By the mid-19th century, the burgeoning piano industry was in full flower, incorporating many developments and improvements in design. This led to increased consumer demand and mass production. Consequently the piano evolved from being a luxury item to home entertainment center. Until the advent of radio and recordings, this was how you experienced music at home. Apart from traveling to concerts, the only way to get to know, say, a new Brahms Symphony or the latest Wagner or Verdi opera was to play them at the piano, more often than not in arrangements for one piano four hands. Glancing through myriad music catalogs (not to mention IMSLP), it seems that nearly every symphony, string quartet, choral work and opera had once been available in duet arrangements. Most publishers employed staff arrangers for this task; indeed, one could find certain works in more than one or two editions, such as the Beethoven Symphonies. Composers like Liszt, Brahms, Smetana and Dvorak either made their own four hand arrangements or else supervised others to do so. In essence, the piano duet medium represented the most viable way to dissemenate new orchestral works, particularly those for which concert performances were few and far between. One case in point concerns Bruckner's 1877 reworking of his Symphony No. 3. Although it had little success, that didn't stop the 18-year-old Gustav Mahler from transcribing it for piano duet for what is considered to be Mahler's first publication. In turn, Mahler's disciple Bruno Walter arranged Mahler's First and Second Symphonies for four hands. And Alexander von Zemlinsky, another close member of Mahler's inner circle, unveiled his four-hand version of the Sixth in 1906. Born in Vienna on October 14th 1871, Zemlinsky played both piano and organ from a young age, and was admitted to the Vienna Conservatory in 1884 where he studied piano and composition. Brahms apparently was impressed by Zemlinsky's Clarinet Trio (1896), while Mahler himself conducted the premier of Zemlinsky's opera Es war einmal at the Vienna Hofoper in 1900. That same year he made the acquaintance of the 21-year-old aspiring composer Alma Schindler. Their initial teacher/student relationship soon evolved into a turbulent love affair that lasted until the following year when Alma met Mahler, whom she eventually married. Mahler composed his Sixth Symphony between 1903 and 1905, but continued to make adjustments until his death in 1911. He conducted it's world premiere at Essen on May 27th 1906. Out of all of his purely instrumental symphonies, the Sixth is scored for the largest and most varied assortment of instruments. Although Mahler did call this symphony 'Tragic,' he did not designate an official title. Yet the music indisputably embodies the classic Greek idea of tragedy in the futility of one's heroic striving against an inevitable fate. As such, it's the only one of Mahler's symphonies that concludes neither happily nor peacefully. The opening bars introduce the driving march rhythm that loom large throughout the symphony. A chorale-like theme leads into the passionate F Major second theme that Alma claimed to describe her. Not all conductors (nor Faliks and Schlosberg) observe Mahler's indicated exposition repeat, a convention that had long been considered as optional. The development section subjects the themes to elaborate and compact contrapuntal interplay. While one misses the spatial impact of cowbells against soft celesta chords accompanied by high triple-piano violin tremelos, Zemlinsky compensates with equally compelling keyboard textures and pedal effects. Mahler never made up his mind about the order of the two middle movements. His manuscript and first published score places the Scherzo before the Andante, although his performances opted for Andante-Scherzo, which is reflected in the 2003 critical edition. In any event, listeners can program this release to suit their own preferences. In addition to reiterating the motto march motive, the Scherzo stands out for it's quirky and highly original dance sequences. The Trio, marked 'Altvaterisch' ('in an old-fashioned style'), features irregular rhythms and off-beat accents that, according to Alma's memoirs, represent 'the arhythmic games of (our) two little children, tottering in zigzags over the sand. ' Somehow the third section dance's woodwind squeals and col legno string effects prove just as grotesque and menacing via Zemlinsky's piano scoring. By contrast, the Andante provides the Symphony's only sustained point of respite, alternating between two of Mahler's longest and most heartfelt melodies. As writer David Hurwitz astutely explains in his Mahler Symphonies 'Owner's Manual,' the Finale's ambitious dramatic trajectory takes place in four distinct musical zones, each with it's own specific atmosphere: 1) the familiar march elements, 2) the surging lyrical tunes, 3) the introspective pastoral passages and 4) a 'twilight zone' full of terror and mystery. With Mahler's encouragement, both Zemlinsky and Schoenberg founded the Vereinigung schaffender Tonkünstler (Alliance of Creative Musicians) in Vienna in 1904 to promote and disseminate new works. One outcome of the organization was Zemlinsky's four-hand arrangement of the Sixth, which he and Mahler played in Schoenberg's presence. The performance may well have planted the seeds for Schoenberg founding his Verein für musikalische Privataufführungen (Society for Private Musical Performance) in 1918. Under Schoenberg's supervision, Zemlinsky's arrangement was performed twice at the Society by pianists Eduard Steuermann and Ernst Barich. In his biography of Mahler, Erwin Ratz wrote that 'The performance. Was a highlight in the concerts of the Society. In about thirty rehearsals Schoenberg had prepared the performance with loving care. In retrospect it may be said that the four-handed rendition bears equal comparison with the performance of the original version. ' Naturally 88 piano keys cannot replicate the visceral impact of Mahler's unprecedented orchestration and his genius for instrumental color. However, since Mahler's orchestral original is ubiquitous in concert and via recordings, one should welcome this opportunity to experience Mahler's Sixth in a relatively unfamiliar yet fresh and authentic light. As Inna Faliks and Daniel Schlosberg cogently reveal in this remarkable recording, the music works well on the piano. In purely keyboard terms, Mahler's contrapuntal acumen and rich harmonic language make a pointed, intimate and idiomatic impact, losing little in translation. Moreover, two pianists sharing one bench can respond with unusual flexibility and immediacy to the music's harrowingly wide emotional gamut, channeling the spirit of Zemlinsky and Mahler hovering over the keyboard when the ink had barely dried on the page. - Jed Distler

