Marija Dinov Vasić

Lecture:
Alexander Scriabin
- a world of interaction between composer, pianist and philosopher

This year we get together for the second time and I again was asked to prepare a convenient
lecture in honor of the hundredth anniversary of the death of Alexander Nikolayevich
Scriabin.

At first I was delighted, because Scriabin was one of my favorite figures since I was fifteen
years old and he is still among most fascinated characters to me. But there was a catch. When
I started to read about him and his work, as I usually do, I discovered so many literatures
where so many subjects waited to be explored. Soon I realized that it will be a problem to sum
up such a great life and work in one hour lasting lecture.

So, my first challenge in this project was to choose which segment of Scriabin’s many
dimensions should represent. I decided not to talk a lot of his biography, though it is probably
one of the strangest in history of art. I found that it is not appropriate to include all details
about his lifestyle, character, behavior, strengths and weaknesses, because there are some very
ugly truths in his life. It is not necessary to pay a great attention of it. Even without that,
Scriabin is still one of the most controversial figures among musicians. He inspires passionate
debates and polarizes opinion. Hardly anyone remains indifferent – one either likes his music
or does not.

I think it is not Scriabin’s problematic life the most important issue that create our opinion
and experience about his music. It is Scriabin’s philosophy that creates problems as well. The
main sources of his philosophy can be found in his numerous unpublished notebooks, one in
which he famously wrote "I am God"1. As well as brief notes there are complex and technical
diagrams explaining his metaphysics. Scriabin also used poetry to express his philosophical
concepts, and much of his philosophical thought was translated into music. His composing
work was always in direct interaction with his philosophy.

I also decided not to talk about his eccentric believes that the world could be transformed and,
indeed, saved through art, and his visions or hallucinations, also about eroticism in his music,
although he used the word ecstasy. He saw that the end of the world would be a grandiose
sexual act, a universal orgy, in fact. It is hard to believe that anyone would think like this. He
was a megalomaniac and he wanted everyone to agree with him. He promoted cults and
spiritualism which were dangerous doctrines and were exposed as deception. He was a cult
figure himself. He was considered by himself and others to be a messianic figure2.

He was an odd person who did not quite fit or match any convention. Stravinsky called him “a
man without citizenship”, meaning that he did not belong to any particular musical or cultural

1
I am God!
I am nothing, I am play, I am freedom, I am life.
I am the boundary, I am the peak.
From Scriabin’s notebook, 1905
2
He really was born on Christmas Day 1871 (of course, the Russian Orthodox Church celebrates Christmas on
the 7th oh January).

1
tradition. But if his music does not belong to any national musical tradition, his character was
truly Russian. Everything had to be pushed to the limits, to extremes – no half measures, no
compromises. Though he was a product of his Russian musical heritage, Scriabin’s music is
not specifically Russian and it does not quite fit in any other tradition either – a rather unique
case in music history. Except for a few obvious influences in his early works, Scriabin found
his own idiom, his own harmonic language, his own style and principles of musical
construction, and created a system like no other. This system was closed and complete within
itself and did not allow further development. His music influenced many but it produced no
real followers, only epigones, because his system can’t be developed, only copied.

We have already heard plenty of important theories about his life and work in previous lecture
of my respected and very dear professor Todorovich, and I don’t want to repeat it, as a good
student. So, for my lecture I choused to discuss Scriabin’s performing style.

After I’ve read many books about Scriabin’s work, I truly believe that the key for deeper
understanding of composer’s artistic intensions and ideologies is the knowledge of his
performance practices and it’s interaction with his composing and philosophy.

Scriabin started out as a prodigy pianist, studying as a boy with the renowned Moscow
pedagogue Nikolai Zverev. It was the advice of Sergei Taneyev, with whom Scriabin was
studying musical theory. Studying with Zverev had great advantages. He disciplined pupils in
technical practice and taught them how to work seriously, he taught always with regard for
sound technical methods such as freedom of arms, hands and wrists and musical fundamentals
such as rhythm and musical literacy. Zverev’s pupils included, besides Scriabin, Alexander
Siloti, Sergei Rachmaninov, Konstantin Igumnov, Yelena Bekman-Shcherbina. The last three
were friends and colleagues throughout Scriabin’s later life, despite fundamental
disagreements between Rachmaninov and Scriabin. Interestingly, Scriabin started out as a
pianist and ended up as a composer, while Rachmaninoff started out as a composer and ended
up as a pianist.

An unfortunate circumstance forced Scriabin to turn to composition. During his time in

Conservatory Scriabin had catastrophic hand injury which led to the writing of the tragic First
sonata and the Nocturne and prelude for left hand op. 9. It also influenced to a huge upheaval
in his personal philosophy and outlook on the world.

