"The Arab, I am told, calls his horse the corner of his liver, and the piano, though far less soft and warm, is figuratively the same for me." The life and pianism of Mark Hambourg as conveyed to us through his writings and recordings leave the impression of a picaresque adventurer. It all began with his father Michael, the eminent piano teacher in the central Russian provincial city of Voronezh who had been taught in Moscow by Nicholas Rubinstein and Taneiev. During this period in Russia's history, a disproportionately great amount of Jewish prodigies emerged and gained prominence, carrying violins or heading towards the piano. Hambourg recalled: "My father never drove me, though I had great natural facility and learnt in four days at the age of seven The Lark by [Glinka/] Balakireff, a work too difficult for me." Hambourg's brothers became accomplished string players.
When Hambourg arrived in Vienna to audition for Leschetizky the Professor was away. His current wife, the Russian Annette Essipoff, heard him in Bach's Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue and accepted him. Leschetizky brought Hambourg to the point where he could make his Vienna debut in 1894 with Chopin's E minor Concerto under Hans Richter and the Vienna Philharmonic. Hambourg was a success and the following year gave Rubinstein's D minor Concerto with Nikisch (who later became a close friend) and the Berlin Philharmonic. Once during a Brahms Festival in Vienna he performed the First Concerto with Felix Weingartner and the Berliners. Hambourg was later informed that Brahms had attended the concert and sent his compliments. Anton Rubinstein heard the young Hambourg and recommended him to the noted Berlin impresario Wolff.
Hambourg was first influenced by Paderewski, calling him the hero of his "earliest youth". In his 1951 book "The Eighth Octave", Hambourg writes of others:
"I do not suppose that any pianist today could play faster of louder than Moriz Rosenthal, or with more power than Eugen D'Albert, more impressively than Busoni or with greater elegance than Emil Sauer."
Moriz Rosenthal and Ferruccio Busoni both became his closest friends. Hambourg settled in London where he had appeared in joint recitals with Adelina Patti. A close acquaintance was Felix Moscheles, son of the famed pianist. For his friend's eightieth birthday, Hambourg revived the G minor concerto of his father and performed it in private. Hambourg introduced London to Busoni's mammoth Piano Concerto with the composer conducting. He appeared with Nikisch in Tchaikovsky's First Concerto, which he later recorded with Landon Ronald. Hambourg upheld Nikisch and Ronald as having provided him with the finest concerto collaborations of his career. Another prized memory was of the Beethoven C minor with Ysaye conducting. When Busoni canceled a tour in 1901 with this Belgian violinist, Hambourg replaced him. The two played Franck's Sonata, a cherished experience cited by the pianist. One lifelong favorite concerto was the Fourth by Saint-SaÎns.
A reigning misconception today is that pianists from Hambourg's time were so obsessed with the romantic repertoire that Twentieth century pieces were slighted. Hambourg cites his having given world premieres of a suite (unspecified) by Debussy, Leonard Borwick's arrangement of Debussy's Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun for piano solo, Ravel's Jeux D'eau and Gaspard de la Nuit. He played music by Albeniz, Granados, and when he gave a performance of Malipiero's Barlumi , he repeated the work so that the listeners could better grasp what he termed its "weird" harmonic scheme. Villa Lobos' Polichinelle was a favorite of his. He was also a pioneer recording artist who made his first discs in 1909. When the recording process was transformed by the microphone, Hambourg was again among the first to try it out:
"At first the records [the electrical process] produced were too loud, and I remember a tender Chopin Nocturne being relayed to me with a blaring tone as if an enormous band of trumpets were blowing it out." He later made sound films of piano solos, acted in a feature and created several pedagogic films on how to play the piano.
An early Australian tour furthered Hambourg's Wanderlust. His 1931 India tour brought him from Ceylon up to Peshawar, to the Khyber Pass. He experienced Indian music, having heard a "bean" [rudra-veena or been , a Mogul court instrument] played by a master for more than an hour. While fatigued by the lengthiness of the single work he understood that an elaborate structural scheme was being developed. Hambourg's travels also fed his compulsion to collect, which overwhelmed both him and his family. It began innocently in his eighth year with stamp-collecting. Hambourg compared himself to the land-owner Plyushkin in Gogol's Dead Souls, who held onto a year-old Easter cake (kulich) for a special occasion. From stamps he graduated to antique 18th century English glass. This led to Chinese jade, oriental bibelots, Chinese coats and walking sticks. "I filled shelves with what my wife called horrors, and which she longed to throw out. Strange little Egyptian mummies, a collection of them brought me by a soldier who found them in a tomb during a campaign; a lot of lovely diminutive Persian vases discovered in some junk shop, absolutely useless stuff but charming."
