Description
Julian Bream’s (1933–2020) guitar transcriptions belong to that historical juncture when, from the end of the nineteenth into the early twentieth century, the guitar ceased to be confined to the salon and bourgeois sociability and began to claim a place on the major concert platform. For an instrument hungry for recognition, it was essential not only to secure new works from leading contemporaries but, above all, to outgrow its practical constraints: playing music conceived for more prestigious instruments such as violin, cello or piano served both as a test of mettle and as a bid for parity. The prize was a place among the principal concert instruments.
Those who drove the guitar’s modern ascent were also deft transcribers. Such were the Spaniards Francisco Tárrega, Miguel Llobet and, ultimately, Andrés Segovia, to whom received opinion attributes the instrument’s revival. In the later twentieth century several guitarists extended the canon beyond the Segovian paradigm, and Bream stands prominently among them.
Although he never disowned the repertoire championed by Segovia, centred on Impressionism and on a largely Spanish Romanticism, Bream is widely regarded as the standard-bearer for a generation of composers far removed from Iberian and neoclassical idioms. Berkeley, Britten, Maxwell Davies and Walton are the best-known names associated with his commissions and performances. Alongside this, Bream left a formidable body of transcriptions spanning the Renaissance and Baroque through to the historical avant-gardes of the twentieth century.
The modern guitar readily assimilates the lute and cognate repertories as notated in tablature from the Renaissance well into the eighteenth century. More extensive adaptation is required with instruments such as the baroque lute, whose tuning differs from the modern guitar’s and whose compass lies markedly deeper in the bass.
The Tombeau that the German composer-lutenist Sylvius Leopold Weiss (1687–1750) wrote on the death of the Bohemian count and lutenist Jan Antonín Losy (Logy) betrays, in its fluent mutability, an improvisatory, toccata-like provenance bound up with the instrument’s tuning. Bream must forgo the baroque lute’s basses and the resonant, cushioned bloom that its tuning affords; the guitar version, inevitably leaner, nonetheless preserves the work’s original momentum and, if anything, brings its lyric impulse into clearer focus.
Most of the Bream transcriptions on this album, however, derive from keyboard originals. The harpsichord and the piano have exerted a powerful fascination on guitarists for centuries, and Bream was no exception. Certain polyphonic textures lend themselves naturally to transfer, and the originals at times contain figures whose physical gesture is all but guitaristic.
Hence the long tradition of adapting Domenico Scarlatti’s (1685–1757) sonatas for harpsichord for the guitar—so much so that performers often receive them almost as if they were original pieces. Segovia was quick to sense the guitar’s potential within this vast corpus. Bream not only performed some of Segovia’s Scarlatti arrangements; he also produced his own, as with the Sonata K87 heard here. Its design is in two repeated halves, shaped by a measured, austere lyricism. Bream moves the key from B minor to E minor, minimising losses in the polyphony and exploiting the guitar’s resonance to the full; the result glows with a beauty at once plaintive and luminous.
E minor—so favoured by the guitar for its plaintive, elegiac colouring—is likewise Bream’s choice for Lied ohne Worte, op. 19 no. 6 by Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (1809–1847). Its evocative designation, Venetianisches Gondellied (Venetian barcarolle), had already drawn the attention of Francisco Tárrega, who made his own version. It is reasonable to suppose that Bream began from that precedent, pruning decorations that might impede the rocking cantabile lines of this delicate romance. What lends the arrangement its distinctive timbre is Bream’s use of harmonics, which reach into the upper register with an ethereal emission akin to a spun bel canto line.
By contrast, Bream’s transcriptions from Isaac Albéniz (1860–1909) and Enrique Granados (1867–1916) are rooted in a more earthbound physicality. These are piano pieces already shot through with gestures that nod towards the guitar and other plucked instruments. Tárrega, Llobet and Segovia grasped this affinity and, with their adaptations from Albéniz, Granados and Malats, helped crystallise the archetypal bond between the guitar and Spain. Bream’s reimaginings are no less compelling.
