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Guest post by Frances Jones

As a big fan of Poulenc’s music, I’m delighted to see his Concerto for Two Pianos on the Proms programme this year. It’s an exciting piece, both for performers and audience alike, and great to see in concert. But it’s the solo repertoire that occupies my thoughts at the moment, as I try to get to grips with another of his Nocturnes. I mentioned in a previous article back in May that I was working on the first Nocturne and although I haven’t made as much progress as I might in learning the rest, snatches of these sublime musical portraits have been flitting around my head like moths around a camp-fire (more on moths later).

There are eight Nocturnes, composed between 1929 and 1938 when Francis Poulenc was in his 30s. Some of them have descriptive titles, suggesting glimpses of civilised nocturnal scenes, and they alternate between the serenely beautiful and the fast and furious.

Number 1 falls into the first category; Poulenc’s ability to write a beautiful melody is proven in the opening bars, and he uses the range of the piano and takes unexpected harmonic turns as the music progresses. It is at once original, with an edge of melancholy, and also deeply comforting to listen to. Despite the discords, the music always resolves but almost never to a straightforward major chord; there’s always a note that ‘jars’ slightly with the rest. I like to think this is Poulenc’s way of telling us that, whilst there might be great beauty in the world, there is no such thing as perfection in life and his music does not intend to escape this.

Number 3, ‘Les Cloches de Malines’, gives us the bell-like sound promised in the title. He sets up an almost-repeated bassline to represent the bells, switching from 3 time to 4 time and back so it feels out of kilter; with Poulenc, there is always a twist. After being lulled into a false sense of security with the bells’ gentle music, there is a bar of complete silence, followed by a passage of brash accented chords, marked agité. It is as if the bells have gone rogue, and reminds me of one of Charles Dickens’ Christmas stories, in which the traveller is tormented by incessant ringing and imagines climbing up the church tower to the bells which have taken on frightening forms. He awakes in the morning and, of course, it’s all been a dream. So it is in this nocturne; after the clanging and clashing there’s another bar of silence and the familiar bassline of the opening returns; all is well, and normality has been restored.

The fifth nocturne is a portrait of moths (‘Phalènes’) and, as the music is both presto and staccato in the opening section, these insects seem to be clamouring around a light; a street-lamp perhaps, or a glint from a window. The music is animated and there’s no real let-up until the end. It switches between pp and f, even ff, from legato to staccato, until finally coming to rest with a big sforzando chord.

Number 7 is another of the faster pieces but this one is joyful from the outset. It was written in August, 1935; perhaps the composer was enjoying a summer holiday in the country or at the coast – but this is speculation. The music runs up and down the keyboard in a friendly chase. Even the middle section, steady and perhaps somewhat cautious if a depiction of a character was intended, lasts only a short time before the carefree melody of the opening returns. This nocturne has no title; it’s up to the listener to make their own conjectures.

The final nocturne, Number 8, was written as a coda to the collection. It’s another lyrical melody, but concise; a final moment of gentle beauty after the antics of the previous piece. Number 8 brings the cycle full circle, using the ending of the first nocturne to draw the piece, and the collection, to a close. Having listened to these pieces countless times, I feel I’ve gained a glimpse into the composer’s life. But only a glimpse and, after all, that’s what these nocturnes are; sounds of the evening, auditory shapes in the twilight. I like that about them; the titles of some give us ideas but, for the rest, we can make our own suppositions. I haven’t yet come close to learning all eight, but I feel much better acquainted with them, and that’s a good start.

Frances Jones read music at York University followed by a PGCE at Cambridge. She teaches piano in SW London.

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Guest post by Samantha Ege

As a student, I loved thumbing through the pages of a piano collection, whether in a music store, charity shop, or library. Each score was its own rabbit hole. The more obscure, the better. “What else is out there?” I would wonder.

Losing track of time in a music shop feels rather nostalgic now, especially as most scores can be found online. But as a musicologist who spends time with handwritten manuscripts, I still cherish that gorgeously tactile experience. In those moments, I am transported to the feeling of endless curiosity that shaped my early path.

CDs, also an increasingly nostalgic medium, were part of my journey too.

I remember, just before I went to study music at the University of Bristol in 2008, my piano teacher gave me a CD called Kaleidoscope (2001), by the Canadian pianist Marc-André Hamelin. I saw a few familiar names on the track list: Rachmaninoff, Poulenc, and Kapustin. But many others were a revelation. My favourite was Arthur Lourié’s “Gigue.” I was swept up in its thunderous rhythms and harmonic whirlwinds. In fact, I ordered the score from a local music shop in Bristol not long after I arrived.

During my second year, I went to McGill University in Montreal (coincidentally the city where Hamelin was born). In my professor’s Early Twentieth-Century Music class, I encountered a second Kaleidoscope CD. The performer on this 1995 recording was yet another Canadian pianist with a penchant for the obscure: Helen Walker-Hill.

