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The impulse to complete an unfinished work by a composer such as Schubert arises from a blend of artistic curiosity, historical empathy and creative challenge. For many musicians and scholars, an incomplete score feels like a fragment of a larger, untold story – and one that invites further exploration. Incomplete music, such as Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony or the Sonata in F-sharp minor, D571, give tantalising glimpses of musical ideas that may reach to something beyond their surviving pages. To engage with them is to enter a conversation with Schubert’s imagination: reconstructing, interpreting and attempting to extend his thoughts with respect and insight.

Scholars and musicians often study sketches, harmonic trajectories and stylistic patterns to infer how the composer might have continued. For some, this process is an act of homage – an attempt to illuminate what time or circumstance denied completion. For others, it’s an opportunity to test one’s own understanding of the composer’s musical voice and logic, a kind of creative empathy that bridges scholarship and performance.

In the first instalment of his complete recording of Schubert’s piano sonatas, German pianist Martin Helmchen offers his completion of the fragmentary Sonata in F-sharp minor, D571.

Only the first movement of this work exists, and that was abandoned by the composer before it was completed. This is not the first time someone has attempted to complete this unfinished work: pianists including Paul Badura-Skoda, Malcolm Bilson, and Martino Tirimo have sought to realise Schubert’s assumed intentions, drawing hypothetical completions of the music from such separately published pieces as the piece (usually assumed to be an Andante) in A major, D604, and the Allegro vivace in D major and Allegro in F-sharp minor, D570. The question that this sonata poses – and indeed the other fragmentary sonatas by Schubert – is did Schubert stop composing simply because he ran out of time or inclination, or did not have enough money to buy music manuscript paper? But incomplete doesn’t mean insignificant, and Helmchen, clearly appreciating the significance of the fragment of D571 (it is, after all, a very beautiful piece of music), has completed these movements with great care and understanding, inspired by the recordings and the analyses of Paul Badura-Skoda.

On this recording, we now have a complete Sonata D571, scored in four movements, its wistful, almost surreal opening movement – completed by Helmchen – giving way to an elegant, lyrical Andante, a suitably playful Scherzo, and a dramatic rondo finale, also completed by Helmchen, which feels “wholly Schubert” with its shifting harmonies, contrasting textures and moods, and a radiant middle section which briefly recalls the opening movement in its poignancy. The overall result of this completion is convincing rather than speculative, – ‘proper’ music by a musician –  due in no small part to Helmchen’s affinity with the music of Schubert in general (listen to the rest of the disc for a full appreciation of Helmchen’s sensitive Schubert playing). He plays with great maturity, alert to Schubert’s shifting soundworld and innate intimacy, even in the more extrovert movements or passages, and his natural pacing, supple phrasing and clear tone never get in the way of the music. This release, recorded on a modern Bösendorfer 280, with an alluring singing tone, is the first in a series of recordings by Martin Helmchen to mark the 200th anniversary of Schubert’s death in 2028.

Martin Helmchen’s Schubert Sonatas Volume 1 is released on the Alpha Classics label on CD and streaming

Header image: Facsimile of the autograph manuscript of Schubert’s Sonata in G major D894 (British Library)

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Ailsa Dixon’s sonata for piano duet Airs of the Seasons, is the latest work to be published by Composers Edition, in a new edition by pianist Waka Hasegawa. This is part of an ongoing project to bring Ailsa Dixon’s music to a wider audience; the publication of scores of her music coincides with the release of The Spirit of Love, a landmark recording of her chamber music and songs on the Resonus Classical label. (Find out more here)

Airs of the Seasons is in four movements, each prefaced by a short poem, evoking in turn the magical stillness after a winter snowfall, the first stirrings of spring, a dragonfly darting over the water in summer, and finally amid the turning leaves of autumn, a retrospective mood which recalls the earlier seasons and ends with the hope of transcendence in ‘Man’s yearning to see beyond death’.

The sonata was unperformed in Ailsa’s lifetime, but in the months before she died in 2017 the score was sent to pianists Joseph Tong and Waka Hasegawa, who would give the work its posthumous premiere at St George’s Bristol in November 2018.  A week before her death, Tong wrote with the news that they were already rehearsing: ‘It is a beautiful set of pieces and each of the movements ‎evokes aspects of the seasons suggested in the poems in an original and imaginative way – the musical language itself and the way in which Ailsa creates four-handed piano textures are absorbing and distinctive.’  For a composer who received very little recognition in her lifetime, it was a poignant indication that her music would survive her.

Waka Hasegawa
Joseph Tong

In a review of the premiere, Frances Wilson (AKA The Cross-Eyed Pianist) wrote ‘The opening chords of the first movement are reminiscent of Debussy and Britten in their distinct timbres, and the entire work has a distinctly impressionistic flavour. Ailsa’s admiration of Fauré for his “harmonic suppleness” is also evident in her harmonic language, while the idioms of English folksong and hymns, and melodic motifs redolent of John Ireland and the English Romantics remind us that this is most definitely a work by a British composer with an original musical vision.  The entire work is really delightful and inventive, rich in imagination, moods and expression.’ 
 
