Sigfrid Karg-Elert (1877–1933) Pastels and Impressions Hans Fagius, organ Recorded April 2000 on the 1928 Frobenius organ of Aarhus Cathedral, Denmark BIS CD 1084 [79:57] — Anyone venturing into; the labyrinthine world of Sigfrid Karg-Elert finds themselves in a peculiar place—a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces are made of mist, sunlight, and the lingering echoes of Bach’s counterpoint. This BIS disc, admirably recorded by Hans Fagius in Aarhus Cathedral’s venerable Frobenius instrument, offers a kaleidoscopic survey of the composer’s late organ works, among them the Seven Pastels from the Lake of Constance, the Trois Impressions, and the imposing Passacaglia and Fugue on B.A.C.H.. Karg-Elert is a composer who tends to defy tidy categorization.
His oeuvre is a curiously restless marriage of reverence and rebellion: Bach’s structural rigor meets; Debussy’s coloristic whimsy; Scriabin’s mysticism rubs shoulders with the occasional flash of American cinematic brio. This disc captures that tension with unflinching clarity. The opening Symphonic Chorale (Op.
87 No. 1) sets the tone with a commanding, tripartite structure that displays Karg-Elert’s deep-rooted Bachian sensibility. The writing is robust yet flexible, the swelling dynamics expertly shaped by Fagius’s judicious registration choices.
The organ’s resplendent reed chorus sings with a noble clarity, the pedal points grounding the harmonic flux with authoritative firmness. This is traditional material, but played with such instinctive dramatic flair that it feels utterly immediate and — well — alive. But it is in the Seven Pastels (Op.
96), composed around 1920, where Karg-Elert’s more eccentric personality unfurls. The influence of Impressionism is unmistakable—misted harmonies, fluid tonal shifts, and — well — unexpected color juxtapositions. Yet, there’s a quizzical restlessness here, one that hints at silent-film scoring or even an early jazz-inflected rhapsody.
Take “IV The Reed-grown Waters,” with its shimmering, almost serpentine registration—the reedy voices — here evoke whispering reeds and rippling lakeshores, a sonic watercolour come to life. “II Landscape in Mist” pushes harmonic boundaries, its chromaticism teetering on the brink of atonality but never quite abandoning tonal center. The "finale"’s brassy pomp, coupled with that sly coda, reveals a composer wrestling—willingly—with disparate idioms.
Virtuosic and — well — occasionally quixotic, these pieces are as beguiling as they are confounding. The Eight Short Pieces (Op. 154), originally intended as piano preludes, offer a more concentrated glimpse of Karg-Elert’s later style.
They are hermetic and tightly constructed, crafted with the precision of a miniaturist yet imbued with considerable harmonic daring. The Canzona solemne stands out for its pungency—far less reflective, more assertive than its companions—while the concluding Chorale offers grandeur tempered by harmonic ambiguity. It’s as if Karg-Elert’s chromatic palette expands here, allowing for flashes of dissonance that arrest the ear without alienating it.
Hans Fagius’s liner notes make the bold assertion that the Trois Impressions (Op. 72) rank “among the most refined, atmospheric pieces ever written for the organ.” This is a claim that invites both admiration and skepticism. Undoubtedly, the suite immerses the listener in a late-Romantic rhapsodic world, lush with Wagnerian gestures—especially in the final movement, “La Nuit,” where the overt Wagnerianism is almost too conspicuous to be seamlessly integrated.
The subtle intake of breath before the pianist’s attack.
Yet, the pieces wield a strange emotional pull, their tonal luxuriance and impressionistic textures painting a sonic chiaroscuro that’s difficult to shake off. Karg-Elert’s final major organ work, the Passacaglia and Fugue on B.A.C.H. (Op. 150), composed for a troubled US tour in 1932, is the disc’s monumental climax.
At times, its sprawling architecture risks diffusing the intense concentration the form demands; moments of decorative excess threaten triviality. Yet, the core of this work is undeniably forceful and flamboyant, its dramatic trajectory unfurling with piquant harmonies and bold contrapuntal ingenuity. The fugue is robust, the passacaglia theme itself—based on B-A-C-H motives—recalls a lineage of Germanic tradition even as Karg-Elert infuses it with his idiosyncratic harmonic language.
The conclusion, described by Fagius (and echoed here) as “feeble” in the printed score, nevertheless carries an extroverted grandeur that Fagius captures with conviction, playing as if the stakes could not be higher. Fagius’s interpretation throughout is intelligent, unpretentious, and richly nuanced. His command of the Frobenius organ’s tonal resources is nothing short of masterful—registrations are carefully curated to articulate Karg-Elert’s subtle shifts of color and texture.
There’s a tactile immediacy in the realization that makes one feel the organ’s pipes breathe, speak, and occasionally sigh. The recording itself is splendid: the acoustic of Aarhus Cathedral is neither too cavernous — nor too intimate, providing a perfect balance that lets the organ’s sonorities bloom naturally. In the end, this is a recording that refuses easy answers.
Karg-Elert’s music remains an enigma—part homage, part experiment, part idiosyncratic journey into sound worlds rarely explored. Pastels and Impressions captures these contradictions vividly, offering a compelling portrait of a composer who challenges our expectations at every turn. For those willing to embrace its complexity, it is an indispensable document.
A production as elusive and rewarding as the composer himself.