Scriabin made a recovery against the prognosis of doctors and he eventually returned to the
concert stage, but the hand was never quite the same again. To the end of his life Scriabin was
unconsciously exercising the fingers of his right hand on the table or on his knee, checking
their action. It may explain why in so many of his compositions the left hand is technically the
equal and often overshadows the right hand. Cesar Cui, in a concert review of Scriabin from
1905 complained that Scriabin’s left hand actually overwhelmed the right.

Scriabin entered the Conservatory and joined the class of Vasily Safonov former student of
Leschetizky, who had selected him as a student while he was still studying with Zverev. There
was a musical affinity between professor and student. For Scriabin the school of Safonov was
perhaps the only practicable one.

Scriabin actually owed valuable connections in the musical world to his mother. She died
only a year after his birth, but it is likely that he inherited musical ability, both as performer
and composer, from her. Her period of study with Theodore Leschetizky in St. Petersburg

2
overlapped by one year with Vasily Safonov, the later teacher of Scriabin. The director of the
conservatoire at that time, Anton Rubinstein, referred to her as his “little daughter”. After she
died Rubinstein showed great interest in her gifted child.

During his education Scriabin naturally played significant works of piano literacy. Critical
opinions of his playing of other composer’s works were mixed. Comparing these reports, it
seems clear that Scriabin adopted a quite different, more personal and involved manner of
playing, especially when playing his own music. As is well-known, after finished studies, he
performed no other composer’s music throughout his playing career.

Scriabin belongs in the category of great pianist-composers. During his lifetime he was
respected for his pianistic abilities. In fact, many of his teachers believed that his primary
potential was in performing rather than in composing3. He was called Russia’s Chopin. Like
Chopin, aside from the five orchestral works and a piano concerto, Scriabin wrote exclusively
for the piano. The ten sonatas of Scriabin provide a magnificent harmonic timeline, and
provide perhaps the best way to view his compositional evolution since they virtually
encompass his entire compositional lifespan. The finest of his works are also small scale
pieces: preludes, mazurkas, morceaux, poems, dances, etudes. Actually, most of his
compositions are short. His longest work for piano, Sonata no. 8, lasts only seventeen
minutes. Many pieces are not much more than one minute, some even less.

Reviews and memoirs of Scriabin’s phenomenal piano playing reveal a distinctive style that
captivated audiences throughout his career. In the last years of his life4, Scriabin was hailed as
one of the greatest geniuses of Russian musical culture. His music filled concert halls and
fashionable salons inspiring passionate responses from delighted audiences.

But since the 1920s, the music of Alexander Scriabin has undergone a kind of evolution. For
about 15 years, from 1910 to 1925, Scriabin as a composer, pianist, and person stimulated
many admirations and, often, mad idolatry. Afterward, somehow, the overpowering appeal of
Scriabin’s music faded away. Today it simply does not thrill the listeners the way it formerly
did. Scriabin is generally respected, mostly for his harmonic exploits and visionary
multimedia experiments, but he is rarely regarded as a genius. Since the middle of the 20th
century, his music hasn’t been understood and even occasionally criticized for being dry,
mechanical, and uninspired.

To be sure, one important factor of Scriabin’s massive popularity early in the twentieth
century was that he was so perfectly attuned to the spirit of the time. That era was a special
period in Russian cultural history, which is usually called the Russian artistic renaissance - a
period of unique blossoming of poetry, music, visual arts, theater, and new philosophy. That
was also the beginning of the Russian symbolist movement based on religious and
philosophical ideas that supposedly, could be fully comprehensible only to those who had
been initiated into the mysterious kingdom of symbols. Moscow became the center of
symbolism in Russia. Scriabin’s circle in that city included musicians, poets, scholars,
philosophers, painters, actors, and stage directors. They saw in him not merely their musical
parallel. To them Scriabin was a prophet, and even more than that – a creator, a real divinity.

3
He did not graduate from the conservatory as a composer but as a pianist and for his final piano examination he
was awarded with gold medal.
4
before he died suddenly of blood poisoning in 1915

3
There were also many listeners in Russia and abroad who did not care for Scriabin’s cosmic
ideas or knew little about them, and yet were completely taken by the music itself. For
example, while visiting Moscow, Gericke, the respected conductor of the Vienna Opera and
the Boston Symphony, went to a concert of Scriabin’s music that presented the Third
Symphony, the Poem of Ecstasy, and a group of piano pieces, including the Fifth Sonata,
played by the composer. After the concert Gericke rushed backstage. In the artist’s room, this
dignified man in his 60s fell on his knees, crying out: “It is genius, it is genius…”

Of course, not all of Scriabin’s contemporaries were attracted by his music or his personality.
There were those who were confused and even irritated by the composer’s daring innovations.
Sergei Taneyev, an eminent Russian composer and Scriabin’s former teacher, was at the same
concert in Moscow in 1909 as Gericke. When Scriabin asked Taneyev after the concert how
he liked the Poem of Ecstasy, Taneyev answered frankly: “I felt as if I had been beaten with
sticks.”