Airs of the Seasons has subsequently been performed for Wye Valley Music in 2019, for Wessex Concerts at St Mary’s church in Twyford near Winchester in 2022, and in a concert in 2024 celebrating Ailsa Dixon’s musical legacy at St Mary’s College, Durham University where she studied in the 1950s. 

Order the score from Composer’s Edition here

This article, written by Ailsa’s daughter Josie, first appeared on the Ailsa Dixon website. Find out more about Ailsa Dixon’s music here

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By Michael Johnson

The quirky mind of composer Erik Satie continues to inspire, amuse and annoy us 100 years after his death, and musicians still cannot quite decide what to make of him. For sure, they can’t ignore him, if only because his monumental Vexations is returning from obscurity in lengthy performances and recordings by well-known keyboard artists in Europe, the United States and Asia.

Igor Levit gave pianophiles a rare musical treat at the Southbank Centre in April 2025, leaving the hardy spectators in the audience mentally exhausted after 840 repeats of this one-page bagatelle. He took four or five short “loo breaks”, but kept himself going onstage with bottled water and a bowl of grapes. (He had previously livestreamed the work from the B-sharp studio in Berlin during the Covid-19 pandemic in 2020 in what he described as “a silent scream” to highlight the plight of artists hit by lockdowns.)

Igor Levit performing Vexations during the Covid pandemic in 2020

Levit kept his bearings during his Southbank centre performance by showing up with a bundle of photocopies of the score, discarding one at a time as he plowed through the piece. By the end, the stage floor was covered with 840 scattered copies.

Igor Levit performing Vexations at the Southbank Centre Credit: Pete Woodhead

Here is the haunting melody Satie created :

Wrote one spectator: “ I was at Queen Elizabeth Hall just to witness his performance. It was so, so, so intense!”

A couple of years earlier, the young Italian pianist Alessandro Deljavan had sat in the studios of record company OnClassical in Pove del Grappa, filling 12 CDs in 14 hours 28 minutes. He recalled the “intense experience” for me recently. “I felt almost possessed. My mind drifted between shadowy, undefined figures and total emptiness.”

Other pianists also remember hallucinating, and one reported seeing what looked like “animals and things” peering at him between the notes on the sheet music.

One commentator on YouTube ended up deeply conflicted: “This is actually an empty song. Nothing makes sense … Illogical. Sad. Devoid of feeling. I loved it.”

An English critic found the best poetic language. It is a piece of “meandering melancholy,” he wrote. Others report a “spiritual transcendence” evolving from the strange world Satie had created.

OnClassical founder and pianist Alessandro Simonetto is in the process of completing the most extensive project ever devoted to Satie’s complete piano works. Progressively appearing online, he says, it has already reached 30 million streams on Spotify.

Simonetto, a Satie enthusiast of note, calls Vexations “arguably the most extreme and elusive work in the entire history of music”. Living and working out of Pove del Grappa in the province of Vicence, he may eventually bring out a boxed set covering Satie’s complete piano works including at least the one page sample of Vexations. At the moment the project exists only digitally.

Simonetto presided at the marathon recording session with Deljavan, recalling for me that the experience was like an Edgar Allen Poe horror story, with the“ceiling slowly lowering on the pianist’s head”.

Yet the unlikely attraction of this longest piece in piano history refuses to die. More than 20 CDs have appeared in the past few years offering Vexations in part or in full, straight or modified versions. Two prominent French pianists, Jean Marc Luisada and Jean Yves Thibaudet have performed the piece, with all repeats.

Most reviewers have judged the full Vexations experience an endurance test, a prank or a stunt that Satie just tossed off without a second thought. He was known in the creative ferment in 1020s Paris for his musical jokes. He seems to have slid it into a drawer and never heard it played.

Erik Satie

It’s the mental strain of non-stop repetition that leaves today’s pianists limp as a wet rag, except for Deljavan and the remarkable Levit. Indeed, Satie advised all pianists who try the full version to devote 20 minutes of silent meditation before starting. This became a feature of many modern performances.

But about 40 years ago English pianist Peter Evans played Vexations non-stop for 15 hours, suddenly quitting at repeat No. 593, and hurriedly left the stage without explanation. He later wrote that “people who play it do so at their own great peril”. The performance was completed by another English pianist, Linda Wilson. She later wrote that with each iteration Evans felt his “mind wearing away”. Observers wrote that when he left the stage he was “in a daze”. He recalled that his mind was filling with “evil thoughts”.

A notorious and frustrating episode occurred at Leeds College of Music in 1971 when another team of pianists managed to keep going for 16 hours and 30 minutes, ending at midnight only because school regulations closed the building. One of the team players, Barbara Winrow, explained to a journalist the “real sense of frustration which we felt, and the players’ remarkable reluctance to stop” before they reached the 840 mandated repeats.

