THE UNIVERSE OF JÓZSEF SÁRI

The release of an album dedicated to a living composer is always a cause for celebration, especially when it comes to such a significant artist as József Sári. At the same time, it is also important to note that we are witnesses to a rare meeting between composer and performer.
Let it be clear from the start: with this CD, we are presenting the best of Sári’s piano oeuvre. However, this should not tempt us to claim, in frivolity, that Sári’s total output for solo piano can fit on a single disc. These works, which go well beyond average in testing the performer’s mental-physical endurance, in their complexity, density, and the constant alternation of individual musical material, often contain not one piece, but several at once, almost projected onto one another, montages on top of each other.
The selection opens with Four Inventions (1992), the title of which pays tribute to the oeuvre and spirit of that greatest of predecessors, Johann Sebastian Bach. The act of invention (I.e. ingenuity, resourcefulness) means no less to Sári than it did to the German master. Namely, a primarily unaffected playing (in the most precise sense of the word), true to oneself, using all the means of music, which only truly great artists are capable of. Each of the four movements adopts a unique character: the burlesque-like nature of the first invention captivates the listener with its complex block chords, exciting rhythms, and improvisation-like flourishes (which also show elements of jazz), while the extreme virtuosity and delirious sound of the second evokes the world of Ligeti’s piano etudes and the American repetitive school. In the third piece, the interruptions in the constant sixteenth notes emphasize the (apparently) random order and rhythm of the notes, as he delineates the pauses, making them much more pronounced. The fragmented (artificial) scales of the fourth piece create a similar effect to the previous piece: silence plays a decisive, dramatic role in this movement, too. This is reinforced by the cantus firmus-like solemn main voice. After a colorful, chordal transition, the work ends with a sweeping finale, which, as it dashes with defiant abandon to its conclusion, will resonate with the listener for a long time.
Imaginary Variations (1977) is not a series of variations in the classical sense, written on a given theme. The eight–movement cycle is a string of very different character pieces. The impatient exaltation of the first variation, the internal motor driving the dynamic static state of the second, the repetitive agility of the third, the duality of the fourth: with its statuesque chords and shimmering reflections in the upper register), it evokes the world of the French Impressionists. The fifth variation, with its initially incomplete, then steadily increasingly complete five-note strings (which are adorned with accented notes that halt the process), is characterized by Baroque, overly exuberant lines and an attitude that boldly draws inspiration from aleatoric music. The sixth movement is star music, a late successor to Bartók’s night music, which, with its contemplative reserves of gold and the improvisational spirit of the piece, is a very rewarding task for the performer. The seventh variation also has an aura of Bartók around it, harking back to the gently mocking tone of the Second Burlesque (A Little Tipsy). The final movement of the cycle is a toccata-like, virtuoso movement emphasizing specific notes of the musical texture. Episodi (1968) consists of several closed forms. Being in a single movement, it also echoes Liszt’s through-composed pieces. In this work, Sári parades, as it were, an entire repository of piano technical elements, creating one of his most original works, which sometimes recalls the mood of folk laments, other times repetitive virtuosity: a music of extremes and distant vistas.
In girum imus nocte... (2009) quotes a palindromic line from a poem by Virgil: “In girum imus nocte / et consumimur igni”, or in English: “We circle round in the night and fire consumes us.” The title gives the listener a kind of key to the work. The musical representation of the wheel of time lies in the duality, constancy, and alternation of motorically rattling motifs with Baroque polish, and the more meditative, lute-like chords that contrast with them. The incredibly complicated structure of the coda and the resulting closing secion, with semiquavers that flare up (and then fade), lend dramatic perspectives to the work.
Next, we hear Tractatus (2003), also in a single movement, and one of the largest-scale compositions in the selection. The grandeur of the work lies in the way musical materials are appliquéd, then argue with each other, and are sometimes in antagonistic opposition. It is not by chance that we use this seemingly inappropriate term (appliqué); Sári’s works have a strong artistic connotation, but this is not the attitude of an art-lover who delights in works of art, but rather that of Man who grabs a brush, comes into physical contact with the material, suffers, and pitches from one extreme to the other. Each musical material in Tractatus has its own unique personality traits. József Sári’s musical ideas and inventions always bear the imprint of the system of gestures inherited from the Baroque (primarily from Bach). This is why one of the most characteristic features of Sári’s works is the strong, overflowing “desire to communicate”. Tractatus is thus nothing less than a flesh-and-blood drama unfolding before us; in which the outcome of the process is uncertain until the final chord is played.
The triptych Prelude, interlude, postlude (1979) is actually dedicated entirely to play (ludium). The indescribably energetic nature of Sári’s music, as well as its quality of being constantly re-generated by an inner fire, make it easy for the listener to experience the playfulness that in art “must be taken very seriously”. The mosaic-like, never-ending flow of sound in the Prelude creates an almost unbearable level of unpredictability by accentuating certain pitches. This constant imperceptibility (as we wrote elsewhere  above) endows the pauses with an unusual power, or, as it were, a radiance, ultimately positioning silence at the centre of the work. The Interlude is built up of dense colour chords, as well as chord sequences and schemes that are created by the connection, attraction, and repulsion of these colour chords, which, we might say, obey physical and chemical laws and sometimes become liquid or crystalline in structure.
At the same time, we can experience the drama of repetitive technique: the power of repetition, its role in emphasizing, as a key rhetorical element (in a negative light this could represent enervation, fatigue) it determines the fundamental character and spiritual polarity of each phrase. 
As we shall find out in the third movement of Alienated Quotations which concludes the CD, Sári is most fond of disclosing himself. This is most noticeable at the beginning of the Postlude; here, alongside the notes to be played silently in place of the rests, initially we hear only one pitch that actually sounds, the contours of scales that run up and down. However, the piece is gradually populated with more pitches, right up until the mechanically predictable order of notes can be broken only by the changing directions, up and down, of competing runs of scales. This is then repeated increasingly frequently, until the unison line begins to become less satisfactory. At this point in the movement, the unison of the two hands is enriched with an additional note each, giving double notes. The true climax of the work is when the semiquavers freeze: a rigorous chorale emerges, enlarging the previous evenness with strange, unpredictable jolts. After a time, the only remaining way of intensifying is to accelerate, and with this, a vortex-like momentum turns the work inside-out.
Alienated Quotations (1982) is undeniably one of Sári’s most important piano works. As the motto for the work, Sári has borrowed a quotation from Paul Valéry: “The mystery of choice is no less than that of invention.” And why? The composer’s own afterword offers a clue. “Alienated Quotations is an unrepeatable moment, an island in my works. I wanted to express my deep reverence for J. S. Bach in a special way. The work has three movements, and although not a single note comes from me, I still consider it a work of independent value. The first and second movements are based on Bach’s Prelude No. 20 in A minor from Volume II of Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, and the third movement is based on Fugue No. 10 in E minor from Volume I. The way I composed it, I used only the sounds I needed from the pieces mentioned. One used note is connected to another by a rest, or a lengthening of the previous note - in places, with special rhythm. Each note therefore sounds at the same time as in the Bach original.
However, with the exception of the first movement, I deviated from the register, meaning that the notes remain identical in name to the original, but they are sounded one or more octaves higher or lower. Since both Bach pieces are strongly chromatic, I was able to achieve the free twelve-tone sound that is characteristic of some of my pieces.
In the second half of the third movement, I finally reveal myself. At this point, the E minor fugue sounds simultaneously with my version, without any alienation. The alienated sound is also aided by the fact that the piano I use is partially prepared.”

