One of the most intriguing piano concertos of the late 19th century is unknown to the public – and no wonder: so far as I can work out, it has only been recorded once, on a speciality label devoted to neglected French repertoire. As I write this, there are only 11 copies available from Amazon and I recommend that you grab one quickly, because the Second Piano Concerto of Marie Jaëll (1846-1925) demands repeated listening.
If you want proof women of the era could move beyond well-carpentered clichés, listen to Marie Jaëll
The concerto’s harmonic language is superficially conventional: sweeping tunes decorated by arm-swinging arpeggios. But the melodies are lopsided and from time to time the soloist’s butterfly textures are reduced to single notes on which the finger lingers defiantly, exploring every possibility of touch.
The relationship between the pianist’s body and the keyboard was Jaëll’s lifelong obsession. In 1894, ten years after Liszt himself hailed her concerto as ‘a brilliant masterpiece’, she abandoned composition permanently to work on her whole-body ‘Method’ of playing the piano.
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