Equally odd are Hambourg's records. When approaching an unheard disc of his, one expects a strong image to form: that of a savant or scoundrel. His earliest discs display a huge tone, brilliant fingerwork and fiery temperament; the 1909 Moszkowski etude is a splendid example. Ignaz Friedman once confessed to a cousin his jealousy over Hambourg: "Er macht besser!" [He does it better!] There is a resemblance between Friedman and Hambourg beyond the round dark-framed spectacles they wore as both caressed the piano and approached it in a sensual manner, singing out the themes against a tonally luxuriant background, a practice encouraged by Leschetizky. His Dvorak has the instrument shimmering amidst the right measure of poise and abandon. Hambourg's Beethoven is characteristic of his time- exciting and elegant. Like his colleague, Moiseiwitsch too avoids holding the extended pedal passages during the second movement. As a tribute to his friend, Hambourg performed the rarely heard Moscheles cadenza.
An unusual feature in his playing is an archaic type of rubato used by Hambourg in the two Chopin Nocturnes. The early E flat is taken at a brisk tempo and resembles a work by Field more than Chopin's formal culmination. This rubato has the left hand's accompanying figures played evenly while the right hand is set free with rhythmic liberties. This is closer to Chopin's definition and is unlike the familiar speeding up and slowing of the tempo with both hands together. Chopin's Etude op.25#1 in A flat, a la Hambourg, has a fine flow and texture, yet Hambourg occasionally leaps an octave higher than written, a dexterous feat which leaves an aftertaste. One of his most frightening records is of Chopin's Valse in A flat, op. 42. Nearly half the notes are absent and what remains is an impersonation of the work. Hambourg seems either to have gambled on his moods or was unable to restrain a loathing for the recording process. His playing a once-popular D'Albert transcription of a Bach Prelude and Fugue originally for organ falls into this pattern. Hambourg, D'Albert and Sauer often began their programs with the piece. The Prelude exhibits D'Albert's skillful approximation of the organ's textures. The fugue, not chosen for reissue, finds a tamer, less effective D'Albert. As there is much thematic repetition, a vehicle for the organist to display various stops, Hambourg seems annoyed and impatient with it, and plays with an unusual indifference.
One matter of great pride to Hambourg was his the fine pianism of his daughter Michal [please see her entry] . Hambourg taught her and was overjoyed to attend her debut in her eighteenth year at London's Steinway Hall. Her excellent pianism is heard in the Liszt performance, the only commercial version made during pianism's Golden Age of a rarely heard work. She and her father are so well integrated that one hears little difference between the two pianos: she is still alive and passing on on her heritage of such superb playing. Her new recordings will be published by us.
The Fantasia Baetica by Falla is a premiere. Artur Rubinstein writes in his often unreliable memoirs of having received the Fantasia Baetica as a present from Falla with its dedication to him. Composed in 1919, it was published in 1922. Rubinstein gave its Paris premiere in 1925, which he considered the world premiere. He evaluates the music as an unsuccessful attempt to follow the Ritual Fire Dance, which he used as a vehicle to raise his hands high above the keys and come down crashing. Rubinstein programmed the work a few times afterwards and then eliminated it forever from his repertoire due to the lukewarm reactions from the audiences, much to Falla's chagrin. As a piece, its beginning section is mysterious and rarefied, demanding more than Falla could summon, resulting in an uneven balance between ardent flamenco mysticism and an overuse of glissandi. Yet the middle section has unusually sparse melodic material set in a manner close to Bartok's way. One regrets that this is Falla's last piano work, as he failed to explore the new directions it opened. Hambourg recorded the piece two years before its official premiere by Rubinstein. Hambourg introduced the work to Canada:
"A red letter day was giving the first performance of the Fantasia Baetica of De Falla to a Canadian audience in Toronto at Massey Hall. I thought I would never get through to the end of this complex and exotic work, so deafening was the coughing in the hall."
The first side of his disc took four takes during which Hambourg had to drop several measures of repetitive material in order to contain it onto one disc, which may account for overlooking dynamic indications and the middle section's 3/8 rhythm played unevenly. Yet he more than captures the work's elusive austerity and obsessive repetition. Like his Falla performance, Hambourg embodied a distinct amalgam of impatience, precision, beauty of tone, periodic recklessness. He was above all an intriguing, surprising figure whose highly individual playing created unexpected delights for his listeners by refurbishing the old and eagerly exploring the new.
© Allan Evans, 1996