This weekend (January 17 and 19) St. Louis Symphony Orchestra Music Director Stéphane Denève returns for a program devoted entirely to a composer I love almost as much as he does: Maurice Ravel (1875–1937). Like Ravel, Denève has studied at the Paris Conservatoire. Unlike the composer (who was expelled), our MD graduated with honors and has gone on to make a name for himself as an exponent of French music in general and Ravel in particular.
[Preview the music with my Spotify playlist.]
I have written extensively about all four of the works on this weekend’s program over the past decade or thereabouts. This week’s preview is based on that earlier material.
Ma mère l'oye New York City Ballet |
The concerts will open with the “Ma mère l'oye (Mother Goose) Suite”, based on a two-piano suite originally written for Mimie and Jean, the two children of Ravel's friend Cipa Godebski, an expatriate Polish artist, and his wife Ida. The kids were supposed to give the work its first performance at the Société Musicale Indépéndantes in 1910, but stage fright got the better of them and two other youngsters got the opportunity.
The work proved popular enough to merit an orchestration in 1911 and later even a full-length ballet, but it's the former that we'll hear this weekend. Inspired by the fairy stories of Charles Perrault as well as anonymous folk sources, the five movements make up a veritable musical toy box brimming with auditory delights.
Denève’s first appearance with the SLSO following his appointment as MD included a transcendent performance of the suite. This is a true showpiece for the orchestra, with lots of opportunities for solo and small ensemble work. I look forward to hearing it in the drier acoustics of the Touhill.
Next, we’ll have both of Ravel’s two piano concertos, beginning with the Concerto in G, written mostly between 1929 and 1932. For the composer, it represented an attempt to improve his own less than stellar skill as a pianist.
Ravel, as Washington University's Hugh Macdonald wrote in program notes for the Los Angeles Philharmonic (link no longer available) was not a virtuoso at the keyboard. “In his public appearances as a concert pianist,” notes Mr. Macdonald, “he had preferred to play easier pieces…. But rather than write a piece within his own capacity, he decided to write a concerto of proper difficulty and simply acquire the technique to play it.” Thus began the long and difficult nativity of the Concerto in G.
That process began as early as 1911 according to Macdonald. That was when Ravel, who had been born in the Basque town of Ciboure, sketched out a “Basque Concerto” based on themes from that region of France. The project was scrapped, but the second movement would live again—this time with a jazzier flavor—as the notoriously difficult Adagio assai movement of the G major concerto.
Maurice Ravel birthday party, New York City, March 8, 1928 L-R: Oscar Fried, conductor; Eva Gauthier, singer; Ravel at piano; Manoah Leide-Tedesco, composer-conductor; and composer George Gershwin |
Unfortunately, Ravel’s health was declining, resulting in memory problems and difficulty concentrating. So when it came time for the French premiere of the concerto in January 1932 the solo role went to Marguerite Long, who taught piano at the Paris Conservatoire between 1906 and 1940. And even she found it a challenge.
“It is a difficult work,” she observed in the posthumously published Au Piano avec Maurice Ravel, “especially in respect of the second movement where one has no respite.”
Part of the delay in composing the Concerto in G was the result of the composer setting it aside to work on his Concerto for the Left Hand. Ravel wrote it during 1929 and 1930 for pianist Paul Wittgenstein (the older brother of the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein), who was just at the beginning of what looked like a successful career when World War I broke out. Called up for military service, Wittgenstein was shot in the right elbow during the Battle of Galicia. He was captured by the Russians and sent to a POW camp in Siberia where the injury to his arm proved to be so severe that amputation was necessary.
For the vast majority of pianists, that would be a career-ending event, but Wittgenstein refused to give up. The camp had no piano so, as Dakota White relates at the World War I Centennial web site, Wittgenstein drew the outline of a keyboard on a wooden crate and used it to practice during his confinement. After the war, he was able to use his family's wealth and social connections to commission works for the left hand from leading composers of the day, including Ravel.
Wittgenstein gave the work its premiere on January 5th, 1932, with Robert Heger conducting the Vienna Symphony Orchestra and recorded it in 1937 with the Concertgebouw Orchestra under Bruno Walter. You can hear that performance on YouTube . It’s still worth listening to, despite the dated mono sound.
There's a nocturnal feel to the concerto. There’s a dark bitonal introduction featuring the contrabassoon, flashy cadenzas for the soloist, and a central march/scherzo which, like the Adagio assai in the G major concerto, shows the composer’s fascination with jazz. It feels like Ravel is inviting us to a dance in the graveyard—a celebration of renewed life in the shadow of the massive death of the "war to end all wars." Ravel served as an ambulance driver in the cataclysm, and I think the horrors he saw influenced many of his post-war works, including this one.
The soloist for both of these very demanding concertos is a frequent visitor to our town, Kirill Gerstein. I last saw him here in October, 2022, when he gave us a disciplined and grandly romantic Concerto No. 2 by Rachmaninoff with Hannu Lintu (another familiar face) at the podium. In addition to his frequent guest appearances with the SLSO, he recorded a Gershwin album with the band for Myrios in 2018, which I would highly recommend. His performances, in my experience, are often a singular mix of strong technique and interpretive creativity.
Ida Rubenstien, 1922 Public Domain |
The concerts close with one of the most popular orchestral works ever written and certainly the best-known thing Maurice Ravel ever produced: “Bolero.” Composed originally on commission for the dancer Ida Rubinstein, “Bolero” was first performed by her at the Paris Opéra on 22 November 1928 with choreography by Bronislava Nijinska and designs by Alexandre Benois.
The scenario, as printed in that first program, describes a wild night in a Spanish tavern that gets wilder when a female dancer leaps on to a table as "her steps become more and more animated." The late New York Times music critic Louis Biancolli (quoted in the 1962 edition of Julian Seaman's "Great Orchestral Music: A Treasury of Program Notes") goes into greater detail, describing an increasingly erotic bacchanal, which ends (as the key changes to C major) in a knife-wielding brawl.
Sex and violence always sell, I guess. There are many more fascinating facts to be had about "Boléro," including its sexual subtext. Actor/writer Albert Brooks had some fun with that aspect of the work on his subversively brilliant 1975 LP "A Star is Bought." The original is out of print, sad to say, but the whole thing is available on YouTube.
The Essentials: Stéphane Denève conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and pianist Kirill Gerstein in an all-Ravel program Friday at 7:30 pm and Sunday at 3:00 pm, January 17 and 19, in auditorium at the Touhill Center on the University of Missouri–St. Louis campus. The Friday performance will be broadcast Saturday, January 18, at 7:30 pm on St. Louis Public Radio and Classic 107.3 and will also be available for a limited time at the SLSO web site.