![]() Though there are several other editions, notably by Liszt pupils Alexander Siloti, Bernhard Stavenhagen and Eugen d’Albert, it is Liszt’s second version that is most frequently heard today, ![]() It was dedicated to his son-in-law Hans von Bülow and it was he who gave the first performance of this version on April 15, 1865, in The Hague with an orchestra conducted by the Dutch composer Johannes Verhulst. It was issued with the title Todtentanz (Danse macabre) – Paraphrase über ‘Dies irae’, and published in 1865, the same year in which Liszt’s versions for solo piano and two pianos were published. This dispenses with all of the ‘De profundis’ material and other sections never sanctioned for publication by the composer. ![]() Liszt continued tinkering with the score between 18, when a second version appeared. Without going into great detail, basically there exist two versions: the first, dated October 21, 1849, with the title Fantasie für Pianoforte und Orchester was not published until 1919 (in an edition by Busoni) it is generally known as the ‘De profundis’ version because it incorporates the plainsong setting of Psalm 130 (‘Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord’). The gestation of Totentanz was protracted and complex. Totentanz, a series of variations on the Latin plainsong chant of the ‘Dies irae’, can be considered ‘the spiritual sister’ of these ‘Years of Travel’ (indeed, Variation 5 puts one in mind of the central section of the Dante Sonata). From this period of Liszt’s prolific output came early versions of the 12 Transcendental Études, the Six Études de Paganini and the first two volumes of Années de pèlerinage, and much else besides. The first of these was their daughter Cosima, later to become the wife of Hans von Bülow and latterly of Richard Wagner. The couple had eloped in 1835, leaving Paris for Geneva and thence, for the next few years, travelling through Switzerland and Italy absorbing scenery, places, literature and painting, while producing three illegitimate children. It was the sight of this, it is said, that first inspired the composition of his Totentanz – Danse macabre, though it would not appear in its final form for nearly three decades. Five hundred years later, one of those who came to the Camposanto to admire the work was Franz Liszt in the company of his mistress the Countess Marie d’Agoult. Once attributed to Orcagna, nowadays to Buonamico Buffalmacco or, by some scholars, to Francesco Traini, it was created in 1338‑39. Among its murals is an impressive fresco entitled Il trionfo della Morte: ‘The Triumph of Death’. The album also offers a bracing account of Bedrich Smetana’s Piano Trio in G Minor, a forthright alternative to the sepulchral darkness of the older master.Pisa’s Piazza dei Miracoli, also known as the Piazza del Duomo, contains the Cathedral, the Baptistry, the Campanile (aka the Leaning Tower) – and the Camposanto Monumentale. Such gems as the “Romance Oubliée” and “La Lugubre Gondola” (a premonition, in Venice, of the death of Wagner) remain compelling in their ascetic mysticism and startling in the daring of their harmonies, and Trio Wanderer (on Harmonia Mundi) performs them with both passion and refinement. It was out of this late style that Liszt, no longer the dashing keyboard cavalier but an old and nearly broken man, created an unlikely chamber-music repertory in the last few years of his life. The French-Canadian pianist Louis Lortie is more of an elegant artist in the grand manner (especially in his generous pedalling), but, in performing all three books of “Années de Pèlerinage” (a double album on Chandos), a feat that he has also accomplished in public, he gives us the full Liszt, from the Byronic swoons of the young composer’s “Vallée d’Obermann” to the savage austerities of the third book’s “Angelus!” and “Sursum Corda.” 2, revealing a singular combination of digital dexterity, impetuous phrasing, and lofty, delicate expressivity. On her album “Liszt: Lise de la Salle” (Naïve), the remarkable French pianist excels in such works as “Après une Lecture du Dante,” “Lacrymosa” (after Mozart’s Requiem), and the Ballade No. Nelson Freire’s new recording, “Liszt: Harmonies du Soir” (Decca), is as balanced in its choice of repertory (early, middle, late) as it is in its poised, patrician style, a suitable tribute for the composer’s bicentennial year. It was as a pianist that Liszt first made his reputation, and it is through his solo works for the instrument that most listeners still know him best.
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