Catalogue Connection: 25755

A double SACD of the English record label Divine Art published a few months ago allows us to get to know a German pianist, Burkard Schliessmann, among the best and most interesting internationally in the last decades, given that in our country his name still circulates almost exclusively among piano music enthusiasts alone. These two SACDs were recorded live between April 3 and 5, 2023, when the pianist from Aschaffenburg held two concerts at the Fazioli Concert Hall in Sacile, performing pages by Bach, Chopin, Mendelssohn and Schumann, then fielding an interpretative compendium with a precise common thread, which can be summarized in the concept of the emergence, through the Kantor, and the progressive realization of the tonal language and its supreme piano affirmation through that triad of romantic geniuses, as the same Bavarian wanted to highlight in the accompanying notes in the libretto in three languages (of course there is no interpreter Italian) housed in the elegant box.

The shop of songs presented during these concerts in Sacile is extremely interesting and decidedly challenging: in the order of the playlist of the two SACD we have respectively by Bach the Partita n. 2 in C minor, BWV 826, the Concerto Italiano, BWV 971 and the Chromatic Fantasy and Fuga in D minor, BWV 903, while by Mendelssohn Schliessmann presents a little-frequented piece, namely the nineteen Variations seriouss, Op. 54, which lead to the conclusion of the first album; in the second, instead, we have the Fantasia in C major, Op. 17 by Schumann and the Valzer in D disis minor, Op. 64 n. 2 by Chopin, with the addition of two encores, both still by Schumann, the twelfth piece of Carnaval, Op. 9, entitled Chopin, and the third of the eight Fantasiestücke, Op. 12, namely Warum? (for a total duration of the two SACDs of almost ninety-four minutes).

What should be meant by “match”? Well, at the time of the Kantor this term, which was originally used for a series of variations performed over a bass, was now completely analogous to that of “suite”; therefore, it indicated a series of dances introduced by a piece of an improvisative character that, in the six for Bach’s harpsichord, is from time to time called prelude, symphony, overture, fantasy, praeambulum, touched. The first game dates back to 1726 and from that moment the great genius of Eisenach composed one every year, to be precise on the occasion of the publishers’ fair that took place annually in Leipzig. Thus, in 1731 he gathered the six written games and published them as the first part of the so-called Klavierübung. The overture that opens the second game consists, after the introductory agreement, on which there is the indication “serious”, of some adagio lines. A allemanda, a current, a sarabanda and a rondeau follow. The last time, defined by Bach Capriccio, is really special. The choice of this title is given by the fact that it is a piece freed from the usual formal constraints and is made up of two parts, both repeated twice, with the imaginative theme of the first that reappears brilliantly overturned at the beginning of the second.

Another amazing masterpiece is the Italian Concerto, in which Bach used the two harpsichord manuals to create a series of contrasts, clearly alluding to the type of compositional process developed by Antonio Vivaldi, as in the case of the refrain theme that is treated in a contrapuntal way. Taking inspiration from the title of the piece, it can well be said that the composition as a whole takes on the meaning of a keyboard reduction of an authentic orchestral work. The Fantasy and Chromatic Escape, probably composed in the years that Bach spent in Cöthen from 1717 to 1723, is a visionary work to say the least that looks far beyond its era in terms of formal construction, structure, character and musical language.

At the interpretative level, Burkard Schliessmann proves to be an atypical German artist, in the sense that his Bach is neither obsessively analytical, nor anchored to an executive dimension linked exclusively to the undeniable theological patina that this music expresses, but if anything devoted to a vision that is closer to a Mediterranean esprit because of a passionate shock that feverishly crosses his reading, without, however, ever losing that indispensable discipline of touch and the relative dominance of the keyboard. Let’s be clear, with this I don’t mean that his is a “romantic” Bach, but it is certainly impregnated with a sound beauty, of a timbre nobility that makes the music of the Kantor flow with an accentuated sense of purity, a shiny crystal that shines from the first to the last note, as can be seen from how he faces the Partita n. 2. In addition, the ability to grace the rhythmic process of the Italian Concerto, playing and inserting subtle timbre nuances with the precise purpose of highlighting his melodic côté (therefore, Italian) of the work, almost transforming it into an operatic air, that is, exalting its “singability”, not to mention how the Bavarian pianist manages to transmit the ribs of clear Venetian matrix that run through the wonderful Andante, without the expressive tension decaying into mere and inappropriate sentimentality. On the contrary, in the Chromatic Fantasy Schliessmann proposes, if he succeeds, to bring out the brilliant harmonic dimension of the song through an expressive clarity that never loses the drama of the piano gesture, involving the listener in this continuous and exhilarating ascent, in which the melodic development is the climbing stick.

A necessary premise must be made on Mendelssohn’s piece, the Variations sérieuses op. 54; composed in 1842, which from their appearance were considered one of the most virtuoso works of piano literature of the time, capable of masterfully showing the range of the supreme piano technique through the process of variation. This is because each variation, in op. 54, is based on the other and develops from the harmonic and melodic energies of the previous variation, a sort of brilliant anticipation of what will be the so-called “variation in development” matured by Arnold Schönberg. The very title of the Mendelssohnian page, somewhat unusual at the time, should be understood and interpreted as a precise reaction by the Hamburg composer to an acquired and consolidated musical practice of his time, the one that imposed, in a certain sense, the creation of Variations brillantes, that is to say purely virtuoso fantasies on fashionable themes, often taken from operatic arias. On the contrary, with his op. 54, Mendelssohn presented a work that on the one hand seems oriented towards Beethoven’s Variations in C minor and, on the other, able to anticipate Brahms’ subsequent style of virtuoso variation, in particular the Paganine Variations.

In reading this mid-nineteenth-century piano masterpiece, Schliessmann demonstrates not only that he perfectly dominates the keyboard, shaping the sound matter imbued with an amazing technical difficulty, but also manages to express its moving musicality; the interpretative ability lies precisely in this: to return to the benefit of the listener those expressive tensions, in the alternation and development between slow and fast variations, which permeate the entire architectural arca of the work. After all, the Bavarian pianist decodes the structure, makes it accessible through a heartfelt exploratory alternation of the keyboard, bringing to the surface the shadows and lights that distinguish these variations.

