[Note: Clavier Magazine is supposed to publish this article in early 1997. As they accepted it in 1992, it seems that their scheduling is a little behind. Read it here first. A.E.]
Throughout his lifetime and beyond Ignaz Friedman (1882-1948) has been regarded as one of the finest exponents of Chopin's works and a consummate musician whose virtuosity is rarely matched. Even the reticent Vladimir Horowitz, who treasured Friedman's friendship, described his playing of several of the Chopin Etudes as unsurpassed. Friedman edited the complete works of Chopin for Breitkopf and Hartel as well as a sizeable amount of works by Liszt, Schumann, Mendelssohn and technical studies by Neupert for Universal and Hansen. He composed over one hundred works, the most significant being a Piano Quintet and his well-known miniature Tabatiere a Musique. While his recordings bring one into contact with a great originality and profound artistry, his lesser known side as an effective and inspiring teacher is more obscure. Friedman's most eminent pupils included the late Bruce Hungerford, Victor Schioler (Denmark's top pianist) and Ignaz Tiegerman a diminutive pianist based in Cairo who taught the literary scholar Edward Said.
Friedman's introduction to teaching came as he assisted for four years his own teacher, Theodor Leschetizky (1830-1915), himself a pupil of Beethoven's pupil Czerny. Daily contact with Leschetizky sharpened Friedman's pedagogical abilities even further. Friedman witnessed how his Professor adopted a unique approach to each talent, broadening their playing and refining it into mastery. Friedman recalled :
"He was probably the last of the great artists who knew how to unite the sovereign and the Bohemian in one and the same person. He was one of the teachers who knew, who knew positively , when the student had ceased to be a student and had become an artist. Then the man who the day before had played the part of a veritable tyrant, would show himself the day after in the role of an old colleague, ready to consult on a footing of equality with his erstwhile pupil. Though he might have thrown a volume of music at his pupil's head a few hours before, once he felt that the former had crossed the boundary line which separated him from artistic maturity, he would discuss the most delicate nuances of his art with him in the most loyal and open-hearted manner, and permit him to take all sorts of liberties. All this merely because he realized that what had been merely grape juice was turning into wine."
Friedman's debut in 1904 was closely prepared with Leschetizky, who ovecame an antipathy to Brahms' music by loaning Friedman his own score to the First Concerto and rehearsing with him the Brahms, Liszt's E-flat and Tchaikovsky's First Concerto, as his Vienna debut consisted of three piano concertos, liberally sprinkled with encores. Friedman's first extended engagement began in 1907 when he held master classes in Lwow and became more extended while sitting out the First World War in Denmark. Between the Wars, Friedman toured throughout the world, giving 3,000 concerts, which left little time for students: only the few who dared approach him were given lessons, at times without an audition. When he fled to Australia from Nazi-occupied Europe in 1940, Friedman had the time to take on more students. This writer found some fifteen former pupils on a research trip to Sydney and Melbourne in 1988. The following excerpts are culled from their interviews and letters; their varying aptitude and repertoire covered in the lessons, along with Friedman's irrepressible sparkling wit and understanding of human nature, creates a ample impression of the way in which Friedman taught .
In late 1934 as it happened, I was on the committee to select talent for our Civic Music Series [in Manitowoc, Wisconsin], and when I saw the list of artists available for that season and I noted the name 'Friedman' and when I saw the price of $900 I told the committee that this would be the greatest 'buy' to get a man of his calibre. They took my word [a concert was set for December 13, 1935 in Manitowoc] and I was elected to the privilege of meeting him at the depot and taking him to the hotel and having dinner with him. (As I recall he ordered Wiener-schnitzel and sauerkraut).We had a wonderful visit during the meal. We spoke mostly German (I later found out that he spoke at least six languages - Polish, Russian, German, Italian, Spanish, English). A very soft spoken, unassuming man, he inquired about my study in music and I also told him how I enjoyed his editions of all Chopin's works.
I called for him at 7:30 and took him to the High School where we had (only) a 'B' Steinway (freshly tuned) but he never bothered trying it. Instead he waited in his dressing room reading a dime novel (paper back) stories about the Wild West. At 8:15 I came back saying "we're ready for the program" and he put his Western novel book down and was ready to play. . . and Play he did.
I had up to this time in my life heard Josef Hofmann and Sergei Rachmaninoff several times, Ignace Paderewski (3 times), Ossip Gabrilowitsch, Guiomar Novaes, Percy Grainger, Mischa Levitski, but never heard anyone like Friedman. His clarity of tone in the pianissimo runs and the thundering crescendos and painting so many tone colors, all seemingly done effortlessly; no great throwing up of the hands, body movement at a minimum. . . His Black Key Etude of Chopin [op.10#5] with the octave glissando (on the last page) drew gasps from the audience. I had never been so thrilled by anyone, and in my mind already I was convinced that I must study with this man, if possible.