«Nel silenzio della notte, che interrompe il sussurro delle brezze rese profumate dai gelsomini, le guzlas suonano accompagnando le serenate e diffondendo nell’aria melodie ardenti e note dolci come l’ondeggiare delle palme nell’alto dei cieli». The epigraph Albéniz places above Córdoba, the last of the four Cantos de España, op. 232, ushers us into a swiftly alternating sequence of scenes: tolling funeral bells, singers of expansive theatrical gesture, and players of plucked instruments punctuating the moment with irreverent rasgueos. The sensual, allusive Spain of Córdoba finds in the guitar—more readily than in the piano—its most authentic voice. Bream deploys every resource, from harmonics to reiterated tremolo, to sustain the work’s gestural charge and to recast it on the guitar with renewed pictorial vigour. Much the same holds for Cataluña from the Suite Española, op. 47 no. 2: here Bream resorts to scordatura on the two lowest strings to preserve the colour of the original key (G minor) and to heighten its languid, insinuating expressivity.
Enrique Granados’s Valses poéticos, far less voluptuous in character, seem to echo the alternating male and female personae of the zarzuela—works of the musical stage that played a major role in shaping Spanish musical identity. Conceived as a tight-knit cycle, the Valses weave recurrent motifs throughout and even bring back the opening waltz at the close. Bream extracts the second and the seventh numbers; the outcome is an exuberant tour de force that scarcely leaves one missing the piano’s sonorities.
So too with Bream’s transcription of Melodie ludowe (Folk Melodies), a piano cycle by the Polish composer Witold Lutosławski (1913–1994). This is the first complete guitar transcription of the set, in which Lutosławski reworks twelve Polish folk tunes for pedagogical use. A piquant harmonic palette—polytonal inflections, chromatic spice—and sharply etched metres keep the ear alert. Acknowledging the piano’s superior resources, Bream chooses, with seasoned craft, to shift registers and keys where needed and to thin the polyphony with discretion.
If, as the old adage has it, translation entails a measure of betrayal, then a certain latitude may be the price of preserving the music’s original spark. The success of Bream’s results amply vindicates his relaxed stance towards authorship. Thus the guitar’s literature has been able to absorb a composer like Lutosławski, who otherwise stands outside the idiom of six strings; the same may be said of Bream’s transcriptions from another composer beyond the guitar’s orbit, Béla Bartók (1881–1945).
The Petite Suite presented here—never recorded by Bream—is a succinct anthology drawn from the 44 Duos for Two Violins. The transcriber’s aim is to juxtapose movements in an order not envisaged by Bartók so as to trace an expressive arch that begins in rarefaction, quickens, and returns to stillness. Written for a register far higher than the guitar’s, the original duo texture obliges Bream to reinforce the lower range, whether by his own invention or by taking cues from Bartók’s self-arrangements. Notably, the suite’s final movement also appears in the piano cycle For Children; the first, third and fifth movements likewise occur in the piano Petite Suite that Bartók fashioned from the 44 Duos.
As at the date of this booklet, the Bream transcriptions presented here remain unpublished. They were studied directly at the Jerwood Library of the Trinity Laban Conservatoire in London, to which Bream donated his scores. Through patient archival work these versions—legendary through Bream’s recordings yet still inaccessible to the wider public—are brought back into circulation, restoring an important chapter in twentieth-century guitar playing. In so doing, we revive not only works by great composers but also the contribution of a guitarist, Julian Bream, whose artistic legacy is still less widely recognised than it should be.
Leonardo De Marchi
Venice, 16 October 2025
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Artist(s)
Giulio Cecchi
Giulio Cecchi is an Italian guitarist born in Florence in 1997. He began his studies with Diego Lopilato and Flavio Cucchi. In 2019, he earned his Bachelor’s degree with full marks and honors from the Fiesole School of Music under the guidance of Silvano Mazzoni, and in 2022 he completed his Master’s degree, also with full marks, honors, and a special mention, at the “O. Vecchi – A. Tonelli” Musical Institute in Modena, where he studied with Andrea Dieci.
Between October 2022 and April 2024, he carried out an Erasmus+ internship at the London Performing Academy of Music (LPMAM), studying with Sam Cave and Johan Löfving, and was awarded an Advanced Diploma in Performance with Distinction.