In the second disc, Schliessmann further focuses his concertistic course within the harmonic development, inevitably landing at Robert Schumann, whose work is here represented by Fantasia in C major, Op. 17, together with the two encores, namely the twelfth piece of Carnaval, Op. 9, entitled Chopin, and the third of the eight Fantasiestücke, Op. 12, namely Warum?, and to Fryderyk Chopin with the Waltz in C minor, Op. 64 n. 2. As for the Zwickau composer, the Bavarian interpreter rightly points out that Schumannian music represents a staple for two distinct reasons: the first is that his compositional inventiveness took him far beyond the harmonic progressions known up to his time, while the second is given by the fact that, on the wave of the Mendelssohnian Bach Renaissance, Schumann saw in the escapes and canons of the composers of the past a romantic principle. From this, he considered the counterpoint, with its phantasmagoric interweaving of voices, a sort of correspondence between the mysterious relationships between external phenomena and the human soul, between the transcendent and immanent principle, trying, at the same time, to express this correspondence in complex musical terms, concentrating them above all on the keyboard of the beloved piano.

Precisely because of this search for sound application, capable of making the agon between external and inner forces at its best, Schumann had to face a significant problem, that linked to the fact of presenting an adequate musical and intellectual substance within a large-scale piano form, that is, capable of accommodating a complex sound matter both in the harmonic and melodic fields; and there is no doubt that this operation found in Fantasia op.17 his best result, what is rightly considered his most bold and ambitious piano work, in which the brilliant German composer poured all those romantic instances of Germanic imprint already outlined previously through the literary and poetic contribution given by authors such as Schlegel, Novalis, Eichendorff and Jean Paul.

In returning it to the concert venue, Burkard Schliessmann does not let himself be carried away, especially in the famous opening time, by the enthusiasm generated and offered by musical writing, but presents it in a fragmented, distilled way, investing it with the due mutations and psychological peculiarities, shaping with due attention the changing agogic, in a perennial symbolic balance between titanism and victimhood. Triumph of a sentimentality that already prefigures, as the Bavarian interpreter himself rightly notes in the accompanying notes, to the figure of the Wagnerian Tristan; hence a consequent and inescapable problem given by the harmonic matter that fully anticipates that dissonantic sedimentation that will be humus fertile for Richard Wagner. And Schliessmann turns out to be equally convincing even when he unveils the second half in which the young Schumann enters the visionary lesson of the last Beethoven piano, packaging harmonic cunnes capable of touching timbre schizophrenia, bold glists of modernity that only the passage of time allowed us to appreciate and admire rightly.

To conclude the Schumannian chapter linked to this double SACD, as bis the Bavarian interpreter chose two pieces capable of exalting the beauty, the aesthetic carr of his piano touch; so both Chopin and Warum? They are transformed into two diamonds that shine with a timbre light that Schliessmann knows how to dose as needed and that confirm to us that basically this pianist, as was the Supreme Walter Gieseking, is so little “Germanic” at the level of belonging to a piano school, making sure that the so-called “analytical” dimension in facing a given author can always be combined with a proper timbre patina, able to give beauty and feeling. This is perfectly demonstrated by his reading of Chopinian Waltz, which is striking for its “sobbing” phrasing, as if the Bavarian pianist had wanted, more than anything else, to bring out the emotional dimension behind his formal purity. Therefore, a timbre research that behind the aesthetic aspect is not an end in itself, but becomes an instrument to deepen, to dig, to reach the ultimate heart, that is, the pulsating element, the secret engine that makes everything move.

The taking of the live sound was carried out by that guarantor called Matteo Costa, who wanted to highlight both the instrument itself and the spatial dimension in which it was located. The starting point to get everything is given by the dynamics, which even if it does not impress with its energy, it is nevertheless noted for its cleanliness and for a reassuring naturalness. Another parameter that is to be appreciated is that relating to the sound stage, which sees the Fazioli used by Schliessmann reconstructed to a due depth, so that it can also represent the spatial volumetry that is found around it. A lot of depth but, at the same time, also a lot of finesse of the piano’s focus, capable of expressing and radiating a sound that materializes in the surrounding space, a sound that is not lost in the very moment that invades both in terms of amplitude and height. The piano perlage of the German interpreter is expertly re-proposed thanks to the effectiveness of the tonal balance, always perfectly discernible in the separation offered from the medium-grave register of the keyboard and the high one, as well as the detail, although, as already explained, the piano is positioned at a considerable depth, it does not turn out to be deficient in terms of materiality and three-dimensionality.

A double SACD from the English record label Divine Art released a few months ago allows us to get to know a German pianist better, Burkard Schliessmann, one of the best and most interesting international pianists of the last few decades, given that in our country his name still circulates almost exclusively among piano music enthusiasts. These two SACDs were recorded live between 3 and 5 April 2023, when the pianist from Aschaffenburg held two concerts at the Fazioli Concert Hall in Sacile, performing pages by Bach, Chopin, Mendelssohn and Schumann, thus putting into play an interpretative compendium with a precise common thread, which can be summarized in the concept of the emergence, through the Kantor, and the progressive concretization of the tonal language and its supreme pianistic affirmation through that triad of romantic geniuses, as the Bavarian interpreter himself wanted to highlight in the accompanying notes in the booklet in three languages ​​(Italian is obviously missing) hosted in the elegant box set.

The anthology of pieces presented during these concerts in Sacile are extremely interesting and decidedly demanding: in the order of the playlist of the two SACDs we have respectively Bach’s Partita No. 2 in C minor, BWV 826, the Concerto Italiano, BWV 971 and the Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue in D minor, BWV 903, while by Mendelssohn Schliessmann presents a rarely performed piece, namely the nineteen Variations sérieuses, Op. 54, which bring the first disc to a close; on the second disc, however, we have Schumann’s Fantasy in C major, Op. 17 and Chopin’s Waltz in C sharp minor, Op. 64 No. 2, with the addition of two encores, both again by Schumann, the twelfth piece of Carnaval, Op. 9, entitled Chopin, and the third of the eight Fantasiestücke, Op. 12, namely Warum? (for a total duration of the two SACDs of almost ninety-four minutes).

