György Cziffra and the Art of Transcription
It was on a Saturday night in San Francisco during the spring of 1978 that I first became aware of the life, legend, and legacy of György Cziffra. San Francisco Conservatory undergrad Carter Larsen and I had just concluded a weekend raid on the downtown Tower Records near Fisherman’s Wharf and were now motoring madly back towards his raffish [beachfront] bungalow to sample the assorted new exotica in the realm of recorded treasures obtained during this particular “search and seizureâ€.
Actually this was a golden time for record hunting in “Baghdad by the Bay†for not only were many legends still active and at the height of their powers, but the special issues from an outfit called the “International Piano Library†were infecting the already not-so-innocent ears of the likes of us with all manner of pianistic subversion as practiced by “Golden Age†warriors such as [Josef] Hofmann, [Misha] Levitski, and [Leopold] Godowsky.
Thinking back, we made a tremendous haul that night. There was this strange record of Emil von Sauer playing “Carnaval†and the Schumann Concerto, IPL’s Godowsky album with the Chopin second sonata and the two Schubert-Godowsky song arrangements, and the most intriguing of all: a black album from Connoissuer Society of a pianist I’d heard of before and indeed, had heard on disc in very poetic and imaginative renditions of the Grieg Concerto and the Liszt 2nd Concerto. But this “Black Album†offered something altogether more exotic and the combination of the repertoire described [all original transcriptions by the artist], and an album photo that communicated nothing so much as a cigarette-brandishing “deSade de la Steinwayâ€. Well, I simply had to have it!
Frankly, the night tends to be a blur from the arrival back at Carter’s apartment. I do recall listening to the Godowsky Chopin recording first, and then I remember looking at the clock and seeing it was five in the morning. In the interim, of course, we’d listened to the Cziffra record—I don’t know how many times. I know we started with the “Tritsch-Tratsch†Polka and stopped in laughter and amazement after maybe a minute or so to start again. It’s a pity that parent advisory labels did not yet exist in 1978, for this album most certainly qualifies as dangerous, diabolic, definitely “adults onlyâ€. Had he never played another note after its recording, the level of virtuoso artistry entombed in the grooves of that single vinyl item would be enough to ensure Cziffra his own very special pedestal in the pantheon of piano greats. What was Cziffra’s relationship to the “Art of the Transcription†and the great repertoire of arrangements? Why is his playing of this music so unique and inimitable? What of the other pieces, by other transcribers that figured in his repertoire? What kind of legacy is articulated by this series of recordings, and the transcribed scores that have been generated by various sources?
Some preliminary discussion is in order, I think, before embarking on examining the Cziffra “Art of the Transcription†in any depth or attempting to answer any of the questions I’ve posed in the previous paragraph. Now in 2001, thanks to organizations such as the Cziffra Society, a great deal of material is available and accessible that wasn’t over twenty years ago. Film alone, is a tremendous boon in the pursuit of understanding a great artist’s craft; two examples, I feel, bear examination in particular.
Sadly, to my knowledge, no film exists of Cziffra in “ Flight of the Bumblebee†or the Strauss Polka. There is, of course, the preliminary Bosendorfer warm-up/work-out, forever a crowning glory in the fabled BBC 1962-3 tape and the snippet of film does function as a kind of flash pianist glossary of Cziffra’s aural and tactile relationship to the keyboard. Recognizable chunks of piano texture in this Niagara Falls of virtuoso muscle-flexing include octave passages at the outset highly reminiscent of analogous ones in the Liszt “Fantasy and Fugue on B.A.C.H.â€, harmonic fragments of a rather gypsy-ized Chopin-Liszt “Maiden’s Wishâ€, and two-thirds of history’s most fleet yet bestial Chopin Etude Op. 10, no. 1. The physical flexibility and emphasis on arpeggiated roulades, runs and faster-than-the-eye-can-see devices between the hands up and down the piano, all find expressive implementation in the world of Cziffra arrangement. No matter what the velocity of an arpeggio, Cziffra often manages to insert some sort of chromatic flourish at the end of it. Cziffra is also able to suspend the piano’s natural sonic decay with a super humming bird tremolando effect, which is the combination of tremolo in the right hand most often with running passages in the left. Also to be marveled at is the space enjoyed by Cziffra between the fourth and fifth fingers of each hand. This stretch is what enables Cziffra to alternate fingers four and five in the final octave section of Liszt’s Sixth Hungarian Rhapsody to such great velocity.
The other bit of film I find pertinent is that of Cziffra as a young boy, in classic sailor suit prodigy fashion, playing the Schubert Impromptu in A-flat, Op. 90. Young Cziffra plays in a perfectly correct, academic style, with the most solid touch, surety of rhythm, and natural musicality. Such secure pianistic foundation belies the notion that Cziffra was just some untrammeled wild man of Eastern Euope, a kind of after-hours super pianist/idiot savant. He clearly was born with an incomparable natural ability to play the piano, as well as the vision to conceive of these awesome levels of virtuosity and the physical grit and psychological will to achieve them. A further great influence on Cziffra’s piano style is his immersion in the “Transcendental Etudes†of Liszt. Technical formulas found in “Chasse-Neigeâ€, “Wilde Jagdâ€, “Visionâ€, and “Feux Follets†find their way into Cziffra’s creative vocabulary. The comparison of the printed score realization of his “Flight of the Bumblebee†and “Feux Follets†prove most interesting in that regard and by his own admission Cziffra was fond of assuaging his own hell of night club boredom by dusting off these thrilling studies in piano mastery during the wee hours in various “boites†along the Danube.
