Sarasate's first 19 published pieces (out of 54) are, for the most part, fairly routine fantasies on opera themes. The violinist/composer fully came into his own only with his Op. 20, the popular, heart-on-sleeve Ziguenerweisen drawn from gypsy music, and then proceeded to capitalize on his Spanish heritage with a long series of folk-inspired pieces. Most notable and durable among these are the Eight Spanish Dances, published in pairs and mostly composed in the late 1870s. Sarasate's standard operating procedure was to employ a traditional tune with very little initial embellishment; he would most often simply repeat it in different octaves, adding a few flourishes along the way, ending in the violin's highest range. As mentioned, he paired the dances, the first one usually slow and the second fast and invigorating, the conclusion in almost every case demonstrating that these are virtuoso showpieces for professionals, not quaint splashes of local color for home players. The Op. 21 set consists of a malagueña and a habañera. The former is dedicated to violinist Joseph Joachim; the latter employs a rhythm originally drawn from Cuba. In the Op. 22 set, the "Romanza Andaluza" is slowish and richly ornamented, evoking southern Spain, although it does not employ an actual folk tune. The ensuing "Jota Navarra" (the first of Sarasate's six jotas, including one for two violins) is much more vigorous. Op. 23 begins with a playera, another Andalusian piece, this one with mysterious Moorish overtones. Its companion, a zapateado, is a pounding, perpetual-motion piece, keeping the violin predominantly in its high register with splatters of pizzicato everywhere. The two dances of Op. 26 are merely given numbers; the first is a very free transcription of the song "La Partida" (Farewell) by Fermín María Alvarez linked to a popular song called "El Vito." The second is another habañera, this one more teasing than that in Op. 21.

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Malagueña y Habanera, Op.21

Responding to the same call from the publishing firm of N. Simrock that resulted in Johannes Brahms' Hungarian Dances and Antonín Dvorák's Slavonic Dances, Pablo de Sarasate composed four books of Spanish Dances between 1878 and 1882—concertized ethnic truffles were all the rage at the time, and made good money for all parties involved. The first book, Op. 21, contains, as do each of the other three, two individual pieces for violin and piano: in this case a Malagueña and a Habañera. Like most of Sarasate's short pieces, these are salon music at its most suave and disarming, filled in equal parts with ravishing Spanish melody and intricate virtuoso elaboration.

The Malagueña (which is a subspecies of fandango) of Op. 21 is an instrumental song in three parts: ABA. The deep, relaxed melody that opens the A section is shoved aside by a foot stomping passage, un poco meno lento, in which the pianist is offered an inimitably folkish tune while the violinist shoots off with some elaborate pizzicati. The central portion is like a miniature theme and variations (or, more properly, variation—there is just one elaboration of the new thought).

The habañera is a nineteenth-century dance form not actually native to Spain, but rather imported from Cuba (the name derives from Havana). The Habanera in Op. 21 makes flexible use of the habañera ostinato, moving at will between raw drama, coy affectation, and flashy technical exercise.

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Romanza andaluza y jota navarra, Op.22

The third and fourth of Spanish violinist-composer Pablo de Sarasate's eight Spanish Dances for violin and piano—a group of pieces commissioned by the publishing firm of N. Simrock for inclusion in the ethnic dance series launched by Brahms' Hungarian Dances and continued with Dvorák's Slavonic Dances—are entitled Romanza andaluza and Jota navarra, and were published together as Op. 22 in 1879; Sarasate dedicated them to the famous Bohemian violinist Wilma Neruda, who, after marrying the Swedish composer Frederick Norman, took the stage name Norman-Neruda. The two dances are true complements to one another. The Romanza andaluza is a generally relaxed, warm-souled rhapsody in several sections and with many stylishly folk-like (but not in fact Andalusian) melodies and a few brief outbursts of virtuoso display, while the Jota navarra is a fleet-footed, Navarrese take on the energetic jota dance originally native to Aragón.

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Romanza andaluza y jota navarra, Op.22 - 1.Romanza Andaluza

Sarasate's Andalusian Romance, the first of two Spanish dances published as Op. 22, takes its title but not its themes from southern Spain. The melodies certainly sound folk-like, beginning with the warm, lyrical initial theme, accompanied by a rocking rhythmic piano accompaniment. The music soon begins ascending into higher registers, dropping lower, and shooting up again, while somehow maintaining a relaxed stance. Sarasate offers a second, somewhat simpler theme, which he immediately begins complicating with rich ornamentation (a practice he had established in the first thematic section). The easy tempo and frankly unimaginative accompaniment continue through most of the remainder of the piece, whose technical challenges do not become evident to the listener until about two-thirds of the way through, beginning with persistent double-stop material and ending with airy trills and a high whistle.