What is meant by “partita”? Well, at the time of the Kantor this term, which was originally used for a series of variations performed above a bass, was by now completely analogous to that of “suite”; therefore, it indicated a series of dances introduced by a piece of an improvisational nature which, in Bach’s six for harpsichord, is called in turn prelude, symphony, overture, fantasy, praeambulum, toccata. The first partita dates back to 1726 and from that moment the supreme genius from Eisenach composed one every year, to be precise on the occasion of the publishers’ fair which took place annually in Leipzig. Thus, in 1731 he brought together the six written partitas and published them as the first part of the so-called Klavierübung. The overture which opens the second partita consists, after the introductory chord, on which there is the indication “grave”, of a few adagio bars. An allemande, a Corrente, a Sarabande and a Rondeau follow. The last movement is truly unique, defined by Bach as a capriccio. The choice of this title is given by the fact that it is a piece free from the usual formal constraints and is made up of two parts, both repeated twice, with the imaginative theme of the first that reappears ingeniously reversed at the beginning of the second.

Another astonishing masterpiece is the Italian Concerto, in which Bach used the two manuals of the harpsichord to create a series of contrasts, clearly alluding to the type of compositional process developed by Antonio Vivaldi, as in the case of the theme of the ritornello that is treated in a contrapuntal way. Taking inspiration from the title of the piece, it can be said that the composition as a whole takes on the meaning of a keyboard reduction of an authentic orchestral work. The Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue, probably composed during Bach’s years in Cöthen from 1717 to 1723, is nothing short of a visionary work, looking far beyond its time in terms of formal construction, structure, character and musical language.

On an interpretative level, Burkard Schliessmann proves to be an atypical German artist, in the sense that his Bach is neither obsessively analytical, nor anchored to a performance dimension tied exclusively to the undeniable theological patina that such music expresses, but rather devoted to a vision that is closer to a Mediterranean esprit by way of a passionate jolt that feverishly runs through his reading, without however ever losing that indispensable discipline of touch and the relative mastery of the keyboard. Let me be clear, with this I do not mean to say that his is a “romantic” Bach, but it is certainly imbued with a sonic beauty, a nobility of timbre that makes the Kantor’s music flow with a heightened sense of purity, a shining crystal that shines from the first to the last note, as can be seen from how he tackles the Partita n. 2. Furthermore, the ability to grace the rhythmic progression of the Concerto Italiano, playing and introducing subtle nuances of timbre with the precise aim of highlighting the melodic (and therefore Italian) side of the work, almost transforming it into an operatic aria, that is, exalting its “cantabilità”, without considering how the Bavarian pianist manages to convey the veins of clear Venetian origin that run through the entire marvelous Andante, without the expressive tension decaying into mere and inappropriate sentimentality. On the contrary, in the Chromatic Fantasy Schliessmann aims, and succeeds, to bring out the brilliant harmonic dimension of the piece through an expressive clarity that never loses the drama of the piano gesture, involving the listener in this continuous and exhilarating ascent, in which the melodic development is the climbing stick.

A necessary premise must be made on the piece by Mendelssohn, the Variations sérieuses op. 54; composed in 1842, which since their appearance were considered one of the most virtuosic works in the piano literature of the time, capable of masterfully displaying the range of supreme piano technique through the process of variation. This is because each variation, in op. 54, is based on the other and develops from the harmonic and melodic energies of the previous variation, a sort of brilliant anticipation of what will be the so-called “development variation” developed by Arnold Schönberg. The title of the Mendelssohnian page itself, quite unusual at the time, should be understood and interpreted as a precise reaction by the Hamburg composer towards an acquired and consolidated musical practice of his time, one that imposed, in a certain sense, the creation of Variations brillantes, that is to say purely virtuosic fantasies on fashionable themes, often taken from operatic arias. On the contrary, with his op. 54, Mendelssohn presented a work that on the one hand seems oriented towards Beethoven’s Variations in C minor and, on the other, capable of anticipating Brahms’s subsequent style of virtuosic variation, in particular the Paganini Variations.

In his reading of this piano masterpiece from the mid-nineteenth century, Schliessmann not only demonstrates his perfect mastery of the keyboard, shaping the sound material imbued with astonishing technical difficulty, but also manages to express its moving musicality; his interpretative ability lies precisely in this: returning to the benefit of the listener those expressive tensions, in the alternation and development between slow and fast variations, which permeate the entire architectural arch of the work. Ultimately, the Bavarian pianist decodes the structure, making it accessible through a heartfelt exploratory alternation of the keyboard, bringing to the surface the shadows and lights that distinguish these variations.

On the second disc, Schliessmann further focuses his concert journey on harmonic development, inevitably arriving at Robert Schumann, whose work is represented here by the Fantasia in C major, Op. 17, together with the two encores, namely the twelfth piece of Carnaval, Op. 9, entitled Chopin, and the third of the eight Fantasiestücke, Op. 12, namely Warum?, and at Fryderyk Chopin with the Waltz in C sharp minor, Op. 64 no. 2. As for the composer from Zwickau, the Bavarian performer rightly points out how Schumann’s music represents a fixed point for two distinct reasons: the first is that his compositional inventiveness took him well beyond the harmonic progressions known up to his time, while the second is given by the fact that, in the wake of the Mendelssohnian Bach Renaissance, Schumann saw in the fugues and canons of the composers of the past a romantic principle. From this, he considered counterpoint, with its phantasmagorical interweaving of voices, a sort of correspondence between the mysterious relations between external phenomena and the human soul, between the transcendent and the immanent principle, trying, at the same time, to express this correspondence in complex musical terms, concentrating them above all on the keyboard of his beloved piano.

Precisely because of this search for sound application, capable of rendering the contest between external and internal forces at its best, Schumann had to face a not indifferent problem, that linked to the fact of presenting an adequate musical and intellectual substance within a large-scale piano form, that is, capable of hosting a complex sound material both in the harmonic and melodic sphere; and there is no doubt that this operation found its best result in the Fantasia op.17, which is rightly considered his most daring and ambitious piano work, in which the brilliant German composer poured all those romantic instances of Germanic imprint already outlined previously through the literary and poetic contribution given by authors such as Schlegel, Novalis, Eichendorff and Jean Paul.

In restoring it in concert, Burkard Schliessmann does not let himself be carried away, especially in the celebrated opening movement, by the enthusiasm generated and offered by the musical writing, but presents it in a fragmented, distilled way, investing it with the due mutations and psychological peculiarities, shaping with due attention the changing agogic, in a perennial symbolic balance between titanism and victimism. Triumph of a sentimentalism that already prefigures, as the Bavarian interpreter himself rightly notes in the accompanying notes, the figure of Wagner’s Tristan; hence a consequent and unavoidable problematicity given by the harmonic material that fully anticipates that dissonant sedimentation that will be fertile humus for Richard Wagner. And Schliessmann is equally convincing when he unravels the second movement in which the young Schumann introduces the visionary lesson of the last piano Beethoven, crafting harmonic daring capable of touching on timbric schizophrenia, bold jolts of modernity that only the passing of time allowed us to appreciate and admire rightly.

