Program Notes

Romeo and Juliet, Fantasy-Overture in B minor

PIOTR ILYICH TCHAIKOVSKY

Born May 7, 1840 in Kamsko-Votkinsk, Vyatka provinceDied November 6, 1893 in St. Petersburg

Tchaikovsky began work on the Fantasy-Overture Romeo and Juliet in September 1869.

By the end of November he had completed the scoring, and arrangements were made for

the work to be premiered in Moscow on March 16, 1870, with Nicholas Rubinstein

conducting. During the summer of 1870 Tchaikovsky revised the work, making

considerable changes. The score is dedicated to Mily Balakirev (1837-1910), one of the

leading figures of "The Mighty Five" (a group of 19th century Russian composers

including, in addition to Balakirev, Alexander Borodin, César Cui, Modest Mussorgsky

and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, all of whom were united in their aim to create a

distinctive nationalist school of music.) It was Balakirev who suggested the idea to

Tchaikovsky for the Fantasy-Overture as well as its general outline. It is of interest that

at a later date Tchaikovsky contemplated writing an opera on the Romeo and Juliet

theme; a duet was sketched but left unfinished.

The Fantasy-Overture consists of an introduction followed by a movement in

sonata-allegro form. The introduction, beginning with the stately Friar Lawrence theme,

is marked Andante non tanto quasi moderato. It commences in the key of F-sharp minor

and then proceeds to move through a variety of keys before settling into the "home" key

of B minor. The first theme, with its evocation of the Montague-Capulet conflict, builds

up to a tremendous climax before subsiding quietly into the second theme. The following

section, depicting the love motive, is in the key of D-flat major; the melody is heard first

in the muted violas and doubled by the English horn. The reflective love music is

suddenly interrupted by a return of the principal theme, which is highly developed and

ingeniously combined with the Friar Lawrence motive of the introduction. In the

recapitulation section which follows, the second theme (love motive) appears in D major.

To conclude the work, the principal B minor theme is combined in the full orchestra with

the Friar Lawrence theme and, as the music subsides, there are motives from the second

theme section. The work concludes in the key of B major.

Tchaikovsky revised the work yet again in 1880, this time however, making only

minor alterations in the scoring. Due to the fact that Romeo and Juliet was belatedly

published, it is the only important orchestral work of Tchaikovsky not to have a

designated opus number.

© 1999 Columbia Artists Management Inc.

Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 35



In the summer of 1877, Tchaikovsky undertook the disastrous marriage that lasted less

than three weeks and resulted in his emotional collapse and attempted suicide. He fled

from Moscow to his brother Modeste in St. Petersburg, where he recovered his wits and

discovered he could find solace in his work. He spent the late fall and winter completing

his Fourth Symphony and the opera Eugene Onégin. The brothers decided that travel

outside of Russia would be an additional balm to the composer's spirit, and they duly

installed themselves at Clarens on Lake Geneva in Switzerland soon after the first of the

year.

In Clarens, Tchaikovsky had already begun work on a piano sonata when he was

visited by Joseph Kotek, a talented young violinist who had been a student in one of his

composition classes at the Moscow Conservatory, who brought with him a score for the

recent Symphonie Espagnole for Violin and Orchestra by the French composer Edouard

Lalo. They read through the piece, and Tchaikovsky was so excited by the possibilities of

a work for solo violin and orchestra that he set aside the gestating piano sonata and

immediately began a concerto of his own. He worked quickly, completing the present

slow movement in a single day when he decided to discard an earlier attempt. (This

abandoned piece ended up as the first of the three Meditations for Violin and Piano, Op.

42.) By the end of April, the work was finished. Tchaikovsky sent the manuscript to

Leopold Auer, a friend who headed the violin department at the St. Petersburg

Conservatory and who was also Court Violinist to the Czar, hoping to have him premiere

the work. Much to the composer's regret, Auer returned the piece as "unplayable," and

apparently spread that word with such authority to other violinists that it was more than

three years before the Violin Concerto was heard in public.

It was Adolf Brodsky, a former colleague of Tchaikovsky at the Moscow

Conservatory, who first accepted the challenge of this Concerto. After having "taken it up

and put it down," in his words, for two years, he finally felt secure enough to give the

work a try, and he convinced Hans Richter to include it on the concerts of the Vienna

Philharmonic in 1881. Brodsky must have felt that he was on something of a crusade

during the preparations for the performance. There was only a single full rehearsal

allotted for the new work, and most of that was taken up with correcting the parts, which

were awash with copyist's errors. Richter wanted to make cuts. The orchestra did not like

the music, and at the performance played very quietly so as not to enter with a crashing

miscue. Brodsky deserves the appreciation of the music world for standing pat in his

belief in the Concerto amid all these adversities. When the performance was done, the

audience felt that way as well, and applauded him. The piece itself, however, was roundly

hissed. The critical barrage was led by that powerful doyen of Viennese conservatism,

Eduard Hanslick, whose tasteless summation ("Music that stinks in the ear") irritated

Tchaikovsky until the day he died.

Despite its initial reception, Brodsky remained devoted to the Concerto, and

played it throughout Europe. The work soon began to gain in popularity, as did the music

of Tchaikovsky generally, and it has become one of the most famous concertos in the

literature. It is a revealing side-note that Leopold Auer, who had initially shunned the

work, eventually came to include it in his repertory, and even taught it to his students,

some of whom — Seidel, Zimbalist, Elman, Heifetz, Milstein — became the greatest

exponents of the work in the 20th century.

The Concerto opens quietly with a tentative introductory tune. A foretaste of the

main theme soon appears in the violins, around which a quick crescendo is mounted to

usher in the soloist. After a few unaccompanied measures, the violin presents the

movement's lovely main theme above a simple string background. After an elaborated

repeat of this melody, a transition follows that eventually involves the entire orchestra

and gives the soloist the first of many opportunities for pyrotechnical display. The second

theme is the beginning of a long dynamic and rhythmic buildup leading into the

development with a sweeping, balletic presentation of the main theme by the full

orchestra. The soloist soon steals back the attention with breathtaking leaps and double

stops. The grand balletic mood returns, giving way to a brilliant cadenza as a link to the

recapitulation. The flute sings the main theme for four measures before the violin takes

over, and all then follows the order of the exposition. An exhilarating coda asks for no

fewer than four tempo increases, and the movement ends in a brilliant whirl of rhythmic

energy.

The slow middle movement begins with a chorale for woodwinds that is heard

again at the end of the movement to serve as a frame around the musical picture inside.

On the canvas of this scene is displayed a soulful melody intoned by the violin with the

plaintive suggestion of a Gypsy fiddler. The finale is joined to the slow movement

without a break. With the propulsive spirit of a dashing Cossack Trepak, the finale flies

by amid the soloist's dizzying show of agility and speed. Like the first movement, this

one also races toward its final climax, almost daring listeners to try to sit still in their

seats. After playing the Concerto's premiere, Adolf Brodsky wrote to Tchaikovsky that

the work was "wonderfully beautiful." He was right.


Polonaise, from Yevgeny Onegin, Op. 24

PIOTR ILYICH TCHAIKOVSKYBorn May 7, 1840, in Votkinsk, RussiaDied November 6, 1893, in St. Petersburg

It has been suggested that Tchaikovsky’s marriage in 1877 was as traumatic to him as the

death of his mother when the composer was 14. As a homosexual man in the late 19th

century, he felt that a marriage would “save his reputation.” On the contrary, it almost

drove him to suicide. He ended up pouring out his feelings into two of his greatest and

most powerful compositions, the Symphony No. 4 and his most popular opera Yevgeny

Onegin.

