, structural endings, thematic derivations adherent to
conceptual unity, truly ingenious notions… among other things, these are
palpable demonstrations of the creative wisdom of Isaac Albéniz, who has been
and is still denied proper status, despite recognition of a magisterial “savoir
faire”, which did emerge from an incipient—but no less significant—Spanish
school, of an autodidactic inclination, of effortless drive, of a fantastic capacity
for improvisation, but who, as it is too often forgotten, was on par with the great
French masters of the time, as well as the German and Belgian masters, and
even Liszt at one point.
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“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
Is there any doubt that the coeval French musical impressionism greatly
influenced the writing of these twelve compositions of Albéniz? Yet this
influence is not a methodical copy, but rather an orientation acquired admirably
in grades, equitable in its administration, impossible had it been proportioned
with contrivance. The notes of IBERIA spring from the same keyboard and are
inscribed on the staff, its generous staffs, with three patterns at times, full of
spontaneity and dashes, which obstruct the selection of the most intelligible,
those which facilitate its reading. Albéniz did not mind an extreme that we today
would mark as commercial; revision interjects—an expert and highly delicate
practice—endorsed from Blanche Selva and Henri Collet to today, by quite a
few commentators more or less knowledgeable about these twelve pieces,
Rubinstein among them. Then and only then would IBERIA reach more, in fact
many more, interpreters.
Piano music of such rich colour, with various horizontal lines, was logically
substituted by an orchestra. As such the suite in its entirety has been elevated
to a multicolour symphonic palette, first by Albéniz himself, then by his friend
and classmate in Brussels, Enrique Fernández-Arbós, and later on by Carlos
Suriñach (limiting our list to Spaniards, although its orchestration has also been
realized, with much success, by more than a few foreign maestros). Yet beyond
its undeniable disposition for orchestration, one must question the outcome and
carry forth a comparison with the original piano.
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“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
Book One: Evocación, El puerto, Fête-Dieu à Séville
In the First Book of IBERIA, Isaac Albéniz groups together three moments of
his best piano music, titling them in French (which, with Italian to a lesser
extent, will be his language of choice in the rife annotations accompanying
these staves): EVOCATION, EL PUERTO and FÊTE-DIEU À SÉVILLE. This
observation, seemingly somewhat puerile, is not as such if we stop to consider
that although some interpreters of this number have erroneously done so, he
never translated EL PUERTO into LE PORT, given that it refers to a specific
place in Andalusia, and not an unspecified naval port. This Book is in fact
completely Andalusian, with marvelous contrasts, not simply between
EVOCATION and EL PUERTO, but to an even greater level of brilliance with
the FÊTE-DIEU À SÉVILLE.
This admirable trilogy is dedicated “to Madame Ernest Chausson” and was
premiered by Blanche Selva at the Salle Pleyel in Paris on 9 May 1906. From
then on, the already well-known name of Isaac Albéniz would achieve a wellearned reputation worldwide, where he was known and admired for a series of
more or less small works, in particular those which exuded a Spanish flavor
from every corner, the first adhering to one form, the second to another, an
output which hinted at a third offering which would put him on the map with
those Spanish composers, of which there are but a few, who constitute a rich
musical elite within Spain’s cultural canon.
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“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
One of the first editorial copies of Evocación, which Isaac Albéniz dedicates to
his friend Pablo Casals.
EVOCACIÓN
There could not be a better prologue for the whole suite of IBERIA than the
serene, majestic, melancholy EVOCACIÓN, which in the original score the
author titled Prélude. Standing on its own, this piece could well sum up the
composer’s raison d’être. Isaac Albéniz and his twelve marvelous fragments:
serenading Spain, in particular his beloved Andalusia, from foreign lands, from
abroad, albeit from France, a nation he was very fond of, and most specifically
Paris. Everything that follows in the rest of IBERIA will be nothing short of
brilliant, incredibly rich in colour, intrepid in its rhythms, truly exuberant. But we
are eased into it with calm distinction in EVOCACIÓN, which were it not for its
designation as a “fandanguillo”, would be distinguishable as Spanish not
because of a recognizable nationalist pre-eminence but because of some
unidentifiable quality. One sole theme comprises its core, with so much force as
to generate purpose in dance, almost seeming completely different at the
central point of the piece.
EVOCACIÓN is a long melody, perfectly enveloped in a most interesting
harmonic process, with a modulative scheme no less impressive, layered over a
fundamentally syncopated rhythm. The theme is simple, and merely alludes to
the baroque style that is so prevalent throughout IBERIA, doing so in the third
bar, in which its range is adorned with a mordent consisting of two notes. And
so, the composer in his expertise will use this trait to immediately establish the
piece as a “fandanguillo”, which will then become an important structural
element marking the continuing trajectory of EVOCACIÓN.
