Asturias (originally titled Preludio) written in the early 1890s is one of the best-loved and most recognisable guitar pieces of all time. It was originally composed for piano however and though transcribed by many guitarists (including Francisco Tárrega, who composed the Recuerdos de la Alhambra which also features on this recording) it only arrived in its present form after the great Andres Segovia arranged it. We are then fortunate that its journey did not end there and Xavier Turull, a Catalan violinist and composer, arranged a rather fiery version of the piece for violin solo.

The piece appeared in various collections of short Spanish pieces, but it was only in 1911, after Albéniz had died, that the German publisher Hofmeister published a collection called Suite Española and changed the name of the piece from Preludio to Asturias (Leyenda). The name however is misleading. Although the dramatic character of the piece may indeed evoke the lonely windswept land and seascapes of the Asturias region in northern Spain, the inspiration for the piece was almost definitely the music of Andalucia in the south of the country, and specifically that Romani/Moorish mixture of music we call Flamenco.

The opening section of the piece immediately evokes the Flamenco guitar with a rapidly alternating pedal note and bass line melody, the rhythm itself suggesting a Bulerias—a type of song from the Flamenco repertoire. The theme builds in intensity, punctuated by vicious accented chords and building into a complex double-stopped passage before it gives way to a final flourish that diminuendos to a high harmonic. This sets the scene for the first slow section, a sparse, religious and solemn melody evoking the music of the Catholic church that seems to transform itself a few bars later into a cante jondo, an improvised phrase such as would be sung by a Flamenco singer. Throughout this section the juxtaposition of Christian and Moorish religion and culture on Spanish music is apparent, with unexpected G sharps adding Arabic flavours to the harmony. This leads into a brief dance section written in the style of a Malagueña, another Flamenco style, before returning to the solemn religious theme again. A da capo follows bringing us back to the first rapid opening section, even more urgent and fiery than before, until the piece closes with a final hymn-like slow section, which again slowly transforms itself into a Moorish-flavoured melody line executed with ricochet bowing. A glissando to a questioning high harmonic finally allows the piece to dissipate into the ether, the last note a single lonely pizzicato.

from notes by Sebastian See-Schierenberg © 2015