Kerson writes:
Eugène Ysaÿe – a towering musical figure of his era. Revered by both his contemporaries and future generations alike, he was an exceedingly ‘modern’ violinist who had a vital influence on violin playing as we now know it. However, his musical aptitude also extended to composition, in which he immersed himself especially later in his life as his physical state deteriorated. His art would culminate in this very set of six solo sonatas, perhaps the most important contribution to the solo violin repertoire since the writings of Bach and Paganini.
Growing up, I was always aware of Ysaÿe’s reputation, but never would I have expected from devoting myself to in-depth study of these sonatas that they would end up having such an essential impact on my artistic identity as a whole. I could think of two main reasons why this set quickly became such a passion project of mine.
Firstly – the naturalness and potency of his musical language. Ysaÿe, in the way only a great violinist could, seamlessly combines Paganini-like virtuosic elements as well as his own technical innovations with a profound and multilayered expressivity. The fact that he took only some twenty-four hours to sketch out these sonatas almost suggests that the music was aching to pour out of him. These works are firmly rooted in the past in ways even Bach would recognize, and yet feel especially fresh and relevant in today’s times.
Secondly – these sonatas give me the overwhelming impression of being personal. When faced with such an honest quality, I became oblivious to the fact that these sonatas are, first and foremost, incredibly demanding pieces to play and that a performance of all six in succession qualifies as a fiendish physical feat. The sheer substance and emotional weight present throughout make it seem as if we’re trespassing on the most private of Ysaÿe’s inner thoughts. In addition, his dedication of each sonata to six of his younger colleagues and the mindful manner in which he manages to capture certain qualities of each on the page bring forth six authentic and intimate musical portraits.
No. 1, the largest in scale, reflects the cultivated and intellectual approach of its dedicatee, the Hungarian violinist Joseph Szigeti. A performance Szigeti gave of the Bach G minor violin sonata was the catalyst for Ysaÿe’s own set, so it would make sense that this is a direct tribute to Bach, following the same form and key as said Bach sonata. Beginning with a barrage of massive chords, the solemn ‘Grave’ introduces a turbulent world in enduring conflict with itself, leaving a sense of foreboding for what comes next. The ‘Fugato’ begins calmly in its counterpoint but escalates in complexity and intensity for a grand, Herculean ending. The ‘Allegretto poco scherzoso’ offers a breather from the pervading seriousness while delivering some of the most heartfelt moments in the entire set, albeit with a hint of playfulness. The sobering ‘Finale’ abruptly breaks this reverie and dances forcefully to finish the sonata on a bombastic note.
In No. 2, the consistent appearance of the Dies Irae chant throughout paints a sardonic and macabre picture. Amidst brutal outbursts and almost schizophrenic mood swings in the ‘Obsession’, interspersed quotations of Bach’s famous E major Prelude mock the regular warmup routine of French violinist Jacques Thibaud, Ysaÿe’s close friend and dedicatee of this sonata. In stark contrast, the ‘Malinconia’ intimately confronts the idea of one’s mortality with stoic resignation, soon fading away into nothingness. The ‘Danse des Ombres’ offers some consolation through its shapeshifting variations, taking us through different memories and moods before the unhinged finale, ‘Les Furies’, shrieks its way to a truly unsettling finish.
The well-known No. 3, or ‘Ballade’, takes the same degree of contrast from the previous sonata and packs it into one arresting adrenaline rush of a movement, a full-blown effort to encapsulate the distinctive spirit of its dedicatee, the Romanian violinist and composer George Enescu. The recitative-like beginning, in which the faint calls of the violin evoke a mystical and otherworldly atmosphere, gradually metamorphoses into a primal dance full of vigorous, lurching rhythms. Despite occasional returns to the ethereal, the ever-increasing tension throughout makes an explosive high-speed conclusion inevitable.
With its movements titled as if it were a 17th century dance suite, No. 4 once again brings Bach to mind while acknowledging the ability of its dedicatee, the Austrian-American violinist Fritz Kreisler, to write pieces in a Baroque or Classical manner and pass them off as authentic works of past composers. The beginning ‘Allemande’ is deeply poignant yet noble, balancing elastic chordal gestures with intense lyricism that easily recalls Kreisler’s own golden tone. The ‘Sarabande’ weaves around a simple, reoccurring four-note motif with quiet nostalgia and the ‘Finale’, sparkling in its virtuosity, ends the sonata on a hopeful high.
No. 5, dedicated to Ysaÿe’s pupil Mathieu Crickboom, paints a vivid picture of the countryside, and perhaps reflects his desire to live a simpler, more pastoral life. ‘L’Aurore’, in which the bow truly becomes a paint brush, narrates the magnificent rise of the morning sun with nature’s sounds of stirring life sprinkled throughout. Once the sun is fully up, a full-fledged ‘Danse rustique’ breaks out, indulging in its own spirited rhythm and joy.
No. 6 is an unabashed virtuosic showcase in one movement, with dense and dazzling runs immediately foreshadowing the fireworks to come in what is the most technically demanding sonata of the whole set. However, what is even more notable is its total embrace of Spanish flavor and heat, reflecting the heritage and virtuosic abilities of its dedicatee, the Spanish violinist Manuel Quiroga. A habanera rhythm offers a seductive interlude before an explosion of euphoric passion brings the set to a triumphant conclusion.