Based on one of the greatest masterpieces of Russian literature, the narrative

poem by Pushkin, Tchaikovsky wrote what he termed “lyrical scenes.” Once he decided

on the subject, he produced the following scenario in one evening:

First Act. Scene I: Mme. Larina and the nurse are sitting in the garden, making preserves. Duet. A song is heard from the house: Tatyana and Olga sing a duet with harp-accompaniment. Enter reapers (with the last sheaf); they sing and dance. Suddenly the servant announces guests. Enter Yevgeny e and Lensky. Ceremony of introduction and entertainment (bilberry wine). Yevgeny e exchanges

impressions with Lensky and Tatyana with Olga: quintet à la Mozart. The older women go away to prepare dinner. The young people stay and walk in the garden in pairs (as in Faust). Tatyana is reserved at first, then falls in love.Scene II: Tatyana’s letter.Scene III: Scene between Onegin and Tatyana.

Second Act: Scene I: Tatyana’s name-day. Ball. Lensky’s jealousy. He insults Onegin and challenges him. General confusion.Scene II: Lensky’s aria and the duel.

Third Act: Scene I: Moscow. Ball in the Noble’s Hall. Tatyana meets a whole string of aunts and cousins. They sing a chorus. Appearance of the general. He falls in love with Tatyana. She tells him her story and agrees to marry him.Scene II: Petersburg. Tatyana awaits Onegin. He appears. Big duet. Tatyana

still loves him and fights a hard inner battle with herself. Her husband comes. Duty triumphs. Onegin rushes off in despair.

The final shape of the opera is not too far from what Tchaikovsky originally

envisioned. The first act has some changes, and the final scene in the last act was

abandoned for a new one. The opera was first performed by students at the Moscow

Conservatory on March 17/29, 1879, and given its professional debut on January 11/23,

1881 at the Bolshoi Theater in Moscow.

In Pushkin’s poem and in the opera itself, the characters appear as rather every

normal people. Because of this, Tchaikovsky poured out his most dramatic music and

musical effects in the purely orchestral sequences. This is quite apparent in the dance

numbers. The Polonaise occurs during the Third Act at Prince Gremin’s ball in the St.

Petersburg palace. A fanfare announces the arrival of the royal couple followed by the

main body of the dance. There is a short lyrical section before the return of the

effervescent dance and a brilliant conclusion.


Piano Concerto No. 1 in B-flat minor, Op. 23


"In December 1874 I had written a Piano Concerto! Not being a pianist, I considered it

necessary to consult a virtuoso as to any points in my Concerto that might be technically

impracticable, ungrateful or ineffective. I had need of a severe critic, but at the same

time one friendlily disposed towards me." Thus wrote Tchaikovsky to his patroness

Nadezhda von Meck, describing the circumstances in which he presented his newly

written First Piano Concerto - one of the best-loved in the repertoire today - to his much

admired and trusted senior colleague at the Moscow Conservatory, Nikolay Rubinstein.

Tchaikovsky suffered one of the biggest disappointments of his career when, on

Christmas Eve, Rubinstein - who had been so supportive of the composer in the past -

rejected the concerto with a rush of scathing criticism, summarily declaring the work ill-

composed and unperformable. "I played the first movement. Not a single word, not a

single remark.... Oh for one word, for friendly attack, but for God's sake, one word of

sympathy, even if not of praise. Rubinstein was amassing his storm...Above all I did not

want sentence on the artistic aspect. My need was for remarks about the virtuoso piano

technique. R's eloquent silence was of the greatest significance.... I fortified myself with

patience and played through to the end. Still silence. I stood up and asked 'Well?' Then

a torrent poured from Nikolay Grigorievich's mouth...It turned out that my concerto was

worthless and unplayable; passages were so fragmented, so clumsy, so badly written that

they were beyond rescue; the work itself was bad, vulgar; in places I had stolen from

other composers; only two or three pages were worth preserving; the rest must be thrown

away or completely rewritten.... a disinterested person in the room might had thought I

was a maniac, a talentless, senseless hack who had come to submit his rubbish to an

eminent musician..." This unexpected reaction from Rubinstein left the composer totally

devastated and sank him into a severe state of depression.

However, so sure was the composer about his creation that upon Rubinstein's

gentler admonitions to completely revise the concerto, Tchaikovsky yelled, "I shall not

alter a single note. I shall publish the work exactly as it is." - which he did. The

determined composer then sent his concerto to Hans von Bülow, who found it "original,

noble and powerful." On October 25, 1875, under the direction of Benjamin Johnson

Lang, Bülow took the concert world by storm when he presented the work in Boston with

unprecedented success. Tchaikovsky conducted the Russian premiere just a few weeks

later. After this, Rubinstein reconsidered his position, recognizing the concerto for the

masterpiece it is, and added it to his repertoire, playing it quite often throughout Russia.

The rift that had ensued between Tchaikovsky and Rubinstein was eventually repaired

and, later on, the composer did make a few revisions to the score, primarily in the solo

passages.

The first movement begins with a lengthy - 106 measure long - introduction

marked Allegro non troppo e molto maestoso. At the outset, the horns present a four-note

descending motif, punctuated by sharp chords from the rest of the orchestra. The piano

then enters with a long series of chords, as the violins play an impassioned theme based

on the opening motif. Eventually, the first movement proper, Allegro con spirito, arrives

as the piano introduces the main theme with minimal support from the orchestra. One of

Rubinstein's criticisms was that he found this an unseemly theme to ennoble by

incorporating it into a piano concerto; the theme is derived from a Ukrainian folksong

commonly sung by blind beggars. The somewhat more relaxed and stately second theme

begins with an ascending scalar motif and ends with descending leaps. Both themes are

subjected to a brilliant double exposition, with the exchange of virtuoso and expressive

elements and argumentative tension between soloist and orchestra. The soloist has

plentiful occasion to shine with its many ornate and rhapsodic passages and several

demanding cadenzas.

The contrasting second movement, Andantino semplice, takes the form of a

scherzo, but in reverse - instead of the normal fast-slower-fast pattern, a soulful episode

surrounds a jaunty middle section. It begins with a tender love theme played by a solo

flute against pizzicato strings, and then taken over by the piano. After a contrasting

phrase is heard, the oboe once again takes the main melody. Then the piano embarks on

a frolicsome scherzando episode marked Allegro vivace assai. Although it does so at

first by itself, soon the violas and cellos join in with a melody of their own - the French

song Il faut s'amuser, danser et rire ("One must have fun, dance and laugh") which was a

favorite of Désirée Artôt, to whom the composer was briefly engaged. After an ingenious

reference to the first movement's second theme, the soloist plays a short cadenza that

leads into the main love theme once again to conclude the movement.

The last movement, Allegro con fuoco, is built upon a rondo structure with

elements of sonata form. After a few introductory measures from the orchestra, the piano

presents the main recurring theme; this assertive mazurka-like theme is derived from yet

another Ukrainian folksong. Two other subjects come into play here: one is of great

significance and bears a syncopated dance rhythm; the other is of a subsidiary nature and

gentler in character. The two principal themes are freshly emphasized within a different

context each time they are repeated. At the coda, now in the major key, the subsidiary

theme finally attains its full import. Then, with minimal intervention from the orchestra

and in a flurry of virtuoso playing, the piano rushes to the work's exhilarating conclusion.