After the concert we asked him if he would come to our home for a light lunch, and he accepted graciously and we had a chance then to visit and approach the idea of asking him if it was possible to make arrangements for study. His answer was simple: 'Surely, you can study with me if you come to Italy'. . . (just like that . . . what's a little 6,000 mile trip?) I thought perhaps he would have some master classes out in New York or with some school, but he assured us that he teaches only privately. All in all it was a precious evening at our home. . . I took him back to the hotel and promised to get him to the train the next morning.
My father and I talked it over later that night and the next morning, and tho' it was a big move, we decided to go ahead with it. At the appointed time I called for Mr.Friedman at the hotel and on the short trip to the depot we talked about 'taking private lessons'. He mentioned that he would be touring for the next three months. . . (Hawaii and South America as I recall) and also several engagements on the West coast, which he said would bring him back to Italy about May 1st. I told him I was serious about studying with him, and he said "very well, I will see you in Italy".
Needless to say this was a thrilling thought but also I repeat a rather big move! I would plan at least a year and a half at best, because Mr. Friedman mentioned that he would not be in Siusi [near Bolzano- Friedman's villa is still there] for long periods of time. . . there would be tours to Hungary, Copenhagen, and a Scandinavian tour, but in between these engagements he would always return to Siusi and that would be our time for study. What amazed me was that he never asked to hear me play.
Early in May [1936] I sailed from New York aboard the Italian steamer 'Rex' and landed in Genoa six days later. . . took a train to Bolzano and stayed at the Laurin Hotel and a few days later made a trip to Siusi by train to the foot of the mountain pass and then a half hour trip up the mountains to Siusi. So this is all just history of how I met Mr. Friedman, and what preceded this meeting and finally here I was at the Great Master's Villa!! Next will follow what studying with him meant to me. I hope you didn't mind the long introduction but I felt perhaps you would better understand the rest of my story. . . and I also must say it was fun to recall these happenings.
In November 1983, Detjen forwarded transcriptions of notes taken during the period of his lessons with Friedman. Later that month, Detjen suddenly passed away. What follows are the notes he typed from faded pencil markings in his music. It is interesting to note how the elusive Mazurka rhythm is briefly referred to by Friedman, who in turn chose to concentrate on voice-leading and voicing .
Chopin- Mazurka op.24#4 in Bb minor (Friedman edition) .
Actually an unplayed organ point exists on 'f' - either lower or both 'f's' in the introduction. So-- set f's quite firmly at the outset.
In ms.4 hold back before swinging into rhythm. Hesitate and accent the third beat. Ms. 10-11 forte. Show f to E flat in last measure of first part [m. 20, bass]. In second part, play octave in the right hand on the third beat [ms.21-23, etc...]. In measure 32 hesitate and play softly on high Bb---then gradually get into tempo by next measure...second beat.
In the right hand progression show the lower notes [ from m.21 ] ---then in the 'a tempo' [ m.37 ]-- since it is the same melody as before [ ms. 13-20 ] show either of three things : [1] Inner voice prominent, or [2] sharp accented bass, or [3] 2nd and 3rd beats of each second measure [ms.38, 40, 42]. Progression: F - [Bb] - Eb - Ab - then next Ab - G - C.
In part three [m.53] the first phrase - play as if dreaming. Then play with sudden contrast in m.57 in strict mazurka style and forte. After second ending [ from m.60] Big in tone, and m.63 on Ab, consider this always a positive point. In the repetition of this part [ms.67-68] bring out sharp the Ab bass in m.63 to Db in m.64. Likewise two measures later, in m.75 where Crescendo starts, consider the [right hand] triplets very fast, almost like two grace notes and an eighth note. In m.79 Friedman puts in Ab in the left hand chord that is tied through (held) four measures and resolves to A natural in the 'a tempo' [ms. 95-98]. Here again a new idea may be used of bringing out sharply the lower note of the 3rd beat in the left hand, ms. 97, 99. In the final portion which is all in Bb minor] , do the right hand broad and with big tone the first time [m.114]. Then in the repetition [m 123] show the Bb in bass slightly, and the right hand soft. And in the 'calando', the right hand theme, first two measures very free, rubato... as if intoxicated! [ms.131-132]. In the 2nd measure after the hold [fermata], weight down the Fb [ m.137-138 ] and finish the right hand melody very freely. In the second to last measure, new pedal to bring chord down to only three notes, and finally--- Mazurka ends on one note, 'F'.
