LATIN AMERICAN PIANO MUSIC
Alejandro Alberto Tellez Vargas
Move Records MCD 639
You’d have to assume that this pianist is Mexican-born, if only because the few life details you can glean point to his bachelor’s degree coming from the Escuela Superior de Music, even if his Ph. D. was earned at the University of Melbourne and – as far as I can find – he resides in that city. On this CD, he performs works by seven composers: Cuban writer Ernesto Lecuona enjoys four exposures; Ricardo Castro from Mexico is heard in three tracks; the voice of another Mexican, Manuel Ponce, is heard twice; and three of the remaining four writers, all of whom are heard in one manifestation, are also Mexican – Alfredo Carrasco, Ernesto Elorduy, and Mario Ruiz Armengol. The odd man out is Luis G. Jorda who was born (and died) in Catalonia.
As a preface in the CD’s booklet, Vargas writes a few words in Spanish. As far as I can make out, he says the following: ‘I dedicate this recording to my beloved fathers [artistic?], many thanks for my piano lessons and for all the support during my studies and concerts. Also, I want to thank my dear siblings for all your patience during those long afternoons when I sat practising in the living room.’ Pleasing and charmingly domestic, as is most of the music that the pianist presents which is either of the salon or a small bijou serving well as an encore. I didn’t anticipate that this courtly, colonial music would have much overtly striking about its character and that prediction was largely fulfilled; it’s hard to avoid the impression that this perspective into Latin American art has an all-too-comfortable European veneer – the landscape of the 19th century virtuoso pianist.
So none of the great names of the Romatic-to-Modern Mexican school appear: no Chavez, no Revueltas. Vargas has concentrated on the small-scale compositions of – in the main – a minor rank of writers whose vocabulary is slightly infused with national colour but is chiefly the product of the drawing-room. Fortunately or unfortunately, this ambience lacks any Chopinesque chromatic intrigue or superbly arched melodic contour; in many instances, composition is presented as a pastel-shaded art.
The works representing Lecuona are A la Antigua in D flat Major, Ante el Escorial in E flat minor, La Comparsa in F sharp Major, and Gitanerias in D minor. Well, the first has the key signature for C sharp minor for its first part before changing to D flat Major for the happier, scherzando second section; its main interest lies on the second beat syncopations and also in leaving you with the question: what is so old-fashioned about this? Standing in front of the monastery/palace, Lecuona begins with full slow chords in both hands in a melodic minor shape, a kind of chorale with which he also ends his meditation after a virtuosic flourish and a central passage in G flat Major. In fact, the piece consists of an arch form with the first melody, after those initial chords, being treated later to a left-hand enunciation before the aspirational chords return.
The composer’s vision of a Cuban carnival procession opens softly with a bass figure that persists across the piece’s brief duration as the parade arrives and passes, off into the distance following a resonant climax. The gypsy business comes from the composer’s six-part Suite Andalucia and falls into a predictable ternary shape with a semi-D Major relief in the middle; sprightly and attractive in Vargas’ treatment which disappoints only in a blurring across the crescendo four-bar link before the return of the initial material 54 bars from the end.
Castro presents as less folkloric than Lecuona. His three samples are an A minor Prelude (Barcarola), Polonaise in G sharp minor, and Caprice-Valse in E Major – the composer’s Opus 1. The Venetian-indebted piece is, as far as I can tell, in 9/8 – which might present some challenges for rhythmically illiterate gondoliers. This is eminently acceptable salon music, showing a mastery of orthodox Romantic writing for the piano, the piece notable mainly for its left-hand semiquaver motif. A lot of Chopin is present in the polonaise, including an aggressively strident introduction with plenty of bravely martial repeated chords, although the main theme and its consequents don’t strike me as really assertive. Also, a note at the top of the instrument is sounding out of tune, but I can’t isolate it (maybe the instrument’s top G sharp?); and Vargas inserts quite a few delays while he readies himself for some awkward arpeggiations. This is the second-longest piece on the CD (coming in a few seconds behind Castro’s Opus 1) and its repetitious material tends to fray.
In fact, the Caprice-Valse concludes the CD and is one of the more intriguing tracks of the 15. Your attention is taken up from the beginning by the waltz’s bantering between 3/4 and 6/8 which Castro plays very cleanly so that you don’t lose connection with the basic pulse. The piece begins with a bit of bravura and stops every so often for some interpolated fireworks, handled by Vargas with infectious brio. It isn’t demanding on a Lisztian scale but it does test the executant’s fluency. Castro also spices up this piece de concert with some rhythmic irregularities and a flashy vivo and grandioso that bring us home to general satisfaction.
I suspect that the only name familiar to many of us will be that of Ponce; in my case, almost totally for his association with, and compositions for, Segovia. Here, the first of his works is a Scherzino Mexicano in D Major, the shortest on the CD as Vargas doesn’t play the first part’s repeat of 16 bars’ worth. It’s a generally quiet bagatelle with an adventurous chromatic sequence in its central section, and the main melody is certainly catchy. Its complement is the Intermezzo in E minor, the first of three. This is another ternary construct with a slightly fierce central highpoint, but the main concept of repeated thirds travels just about as far as this work’s length will carry it. The executant allows the final quaver chord to linger for a long time; he probably didn’t agree with the composer’s curt conclusion to this melancholy miniature.
Carrasco’s Adios in A Major is a dance (a habanera, I think) as well as a song, because my copy has words inserted. This is another A-B-A format where the centre is stormy and ardent and the framing passages suggest languor in a set of two-bar phrases in balance with each other. The three danzas called Tropicales by Elorduy are one-page trifles that Vargas extends by playing everything at least twice. Perhaps the most successful is the third which is of a piece, without a fast introduction, and its language shows more sophistication than its companions; being kind, you call them ‘lightly atmospheric’ and the performer adds more of the same while employing an attractive rubato in the slower reaches of all three.
Armengol, last of the Mexican writers celebrated here, contributes a Prelude in E Major for piano or harp which deals with two key elements: a rapidly rising arpeggio-type figure, and a sequence of block chords – grist to the mill of any harpist, of course. What dominates everything is the spirit of Debussy: the Arabesque No. 1 and the Reverie come to mind straight away, followed by La fille aux cheveux de lin, Claire de lune, probably Danseuses de Delphes. For all that, the composer follows a fairly unsurprising harmonic plan and the piece’s elements circle each other with the inevitability of a rondo. Vargas treats these pages with considerable care and sympathy.
And so we arrive at the Spaniard in the works. Jorda’s Danzas Nocturnas is a series of three vignettes: Moderato, Con tristezza, and Mesto; 54, 16 and 48 bars long and in F minor/Major, D minor and A minor/Major respectively. All partake in the habanera rhythmic underpinning, although it’s not a strict observation with a plethora of languid triplets brought into play. Vargas handles these short dances with elegance and fine responsiveness, extending their substance by playing all the repeats and then some, my only quibble coming with his interpretation of mesto which here has little of that depression I usually associate with the term, having first encountered it in Beethoven’s Piano Sonata Op.10 No. 3.
It rounds out a CD of considerable charm, expertly carried off by Vargas who is at some pains to demonstrate the restraint and fresh-eyed inspiration of these writers. Owning a considerable technique, the interpreter offers fluent versions of pieces that have been passed over in favour of more flamboyant Latin productions by famous names, significant composers with advanced skills and insights. Much of the music recorded here can be found on the internet, scores and performances; still, as far as the latter are concerned, few match Vargas in ease of production and sympathy with his small-frame material.
O'Connell the Music 