This nucleus in which the mordent appears, where the Cádiz dance first rears
its head and immediately stakes its presence, and in which a triplet gracefully
concludes the thematic alteration (which to some has constituted a second
theme), is what confers to this first piece of the First Book out of the four
comprising the IBERIA suite, its fundamental Spanish flavor.
EVOCACIÓN was completed in Paris on 9 December 1905. Although rather
subtle, the similarities with the incomplete “jota” of the piece NAVARRA, noted
by some, is admittedly one more reason to characterize the sweet contour of
this sublime piece as possessing a Spanish flavor. Additionally, in fact, in
EVOCACIÓN Isaac Albéniz avoids, or forgets, the guitar, otherwise so
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“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
constantly present in his work that a profound subjectivism dominates over the
objective allusion to Andalusian pre-eminence.
EVOCACIÓN is monothematic and, one could say, hardly includes any
variations, but rather alterations, capable of imprinting plurality upon the
beautiful piece while subscribing to a sole conceptual form, which in its sum
greatly contributes to the immense musical value contained in its staves. Its
modulation—rather, is modulative direction—as well as its modulative flexibility,
are also elements which cannot escape our attention as we study this great
emotive moment of the Albéniz’s IBERIA.
EL PUERTO
The brilliance of a dance, Andalusian in its four parts, contrasts its cornered
edges in EL PUERTO—second number of the First Book of Albéniz’s IBERIA—
with the rotundity of the preceding EVOCACIÓN. And what a magnificent
contrast there is between these first two pieces of the colossal suite! It shows a
successful foray on Isaac Albéniz’s part into a genuine flamenco style, with
specific allusions to “polo”, “bulería”, and “seguiriya”. A luminous picture
emerges, bursting with light and joy, with shouts and cries, heel clicks and
“coplas”, also murmurs and distant memories… Its subject is not an unspecified
port—as is so often mistakenly noted in programs—but specifically El Puerto,
which I personally have always referred to as that of Santa María in Cádiz, but
which others claim is a reference to Cádiz itself, perennial blue refuge and socalled “silver cup”. Much more than a musical portrait, it is the rendering of an
imprint to which it is not difficult to attach a theme. In these staves there is no
excess of baroque tendencies; on the contrary, its lines are well-defined, easily
discernible. Nevertheless, the outcome is a complete wonder, the sum of its
parts creating an abundance of joy through various rhythms.
As a contrast to this truly sonorous mélange of popular flamenco elements, the
final coda interjects with a nocturnal scene which will provide a sense of
spiritual peace and respite from the bustle. All of its components play out on a
limited scale, as EL PUERTO is the shortest piece in IBERIA.After an initial
“zapateado”—whose peculiar rhythm will dominate the whole of its staves—a
“copla” will spring forth, which within a very personal appraisal, could well allude
to the hollering of a fishmonger on the street. Accentuations are rife, preferred
“dry” by the author, that is, properly incisive and biting, and his indications
(which we will comment on as we proceed to examine this piece) exhibit an
exigency which composers, originating with the impressionists, demand of the
interpreter with words up to then unused in sheet music, but which provide a
greater specification of the desired interpretation.
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“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
In the magnificent contrast with respect to EVOCACIÓN, we find again in not
infrequent moments of EL PUERTO, that quintessential Spanish guitar.
Whether leading or accompanying, the guitar is nevertheless virtually
omnipresent throughout the course of the piece. Over the initial formulation of
the “zapateado”, beautiful movements of “jondas” will be layered, which the
composer traces with an ingeniously tempered piano, the most important of
which includes the infamous two-note mordent, difficult to interpret by a pianist’s
agile fingers if it is to blend into the uninterrupted melodic narrative, so that to
properly execute them ingenuity and skill are the necessary recourses.
Brusqueness should not be avoided, for in fact it makes for a perfect fit when
indicated on the score, whether through the frequent “sec” or in the case of
other indications which specify curtness. It is not an exaggeration to say that
what Manuel de Falla would achieve with his magisterial “Fantasía Bética”,
Isaac Albéniz attempts with EL PUERTO: that is, to effectively utilize elements
contained in the “cante jondo”.