He has attended the guitar courses at the Accademia Musicale Chigiana in Siena and the “Incontri Chitarristici” in Gargnano with Oscar Ghiglia and Elena Papandreou, and has participated in masterclasses with Timo Korhonen, Andrea Dieci, Antigoni Goni, and Eliot Fisk.
Giulio has received numerous awards, including First Prize at the “Città di Moncalieri” European Music Competition, First Prize at the “G. Rospigliosi” National Competition, and Second Prize at the London Classical Music Competition.
He performs regularly in both solo and chamber music settings throughout Italy and the United Kingdom, with a particular focus on contemporary repertoire. He is the dedicatee of Salai (2019), a work for solo guitar by Marco Bonechi. In 2024, he took part as first guitar in the world premiere of the new edition of Concert Català by Álvaro Company, a work for ten guitars revised and conducted by Vincenzo Saldarelli.
He forms a guitar–flute duo with Emma Longo, which has received several prizes, including First Prize at the Premio “G. Alberghini”, the Florence Guitar Competition, and the Crescendo Competition, as well as a prestigious scholarship offered by the Lions Club of Modena. He also performs in a guitar duo with Lorenzo Pampaloni, appearing frequently in renowned concert series across Tuscany, such as Sagrati in Musica in Florence.
A dedicated and passionate teacher, Giulio currently holds the guitar chair at I.C. “Abba” in Cairo Montenotte, the Artes School of Music in Prato, and the Mabellini School of Music and Dance in Pistoia.
In 2024, his project “UnOriginal”—focused on Bream’s transcriptions—received a scholarship from Residenze Erranti, whose support contributed to the production of his debut album, released by Da Vinci Publishing.
Composer(s)
Béla Bartok: (b Nagyszentmiklós, Hungary [now Sînnicolau Mare, Romania], 25 March 1881; d New York, 26 Sept 1945). Hungarian composer, ethnomusicologist and pianist. Although he earned his living mainly from teaching and playing the piano and was a relentless collector and analyst of folk music, Bartók is recognized today principally as a composer. His mature works were, however, highly influenced by his ethnomusicological studies, particularly those of Hungarian, Romanian and Slovak peasant musics. Throughout his life he was also receptive to a wide variety of Western musical influences, both contemporary (notably Debussy, Stravinsky, Schoenberg) and historic; he acknowledged a change from a more Beethovenian to a more Bachian aesthetic stance in his works from 1926 onwards. He is now considered, along with Liszt, to be his country’s greatest composer, and, with Kodály and Dohnányi, a founding figure of 20th-century Hungarian musical culture.
Domenico Scarlatti (b Naples, 26 Oct 1685; d Madrid, 23 July 1757). Composer and harpsichordist, sixth child of (1) Alessandro Scarlatti and Antonia Anzaloni. He never used his first Christian name (which could have led to confusion with his nephew Giuseppe): his name is always given in Italy as Domenico (or the familiar Mimo) Scarlatti, and in Portugal and Spain as Domingo Escarlate (Escarlati or Escarlatti).
Enrique Granados: (b Lérida [Lleida], 27 July 1867; d at sea, English Channel, 24 March 1916). Catalan composer and pianist. Though he enjoyed considerable fame in his native Barcelona, within Spain as a whole his music was less well known than his enduring reputation as the composer of ‘La maja y el ruiseñor’ from Goyescas might suggest. Apart from Goyescas (in its original version for piano), only his Danzas españolas and his first opera María del Carmen brought him significant national acclaim, and relatively few of his 140-odd works were published or performed regularly in his lifetime. A comprehensive view of his work has been hampered by the prevailing but misconceived tendency to divide his music into three compositional periods – known, misleadingly, as the ‘Nationalistic’, the ‘Romantic’ and the ‘Goyesque’ – with a disproportionate emphasis on his Goyescas. Sadly, the greater part of his diverse and extensive output remains obscure and unpublished and, as yet, no detailed study has been made of his life.
(b Hamburg, 3 Feb 1809; d Leipzig, 4 Nov 1847). German composer. One of the most gifted and versatile prodigies, Mendelssohn stood at the forefront of German music during the 1830s and 40s, as conductor, pianist, organist and, above all, composer. His musical style, fully developed before he was 20, drew upon a variety of influences, including the complex chromatic counterpoint of Bach, the formal clarity and gracefulness of Mozart and the dramatic power of Beethoven and Weber.