A memorable milestone was reached in 1974 in Budapest when a team of pianists played in rotation for 23 hours. The team included at least two young players who went on prominent careers and are still performing today, Zoltan Kocsis and Andras Schiff.

Tracing the chequered past of this work is a major detective job. Musicologists return to the mysterious origins periodically. The manuscript was not played in full until more than 20 years after his death. Who acquired it, when, where, how or why did it change hands? Lawyers today call it a task of establishing the “chain of provenance”.

After gathering dust for years, it came back to life in the hands of John Cage who rescued it and encouraged others to participate in rotations. He first published the one-page treatment in the magazine Contrepoints in 1949. He was the first to interpret Satie’s written instructions as meaning the 840 repeats must be played without interruption – either solo or in rotating teams of pianists.

Cage organized the first public performance of the full version with more than a dozen pianists in rotation. His spectacle in 1963 in New York put his team through 18 hours and 40 minutes of continuous repetition.

John Cage

But can it be played from memory? A vide on clip on Youtube shows Cage declaring that he was never able to memorize it. Other pianists have found it so contrary to accepted compositional norms that they could not absorb it either.

The late English music scholar Richard Toop performed the piece in its entirety several times but took care to approach each run-through with a fresh eye. But he too had a memory block. “Even after a performance,” he wrote, “I was unable to play more than a few beats from memory.”

Tracing the people who had possession of the original score, passing it from hand to hand, is impossible today due to the passage of time and the individuals involved. It is said to be with the Satie Archives in Honfleur, in the Calvados Department three hours northwest of Paris.

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Guest post by Frances Jones

One of the bonuses of teaching is that from time to time you are introduced to new repertoire. Sometimes, you get the opportunity to change your view of a composer that was really only based on a passing experience. 

A pupil of mine has recently been learning a piece by Cecile Chaminade, a composer whose music I had until now associated with a flautist house-mate practising diligently in the run up to a recital. A beautiful work, the Concertino, but the flute can be surprising loud in close quarters. 

Cecile Chaminade (1857-1944) composed throughout her life, and left a large number of piano works, in addition to orchestral music and songs. The piece that my pupil learnt, and that inspired me to explore Chaminade’s music, was the Idylle, Op. 126, No. 1, from her Album for Children of 1907. It has a melody that becomes a real ear worm; marked bien chanté, it does indeed feel very singable. It’s such a satisfying piece to play; the melody in the right hand is accompanied by a simple enough bass line helped along with discreet pedalling. The middle section requires a little more diligent practice for the aspiring Grade 4 pianist (the piece has recently been on the ABRSM Grade 4 syllabus) and the writing is never dull; the melody wings its way onwards, and for a glorious minute or so you can be flying over the rooftops, your spirits lifted. The opening melody returns to round off the piece and you sense in the pupil the confidence that familiarity brings. Immediately the pupil’s playing is more assured, expressive, even playing around with tempo and the placing of the notes. 

I think it was the singable melody that piqued my curiosity, and made me want to know more about Chaminade’s music. The piece I found first was her Serenade Op. 29, written in 1884. After listening to this you can see why Chaminade’s music has been described as charming. The opening melody is gentle, almost like a lullaby, and is supported by pleasing harmonies in the accompaniment. The second melody has a similar rhythmic pattern and is more searching but still holds a tender quality. They are both such beautiful melodies that the whole piece really works. Both tunes use similar rhythmic patterns and accompaniments, but it’s the subtle melodic development as well as changes in articulation that keeps this piece interesting. The music finally fades away to ppp and a tonic chord, dusk having fallen and the musicians taking their leave. 

The next work of Chaminade’s I listened to, which really threatened to take the attached description of ‘charming’ and hurl it out of the window, was her Arabesque No 1, Op. 6, from 1892. It’s a tempestuous piece, technically much more difficult than the Serenade. Chaminade was a pianist, studying with teachers from the Paris Conservatoire, and later performing her works in Europe and the United States. I can imagine her sitting at the keyboard, absorbed in her music, taking the audience with her on a journey through delicate flourishes and big chords, carried along by a melody that is seeped in the Romanticism of her Russian and German contemporaries. 

Her Caprice-Impromptu, despite being one of her later works, written in 1914, is also decidedly Romantic. Chaminade, like her near contemporary Rachmaninov, remained broadly consistent in her style whilst many composers around her responded to new influences. Indeed, the Caprice-Impromptu has hints of Rachmaninov in its melodic writing. Like the Arabesque, there’s a sense of urgency and although the first section is playful as the title of the piece suggests, the melody that follows in the second section is at once both yearning and lyrical. Chromatic scales in octaves add to the sense of drama and the composer makes full use of the expressive range of the piano; the music ranges from fortissimo to piano and dolce. 

Chaminade’s music is characterized by its melodic writing and chromaticism; it’s Romantic, yes, accessible, maybe, but no less interesting for that. Chaminade was a prolific composer and her piano works are both imaginative and musically satisfying. I can’t wait to discover more.