1994 Columbia Artists Management Inc.

Overture to The Tsar’s Bride

NIKOLAI RIMSKY-KORSAKOVBorn March 18, 1844, in Trikhvin, near NovgorodDied June 21, 1908, in Liubensk, near St. Petersburg

Following the style established by Mikhail Glinka, Rimsky-Korsakov united in

his aim with composers Mily Balakirev, Alexander Borodin, Modest Mussorgsky and

Cesar Cui, to create a nationalist school of Russian music. This group of composers, with

Balakirev as the mentor of the other four younger composers, was known as "The Five,"

and later - along with Glinka and Alexander Dargomïzhsky - became known as

Moguchaya kuchka ("The Mighty Handful") in recognition of their nationalist efforts to

maintain their musical "independence" from the basically Germanic, Western European,

conservative approach to composition, of which their contemporary Tchaikovsky and,

later, Rachmaninoff were the highest exponents in Russia. It should be noted, however

that the conservatives were often influenced by their nationalist counterparts, and in turn

Rimsky-Korsakov "borrowed" at times from the German tradition, and eventually

absorbed influences from Wagner.

Rimsky-Korsakov is primarily known today for three orchestral works:

Scheherazade, Capriccio espagnol, and the Russian Easter Festival Overture. While

these three works are thoroughly striking and brilliantly orchestrated, many musical

authorities consider his operas to be Rimsky-Korsakov's most important works and the

ones where his genius shone the brightest.

In his opera The Tsar’s Bride, Rimsky-Korsakov tells the story of Marfa, the

beautiful daughter of the Novgorod merchant Sobakin, who is to marry the boyar Likov.

However, she has caught the eye of Gryaznoy, one of Ivan the Terrible's bodyguard, the

oprichniki. He has sworn that she shall be his. In order to do this, he obtains from

Bomely, the Tsar's doctor, a potion with which he intends to destroy her memory. Hurt

by being dumped by Gryaznoy, his jilted mistress Lyubasha, aided by Bomely,

substitutes another concoction that is to mar her beauty. Marfa drinks the potion.

In the meantime, according to royal custom, Ivan the Terrible has been seeking

secretly to select a bride for himself. After seeing the beautiful Marfa, he chooses her.

When Gryaznoy tells her that Likov, her betrothed, has been executed for attempting to

poison her, she goes mad. The opera closes when Lyubasha, confessing to her act, is

stabbed by Gryaznoy, who gives himself up to justice.

The libretto is by Il'ya Fyodorovich Tyumenev, based on an outline by the

composer drawn from a play by Lev Alexandrovich Mey. Written in 1899, the premiere

took place at the Solodovnikov Theatre, Moscow, by the Mamontov Opera on November

3, 1899.

© 2005 Columbia Artists Management LLC

Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Op. 43 (1934)

SERGEI RACHMANINOFFBorn April 1, 1873 in SemyonovoDied March 28, 1943 in Beverly Hills

Rachmaninoff is remembered and loved as one of the greatest pianists of the 20th

century. He was born to an aristocratic family and as a child of nine entered the St.

Petersburg Conservatory. Three years later he transferred to the Conservatory at Moscow

from which he graduated with a Gold Medal in 1892. That same year he started on a

long concert tour of Russia and appeared in London in 1899 as composer, conductor and

pianist. He paid his first visit to the United States in 1909 and wrote his Third Piano

Concerto for that occasion. Various inducements to stay failed to tempt him and he

returned to live in Moscow. However, in 1917 the Russian Revolution drove him abroad

and he was never to see his native country again. He spent most of the rest of his life in

the United States and Switzerland and, rather unwillingly, continued to travel widely in

Europe and America giving piano recitals. His contribution to the piano literature is

significant and, although his works are difficult and demanding to the performer, they are

particularly rewarding to the listener and practitioner alike.

Among Rachmaninoff's five compositions for piano and orchestra, the Rhapsody

on a Theme of Paganini, alongside the Second Piano Concerto, is perhaps the most

popular. The Rhapsody is unquestionably one of the finest works by the composer, as

well as one of the most brilliant and difficult in the entire Romantic concertante

repertoire. Structurally, it is a magnificently crafted piece exhibiting a magisterial sense

of orchestration; in addition, its thematic content and its expert handling of the same are

of the highest order.

The Italian virtuoso violinist Niccolò Paganini (1782-1840) was one of the most

fascinating figures of the nineteenth century. In his time, commonly disseminated tales

portrayed him as a sorcerer, a seducer of princesses, and even a murderer in the most far-

fetched stories; the most popular tale involved his meeting with the devil, whereupon in

an unholy pact he sold his soul for fame and glory. It is no wonder that he became the

hero of literature, of an operetta by Lehar, and of a ballet. Fictional accounts aside,

Paganini developed playing techniques for which violinists today are still indebted to

him; he also composed a considerable amount of music, among which several of the five

violin concertos and assorted recital pieces for the same instrument have become staples

in the repertoire of contemporary virtuosos. In 1805, Paganini wrote a set of Twenty

Four Caprices for Unaccompanied Violin, Op. 1. Several years later he composed a set

of variations on the last piece of this set; little did he know at the time that his twenty-

fourth Caprice would also be the inspiration and originating cell for a number of works

by other composers, such as Brahms, Schumann, Liszt and Busoni. Not convinced that

the possibilities for development of this melody had been exhausted, Rachmaninoff wrote

his Rhapsody based on his own treatment of Paganini's original theme.

Although Rachmaninoff's work bears the descriptive appellation of "rhapsody" it

is in fact a set of twenty-four variations on the theme. These variations are not always

exposed in self-contained segments with a clear-cut beginning and equally discernible

ending as they grow naturally out of each other in the continuous flow of the

proceedings; the gamut of emotions covered during its course is vast, ranging from the

dynamic to the lyrical, with rhapsodic interludes and demonic episodes thrown in for

good measure.

After a short Allegro vivace introduction based on the principal motif of the

theme, Rachmaninoff presents the first variation, rather than presenting the actual theme

as it is customary in works of this nature. Further labeled in the score as Precedente, this

variation merely consists of a disjointed, skeletal outline of the theme's harmonic frame; a

precedent for this unusual procedure was actually established by Beethoven in the

"Eroica" variations of the last movement of his Third Symphony.

The piano continues this schematic delineation of the harmonic structure as the

actual theme is stated by the violins in unison. This is followed by the second variation

with the theme in the piano. The variational proceedings continue without pause, in a

torrent of impassioned music. Of note are the seventh and tenth variations where

dramatic conflict is present with the curious appearance of the Dies irae, the chant that

describes the terror of Judgment Day in the Gregorian Mass for the Dead. This is

explained in a letter from Rachmaninoff to the choreographer Fokine who was planning a

ballet to the music of the Rhapsody: "Why not resurrect the legend about Paganini who,

for perfection in his art and for a woman, sold his soul to an evil spirit? All the variations

which have the Dies irae represent the evil spirit....Paganini himself appears in the

theme..."

