Mr. Schepkin’s vast repertoire includes solo, concerto, and chamber works written over the past four hundred years. He is renowned for his interpretations of keyboard works by Bach and was called “a formidable Bach pianist” by The New York Times. An avid chamber player, he has performed with many outstanding instrumentalists. He is also interested in period keyboards and occasionally appears as harpsichordist and clavichordist. Active as an educator, Mr. Schepkin has presented master classes and lecture-recitals throughout the USA and abroad. He has taught at Boston University, Boston Conservatory, and MIT. He is a Professor of Piano at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh and is on the piano faculty at New England Conservatory’s School of Expanded Education in Boston, where he is based.

He is a recipient of numerous grants and awards, including the Presser Foundation Award and the Maestro Foundation Genius Grant. He has won prizes in several national and international competitions including New Orleans (1999, first and Chopin prizes) and Crown Princess Sonja of Norway (1988, third prize).

A naturalized American, Mr. Schepkin was born in St. Petersburg. He studied with Alexandra Zhukovsky and Grigory Sokolov at St. Petersburg Conservatory, graduating with highest honors in 1985, and with Russell Sherman at New England Conservatory, where he earned an Artist Diploma in 1992 and a Doctor of Musical Arts degree in 1999. In 1994–98, he also studied French repertoire with Paul Doguereau.

Active as an entrepreneur, Mr. Schepkin launched Glissando Concert Series, Boston in September 2018 and has presented many theme-based concerts. His most encompassing project to date—a performance of the thirty-two Beethoven piano sonatas in ten programs to celebrate the composer’s 250^th anniversary—started live in the fall of 2019 and continued virtually throughout the Covid pandemic. His Beethoven cycle is now posted on YouTube, as are his videos of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier I and of many Glissando concerts.

ABOUT THE MUSIC

Beethoven’s three piano sonatas Op. 10 (in C minor, F major, and D major) were composed in 1797 and published the following year. The first of them, in C minor, will be performed tonight. Its three-movement layout harks back to Haydn and Mozart, and more specifically to the C- minor Sonatas by those composers (Haydn’s Hob. XVI:20 and Mozart’s K. 457) that undoubtedly served as models for Beethoven’s work. For Beethoven, the key of C minor has a particular meaning. It is the key of high drama and pathos—and not surprisingly, the next Beethoven piano sonata in that key (Op. 13) is called “Pathétique.” To paraphrase Beethoven’s own words (said on a different topic, but completely apposite here), C minor was the key in which the demon spoke to him. Prior to his Op. 10 No. 1, Beethoven had already written two large-scale works in that key—the Piano Trio Op. 1 No. 3 and the String Trio Op. 9 No. 3. Iconic C-minor works were to follow, including such masterpieces as the String Quartet Op. 18 No. 4; the Seventh Sonata for Violin and Piano, Op. 30 No. 2; the Third Piano Concerto; the Fifth Symphony; the 32 Variations for the piano; and his last piano sonata, Op. 111.

The first movement of Op. 10 No. 1 (Allegro molto e con brio) opens with the principal theme that, in a nutshell, contains the primary dramatic conflict of the movement, a classic Beethovenian dichotomy between Fate and the individual. Fate is represented by a version of the so-called Mannheim Rocket, a fast ascending arpeggiated run, here in dotted rhythm, played forte; the individual’s anguished reaction to this overpowering force is portrayed by soft three- chord replies featuring the so-called “sigh” motif (the interval of a falling second), and a diminished seventh chord, a harmony that plays an important part in this sonata and is an integral part of the pathétique musical vocabulary. This dichotomy remains unrelieved until the end of the movement that abounds in dramatic utterances and daring harmonies. The development section follows Mozart’s model of introducing a previously unheard theme—in this case, a lyrical lamentation starting in the key of F minor and building up to a powerful climax on the dominant of the main key. The sublime slow movement, Adagio molto, is written in the related key of A-flat major. This key relationship will reappear in the “Pathétique” Sonata and form the tonal basis of the first movement of the Sonata Op. 111, where the principal theme is in C minor and the secondary in A-flat major. It is an expansive and introspective lyrical piece in sonata form without a development, with an extensive coda based on the principal theme. It is an excellent example of Beethoven’s string-quartet-like treatment of the piano, where each of the voices has something to say, notwithstanding the primacy of the melodic line in the soprano. The movement’s writing is also influenced by Italian opera, with the melody embellished with melismas and coloraturas. The terse and turbulent C-minor Finale, marked Prestissimo, reintroduces the drama of the first movement. It is remarkable for its economy of means, achieving extreme tension just by developing its principal six-note motive. The climax at the close of the short development ends with the rhythmic figure directly anticipating the opening of the Fifth Symphony that was to follow eleven years later. The movement alternates the dramatic (the principal theme) and the more light-hearted (the secondary theme), but its chief mood is demonic. The coda unexpectedly reintroduces the secondary theme in the more remote key of D- flat major (the Neapolitan of C minor); the tempo gradually slows down, coming to a standstill, only to be followed by a dramatic return to the home key; the sonata surprisingly ends on a C- major chord, played piano, as if offering consolation to a wearied soul.