In his memoirs of Scriabin Alexander Goldenweiser5 used the carefully chosen phrase:
“Scriabin was a pianist, one may say, of genius.” And in the words “one may say” is revealed
his awareness of the controversy which surrounded Scriabin’s extremely individual playing
during his lifetime. The first wife of the composer, Vera Ivanovna Scriabina, an excellent
pianist, expressed the opinion that his playing obstructed public understanding of the music:
“Everything in which people see defects of the works comes from a performance which is
extremely free and unrhythmical, which disturbs understanding and evaluation of the works.”
On the other hand, A. V. Ossovsky6 stated in his reminiscences, writing of Scriabin’s
performance at home of his own Prometheus: “This performance increased my perception of
this music extremely.”

How can we explain this mysterious metamorphosis? One argument is that Scriabin’s music
is a product of characteristic cultural and intellectual values that do not respond well with
today’s world. Consequently, Scriabin’s music does not strongly engage the listener anymore.
This argument does not appear particularly convincing. Every composer of the past was
influenced by and reflected the spirit of the time in a manner quite different from
contemporary life. And yet, the music of many other composers whose lifetime fame was
comparable to that of Scriabin has not faded away as quickly and drastically.

Music of a distant past may lose its reception for another reason. Because of the lack of
precise notation at the time, it is difficult or nearly impossible to restore the true sounds of
earlier music. Scriabin’s compositions, on the contrary, were clearly notated and preserved,
and they came from a performance tradition not far removed from our time. Yet his audiences
obviously did hear something different from what we usually hear today.

Scriabin, an extraordinary pianist, popularized his piano music through his own performances.
He played, especially later in life, many concerts throughout Russia, Europe, and the United
States. Before presenting his orchestral works to the public, Scriabin frequently collaborated
with the conductors by playing the piece for them on the piano and then analyzing it. In one of
his letters Scriabin said: “it is terribly difficult for a conductor to sort out all the details of
such a complex composition … there is so much polyphony that, without knowing the
composer’s intentions, it is hard to decide which part needs to be emphasized at any given

5
Goldenweiser was a Russian pianist, teacher and composer.
6
Ossovsky was a renowned Russian musical writer, critic and musicologist, professor at Saint Petersburg
Conservatory and a pupil of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov.

4
moment. At the same time, it is impossible to indicate everything in the score.” And, since it
was impossible in principle, Scriabin usually put little effort into trying to notate his music
precisely.

It is well known that both Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov and Anatoly Liadov who had to
proofread and correct Scriabin’s orchestral manuscripts presented for publication, sometimes
became angry with Scriabin for his careless notation.

As a little boy Scriabin played by ear at the age of five. He also improvised at an early age,
but he was impatient with notation, which bored him. This early preference seems to have
stayed with Scriabin to some extent, leading later on to the difficulties with establishing a
correct text. Scriabin later became far more aware of musical orthography, but he kept the bad
habit of correcting works at the piano. Sabaneyev7 remarked: “Every work exists fully
complete to the last detail only in the mental image of its author.” In the case of Scriabin, he
further observed: “His notation in relation to his conception is one of the most incomplete”.
This incompleteness had its roots, Sabaneyev felt, in the inconstancy of Scriabin’s
conception.

Unlike Scriabin’s obvious carelessness in music notation, his attitude toward performance
was remarkably different. He devoted a great deal of time and energy to concert activities.
When his music was performed either by the composer himself or, in the case of his orchestral
works, under his guidance, the responses of listeners were ecstatic. The music critic called
him phenomenal. The poet Konstantin Balmont8 wrote: “Scriabin at the piano. He was tiny
and fragile, this loud elf … It was somehow brightly terrifying. And when he began to play, it
was as if he emitted light, he was surrounded by an air of magic.”

Evidently, in his own performances, Scriabin was very suggestive, intensive and
convincing. He went far beyond what the scores indicated. Many contemporaries
realized that Scriabin’s performing style not only fit his compositions perfectly - it also
provided the key to an understanding of his works.