Structurally, the Rhapsody assumes an arch form as if emulating a traditional

concerto. After what has transpired, the music now becomes lyrical taking the place of a

slow second movement. This phase, which covers variations XI through XVIII, was

referred to by the composer as "The Domain of Love." Among these, Variation XII

consists of a minuet in which "The Woman" is portrayed. Variation XV provides a

Scherzando episode in which the piano plays by itself for twenty-eight measures, and

after which the orchestra provides minimal support until the next variation. This middle

section culminates with the famous Andante cantabile Variation XVIII; here, the opening

motif of the theme is ingeniously inverted, achieving a songful melancholy.

The next series of variations may be said to represent the final movement of this

concertante work, as the variations grow increasingly brilliant to the end. The final

variation pits the two major themes in a struggle for tonal supremacy; towards the end,

only the rhythm of the principal motif and the harmonic structure of the Paganini theme

remain, while the Dies irae blares menacingly in the brass. After one final climactic

moment

the piano brings the work to its quiet conclusion with the fragmented motif from

Paganini's theme.

The Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini was written in 1934 at the composer's

villa at Lake Lucerne. The work received its world premiere that same year in

Baltimore, with the legendary Leopold Stokowski conducting the Philadelphia

Orchestra and the composer at the piano.


Scheherazade, Op. 35


Rimsky-Korsakov came from a family of distinguished military and naval figures, so it

is not strange that in his youth he decided on a career as a naval officer. Both of his

grandmothers, however, were of humble origins, one being a peasant and the other a

priest's daughter; the composer claimed to have inherited from them his love for folk

songs and for religious ceremonies, both of which are aspects that figure highly in much

of his music. After three years in the Russian Navy, Rimsky-Korsakov became, in his

own words, "an officer-dilettante who sometimes enjoyed playing or listening to music."

It was only through the influence and guidance of his friend, the composer Mily

Balakirev, that the young Rimsky-Korsakov dedicated himself to becoming a "serious"

composer.

Following the style established by Mikhail Glinka, Balakirev and Rimsky-

Korsakov united in their aim with composers Alexander Borodin, Modest Mussorgsky

and Cesar Cui, to create a nationalist school of Russian music. This group of composers,

with Balakirev as the mentor of the other four younger composers, was known as "The

Five," and later - along with Glinka and Alexander Dargomïzhsky - became known as

Moguchaya kuchka ("The Mighty Handful") in recognition of their nationalist efforts to

maintain their musical "independence" from the basically Germanic, Western European

conservative approach to composition, of which their contemporary Tchaikovsky and,

later, Rachmaninoff were the highest exponents. It should be noted that the conservatives

were often influenced by their nationalist counterparts, and in turn Rimsky-Korsakov

"borrowed" at times from the German tradition, and eventually absorbed influences from

Wagner.

The Cappriccio espagnole, Scheherazade and the Russian Easter Overture were

Rimsky-Korsakov's last important purely orchestral works. In the composer's words,

these three pieces "close[d] a period of my work, at the end of which my orchestration

had attained a considerable degree of virtuosity and warm sonority without Wagnerian

influence, limiting myself to the normally constituted orchestra used by Glinka." The

orchestral complement of Scheherazade consists of pairs of woodwinds with added

piccolo and English horn, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, tuba, harp and the

usual string choir, as well as an array of percussion instruments, including, timpani, snare

drum, bass drum, tambourine, cymbals, triangle and tam-tam.

Rimsky-Korsakov had always been fascinated by the exotic and colorful, and he

wrote the symphonic poem Scheherazade in 1888 after reading the Arabian Nights'

Entertainment. The score is prefaced by the following story:

The Sultan Schahriar, convinced of the

falseness and infidelity of all women, has sworn to

put to death each one of his wives after the first

night. The Sultana Scheherazade, however, saved

her own life by interesting him in a succession of

tales which she recounted over a period of a

thousand and one nights. Overcome by curiosity,

the monarch postponed from day to day his wife's

execution, in the end renouncing his bloody

resolution.

Many were the marvels recounted to Schahriar

by Scheherazade. For the telling of these, she drew

from the verses of the poets and the words of

folksongs and tales, connecting her stories one with

the other.

The first movement, "The Sea and Sinbad's Ship," begins with a heavy, and

forbidding motif in the brass, usually associated with the Sultan Schahriar; this is

immediately followed by quiet, pacifying woodwind chords and a sensuous violin

cadenza representing the voice of Scheherazade. As the Sultana's first tale unfolds, a rich

tapestry of sound is woven from the initial motif, Scheherazade's theme (which is not

always restricted to the solo violin) and a rocking theme which suggests the waves

beating against Sinbad's ship.

The second movement begins with an expansion of Scheherazade's violin

cadenza. She then recounts "The Story of the Kalendar Prince," who is immediately

introduced by an exotic theme first played by the noble bassoon in its upper register. In

the midst of the musical tale, the Sultan's theme is transformed into a fanfare suggesting

the Prince's adventures.

The third movement is the love story of "The Prince and the Young Princess."

Each of the two protagonists of this tale is represented with his/her own theme. The

similarities between the two themes, however, point to the love that binds them as one.

The first violins present the Prince’s gentle theme at length. A solo clarinet presents the

Princess’ jauntier, more playful theme. A short restatement of the Prince's theme is

interrupted by Scheherazade's theme, after which the two main themes of the movement

are heard lovingly interwoven.

The fourth movement begins with an introduction in which the sultan's motif and

Scheherazade's theme play off each other. An agitated theme presented by the flute brings

us to "The Festival at Baghdad"; soon the rest of the orchestra joins in the excitement. As

the tale of the vessel being wrecked on the rocks suddenly encroaches on the previous

story, thematic material from the previous movements is developed and interwoven as if

trying to condense all the thousand and one stories that Scheherazade tells her husband;

this includes the motion-of-the-waves motif from the first movement, the fanfares from

the second and the Princess' theme from the third, as well as Scheherazade's theme and

the Sultan's motif. As the storm subsides and the seas become calm again, Scheherazade's

voice fades away in one final violin cadenza, bringing the work to its quiet and dreamy

conclusion.


Piotr Iiyich Tchaikovsky

Born May 7, 1840, Votkinsk, Russia.Died November 6, 1893, Saint Petersburg, Russia.

Symphony No. 1 in G Minor, Op. 13 (Winter Daydreams)

In 1866, the year Tchaikovsky wrote his First Symphony, a middle-aged Anton

Bruckner finally finished his own first symphony, after fifteen months of tough going and

with two earlier efforts left abandoned and unfinished. Johannes Brahms had already

been working quietly on his first symphony for a decade--and it would take another ten

years before he was satisfied with it. But Tchaikovsky, in his mid-twenties and fresh from

the conservatory, launched his symphonic career with little anxiety or experience, turning

out this Symphony no. 1 in a matter of months.