Mendelssohn’s emergence into the first rank of 19th-century German composers coincided with efforts by music historiographers to develop the concept of a Classic–Romantic dialectic in 18th and 19th-century music. To a large degree, his music reflects a fundamental tension between Classicism and Romanticism in the generation of German composers after Beethoven.
Isaac Albéniz: (b Camprodón, Gerona, 29 May 1860; d Cambo-les-Bains, 18 May 1909). Spanish composer and pianist. When he was a year old he moved with his family to Barcelona. His musical propensities soon became apparent, and his sister Clementina gave him piano lessons when he was about three and a half. A child prodigy, he made his first public appearance at about five, at the Teatro Romea in Barcelona. Shortly afterwards he began lessons with Narciso Oliveras. In 1867 he was taken to Paris where, it is said, he studied privately with Antoine-François Marmontel, eventually taking the entrance exam for the Paris Conservatoire; though impressed with his talent, the jury is said to have refused him admission because he was too immature. In 1868 Albéniz’s father lost his government post, and, to earn money, took Isaac and Clementina on recital tours of the Spanish provinces. Soon the family moved to Madrid, where Albéniz was enrolled in the Escuela Nacional de Música y Declamación (now the Real Conservatorio Superior de Música). His studies were constantly interrupted; having experienced the life of a travelling virtuoso, he repeatedly gave recitals in the provinces or wherever fate took him. He returned intermittently to Madrid and studied for a time with Eduardo Compta and José Tragó. His travels took him to Puerto Rico and Cuba in 1875 before he finally settled down to serious studies.
Albéniz returned to Europe and enrolled at the Leipzig Conservatory in May 1876 but remained there for only two months; by summer he was back in Madrid seeking financial aid. Through the intercession of Guillermo Morphy, secretary to King Alfonso XII, he obtained a pension to attend the Brussels Conservatory. There he studied the piano until 1879, first with Franz Rummel and then with Louis Brassin, obtaining a first prize. He did not, as many biographers claim, go on to study with Liszt, though he seems to have travelled to Budapest in August 1880 with the goal of meeting the Abbé. By mid-September 1880 Albéniz was again in Madrid pursuing his performing career. He made tours of Spain and appearances in the Spanish-speaking Americas. He also began to conduct, and by 1882 he had become administrator and conductor of a touring zarzuela company in Spain. It is probably from this time that his earliest attempts at zarzuela originate – El canto de salvación, ¡Cuanto más viejo …! and Catalanes de Gracia. In 1883 he moved to Barcelona where he studied composition with Felipe Pedrell. While still continuing to perform he gave piano lessons, and on 23 June 1883 he married his pupil Rosa Jordana. By the end of 1885 they had moved to Madrid, where, through the protection of his old friend Morphy, Albéniz firmly established himself in Madrid’s musical life, performing in the homes of nobility, organizing and participating in concerts and teaching. By 1886 he had written over 50 works, principally for piano, and on 21 March 1887 he gave a concert in the Salon Romero devoted solely to his own music. His own works were also featured in a series of 20 concerts given under the auspices of Erard, the French piano manufacturer, at the French pavilion of the 1888 Universal Exposition in Barcelona. A facile improviser, Albéniz composed quickly, producing a large body of solo piano pieces, much of it delightfully inspired salon music (dances, études and character-pieces) in simple forms, redolent with repeats. But he also undertook more ambitious projects, two piano concertos (op.78 and the Rapsodia española) and a four-movement symphonic piece (Escenas sinfónicas). By 1889 he was well known as a pianist-composer, with his compositions published by Spain’s leading music publishers. In March he gave concerts in Paris; a few months later he appeared in London, where his success ensured repeated visits. In June 1890 he placed himself under exclusive contract as a composer and performing musician to the manager Henry Lowenfeld and moved to London by the end of the year with his wife and children (Alfonso, Enriqueta, and Laura; two others, Blanca and Cristina, had died in early childhood). Notable among the concerts Albéniz gave under Lowenfeld’s management were two in November 1890 focussing on modern Spanish orchestral music, and a series of ten chamber music concerts that took place in the first half of 1891 (for which he invited his friend the violinist Enrique Fernández Arbós to participate).