CORPUS-CHRISTI EN SEVILLA
The original title is in French: FÊTE-DIEU À SÉVILLE, which translated into
Spanish becomes CORPUS-CHRISTI EN SEVILLA, although this third piece of
the First Book of IBERIA is usually referred to as CORPUS, or more specifically,
CORPUS EN SEVILLA. The feast of the Corpus in Seville is a religious
commemoration celebrated throughout Spain, but especially in Andalusia. Thus
the piece is a canvas of sounds in which its admirable author has wanted to
include the rumble of drums, the hum of cornets, the bustle of the crowd, the
processional marching, the chanting of the “saetas”, all within an ambience of
great radiance and great joy, given that it is not concerned with the solemn
passing of an Eastertide procession, but instead the jubilant spring feast of the
Corpus. A descriptive tendency comes through and perhaps, with regards to
this number, we can agree, although for once not in absolute totality, with the
judgment of Claude Rostand, who observed with respect to the essential
characteristics of Albéniz’s style: “objectivity and realism. Albéniz is not a
romantic; he paints what he sees rather than expressing what he feels; it is
more a reproduction than an interpretation”—a rather surprising judgment for
our esteemed French critic to subscribe to, mistaken in all ways and yet
perhaps applicable to CORPUS at first glance.
Seville was always a place of Albenizian predilection, and not in few of his
works does he affirm this. The presence of the city’s Corpus procession—here
the outcome of an account does prove impossible—on a bright spring day, must
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“Iberia”
Issac Albéniz
have inspired this wonderful pianistic portrait of such heightened colors that it is,
without a doubt, the most adequate piece in IBERIA for orchestral arrangement.
Appraising CORPUS as part of twelve integrated portraits in this grandiose
piano suite, one can affirm that it is one of the best, perhaps the best, evading
the risks of a judgment which it is not too necessary to completely uphold. We
have thus addressed what which we shall consider, so to speak, “external” to
the score, an objective description; yet what can be said with respect to that
which is eminently subjective, beauty and thematic opportunity, and moreover,
the last part, an extended coda in which the most delicate essences of our
musical impressionism appear to converge? How could Albéniz be inspired by
the quintessence of his marvelous “Andante” and attach it, as a genuine
spiritual refuge, to the immense bustle that precedes it? It is a very lucid apostil:
the melancholy of intimate sayings, forlorn bells in the distance, echoes of
memories and things… Personally, I qualify it as a type of spiritual refuge, of
internal collectedness, after the pageantry of the prior description which,
notwithstanding other possible views, refers to the religious feast of CORPUSCHRISTI.
After emulating four times the beat of the drums—they say that Albéniz, to
distinguish them explicitly, would cross his arms over his stomach after each
one—on this sole occasion he directly includes the popular “tarara” refrain, so
quintessentially Spanish and onomatopoeically played by the cornet, before
subjecting it to multiple transformations (which will become variations in some
segments), in a progression of colour in which, at one point, he inserts “saetas”
so deeply felt that they splatter across the procession from balcony to balcony,
in the same fashion as the flower petals which spill over the monstrance of the
CORPUS-CHRISTI. Our extraordinary composer plays around with ingenuity,
gathering such magnificent elements, achieving a portrait of lively shades,
provoking a joy unique to an incomparable Seville, and the mirth of its
inhabitants, who are either preparing to attend this authentic religious feast or
already present as such. The musical themes develop, well-demarcated and
juxtaposed, at the peak of this jubilant day; the dynamic range goes from ppppp
to fffff, reaching an exceptional intensity, which a good interpreter will know how
to adequately calibrate. And, once this “fortissimo” zenith is reached upon the
stately instrument that is the grand piano of our times… the greatest calm of a
befalling night ensues, endowing us with its melodic inflections, so that we do
not know if its remoteness exists only as memory… of an “impression”
enveloped by impressionist moods.
Reputable commentators assure us that in CORPUS-CHRISTI EN SEVILLA
one finds the presence of Chopin and the scholastic methods of d’Indy. Without
completely refuting this, what is truly certain is that the presence of Isaac
Albéniz is the most conspicuous and fits within an evolutionary process—which
one can track step by step along the course of his work—which could well be
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Issac Albéniz
said to peak in this number, the definitive one to bring him well-deserved fame,
which lies at the forefront of a copious body of work. It is a true “chef-d’oeuvre”,
the magnum opus, effectively, of a great composer, Spanish no less. Is it hard
to perform? Without a doubt it is a work meant only for those pianists who
possess great skill; still, let us not exaggerate its level of interpretive difficulty,
especially in this day and age. Everything contained is perfectly achievable,
highly pianistic, and so in no way should we accept all which was written at the
time about its supposedly impossible interpretive nature.
But, to return to the purely mechanical, if an interpreter stops to approach
problematic areas with a thorough analysis—for example, those left-handed
jumps which must be coordinated so that the mordent is in synch with the
previous sixteenth note played by the right hand—I can assure that any
difficulties will be significantly diminished thanks to the adopted methods, and
also by a better distribution of notes between both hands. Once understood in
both spiritual and technical terms, it becomes indispensable to reflect upon the
work demanded by the score in order to achieve mastery over it, which, let us
reiterate, does not nowadays imply an insurmountable “tour de force”. The
splendid outcome will compensate our efforts—so long as they are intelligent, I
must insist.
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