Works by two giants of the Russian romantic school are on the Powell Hall Stage this week as the St. Louis Symphony under guest conductor Juraj Valcuha takes on Rachmaninoff's "Piano Concerto No. 2" in C Minor, Op. 18 (first performed in 1901) with famed pianist André Watts as soloist and Tchaikovsky's "Symphony No. 6" in B minor, Op. 74 (a.k.a. the "Pathetique"), which had its first performance only eight years earlier.
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| Rachmaninoff in the early 1900s en.wikipedia.org |
Tchaikovsky's faith certainly appeared to be validated by Rachmaninoff's early successes. "By the time he was 20," writes Paul Schiavo in his SLSO program notes, "Rachmaninoff had completed a piano concerto; an opera, Aleko, which was triumphantly produced at the Bolshoi Theater; several tone poems and chamber pieces; and a number of keyboard works, including the famous Prelude in C-sharp minor. The stage seemed set for a lifetime of rich musical accomplishment."
All that came to a crashing halt when the composer's "Symphony No. 1" had its St. Petersburg premiere in 1897. The performance was a debacle (conductor Alexander Glazunov, a notorious alcoholic, was said to be conducting under the influence) and critics hated it. César Cui, for example, famously wrote that if "there were a conservatory in Hell, if one of its talented students were instructed to write a program symphony on the ‘Seven Plagues of Egypt,’ and if he were to compose a symphony like Mr. Rachmaninoff’s, then he would have fulfilled his task brilliantly and would bring delight to the inhabitants of Hell.”
The psychological impact on the young Rachmaninoff's was devastating. "All my self-confidence broke down," he recalled, "and the artistic satisfaction that I had looked forward to was never realized." He spiraled down into a depression so severe that friends urged him to seek help from one Dr. Nikolai Dahl, who was then making a name for himself in Moscow with hypnotherapy.
Dahl hypnotized Rachmaninoff daily for three months. "Dahl had inquired what kind of composition was desired of me," recalled the composer, "and he was informed 'a concerto for pianoforte,' for I had promised this to people in London and had given up in despair the idea of writing it. In consequence, I heard repeated, day after day, the same hypnotic formula as I lay half somnolent in an armchair in Dr. Dahl's consulting room. 'You will start to compose a concerto—You will work with the greatest of ease—The composition will be of excellent quality.' Always it was the same, without interruption."
The result was everything Rachmaninoff could have hoped for. He took up composing with a new vigor. Ideas for the concerto "began to well up within me," he reported. The second the third movements were completed by the autumn on 1900 and by the spring on 1901 the entire work was ready for a November Moscow premiere under Alexander Siloti, with the composer at the piano. It was a hit with both critics and audiences and has remained so ever since.
The Second may not be the best of Rachmaninoff's four piano concerti—both the revised First and (my favorite) the Third are more economical and generate more momentum—but its flashy (and technically demanding) solo passages, soaring melodies, and showy finale have made it a real crowd pleaser. From its famous seven-chord introduction to the big tune of the finale (popularized by Frank Sinatra in 1945 as “Full Moon and Empty Arms”), this is a concerto that is impossible to dislike.
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| Tchaikovsky, aged 52. Photographed by Alfred Fedetsky in Kharkov, 14/26 March 1893 wiki.tchaikovsky-research.net |
When Tchaikovsky began working on the symphony at his country house in Frolovskoe in the spring of 1893, all the signs were positive. "Although his health and spirits had been more than usually good," wrote R.L.F McCombs in program notes for the Philadelphia Orchestra, "he made sure they would remain so by taking long walks, even in bad weather. He was fifty-three, popular, respected, and in fairly easy circumstances."
Tchaikovsky actually began work on the Sixth in 1891, after he returned from a trip to America, but he abandoned work on it the following year (Soviet musicologist Semyon Bogatyrev would complete it in 1950). "You know I destroyed a symphony I had been composing and only partly orchestrated in the autumn," he wrote to his nephew Vladimir Davydov in February of 1893. "During my journey I had the idea for another symphony, this time with a programme, but such a programme that will remain an enigma to everyone—let them guess; the symphony shall be entitled: A Programme Symphony (No. 6). The programme itself will be suffused with subjectivity, and not infrequently during my travels, while composing it in my head, I wept a great deal. Upon my return I sat down to write the sketches, and the work went so furiously and quickly that in less than four days the first movement was completely ready, and the remaining movements already clearly outlined in my head. The third movement is already half-done. The form of this symphony will have much that is new, and amongst other things, the finale will not be a noisy allegro, but on the contrary, a long drawn-out adagio. You can't imagine how blissful I feel in the conviction that my time is not yet passed, and to work is still possible. Of course I might be mistaken, but I don't think so."
The first performance—in St. Petersburg, with the composer conducting—did not, alas, realize those hopes. Tchaikovsky was, unfortunately, much less capable as a conductor than as a composer. "He was too diffident to demand the best results from his players," wrote McCombs, "and would rather have a half-way performance than a fuss. In public he suffered from nervousness and had a peculiar delusion that in conducting, his head was liable to fall off if he did not support it with his left hand which, of course, permitted him only the use of his right." As a result, the first performance was "received with politeness rather than enthusiasm."
That would change with subsequent performances, but Tchaikovsky never lived to see it happen; nine days after the premiere, the composer was dead. The official cause: cholera, brought on by drinking a glass of contaminated drinking water. Whether that was true or not quickly became a matter of some contention and even today theories abound that the composer committed suicide or was murdered. What is certain, though, is that the "Pathetique" has become enduringly popular.
As well it should. This exceptionally well-crafted symphony’s compelling mix of triumph and tragedy is, as the song goes, “simply irresistible”. Only a world-class grouch, for example, could refuse to applaud after the exuberant third movement and only a heart of granite could fail to be moved by the despairing finale. Those final, dying chords in the low strings are just heartbreaking. A well-conducted "Pathetique" leaves the audience feeling that they need to take a moment to exhale.
The Essentials: Juraj Valcuha conducts the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra with piano soloist André Watts on Friday at 10:30 a.m. (a Coffee Concert with free Krispy Kreme doughnuts) and Saturday at 8 p.m., February 20 and 21. The Saturday concert will be broadcast on St. Louis Public Radio. The concerts take place at Powell Symphony Hall, 718 North Grand in Grand Center. For more information: stlsymphony.org.
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