Perhaps like almost all violinists, I knew Émile Sauret’s name through his infamous cadenza for Niccolo Paganini’s First Violin Concerto. My interest in exploring the world from which this cadenza came was triggered during the programming of my second album for Naxos, which comprised works for violin and piano by the nineteenth-century pianist and composer, Moritz Moszkowski.[1] I decided to open the first five tracks on this album with Sauret’s arrangement of one of Moszkowski’s most renowned works, the Five Spanish Dances, op. 12.[2] The virtuosic detail (expressive fingering, detailed dynamics and brilliant passage work) and effective technical embellishments in these arrangements were an inspiration to look further into Sauret’s work. When I took Sauret’s Moszkowski arrangement out of the Royal Academy of Music library on loan in 2012,[3] I noted that it had last been signed out in 1994, suggesting that it was far from being part of ‘the repertoire’. Working on them, I felt that there seemed to be an artistic, technical and virtuosic ‘gap’ that needed to be investigated.
When I searched for his works on the internet, it was primarily his technical world that interested me. His 20 Grandes Etudes, op. 24 and 12 Etudes artistiques, op. 38 were easily accessible (IMSLP); however, they were not far from the type of technical language established in that spectacular and fiendishly difficult cadenza he composed to Paganini’s First Violin Concerto. A glimpse into his 24 Études Caprices, op. 64 gave me sufficient purpose to change my perception of the ‘unapproachable’ Sauret.
My first encounter with ÉC, op. 64 was through the second volume of the Simrock publication (which was the first copy I saw and skimmed through without the instrument) and its length initially deterred me. Who would have the patience to learn these, let alone perform or record them?
My own educational background, activities as a performer and facility with virtuosic material played a significant role in establishing a starting point for my exploration of ÉC, op. 64. Having had a rich and intensive technical input to my artistic development.[4] I was introduced to and later immersed myself in a sizeable technical pool of exercises, studies, etudes and caprices:
Carl Flesch – Das Skalensystem
Schradieck – School of Violin Technics (Books 1*, 2, 3)
Otakar Ševčík – School of Bowing Technique, op. 2
Rudolphe Kreutzer – 42 Studies*
Jacques Féréol Mazas – Etudes, op. 36
Jacob Dont – 24 Etudes-Caprices, op. 35*
Pierre Rode – 24 Caprices, op.22*
Pierre Gaviniès – 24 Matinées en forme d'études*
Federigo Fiorillo – 36 Etudes-Caprices, op. 3*
Henri Wieniawski – Caprices, op. 10*
Henri Wieniawski - Etudes-Caprices, op. 18*
Niccolo Paganini – 24 Caprices, op. 1*
Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst – Six Polyphonic Studies*
*entire set
While I was occupied in moulding an advanced technical world for myself, concerti, virtuoso, solo, chamber and orchestral repertoire were simultaneously covered in abundance. Between 1995 (aged seven) and 2009 (during my studies at the Purcell School and the Royal Academy of Music), I had a very diverse range of teachers, including professors Lydia Mordkovitch, Felix Andrievsky and Erich Gruenberg. I recall signing up for lunchtime weekly concerts at the Purcell School, preparing new repertoire for performance every week. By the time I was accepted to the Royal Academy of Music as an undergraduate, at the age of fifteen, I was bringing new repertoire (of diverse genres) to my lessons every single week. The study of a new concerto would not last for more than three lessons, for example. This developed in me a type of practice strategy that was infused with an aim to achieve results in a short space of time. My practice hours then were never beyond the three- to four-hour daily threshold, so I was constantly working against time. Memory, concentration, mental power and stamina were key elements to my practice. This type of violinistic upbringing, with an openness to embracing, grasping and adapting to new concepts and assimilating ideas while at the same time covering a very large repertoire means that both professors and the public often commented on my technical facility and ease with virtuosic repertoire.
When I started to search for the first volume of Sauret’s ÉC, op. 64 in summer 2015, it seemed impossible to locate a copy in the UK and the mystery of its absence was one of the first factors to awaken an investigative approach to this project. Upon receiving a scanned copy from the Nederlands Muziek Instituut in June 2015, I was doubly surprised to discover two intriguing inscriptions on the front cover of the 1902 Simrock publication. The first, stated that the Études Caprices are to be used in the ‘Principal Violin Class’ at the Royal Academy of Music,[5] and the second, was its dedication to his student and friend, Marjorie Hayward.
Soon after I began work at the instrument and put the notes into action, I started to realise a paradox: the length of the caprices was a means for focussing on musical details. Inundated with specific expressive, dynamic, fingering, bowing and phrased indications, ÉC, op. 64 was infused with a transcendental virtuosity of detail. In my experience, I had not come across such a density and variety of variation material within any individual Etude or Caprice.
This discovery led me to plan the making of its first recording.
When I searched for his works on the internet, it was primarily his technical world that interested me. His 20 Grandes Etudes, op. 24 and 12 Etudes artistiques, op. 38 were easily accessible (IMSLP); however, they were not far from the type of technical language established in that spectacular and fiendishly difficult cadenza he composed to Paganini’s First Violin Concerto. A glimpse into his 24 Études Caprices, op. 64 gave me sufficient purpose to change my perception of the ‘unapproachable’ Sauret.
My first encounter with ÉC, op. 64 was through the second volume of the Simrock publication (which was the first copy I saw and skimmed through without the instrument) and its length initially deterred me. Who would have the patience to learn these, let alone perform or record them?