Through Lowenfeld, who was associated with musical theatre, Albéniz agreed to compose music for a comic opera, The Magic Opal, written by Arthur Law. He also came into contact with Horace Sedger, manager of the Lyric Theatre, and became involved with its production of Incognita (an adaptation of Charles Lecocq’s Le coeur et la main, opening 6 October 1892). On 19 January 1893 The Magic Opal, a work in the vein of Gilbert and Sullivan, had its première at the Lyric. After a successful run, it was revised slightly and staged at the Prince of Wales Theatre as The Magic Ring (11 April 1893) with Albéniz conducting. The next offering at the Prince of Wales, Poor Jonathan (15 June 1893), was an adaptation of Carl Millöcker’s Der arme Jonathan to which Albéniz contributed some numbers and acted as musical director.
Albéniz’s theatrical involvement brought him to the attention of Francis Burdett Money-Coutts, heir to the banking fortune of Coutts & Co. and financial investor in both the Prince of Wales and Lyric theatres. Money-Coutts, an amateur poet and playwright, had become a partner with Lowenfeld in the contract concerning Albéniz’s musical talents; by July 1894 Money-Coutts was Albéniz’s sole patron.
After Poor Jonathan, Albéniz moved back to the continent because of illness, settling in Paris. He soon resumed his performing activities in Spain, at the same time working on Henry Clifford, an opera based on the Wars of the Roses to a libretto by Money-Coutts. He spent the summer of 1894 in Paris completing the score as well as composing yet another stage work, San Antonio de la Florida, a one-act zarzuela to a libretto by Eusebio Sierra; this was first given in Madrid, at the Teatro Apolo on 26 October 1894, the composer conducting. Because it was more ambitious musically than the typical zarzuela in the accepted género chico style, San Antonio was not entirely successful. A month later Albéniz conducted his Magic Opal (presented in Sierra’s Spanish translation under the title of La sortija) at the Teatro de la Zarzuela and was again criticized for writing a work that did not conform to the established mould. Disgusted, he returned to Paris. Albéniz was not the only Spanish composer to encounter resistance from the establishment. Efforts to elevate the artistic content of the zarzuela as well as to create a Spanish national opera (vigorously supported by Tomás Bretón and Felipe Pedrell) repeatedly faced deep-rooted prejudices.
In March 1895 Albéniz appeared as a soloist in a concert series sponsored by the Sociedad Catalana de Conciertos in the Teatro Lírico in Barcelona. The series of five concerts, fostered by Albéniz, was conducted by d’Indy, and marked the beginning of their friendship. Ernest Chausson, whose Viviane was performed on the series, became a close friend of Albéniz as well. In time Albéniz formed close ties with Charles Bordes, Paul Dukas and Fauré, and became a cherished member of the French musical community.
On 8 May 1895 Albéniz conducted the première of Henry Clifford at the Gran Teatro del Liceo in Barcelona. As was the custom there, the work was performed in Italian. Though not appreciated by the general public it proved a success with the critics, who felt that the music showed promise. Money-Coutts’s and Albéniz’s next endeavour was a one-act opera based on the novel Pepita Jiménez by Juan Valera. It had its première on 5 January 1896 at the Gran Teatro del Liceo (in Italian) to the decidedly enthusiastic applause of the general public; the press however were disappointed, having hoped for something more substantial from the composer of Henry Clifford. In March and April Albéniz set a group of poems by Money-Coutts and also began (though left incomplete) work on a choral piece Lo llacsó with text by the Catalan poet Apeles Mestres. Albéniz not only promoted Spanish music (his own as well as that of his compatriots) in the concerts he organized but also actively participated in the modernismo movement for the resurgence of Catalan culture, which had taken hold in Barcelona in the 1890s. By September Albéniz had expanded Pepita to two acts and, though he continued to give concerts, much of 1896–7 was devoted to promoting the opera’s performance. On 22 June 1897 Pepita, conducted by Franz Schalk, was produced in German at the German Theatre in Prague to great praise. Angelo Neumann, manager of the theatre, contracted Albéniz to compose two stage works, which did not however materialize. Instead, the composer embarked on a trilogy, King Arthur, to a libretto by Money-Coutts. Albéniz’s talent for inventing attractive vocal lines woven around a vibrant orchestral fabric had formed the compositional basis for Clifford and Pepita, operas that succeed from moment to moment. The immense undertaking of a trilogy, however, daunted rather than excited Albéniz’s imagination. Contrary to his usual speed, Albéniz took four years to finish Merlin (1898–1902), Lancelot was left incomplete after the beginning of the second act and Guenevere remained untouched.
