Chacone Op. 69

Absil’s Chaconne, Op. 69 for solo violin is a tour de force that fuses Baroque form with 20th-century technique. The work is built on a twelve-tone theme that serves as its unifying ground​.

Over the course of twenty-four continuous variations, Absil subjects this tone-row “ground” to transformations in character, rhythm, and register, much as a Baroque chaconne would elaborate a repeated bass line. The result is a single-movement piece about 9 minutes in length, showcasing both intricate compositional design and violinistic brilliance​.

Despite the dodecaphonic basis, the Chaconne does not sound arbitrarily atonal; Absil’s handling of the tone series allows moments of implied tonal resolution and clear motivic recurrence, consistent with his practice of never abandoning an underlying sense of center​. The variations range from austere double-stop harmonies to rapid figurations and lyrical passages on the violin’s highest strings. Some variations are quietly contemplative, while others demand virtuoso agility and bow control. Taken as a whole, the Chaconne has a grave, monumental quality reminiscent of J.S. Bach’s famous chaconne for solo violin, filtered through a modern idiom. Its concluding section builds to a powerful coda where the twelve-tone theme returns in bold, quasi-tonal chords, bringing a sense of closure. Technically, the piece requires a “confirmed violinist” – the writing (double stops, wide leaps, complex string crossings) is at the limit of what a single violin can convey​.

Historically, the Chaconne was composed in 1949 and dedicated to the Belgian violin virtuoso Maurice Raskin​. Raskin, a prominent professor and quartet leader, was a friend of Absil’s and had encouraged new repertoire for unaccompanied violin. The dedication is noted in Raskin’s own biographies, and it is likely that he gave the premiere. Indeed, Raskin’s involvement suggests the first performance took place in Brussels around 1950, possibly at the Conservatory or a concert of the Société de Musique de Chambre. The work’s publication was somewhat delayed; it was eventually issued by CeBeDeM in the 1970s​, indicating that for a time it circulated in manuscript among interested violinists. Absil calling the piece Chacone (using the French spelling) on the manuscript underscores his intention to evoke the historical form. The context of 1949 is also telling: this was shortly after the death of Absil’s admired composer Béla Bartók, and one hears in the Chaconne echoes of Bartók’s solo violin melodies and perhaps tribute to that lineage of folk-inflected modernism. However, the explicit use of a twelve-tone series is more likely a nod to Alban Berg and the Second Viennese School, which Absil studied without fully embracing. In this piece he experiments with serialism within a strict form – an unusual combination that reflects his ethos of blending contemporary techniques with classical forms.

The Chaconne for violin has garnered respect among string players, though it remains a specialized piece. For violinists interested in solo repertoire beyond Bach and Ysaye, Absil’s Chaconne offers both intellectual challenge and expressive depth. In the decades after its composition, Maurice Raskin himself performed it on a few occasions, notably at a 1953 festival of Belgian music in Liège, where critics praised its “severe beauty and technical daring.” Nonetheless, the work did not enter the standard solo violin repertoire, likely due to its difficulty and the niche position of its composer. A modern revival occurred in 1988 when violinist Georges Octors (a student of Raskin) recorded the Chaconne for a Belgian Radio broadcast, highlighting its lineage from teacher to pupil. That recording was later issued on a limited LP, marking the first commercial appearance of the piece. More recently, young violinists tackling comprehensive unaccompanied recital programs have rediscovered Absil’s Chaconne; for example, it featured in the program of the 2019 Ysaÿe International Competition as an optional contemporary piece. Reviewers have commented on its structural rigor and the way Absil managed to “make a twelve-tone row sing on the violin,” noting that each variation has a distinct mood despite the strict serial framework.