Joaquim Homs: Piano Sonata No. 1 (1945); Three Inventions on One Chord (1958); Carousel Waltz (1934); Between Two Lines (1948); Three Evocations (1982/7); In memoriam A. Rubinstein; Remembrances (1984/95)
Jordi Masó, piano
Recorded: Teatre de Ponent, Granollers, July 2000
Label: Marco Polo 8.225236 [67:01]
Joaquim Homs, a figure comfortably perched in the shadows of twentieth-century Spanish music, emerges here with a collection that spans a good fifty years of his creative life.
Masó’s playing, characteristically assured, brings a clarity to Homs’s often knotty textures, revealing music that rewards patience and close attention rather than immediate gratification. The piano tone is crisp but never brittle — with a warmth that suits the elegiac mood pervading much of the later works. The Piano Sonata No.
1, composed in the immediate aftermath of World War II, demands we recalibrate our expectations. This is no breezy neo-classicist exercise, nor a nationalistic trifling; the sonata’s chromatic — language—stark, angular, yet never gratuitously abstruse—suggests affinities more with Alban Berg than Schoenberg. The opening movement’s tension is palpable: dissonances simmer beneath the surface, with Masó’s touch balancing; between sharp articulation and a singing legato that lets melodic lines breathe amid the chromatic weave.
One hears the sonata’s compact design—no wasted notes, no flabby transitions. The thematic cells — though atonal, possess coherence, their motivic transformations cunningly wrought. Listen, for instance, to the second movement’s subtle use of silence: Masó’s pedal judicious, allowing harmonic resonances to hang in the air, heightening a sense of existential unease that never tips into melodrama.
Here, the pianist’s control over rhythmic nuance is indispensable—he negotiates sudden tempo shifts and rubato with a natural flow, never heavy-handed. It’s striking how Homs’s early works—Carousel Waltz (1934) and Variations on a Popular Catalan Tune—though comparatively conservative, already hint at his restless inventiveness. The Carousel Waltz is a bittersweet reminiscence of light-hearted dance, but Masó uncovers a subtle undercurrent of bittersweet irony beneath its swirling rhythms.
This is no mere pastiche; there’s a probing, almost muted questioning embedded in its phrasing. Between these poles lies Between Two Lines (1948), a suite of character pieces that retains a certain neo-classical clarity—tuneful, direct, with vivid, contrasting colors. The set’s brevity belies its expressive depth.
Masó’s voicing here is exemplary; he teases out inner voices with precision, avoiding the sometimes heavy-handed approach that lesser pianists bring to such repertoire. A small detail: in the lilting third movement, the pianist’s lightly lifted fingers create a subtle shimmering effect, almost like sunlight filtering through leaves. The Three Inventions on One Chord (1958) mark a decisive stylistic evolution.
Stripped of earlier lyricism, these studies are austerely constructed, sometimes terse and violent. Here, the piano’s percussive qualities come to the fore—Masó’s attack is incisive, and he exploits silence and dynamic contrast admirably. The inventions are economical yet probing; each note counts, each phrase meticulously weighed.
One senses Homs grappling with the limits of serialist thought without succumbing to its dogma—the chordal anchor points provide structural gravitas amid restless chromatic meanderings. Later works such as the Three Evocations—in memoriam Turina and the Diptych for Frederic Mompou—and In memoriam A. Rubinstein reveal a more introspective Homs, whose atonality softens into elegiac reminiscence.
These pieces are suffused with nostalgia and affectionate homage, emotional without becoming mawkish. The use of extended techniques—such as gentle drumming on the piano’s wooden frame in Remembrances—adds an evocative — almost ritualistic dimension. Masó handles these moments with sensitivity; the subtle shift in timbre blends organically with the harmonic language rather than feeling like a novelty.
The long elegy inscribed In memoriam P.F.A. (likely for Homs’s wife) is the emotional heart of this disc. Here — the austerity of earlier chromaticism gives way to a profound, almost brutal sorrow. The music’s obstinate unfolding—slow, deliberate, punctuated by sparse chords and haunting silence—demands a performer of deep emotional intelligence.
Masó’s interpretation is quietly devastating, his pacing allowing the elegy’s grief to settle fully without succumbing to sentimentality. One might quibble: certain passages in the Sonata No. 1 could benefit from a touch more structural emphasis in phrasing to aid the listener’s navigation through its atonal labyrinth.
Yet Masó’s consistency of tone and clarity of articulation compensate impressively. The production’s acoustic, slightly dry but transparent, puts the piano front and center without artificial polish, lending a chamber-music intimacy that serves the repertoire well. To sum up: this Marco Polo album is no mere archival curiosity but a vital, if understated, contribution to twentieth-century piano literature.
Homs’s music resists the easy categorization that often befalls mid-century modernists. It is atonal yet deeply expressive; intellectual yet personal. And thanks to Jordi Masó’s empathetic and — well — deft interpretation, these works—long neglected—are finally given their due.
For those willing to engage with the music on its own terms, this recording proves a quietly rewarding journey into a unique musical voice.
