Mieczyslaw Wienberg composed 24 Preludes, Op. 100 in 1968 and published in 1975. The work obviously had Rostropovich's bowings and fingerings without his name even mentioned. But of course, by this time the cellist was already in exile in the United States.

There are so many angles from which one could look at the 24 Preludes for Solo Cello, Op. 100. The work might be compared to a series of extremely varied, masterful drawings unified by a deep philosophical idea. In his approach, Weinberg was clearly inspired by Bach's famous Well-tempered Clavier, as well as Chopin's and Shostakovitch's piano preludes. His general progression is akin to Bach's as the Preludes ascend from the key of C and descend back through all twelve notes, while freely mixing major and minor keys and elements of atonal writing. Bach's influence is further reinforced by two of the preludes written in the Sarabande or Menuet form. In his quest, the composer exhibits a truly limitless amount of imagination and shows remarkable ability to write for the cello in a myriad of different ways.

Prelude No. 1 starts with the rich sound of an open C string, going into a chain of octaves and other intervals. It sounds very forceful, primitive and chaotic. This "Chaos of the Beginning" makes me think of the Book of Genesis in the Bible. No. 2 is still purposely primitive and slightly folksy. No. 3 introduces the effect of a simple two-voice conversation; No. 4 blends elements of the beginning into a more coherent, singing line. In No. 5 Weinberg uses a very effective "collage" of themes from Robert Schumann and Boris Tchaikovsky's cello concertos. The Sixth Prelude is reminiscent of a typical Russian folk-song whereas No. 7 has an eerie perpetual motion with a passing Russian-Orthodox chorale. No. 8 recalls Prokofiev's March from The Love for Three Oranges.

The Preludes form several "waves" with well planned troughs and peaks. The second such wave starts in Prelude No. 9, using the octave elements of No. 1 with a rather well concentrated and renewed force. It continues right into the extremely powerful "machine"-like motion of No. 10. Both No. 9 and No. 10 embody well-pronounced Russian melodic and rhythmic features, creating vivid images of immense turbulence and suffering. In contrast, the weak and breathless No. 11 is followed by the very soft and song-like No. 12. Mystical and exploratory, Nos. 13 and 14 lead to a finely developed, if still understated, fugue (No. 15). No. 16 explodes into an extremely dramatic Jewish dance—the clear centerpiece of the entire work.

The third "wave" starts immediately with No. 17, at first further reinforcing elements of the beginning, then, suddenly, becoming very weak and unsure. Highly emotional and personal, the Sarabande of No. 18, and the "mechanically-broken" No. 19, are followed by a rather strange and enigmatic No. 20. No. 21 is related to the music of Shostakovich, Weinberg's most dedicated friend. Two famous themes, one—like an eternal question—from the First Cello Concerto, another—playful and innocent—from the finale of the Cello Sonata, are magically intertwined here. The subdued and oriental (Indian?)-sounding No. 22 and the "shocking" atonal writing in No. 23 lead the Preludes to a peaceful, if somewhat unresolved, conclusion with the graceful Menuet of No. 24. Weinberg ends everything with the same, enveloping, low and rich cello C that began the work.

Writer: Josef Feigelson