Victoria Terekiev: Matryoshka: Piano Music for Children: Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Shostakovich
Da Vinci Classics
A conundrum or two arises when the idea of piano music for children is raised. One might first ask, for example, whether the composer fashioned the music for the young performer and if so how material tailored for the developing pianist should be broached by the adult virtuoso. On the other hand, if the material was written with an audience of young listeners in mind (not players, in other words), one might then ask what approach should be taken by the experienced pianist. Issues of these and other kinds are addressed by both Milan-born classical pianist Victoria Terekiev in the album's performances and by writer Chiara Bertoglio in its liner notes.
The latter, for instance, makes note of the damage done to children tasked at a too-young age with playing pieces intended for grownups and argues instead for a healthier and more circumspect approach that identifies the developmental stage a child is at and selects material in accordance with it. Bertoglio mentions works written by J. S. Bach and Robert Schumann as exemplary models of what “children's music” should be: the former composed pieces specifically with his firstborn, Wilhelm Friedemann, in mind, while the latter's Album für die Jugend is regarded as a classic of musical pedagogy.
Of the three works by Russian composers Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-93), Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953), and Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-75) on Terekiev's solo piano release, it's the one by Tchaikovsky that directly references his predecessor in its Album pour enfants: 24 pièces faciles (à la Schumann) title. The idea of writing a cycle of piano pieces for children came to Tchaikovsky in early 1878, in part because he felt at that moment incapable of taking on a large-scale work but up to the challenge of writing a set of miniatures for children. By summer the work was finished and at Christmas-time was dedicated to the composer's favourite nephew, at the time a seven-year-old pianist.
Thirty-two minutes long in this iteration, the work dazzles with its abundance of moods and subjects, many of them titled to trigger visualizations of real-world phenomena. A dignified “Morning Prayer” leads into the evocation of a sparkling “Winter Morning,” a tender homage to “Mama,” a rambunctious “Playing Hobby-Horses,” and regal “March of the Wooden Soldiers.” A trio of doll-related pieces traces its trajectory from arrival to sickness and death, dramatic shifts in mood naturally deployed to mirror such changes. Bright and lively waltz, mazurka, and polka dances follow, as do songs referencing Russia (majestic), Italy (congenial), France (melancholy), and Germany (rousing). Not all of the pieces are easy—“Neapolitan Song” poses considerable technical challenges to the budding pianist, as does “The Old Witch”—in this commendably panoramic work, and Terekiev delivers all twenty-four miniatures with affection and attention to detail.
Written during the same period as Three Children's Songs, op. 68 and Peter and the Wolf, op. 67, Prokofiev's Music for Children, 12 Easy Pieces, op. 65 originated out of circumstances associated with the then-ominous political climate. Soviet cultural figures and intellectuals were being persecuted by order of Stalin and his comrades, and the music being created by composers such as Prokofiev and Shostakovich was being heavily scrutinized for any sign of it opposing Soviet cultural ideology. As children were deemed the hope of the communist future, artists were strongly encouraged to create material that would educate them properly and help bring about a powerful Soviet state. Titles are again evocative (e.g., “Parade of the Grasshoppers”), and, echoing Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev gets his set underway with a lyrical “Morning” expression before enchanting with pieces that are by turn boisterous (“Promenade”), mysterious (“Fairytale”), rollicking (“Tarantella”), solemn (“Regrets”), and elegant (“Waltz”). As with the Tchaikovsky set, some of the ones in Prokofiev's could prove challenging to a young pianist, the furious “Tag” and chromatic “The Rain and the Rainbow” a couple of examples.
Arriving two decades after Prokofiev's set, Shostakovich created the seven piano vignettes in Dances of the Dolls as transcriptions from pre-existing orchestral pieces. From the ballet The Limpid Stream comes the irreverent “Lyrical waltz,” its Shostakovich-ian character instantly audible in its wry playfulness. As lively is “Gavotte,” created from incidental music to the play La Comédie Humaine, while “Romance” is understandably more earnest in its heartfelt expression. Dances appear here too, from an affable “Waltz” and “Hurdy-gurdy” to a “Polka” that might give a young pianist a bit of trouble. Shostakovich largely keeps his macabre and sardonic sides at bay in these oft-sunny settings. In all three of these engaging works, the music was created with the developing pianist in mind, yet while the pieces might generally be simpler compared to ones Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, and Shostakovich wrote for the adult virtuoso, Terekiev delivers each one with conviction and charm.November 2025