László Borbély

Translated by Richard Robinson

László Borbély is a Junior Prima and Artisjus Award-winning pianist. He has won prizes in several competitions, among which the most notable are the 2nd prize at the International Liszt-Bartók Piano Competition in Budapest and the 2nd prize at the Liszt Piano Competition held in Los Angeles. He is a returning performer at numerous foreign and domestic festivals and is also active as a soloist, chamber musician, and concert soloist. He has performed in many European countries, Asia, and the United States, and at prestigious venues such as Carnegie Hall in New York, Zipper Hall in Los Angeles, the Kennedy Center in Washington, the Palacio de Festivales in Santander, the Hermitage Theatre in Saint Petersburg and the Ilshin Hall in Seoul. The music in his repertoire spans hundreds of years, from early Baroque to contemporary works. Many contemporary Hungarian composers have composed works for him, including György Kurtág, József Soproni, Marcell Dargay, Máté Balogh and Péter Tornyai. More than twenty of his solo albums have been released by Hunnia Records & Film Production. He has also released two albums for Bayer Records, and can also be heard as a contributor on one BMC Records release. On his albums, he performs works by Bach, Beethoven, Liszt, Chopin, Poulenc, Rachmaninov, Mussorgsky, Messiaen, Ligeti, Bartók, Máté Balogh and László Vidovszky, among others. He has recorded works such as Bartók’s three piano concertos and Messiaen’s Catalogue d’oiseaux, and also recorded Bach’s Goldberg Variations, The Art of Fugue, and the Wohltemperiertes Klavier Book 1. He worked with József Sári for several years on the selection heard on this album. Reviews highlight his “richness of detail”, “depth”, “perfectionism”, “intellectual rigour”, and “perfect technique combined with almost manic virtuosity”. He is a member of the Carpathian Impressions Trio and the Metrum Ensemble. His solo album Secrets – Chopin’s mature piano works, and his Bartók album with violinist Márta Ábrahám won the “Record of the Year 2025” award in two categories at the NativeDSD record competition, with the latter album also winning the overall audience award.