Bruce Levingston: Prelude to Dawn
Sono Luminus

American classical pianist Bruce Levingston takes great care in curating his recordings, Prelude to Dawn no exception. Similar to previous releases, works by early and contemporary composers appear on the hour-long set, with J. S. Bach (1685–1750) and Brahms (1833–1897) paired with Wolfgang Rihm (b. 1952). A strong concept also typically informs a Levingston release, and in that regard too Prelude to Dawn follows suit. The concept is this case, however, has more to do with feeling than idea, as the pianist found himself in this pandemic period gravitating towards Bach for the solace and peace his music brings; in Levingston's own words, the intimate works created by the three German composers, despite the centuries separating them, “resonate with this pensive, solitary time.” Had he not given the release the hope-inspiring title he did, an alternate choice might have been Solace and Succour for the comfort its material provides the listener.

Levingston's playing is, as ever, exquisite, his touch and phrasing impeccable and his sensitivity to tempo and dynamics evident throughout. The music itself is encompassing. At various times, passages convey nobility, tenderness, determination, and fragility, with the material celebrating the resilience of the human spirit and acknowledging its vulnerability, too. Interestingly, only two works on the recording were written for piano, the rest other instruments—Bach's for lute, violin, and organ, and the concluding one by Brahms for organ and string sextet.

Framing Prelude to Dawn are two long settings, the first Bach's Chaconne, the fifth and final piece of his Partita No. 2 for Violin, BWV 1004 and transcribed by Brahms in 1877. Over the course of its seventeen minutes, sixty-four variations appear, some sorrowful, others hopeful, and all brimming with humanity. After the stateliness of its mournful intro, the piece gains in strength as momentum builds and dazzling runs appear, the latter in particular alluding to the material's violin origins. Forceful declamations intensify dramatic character, after which light dance episodes add levity. Levingston's playing dazzles, up to and including the work's powerful resolution.

Two early preludes by Rihm follow, their concision standing in stark contrast to the epic scale of the Chaconne. Prelude No. 1 arrests in punctuating rapid ostinato arpeggios with heavy, low-register chords and then following the sequence with a calmer ruminative passage. The second is shadowy by comparison though no less engrossing. Advancing slowly through dark terrain, the sombre music evokes the image of dolorous figures dragging their tired frames across barren landscapes, their destination unknown. Moods change rapidly with the advent of Bach's Prelude, Fugue, and Allegro (BWV 998), allegedly written with the lute in mind but amenable to keyboard performance. Naturally, each part differs in tone, the Prelude pensive, the Fugue graceful, and the Allegro carefree.

Presented in an arrangement by Italian pianist Ferruccio Busoni (1866–1924), Bach's Chorale Prelude, BWV 645 (Sleepers, Awake) unites a Lutheran hymn written by a sixteenth-century German pastor to comfort his congregation during the Plague in Germany with a motif composed by Bach a century later. Tenderness and nobility pour forth in equal measure during this stirring embrace of life, after which a second Busoni transcription appears, this time of Brahms' haunting Chorale Prelude, Op. 122, No. 10. Written in the summer of 1896 after the death of his dear friend Clara Schumann, the work's tone is elegiac and dignified in its acceptance of death.

Replicating the scope of the opening piece is Brahms' closing Theme and Variations in D minor, Op. 18 b, which came about when Clara asked him to arrange the second movement of his String Sextet in B flat major, Op. 18 for piano (he not only did so, he sent it to her as a birthday gift on September 13, 1860). Like the Chaconne, Brahms' piece begins with a theme, in this case a majestic one marked by grandeur, that's followed by variations, here six of distinct, varying character. Ruminative, stormy, yearning, expansive, lyrical, delicate—all such words come to mind as the pianist progresses through the work.

Enhancing the release is the inclusion of liner notes by the pianist, whose eloquent playing is matched by writing that not only provides context but illuminates in its expert analysis of the material performed. There is much to be derived from listening to the music in concert with absorbing his commentaries upon it. The greatest pleasure, however, lies simply in witnessing Levingston's artistry in play and attending to the music's nuanced unfolding in his hands. Leaving the recording, one imagines it could be played two hundred years from now and the experience would be no less rewarding.

February 2021