Artistic collaboration lies at the very heart of music making. While the obvious examples are works for stage, such as opera and ballet with their myriad of directors and producers, orchestra, stage hands, costumers and make-up artists, so too does the notion of works for the concert hall (concertos, symphonies, chamber music, even the song recital). But even works for solo instruments or voice entail artistic collaboration: the composer hands the score to the performer.

It is when composers join forces that things start to get interesting. In the last decades, those of us old enough will remember a piece of dubious substance, The Yellow River Piano Concerto (), a work for which there are at least three different cooks. And there was a Shostakovich–Khachaturian entry in the competition for a new Soviet anthem – it did not win.

Yet few pieces have held the concert public’s imagination like the Hexaméron: Morceau de concert, grandes variations de bravoure sur le marche des Puritains (LW A41; 1837–38), a set of variations by various composers – Thalberg, Pixis, Herz, Czerny, Chopin and Liszt – on Bellini’s famous theme ‘Suoni la tromba’ from I Puritani (1835), a politically charged melody chosen not by Liszt alone but in collaboration with Princess Cristina Belgiojoso. She had extended invitations to the six to write the variations, and Liszt was not only to contribute but to tie the whole thing up into a publishable bundle, the proceeds of which would go to Italian refugees. He was also responsible for the title, a biblical reference to the six days of creation. The composition was undertaken in the midst of Liszt’s head-on collision with Sigismond Thalberg in Paris in the spring of 1837, a series of duelling concerts given by Thalberg and Liszt that was driven by some incendiary newspaper articles and concert reviews claiming superiority for Thalberg at one time and Liszt the next. The Princess’s final verdict became a touchstone of Liszt biography: ‘Thalberg is the first pianist; Liszt is the only one’.

The Liszt catalogue claims the work, and rightly so: he composed the Introduction, the presentation of the theme, Variation 2, various sections of transitional material, and the Finale. It was roundly successful: it exists in three versions – for solo piano (LW A41), Liszt’s version for two pianos (LW C2) and in his reading for piano and orchestra (LW H5) – successful and again, rightly so, for it is a good play, and in the finest of the Liszt traditions, as only he could do, a crowd pleaser. But the initial benefit performance 31 March 1837 was a solo effort on Liszt’s part for the simple reason that the work was unfinished by that date: the variations by Herz and Chopin had not yet materialized. Despite some newspaper articles that claimed that all six composers would be playing the complete piece, Liszt undoubtedly had some real improvising to do for the benefit concert. It appeared on the programme of his 14 May 1838 Vienna concert and was a frequent cornerstone of many of his appearances, although some reviews seem to suggest that he sometimes eliminated either the Chopin or Czerny variations. The complete piano solo work was eventually published by Haslinger in Vienna in 1839. It could stand on any solo piano recital, if the pianist had the keyboard chops to get through the whole, with its many-faceted layers of technique and touch, but perhaps one might not play it in lieu of Liszt’s other works for piano and orchestra. Rather, the piano concerto reading would be an ideal romp if part of a summer pops concert, a set of variations the pacing of which easily caters to the short attention span of all too many contemporary audiences.

A recent CD has emerged with a novel take on the whole – an interpretation that would have intrigued Liszt, would have amused his fellow contributors and would be fascinating to watch on stage. The performance is by six pianists. It is not unusual to have a series of executants perform parts of a larger whole: notably, Alan Walker’s Liszt festivals in Hamilton, Ontario, often have featured Liszt’s lengthy anthologies, such as the Années de pèlerinage, with one pianist assigned one title each. It is enormous fun and has led to many memorable performances, notably Mykola Suk’s luminous reading of Les jeux d’eaux à la Villa d’Este (LW A263, no. 4; 1877). Yet, the reading of the Hexaméron presented on this new CD is even more curious. Here the question of artistic collaboration is taken to a delightful extreme, an exquisite absurdity and enchanting explication in that even the variations themselves are divided up among the pianists. And in a manner befitting a Victor Borge skit, with pianists taking over the keyboard from one another midstream, this interpretation would be a wonder to behold. This CD was the product of the expert editing of Werner Dabringhaus and Reimund Grimm, yet this idea of pianists usurping each other mid-variation is the logical if arguably absurd terminus of Liszt’s thinking.

Even just listening to the work is a pleasure; and this recording surely stands as one of the finest readings of the work. In short, every Liszt aficionado should own this recording – it is that good – with the music played in the best way, interpretatively and technically. While the piano takes a few seconds to get used to (it is a 1901 German Steinway), the production of the work, the acoustical placing of the microphones in the Konzerthaus der Abtei Marienmünster in Westphalia, Germany, the editing, etc., are all exceedingly good.

