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Alexander Gadjiev: Legends On Legends, Italian-Slovenian pianist Alexander Gadjiev uses a clever concept to connect eight visually evocative works; certainly the impact of each is amplified when partnered with the others. Pictures at an Exhibition is by itself, for example, a dynamo of imagination, yet when presented with Debussy's “La cathédrale engloutie,” Liszt's "Funérailles," and Scriabin's Sonata No. 9 (Black Mass), the masterpiece registers with even greater force; no vocal texts are needed when Mussorgsky's intensely atmospheric pieces express their content so vividly. That said, Gadjiev's liner notes illuminate the works in ways that genuinely complement his Steinway D performances, cases in point his contention that the temporal dimension of Pictures at an Exhibition fascinates for feeling “both deeply rooted in reality and yet somehow outside of it” and that “Mussorgsky's genius lies precisely in his ability to capture the archetype without abandoning the most direct and immediate language.” Instead of opening with that sixteen-part colossus, however, Gadjiev eases us in with the entrancing “La cathédrale engloutie” (from Préludes – Book I), its inspiration a sunken cathedral off the island of Ys. Quintessential Debussy, the work emerges as if from the watery depths, its details gradually crystallizing into a form of majestic scope. The pianist's rendering is patient and poetic, with Gadjiev demonstrating keen sensitivity to dynamics, pacing, and phrasing. Recognizing the greater impact the music has when allowed to unfold slowly, he never hurries the performance but instead embraces the opportunity to maximize its languorous character. Speaking of majestic, Pictures at an Exhibition begins, of course, with its regal “Promenade” before advancing through its gallery one image at a time. Melody and mood are paramount as dramatic contrasts differentiate each part from the next. From the foreboding “Gnomus” we move to something even more ominous, the haunting “Il vecchio castello,” before the brighter “Tuileries (Dispute d'enfants après jeux)” engenders a welcome upturn in mood. The moment's fleeting, however, as the crushing “Bydlo” quickly reestablishes an oppressive, even claustrophobic tone. Again, however, darkness is alleviated by the radiant dance moves of “Ballet des poussins dans leurs coques” and high-velocity sparkle of “Limoges. Le marché (La grande nouvelle).” The work returns to the shadows for “Catacombae (Sepulcrum romanum)” and “Cum mortuis in lingua mortua” before resolving triumphantly with “La cabane sur des pattes de poule (Baba-Yaga)” and “La grande porte de Kiev.” As divergent as its parts are, interspersions of “Promenade” (albeit in altered form) do much to unify the work, and Mussorgsky's brilliant creation retains its melodic allure regardless of whether it's presented in its solo piano or full orchestral version. Up next, César Franck's Prélude, Fugue and Variation, Op. 18 and Liszt's "Funérailles" are both substantial adventures, each riveting in its own way. Gadjiev astutely notes a paradoxical aspect of the Franck work in its seeming illusion of movement: in the pianist's words, the music “flows naturally, and yet it always feels as though we are returning to the same initial notes." His voicing of the tender waltz with which it begins is beautifully rendered, especially when his gentle touch amplifies the music's intimacy and atmospheric quality. Moving from the cinematoscopic view of Mussorgsky to the intense introspection of Franck proves to be a canny move on the pianist's part. As impressive is Gadjiev's ability to sustain that impression as the piece progresses into its other parts during its twelve-minute journey. Liszt's "Funérailles," the seventh piece from Harmonies poétiques et religieuses, S.173, enters with decidedly greater force when oscillating chords suggest the heavy footfalls of coffin-carriers. A funereal tone naturally permeates the work, which segues from that opening episode to reflections—Gadjiev imagining them originating from the vantage point of the deceased in the tomb—that are initially solemn and then wistful with nostalgia. Just when the album might seem to be winding down with Sergei Prokofiev's brief yet nonetheless luminous and enchanting Legend, Op. 12 No. 6, one final grand expression appears, Scriabin's eerie and ethereal Piano Sonata No. 9, Op. 68 “Black Mass.” A probing meditation on the conflict between Good and Evil, the work maximizes tension in progressing methodically through a series of trilling ascents and agitated irresolutions until a state of calm is achieved. Legends concludes with two short pieces, Johann Sebastian Bach's rhapsodic Prelude in B minor and a second Scriabin setting, the D-sharp minor finale from his 12 Études, Op. 8. While Pictures at an Exhibition is the album's dominant work, the others are hardly footnotes, with those by Debussy, Franck, Liszt, and Scriabin in particular holding their own. As much as the set-list accounts for the strong impression made by the recording, his pianistic artistry is just as integral to its impact.September 2025 |
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