In order to make sense of contradictory opinions about Sriabin’s work it is necessary to

examine the origins of Scriabin’s pianism and to compare critical responses in the press and
the descriptions by friends and colleagues of Scriabin’s pianism and interpretative methods.
But such statements are necessarily subjective. So it is particularly important to take into
account the strictly objective evidence which Scriabin himself left to us.

Yelena Bekman-Shcherbina, who studied many of Scriabin’s works with the composer
himself, recalled: “Scriabin’s performance was characterized by an amazing finesse on
nuances. The notation could not transmit all the shadings, temperamental tempo oscillations
and the right tone. One had to read much between the lines and the composer himself often
changed the text.” Indeed, when some musicians attended Scriabin’s piano recitals with
published scores in hand, they noticed that the composer always changed tempos, expressive
nuances, rhythms, and even notes. They also discovered that such modifications which
sometimes were extremely opposite to the published notation, they always sounded better
than the printed text.

7
Sabaneyev was a Russian musicologist, music critic, composer and scientist. He made a special study of
Alexander Scriabin and became an authority on that subject.
8
Balmont was a Russian symbolist poet, translator, one of the major figures of the Silver Age of Russian Poetry.

5
Since the composer’s death in 1915, the disparity between his notation and performance has
had a catastrophic effect on his legacy. Fortunately, Scriabin recorded 19 of his compositions
on the Hupfeld9 and the Welte-Mignon10 reproducing pianos in 1908 and 1910. The Welte
rolls have been played back and recorded on LPs and CDs since the late 1950s.

If the notation on the score does not represent the whole truth about Scriabin’s
intention, the value of these piano roll recordings becomes essential for studying
Scriabin’s piano music.

Unfortunately, these recordings have not broken new ground in our understanding of Scriabin.
They not only have left the modern listener unimpressed. They have often been dismissed as
irregular, uninspired and full of distorting mannerisms. Somehow the music heard in these
recent releases has not evoked euphoric responses the way Scriabin’s performances did at the
turn of the century, as one might have expected.

The lack of enthusiasm for Scriabin’s recordings shown by modern-day listeners and critics
cannot be blamed on the performer. Scriabin recorded his piano rolls at the top of his artistic
mastership, in the middle of his most successful concert tours. The problem, rather, lies in the
experience of today’s listeners who are spoiled by the high credibility of modern piano
recordings. Unlike old phonograph recordings, there is no whistle or scratchy noise. And
while many listeners and also music critics perceive Scriabin’s playing they hear nowadays as
a complete performance, we should comprehend that the Welte recordings, however, do not
represent that. Many components of Scriabin’s playing are quite faithfully reflected in the
Welte playback, but at the same time, certain elements of artistic performance simply go
beyond the capacity of the reproducing piano.

While this indirect evidence of Scriabin's pianism produce a mixed critical reception,
close analysis of the recordings within the context of the limitations of the particular
piano roll technology can shed light on the free style that composer favored for the
performance of his own works.

Pavel Lobanov, the engineer who recorded Scriabin from the Welte-Mignon rolls for
Melodiya, published transcriptions of Scriabin's recordings in the form of a music score.
As these transcriptions show the moment of depression and release of each key, much may be
concluded from them about the composer’s instrumental technique. In this way many aspects
of the contemporary analysis may be verified against the testimony of these transcriptions,
and we may come nearer to answering the question: was Scriabin’s playing some sort of
willful, nervous deviation, or did his freedoms of rhythm and modifications of his own text
illuminate the meaning of his music?

Professor Anatole Leikin wrote several texts about his own studies of these transcriptions. He
even published the book “The performing style of Alexander Scriabin”. It is rich in detail and
presents explicit analyses of eleven works Scriabin recorded on piano rolls. Descriptions of
9
Etude Op. 8 No. 8 (roll 13426), Feuillette d’album Op. 45 No. 1 (roll 13427), Two Mazurkas Op. 25 Nos. 1,
3 (rolls 13428, 13429), Mazurka Op. 40 No. 2 (roll 13430), Two Poems Op. 32 Nos. 1, 2 (rolls 13431, 13432),
Prelude Op. 11 No. 10 (roll 13433), Preludes Op. 11 Nos. 13, 14 (roll 13434), Preludes Op. 17 Nos. 3, 4 (roll
13435), Third Sonata Op. 23 (rolls 13436, 13437), Second Sonata Op. 19 (rolls 13438, 13439)
10
Two Preludes Op. 11 Nos. 1, 2 (roll 2067), Poem Op. 32 No. 1 (roll 2068), Two Preludes Op. 11 Nos. 13, 14
(roll 2069), Désir Op. 57 No. 1 (roll 2071), Prelude Op. 22 No. 1 (roll 2072), Mazurka Op. 40 No. 2 (roll
2072), Etude Op. 8 No. 12 (roll 2073)

6
variances between the scores and Scriabin’s performances are careful in detail. But they also
can make reading uninteresting. Pianists would make best use of these chapters as a reference
guide for individual pieces. The consistent approach Scriabin takes to such matters as right
chords, agogic accents and tempo variation provides a template for how his piano music
should be played.