Salzman lives in Tel Aviv, actively concertising and teaching. Alfred Cortot awarded her a scholarship to study with him in Paris. Her other teachers included Nadia Boulanger, Ricardo Vines, and, when Cortot left for tours, she would have lessons with Wanda Landowska. Her two lessons with Friedman, placed in perspective with Cortot's approach, show the contrast between the two masters and the modernity with which Friedman viewed music, whereas Cortot's quest for the suitable impression or aphorism was inspiring but archaic .
I went to Paris when I was eight and until I was sixteen I studied with Cortot. In his teaching, the importance was the character of the work. The notes were not important - every phrase, every note must have a meaning . If I would, for instance, play a passage with notes, I was not allowed to make it sound as if it were notes. It had to have either the meaning of laughter or tears, or fireworks, whatever.
Cortot used to declaim in his playing. He was speaking words and every phrase had to have a special character. He never analyzed the work. He never spoke of harmony or the construction of a work, or anything intellectual. Everything must be atmosphere. He always talked of atmosphere and character. But nothing basic. He never talked about technique, nothing elementary.
Cortot had assistants with whom I had to study his exercises. I used his Chopin editions with the preparatory exercises. It was the Bible for me. I studied with Janine Weill twice a week. I saw Cortot every two weeks, sometimes once a month, or once a week. But all his lessons were public. I attended his lessons with others and took notes on his comments.
When I was in Australia in 1945, my mother arranged for me to have two lessons with Friedman. We worked on the Chopin E minor concerto and about three Mazurkas ; two in C# minor [one being the Op. 63#3] and one in F minor [Op. 7#3]. I played the Mazurkas for him. And at that time I was preoccupied only with a singing tone and the atmosphere full of love. I was only interested in playing with love and inspiration, and I thought he would tell me that "this phrase must have more longing", like Cortot used to say, or that "this phrase must have more sadness", or is tragic, or should suffer more. "Not enough suffering!", like Cortot spoke: "it should have tenderness".
So I played the Mazurkas for him thinking that he would tell me it's not sensitive enough or something like that and he started to speak about the left hand. And for me at that time, the left hand in the Mazurkas didn't exist, only the right hand! Can you imagine, in Mazurkas! And he was concerned with harmonies in the left hand, he spoke about modulations, he was speaking about counterpoint, and I was so angry at the time because it reminded me of Bach - this is the way to study a fugue of Bach! And I thought "He's insulting Chopin. It's terrible to speak of harmonies, and the left hand, and analyzing Chopin- it's criminal." And he's skinning my Mazurka and I was so angry and I was very disappointed. And now I know what he meant. It's a bit too late! [Laughs].
He was speaking intellectually and analyzing the music. It was like being in love and starting to analyse it instead of letting the feeling out: I am in love, which means that. . . he made me begin to think about these things, made me conscious of lots of things.
In France at that time Bach was played without feeling, quite accurately, imitating the harpsichord, and we studied him in the Harmony classes [at the Ecole Normale d' Musique]. So we studied the harmony, the modulations. Then Friedman started to talk the way I studied in the Harmony lessons. I was sure he would give more words to express the right mood of the work, the atmosphere, which he never spoke of. Only the basic things. But he never told me anything about the rhythm. What a pity. I had hoped he would reveal to me the magic of the Mazurka, to find the right rhythm, or to have something more elegant in it. Cortot told me that it is a dance danced by peasants, but the peasants are aristocrats. In Chopin, all the peasants are aristocrats. Whereas with Friedman it didn't very sound aristocratic, it sounded more like peasants so I was very upset [laughs].
Friedman demonstrated the left hand harmonies at the second piano, but didn't play with both hands, as he had a paralysed hand.
Mack Jost played at a reception given for Friedman at the University of Melbourne in 1941. When he phoned Friedman three years later, he immediately remembered not only Jost but the work he performed (Bach/Busoni- Toccata Adagio & Fugue in C). Jost writes that after his lessons he notated Friedman's comments. During our meeting in Melbourne, 1988, he added that " I knew that if I hadn't written it out, I would, in a year or so say, ' The Chopin Etudes. Now Friedman said something. . .what was it ?' "
The lessons were over an eight-week period and each lasted an hour and a half. Very often when I'd walk in he'd have the Sydney Morning Herald out on the music stand, practicing, and you'd see the fumes of his smoke, the newspaper, and his silver hair just over it. [Friedman often began his day practicing Godowsky's Badinage, an arrangement in which both of Chopin's G-flat Etudes are combined, while reading the morning paper or books on mathematics- ed.] It was funny to see that, but he would know the music so well that it would have been just a mere run-through. He didn't need to wonder what he should be playing. I heard him playing the Finale of Chopin's Funeral March Sonata with one hand. Friedman wasn't concertising at this time. He had arthritis in his left arm. In the [Chopin] Revolutionary Etude [op.10#12] he demonstrated the left hand part with his other hand [makes a roaring sound], and what was my left hand compared to his right?
