STRANGER THINGS = FALIKS: Wandering Stranger; Old Bellower; WAGNER: Elegy for Piano Solo in A-flat Major; SCHOENBERG: Drei Klavierstuke; BRAHMS: Piano Sonata No. 3 – Inna Faliks, piano – Navona nv6880 (57:20) [www.navonarecords.com] ****:
Ukrainian-American pianist Inna Faliks (b. 1978) has recorded (September 2025) a series of works whose personal rubric stands as “discovery,” passionate and restless moments of nostalgic recollection taken – except for Falik’s original compositions – from the mainstream Austrian-German repertory. While the Faliks pieces, written in her youth, evoke the pains of immigration from her homeland, the other works derived from studies with piano masters Joe Auner and Gilbert Kaish, emanate “outbursts of extreme pathos and drama.” The chosen repertoire exploits the theme, not of regret but of liberation, the movement away from accepted modes and limits to the adventure of what Robert Schumann designated in 1853 as Neue Bahnen, “new paths” that specifically proclaimed Johannes Brahms to the music world.
The opening two pieces by Faliks might indicate the influence of Bartok: “Wandering Stranger” begins staccato and marcato, and then a wordless voice adds a dimension of haunted, dark melancholy to the occasion. “Old Belltower” might hint at Mussorgsky, but the soft then fervent clangor invites an uneasy darkness that suggests a threat. The Poles often speak of tesknota, pained nostalgia, an epithet worthy of the moment.
The brief Wagner “Elegy” (1858) opens with a dissonance not far from Tristan, but it means to bid farewell to traditional harmony. Its edgy sensibility bears repetition.
The 1909 set of “Three Piano Pieces” by Arnold Schoenberg explicitly break away from traditional tonal harmony, his self-proclaimed “emancipation of the dissonance.” Schoenberg asserted that pure “expressivity” justified his intentions. Curiously, Schoenberg’s aesthetic finds a parallel in Debussy, but with very different applications. The first of the Schoenberg set plays with and even courts definable tonalities: E, F#, and G, but the dalliance evaporates into small intervals and appoggiaturas. The latter section of the piece resonates with a reminiscence of a Brahms waltz but discards the melody. The “motivic” presence, such as it evolves, calls upon hexachords or iconoclastic triads that invade the second (extensive) piece, Mässige (slowly), which evokes memories of late Liszt, perhaps his “Lugubrious Gondola.” A decided eeriness and eldritch angst assert themselves, the ostinato bass line having become more wistful, even as the attempt at a waltz collapses. The third piece Bewegte (with motion) rather angrily diffuses all sense of balance, of architecture, instead inserting shifting color and agogic combinations. A dream-scape, a nightmare – the music invites Franz Kafka to dinner so that he might vehemently celebrate his psychological mazes.
The Brahms F Minor Sonata (1853) exhibits a stentorian aggression as well as an intimate lyricism, a mix of Beethoven and Schumann, rife with personal anagrams and dramatic allusions. My most potent exposure to this grand sonata came from a live concert in Atlanta by Jorge Bolet, shimmering with Schumann’s nostalgia. As for recordings, those by Julius Katchen, Clifford Curzon, and Artur Rubinstein (two versions) stand out for girth and passionate fervor, at once.
Faliks accords the opening movement Allegro maestoso a dramatic juxtaposition of “fateful” resolve and personal demureness, testified by the composer’s ubiquitous falling thirds. The plastic architecture of Brahms, in spite of his passionate gestures, comes as a welcome balm after the furious rebellion of Schoenberg. We feel the constant call of distant voices in music, solemnly revered in Brahms in chiseled cadences and martial impulses that accept lyric poetry as a cosmic consolation.
Schoenberg was among the first to consider “Brahms the Progressive,” and the wonderful Andante in A-flat major will certify the Brahms tendency towards “progressive tonality,” ending this movement in D-flat major. Given the literary “preface” by the poet Sternau, the music embraces two themes, in A-flat and D-flat, with tiny sequences that, from Faliks, proceed in delicate wisps of melody yearning erotically – and soon majestically – for the approval of both Robert Schumann and beloved wife Clara.
How often in rehearsing the Scherzo: Allegro energico third movement the directive “no pedal!” resonated through Jean Casadesus’ master class. The galloping main theme, adopted from Mendelssohn, should sting with its sweeping gestures, its mincing flirtations, its dazzling filigree. The Trio section Faliks caresses poetically in spite of the Beethoven C Minor Symphony shadow that haunts it. The da capo rings with lively optimism, the joy of making colors. The fourth movement may well be the raison d’être for the entire album. Entitled Rückblick (recollection) in B-flat minor, the music carries the Beethoven “fate” motif in the form of a fervent intermezzo. Dissonances propel us into harsh and then consoling gestures, almost a parlando funereal march.
The last movement Finale: Allegro moderato ma rubato must overcome reminiscence with self confident resolve. In the form of a rondo in the home key, the music mirrors another Brahms friendship: that of violinist Joseph Joschim and the noted F-A-E “free but lonely” epigram. Faliks often moves the music into chorale status, countered by fleeting moment of whimsey. At moments, the music assumes bravura intentions, knottily rife with learned counterpoint. The coda material graduates to a virtuoso étude infiltrated by robust F major passion, the final bars shimmering with personal victory.
—Gary Lemco
Strange Things
FALIKS: Wandering Stranger; Old Bellower;
WAGNER: Elegy for Piano Solo in A-flat Major;
SCHOENBERG: Drei Klavierstuke, Op. 11;
BRAHMS: Piano Sonata No. 3 in F Minor. Op. 5
Inna Faliks, piano
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