For most nineteenth-century composers, writing symphonies was serious

business, particularly after Beethoven's watershed cycle of nine works, and, in the second

half of the century, starting a first symphony was a genuine act of courage. Unlike

Brahms, Tchaikovsky clearly did not suffer from the fear of following Beethoven's

example--without apparent difficulty he composed a setting of Schiller's "An die Freude"

(which Beethoven set as the finale of his Ninth Symphony) to mark his graduation from

the Saint Petersburg Conservatory in the fall of 1865. Straight out of school, with a silver

medal and fine recommendations, Tchaikovsky set off for Moscow in January 1866,

where he had accepted a teaching post at Nikolai Rubinstein's Russian Musical Society

(later the Moscow Conservatory). The move at first proved difficult, but Tchaikovsky

soon fell into the pattern of teaching; reported "an unusually sympathetic relationship

with the Moscow ladies whom I teach"; made many new friends, including his future

publisher, Piotr Jurgenson; discovered Dickens (The Pickwick Papers made him laugh

aloud); and benefitted from the domineering presence of Rubinstein, who not only

oversaw Tchaikovsky's musical affairs and dictated his musical tastes, but also bought

him an entire new wardrobe.

Tchaikovsky arrived in Moscow with no experience writing for orchestra, beyond

his student efforts--an overture, The Storm, and the "An die Freude" cantata. Once settled,

he finished the orchestration of a Concert overture in C, which Rubinstein greatly

disliked, and revised an Overture in F, which was successfully performed on March 16.

By then, he had begun his first symphony, apparently at Rubinstein's urging. Work went

smoothly at first, at least until Tchaikovsky's progress was derailed by the first artistic

setback of his career. César Cui, still known to music students today as the spokesman of

The Five--the group of Russian composers including Borodin, Balakirev, Mussorgsky,

and Rimsky-Korsakov, who banded together in 1875 to foster a national school of

music--published a belated review of Tchaikovsky's "An die Freude" which he dismissed

as "utterly feeble." Tchaikovsky was devastated:

When I read that frightful judgment, I don't know what I did with myself. My vision grew dark, my head spun, and I ran out of the cafe like a madman. I didn't realize what I was doing, nor where I was. All day I wandered aimlessly through the city, repeating "I'm sterile, insignificant, nothing will come out of me, I'm ungifted."

But Tchaikovsky went back to work on the symphony, which occupied several

hours of each day and night. By May, he reported that it was going "sluggishly"; he was

having trouble sleeping and began to fear death. For the rest of his life, he avoided

composing at night because it reminded him of this painful time. That summer, when he

went to visit his sister, he suffered from nervous attacks, numbness in his hands and feet,

and hallucinations. Not for the last time in his life, a doctor pronounced him "one step

from insanity."

When Tchaikovsky went back to Saint Petersburg in August, his former teachers,

Nikolai Zaremba and Anton Rubinstein (Nikolai's brother), both criticized the music

harshly. Tchaikovsky returned to Moscow and to work on the symphony, no doubt

incorporating some of their suggestions. The piece was introduced to the public in stages.

In December, the scherzo alone was played publicly in Moscow, without apparent

success. Two months later, both the Adagio and the scherzo were performed to

enthusiastic applause, and at least one decent review: "It is melodious to the highest

degree, and excellently scored." The entire symphony was given, under Nikolai

Rubinstein's baton, a year later, though it was not heard again for fifteen years. By then,

Tchaikovsky had written many of the works for which he would long be remembered--

Romeo and Juliet, the B-flat piano concerto, his only violin concerto, Swan Lake, the

great opera Eugene Onegin, the 1812 Overture--and he had made great strides as a

symphonist, with four already under his belt. Before the First Symphony was published

in 1874, Tchaikovsky made a few minor adjustments. (Bruckner, on the other hand,

revised his First Symphony in 1868, 1877, and 1884, and made even more extensive

changes in 1890 and 1891.) At the time Tchaikovsky's Symphony no. 1 was performed in

this final version, in Moscow in 1883, Tchaikovsky told a friend, "I have a soft spot for it,

for it is a sin of my sweet youth."

All his life Tchaikovsky was painfully aware of his deficiencies as a composer--

weaknesses that have never stood in the way of enormous public favor. By 1883, he had

enough experience with the problems of symphonic form to recognize how naive he was

to tackle a symphony in his sweet youth, but the work is hardly a sin. Even in 1866,

Tchaikovsky had a sense of drama and orchestral color, and a way with melody that was

far in advance of most other composers of the day. And he had already found his own

voice. Listen to opening of the symphony: an oddly distinctive melody in the flutes and

bassoons over a mysterious rustle from the violins. The whole first movement, despite

and some spotty seam work, is remarkably fresh in its melodic outline and scoring-there

is a moment at the start of the development section, when distant chords from the horns

dance quietly over low strings, that is right out of the Waltz of the Flowers from The

Nutcracker, written two decades later.

Not only is the oboe melody in the Adagio one of the first characteristic

Tchaikovsky tunes, but the way it is echoed by the bassoon and encouraged by glistening

scales from the flute would quickly become one of his signature effects. The first eight

measures, serenely setting the stage for the main melody, were borrowed from his student

overture The Storm.

Tchaikovsky wrote the scherzo first, reusing material originally intended for a

piano sonata in C-sharp minor and demonstrating how much he had learned from the

scores by Mendelssohn he admired. (The Italian Symphony was a particular favorite.)

The music for the trio midsection is new--Tchaikovsky's first great orchestral waltz.

There is wonderfully evocative and fiery, dramatic music in the finale--enough to

disguise Tchaikovsky's uncertainty in bringing a symphony to a satisfying conclusion, the

challenge that had troubled nearly every composer since Beethoven. A rather labored

fugue sits where heavy-duty development ought to take place, and there is a bit more

bombast at the end than even Tchaikovsky could sustain, but there are many splendid

moments, and the lasting impression is of a composer who was born to write symphonies.

A final word about the nickname, Winter Daydreams, which Tchaikovsky himself

invented, with no apparent programmatic idea in mind. He intended to give titles to all

four movements, but got no further than the Adagio before he decided to let the music

stand on its own.

Overture from May Night (1879)


While Rimsky-Korsakov is best known in the West for his orchestral works, his

operas far outweigh them in importance, offering a far wider variety of orchestral effect

as well as his finest vocal writing. Subjects range from historical melodramas The Tsar’s

Bride to folk operas May Night to fairytales and legends Snowmaiden, Kashchey the

Immortal and The Tale of Tsar Saltan).

The May Night was the second of Rimsky-Korsakov’s opera, and the overture

bears the hallmark of tradition of being a self-contained piece, unlike overtures to

Rimsky-Korsakov’s later stage works. The solemn opening chords are given to the

songlike themes of this comic and fantastical work. However, the composer still shows

strong influence of the father of Russian music, Mikhail Ivanovich Glinka. The orchestral

forces and the composer’s treatment of them are still firmly rooted in Russia’s musical

past.


Hamlet Fantasy Overture after Shakespeare in F minor, Op. 67



Most celebrated for his symphonies and ballets (though he wrote more operas),

Tchaikovsky also produced oodles of chamber, piano, vocal, choral and concertante

music, plus a substantial body of other orchestral works. I'm not sure what distinguishes

“Symphonic Fantasy” from “Fantasy Overture”, but Tchaikovsky assures us that, of his

three Shakespeare-inspired orchestral works, The Tempest (1873) is of the former, while

Romeo and Juliet (1869) and Hamlet are of the latter persuasion.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tale_of_Tsar_Saltan_(Rimsky-Korsakov)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kashchey_the_Immortal_(opera)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kashchey_the_Immortal_(opera)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Snow_Maiden

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legend

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/May_Night

Hamlet (1888) was, for some reason, dedicated to Grieg, though the idea may

have been prompted by Lucien Guitry, a French actor who wanted incidental music for

his final benefit performance in St Petersburg, in 1891 - an improbable degree of forward

planning. Tchaikovsky duly composed incidental music, drawing (not surprisingly) on

the Overture.