The Introduction to the work, all Liszt, gives way to his noble presentation of Bellini’s theme, played stylishly by Leon Buche, with subtle shadings of tone and witty articulation. Then Carlos Goicoechea (this young man can play!) presents Thalberg at his best, glittering and nimble, polite and gracious, a sonic atmosphere that contrasts starkly with the subsequent Liszt variation, a study in darkness and suggestion, well handled by Caroline Sorieux. Next comes Pixis at his best, charming and witty, even droll at times, a variation shared by Buche and Kanako Yoshikani. But Yoshikani comes into her own with the next variation; left entirely to her, has Herz ever sounded so good? Immediately appealing, she has technique to burn, scintillating and alluring in effect. Goicoechea and Buche trade off the Czerny variation, a hefty one filled with tricks that Liszt was to make his own. This variation is important for all those wanting to focus on the origins of Liszt’s musical and pianistic language. Goicoechea and Buche play with conviction and stylish insight, and yes, Czerny was a Beethoven pupil. By comparison the Chopin variation seems a little pedestrian, a simple aria with simple accompaniment. But this may have not been all Chopin’s fault, for though we heard Sorieux handle the earlier Liszt variation with all its stygian sonorities, Chopin was later to bemuse her even more. The Finale is an ideal end to the whole – Liszt with elements of fugue, Mephisto, pyrotechnics and a great sense of cadence, all brought to a thrilling end by three pianists, Blanchard, Buche and Goicoechea, all out-playing each other. How I would love to see this battle on stage.

The CD is rounded out with solos from the various artists, presumably playing music of their own choice, all to compliment the Hexaméron. Despite the vivid main event, these later tracks do not always show the pianists in their best light. Sadly, Goicoechea had to labour through Thalberg’s Nocturne. By far the weakest music on the disc, it affords this young man little opportunity to display the prodigious talent we heard in the Hexaméron, notably in the Czerny variation and through the pesky fingerwork of Liszt’s Finale. It simply is not fair to discuss Thalberg’s composition, especially in light of much of the other music presented here, but what wouldn’t I have given to hear this young man enchant us with Liszt’s Mazeppa.

The opposite problem besets Caroline Sorieux, who offers two pieces of Chopin, the poignant Mazurka in A minor op. 17, no. 4, and the Nocturne in F minor op. 55, no. 1. The Nocturne fares better than the Mazurka; even so, much more in the way of rubato (especially at cadential moments) is necessary, and the right hand cantabile leave much to be desired. The softer sonorities lack the required ‘ping’ to travel back to the final rows of any concert hall. Alas, her reading of the Mazurka can only be described, at best, as glib: no dance, no pathos, no regret, no heartbreak.

Johann Blanchard interprets Liszt’s Funérailles quite well. To this ear, his dotted rhythms could have been more accented, and one wonders, as with Sorieux’s Chopin selections, if the sound, especially in the soft playing, would disappear in a concert situation. Would I have liked more abandon in the whole? Yes. More in the way of cantabile? Yes, but this was a nicely paced reading, one rationally conceptualized and musically coherent.

And now the hidden gems – Czerny, Herz and Pixis – can you believe it?

Again, poor Czerny: saddled with that reputation of dread and dismay – remember Schumann, reviewing his op. 434 (Les quatre saisons) in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, pleading that he be given a pension and allowed to retire (arguably Czerny only has himself to blame with titles such as Nouvelle école de la main gauche, op. 861) – but with Yoshikane’s performance of the Variationen über den Sehnsuchtswalzer von Franz Schubert op. 12 (should the title be listed as Variationen über einen beliebten Wiener-Walzer, as in early editions of the music?), we see why Liszt revered his former teacher. As with Czerny’s String Quintets op. 177 (they sound like early Beethoven), these Variations, whatever the name, are simply enchanting. Yes, the theme was a wonderful start, but Czerny knew how to highlight the various horizons of the piano’s range. And listening carefully to the myriad inflections in the harmony, the melody and the phrasing, one can sense the foundation of much that became Liszt’s DNA. This performance is the stuff of professionalism, elegantly nuanced, and should Yoshikane desire a concert career, it is all but hers for the asking. Yoshikane commands a muscular and sinuous sonority juxtaposed with a spectacularly scherzando whimsy. Yes, she has a sophisticated balance of arm weight and finger work. This was some of the finest playing on the disc, and we look forward to hearing more of this young artist. She would be a fine Mendelssohn interpreter, and that, for Hans von Bülow, was the highest compliment.

Herz’s La valse Suisse: Rondo dal Guglielmo Tell di Rossini comprises Claudius Tanski’s principal contribution to the recording, and this is a pity because he should have done more. (Tanski is a professor at the Mozarteum in Salzburg, and all of the students have either studied with him or performed before him.) He had only been heard at the very start of the Hexaméron, and not in any of the variations that followed. In this Rondo, we hear but a hint of this talented teacher, an intellectual with a fine left-hand sonority (how often can one say that about any pianist?) and an articulate right. Thus his piano sound is full, never forced, relaxed and grounded. It would have been nice to have heard him in some other Liszt: given his control of the registral horizons on the piano, my bet is that his Campanella would have reminded us all of Emil von Sauer.

But wait, there’s more … Tanski, that is. Pixis’s Walzer (like Schumann’s Elfe of 1835 [Albumblätter op. 124, no. 17] and Rachmaninoff’s transcription of Rimsky-Korsakov’s The Bumble Bee) is the perfect encore. Here Tanski brings the work in at 1′10″; I guarantee that the piece would sound even better at just under one minute. This piece was clearly in his domain, and as with Yoshikane, we hope to hear much more of this artist in the future.

It is here the CD might have ended, but the last work is an original composition by Leon Buche: Hexaméron over the Clouds. The fine liner notes are by Tanski, pace the small typo of the date of the Liszt–Thalberg duel in Vienna (1837, not 1836).