I went for lessons every weekend. They weren't concerned so much with 'how to play' so much as the musical shape of everything. And the wonderful sounds he would make, and the use of something that he would have certainly learned in Vienna and used all his life; the way you create it is to hear the sound in the heavens, then try to reproduce it in your arm. The only way is to free them [the arms], and I can always remember him saying 'draw out the sound on the last one... think of drawing out the tone.' Not hitting the key. You're really thinking of hauling it out.
"If I were ever trying to hurry or play fast, he would say 'look, it shouldn't be that fast, there is always heaps of time' but he always made it sound as if it was, unhurried, but yet very fast.
"When I'd ask him 'how do you play octaves like that?' he would say 'that's easy, you just . . . [ Jost makes fluttering sound to mimic the blurring rapid movement of Friedman's hand] .'
Remember Friedman's maxim: 'There is always time'. That applies to the first time bar also: do not rush the demisemiquavers or the mordent. Variation 11: Friedman used to pedal the final quaver of the first section into the first crochet of the second, seeing that they both belong to the same harmony. Variation 13: Friedman recommended that some of the left hand chords could be spread rapidly and others a little more slowly. He waited a little on the first note of the second bar quintuplet and then played the remaining four notes faster, the first note of course being the theme note. Variation 15: Friedman advised pedalling the first beats of the first three bars of the second half and allowing them to run into the following semiquavers for a short distance, perhaps only up to the second beat. Any further and the passage would become too blurred. Variation 21: Friedman never used the pedal when playing the first section for the first time, but added a little when repeating it. Variation 25: For the right hand octave leaps in the sixth bar Friedman suggested that instead of thinking five downward leaps of a seventh, F G, G A, A Bb, Bb C, C D, it is much easier, psychologically, to think of them in reverse, as five upward leaps of an octave, i.e., F F, G G, A A, Bb Bb, C C: exactly the same end result but a simpler mental approach. Fugue: Bars 13-14: Friedman frequently played these bars forte, but at bar 15 where the fugue modulates into the minor key he dropped down to a superbly effective piano level, and in bars 18-19 he played the left hand sixteenth-tied to an- eighth figure legato. Friedman played, in bars 39-41, octaves throughout the left hand and in bars 42-43 in the right hand. He found it easier to do so! Bars 66-70: Friedman suggested that it was easier to play the upper line of the left hand thirds in the right hand.
Theme: Friedman counselled that the left hand note on the first beat of each bar might be held a fraction longer than that in the right.
Variation 1: Friedman never held the dotted crochet in bars 5-8 for its full value.
Variation 3: In bars 17-24 Friedman always pedalled from the sixth and twelfth semiquaver of each bar so that the bass of each succeeding harmony could be clearly heard.
Variation 6: As Friedman pointed out, this variation is slightly canonic.
Variation 7: Friedman always said that the sustained notes in bars 2, 4, 6, 8, and beyond sound like trumpet calls.
Variation 9: Friedman advocated a slight crescendo in the first bar as well as the one required in the second.
Variation 11: Friedman advocated right hand fifth finger tone for the first four bars, and that the upper voice be gently stressed in the second series of four bars. He always held the last right hand semiquaver of bars 10 and 12 into the following bars, his intention being to bind the bars together.
Variation 12: Friedman advocated pedalling from the last quaver of every bar as this is of course the basis of the ensuing harmony.
Variation 13: I will quote what Friedman has to say verbatim: 'Do not play these octave glissandi with the nail of the thumb - the effect would be too brutal, too vulgar. For a far more delicate effect use the part of the thumb that is always used when playing normally, and like a bird about to skim water come down with a similar sweeping movement. Don't dig into the keys, just skim them lightly. The fifth finger must be flat. Use the fleshy part and not the side.'In the second time bar at the end Friedman played the first three quavers in strict time and then observed an infinitesimal pause before playing the last chord.
Variation 14: Any left hand trills need not be taken too seriously - a turn will do. (Friedman said that! Don't blame me.)
Variation 1: [On practising the left hand double third trills] Friedman advises a very close vibratory movement with flattened fingers.
Variation 2: Friedman held the pedal throughout bars 9 and 12, and invested the hidden bass line of the last four bars with an indescribable beauty:
Eb D D C B E A
Variation 7: Friedman always gave more importance to the triplet quavers than the quadruplets in Variation 7.
Variation 8: Friedman suggested that the demisemiquavers sound like a brilliant chord for harp followed by the quavers orchestrated for clarinets.
Variation 11: Friedman viewed Variation 11 as one of the most difficult in the pianoforte literature.
I leave the last word with Friedman: "If you can play these variations perfectly in a year's time then you will have done very well."
© Allan Evans, 1996