First thing that we should expect about Scriabin’s art of playing is his tone sound.
Regrettably, his reproducing piano recordings fail to transmit Scriabin’s amazing finesse in
pianissimo. He was weak, tiny man, standing just one inch over five feet, with small hands
that could hardly play intervals wider than an octave. Scriabin never had a massive sound,
according to contemporary observations. His pianissimo, by contrast, was exceptionally
refined. More than one music critic admired Scriabin’s ability to create ethereal sounds that
somehow did not vanish in the hall.

Amongst the many descriptions by contemporaries of Scriabin’s playing, two stand out.
Alexander Pasternak, brother of Boris, wrote as follows: “… I felt and understood that his
fingers produced sound, not by falling on the keys, not striking them… but on the contrary by
pulling away from the key and with a light movement flying above the keys…he sat leaning
back and with head thrown back.”

This childhood memory of this well-informed musical amateur may be balanced by the
professionally technical explanation of Mark Meichik11: “As a pianist he was a typical
product of the Safonov school, with a lifted wrist, freely positioned, only slightly curved
fingers, a light but very quick and exact stroke of the lifted finger… his use of the pedal was
entirely unique … extremely precise and original, it resulted with a sort of special, clear
sonority of the instrument… Scriabin actually mixed harmonies by the use of the pedal,
creating unusual combinations of sounds…”

In general, the Welte-Mignon could reflect the artist’s dynamics. Yet it missed extremely
small, barely visible nuances that are crucial for an expressive delivery, especially in the
shaping of phrases. The most painful loss of it is the pianist’s touch which is “the most
notable characteristic of the refined artist.” Scriabin’s pianistic fame was based largely on his
incomparable spectrum of tone colors. Fragile, mysterious, yet amazing intense, they often
did not even be similar to a piano sound. Sabaneyev remarked that Scriabin’s “intimate,
tender, and hypnotic tone defied descriptions … as if he touched the keys with kisses.”
Understandably, the wooden touches of the Welte-Mignon did not exactly kiss the keys.

Scriabin worried more about sound than anything else. When he was eleven years old, he
commenced piano lessons with Georgiy Konyus who was not impressed by their first
meeting: “The little boy looked weak. He was pale, of small stature, looked younger than his
years…he turned out not to know notation very well. He knew the scales and the tonalities,
and with the weak sound of his little fingers which barely carried he played to me, what
exactly, I don’t remember, but it was correct and satisfactory… he learned pieces quickly, but
his performance, it should be remembered, as a result of the limitations of his anatomy, was
always ethereal and monotonous.”

The complaint of an insufficiently strong tonal quality was to haunt Scriabin from childhood
till later years when press notices this as the less suitable tendency in his playing: “The
11
Mark N. Meichick was a Russian pianist, teacher and musicologist. He was a student of Scriabin and Safonov
and also among the best performers of Scriabin’s music.

7
weakest point of Scriabin as a concert pianist is of course the insufficiency of strength of
tone.”

Student of Scriabin, Maria Nemenova-Lunz talks about Scriabin’s teaching: “One often hears
how Scriabin lacked strength. It is true that he did not have a “frightening fortissimo.” He did
not much like “materialistic” sonority. He always said that the deepest forte must always
sound soft. “This chord must sound like a cry of happy victory, not like a knocking down
chest of drawers”…

Vasily Safonov, who often worked with his pupil at home, recalled: “One time I happened to
fall asleep. I woke up with some sort of charming sound. I didn’t even want to move and
destroy the magic spell. It turned out to be his D flat major prelude… Scriabin manifested to a
high degree what I always impress upon my students: “The less the piano sounds like itself
under the fingers of a performer, the better it is.” Much in his way of playing was my own.
But he had a special variety of tone colors, a special perfectly fine use of the pedal. He
possessed a rare gift, exclusively his own: with him the instrument breathed.” Safonov
sometimes invited Scriabin to play for his class. During one of these sessions, Safonov yelled
at his students: “What are you looking at his hands for? Look at his feet!”

On the other hand the pedaling on the Welte-Mignon was even more limited. It was simplified
and far away from what Anton Rubinstein called “the soul of the piano.” Scriabin was a
famous wizard of the pedal. He used not just half and quarter pedals, but also what he called a
“particle” pedal, a “vibrating” pedal, and “pedal mist”. The last two terms probably involved a
technique that made the dampers flutter just above the strings without pressing them all the
way down. As a result, the strongest vibrations were cut off, while more delicate resonances
remained complete. Scriabin’s pedaling “surrounded the notes with layers of unnatural
resonances that no other pianist could reproduce later.”