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Playera y zapateado, Op.23

Throughout the late 1870s and 1880s, the Berlin-based publishing house of Simrock, encouraged by the sweeping success of the first volume of Brahms' Hungarian Dances (published in 1869), expanded its catalog of ethnic truffles by issuing a second similar volume by Brahms and by commissioning further sets of salon-arranged folk dances from two composers far removed from one another in terms of style and nationality. From Czech composer Antonín Dvorák were received the two volumes of Slavonic Dances, Op. 46 and 72, which became perhaps even more popular than the Brahms pieces. Famed Spanish violinist Pablo de Sarasate contributed four books of Spanish Dances for violin and piano that, though today hardly as well regarded as the efforts of the other two composers, were widely influential during their heyday in the late nineteenth century and have remained a vital part of the virtuoso violin repertoire. Indeed, it isn't too far-fetched to propose that our modern conception of a distinct Spanish style of composition outside the realm of pure folk music is due in good part to Sarasate's 54 published works and to the effect that his personal violinistic mannerisms had on the many composers—among them Bruch, Lalo, Saint-Saëns, and even Dvorák—who wrote pieces for him to play. Sarasate was uninterested in composing large original works of deep musical substance; the craft with which he invested his arrangements and showpieces, however, is a thing to be marveled at. The second book of Spanish Dances, Op. 23 provides ample evidence of his finesse with musical miniatures. It comprises, as do all the other books, just two pieces: a melancholy Playera and the frenetic, highly-charged virtuoso Zapateado, each expertly formed out of basic folk material at hand and not at all deserving of the disrespect heaped upon them by so many musicians and critics.

The Playera is a brooding, even despondent, thing in a slow tempo (Sarasate marks it Lento), with a seemingly improvised violin melody that weaves its way around an irrepressible—if rather grim—ostinato rhythm in the piano. The stereotypical Spanish-style harmonic conflict is at work here, as the nearly always present A pedal point is fashioned by Sarasate to work both as the dominant of D minor and as a modal focus all its own. Things warm up a bit during the central portion of this four-and-a-half minute piece, but despite its best efforts, the violin is unable to rouse the piano past the quietest of dynamic levels or to abandon its stubborn low A pedal for very long. The reprise of the opening bars disappears into nothingness with one final diminuendo.

There could be no sharper contrast than that between the Playera and its companion piece, the Zapateado, a raunchy foot-stomper (literally, as a dancer of this traditional Spanish dance will tell you) that pits feverish running eighth notes in 6/8 time against a heavily accented tune in 3/4 time; the resulting rhythmic conflict is delightful and provides much of the Zapateado's kinetic energy. The violinist is given the chance to indulge in most of the tricks of the virtuoso trade, from false harmonics and wild up-bow staccato to left-hand pizzicato and plain old finger-busting scales.

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Playera y zapateado, Op.23 - 1.Playera

The Spanish Flamenco dance performed with metal taps on the shoes known as the zapateado is presented here in an undiluted, bright, and exciting version. Additionally, the composer draws on a vast range of string techniques making this piece thrilling to experience visually as well as aurally.

The composition opens on the dominant chord with a fiery piano introduction already in full swing. The unrelenting meter throughout is an Allegro 6/8, stated in full, unadorned forte octaves at the start. The counter, offbeat accents then appear in the right hand treble, placing strong emphasis on the third beat, with two introductory notes on the fifth and sixth beats of each measure. This offbeat rhythm group then alternates or is contrasted with a steadier accompaniment group in which beats 2 and 3, and beats 5 and 6 are played as a slurred figure with the primary accents 1 and 3 played as semi-staccato notes and octaves on harmonic roots. But all these groups are only the beginning of the many rhythmic variations to unfold.

The violin enters alone with repeated staccato notes in the highest registers, tripping along in the "frictionless bow" style that enchanted audiences and became a trademark of Sarasate's own concert performances. A slight ritard lets the violin seem to fall into the full tempo melody in A major. The atmosphere is suddenly quietly intense and the skipping melody trips along with staccato notes, fast turns, and double stop dissonances accented on the fifth beat. With unembarrassed brashness, the violinist suddenly startles the listener by alternating from a piano to fortissimo dynamic as he moves between the upper and lowest registers.

The music modulates to the relative minor with the violin in octaves and double stop thirds, using the first offbeat rhythm group which accents the third beat. The phrases continue to jump from the lowest to highest registers, and introduce whole lines played as thin, whistling staccato harmonics in a sudden piano dynamic.

The minor section is followed by a return to the major in slurred phrases alternating with staccato in an abrupt sit-up-and-pay-attention fortissimo. After another shift to pianissimo, the composer ushers in the wonderful gesture built from a bowed note slurring into a left-hand pizzicato; this single gesture is quickly repeated in a series of notes restricted to a small five-note range. This is an unusual and original technique and sound in the classical field.

Further violin techniques employed in this virtuoso piece include triple-stop pizzicati, dynamic swells on long sustained single notes (imitative of a passionate vocalist), fast left-hand pizzicato glissandi (strokes) (imitative of Flamenco guitarists), sweeping legato lines played full bow through two octaves with ardent crescendos on the ascents and teasing diminuendos on the descents. There are also rhythm curiosities such as groups of four sixteenths against groups of three eighths, as well as extremely angular passages with raw open strings breaking up the accents.

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