Three “Impressions” from Iberia

When Debussy declared that Albéniz “put the best of himself” into Iberia he was actually understating the extent of his Spanish colleague’s achievement. In Iberia Albéniz transformed himself. It is a big work – four books of three pieces each, lasting not far short of ninety minutes in all – and it is an immense virtuoso challenge. But its greatest quality is its new language, a translation into piano terms of the authentic texture of Spanish folk music, not just its characteristic rhythms and its modal harmonies but its actual sound, the plucked articulation of the guitar, the impassioned singing voice, the percussive effects of castanets, hand claps and heel taps.

As an introduction to the series and an evocation of the spirit of Spanish music rather than an allusion to one particular place, Evocación is more generalised in its local colouring than the other pieces in the collection. The essential quality of the nostalgic, reputedly Basque melody that opens the piece in A flat minor is not its regional associations but the dreamily impressionistic harmonies in which it is set and developed. The expressive second subject, which rises in the left hand under C flat major arpeggios in the right, is rather more specific in the unmistakably flamenco-style decoration of its cadences. After a poetically effective recall of the second subject in A flat major, in the right hand this time, the piece very quietly and ruminatively ends in that key.

The port referred to in El Puerto, the second piece in the first book of Iberia, has been identified as Santa Maria on the Bay of Cádiz. Albéniz recalls the atmosphere of the place with a polo, an animated dance in 6/8 time set here in D flat major and coloured by brusque syncopations and vigorous heel tappings. A more expressive melody is introduced low in the left hand but, although it is developed alongside the opening theme in the middle section, it has little part to play in the last section of the piece, which joyously recalls the polo tune before taking a lingering farewell of it.

arranged for orchestra by Enrique Arbós (1863–1939)

Although he was born in Catalonia, Isaac Albéniz wasn’t specially interested in Catalan folk music. There are a few Catalan inspirations among his earlier orchestral and piano pieces but when he came to write his last great tribute to Spain in Iberia – a collection of twelve “impressions” for piano in four books completed only a year before his death – he turned almost exclusively to Andalusia for his material. For Albéniz, as for Falla and Turina after him, the flamenco or cante hondo element in the folk music of Andalusia made it much more interesting than that of the other Spanish regions. His slightly younger contemporary Enrique Arbós, who clearly shared Albeniz’s enthusiasm for flamenco, orchestrated eight of the piano impressions with the idiomatic authenticity that only a musician with a long experience of the Spanish folk tradition,    together with a conductor’s intimate knowledge of the orchestra, could command.       

As an evocation of the spirit of Spanish music rather than an allusion to one particular place, Evocación is more generalised in its local colouring than the other pieces in the collection. The essential quality of the nostalgic, reputedly Basque melody that opens the piece on cor anglais is not its regional associations but the dreamily impressionistic harmonies in which it is set and developed. The expressive second subject, which rises on lower strings with comments from a trumpet, is rather more specific in the unmistakably flamenco-style decoration of its cadences. After a poetically effective recall of the second subject, on flute this time, the piece ends in quiet rumination.

El Albaicín, named after the old gypsy quarter in Granada, is one of the most seductive of all Albéniz’s evocations of Andalusia. It reminded Debussy “of those Spanish evenings filled with the perfume of carnations and the alcohol fumes of aguardiente.” A sultry nocturnal scene, it is based on two themes, each representing a basic element of flamenco music – a dance rhythm, first heard on bassoon, that gets nearer and more animated and, after a short pause, an expressive cante jondo melody introduced by flute and bass clarinet in the Dorian mode. The two are developed in alternation and ever more passionately. The great inspiration of the piece, however, is not so much its central climax as an epilogue that reintroduces the cante jondo in a serene tranquillity preserved until the suddenly violent ending.

Albéniz’s evocation of the Triana district of Seville takes the same shape as El Albaicín.    A lively dance introduced by woodwind is set in direct contrast to song-like material with a more sustained melodic line on flute. They are developed in an extraordinary and highly imaginative episode of orchestral bravura and recalled with even more virtuoso brilliance when they are combined in counterpoint in the recapitulation. Just before the very loud closing two bars, the otherwise quiet coda at last makes explicit on pizzicato violins the guitar figuration that has been implied in most of those Spanish impressions.

Although he was born, like Granados, in Catalonia, Albéniz wasn’t specially interested in Catalan folk music. There are a few Catalan inspirations among his earlier orchestral and piano pieces but when he came to write his last great tribute to Spain, Iberia - a collection of twelve “Impressions” in four books completed only a year before his death - he turned almost exclusively to Andalusia for his material. For Albeniz, as for Falla and Turina after him, the flamenco or cante hondo element in the folk music of Andalusia made it much more interesting than that of the other Spanish regions. After the introductory Evocación, the one piece in Iberia that is not associated in one way or another with the South of Spain is Lavapiés, which clearly derives from Madrid.

As an evocation of the spirit of Spanish music rather than an allusion to one particular place, Evocación is more generalised in its local colouring than the other pieces in the collection. The essential quality of the nostalgic, reputedly Basque melody that opens the piece in A flat minor is not its regional associations but the dreamily impressionistic harmonies in which it is set and developed. The expressive second subject, which rises in the left hand under C flat major arpeggios in the right, is rather more specific in the unmistakably flamenco-style decoration of its cadences. After a poetically effective recall of the second subject in A flat major, in the right hand this time, the piece very quietly and ruminatively ends in that key.

The port referred to in El Puerto, the second piece in the first book of Iberia, has been identified as Santa Maria on the Bay of Cádiz. Albéniz recalls the atmosphere of the place with a polo, an animated dance in 6/8 time set here in D flat major and coloured by brusque syncopations and vigorous heel tappings. A more expressive melody is introduced low in the left hand but, although it is developed alongside the opening theme in the middle section, it has little part to play in the last section of the piece, which joyously recalls the polo tune before taking a lingering farewell of it.

One of the stylistic elements that makes Albéniz’s use of Spanish folk music seem so authentic here - even though the piano is an instrument completely alien to its traditions - is his constant awareness of the sound and the characteristic articulation and figurations of the guitar. This is nowhere clearer than in Triana, the third piece in the second book of Iberia. He did not, on the other hand, forget the virtuoso keyboard technique he had learned from Liszt, which is another striking feature of Triana.

Albéniz’s evocation of the Triana district of Seville takes the same shape as most of the other movements in the collection, with a lively dance set in direct contrast to a song-like material with a more sustained melodic line. Both themes are introduced in the first place as though by a guitar, or at least accompanied by one, but they are developed in an extraordinary and highly imaginative episode of Lisztian bravura and recalled with even more virtuoso brilliance when they are combined in counterpoint in the recapitulation. The quiet coda, apart from the very loud last two bars, is pure guitar.