Scriabin's use of the pedals is also indicated in the Lobanov’s transcriptions. Despite the
primitive pedal operation of the player-piano, we can extract two useful pieces of information
concerning his pedaling. First, a single pedal usually covers several neighboring notes.
Evidently, the vibrating pedal needs to be applied throughout so that "pedal mist" does not
turn into something else. Second, the soft pedal is used quite generously. Overall, in his Poem
op.32 he played only 12 out of 48 bars tre corde.

The rolls also show some else differences between the printed and the performed versions of
the Poema which are even more surprising. While played, Scriabin added extra notes and left
out some notes. He also replaced or interchanged notes.

Another difference between the transcription and the printed edition is the replacement of
sustained notes with rests. Scriabin did not like long standing on the keys. He holds down the
sound with the pedal, while his hands fly above the keyboard. This was not a mannerism, nor
was it just a matter of a special piano technique. Scriabin was obsessed with the idea of flight
(he actually took experiments in levitation). According to Nemenova-Lunz, "flight" was one
of the terms Scriabin used most frequently in his piano teaching.

There are also differences in articulation Scriabin played in rolls and in written text. Many
scholars wonder if he wanted for example staccato notes to be played legato, why he wrote
staccato notes in the first place. Again the answer perhaps lies in the pedaling. A series of
notes played by finger legato or played separated with a pedal creates a different sound.

8
Perhaps Scriabin wanted a particular sound that is created with the quick release of the notes
connected by a widespread pedal.

Professor Leikin also indicates a fascinating picture of Scriabin's rubato shifts. For example
the composer's published metronome indication is dotted quarter as 50. This performing
tempo, however, ranges from 19 to 110. Despite the sharp tempo fluctuations, the medium
tempo equals 51, which is practically identical to the printed metronome marking. Tempo
shifts happen with unpredictable quickness. In a single bar the tempo can pick up from 35 to
85 or drop from 100 to 30. Scriabin simply does not sustain a stable pulse for more than two
beats. The tempo is in a permanent flux. At the same time, there is not one accelerando or
ritardando in the printed score.

As a result, therefore, even though Scriabin's phrases may look symmetrical on paper, their
actual duration in performance was sharply different. He stretched and compressed his
seemingly "square" phrases to such an extent that some unfriendly reviewers in his time
characterized his playing as arrhythmic. Scriabin did occasionally write irregular meters and
phrase structures. But examples of this include a relatively small part of his opus. He didn’t
expand or shorten musical phrases by means of precise notation in his search for greater
rhythmic flexibility. Scriabin achieved motivic asymmetry and rhythmic elasticity through his
rubato.

The acceleration or retardation of pulse was not the only mode by which Scriabin used
rubato. Occasionally he changed actual rhythmic values during a performance. He also
oscillated notes that were seemingly supposed to sound at the same time. These two
manifestations of rhythmic freedom further intensified the spontaneous as improvisational
quality of Scriabin's playing. The contracting of the written rhythm seems a demonstration of
another Scriabin’s principle: “After all, you can modify the rhythm as strongly as you like,
but you must always make the listener feel that is the rhythm from which it came.”
The cumulative effect of these details of Scriabin’s performance show the truth of
Sabaneyev’s words: “Scriabin’s vision is unified and unquestionable, but his notation is
incomplete.”

Professor Leikin reveals another fascinating discovery. There was also strong reason for
Scriabin to separate textural parts in performance. The dynamic differentiation between
various layers of musical texture was particularly problematic to record on rolls. The thicker
the texture, the more dynamically distorted the recording became in comparison with the
original performance. But those who heard the composer play noticed that even in the most
complex musical material he separated the layers of texture so that all of the voices were
clearly articulate. Certainly, various shades of dynamics and tone coloring helped create this
effect. But even on the Welte-Mignon rolls, with their limited capabilities to recreate the
pianist's touch and finest nuances, the clarity of every textural layer is remarkable. Scriabin
accomplished that lucidity primarily by separating the different parts of the musical texture. It
is known that dissimilar rhythm patterns help recognize each polyphonic voice. Scriabin took
this idea one step further. He slightly displaced the parts in time so that each voice stood out
more markedly than when they are played at the same time - a simple effective invention.

It also should be mentioned that Scriabin's polyphony spreads the thematic material among
the parts in such a way that it is often difficult to define the location of the main and the
secondary levels. In his works, every textural component becomes thematic to such an extent
that the boundaries between the melody and the accompaniment practically discontinue.

