Mathias Halvorsen - piano
Norwegian Radio Orchestra
Otto Tausk - conductor
Recorded live 10th of March 2022
edits 9th and 11th March 2022 at Store Studio, NRK
Produced by Geoff Miles
Edited, mixed and mastered by Johann Günther
Design by Ida Hatleskog
released November 22, 2024
«It holds its own with some of the great recordings»
BBC Record Review
(Ravel Piano Concerto for Left Hand and Orchestra)
Booklet notes:
In the aftermath of World War I, Europe was left with deep physical and emotional scars. The challenge was not just to rebuild cities but to reconstruct national identities and navigate a changed international society. For Paul Wittgenstein, a pianist who lost his right arm in the war, this was both a personal and physical struggle. His injury occurred on the Eastern Front, where he was captured by Russian forces in 1914. The loss of his arm could have ended his career, especially as he had not been a particularly distinguished pianist before the war. However, it instead became the start of a remarkable new chapter in his life - as a touring pianist with only one arm.
Erich Wolfgang Korngold and Maurice Ravel, from opposing sides of the conflict, were among the composers Wittgenstein commissioned new music from. Ravel, while deeply patriotic, had a complex relationship with the war. His fragile health prevented him from serving as a soldier, relegating him to the role of a truck driver. Nevertheless, the war left a lasting impact on him, shaping the disillusionment, loss, and fragility found in his later works—perhaps most profoundly in his left-hand concerto.
For Korngold, the war was a time of profound upheaval. Though he was not directly involved in combat, the political and cultural shifts it caused deeply influenced his creative outlook. His left-hand concerto, composed during the interwar years, reflects the lingering tension and emotional intensity of a Europe trying to process what had happened.
Both Ravel’s and Korngold’s concertos stand out as some of the darkest and most dramatic works they ever composed, possessing an intensity that feels almost unhinged at times. Written in minor, these one-movement works unfold with a often surprisingly muscular, yet integrated piano part. Korngold’s concerto, in particular, feels more akin to a symphonic poem, filled with narrative depth. The presence of war and themes of dark heroism are unmistakable in both works.
Given the nature of Wittgenstein’s injury and the war, these pieces transcend their apparent nature as “absolute music” (music created purely for its own sake). The dialogue between soloist and orchestra takes on new significance. The “one against many” dynamic becomes a metaphor for both personal and collective resilience, illustrating the struggle to assert one’s voice amidst overwhelming circumstances and the strength found in embracing limitations.
Classical music is often viewed as an idealized realm of perfection, where supreme technical skill meets emotional and narrative depth. The Wittgenstein concertos, however, challenge this ideal by embracing struggle and human imperfection. These works originate from a place where limitations are not only acknowledged but are central to the music’s identity. Writing for a one-handed pianist introduces a tangible tension between what is possible and what must be done, adding a rawness to the music that contrasts with the polished nature of most classical compositions. The fact that we continue to perform these pieces one-handed (rather than adapting them for two hands to achieve a smoother, more perfect version) speaks to our recognition of their profound extra-musical qualities.
This point highlights an often understated aspect of classical music performance: performers are bound by an unwritten code not to “cheat” in the face of specific technical challenges. In this sense, performance takes on an almost athletic dimension, where overcoming difficulty becomes part of the artistry.
In an era where digital tools assist music-making of all kinds, producing results of flawless precision, the relevance of physical instruments and live performance is sometimes questioned. Yet these concertos argue powerfully for the continued significance of traditional instruments and live music as a real, risky performative endeavor. The imperfections and risks inherent in human performance are not flaws but essential elements of what makes live music meaningful.
These concertos affirm the enduring relevance of traditional music-making in a world increasingly drawn to smooth, mechanical perfection. Here, the human element is not just preserved but celebrated, affirming our ability to create, in spite of—and perhaps because of—our limitations.