This attractive retrospective inspired by the dance amounts to a quick-step through mu­sic history as the listener is whirled through the 19th century to the midpoint of the 20th (with a flaunting of strict chronological order, to provide a more graceful aural sequence).

Liszt's myriad "pianostrations" fall into two categories. His operatic Paraphrases are, in effect, free impressions of the latest operas by Mozart, Gounod, Verdi, et al. Others were more sober transcriptions, dutifully faithful to the originals which they exemplify. The Polonaise from Eugene Onegin belongs to this second group. Liszt completed it just months after the 1879 premiere of Tchaikovsky's opera. In essence, it is a skilled and in­spired solo piano arrangement of the glittering ballroom scene that opens the second act. Liszt's peculiar genius, his wondrous ear for orchestral color and seemingly limitless re­sourcefulness in letting a mere ten fingers do the work of a full regiment of instrumental­ists and vocalists, assure these mementos immortality even today. These virtuosic ex­ploits retain their relevance even alongside the wonders of audio and video in our techno­logical epoch!

We continue our journey with Carl Maria von Weber's Rondo Brillante of 1819 -- a seminal work if ever there was one. Invitation to the Dance has been a traveling companion for so long that it gives us pause to realize that this beloved little gem of a piece was in fact the unique prototype of its particular genre. Weber wrote it as a tender gift to his wife, and presented it with a "program" that is so musically self-evident that it needs no detailed explanation. A young lady receives a courtly invitation to a ball from a gentleman who asks for the honor of the first dance. Her initial acceptance is demure, but as the musical narrative unfurls, the couple's waltzing becomes ever more vigorous and abandoned. The scene ends much as it began - with a wistful epilogue derived from the vignette's opening salvo.

Pushing the Fast Forward button, we come to 1937 and Alberto Ginastera's first piano work, his three Argentine Dances, Op. 2. Even at this early date, Ginastera's burgeoning individuality was evident in his embodiment of polytonality, his incorporation of folk idioms, and his fondness for the vital rhythms that punctuate these attractive and acces­sible compositions. The central dance of the triptych, Danza de la Moza Donosa (Dance of the Generous Girl), provides the necessary calm lyricism, while the other two, Danza del Viejo Boyero (Old Cowboy's Dance) and Danza del Gaucho Matrero (Dance of the Cunning Cowboy) are peppered with expressive dissonances and virtuoso passages. Ginastera wrote of these pieces "I felt the need to express myself in the language of the Argentinean man, the man of the pampas."

In 1911, Ravel wrote a group of Valses Nobles et Sentimentales for piano. If that cycle pays affectionate homage to Schubert "not in irony or with tongue-in-cheek," La Valse, another tribute to Alt Wien, follows a far more sinister -- in fact diabolical -- agenda. The 1919 "choreographic poem" was conceived by Ravel "as an apotheosis of the Viennese waltz, mixed in my mind with the impression of a fantastic, fatal whirling." In the after­math of World War I, this vortex relentlessly plunges the listener into a horrific, sardonic musical portrait of ecstatic decadence. As the dancing becomes ever more violent and fragmented, lilting rhythms become broken and convulsive, the violence increasingly punctuated with jagged shards. The shattering conclusion almost graphically suggests the falling of a guillotine. La Valse, then, must be reckoned in sharpest dichotomy to Barber's "bemused" and "tender" Souvenirs. Its closest social commentary makes it an apt relative to Picasso's Guernica.

Chopin's genius quite understandably made the composer a hotly contended property of his dual nationalities (his father was French, his mother Polish), and one can hear the cen­ter of this tug-of-war coming to terms with himself. On the one hand, his immortal Polonaises, Mazurkas and Krakowiaks are tributes to his fierce pride in his Polish roots. On the other, he found himself musically at home in fashionable Parisian circles, especially in the series of concert waltzes deftly borrowed from Schubert, and, lest we forget, Weber's Invitation to the Dance. The versatile master even tried his hand at other "ethnic" fare, for instance the Tarantella, Barcarolle and Bolero, Op. 19. At the time that Chopin composed his Bolero in 1833, he could not have had much familiarity with authentic Iberian music, and it has been conjectured that Auber's Spanish opera Masaniello, pro­duced in 1828 and much in vogue at the time, served as grist for Chopin's mill. Whatever its source, the Bolero does conjure a reasonable Spanish flavor. As the work's introduction unfolds, Chopin summons a convincing aura, although the swaggering bolero proper then inadvertently approxi­mates Chopin's inevitable alla polacca!

Barber tells us of his Souvenirs: "In 1952 I was writing a set of piano duets to play with a friend, and Lincoln Kirstein suggested that I orchestrate them for a ballet... One might imagine a divertissement in a setting of the Palm Court of the Hotel Plaza in New York, the year about 1914, epoch of the first tangos. 'Souvenirs' -- remembered with affection, not in irony or with tongue in cheek, but in bemused tenderness." In a letter to his uncle, Barber remarked: "I have taken your advice to do something enjoyable, and have just fin­ished a ballet score for Balanchine which gave me great pleasure to compose. Very light...Think of that coming from your serious-minded Westchester Presbyterian nephew..." Barber later arranged the Souvenirs for solo piano.

- HARRIS GOLDSMITH

Shall We Dance?

I dance at the piano. I've always played this way, swinging and bopping and grooving with the music, seldom sitting still. It's just the way my body follows the rhythmic pull, the melodic lines. So music inspired by the dance was a natural choice for my first solo recording. I have chosen dances ranging from the graceful to the grotesque, the sensual to the severe, representing settings from the ballroom to the barroom. I love the contrasts between these pieces, and the illustration they offer of all the different things that dance can be.

Ever since my first piano teacher introduced me, at the age of six, to Bartók's early folk dances, I have been intrigued by the interdependence between music and dance. Dance, after all, is music in motion, the physical embodiment of sound. The mental images I have while playing or listening to music are often very distinct dance scenes: Weber's Invitation to the Dance evokes a ballroom full of waltzing girls in white dresses, as clearly as Gershwin's Cheek to Cheek brings to mind the indelible image of Fred and Ginger swaying in an old-movie moonlight. I hope that the music on this recording will help you conjure up imaginary dances of your own!

Recording this music was a great pleasure for me. I thank Bob Karcy, a vigorous creative force and an inspiring guide for a young artist, for his musical sensibility and his dedication to this project.

I dedicate this recording to the memory of my father, who danced with me.

Shall we dance?

-LARA DOWNES