Isaac Albéniz’s Suite EspaÑola no. 1 Opus 47

Isaac Albéniz, one of the foremost Spanish composers in the late nineteenth century has been called the Spanish Liszt because of his virtuosity, though was raised in a manner similar to Mozart. Isaac Manuel Fransisco Albéniz y Pascual was born in the small town of Camprodon in the province of Girona of northern Catalonia in Spain near the French border. His mother’s family was Catalan while his father’s was from the Basque country to the northwest. Albéniz never learned to speak the native tongue of his homeland, Catalan, nor did he boast of his north Spainish roots. Instead, he at different times in his life claimed to be “moor” and “Jewish.” The reasons for these claims cannot be certain, but through looking at his nationalistic compositions, we find a strong influence of Andalucían music. He must have been intrigued by the rhythms and tonalities of Jewish, Gypsy, and Arab music to such an extent that he felt it in his soul. Albéniz learned to play piano at a young age with the help of his older sister. At four, he gave his first public concert, which he improvised, and reportedly, the audience was quite impressed that such a small human could make mature music. His father, Angel, took him on the road, giving concerts across Spain to make money for the family. They even toured Latin America when Isaac was 12. In the early 1880’s Albéniz took lessons with Spanish composer Felip Pedrell who inspired him to write more nationalistic works. Thus, we see in the same decade, an enormous output of “Spanish” style works. With such virtuosity and interesting compostitions, Albéniz helped to increase the awareness of Spanish music to more people of the western world from amateur home pianists to conservatory-trained musicians.
The Suite EspaÑola (no. 1) is a collection of eight stylized dances for piano with specifically “Spanish” rhythms, tonalities, and melodic contours. It evolved from a three movement Suite EspaÑola that Albéniz was performing in 1886 that gained so much popularity and success, that his publisher Benito Zozaya wished to sell the music in print. They jointly decided to make it an eight movement suite, though only four had been written: a serenata, a curranda, a sevillana, and a capricho, nos. 1, 2, 3, and 8, respectively. The other four were taken from later works and added to the Suite EspaÑola in 1901.
The first movement is a serenata entitled “Granada.” Though it is in a common Spanish time signature (3/8), it is perhaps the least dance influenced number in the whole suite. The A section begins with rolled chords in F major which keep a slightly rubato time in the higher register while the tenor voice plays a beautiful, mostly step-wise melody that hints at Spanish rhythms of sixteenth-note triplets and motives over the bar lines. The B section modulates to F minor where the left hand takes over the accompaniment and the right hand plays a “gypsy” sounding melody full of minor seconds, grace notes, and mordents. The form is ABABA.
CataluÑa, the second piece in this collection, is derived from the curranda, a dance in 6/8 with strong dotted-eighth-sixteenth-eighth rhythm similar to the French courante. Again Albéniz uses a contrast of tonalities. The first theme in G minor at measure 4 but soon modulates to Bb major. The next theme is back in the minor mode with more dissonance especially the use of the augmented 2nd which is common in the Arab-influenced music of southern Spain. The form is ABA’ABA’coda.
The third movement is a lively tango-like sevillana cleverly titled, “Seville.” It is in ¾ meter with eighth-sixteenth-sixteenth rhythm. The A section is in G major. Albéniz gives the melody a wide range and creates much excitement with the active rhythms of the accompaniment. The B section is slower and rhythmically contrasting (which is a stylistic feature of many of these short stylized dances) with many instances of two voices playing the same line in octaves. This reminds me of the piano montunos used in 20th century Cuban son music.
The only other movement that was composed in 1886 and included in the original Suite EspaÑola is number 8, “Cuba”, a capricho. While it is written in 6/8 meter, the listener may not decipher the meter at first because the introductory rhythms are displaced and a feeling of ¾ is implied. This metrical ambiguity is heightened when, during the main theme, the second eighth note is given an emphasis. Albéniz also uses a 2 against 3 rhythms. These complex rhythmic devices are found in Cuban music such as the habanera which was gaining popularity in the late nineteenth century not only in Latin America but in Europe as well.
I enjoyed listening to this work by Albéniz. The piano has so many possibilities as far as sonorities, textures, and expression which is partly why it became so popular in the Romantic period. I do not believe these short pieces are terribly difficult to execute yet there is ample space for self-expression within the written notes and thus this collection would be great for a student or advanced amateur to pick up and work through. Although it is specifically a Spanish suite, the listener can here Albéniz’s other European influences as well as the mixture of cultures that have existed in Spain. With the growing trend of Nationalism in the late nineteenth century many composers were using folk tunes from the people of their nation-state. Spain, has had so many cultures mixed together for such a long time that to write nationalistically, it was par for the course that Albéniz should use such contrasting time feels and tonalities to represent the mix of traditions in Spain. “Albéniz’ minor colour suggests an illustration of [Tomás] Bretón’s theory that the jota [a triple metered Spanish dance] belonged to Andalusia in origin.” [Livermore 182] Another facet that stands out to me is that many of these short pieces are arranged in ternary form where in one of the sections Albéniz gives a sense of being in the locale of the title and the other section is a feeling of nostalgia for that place while somewhere else. It is simple, yet effective.
The Suite EspaÑola is not included in the canon because it is not Albéniz’s best work. That is reserved for Iberia, the monumental work of twelve “impressions” for piano that took Albéniz nearly four years to complete. It seems that the Suite EspaÑola was merely a warm up for Iberia. However, the Suite is very enjoyable, rewarding, and is something I would listen to in my free time (ha!) at home and encourage others to as well.