Debussy’s First Book of Preludes was composed within the span of three months in 1909–10. These iconic works were inspired by nature, art, mythology, literature, dance, and many different cultural traditions. All of them are anchored around the pitch of B-flat/A-sharp that appears in many guises throughout the cycle. The enigmatic Prelude VI, “Des pas sur la neige,“ is based on a two-note inverted dotted rhythm that, according to the composer, “is a sonic equivalent of a sad and frozen landscape.” The turbulent Prelude VII, “Ce qu’a vu le Vent d’Ouest,” has its origins in “Garden of Paradise,” a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale, where the four winds recount their adventures. The wild piece is full of Lisztian virtuosity and jarring contrasts. The lyrical Prelude VIII, “La fille aux cheveux de lin,” is the exact opposite. Its title stems from Leconte de Lisle’s Scottish poems. The innocence of the flaxen-haired girl is underscored by the abundance of plagal cadences that sound like Amens. Prelude IX, “La sérénade interrompue,” transports us to Spain, where the unhappy lover is desperately trying to woo his girl by serenading her, accompanying himself on a guitar, under her window at night—only to hear her slam the window shut and, a bit later, a rival’s guitar from inside her room. The sublime Prelude X, “La Cathédrale engloutie,” has its origins in a Breton legend of the sunken Isle of Ys, complete with its magnificent cathedral, that occasionally rises to the sea surface and returns to the bottom of the ocean after a brief spell. Its writing, full of parallel chords, is reminiscent of the organum technique of the medieval Notre Dame school of polyphony. The “capricious and light” (Debussy’s marking) Prelude XI, “La danse de Puck,” has the Shakespearean impish spirit as its protagonist; his master King Oberon’s magic horn is heard at times, now close by, now in the distance.

The second half of tonight’s concert presents works from the opposite ends of the timeline of the Austro-German Romantic movement. Schoenberg’s Op. 19 appeared in 1911, when the composer wrote freely atonal music (not yet the 12-tone music that he devised several years later). Its expressive gestures are firmly rooted in Romantic, and more specifically, Viennese repertoire. In spite of the pieces’ brevity—they are real “musical moments” as none of them lasts longer than a minute—they are packed with musical events, all concentrated on just one page of text per piece. As befits an Expressionist composition, Op. 19 displays an extensive range of emotions, from the deepest calm to frenzy; the mood can swing wildly within a single piece. Originally, there were only five pieces in this set, all written in a single day, February 19, 1911. The sixth appeared as an afterthought, on June 17 of the same year, after the death of Mahler, whom Schoenberg revered as a saint; and it’s quite plausible that No. 6 could be Mahler’s tombeau. Contrary to the popular belief, “atonal” does not mean “chaotic” (incidentally,

Schoenberg hated the word “atonal” as it literally implied music without sound, and preferred “pan-tonal”). The absence of any clearly determined tonality does not imply any lack of organization—on the contrary, it is precisely because the traditional means of tonal structuring are avoided that others have to be put in their place. The structures of these pieces are completely lucid; intervallic, rhythmic, and contrapuntal relationships between different layers of the texture govern the discourse. Some of these relationships are readily apparent to the listener, some operate behind the scenes, as it were, and all of them perform an important structural function. Examples include the major sevenths in No. 1; the major thirds in No. 2; dynamically contrasting polyphony in No. 3; the formal, albeit modified, recapitulation in No. 4; the waltz rhythm in No. 5; the quartal harmonies in No. 6. Yet the tonality is not completely abandoned: for example, G major is strongly implied in No. 2 and B-flat minor, then G minor, in No. 3; there are many instances of polytonality, which makes the term “pan-tonal” all the more relevant. The pieces’ brevity stems from late Beethoven (Bagatelles Op. 119), Chopin (Preludes), Schumann (“Papillons” and “Carnaval”), and late Liszt (“Nuages gris”). Schoenberg’s closest pupils, Webern and Berg, wrote similar cycles of short pieces for chamber ensembles and orchestra; Op. 19 became a model for most of Webern’s subsequent work, where pieces tend to be aphoristic. Schoenberg’s next step in creating a cycle of very short pieces unified by content will be “Pierrot lunaire” for narration and chamber ensemble, Op. 21—arguably, his most famous work, completed and premiered in 1912.