Meanwhile, from 1896, in addition to composing songs, many on texts by Money-Coutts, Albéniz sought inspiration from his native land in works for solo piano and for orchestra. Notable was La vega (initially intended for orchestra), which marked a turning-point in his piano style; his deliberate exploitation of the sonorous properties of the piano, juxtaposing its different registers and utilizing the piano for its colouristic effects, foreshadows Iberia.
From 1898 to 1900 he taught advanced piano at the Schola Cantorum (among his students was Déodat de Séverac); he had to resign because of poor health and in 1900 left Paris for the warmer climate of Spain. In Barcelona he became associated with Enric Morera and the movement to promote the performance of Catalan lyrical works. He made repeated attempts to have Merlin and Pepita Jiménez produced in both Madrid and Barcelona but met constant opposition from the establishment. In 1902 Albéniz agreed to compose a three-act zarzuela to a libretto by Cristóbal de Castro, La real hembra. He set little more than the prelude and first two scenes however, and Castro never completed the libretto. Though Albéniz had support from the press, his international reputation was a liability. He was viewed as a Spaniard ‘in foreign attire’ and thus not only lacked commitment from the public and the impresarios but also suffered from their intrigues and jealousies. Since all efforts to secure performances of his lyric works failed, at the end of 1902 Albéniz returned to France where, esteemed by colleagues there, he felt he could more effectively advance the cause of Spanish music.
Suffering from Bright’s disease, he spent much time in the warmer climate of Nice. He resumed work on Lancelot, eventually putting it aside to revise the orchestration of Pepita for a performance in French at the Théâtre de la Monnaie, Brussels. Pepita, along with San Antonio de la Florida (translated into French as L’ermitage fleuri), was given on 3 January 1905 to enthusiastic reviews. Albert Carré, director of the Paris Opéra-Comique, expressed interest in Pepita, but it was not given there until 1923. Although the Monnaie announced plans to perform Merlin the following winter in a French translation by Maurice Kufferath, the production did not materialize. In April 1905 Albéniz began a lyric drama in four acts entitled La morena, but this too was left incomplete. Heeding the advice of his friends and the dictates of his conscience, he returned to the composition of piano music. From 1905 to 1908 he wrote his masterpiece, Iberia, a collection of 12 ‘impressions’ (as the work was subtitled) in four books, wherein he captured and immortalized the sounds and rhythms of his native country. Whereas the first two books of Iberia, though difficult in certain aspects, emphasize colour, the remaining pieces show a greater density of texture and an increased demand for virtuoso technique, a change in style that can be attributed to the pianist Joaquín Malats (winner of the prestigious Diémier prize in 1903). Deeply impressed by Malats’s interpretation of Triana from Iberia, Albéniz composed the last two books under the direct influence of his esteemed compatriot’s phenomenal abilities, creating music of extreme technical difficulty. Albéniz attempted the orchestration of the first book of Iberia, but not satisified with the results he asked Arbós to accomplish the task. Arbós ultimately orchestrated Triana and El Albaicín (and Navarra, which was originally conceived as part of Iberia) as well. (The remaining numbers of the work were later orchestrated by Carlos Surinach.)
In 1908 Albéniz set more Coutts poems, which were ultimately published as Quatre mélodies. His final composition, Azulejos for piano, was left unfinished at his death. His remains are buried in the cemetery in Montjuïc in Barcelona.
Throughout his virtuoso career Albéniz’s playing was admired for its clarity and its exquisite delicacy of tone, qualities that were particularly lauded in his interpretations of Scarlatti. Although he made no commercial recordings, three improvisations on privately owned wax cylinders do survive and have been made available on The Catalan Piano Tradition (VAI Audio/International Piano Archive 1001, c1992).