My own educational background, activities as a performer and facility with virtuosic material played a significant role in establishing a starting point for my exploration of ÉC, op. 64. Having had a rich and intensive technical input to my artistic development.[4] I was introduced to and later immersed myself in a sizeable technical pool of exercises, studies, etudes and caprices:
Carl Flesch – Das Skalensystem
Schradieck – School of Violin Technics (Books 1*, 2, 3)
Otakar Ševčík – School of Bowing Technique, op. 2
Rudolphe Kreutzer – 42 Studies*
Jacques Féréol Mazas – Etudes, op. 36
Jacob Dont – 24 Etudes-Caprices, op. 35*
Pierre Rode – 24 Caprices, op.22*
Pierre Gaviniès – 24 Matinées en forme d'études*
Federigo Fiorillo – 36 Etudes-Caprices, op. 3*
Henri Wieniawski – Caprices, op. 10*
Henri Wieniawski - Etudes-Caprices, op. 18*
Niccolo Paganini – 24 Caprices, op. 1*
Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst – Six Polyphonic Studies*
*entire set
While I was occupied in moulding an advanced technical world for myself, concerti, virtuoso, solo, chamber and orchestral repertoire were simultaneously covered in abundance. Between 1995 (aged seven) and 2009 (during my studies at the Purcell School and the Royal Academy of Music), I had a very diverse range of teachers, including professors Lydia Mordkovitch, Felix Andrievsky and Erich Gruenberg. I recall signing up for lunchtime weekly concerts at the Purcell School, preparing new repertoire for performance every week. By the time I was accepted to the Royal Academy of Music as an undergraduate, at the age of fifteen, I was bringing new repertoire (of diverse genres) to my lessons every single week. The study of a new concerto would not last for more than three lessons, for example. This developed in me a type of practice strategy that was infused with an aim to achieve results in a short space of time. My practice hours then were never beyond the three- to four-hour daily threshold, so I was constantly working against time. Memory, concentration, mental power and stamina were key elements to my practice. This type of violinistic upbringing, with an openness to embracing, grasping and adapting to new concepts and assimilating ideas while at the same time covering a very large repertoire means that both professors and the public often commented on my technical facility and ease with virtuosic repertoire.
When I started to search for the first volume of Sauret’s ÉC, op. 64 in summer 2015, it seemed impossible to locate a copy in the UK and the mystery of its absence was one of the first factors to awaken an investigative approach to this project. Upon receiving a scanned copy from the Nederlands Muziek Instituut in June 2015, I was doubly surprised to discover two intriguing inscriptions on the front cover of the 1902 Simrock publication. The first, stated that the Études Caprices are to be used in the ‘Principal Violin Class’ at the Royal Academy of Music,[5] and the second, was its dedication to his student and friend, Marjorie Hayward.
Soon after I began work at the instrument and put the notes into action, I started to realise a paradox: the length of the caprices was a means for focussing on musical details. Inundated with specific expressive, dynamic, fingering, bowing and phrased indications, ÉC, op. 64 was infused with a transcendental virtuosity of detail. In my experience, I had not come across such a density and variety of variation material within any individual Etude or Caprice.
This discovery led me to plan the making of its first recording.
Notes and References
[1]. Moszkowski, Moritz. Violin and Piano Works. Nazrin Rashidova and Daniel Grimwood. Naxos 8.573410, 2015, compact disc.
[2]. Moszkowski, Moritz. Five Spanish Dances, op. 12. arr. Émile Sauret. Berlin: Carl Simon, 1880.
[3]. At the time I had taken the arrangements out on loan, I was working on the programming of my first album’s (Godowsky, Leopold. Music for Violin and Piano. Nazrin Rashidova and Roderick Chadwick. Naxos 8.573058, 2013, compact disc) launch at the Wigmore Hall in September 2013.
[4]. Born into a family of professional musicians (violinists), I was introduced to the violin at the age of two and a half and gave my first public performance half a year later. I was started on one octave scales on one string (similar to that of the Flesch Scale System) quite early on and much of the material (including the first movement of Lalo’s Symphonie Espagnole performed in an hour’s solo recital at the age of six) was taught to me by ear. This evidently instilled in me an intuitive approach to the fingerboard.
[5] Inscription on the front cover of ÉC, op. 64 reads: “Cet ouvrage est adopté dans la classe principale de Violon à l’académie royal de musique à Londres.”
[1]. Moszkowski, Moritz. Violin and Piano Works. Nazrin Rashidova and Daniel Grimwood. Naxos 8.573410, 2015, compact disc.
[2]. Moszkowski, Moritz. Five Spanish Dances, op. 12. arr. Émile Sauret. Berlin: Carl Simon, 1880.
[3]. At the time I had taken the arrangements out on loan, I was working on the programming of my first album’s (Godowsky, Leopold. Music for Violin and Piano. Nazrin Rashidova and Roderick Chadwick. Naxos 8.573058, 2013, compact disc) launch at the Wigmore Hall in September 2013.
[4]. Born into a family of professional musicians (violinists), I was introduced to the violin at the age of two and a half and gave my first public performance half a year later. I was started on one octave scales on one string (similar to that of the Flesch Scale System) quite early on and much of the material (including the first movement of Lalo’s Symphonie Espagnole performed in an hour’s solo recital at the age of six) was taught to me by ear. This evidently instilled in me an intuitive approach to the fingerboard.
[5] Inscription on the front cover of ÉC, op. 64 reads: “Cet ouvrage est adopté dans la classe principale de Violon à l’académie royal de musique à Londres.”