To conclude the Schumann chapter linked to this double SACD, as an encore the Bavarian interpreter has chosen two pieces capable of exalting the beauty, the aesthetic quality of his piano touch; so both Chopin and Warum? they transform into two diamonds that shine with a timbric light that Schliessmann knows how to dose as needed and that confirm that ultimately this pianist, like the great Walter Gieseking, is so little “Germanic” in terms of belonging to a piano school, making sure that the so-called “analytical” dimension in tackling a specific author can always be combined with a due patina of timbre, capable of giving beauty and feeling. This is perfectly demonstrated by his reading of Chopin’s Waltz, which strikes with its “sobish” phrasing, almost as if the Bavarian pianist had wanted, more than anything else, to bring out the emotional dimension that lies behind its formal purity. Therefore, a timbric research that behind the aesthetic aspect is not an end in itself, but becomes a tool to delve deeper, to dig, to reach the ultimate heart, that is, the pulsating element, the secret engine that makes everything move.

The live sound recording was done by Matteo Costa, who wanted to highlight both the instrument itself and the spatial dimension in which it was located. The starting point to obtain everything is given by the dynamics, which even if it does not strike for its energy, is however noted for its cleanliness and for a reassuring naturalness. Another parameter that is to be appreciated is that relating to the sound stage, which sees the Fazioli used by Schliessmann reconstructed at a due depth, so as to be able to also represent the spatial volume that is found around it. A lot of depth but, at the same time, also a lot of finesse in the focus of the piano, capable of expressing and radiating a sound that materializes in the surrounding space, a sound that is not lost at the same time that it invades both in terms of width and height. The German interpreter’s pianistic perlage is expertly re-proposed thanks to the effectiveness of the tonal balance, always perfectly discernible in the separation offered by the medium-low register of the keyboard and the high one, as well as the detail, although, as already explained, the piano is positioned at a notable depth, it does not appear to be deficient in terms of materiality and three-dimensionality.

As I wrote of Burkard Schliessmann several years ago, “The native of Aschaffenburg Germany has often been noted for his passion for using all the resources of the instrument to get to the heart of the music and bring it out in all its expressive power and beauty…He is the last sort of pianist you would expect to just play the notes as written, without comment” (Phil’s Classical reviews, Jan, 2022). What I said then still goes, as the present album “Live & Encores,” a 2-CD compendium of previously and newly released performances, bears out.

Disc A opens with a generous selection of the best keyboard works of J. S. Bach, starting with Partita No. 2 in C Minor, BWV 826. Bach leads off in a big way with a Sinfonia (another word for “overture”) that is distinguished for its bold opening with measured cadences and a quick-paced middle section. It is followed in this suite of pieces in dance tempo by a florid Allemande, nicely accented and rather quick for a dignified formal dance. The Courante, briskly paced and articulated, opens with a zestful lift-off. Then comes a Sarabande, usually the slowest of dances but rendered here in a lively tempo and in well-contrasted sections (which is Bach’s innovation, by the way, not Schliessmann’s). The Rondeau, a lively French dance with notable foot-falls and flourishes, is taken by Schliessmann for all it is worth, and he renders the Capriccio with a terrific tempo that pushes its limits.

The Italian Concerto, BWV 971, begins with a movement that is an Allegro in all but name, and is well-decorated with trills. An Andante in the style of a deeply moving arioso with florid embellishments and a mood of gentle pathos lies at the heart of this work. With a basic tempo that is almost funereal in its affect, it sets the listener up for the stunning contrast provided by the sensational Presto, concluding one of the best keyboard works of J. S. Bach. Schliessmann’s performance shows he is well cognizant of its beauty.

The Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue in D Minor, BWV 903, another all-time Bach favorite, is well-chosen for the next spot in the program, opening with swirling figurations and a restlessly questing mood. The slower tempo Bach chooses for the main section is just right for creating a philosophical impression as the overall effect. The work concludes with the Fugue, characterized by a slow, quiet opening that gradually increases in purposeful momentum as it progresses. Schliessmann observes the nice, steady pulse Bach gives this movement, as well as overall tempi that are well chosen to allow for flourishes, and even drama, as he moves along.

The disc concludes with Felix Mendelssohn’s Variations sérieuses, Op. 54. “Serious” is right, as many of these short piano pieces are as terse as they are furious, and Schliessmann does them full justice. But with such markings as Agitato, Con fuoco, and Allegro vivace, they would seem more significant for the challenge they pose for the performer than any attraction they might have for the listener – aside from Variations 11, Cantabile, consisting of a simple melody with active accompaniment, and 14, a very poignant Adagio. Generally speaking, with the exception of some of his Songs without Words, Mendelssohn did not put his very best into his solo piano music as compared with other genres. (See his Violin Concerto, Symphonies 3-5, his Octet, the Hebrides Overture and the Midsummer Night’s Dream Music for a better impression of his genius if you are just getting acquainted with this composer.)

Disc B opens with Robert Schumann’s famed Fantasie in C Major, Op. 17, which is notable for the composer’s mastery in blending, contrasting, and superimposing timbres. Schliessmann takes all these issues in stride, making this an eminently satisfying account of one of the most difficult works in the repertoire. It is marked by its rhapsodic lyricism occasioned by trill structures, which are typically in downward motion, in the opening movement. This is succeeded by a march in the middle movement that culminates in sensational back-rhythms and syncopations that still have the power to astonish us today, and a finale whose harmonic structure conjures up the image of a star-filled night of which Schumann was doubtless thinking when he subtitled this movement “Crown of Stars.” The reader will note how the composer reversed the usual order of this slow movement, marked “thoroughly fantastic and sorrowfully laden” (Durchaus fantastisch und leidenschaftlich vorzutragen) and what then became the middle movement with its thumping fortes in the afore-mentioned march tempo.