The premiere of Hamlet was not a resounding success. Balakirev was

unimpressed, and one critic even bemoaned the lack of narrative (?). Tchaikovsky had

deliberately eschewed “narrative” in favour of more generalised reflection on the drama,

at least partly, one would guess, to allow the piece to have a clear-cut musical form. Yet

Hamlet seems thoroughly rhapsodic: the ear is confused by a form which is not musical,

but theatrical! The brilliantly innovative composer moulds his music like a play,

cumulatively introducing six main ideas as the “plot” develops. The introduction's chord

sequence prepares the “coda”. 'Cellos and basses descend into an abysmal gloom of

woodwind and brass over a pulsing drum: a transformation like that of the love theme in

Romeo and Juliet seals the tragic fate.

Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Op. 74 ("Pathétique")


During the year 1892, Tchaikovsky embarked on a European conducting tour that

was cut short due to homesickness and a general feeling of depression. It was at this time

that the composer devised a plan for a "Programme Symphony"; this however, was not

realized and was temporarily abandoned in favor of a new Symphony in E-flat major -

what is now referred to as "Symphony No. 7," a work which was never completed and

which has been somewhat reconstructed from the material employed in the Piano

Concerto No. 3. The following year, on February 15, 1893, the composer began what

was to become his valedictory work, the Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Op. 74

("Pathétique"). Tchaikovsky admitted that there was a program - not a specific story, but

certainly an idea - behind the music of the Sixth Symphony; nonetheless, he refused to

tell what it was, only saying, "Let him guess it who can."

There have been plenty of guessers as to the composer's programmatic intentions,

most of them guided by the work's nickname, "Pathétique." And even though the

appellation was attached, not by the composer but by his brother Modest after the work's

first performance, it may indeed be surmised to be indicative of its hidden program. The

answer may have finally arrived in the middle of our century when a sheet of music paper

was discovered among some sketches by the composer. In Tchaikovsky's own

handwriting, it read: "The ultimate essence of the plan of the symphony is LIFE. First

movement - all impulsive passion, confidence, thirst for activity. Must be short. (Finale

DEATH - result of collapse.) Second movement love; third disappointments; fourth ends

dying away (also short)." Through research it has been established that the sheet comes

from 1892, and it is in all likelihood, the aforementioned abandoned plan for a

symphony. By 1893, the plan was much modified; among these modifications was

Tchaikovsky's decision that the finale would be a long-drawn Adagio. Another

modification seems to be the expression of "disappointment" in the second movement as

opposed to the third. These disappointments may well have stemmed from two events in

the composer's life: the failed and tormented marriage to Antonina Milyukova, a union

into which he was goaded, despite self- awareness of his sexual orientation, by her

repeated threats of suicide; the other in Nadezhda von Meck's inexplicable withdrawal as

the composer's long-time patroness, correspondent and confidante.

Although it should not be assumed that Tchaikovsky's Pathétique Symphony was

originally intended as a swan song, it indeed serves this function as it was the last work

he wrote (works with opus numbers higher than 74, were actually composed at an earlier

date and published posthumously). The Symphony received its premiere performance on

October 28, 1893, with the composer conducting the Kirov Orchestra in St. Petersburg.

Nine days later, the composer died, presumably by self-inflicted arsenic poisoning (not

by drinking unboiled water and thereby contracting cholera, as has been popularly

expounded); this, apparently, he did at the behest of a court of honor to avert a scandal

involving the nephew of a Russian aristocrat, thus avoiding the tarnishing of his "school

uniform."

The Pathétique Symphony is Tchaikovsky's most profoundly pessimistic work; it

begins as if enshrouded in darkness and deepest despair and in this same tone it ends.

The first movement is ushered in by a somber Adagio introduction. From the lowest

depths of the orchestral palette, a solo bassoon intones a sad theme, the first four notes of

which foreshadow the motif of the main theme of the first movement proper; this creates

from the start the aura of melancholy that is so characteristic of the work as a whole. A

contrasting, tender second theme is soon heard on the muted strings, eventually leading

into the Allegro non troppo that constitutes the main body of the movement. The

development is concerned for the most part with the main theme; as the tempo quickens

the theme is tossed about from one instrumental choir to the other becoming successively

more fragmented. In due time the emotional intensity reaches its peak, but the movement

ends in the same grief-stricken mood with which it commenced, including a quotation

from the music of the Russian Orthodox Requiem. The coda is notable for its masterful

transformation of the stormy first theme into a lyrical one; a solemn cadence for the brass

over falling pizzicato scales on the strings brings the movement to its resolution.

Just as one of the middle movements in the composer's preceding Symphony is

made up of a waltz, so is the second movement of his Sixth; however, by casting this -

essentially - Scherzo movement in the asymmetrical 5/4 meter, and thus impeding the

flow of the normally jovial dance, this particular waltz acquires a curious limp which

lends an air of idiosyncratically serene melancholy. The principal theme of the Allegro

con grazia section is a song-like melody announced by the cellos. Marked con dolcezza e

flebile ("sweetly and plaintively") the Trio section introduces a new theme in the violins;

here the composer exploits some of the harmonic tension exhibited in the outer

movements by pitting the theme against an incessantly beating pedal point in the timpani,

bassoons and basses. After a return to the waltz section, a coda, combining the theme of

the waltz with that of the Trio, concludes the movement.

Coming in the unusual form of a march, the third movement was unprecedented;

Gustav Mahler was to follow this example in his own symphonies a decade later.

Bearing the tempo marking of Allegro molto vivace, the movement begins softly as a

busy triplet figure is heard alternating between strings and woodwinds. This leads to the

march figure that grows stronger at each moment until the ever-whirling figuration that

began the movement disappears and the triumphant theme is heard unimpeded in the

entire orchestra. Angry beats from the percussion underline and strengthen its progress.

In contrast to the preceding movement, here the composer seems to be recollecting past

moments of joy and glory; however, towards the end of the movement these triumphs and

joyful remembrances appear to be marred by the adversities of life as the persistent

march, in its exultant brass sonorities, is heard against conflicting scale passages between

woodwinds and strings. The intensity of this conflict increases to the very end.

The last movement, once again is not the traditional type of brilliant finale; the

requiem-like manner of this concluding Adagio lamentoso seems to point to the finality

of death. The strings announce the despairing first theme immediately. The nobility of

the consoling second theme that is presented by violins and violas, over a syncopated

horn figure, contrasts the painful chord progression of this theme. The themes seem to be

of opposite natures yet they bear close musical relation, being originated from the same

basic thought. These themes are worked up to an enormous climax which eventually

recedes until a fateful clash of the gong brings back the second theme; this time,

however, the once consoling theme is now cast in the sad minor mode, thus extinguishing

the last ray of light and hope in the proceedings. For its final measures, the Symphony

returns to the somber abyss of despair from which it initially emerged, reflecting that

same mood of comfortless melancholy in which Tchaikovsky found himself at the end of

his life - one rich in success but full of pain, trials and tribulations.