9
Scriabin recognized his own fusion of melody with harmony, which he called melodiye-
garmoniya (loosely translated as "meloharmony"). The composer himself went so far and
declared that there was no difference between melody and harmony in his music: "melody is
unrolled harmony, and harmony is rolled melody". Scriabin's special form of polyphony
depended heavily on his own performance. Otherwise, it would simply have gone unnoticed.

It is no wonder that Scriabin’s old recordings came to us not as a discovery, but rather as a
“shock for today’s listener”. The modern critics of Scriabin’s performance apparently do not
fully realize that the music they hear is played not quite by Scriabin himself, but by a
mechanical instrument. When the plenty of expressive nuances and amazing refined pedaling
are reduced to more basic crescendos, diminuendos, and foot-down/foot-up pedal action, and
when all the effects of pianistic touch and the entire fullness of tone colors are cut down, the
listener must use a good deal of imagination to recover music of these limitations.

The main difficulty for those who want to listen and study these recordings is that they must
be heard selectively. One has to listen carefully to the timing aspects of performance that
faithfully reflect the artist’s original performance: the rhythm, the tempo fluctuations, the
lineup of notes against each other and the length of each individual note. All the time such
elements as dynamic nuances, pedaling, phrase shadings, chord voicing and tone colors are
far less detailed. As a result, the listener has to take in various elements of the performance
using different levels of perception. This can be very hard and irritating for many musicians.

Anyway, Scriabin's performances on piano-roll recordings provide us with precious insights

into vital aspects of his music that are not manifest simply through editions of his music.
Some attributes of his performing style still remain somewhat elusive. But two major
ingredients of his pianism which reflect a different kind of rubato were captured in small
details in his recording. They are the continuous shifting of tempi and the separations of
individual textural lines. Armed with the knowledge extracted through a comparison of the
printed and performed versions, a pianist today can create a truly Scriabinesque interpretation.
At the same time, since the guiding principle of Scriabin's performance is freedom rather than
restriction, the personal style of the nowadays performer need not to be obstructed.

Studying Scriabin’s playing from the piano roll recordings is by no means suggesting that
there is only one possible interpretation. Its purpose is to further enhance our understanding of
the tendencies of his phrasing, freedom of timing and perhaps the connection between the
written music and his musical intentions. The recording represents what was done in one
particular occasion, and composer’s views may or may not be fixed in all situations. However,
it gives us valuable evidence beyond the notation on the score. Performance interpretation
issues therefore arise from question how to interpret notation and how to assume what was
meant by the composer.

Here we come to old discuss about the two aesthetic views of letting the music speak for itself
against creating an individual interpretation. This debate dates back to the early nineteenth
century, when the roles of composer and pianist separated. Instead of having composers play
their own works, virtuoso pianists started to take over the stage. Pianists would perform
mostly other people’s works rather than their own. It was unusual even for composer-pianists
to play only their own works. In this regard, Scriabin was atypical of his generation because
he played his own music exclusively since he left the Conservatory12.
12
It pleases me as a pianist to play them…With me they sound well…
Alexander Scriabin

10
The interpretive challenge of playing works that the composer himself frequently performed
is the fine line between authenticity and individuality. Even though studying the composer’s
own recordings leads to a greater understanding of his distinctive approach to the
performance, his style may not be applicable to the present time. The current performance
practice and style shape the obsession with the perfection in tempo, rhythm, dynamics,
phrasing and proportion. The element of restraint and control becomes the norm of the
interpretations and the flexibility of tempo becomes more reserved. The difference between
the faster and the slower sections are much slimmer. Anything that disturbs the invariability
and the flow of the piece is not recommended. The rhythm, dynamics and phrasing in general
become somehow more predictable. The overall performance practice prefers uniformity in
the interpretation rather than extreme contrast. Also, the aspect of improvisation was
completely taken away from the classical performances. The score itself seems to speak the
whole truth in the contemporary performance practice, even though the composer himself in
the early twentieth century would rarely follow it exactly. We can just imagine the impact that
the early recordings must have made in their time and the value they possess in the present
century. They provide the key to a more comprehensive understanding of composer’s works.
If the notation on the score does not represent the whole truth about his intention, the value of
these recordings becomes even more crucial to study Scriabin’s piano music.