Two choice Schumann encores follow, concluding the program. In “Chopin” from the well-loved Carnaval, Schliessmannmakes the most of its widely spaced chord structures, lending a distinct mood of aloneness, if not outright sadness. In “Warum?” (Why?) from Fantasiestücke, Op. 12, with its limpid, highly expressive harmonies that serve to justify the title, the rising intensity in the middle, followed by a return to the initial mood of resignation, is handled superbly by the present artist.

In Fanfare’s Mar/Apr 2015 issue (38:4), I interviewed Burkard Schliessmann, mainly in connection with his then new SACD Divine Art album of works by J. S. Bach. Among a couple of other items, that disc contained the Partita No. 2, the Italian Concerto, and the Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue, all three of which are duplicated here on this newly released two-disc Divine Art SACD set. I hasten to add, however, that these are not the same performances. It’s impossible for them to be since they were recorded as recently as April 3–5, 2023 at the Fazioli Concert Hall in Sacile, Italy, on Schliessmann’s personally owned Fazioli F278 concert grand. 

These works are near and dear to the pianist’s heart and are part of his core repertoire, so it’s only natural that he would want to go on record with them again. The same may be said of Schumann’s Fantasie, which was included in Burkard’s three-disc album, only released in September, 2021, but remastered from a much earlier recording that had been previously issued on the Bayer label. The Divine Art three-CD set, titled At the Heart of the Piano, received several glowing reviews in Fanfare 45:3. 

As far as I can tell, this is Schliessmann’s first time on record with Mendelssohn’s Variations sérieuses, and while I don’t believe that the pianist has recorded Schumann’s Carnaval complete, he does give us here the ninth movement, titled “Chopin,” as one of his two encore pieces. And then, for his second encore, he offers a performance of Chopin’s Waltz in CT Minor, which I do believe he has recorded previously. 

Schliessmann’s new set at hand begins with Bach’s C-Minor Partita, and I have to admit that the pianist’s way with Bach is definitely his own, yet one that I find quite captivating. Take, for example, the manner in which he addresses the shift in tempo, texture, and musical content at the point in the score marked Andante that follows the Grave Adagio introduction to the piece. His left-hand “walking bass” eighth notes are clearly articulated with a staccato touch, but not nearly with the martelé aggressiveness of, say, Glenn Gould’s staccato. Meanwhile, Schliessmann’s right hand remains remarkably free to follow the clues and bring out the notes that constitute the melody as it plays hide and seek among the mirrored maze of Bach’s contrapuntal crossword puzzle. The melody notes are not necessarily contiguous in all of the running passagework. Somewhere in there is a singable line, because Bach always sings, and he teases the player’s fingers to find the song in the line and the listener’s ears to hear it. Schliessmann has a keen ear for those notes, and his fingers know how to make the line sing. 

Next on the disc is Bach’s Italian Concerto, which, being a piece for solo harpsichord, is not a concerto as we normally define the term. Nor is there anything one can point to that identifies it as Italian. In fact, the original title of the piece was Concerto in the Italian Taste. The Italian Concerto plus the French Overture together comprise Book II of Bach’s Clavier-Übung, the shortest of the three books in which the composer published what he considered to be his most important keyboard works. 

With due apologies to all pianists, I will say that the Italian Concerto is one of those pieces specifically designed for a two-manual harpsichord that cannot be fully realized as intended on the piano. Bach achieves the concertino-vs.-ripieno “concerto” effect by juxtaposing passages of lighter and softer textures against fuller and louder ones. But he also designates the lighter—i.e., solo or concertino—passages to be played on the second manual, which through the use of different stops can be made to sound like a completely different instrument. 

The piano can accomplish the first part of this, differentiating the textures through dynamics and touch, which I have to say Schliessmann is very, very good at, but not even he can make us believe we’re hearing two different instruments. It’s just not in the nature of the beast. 

Following the Italian Concerto, Schliessmann gives us what is perhaps Bach’s blockbuster non-organ keyboard work, and likely his most popular, the Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue. Believed to have been composed between 1717 and 1723, during the composer’s time in Köthen, it dates from the period during which Bach was experimenting with various systems of tempered tuning that led to the first book of his Well-Tempered Clavier in 1722. The Chromatic Fantasia and the WTC (I) were written around the same time and possibly even overlap. It’s now thought that the fugue was added to the Fantasia at a later date. 

In the manner of its virtuosic, seemingly improvisatory style, the Fantasia part of the piece isn’t entirely unique. Bach was certainly familiar with the toccatas, ricercars, and fantasias of Frescobaldi and Froberger, many of which exemplified the so-called “fantastic style” (stylus phantasticus), popular as early as the end of the 16th century. What is likely unique, however, about Bach’s Fantasia is that it’s thoroughly chromatic, and not just successively but consecutively or serially. In other words, it doesn’t simply modulate freely from one key to another; it abuts diminished seventh chords by chromatic half-steps, one immediately after the other, thus sounding all 12 tones of the chromatic scale. 

Some may be disappointed that the mathematically minded Bach didn’t come up with a 12-tone subject for the Fugue, but as noted earlier, the Fugue was most likely not composed at the same time as the Fantasia. There have even been suggestions that the Fugue might not be by Bach but by one of his contemporaries, and that it was only later tacked onto the Fantasia when it was finally published. 

As can be guessed, the pair together require the utmost in virtuosity and control from the player. The Fantasia is extremely demanding for the duality of its requirements. On the one hand (no pun intended), it engages both hands simultaneously in equal oppositional playing, which requires enormous discipline and concentration; while on the other hand, the player must simultaneously display the virtuosic flair and sense of freedom that convey the impression of a toccata-like improvisational style. And that’s just the Fantasia. Add to it the rigorous technique demanded by the Fugue, and you have quite an exhibitionistic tour de force. Little wonder that the work was a favorite of Mendelssohn, Liszt, Brahms, and other 19th-century virtuoso pianists, and still attracts keyboard artists and thrills audiences to this day. In Schliessmann, the work has found a modern-day master and magician. 

To conclude disc one, the pianist turns to Mendelssohn’s Variations sérieuses. Over 100 years and an entire historical era, the Classical period, may have intervened between Bach and Mendelssohn, but it was Mendelssohn more than any other composer that we have to thank for ensuring and enshrining Bach’s legacy in music history. Mendelssohn was a tireless advocate for Bach’s music and an assiduous student of Bach’s counterpoint and methods of composition. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t some deeper connection between the works on the disc by Bach and Mendelssohn’s Variations sérieuses that led Schliessmann to include this particular Mendelssohn work. 