Walker-Hill was also a musicologist. She bridged her pianistic prowess with an interest in classical music’s hidden histories. Her former husband was the Pulitzer Prize-winning composer George Walker. Their son, violinist Gregory T. S. Walker, joined her on parts of Kaleidoscope. The album’s subtitle was “Music by African-American Women” and Florence Price’s Fantasie Nègre in E minor for solo piano (composed in 1929) was the final track.

Both Hamelin’s and Walker-Hill’s Kaleidoscope shaped the patterns of my own work as a musicologist and pianist. As a student, it was not enough for me to hear the music of Lourié without tracking down the score. Similarly, as soon as I heard the Chopin-esque cascades and Negro spiritual influence of Price’s Fantasie, I had to know more.

Today, Price’s story as the most celebrated African American female symphonist of the 1930s and 40s is part of the classical mainstream. This knowledge stems from many efforts over many years to bring her legacy to the fore, including those of Walker-Hill (who died in 2013), and those of the late musicologist and organist Rae Linda Brown (who passed away in 2017). The culmination of Brown’s work – a biography titled The Heart of a Woman: The Life and Music of Florence B. Price – was published three years after her death.

A few months before Brown’s passing, I emailed her to share that I was writing an MA thesis on Price at the University of York (which became my PhD dissertation). Brown encouraged me to visit Price’s archives at the University of Arkansas. In fact, Brown’s warm response arrived when I was already there.

Throughout my archival work, two things captivated me: first, Price had composed a total of four Fantasies Nègres for solo piano, meaning there was more music out there. Second, she was far from an anomaly as a classical composer of African descent.

Regarding the first, the thought of presenting Price’s Fantasies in their entirety took me back to my love of diving into a body of works, like Brahms’ late piano opuses, Albeniz’s Iberia, and Debussy’s Estampes (all favourites of mine as a student). There was something about the heft of a complete collection, which defines so many of our great composers, that I wanted to create with Price. After all, Price viewed her Four Fantasies as a collection. The spiritual beauty of Fantasie Nègre No. 1 in E minor, the Brahmsian introspection of Fantasie Nègre No. 2 in G minor, the velvet colourings of Fantasie Nègre No. 3 in F minor, and the impassioned virtuosity of Fantasie Nègre No. 4 in B minor were all connected.

When I returned to Price’s archives in 2019 to focus on the Fantasies, it became clear that No. 3 wouldinvolve some detective work. The first two pages were all I could find. I therefore had to look for loose sheets of manuscript with similar musical characteristics to complete the score.

Additionally, I noticed that the original version of Fantasie Nègre No. 4 was twice as long and a million times more complex than the five-minute version G. Schirmer had recently published. Price likely shortened and simplified it because short and simple works by women were more marketable in the 1930s. But in the 21st century, it was time to hear what she was truly capable of.

As for the second realisation, I’d always found the notion of a compositional school intriguing, from the First and Second Viennese Schools to The Five and Les Six. Well, Price belonged to an era of cultural rebirth known as the Black (or Negro) Renaissance. What’s more, women were far from minor footnotes. Alongside composers Margaret Bonds, Nora Holt, Betty Jackson King, the Canadian Robert Nathaniel Dett, and England’s Samuel Coleridge-Taylor (who mentored many Black Renaissance composers), Price believed in classical music’s power to generate social harmony.

My new sheet music publications – Fantasie Nègre: Four Fantasies by Florence B. Price and Piano Music of the Black Renaissance – celebrate this history. They also carry the imprint of my own prismatic influences, from Hamelin’s adventurous programming to Walker-Hill’s and Brown’s scholarly spotlight on classical music’s “hidden figures.”

I would have loved to stumble across these volumes as a student. But as I look ahead, regardless of whether pianists engage with the physical scores or digital downloads, I am excited for the kaleidoscopic journeys these editions will inspire as curious fingers descend upon the keys.

Samantha Ege is a musicologist, pianist, and author.

www.samanthaege.com

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Pianist Anastasiya Bazhenova announces her debut album, From Mendelssohn to Madness, exploring how music reflects psychological shifts in the human condition when stability falters.

Bazhenova traces an inward journey through the music of Mendelssohn and Prokofiev, moving from certainty to uncertainty.

The journey begins with Mendelssohn’s Songs Without Words, representing an era where clarity and beauty served as fundamental ways of understanding reality and oneself. Yet, even in this apparent transparency, Mendelssohn hints at emerging instability, setting the stage for a deepening exploration.

In the Fantasia in F-sharp minor, Mendelssohn’s music becomes a field of resistance, depicting an inner struggle between the desire for wholeness and the forces that threaten to dismantle it.

As the narrative unfolds, the focus moves to Prokofiev’s Sixth Sonata. Here, the music records reality in its most exposed form. In a world where the pace of change exceeds human grasp, Prokofiev’s work navigates extreme emotional states—including fear, fury, despair, irony, and paranoia.

For Bazhenova, this album is not merely a collection of distinct works, but a “single inner trajectory”. It serves as a musical narrative of a human being searching for meaning even when the old order no longer holds.

