Dance Preludes

Lutoslawski was only marginally and only briefly interested in folk music as a source of material for his own compositions. “Folk music was no more than an episode for me,” he once told an interviewer. “It was restricted to an abortive attempt before the second world war, and in the first years of peace I turned towards it again, when the Polish music publishers asked me to write easy piano pieces for schools.” While he drew on folk music not only for a large volume of children’s music in the post-war period but also for several more ambitious scores, it was not entirely of his own volition. In the political conditions that prevailed in Poland at the time – as he had been made painfully aware by the banning of his allegedly “formalistic” First Symphony in 1949 – he had little choice in the matter.

During that period, however – beginning with the Little Suite in 1951 and ending with the first version of the Dance Preludes in 1954 – Lutoslawski found his own way of getting round the “soviet-realist” aesthetic. “It consisted,” he said, “of combining simple diatonic melodies with non-tonal, chromatic counterpoints and harmonies.” As he might have added, the officially required folk tunes were submitted also to a variety of highly ingenious metrical manoeuvres, not least entertainingly in the Dance Preludes. Although he is on record as saying that the Concerto for Orchestra was “the only serious piece among the folk-inspired works,” he was so satisfied with what he had achieved in the Dance Preludes that he arranged the original clarinet-and piano version for clarinet and orchestra in 1955 and re-arranged it for a chamber ensemble four years after that.

The scoring of the orchestral version of the Dance Preludes (for harp, piano, strings and percussion as well as the solo clarinet) might well have been inspired by Bartok’s Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta, distant echoes of which can be heard from time to time. The rhythmic wit, on the other hand, which is such a delightful feature of the three quick movements, is entirely characteristic of Lutoslawski. So are the elegantly poised contrapuntal relationships between clarinet and strings in the Andantino, the thoughtful bass line in the somewhat lugubrious Andante, and the finely proportioned structures - the last of which is most effectively extended by a brilliant little coda.

Gerald Larner©         

Lutoslawski was only marginally and only briefly interested in folk music as a source of material for his work. “Folk music was no more than an episode for me,” he once declared. “It was restricted to an abortive attempt before the second world war, and in the first years of peace I turned towards it again, when the Polish music publishers asked me to write easy piano pieces for schools.” While he drew on folk music not only for a large volume of children’s music in the post-war period but also for several more ambitious scores, it was not entirely of his own volition. In the political conditions that prevailed in Poland at the time – as he had been made painfully aware by the banning of his allegedly “formalistic” First Symphony in 1949 – he had little choice in the matter.

During that period, however, beginning with the Little Suite in 1951 and ending with the first version of the Dance Preludes in 1954, Lutoslawski found his own way of getting round the “soviet-realist” aesthetic. “It consisted,” he said, “of combining simple diatonic melodies with non-tonal, chromatic counterpoints and harmonies.” As he might have added, the officially required folk tunes were submitted also to a variety of highly ingenious metrical manoeuvres. Although he maintained that the Concerto for Orchestra was “the only serious piece among the folk-inspired works,” he was so satisfied with what he had achieved in the Dance Preludes that he arranged the original clarinet-and piano version for clarinet and orchestra in 1955 and re-arranged it for a chamber ensemble four years after that.

Whatever the version, Lutoslawski’s distinctively ingenious rhythms are a prominent and engaging feature, particularly in the quicker dances. The two slow ones, though they too have their intriguing rhythms, are more remarkable for other things – the Andantino for its lyrical outer sections, the Andante for the passacaglia that never actually happens. A characteristic shared by the other three movements is that the metre continually changes but not always for both the piano and the clarinet at once, which means that they seem to get out of phase with each other. Although they always settle their differences within a few bars, there is an abidingly piquant sense of imminent danger, not least in the opening Allegro molto. The dramatic event in the middle of the Allegro giocoso scherzo represents the height of mutual exasperation at the metrical incompatibility of their material. Of much the same contentious rhythmic character as the first movement, the closing Allegro molto is even more exuberant, relaxing a little in the Poco più tranquillo middle section and redoubling its vigour in the brilliant little coda.

Lutoslawski was only marginally and only briefly interested in folk music as a source of material for his own compositions. “Folk music was no more than an episode for me,” he once told an interviewer. “It was restricted to an abortive attempt before the second world war, and in the first years of peace I turned towards it again, when the Polish music publishers asked me to write easy piano pieces for schools.” While he drew on folk music not only for a large volume of children’s music in the post-war period but also for several more ambitious scores, it was not entirely of his own volition. In the political conditions that prevailed in Poland at the time – as he had been made painfully aware by the banning of his allegedly “formalistic” First Symphony in 1949 – he had little choice in the matter.

During that period, however – beginning with the Little Suite in 1951 and ending with the first version of the Dance Preludes in 1954 – Lutoslawski found his own way of getting round the “soviet-realist” aesthetic. “It consisted,” he said, “of combining simple diatonic melodies with non-tonal, chromatic counterpoints and harmonies.” As he might have added, the officially required folk tunes were submitted also to a variety of highly ingenious metrical manoeuvres, not least entertainingly in the Dance Preludes. Although he is on record as saying that the Concerto for Orchestra was “the only serious piece among the folk-inspired works,” he was so satisfied with what he had achieved in the Dance Preludes that he arranged the original clarinet-and piano version for clarinet and orchestra in 1955 and re-arranged it for a chamber ensemble four years after that.

Whatever the version, the rhythmic ingenuity so characteristic of Lutoslawski is a prominent and engaging feature, particularly in the quicker movements. In the opening Allegro molto the metre continually changes but not always in both instruments at once, which means that clarinet and piano seem to get out of phase with each other. Although they always settle their differences within a few bars, there is an abidingly piquant sense of imminent danger. The Andantino is is more stable in that respect, but only in the lyrical outer sections: the quicker middle section is animated by a similar disconnect between the two instruments. Though very different in personality, the Allegro giocoso is another ternary construction, this one with outer sections where they run along happily together and a middle section where, each one with emphatic material rhythmically incompatible with they other, they reach a climax of mutual exasperation.

With its somewhat lugubrious staccato crotchets low in the pianist’s left hand, the second of the two slow movements begins as though it were about to become a passacaglia. The melody introduced above it by clarinet develops so much passion, however, as to engage the emotions of the piano, which is constrained to abandon its bass line, returning to it only as the clarinet recovers its composure. Of much the same contentious rhythmic character as the first movement, the closing Allegro molto is even more exuberant, relaxing a little in the Poco più tranquillo middle section and redoubling its vigour in the brilliant little coda.