The answer is a partial yes. That the Variations is in D Minor, the same key as the Chromatic Fantasy, is the least and most superficial of the similarities. More significantly, the theme on which the variations is based is highly chromatic. Within its first eight bars, each of the 12 tones of the chromatic scale is sounded at least once. It is no less difficult to write a set of variations on such a theme than it is to write a fugue on Bach’s chromatic subject. Both are equally unpromising, yet both motivated their respective composers to produce some very extraordinary music. 

Did Mendelssohn feel challenged to see what he could do working in the variations form with a thoroughly chromatic theme? Who can say? What can be said is that Schliessmann brings an expressive beauty to the slower variations and a dramatic intensity to the faster variations that I’ve rarely heard in this piece. For an example of the former, listen to Variation 14, and for the latter, to Variation 9. 

Disc two is considerably shorter, consisting mainly of Schumann’s Fantasie in C, op. 17, followed by Chopin’s Waltz in CT Minor, the second number in the composer’s set of Three Waltzes, op. 64. And finally, there come the two encore pieces listed in the headnote to this review. 

Schumann’s Fantasie, as a composition, needs no introduction. It’s likely his greatest and most famous work for solo piano, not to mention one of his top contenders for most technically difficult. In fact, on a scale of 1 to 5, pianolibrary.orgrates the second movement of it the penultimate entry in its category 5 list, edged out only by the Presto finale of the composer’s Piano Sonata No. 2 in G Minor. 

Such ratings, of course, are relative. What poses near insurmountable difficulties for one player, another player might find more tractable to his or her technique. If Schliessmann is challenged by the piece, you wouldn’t know it from listening to him play it. He has reached the pinnacle sought and coveted by all players, which is to surmount all technical obstacles to the point where conscious awareness of them ceases to exist and all that is left is to dwell in the higher realm of pure music-making. 

Burkard Schliessmann is in that class of musicians. His latest album is most assuredly a must-have for pianists and lovers of solo piano music, but also, I’d say for the general music lover as an example of what musicianship at its finest is all about.

Schliessmann writes “I feel how each listener in the audience is listening to me, and I feel its warmness, for example, and I give it back to the complete audience. I feel the intensity of hearing, of listening. This is like electricity, and this I give back to the audience.” Schliessmann gives his audience here a generous program of pieces that are very close to him. This recording was made on 3-5 April 2023 at the Fazioli Concert Hall in Sacile, Italy. Besides these incredible performances we are able to enjoy this program in state of the art Dolby Atmos high-definition audio. The hybrid multichannel SACD is presented as a beautiful 2 CD boxed set and 60 page booklet, but is currently having some minor production problems and should be back in stock soon. In the meantime, I was able to enjoy the program via a download. 

There is a 60 page booklet that I also downloaded. Schliessmann provides an extensive and well-written booklet essay (about 20 pages each in English, German and French). It gives the listener a good insight into the tremendous musical mind at work here. Divine Art’s production values have been quite impressive in recent years, and never more so than on the Schliessmann releases that have come my way. From the very high-definition audio to the mixing and balance to the booklet design, pictures and texts, I cannot believe any artist could ever hope for anything more than this label regularly delivers.

Special mention should be made of the various brilliant movements and sections, whether Bach, Mendelssohn or Schumann. Schliessmann never loses track of the melodies and they are always shaped and given sensitive dynamic shading. While these are characteristics we expect in the slower movements, it is a revelation when they are applied to technically demanding, brilliant movements. I cite a few examples here: Bach’s Partita: Capriccio, Italian Concerto: III, Mendelssohn’s Variations 16 and 17, and Schumann’s Fantasy: II. A number of young pianists seem to take these movements as fast as possible, probably to show off their technical skills. Not Schliessmann, for he has no technical limitations, but finds and brings out the melodies here and keeps the level of excitement and virtuosity present without being overpowering to the music.

Part of the reason I have enjoyed listening to this exceptional program many times is Schliessmann’s playing at any tempo is always rhythmically alive. Bach’s Fantasia is full of virtuosic, quick passages that move into some slower chordal sections. There is always a forward rhythmic movement, even when he’s slowing down for a contrasting section. The slow movement of the Italian Concerto can be uninteresting if taken too slowly with little sense of the flow of the melody. With Bach’s ornamentation the second half, this presents more rhythmic challenges. I have never heard a better performance of this movement than Schliessmann’s on this disc. It is perfect. The long build up to the climax of the third movement of Schumann’s Fantasie, a glorious outpouring of Schumann’s love for Clara, is another place where the rhythm must move the piece forward. This performance makes that inevitable moment eagerly anticipated and as well as eminently satisfying.

The Bach pieces are a part of Schliessmann’s repertoire that he recorded and released before (Divine Art SACD 25751, see a feature article in Fanfare 38:4, Mar/Apr 2015). These fully exploit the resources of the modern grand piano. As the pianist points out, if you are going to play Bach on the piano, use everything it is capable of. His ornamentation is always tasteful and appropriate. He also points out that the current performances are just the most recent in a line of performances going back to his youth. His artistry has matured over all these years, and the performances here are revelatory. Given that his forthcoming Schumann disc was recorded after this one, I anticipate more great and fascinating performances from Schliessmann in the near future.

It is impossible to find words to give this recording a higher recommendation. It has already earned a spot on my want list for the current year and I’ll continue to listen to it regularly. 

This most recent release by German classical Burkard Schliessmann appeals – via Schliessmann’s extensive liner notes – to an antique aesthetic dating back both to Plato and Boethius, an emphasis on proportion in artistic vales that invokes the Quadrivium in Plato’s Classical Greece, which established rules for aesthetic balance. The question then arises whether, perhaps in imitation of the equally elaborate exegeses of Artur Schnabel for his studied edition of Beethoven piano sonatas, Schliessmann fulfills and realizes his ambitions or as, in the case of Schnabel, he abandons an elaborately wrought, intellectual exercise in favor of a purely emotional response. Or is some Aristotelian “middle way” at work, a chiseled fusion of ratio and eros that renders Schliessmann’s selected repertory in naturally organic proportion? 

