Alina Ibragimova has made many fine recordings in recent years, but
this solo Ysaÿe disc must count as one of her most memorable
achievements. She gives full value to the sonatas’ varied expressive
character, their virtuosity, and the imaginative and poetic way Ysaÿe
wrote for his instrument. And she makes the music sound quite beautiful:
we never feel the medium of unaccompanied violin is at all limiting;
the sonatas speak to us unimpeded, without any sense of strain.
Ysaÿe
composed the set in 1924, when his illustrious performing career was
almost over. He dedicated each of the six to a different colleague among
the fraternity of violinists, and we can follow their characteristics
through the set—the First Sonata for Joseph Szigeti substantial and
serious, and reflecting his prowess as a Bach interpreter; the Third
Sonata commemorating the free, romantic style of Enescu, the Sixth
Manuel Quiroga’s Spanish heritage, and so on. Ysaÿe sought in all six
works to merge the Baroque tradition of solo violin-writing exemplified
by Bach with the virtuoso styles of Paganini and Ernst, plus newer ways
of writing of his own, leaning towards Impressionism.
At the
start of the First Sonata (track 1) we notice Ibragimova’s deliberate,
serious approach, characterised by strong dynamic contrasts and a
powerful sense of line. The playing here communicates deep emotional
involvement; and she’s equally successful in putting over the graceful,
amabile character of the contrasting third movement (tr 3).
The
Second Sonata, dedicated to Ysaÿe’s close friend Jacques Thibaud, might
appear to contradict what we know of the latter’s easy-going nature and
graceful playing, suggesting a darker side. The initial skittish
quotation from Bach’s Third Partita for Solo Violin is set against
obsessive repetitions of the ‘Dies irae’ chant, which continue
throughout the sonata. Ibragimova is equally at home in the gentle,
muted, melancholic second movement (tr 6) and the finale, ‘Les Furies’,
which she attacks with extraordinary gusto (tr 8). Especially memorable
here is the reintroduction of ‘Dies irae’ as a barely audible sul
ponticello whisper (1'10"), contrasting with fiercely dissonant
arpeggios.
With the single-movement Third Sonata, she draws a
convincing distinction between the opening in recitative style, done
very freely and as though improvised, and the main theme, held at a firm
tempo. As the sonata nears its final climax (tr 9, 7'01"), there’s a
sense of throwing caution to the wind, accomplished without any loss of
tonal quality.
The Fourth Sonata is dedicated to Fritz Kreisler,
with more Bachian echoes, as well as a nod to Kreisler’s interest in
reviving—or composing in imitation of—more obscure 18th-century
composers, with movements entitled Allemande and Sarabande. The
first of these has an extremely slow tempo marking, which Ibragimova
treats with freedom, allowing the movement’s different facets to come
together to make a satisfying narrative. And in the moto perpetuo finale
she makes full use of the varied bow strokes indicated (a tribute to
Kreisler?), building up once more a cumulative sense of excitement
towards the conclusion.
The Fifth Sonata is dedicated to Ysaÿe’s
longtime friend and colleague Mathieu Crickboom. Its opening movement,
‘L’aurore’, is an Impressionistic depiction of dawn breaking, which
allows Ibragimova to display a fantastic array of the quietest tone
colours. She brings infectious rhythmic vitality to the ‘Danse rustique’
that follows.
As well as its Spanish idiom, the Sixth Sonata
most clearly shows Ysaÿe as the heir to the great 19th-century virtuoso
tradition—he had, after all, been a pupil of Wieniawski and Vieuxtemps.
If we think of Ibragimova as a thoughtful, even scholarly player, here
she proves herself adept at all the frequent showy tricks. Ysaÿe had a
deeper purpose, of course: this piece’s sparkling surface is designed to
portray an ardent character, full of extravagant gestures. And not only
do the difficulties hold no terrors for Ibragimova, she also, as
throughout the disc, gives a strong impression of having fun playing the
music.
It seems very sad that none of the dedicatees of the
Ysaÿe Sonatas made recordings of them. It may be that though Ysaÿe the
great performer and teacher was revered, his compositions were not
considered to be significant – it’s only in recent years that a handful
of remarkable late chamber works have been unearthed and played.
Whatever the reason, the Op 27 sonatas were virtually ignored until the
LP era, and then it was individual works, most commonly No 3, that
appeared on disc—with fine accounts by Oistrakh, Grumiaux, Rabin and
Odnoposoff. Then came the first recordings of the whole set, by Ruggiero
Ricci and Oscar Shumsky (whose 1982 performance is particularly
commanding).
Since then, dozens of versions have appeared, giving
the works the status of classics. Among them, I’ve always admired
Leonidas Kavakos’s exceptionally clear, poised account from 1999. Then
there’s Thomas Zehetmair, in 2004, playing with magnificent energy and
commitment, and a feeling for the music and sense of fantasy that are
different from Ibragimova’s but in no way inferior. However, she takes
her place now as one of the most distinguished exponents of these
fascinating works. (Gramophone)