Schumann’s “Carnaval” is perhaps his best-known composition. It is one of Schumann’s happiest creations, brimming with wit, imagination and poetry. Along with his “Symphonic Etudes,” written at about the same time, it marks a watershed both in his compositional career and in his exploration of pianistic virtuosity. As is the case with many of Schumann’s works, “Carnaval” is autobiographical. In 1834, Schumann became infatuated with and briefly engaged to a young pianist named Ernestine von Fricken, who took lessons from Schumann’s teacher, Friedrich Wieck. (Wieck’s oldest daughter, Clara, then fifteen, was a child prodigy and already a renowned virtuosa, but her and Schumann’s fabled love story had yet to come to pass.) Seemingly rhapsodic, “Carnaval” is, in fact, tightly structured. A musical masked ball, consisting chiefly of waltzes, it is based on two musical motives whose notes come from the name of Asch, the Bohemian town from which Ernestine hailed (now Aš in the Czech Republic). The four letters in “Asch” represent notes in the German musical alphabet; some of the letters have the same meaning as in English, while others are different and require translation. “Asch” could be construed as A—(E)s—C—H (A—E-flat—C—B) or As—C—H (A-flat—C—B). The four letters are also the only musical letters in Schumann’s last name (S—C—H—A). Between “Réplique” and “Papillons,” Schumann writes out the three motives in medieval square notes (breves) under the title “Sphinxes”: they may or may not be actually played, but they govern the entire piece as if from behind the stage. The first of the Sphinxes, the S—C—H—A, is not used at all and represents the composer as the sui generis stage director. The other two form the thematic content of all of the constituent pieces, the A—(E)s—C—H being used in the first nine movements (also appearing as a cameo at the end of “Chopin”) and the As—C—H in the rest of the cycle. As befits a masked ball, “Carnaval” features stock characters from commedia dell’arte: Pierrot (No. 2); Harlequin (No. 3); as well as Pantaloon and Columbine (No. 15). Its madcap world also includes musical portraits of real people: Clara Wieck as Chiarina (no. 11); Ernestine von Fricken as Estrella (No. 13) and, as themselves, the two musicians whom Schumann lionized: Chopin (No. 12) and Paganini (No. 16), who unexpectedly crashes the party in the middle of a charming German Waltz. (The squeamish Chopin never forgave Schumann for having been included in “Carnaval”!). The cycle features imaginary characters as well: Eusebius (No. 5) and Florestan (No. 6) represent, respectively, the dreamy and the impulsive sides of Schumann’s own personality. We don’t know who the “Coquette” (No. 7) is, but her flirtation with Florestan comes to nothing (No. 8, “Réplique”). Certain pieces—“Valse noble” (No. 4) and “Lettres dansantes” (No. 10)—appear for purely atmospheric reasons; “Pause” (No. 19), based on the phrase from the opening “Préambule,” is a brief transition to the finale. “Papillons” (No. 9) bears no musical relation to Schumann’s earlier piano cycle by that name (Op. 2); yet a theme from Op. 2 is quoted in “Florestan” as a fleeting memory, perhaps with a particular meaning that only Schumann’s friends in the know could have understood. There is also an amorous subplot, possibly alluding to Schumann and Ernestine’s love story. No. 14, “Reconnaissance,” depicts the masked lovers’ mutual recognition in the course of a dance. The movement’s middle section, the only one in a sharp key (B major—all the other movements are in flat keys centered around A- flat major), depicts the lovers’ duet, where the soprano and the bass form a beautiful dialog, interchanging similar motives and, briefly and poignantly, singing in unison precisely at the golden section point of the entire “Carnaval.” No. 17, “Aveu,” is a shy, yet passionate, confession of love, and the couple blissfully waltzes around in No. 18, “Promenade.” “Carnaval’s” closing number, “The March of the Davidsbündler against the Philistines,” is a fitting and brilliant close as well as Schumann’s musical manifesto. The word “Davidsbündler” means “members of the Davidsbund,” the half-real, half-imaginary “David’s League,” a society of musicians that Schumann created in order to advance the cause of the best contemporary music and fight the shallowness and conservatism then prevalent on the German musical scene. (David and his confrères, the progressive minority, fight against the Philistines, the conservative majority.) The Davidsbündler (who included Florestan and Eusebius, mentioned above) published their reviews of the contemporary musical scene in the “Neue Zeitschrift für Musik” (New Musical Journal), the magazine that Schumann had founded in 1834 and that still exists today. The March represents the happy Davidsbündler dispersing the musical Philistines. The latter are portrayed by the theme of the Grossvatertanz (Grandfather’s Dance), a popular tune that Schumann marks as a “Theme from the 17th century.” It forms much of the finale’s material, only to be swept away by the music that first appeared in the opening “Préambule.” The Grossvatertanz appeared in Schumann’s piano oeuvre once before, in “Papillons,” Op. 2, a piece also depicting a masked ball, and it, too, appears in the last number of the cycle. There, the Grossvatertanz theme’s function is devoid of any satire. The tune was usually played at the close of German festivities to indicate that the party comes to an end, and, in “Papillons,” it acts solely in that capacity. In “Carnaval,” however, the pompously presented Grossvatertanz has a dual function—to let the listener know that the piece is about to end and to lampoon musical conservatives. As such, it succeeds brilliantly.

- Sergey Schepkin