Suite from The Firebird (1911; Revised 1919 and 1945)

IGOR STRAVINSKYBorn June 17, 1882 in Oranienbaum [now Lomonosov]Died April 6, 1971 in New York

In 1909 the now-legendary Russian impresario Serge Diaghilev closed the first

Parisian season of his Ballets Russes nearly facing bankruptcy, despite the popularity

enjoyed by Russian art in Paris in the first two decades of the twentieth century. The

season had included the “Polovtsian Dances” from Borodin's Prince Igor, Glinka's opera

Russlan and Ludmilla, and Rimsky-Korsakov's Maid of Pskov, along with a number of

ballets, including Les sylphides, Le pavillon d'Armide and Cléopâtre. The operas, which

were quite authentic in their Russianess, were too expensive to be lucrative. On the other

hand, the ballets proved more financially viable. The critics, however, pronounced that

in order for the ballets to have any reason to be in the Parisian milieu they would have to

be more authentically Russian - which really meant that they had to be far more exotic

than the French fare that had been presented on that first season. The reality, however,

was that an "authentic" Russian balletic repertoire did not exist at the time. For the next

season, Diaghilev produced Michel Fokine's choreography of Rimsky- Korsakov's tone

poem Scheherazade and, determined to fill this gap, he decided to start commissioning

the required repertoire.

In 1909, Fokine created one of the most spectacular mythical scenarios ever

conceived for the stage. This scenario, the first work that Diaghilev commissioned for

his Ballets Russes, ingeniously combined two tales into one, bringing together for the

first time two of Russian folklore's most exotic and fanciful creatures: the ogre Katschei

the Immortal, and the Firebird. After four different composers - Nikolai Tcherepnin,

Anatoly Liadov, Alexander Glazunov and Nikolai Sokolov - rejected the commission for

various differing reasons and circumstances, Diaghilev decided to take a risk by

approaching the 27 year old Igor Stravinsky, whose orchestral piece, Fireworks, had

greatly impressed him the year before, but who until then had written little else to suggest

that he could handle so ambitious a project. Although Stravinsky felt a little daunted by

the task at hand and the time constraints under which he would have to work, he set

himself determinedly to work, scene by scene, in close collaboration with Fokine who

provided positive criticism and invaluable advice. After strenuous labor on the score

during the winter of 1909-10, The Firebird was completed. Diaghilev's gamble paid off

handsomely; the ballet was an immediate success upon its premiere on June 25, 1910, at

the Paris Opera, conducted by Gabriel Pierné. The choreographer, his wife Vera, and

Tamara Karsavina performed the lead roles. Not only did The Firebird become one of

the company's most strikingly original and famous repertory works, but it also catapulted

the composer to fame and glory overnight.

In 1911, Stravinsky wrote a suite for full orchestra based on scenes from The

Firebird for concert performance. This Suite was published the following year, and is

known as the "1912" version. In 1919 Stravinsky revised the Suite, restoring some of the

connective material between movements; it is this version that is heard in this

performance.

Like his Scherzo fantastique and Fireworks before it, The Firebird bears the

marked influence of the composer's teacher Rimsky-Korsakov, as well as that of

Alexander Scriabin. Nonetheless, the music of The Firebird is highly original for its time

and set the style for several of Stravinsky's early works; it remains one of the composer's

most evocative scores.

In Fokine's scenario for The Firebird, the hero, Ivan Tsarevitch (the son of the

Tsar), has gone on a nocturnal hunting trip, when he encounters "a fabulous bird with

plumage of fire, plucking golden fruit from a silver tree." The prince captures the

Firebird but, after hearing its pleas for freedom, releases it. As a reward the Firebird

gives Ivan a magic golden feather. The music of the Firebird's dance is wonderfully

evocative of the actual visual impression.

Ivan, now left alone in the garden of a mysterious castle, observes thirteen

enchanted princesses, dancing and playing with golden fruit. In the manner of a poignant

folk song, the swaying music is ineffably graceful and dignified. The maidens warn Ivan

of the terrible monster Kastchei, who delights in casting a spell over wandering strangers.

When Ivan bravely decides to enter the castle, he is confronted with the grotesquely

deformed subjects of the ogre. Kastchei himself steps forth and attempts to bewitch Ivan,

but the glowing feather protects the Prince. The Firebird appears to drive the ogre and

his ghastly creatures into a frantic dance, which leaves them exhausted.

The secret of Kastchei's immortality is then disclosed to Ivan by the Firebird: the

demon's soul rests in an egg hidden somewhere in the castle. When Ivan finds it, with the

help of the Firebird, he throws it to the ground, thus destroying the horrible monster.

Kastchei's infernal dance is followed by the lovely Berceuse ("Lullaby"), which is played

for the magic sleep that envelops the thirteenth princess, Ivan's chosen one. The melody

is inescapably Russian, yet tinged with harmonies from the music of Debussy, who had a

great influence on Stravinsky's early work. This music merges quietly with the Finale, in

which the knights return to flesh and blood from their spell of stone, the princesses are set

free, and Ivan wins the hand of his beloved. Marvelously expressive of joy and

irresistible strength are the closing measures, in which grandiose rising triads in the brass,

first detach themselves from, and then finally blend with the bright tonality of B major.


Symphony No. 2 in c minor, Op. 17 (“Litt le Russian”)


Throughout his creat ive career , Tchaikovsky’s inspirat ion went

through extreme cycles , t ied to his f requent bouts of deep depression

and self-doubt . I t was in his symphonies where he most overt ly

expressed his emotions. Symphony No. 2 is an except ion. Composed in

1872 at a t ime that his social l i fe was f lourishing and his opt imism was

at i ts peak. He rubbed shoulders with the él i te of Moscow’s l i terature

and theatre . A fr iend recal led Tchaikovsky as a prankster , lavishly

greet ing total s t rangers on the s t reet , improvising jest ing verses in a

monastery, or dancing and s inging the mazurka from Glinka’s A Life

for the Tsar in a ra i lway carr iage, to the shock of some lady passengers .

Tchaikovsky was an ardent nat ional is t whose t remendous melodic

gif t enabled him to develop his own themes. Despi te the many folk

elements in most of his symphonies , he only occasional ly used

borrowed melodies . He also did not espouse the nat ional is t movement in

music , symbolized by such composers as Mussorgsky, Borodin,

Balakirev and Rimsky-Korsakov. Instead he used his symphonies as a

vehicle to express his personal anguish and depressive moods.

Symphony No. 2 is an except ion. Composed in 1872 and

extensively revised in 1879, i t incorporates three folk songs or iginat ing

in what the Russians cal led Li t t le Russia but cal led by the local

inhabi tants (and everyone else) Ukraine. Tchaikovsky spent the summer

of 1872 at his s is ter’s es ta te near Kiev, where he heard the local songs

in the s t reets of the small town. The t i t le “Li t t le Russian” was not

coined by the composer but by a fr iend, a l though Tchaikovsky approved

of i t . Also uncharacter is t ic of Tchaikovsky's other symphonies , the

general mood of the work is most ly upbeat .

The f i rs t movement opens and closes with the melancholy notes

der ived from the song “Down by the Mother Volga,” played on a solo

French horn. The main theme of the al legro i s real ly a short motive

that gradual ly emerges as the sect ion progresses . I t i s the composer’s

own, but re ta ins the modes and spir i t of Russian folk music . After a

lyr ical second theme, Tchaikovsky brings back the "Mother Volga"

theme in a vigorous t ransformation.

