bone-shaken, bumped at speed ... everything and nothing spoken *

I was first introduced to James Rhodes by a documentary he made for the BBC about the life and loves of Frederic Chopin.  He appeared such an enigmatic and passionate character that I decided to review one of his albums, “Bullets and Lullabies”.

There’s a mixture of composers on the album – from the stratospheric Beethoven, Debussy and Rachmaninov to the less well known (at least to me) Moszkowski and Alkan. Chopin gets a mention twice as well, which is always very nice.

These are all piano pieces, but if Blumenfeld’s “Etude for the Left Hand, Op.36” or indeed Moszkowski’s “Etude de virtuosité Op.72 No.6 in F,” are anything to go by, the thing that binds the pieces together (other than Rhodes’ picking them) is that they are all about exhibiting his astonishing piano playing, whether at frenetic, breakneck speeds or slowly, carefully bringing out the elegant timbre of the piano. Well, perhaps it’s all about showing off too.

Most are fast-paced and /or require moving across octaves in the span of one hand movement. It’s one hour of dexterity and delight; rather than a movement or a study of one composer’s work, it’s the greatest hits of the piano at its chaotic, train-crash, crazy best.

Greig’s “In the Hall of the Moutain King” displays this best. We’re tiptoeing into the hall bit by bit until we gain momentum and bravery, and we’re moving up the piano keys and increasing in volume until we get to the bombastic end. What Rhodes does best is to create story-telling with each piece; amidst the madness or calm of each piece he creates a strong sense of musicality and a drama and a poetic to each piece of music.

Alkan’s “Grande Sonata, Op.33, 'Les quatre ages', first movement” is bonkers; it would be an amazing piece to see live, and you could imagine Rhodes reaching the end, having scaled up and down the piano keyboard, exhibiting craziness and calm, planting the last note, and watching the sweat drip off him, the room filled with awe and thunder. It’s very much like a bullet from a gun, speeding at the sound of light.

Opposing that, and ending the bullets section whilst also, to my mind, beginning the ‘lullabies’ section of the album, the piece that follows is Blumenfeld’s “Etude for the Left Hand”, a moderate and mellow etude (but with craziness, grandiloquence and EXTREME virtuoisity thrown in to the mix as well) which you would expect with its deeper, fleshier tones; it’s a nice contrast to make after all that craziness, a piece of music that makes you pause and conjure and makes your head spin at how only one hand can achieve this. Rachmaninov’s “Prelude in G flat, Op.23 No.10” is heart-breaking in its simple beauty; the way that Rhodes creates such depth and warmth in this piece of music is monumental. As with Debussy’s “La plus que Lente” which follows, it’s interesting to have such calm and serene pieces of music at the halfway point as if to catch our breath.

Chopin’s “Piano Concerto No.1 in E minor, Op. 11 second movement (Romanza)” for me is the highlight – all ten and a half minutes of it. While it does emphasise and embellish the quieter elements of the second half of the album, it dances with delicacy and delight, and a bit of pomposity, all over the keyboards. It’s like the soundtrack to an important moment in your life – opening you up to revelation, lifting you up, laying you down, quietening you, absorbing you. It’s beautiful and awe-inspiring in its simplicity, and how Rhodes makes it sound so simple.

The Ravel, Debussy’s famous “Clair de Lune” and Brahms which round off the album add a quiet contemplation that the first half has missing – it’s as if the action of the first half is squared off with thought and reverie. Reaction then impression. It’s an interesting way of halving an album – and it shows that not all classical music is loud and bombastic, nor all quiet and full of emotion.

There is certainly an element of virtuosity to the album – a showing off, that were he singing or rapping might become annoying and stale after a few listens. But by doing something that few others can achieve creates in the listener a magnetic impression.

James Rhodes @ Wikipedia

Guardian Review

BBC Review

* The title of the blog post (again, because no lyrics) is taken from Seamus Heaney's "Chanson d'Aventure", a poem from his collection "Human Chain".