Each performance carries a different interpretation. The pianist interprets the notations on the
score into sounds and the audience then decides if that particular performance is convincing
or not. The question arises how to balance the freedom of interpretation with a composer’s
written score. Leonard Meyer13 describes: “the performance of a piece of music is…the
actualization of an analytic act even though such analysis may have been intuitive and
unsystematic. What a performer does is to make the relationships and patterns potential in the
composer’s score clear to the mind and ear of the experienced listener.” This observation is
incomplete because the interpretation is more than just an “analytic act.” Pianists make
interpretative choices based on their knowledge of the composer’s work, particular
performance style in the composer’s time and their own pianistic and personal emotional
background. Most listeners do not go to concerts to hear any specific analytical
demonstrations. They rather go for that magic which is necessary for a successful
performance. This magic is perhaps the alliance between the analytical and the spontaneous,
order and freedom. The pianist must create a thought out concept of interpretation after a
comprehensive study of the piece (which, unfortunately too often tends to be restrictive). The
composer - pianist has the concept already in him (it is there since the moment of creation).
The interpretation changes from pianist to pianist, but once when it has got the established
life, pianists tend to be less flexible. Composers, on the other hand, rarely have strictly fixed
ideas of how their music should be performed. For the same reason, Scriabin rarely played
exactly as he wrote in the score. His interpretation changed from performance to performance,
but the essence of his artistic interpretation remained distinctive.

But, what exactly is the essence of Scriabin’s interpretation? I think we can say it is Scriabin
himself and his performance. The unusual quality of his playing is described by Sabaneyev as
“a secret liturgical act” that affect the listeners as they felt “electric power touching their
mind”. Some of the descriptions by his biographer might be an exaggeration or an act of
mystifying the composer. Still many of Scriabin’s contemporaries refused to hear any other

13
Meyer (1918–2007) was a composer, author, and philosopher. He contributed major works in the fields of
aesthetic theory in music, and compositional analysis.

11
pianist than Scriabin himself perform his music. They believed that no other pianist could
deliver the same effect.

Even Scriabin never liked anyone’s interpretation of his piano music. Only in “certain pieces”
some of his friends were able to please him with their interpretations14. Pianists who have
performed Scriabin to particular critical approval include Vladimir Sofronitsky, Vladimir
Horowitz and Sviatoslav Richter. Sofronitsky never met the composer, as his parents forbade
him to attend a concert because of illness. The pianist said he never forgave them. But he did
marry Scriabin's daughter Elena. According to Horowitz, when he played for the composer as
an eleven year old child, Scriabin responded enthusiastically and encouraged him to pursue a
full musical and artistic education. When Sergei Rachmaninoff performed Scriabin's music
his playing style was criticized by the composer as being earthbound. According to an
anecdote he argued with Rachmaninov because he played the piece of Scriabin in a slow
manner, emphasizing more the romantic part. Scriabin said that some of his pieces should be
played in a powerful manner. "It's my music" said Scriabin and Rachmaninov just answered:
"It's my interpretation". I wonder how would Scriabin discuss any other pianist who possessed
the interpretative creativity and great technique needed to play his music effectively. Among
them are Dmitri Alexeev, Vladimir Ashkenazy, Boris Berman, Marc-André Hamelin, Mikhail
Voskresensky, Igor Zhukov, Nikolai Demidenko, Andrei Gavrilov, Emil Gilels, Glenn Gould,
Evgeny Kissin, Stanislav Neuhaus, Mikhail Pletnev, Grigory Sokolov, Arcadi Volodos, to
name a few.

His attitude toward his music and its interpretation also changed as he developed his
philosophy. He said to Sabaneyev: “I can’t understand how to write just music. How boring!
Music takes on idea and significance only when it is linked to a single plan with a whole view
of the world. People who just write music are like performers who just play an instrument.
They become valuable only when they connect with a general idea. The purpose of music is
revelation. What a powerful knowledge it is!” For Scriabin an important and perhaps central
reason why he played in public was because he realized that in order to persuade to the people
his ideas as mystic he first needs to subdue them with music.

The creative process of Scriabin’s compositions also reflects his approach to performance.
Scriabin associated lights and colors with sound and reflected religious symbolism in his
music. The rays of lights translate into sounds already added visual dimension to his
compositions. Scriabin’s ultimate aesthetic ideal was to go beyond imagination through
music. He said: “Through music and color, with the help of perfume, the human mind or soul
can be lifted outside or above simply physical sensations into the region of purely abstract
ecstasy and purely intellectual speculation.”

In the end it would be impossible to know exactly how to realize these abstract ideas in actual
performance. However the essence of Scriabin's music lies in freedom and informal character.
Therefore it is only sure that certain way not to suggest these ideas is through the type of rigid
performances which is currently considered as mainstream.

Piano Summer - Vranje, 2015

14
Samuel Feinberg was one of the few, whom Scriabin liked, especially his interpretation of the Fourth Sonata.

12