The second movement , marked Andant ino marziale is a s low

march that Tchaikovsky took from his discarded opera Undine, which

had been rejected by the Imperial Opera Company of St . Petersburg and

eventual ly destroyed by the composer . A pianiss imo ostinato on the

t impani accompanies the ent i re movement . The central par t of the

movement is another folk tune. The Scherzo th i rd movement is highly

chromatic and has t remendous rhythmic dr ive. The phrases are

dovetai led, creat ing a tense and unstable meter . The Trio for the

woodwinds is in duple t ime, in contrast with the rapid t r iple meter of

the Scherzo.

I t i s in the fourth movement that Tchaikovsky showed his t rue

nat ional is t ic colors . I t i s an exuberant orchestral display, based on the

Ukrainian folk song “The Crane.” But the grand orchestral fanfare that

opens the movement exploi ts the fact that the folksong begins l ike the

Russian nat ional anthem, "God save the Tsar ." I t then turns into a rapid

dance with the accent on the off beat . The dance begins pianiss imo,

gradual ly adding instruments . The second theme for the s t r ings provides

a contrast , and Tchaikovsky goes on to combine the two themes in the

development . A st roke from a great gong heralds the coda and a proper

" imperial" sounding f inish. This was the movement that the composer

l iked best and garnered accolades from his col leagues of the Russian

nat ional is t movement .

Suite No. 4, Op 61. “Mozartiana”


This is the only one of Tchaikovsky's four fine orchestral suites that was not

conceived originally as a projected symphony. It is also the only one with just four

movements. For Tchaikovsky, Mozart was a "musical Christ," a composer whose formal

clarity and perfection accentuated his own acute sense of deficiency. It is not surprising

that he should wish to pay tribute to his idol and transform, with idiosyncratic skill, a

most enterprising and unusual selection of Mozart's piano pieces.

Tchaikovsky started thinking about the music in 1884, but did not actually turn to

its composition until 1887. "Mozartiana" was composed at a time in his life when the

composer felt the need to relax from more strenuous creativity and offer "older things in a

new presentation."

The four movements are based on a number of lesser-known pieces by Mozart,

strikingly recomposed to be wholly consistent with Tchaikovsky's own style and

temperament. The first movement, "Gigue," is based on Mozart's Gigue in C, K. 574; the

second, "Minuet," on the Minuet in D, K. 355. These are brief, straightforward

arrangements, lightly scored, and retain more of the quality of their originals than do the

remaining two movements. The third movement, "Preghiera," ("Prayer") is an

orchestration of Liszt's piano transcription of Mozart 's motet Ave verum corpus . K. 618.

It is sonorous and regal, notable for its remarkably effective harp part.

The final part, "Theme & Variations," is notably longer than the other three

movements combined. It is based on Mozart's Theme and Variations, K. 455, on a theme

(Unser dummer Poble meint) from Gluck 's opera The Pilgrimage to Mecca. The

orchestration is again brilliant, with its own dramatic progression established by the

distinct orchestral sound chosen for each of the ten variations. There are some notably

exotic touches in the Variations, with percussion and flourishes or cadenzas for a variety

of soloists that provide a distinctly personal and Russian flavor.

Mozartiana has such grace and elegance that it has often been choreographed,

perhaps most famously by Balanchine. Some 25 years after Tchaikovsky's death, his

countryman Igor Stravinsky performed a similar exercise with Tchaikovsky's music to

produce the ballet The Fairy's Kiss, transforming the sound of the older composer's

scores into his own idiomatic style. Although some have accused Tchaikovsky of a

"cavalier" treatment of Mozart's works, Tchaikovsky's affection as well as his playful

ingenuity in this artful homage to his idol are never in doubt.

Pétrouchka (1911; Revised 1919 and 1945)

IGOR STRAVINSKYBorn June 17, 1882 in Oranienbaum [now Lomonosov]Died April 6, 1971 in New York

"Before tackling The Rite of Spring, which I knew would be a long and

difficult task, I wanted to refresh myself by composing an orchestral piece in which the

piano would play the most important part -- a kind of Konzertstück. In composing the

music, I had in my mind a distinct picture of a puppet, suddenly endowed with life,

exasperating the patience of the orchestra with diabolical cascades of arpeggios. The

orchestra, in turn, retaliates with menacing trumpet blasts. … I struggled for hours … to

find a title that would express in a word the character of my music.

The First Tableau is set in the Shrove-tide Fair in 1830's St. Petersburg, on a

winter day. Crowds of merrymakers mill about. An organ grinder competes with a music-

box man. The crowd grows more and more exuberant. Suddenly two drummers silence

the crowd and a Magician appears from behind a curtain. The impression his hocus-pocus

makes on the gullible crowd is reflected in the mysterious mutterings of the orchestra.

Then the Magician plays an insipid tune on his flute, and touches it to three puppets

(Petrushka, the Ballerina and the Blackamoor) who have been revealed from behind a

curtain. To everyone's astonishment, they begin to cavort without strings (the Russian

Dance). The drums roll again, and there is a change of scene.

In the Second Tableau, the setting shifts from the real world to the fantasy world

of the puppets, all of whom have been endowed by the Magician with emotion. Petrushka

feels and suffers the most. We see him kicked into his bare, prison-like room. At this

point his despondent wail, the "Petrushka chord," is heard as an arpeggio in two clarinets.

He curses and paws the walls, hoping to escape. The door opens and the vacuous

Ballerina dances in. Petrushka, ugly and unwanted, has fallen in love with her, but she is

repulsed by his grotesque antics and flees. In despair, Petrushka hurls himself at a portrait

of the Magician, but only falls through a hole in the wall.

The Third Tableau is the luxurious room of the Blackamoor, who is lying on a

divan playing with a coconut. He performs a posturing dance. The Ballerina enters

playing a trumpet, and finds the brutal Blackamoor very romantic. The empty-headed

banality of the music and of their mutual enchantment makes the tragedy of Petrushka all

the more poignant. Consumed with jealousy, Petrushka bursts into the room, heralded by

the screaming of muted trumpets, but is driven out by the Blackamoor.

The scene returns to the festive crowd outside for the Fourth Tableau. Various

dances overlap. A peasant plays a pipe and leads a bear walking on its hind legs. At the

climax of the gaiety, Petrushka dashes from behind the curtain of the puppet theater, the

Blackamoor in hot pursuit with his scimitar. Once again the worlds of reality and fantasy

have merged. There is a fatal blow, and Petrushka falls with a broken skull (accompanied

by the sound of a dropped tambourine). A policeman arrives with the Magician, who

demonstrates that Petrushka was, after all, only made of wood and sawdust. The crowd

disperses in the snowy dusk as the Magician drags off the lifeless puppet. Suddenly

Petrushka's ghost appears above the theater, taunting and threatening (muted trumpets).

The Magician drops the puppet in terror and flees into the darkness.

Petrushka is a most remarkable theater piece, for seldom has music been wedded

so completely and logically to dramatic action. The harmonic vocabulary of the work is

highly complex, with the frequent simultaneous use of clashing triads a tritone apart (the

"Petrushka chord") -- very revolutionary in 1911. While the Firebird ballet was still

largely Rimskian in idiom, Petrushka is Stravinsky's first mature work, in which his style

for the first time came to fruition. It is also one of the great musical works of the

twentieth century.

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Documents

Program Notes