Once again, pianist Marc-André Hamelin exhumes a long-forgotten composer of some interest, the Moscow-born Georgy Catoire (1861-1926). A student of Klindworth and Lyapounov, Catoire belongs to the crowded cohort of post-romantic Russian composers who displayed a special affinity for the piano. His music for this instrument is largely indebted to Chopin and Tchaikovsky, as well as to his younger colleagues Rachmaninov and, above all, Scriabin. Hints of German romanticism come to the surface here and again. As much as Stanchinsky and Scriabin represent the dark, desperate side of Russian pre-October Revolution music, Catoire incarnates the fading flame of a world about to collapse.
A tendency toward desolation is reflected in the titles of his compositions: Soirée d’hiver, Chant du soir, Chants du crépuscule. . . Almost as an unconscious homage, Catoire’s sources of inspiration stand alongside each other in the appealing Cinq Morceaux Op. 10: the nostalgic first Prélude is strongly reminiscent of Chopin and early Scriabin; the impassioned Capriccioso (an extraordinary piece) and the elusive Légende are close to Rachmaninov; while the autumnal Rêverie follows the same bittersweet paths as Brahms’ late Klavierstücke. Published posthumously, the hallucinated Poème Op. 34/2 reveals the composer’s anguished feeling, aware in his own introspective way of the dark age he was living through.
Marc-André Hamelin plays this idiomatically written but difficult music with his usual qualities: inflexible clarity, flamboyant virtuosity, and straightforward sensibility. Some additional elegance and abandon wouldn’t have been misplaced considering Catoire’s melodic seductions and harmonic subtlety. As often with Hyperion, the piano sounds a bit veiled and artificial, but with enough presence to do justice to the Canadian pianist’s committed playing. A welcome discovery.