On STRANGER THINGS, pianist and composer Inna Faliks reflects on the musical forces that have shaped her artistic voice. Childhood compositions written just before emigrating from Odesa appear alongside works by Arnold Schoenberg and Johannes Brahms, tracing a path from Romantic tradition to the expressive freedoms of early modernism. Two of Faliks' own compositions set the stage for a program where memory, discovery, and creative identity converge - revealing how the unexpected often guides an artist's journey.

Manuscripts Don’t Burn is a famous line in Bulgakov’s Master and Margarita – the retelling of Faust, the 20th-century cult novel of an artist surviving in a Totalitarian regime, the love story, the burlesque with giant, vodka-drinking cats, and vampiric theater administrators.

I first read the book as a kid, growing up in Soviet Odesa. I took it with me when my parents and I immigrated, as Jewish refugees running from antisemitism, through Austria and Italy, to the United States. Crossing the border, I worried that guards would discover my book, and I would be severely punished. Throughout the years, the book played a role in my life. My childhood best friend from Odesa reread the book in adulthood and decided to find me - we are now together for 20 years, with two kids. I read the book to my mother as she was dying from brain cancer.

Bulgakov’s novel weaves through my own newly published memoir, Weight in the Fingertips - A Musical Odyssey from Soviet Ukraine to the World Stage (Backbeat Books, October 2023). I consider this very personal recording to be something of a mirror image to my memoir, as it intertwines the literal images from Master and Margarita with more autobiographical themes and layers.

The five premieres, written for me and recorded here, are vastly different in styles and aesthetic. The understated, elegant Master and Margarita Suite by Veronika Krausas complements the wild, theatrical, brooding and extended techniques-filled “Manuscripts Don’t Burn” by Maya Miro Johnson. Mike Garson’s Psalm to Odesa, an improvisatory ballad, with bits of my own improvisation based on a well-known Odesan song, sets off “Voices” by Ljova, a piece for piano and historical recordings of Jewish cantorial and klezmer music. Both take me back to my home city, currently under vicious attack, like the rest of Ukraine. The poetry I recite, sing and hum while performing the four-movement Godai - the Four Elements - is rounded off by the propulsive bravura whirlwind of Hero. Fasil Say’s Black Earth takes the listener on a journey from Odesa across the Black Sea - a Turkish ballad and jazzy beats alternate with improvisatory melisma of a Turkish lute, played on muted strings of the piano. The rarely heard Notturno of Fanny Mendelssohn connects a gifted female voice to the others on this disc, as well as, perhaps, to the dark, impassioned character of Margarita. In Master and Margarita, “Manuscripts Don’t Burn” is spoken by Satan when he retrieves the manuscript of a novel presumed burnt – and in Clarice Assad’s “Godai”, Steve Schroeder’s poem depicts the loss of a manuscript in a fire.

The lieder of Schubert, transcribed for solo piano by Liszt, riffs on the mythical and the Faustian lore found also in Master and Margarita: Gretchen (Margarita) at the spinning wheel, a mystical love story by the sea, a monstrous Elf King and the death of a child, of innocence, of joy - one’s worst fear.

This collection of music speaks to my love of dialogue between music and words. As in my Music/Words series, where I pair poets with musical programs in the form of a recital/reading, the connections between text and sound here are not just literal but emotional, based on memory, intuition, dreams, and hopes.

- Inna Faliks