Sonata for Piano No. 1 in F minor, Op. 6
Scriabin’s first essay in this oeuvre begins, as might be expected with so many masters who have artfully come before him, with a definite air of uncertainty, nonetheless built on an easy flow. Yet, once the second subject arrives, compositional confidence grows with every bar (just a pity that the repeat was not observed—the second time can’t fail to add to overall understanding). In the development there is lots of dotted punctuation as the intensity builds, largely fuelled by the intriguing combination of duples and triples (a hallmark). Ohlsson delineates everything to perfection, ideally ushering in the “major” conclusion.
The Adagio, with its chorale-like opening readily sets the tone of liquid mournfulness before a welcome, near-rhapsodic contrast to ease the pain. Ah, D flat major magically—after all the previous harmonic ambiguity—offers hope to all those who will hear.
The decidedly energetic Presto immediately engages the ear (triples/duples coexisting again) yields to a thoughtful Trio, another cascade of power then completed with a fond farewell.
Moving attacca into the unusual closer, Funèbre (here art imitates the composer’s life), loss can be felt in every measure. “Quasi niente” is appropriately whispered where only a touch more tenuto could have improved the quiet result. The heroic conclusion is bound to linger in memory for a very long time.
Sonata for Piano No. 2 in G sharp minor, Op. 19 “Sonata Fantasy”
Once more, Scriabin seems uncertain just where he wants to go in the opening of the Andante ahead of the theme. Ohlsson communicates the angst and relief with a masterful touch. Once launched, there are wonderful moments of ethereal bliss and most welcome harmonic excursions. In a nutshell: Contrasts ‘R’ Us!
The Presto offers a singular take on “Flight of the Bumblebee” flying about the keyboard. Ohlsson tosses off the many technical challenges with deceptive ease, even as the music verges, at times, in the realm of melodrama. No matter: enjoy the ride.
Sonata for Piano No. 3 in F sharp minor, Op. 23
This third sonata might well be subtitled “Ode to Dotted Rhythms and Chromaticism”. Once again, the music seems to be nearly perpetually searching for…well, it’s often hard to say. Ohlsson demonstrates some excellent voice leading in the frequently dense “text”. Thankfully, the Andante adds some much-wanted relief from the busyness (harmonic and rhythmic) on both sides and features clarion calls that aim to settle everything down.
Sonata for Piano No. 4 in F sharp major, Op. 30
With Opus 30, Scriabin clearly comes into his own. The opening Andante is at once dreamlike, unhurried, rhythmically ambiguous—in short, a fine study of introspection. Ohlsson has just the right touches as the spectacular sound painting can’t fail to captivate all comers.
It’s only natural that the Prestissimo volando arrives attacca overflowing with extreme contrast in the rollicking tempo that drives decidedly to the triumphant, exhilarating conclusion which easily demands a rehearing to savour every measure again.
Sonata for Piano No. 5 in F sharp major, Op. 53
In the same key as No. 4, the feeling from the first bar is that Scriabin wasn’t quite finished with Op. 30. The first marking, ‘Allegro. Impetuoso. Con Stravaganza’ more than lives up to its name then, just as suddenly/surprisingly the dream continues. Once things return to busyness, there is a palpable feeling of joy (rather like “Aha, this is what I’ve been waiting for!”), which, until now has largely been MIA. From there, the speed/dream contrasts are much closer together, almost conversational in nature. As the ideas expand and the tension masterfully builds (fuelled by a riot of simultaneous three over four), it can be opined that George Gershwin may well have gone to school on some of the harmonic and rhythmic excursions.
Ohlsson delivers a bravura performance for the ages; it’s hard to imagine anyone meeting, much less topping his artistry.
Sonata for Piano No. 6, Op. 62
No longer confined by movements, the remaining five sonatas are all in one go. No. 6 lifts off as mysterious indeed, and yet harkens back to the searching domain of the first works in this compilation. There’s a wide variety of sonorities and forward movement (at times filled with anger), but how curious that Scriabin has to annotate “joy” when it finally arrives (however short-lived). Overall, this work feels more like personal therapy than all-encompassing art.
Sonata for Piano No. 7 in F sharp major, Op. 64 “White Mass”
Once again back to favourite tonic, F sharp major, this essay, as self-described, is “mysterious” indeed. At times rhapsodic, but with more flair than previously, there’s a momentary hope for a soothing Song Without Words, but, alas, that is fleeting at best. Happily, there are a few moments of playfulness (all the while pulsating cross-rhythms move steadily forward) and wee bits of harp-like assertions. Some extended trills try to calm things down, but to no avail—the disturbed moodiness remains the overarching tone.
Sonata for Piano No. 8, Op. 66
The further we delve into Scriabin’s sonatas, the more it feels like a composer who knows where he’s going (if at times the listener may wonder) but doesn’t seem able to sit still for a bar or two. Whether that’s from the worlds around him or his insatiable curiosity, we will never truly know.
As is now typical, the opening struggles to find it’s bearings before a somewhat misty ‘agitato’ ushers in long stretches of push and pull: rhythmically, tonally and texturally. The tension does build (aided by dynamic shifts, brief stops-and-starts along with copious amounts of trills) but the music never seems to arrive. Even with a most welcome bit of swing, the ear is more perplexed than satisfied. Finally, this fanciful excursion merely stops rather than succinctly ends.
Sonata for Piano No. 9, Op. 68 “Black Mass”
Ever developing his technique, Scriabin deftly explores the possibilities of repeated notes (earlier just clarion calls; here, frequently leading the fray). In our fraught 21st century, let’s be clear that the “Black” appellation is not the composer’s own, but an apt description of the darkness (not human beings)—at times verging on hysteria—that permeates the music from first utterance to last. Ohlsson fearlessly traverses all of the tombs and craters before its master opts to finish these emotional proceedings by simply disappearing into the night…
Sonata for Piano No. 10, Op. 70
Not surprisingly, the searching never ends, both musically and inwardly. Spurred by ‘avec émotion’ and ‘joyeuse exaltation’, there’s a much stronger use of haunting inner voices adding extra depth to the mix. Taken altogether, this is the most positive sonata of the lot, imbued with deep reflection and not a few oiseaux before, finally, the bell tolls for we.
Fantasy for Piano in B minor, Op. 28
No finer encore to the sonatas than a fantasy that came to musical life between Op. 23 and 24. It’s unabashed romanticism—replete with homage to Wagner—is a pleasure at every turn. From a somewhat funèbre-like opening, the sounds soon shift to an intense, wide-ranging set of unbridled declamations and compelling shared sense of humanity. Fantasy indeed!
Throughout these two discs, Ohlsson never fails to overcome the enormous technical challenges, but is more clearly driven by digging far beneath mere notes and sharing the marvellous array of Scriabin’s growth from uncertain neophyte to fully formed master. JWR