Track Listing:

Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy

• Lieder ohne Worte (Songs without Words, selections from Opp. 19, 38, 67, and 85)

• Fantasia in F-sharp minor, Op. 28

Sergej Prokofiev

• Piano Sonata No. 6 in A major, Op. 82

From Mendelssohn to Madness is released on CD and streaming on 1 April 2026 on the Etcetera label. Anastasiya performs in London at the 1901 Arts Club on Friday 24 April.

Pre-order From Mendelssohn to Madness

PRAISE FOR ANASTASIYA BAZHENOVA

“Superb musicianship and captivating stage presence.”

“A pianist capable of drawing an astonishing range of colour and depth from the instrument.“

“A highly sincere and intelligent musician with a unique artistic voice.”

(Comments from colleagues and audience)

Anastasiya Bazhenova is a concert pianist based in Norway, recognised for her intense musical concentration, refined sound palette, and a strongly individual artistic voice. She received her early training in Russia through the ten-year specialised programme for gifted children, a rigorous system known for producing pianists of exceptional technical and artistic discipline. This formative background continues to shape her uncompromising approach to sound, structure, and musical narrative.

Bazhenova later completed her advanced studies in Norway, earning a Master’s degree from the Norwegian Academy of Music in Oslo, where she is now based.

Her artistry is defined by a deep inner world and a strong sense of dramaturgy, with programmes conceived as coherent artistic statements rather than conventional recital formats. Her interpretations are often described as psychologically focused, emotionally charged, and marked by a distinctive clarity of musical thought.

She performs internationally as a soloist and chamber musician across Europe and North America. Her debut album, From Mendelssohn to Madness, is released on Etcetera Records in 2026 and presents a sharply articulated artistic concept, positioning her as a distinctive voice on the contemporary piano scene.

anastasiyabazhenova.com

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Pianist Anastasiya Bazhenova explores the fragility of the human condition in her debut album

In her debut recording, pianist Anastasiya Bazhenova presents a programme that goes beyond a simple chronological survey of keyboard music. From Mendelssohn to Madness is not just about contrasting different historical periods; it is a deep exploration of the human condition and how our inner worlds change when external stability starts to fade.

For me, the tension is already present in the Mendelssohn. His music often sounds lyrical and balanced, but there is also something fragile in it, as if the stability could break at any moment. The Fantasia in F-sharp minor begins to open up that tension — it is more restless, more searching. And by the time we reach Prokofiev, the tension is no longer hidden. It becomes direct, physical, almost violent. So the “madness” in the title is not only the destination. It is something that slowly reveals itself along the journey.

Anastasiya Bazhenova (interview with Indie Boulevard magazine)

The album begins within the world of Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy, a composer whose music hails from an era where form offered a sense of reassurance. In his Songs Without Words, Bazhenova uncovers a serene human voice that communicates with the confidence that it can still be heard without exertion. During this period, qualities such as clarity, proportion, and beauty were not merely ornamental; they were fundamental tools for understanding both oneself and reality.

However, even within this transparent beauty, a subtle tension begins to emerge. In the Fantasia in F-sharp minor, this balance is no longer an automatic state but a conscious effort. Here, the music becomes a battleground where light and darkness clash, symbolising an inner struggle to preserve wholeness against forces that seek to dismantle it. For Mendelssohn, form serves as a final battleground against chaos.

The narrative takes a sudden turn with Sergej Prokofiev’s Sixth Sonata, which opens the space beyond the rupture of the old order. This is music for a world that no longer promises stability—a world where the pace of change has quickened beyond our ability to comprehend.

Within this sonata, intense emotional states coexist in a raw, exposed form: fear, fury, despair, irony, and paranoia. The music forsakes the pursuit of traditional harmony, opting instead to record reality in its most unfiltered state. As the album moves from Mendelssohn to Prokofiev, the listener undergoes a inward shift: a transition from trusting in form to living without guarantees, and from viewing beauty as a support to acknowledging the need to live without it.

Rather than viewing these pieces as a collection of separate works, Bazhenova considers the programme as a single internal trajectory. The album does not seek to resolve the tensions it presents or provide simple explanations. Instead, it allows the music to unfold as a continuous process – a musical narrative of a human being who keeps feeling, thinking, and searching for meaning even when the structures of the past have broken down.

We often think of madness as something extreme or pathological, but in reality it is much closer to ordinary human experience. It can grow out of fear, obsession, loneliness, or simply from the unbearable tension between what we feel inside and what the world expects from us. In that sense, “madness” in this album is not something distant or theatrical. It is something that lives quietly inside many people. Music simply gives it a voice.

Anastasiya Bazhenova

From Mendelssohn to Madness is released on CD and streaming 1 April 2026 on the Etcetera Records label

Anastasiya Bazhenova performs in London at the 1901 Arts Club, a delightful salon-style concert venue, on 24th April. Details here https://www.1901artsclub.com/24-apr-2026-from-mendelssohn-to-madness.html

Anastasiya Bazhenova pianist

Photo credits Torgeir Rørvik