Through his activities as a conductor, impresario, performer and composer within Spain as well as abroad, Albéniz, one of Spain’s foremost musicians, not only contributed to the rebirth of Spanish nationalism but also gained international recognition for Spanish music. Where Pedrell used folk music in his works as a basis for a national style, Albéniz preferred to suggest, rather than quote, rhythms and melodic elements to evoke the Spanish landscape. He achieved popularity at the beginning of his compositional career with salon music. With his dramatic works, his writing gained depth. By the end of his life he was creating dense polyphonic textures that combined underlying diatonic harmonies (freely mixing major and minor tonalities with modal elements), animated by vibrant ostinato rhythms, overlaid with basically simple melodic lines and gestures embroidered with chromatic filigree.
Founded in 1987 by Paloma O’Shea, the Fundación Isaac Albéniz is dedicated to promoting and aiding musical activities in Spain; it administers the International Piano Competition of Santander (founded in 1972) and also acts as a resource centre for Albéniz research in particular and Spanish music in general.
Silvius [Sylvius] Leopold Weiss
(b Breslau [now Wrocław], ?12 Oct 1686; d Dresden, 16 Oct 1750). A son of (1) Johann Jacob Weiss, he was trained by his father and in his seventh year he performed for Emperor Leopold I. By 1706 he was in the service of Count Carl Philipp of the Palatinate, who was then resident in Breslau. His earliest datable sonata, no.7 (1706), was written while he was on a visit to the court of the count’s brother in Düsseldorf. He spent 1710–14 in Italy with the Polish Prince Alexander Sobiesky. The prince lived in Rome with his mother Queen Maria Casimira, who engaged first Alessandro and later (1709) Domenico Scarlatti as her music director. Thus Weiss doubtless worked with the Scarlattis, and probably was exposed to the music of Corelli and other composers in Rome. After the prince’s death in late 1714 Weiss returned to the North. He reentered the service of Carl Philipp, now Imperial Governor of the Tyrol, perhaps as early as 1715. By 1717 he was listed as a member of the chapel at the Saxon court in Dresden. He was formally appointed to the chapel in August 1718 with a high salary, and by 1744, he was the highest-paid instrumentalist at the court. Weiss’s activity as a performer nearly came to a premature end when in 1722 he was attacked by a French violinist named Petit who attempted to bite off the top joint of his right thumb. Handwritten notes by Weiss found in continuo parts to operas by J.A. Hasse which were performed at court between 1731 and 1749, suggest that Weiss was regularly involved in ensemble performance (see Burris); this activity may have been as important as his duties as a solo performer.
Witold Lutosławski
(b Warsaw, 25 Jan 1913; d Warsaw, 9 Feb 1994). Polish composer.
He was born into a distinguished family of the Polish landed gentry which had its estates in and around Drozdowo, on the river Narew, north-east of Warsaw. He was the youngest son of Józef Lutosławski (1881–1918), an accomplished amateur pianist who had taken lessons with Eugene d'Albert. Together with four of his brothers, Józef was active in the politics of the National Democracy Party, Endecja, which sought to align Poland with Imperial Russia in order to counter the expansionism of Imperial Germany. On the outbreak of World War I, many Poles associated with Endecja sought refuge in Russia. The Lutosławski family, who found themselves directly in the path of the invading army, left for Moscow, where Witold spent his next three years of childhood: he later recalled witnessing the commotion in the streets at the time of the 1917 February and October revolutions. Both before and during the revolutionary period, Józef Lutosławski was away from Moscow helping to organize the formation of Polish military units under the cover of the Imperial administration. But after the October revolution, the Poles found themselves in direct conflict with the victorious Bolsheviks. Józef and his brother Marian were arrested and, in September 1918, executed by firing squad. After her husband's death Maria Lutosławska left Moscow with her three sons, taking refuge at her family home in the Ukraine. Once the German occupation of Warsaw had ended on 13 November 1918, the family returned briefly to Drozdowo, the estates of which had been ravaged during the occupation, before settling again in the centre of Warsaw.