Clark, Walter Aaron. Isaac Albéniz: Portrait of a Romantic. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999.
Verlag, G. Henle. Suite Espagnole Opus 47. Germany.
Livermore, Ann. A Short History of Spanish Music. New York: Vienna House, 1972.

Response to Ryan's Post on Mozart's Concerto in C for Flute and Harp

Overall, I think Ryan’s analysis of Mozart’s Concerto in C for Flute and Harp is penetrating and detailed, at least, in the description of the first movement. I also appreciate Ryan’s background information on the death of Mozart’s mother and his father’s accusations.
The solo instruments that Mozart has written this concerto for are an interesting combination. Of all the instruments that were used for performance in the Classical period, the flute and harp may be among the oldest in human civilization. They were not always in the same form, nor are they in the form now that they were in Mozart’s, yet there is something ancient and rustic about their sounds. The harp dates back over 5000 years to African and Mesopotamian roots. Bone flutes have been found with the remains of ancient civilizations all over the world. In this concerto, the flute especially reminds me of a pastoral environment. The timbre is so pure; one can almost feel fresh air in their nostrils. The harp also has a beautiful tone. Unfortunately, it’s hard to hear the full timbre of the harp when other instruments are playing. I do, however, appreciate the combination of harp and flute. They are different enough in their ranges, timbres, and technique that they compliment each other well.
The andantino movement has a very lovely character that at times brings out a Spanish flavor. It is at times like a florid waltz. The harp lines are similar to what I’ve heard of southern Mexico/Guatemala music. The Spanish often used the harp as a continuo instrument in the baroque and brought it to Latin America. Even to this day I would wager to say that the harp is more popular in Spanish-speaking countries than any others except in Africa. Even the eighth-note sweeps in the strings reflect the Spanish style. I have to wonder if Mozart intended this or if it is just a coincidence. As Ryan pointed out, Mozart was in Paris this year, and that may have had something to do with it.
I agree with Ryan’s reasons why this usually is not included in the canon. If there were as many harpists as there were keyboard players, I am positive there would be many concertos for harp. Another factor is the volume. The harp is such a quiet instrument that if there are too many other instruments playing the sound of the harp is buried. Even in the recording of this Concerto, only the attack is heard, and barely, when the flute and concerto grosso are playing. The solution that some composers have found is to have multiple harps, but of course, then you need multiple virtuosic harpists. It may be that the harp does not work well as a solo instrument in a concerto. It may also be that I need to listen to more harp concertos to really know if it can work. Nonetheless, I appreciate, artistically, what Mozart created with this work and feel that there may be more places to go with the flute and harp duo.