Schliessmann begins with Bach’s 1731 Partita No. 2 in C Minor from the set “Clavier-Übung I,” whose richly intoned Overture on the Paolo Fazioli instrument rings with alert authority. Moving from sinfonia to fugue, the movement sings first in arioso then contrapuntal texture. The succeeding Allemande in quadruple meter maintains the clear, vocal character in Bach’s especial polyphony. Fiery energy marks the Courante, its triple meter gallop invested with passing ornaments that will soon illuminate the various galanterie elements embedded in this dance suite. The emotive heart of the piece, the Sarabande, reveals its haughty, Spanish origins, the triple meter asserting emphasis on the second beat. Schliessmann urges the pace as an andante, a confident, walking tempo. The more intricate Rondeau offers a quick dance in sprightly triple time, one beat per measure. Lastly, the Capriccio, which likes to stress the second half of the measure, music rife with agogic possibilities. Schliessmann has not sacrificed Bach’s eminently dance-like impulses for anything like academia, and the recording (3-5 April 2023) has the immediate glow of a refreshed consideration of music of elder vintage. 

Bach conceived his 1735 Italian Concerto in F after the style established by Corelli, Torelli, and Vivaldi, involving competing musical masses, the large ripieno group against a responsive, small concertino. Originally written for a two-manual harpsichord, the texture for the modern piano demands various, dynamic niceties from Schliessmann. The ritornello theme must sound palpably at different degrees of the scale and then undergo polyphonic treatment. The assertive Allegro that opens the concert posits tonic and dominant modes immediately, the solo part’s residing in the right hand, the left’s providing the larger (orchestral) body. Those auditors used to faster, fleeter renditions may find Schliessmann a trifle precious in his articulation of Bach’s active filigree in the outer movements, a desire to combine earnestness of purpose with brilliance of correct execution. For the marvelous  Andante  movement, Schliessmann’s approach renders an operatic, cantabile melody line touched by hints of the tragic muse.  Bach eliminates any residue of musica ficta by having carefully provided every detail for ornamental realization in grace notes and turns. The last movement, Presto giocoso, asks Schliessmann to “cut the rope,” as Zorba would say it, to allow the sense of abandon to musical bliss have its way. Lively, but a touch reluctant, the Schliessmann rendition retains the high spirits of its inspiration.

The extraordinary Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue in D Minor (c. 1720) challenges Schliessmann’s capacity for intuitive improvisation, that balances a constant tension between thick, chromatic densities and disarming periods of parlando recitative. Schliessmann’s opening foray in toccata style reveals an impulsive confrontation with Bach’s often colliding effects, the urgent runs and mediative rhetoric of often enharmonic modulations and sustained pedal points. The approach we hear seems eminently Romantic in character, the sliding of harmonic shifts in dynamically altered hues having created a mist of erotic, lyrical, and spiritual tension. The studied entry of the Fugue invites “academic” or “contrived” epithets, but the evolution of the voice parts and their increased layering soon transcends the medium of the keyboard to accomplish a richly vibrant, instrumental motet. The influence of the Fazioli keyboard action contributes to the clear, gripping resonance of effect, the pungent sonority courtesy of Recording Producer and Sound Engineer Matteo Costa.  

Mendelssohn’s contribution, his 1842 Variations sérieuses, extends Schliessmann’s explorations of organic unity of musical design, the key of D minor now evidently an extension of the affektenlehre the pianist considers crucial to the architecture of his recital. That the music shares with the Schumann Fantasie the same, venerating impulse to celebrate Beethoven in a fund-raising campaign for a monument to the titan in Bonn, cements an extra-musical consistency to the program. Mendelssohn has sublimated his own impulse to virtuoso ostentation with a theme, seventeen variants, and a Presto finale that culminates a huge canvas balancing melodic beauty and structural integrity. Each of the variations arises directly out of the harmonic and rhythmic motions of its predecessor, a strategy that adumbrates procedures common to Brahms and Schoenberg. Bach’s influence resonates in Variation 10: Moderato, made lucidly apparent in Schliessmann’s tempered realization. Yet, the call to variations brillantes endures, and several of the sections reveal Schliessmann’s natural bravura when required, as in Variation 16: Allegro vivace, Variation 17 and the breathless Finale-Presto.

Schliessmann turns to his pièce de resistance, Robert Schumann’s 1836 (rev. 1839) Fantasie in C Major, whose passions embrace the gamut of tonal expressivity from Bach and Beethoven to Wagner. A hybrid work in sonata-form, the Fantasie fuses Schumann’s innate musicality with his equally ardent pursuit of the poetic impulse, its spontaneous seizure of the transcendent intuition, or what might be termed the “nostalgia for the dream.” Given its etiology as part of the scheme to raise in Bonn a monument to Beethoven, the work’s allusions to the song cycle An die ferne Geliebte, to the Moonlight Sonata, and to the A Major Sonata, Op. 101 impress, rather than embarrass, us. Schumann called his Fantasie “a profound lament” to Clara Wieck, his intended, from whom he suffered a forced separation in 1838; so, the intimately personal nature of the music seeks an exaltation, an apotheosis, in Classical, epic terms.  

Schliessmann addresses the opening chords of the rhapsodic first movement with the ardent rapture of cosmic yearning, even beyond the quoted lines from Schlegel. The  counterpoints well hint of the nexus of love and death, the height of passion confronted with the paradoxical abyss of erotic denial and fulfillment. The three-note motto in the “Legend” achieves a potent series of stretti, often leaving off on an unresolved cadence that lingers at an emotional precipice, soon to beckon for salvation way of the A-flat’s appeal to the “distant beloved.”  The ruminative passages offer moments of poetic transport, brief islands of relief between fateful urgings of the grandly sweeping landscape that feels conversant with Shelley’s synoptic West Wind. 

The E-flat Major second movement, played Moderately as directed, proffers a stoic march in dotted rhythm that might have sent the League of David in search of kindred spirits, inhabiting as it does the same universe as the second movement in Beethoven’s Op. 101. The oncoming syncopes, however, drive the music forward to the middle section, a brief intake of bliss before the relentless rush to judgment of the coda’s leaping, neurotically insistent figures.    

Schliessmann conceives the entire last movement as a dream-scape, an ardent love-song worthy of the music’s dedicatee, Franz Liszt and its spiritual inspirator, Clara Wieck. The poetically improvisational character of the music Schliessmann conveys through his restlessly searching left hand, as the music rises to the level of a long-sought chorale. The repetitive structure of the music suggests Nietzsche’s “Eternal Return,” rife with the spiritual resolve of his equally potent notion of Amor fati, love of one’s predetermined fate. The sense of freedom Schliessmann invokes at the coda reminds me less of the Moonlight Sonata than of the last pages of Beethoven’s Great Fugue, a liberation after the most strenuous of rhythmic and structural directives. 