So onto the performance and pieces. First impressions are almost always the most memorable and defining and this is especially true of my memories and further imjpressions of the Strauss “Tritsch-Tratsch†Polka. This is hands-down one of the most astounding piano performances ever committed to disc. Especially attractive is the way Cziffra ratchets up the drive and tension in the piece with all sorts of agogic folderol so that the final statement of the Polka theme appears with all the innocent, wide-eyed wonder of the proverbial rabbit-out-of-the-hat. I would even go as far as to say that only the Magisterial Magician of East 94th Street [Vladimir Horowitz] has ever created similar desert island legerdemain and even he would be hard pressed to surpass the ribald ecstasy of this performance. Close behind in greatness of conception and execution are the Rimsky-Korsakov “Flight of the Bumblebee†and the Brahms Hungarian Dance No. 5. The Rimsky threatens to scald the stylus with its momentum and “everything-but-the-barnyard-sink†sparkle, and the Brahms is a rogue’s delight of rhythmic jesting of an almost carnal character. The Rimsky in the hands of Rachmaninoff is almost a school boy’s trot by comparison although the master’s hand is found everywhere in every bar. But Cziffra’s is Ringling Brothers invades the Beehive, and the poor Sadko trumpet solo has never been the same. I touch on an interesting point here—Cziffra’s arrangements are, without exception, creations for and celebrations of his particular cornucopia of keyboard marvel. The kind of arrangement exemplified by the more chaste and tonally suave Godowsky, not to mention his awesome underbrush of contrapuntal cleverness is never to be found. Nor is the acerbic, jeweler’s eye and ear of some of somber Sergei’s of Novograd. Also alien is the huge pastiche of opera themes carefully coiffed to dazzle both a sensualist’s taste and an architect’s yen for formal symmetry of the great Liszt masterpieces of the genre such as “Norma†and “Don Juanâ€. The closest Cziffra comes to approaching the Lisztian heights are in the “William Tell Overture†and the “Trovatore†potpourri. The Rossini, despite the regal command of its transcriber, is a bit to labyrinthine for the essential leanness and grace of the orchestral original. The Verdi, despite delightful treatments of all themes used and re-harmonizations that would not be out of place at either the London Palladium, or Las Vegas’s Caesar’s Palace, does not yield the payoff musically of the Liszt forebears and I do think the structure of the work and the way the piece unfolds are key. Lest we forget, none of these works were “composed†in the traditional sense. Rather they evolved as improvisations over periods of time in a variety of places, and I’m sure their very musical specificity varied at each performance. All the Strauss arrangements derive from this common cabaret parentage and are exuberant, joyous escapades in tone, finding their creator in completely unfettered form. These morsels of “Fledermausâ€, “Blue Danubeâ€, and others are true creatures of the night—“evening harmonies†that more than any other body of Cziffra arrangements evoke the shadow world of his strange life amidst the Cold War greyness in “Third Man†Budapest.
In the realm of extant arrangements, Cziffra knew few, if any, peers leaving a recorded legacy of Liszt transcriptions that are in a class all their own. Both the famed “Rigoletto†and “Faust†Waltz performances easily exist beside the other renowned masters of these scores—the “Faust†Waltz in particular benefiting from some Mephistophelian textual emendations that provide just that extra atmosphere of eager decadence. The “Tannhauser†Overture is Cziffra massive and triumphant—his Venusberg music literally scalding—the final chorale framed by hammering sheets of descending octaves. Now, I’ve always had a soft spot for Bolet in his 1974 Carnegie Hall performance, and others swear by Moiseiwitsch in the late 1930’s, but this is epic pianism of an entirely different order. All this ivory and iron glory not withstanding, even the Gods can sometimes appear vulnerable in the manner of most mortals and to my ears Cziffra’s account of the Rachmaninoff “Midsummer Nights Dream†scherzo somewhat disappoints. A certain rhythmic untidiness and rather erratic execution contribute to render this performance rather earth-bound. But his Khachaturian “Sabre Dance†redeems him utterly in a performance guaranteed to warm the heart of the most furtive KGB operative. Rounding out Cziffra’s interpretive survey of Liszt’s world of Grand Opera are two triumphs of performance: the Tchaikovsky “Eugene Onegin†polonaise, and the Tarantella from Auber’s “La Muette de Porticiâ€. The Tchaikovsky is the last word in keyboard virility, with an infectious, almost Friedmanesque rhythmic élan. The Auber would certainly bring a smile to its creator’s lips and maybe even a pang or two of jealousy to his heart as its white-hot bravura simply embodies all that could be characterized as “Lisztianâ€, particularly the heaven-storming continental troubadour devil of his own self-described “glanz-periodâ€.
Leafing through Charles Suttoni’s compilation of the writings of Franz Liszt entitled, “An Artist’s Journeyâ€, I was struck by reference to a letter by Liszt in which he stated: “My mission as I see it, is to be the first to introduce poetry into the music of the piano with some degree of style.†The recorded legacy and by extension, the printed legacy of György Cziffra, the transcriber/performer is to introduce a standard of virtuosity into the music of the piano with an inimitable sense of style. The Cziffra performances of transcriptions on recordings alone would qualify him as one of history’s greatest pianists and even if his legacy does not include a never-to-be-forgotten [Beethoven] Op. 111 interpretation, or a landmark Rachmaninoff 3rd concerto, or even a hotly debated Schubert B-flat Sonata—his daredevil brio, his glowing lantern in the night for all who cherish the piano as a world in itself, an instrument of limitless technical, virtuosic, and expressive possibilities.
--Charles Berigan [Cziffra Society, USA]