Bruce Levingston: Without Words
Sono Luminus

Exquisite material exquisitely performed. That's as succinct an assessment of concert pianist Bruce Levingston's tenth solo album as could possibly be proffered, though much more must be said to appreciate what he's accomplished. On this collection featuring works by Felix Mendelssohn (1809-47) and Price Walden (b. 1991), the pianist demonstrates the poise and delicacy of touch for which he's become known. In illuminating liner notes, he writes, “Mendelssohn's Songs without Words are meant to enchant rather than dazzle,” words tailor-made to capture the character of the pianist's own artistry, and states further, “Like entries in a personal diary, they reveal the composer's innermost reflections.” So attuned is Levingston to the works—fourteen Mendelssohn tone poems and a new seven-song set by Walden—the same might be said of him too. While none of the twenty-one songs is authored by him, they often come across like externalizations of his own inner being.

Without Words seduces subtly and surreptitiously, not with blistering runs and blazing pyrotechnics; instead, the material beguiles with eloquent expressions often pitched at a hush and delivered at a slow tempo. Such a delivery accords with the nature of the material, which is lyrical, fragile, and tender. With so many years separating the composers, one might expect there to be a pronounced schism in styles. In fact, Walden's work is remarkably complementary to that of his predecessor and in moments is even more nakedly emotional. Consistent with that, Walden titled some of the movements—“Elegy” and “Love Song - Duet,” for example—in such a way that leaves little doubt as to their character. In an inspired move, the pianist has sequenced the recording so that Walden's material is at its centre, with seven Mendelssohn songs preceding and following.

The latter might seem on the surface salon-styled miniatures that don't merit as serious a consideration as a large-scale work. Don't be fooled: while the songs might be bite-sized, a panorama of emotions is encompassed, and close listening reveals depth and complexity. The Op. 102, No. 4 in G minor introduces the album with lilting rhythms and dreamlike arpeggios, the precise calibration of the pianist's touch already evident. The delicate Op. 67, No. 3 in B-flat major that follows offers the first evocation of serenity and tranquility, and even at this early stage of the recording the impression of being transported to another realm begins to form. The livelier Op. 38, No. 2 in C minor engages for its crystalline quality, artful syncopations, and endearing melody line. Many a song is ruminative, and the touching Op. 38, No. 6 in A-flat Major Duetto serves as a piquant example. The regal flow and understated hint of mystery makes this fourth song one of the set's most endearing. Levingston calls Op. 53, No. 1 in A-flat major “Schubertian,” and certainly the elegantly flowing patterns of this idyll warrant the label. There is charm aplenty in the pieces, with the playful, almost mischievous Op. 102, No. 3 in C major an especially delightful exemplar. Starkly contrasting in tone is the Op. 30, No. 6 in F-sharp minor Venetianisches Gondellied that ends the first seven-song set on a brooding note. No words are needed to communicate the haunting beauty of this song, especially when executed with consummate poise.

When a doctor friend of Levingston's approached him during the pandemic with a desire to honour those suffering or dying from Covid with a musical memorial, the pianist turned to Walden, a fellow Mississippian, to create a new piece (also titled Songs Without Words) relevant to our era. Like Levingston a fervent admirer of Mendelssohn's songs, Walden sprinkled allusions to the work into his own cycle in such a way that a seeming dialogue of sorts, even if a wordless one, is enacted between the two. The songs eschew ornamentation for the purest of expression, as shown by the relative sparseness of the dignified “Prelude.” Each part gets to the heart of the matter, so to speak, and in doing so connects directly with the listener. Whereas clarion chords lend the opening song and the defiant “Protest” drama, the second, “for the left hand,” opts for poignant introspection, though it too gradually swells in intensity. Apparently inspired by Mendelssohn's Op. 67, No. 3, the fourth song, “Berceuse,” captivates with its gentle and peaceful aura. The fragile fifth, “Elegy,” on the other hand, expresses grief starkly, though at a whisper. No song is lovelier than the closing “Lullaby,” which Levingston imbues with a heartrending tenderness.

November 2023