Schliessmann, to conclude his recital proper, addresses the “iconoclastic Classicist,” Frédéric Chopin, in only one piece, his ever-popular Valse in C# Minor, Op. 64/2. Here, the fusion of freedom-in-necessity crystallizes in the application of controlled rubato, exercising a fluid, singing line within a strict pulsation. Expressively nuanced, the music accelerates and retreats in coy, salon gestures, both bemused and subtle in their tragic lilt. In its last incarnation, the motto theme seems to skitter away into the aether.

Schliessmann’s two encores return to the poetic muse as it inhabits Schumann: his “portrait” of Chopin from Carnaval, an invocation of lonely nobility of spirit; then, the unanswered question, “Warum?” from the Op. 12 Fantasy-Pieces, whose series of rising and imploring figures might tempt Silenus to respond in his tragic wisdom: only that we may pass away. Schliessmann’s recital, however, will endure.

From the grand, rolled chords of the “Sinfonia” of Bach’s Second Partita, several things become clear: this is an interpretation of conviction and clarity, caught in ideal sound and performed on a phenomenally well-prepared piano. The piano in question is a Fazioli F278, and heard on home turf; it is unsurprisingly in peak condition.

It is in Schliessmann’s use of gesture set against underlying harmonic/structural process that the genius of this reading of the Second Partita lies. The later section of the “Sinfonia” scurries along; there is real insight in the “Allemande,” too, lines unfolding limply yet with each note perfectly weighted. Again, there is a close-knit relationship between the local (the touch itself) and the higher structural level (here, the phrase). The “Courante” breathes nobility, the relationship of anacrusis and downbeat clearly micro-analysed prior to performance, ornaments always stylistically applied. Similarly, Schliessmann’s left-hand bass articulation in the “Sarabande,” a mezzo-staccato as if the notes came from a bowed cello, is both carefully judged and perfectly executed. How teasingly Schliessmann articulates the “Rondeau”. The final “Capriccio” is taken at a steady pace, granting it a patina of tranquility underneath the surface activity. This is a fascinating reading, and the live provenance only adds to its heartfelt veracity. 

The well-known Italian Concerto also begins with an imperiously rolled chord. Ornaments once more adorn the musical surface with grace, and Bach’s harmonic sleights are well realised, in particular interrupted cadences. The central movement is taken daringly slowly, each left-hand note placed carefully, over which the right hand sings. Clarity is once more the watchword for the finale, with a repeated marked emphasis on the opening downward leap. There is an impulsive side to Schliessmann’s interpretation that is most appealing. The finest of the Bach performances, though, is that of the Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue, where gesture is all in the Fantasia. Fantasy is in the title and suffuses Schliessmann’s performance, contrasting this with the stricter fugue. There are moments of real grandeur, as if this were a transcription of an organ fugue, yet linear definition is never once compromised. The final high treble statement of the fugue seems to stretch out to the Heavens. Remarkable.

The Bach performances form a valuable appendix to Schliessmann’s Goldberg Variations. In an interview around that release in Fanfare 31:3,   Schliessmann articulates his thoughts around Bach performance, with especial reference to playing that piece on a modern piano. It is worthwhile remembering (and in a sense, the performances’ integrity) remind us that Schliessmann was at one time a pupil of the great organist Helmut Walcha, whose emphasis on the independence of voices in Bach was clearly a lesson well learned..

The account of Mendelssohn’s Variations sérieuses that follows reveals parallels with his Bach, most notably in the independence of lines (the very first variation is a clear example of this). One of Mendelssohn’s most loved works, the Variations sérieuses emerges here as a pillar of the piano repertoire. The imagination of Mendelssohn’s writing is emphasized (the fifth variation), while the sixth reminds us that Mendelssohn was perfectly capable of writing angst-laden music (think of the F-Minor String Quartet, too). The facility of the seventh variation is an object lesson in piano playing. The suddenly strict part-writing of the tenth variation is given with real sobriety of outlook, and that same analytical slant shines through variation 13. The whole coheres beautifully, leading to a finale shot through not just with dexterous energy, but with real beauty, so those final chords carry huge weight.

Over on the second disc, the Schumann Fantasie blazes forth. My review of Schliessmann’s previous recording of this (from the disc At the Heart of the Piano) appeared in Fanfare 45:3. That was a performance of huge integrity; this, too, but this one is perhaps more human at heart. One feels the impetuous surges of emotion a touch more in the first movement. I have previously written on Schliessmann’s chameleon way with the piano, that he adapts his sound appropriately to each composer. And so it is here, with Schumann as sonorous and as burnished as they come. The Fazioli supports this approach fully. The chords that close the first movement are just superbly judged, and how the recording reproduces the piano’s tone perfectly. It is in the “song” of the finale that Schliessmann really shines though. Many pianists over-project when the line goes to the middle or lower voices, but Schliessmann gets it just right. There is a momentum to Schliessmann’s finale that also feels entirely natural. Schliessmann’s interpretations just keep growing in maturity.

It is a rather nice touch that the final piece on the program was Chopin’s Waltz, op. 64/2, and the first encore is Schumann’s “Chopin” movement from Carnaval. The waltz rhythm of op. 64/2 is maintained as in few other performances, and yet the poignant undercurrent remains intense. Nothing is rushed, and yet scales still sparkle, melodies sing, and the rubato is entirely convincing. Schumann’s take on Chopin really does sound like a Schumannesque Chopin Impromptu; This is a dream of a performance: one revels both in the loveliness of the piano and in Schliessmann’s playing. Finally, back to Schumann for “Warum?,” at once a heart-led outpouring and a study in perfect part-writing: Schliessmann voices the individual lines so that it sounds like a conversation between several participants. A great way to end a fabulous recital.

An almost equal participant in this project is the sound engineer Matteo Costa, who works miracles in capturing the sound of an instrument Schliessmann is clearly besotted with (and rightly so). Detailed and expansive booklet notes by Schliessmann himself are the icing on the Fazioli cake. Schliessmann’s questing mind and solid technique present us with interpretations that convince at every level. Recommended.