BY LAURIE SHULMAN, ©2009
FIRST NORTH AMERICAN SERIAL RIGHTS ONLY
Why do we love Tchaikovsky so much?
The answer goes to the very heart of why we respond to music: it’s the inherent emotional appeal that profoundly touches something within each of us. Precisely how Tchaikovsky achieves this is considerably more complicated. He works with the same raw materials as any composer: melody, harmony, rhythm, timbre. But the magic of his particular recipe is intangible.
Fortunately for us, there is a lot of Tchaikovsky’s music to love. He composed in virtually every genre, from incidental music to ballet. Throughout this NJSO program, we hear constant reminders of Tchaikovsky’s gift for melody, brilliant technique as an orchestrator and unfailing instincts for passion and pathos, drama and drive.
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Tchaikovsky’s greatest opera, Eugene Onegin (1879), has two excerpts that have become concert-hall favorites: the waltz at the beginning of Act II, and the unforgettable Polonaise that opens Act III. Waltzes and polonaises are Eastern European dances that were popular in 19th-century Russia.
Polonaises are generally stately, and this one has flair, with large orchestral gestures and the kind of catchy tune that one hums for weeks. It takes place during an elegant ball in the home of a Russian noble. An exuberant fanfare summons guests to the dance floor. The brasses continue to punctuate the piece with crisp dotted rhythms; woodwinds and cellos offer contrast in the gentler middle section.
Tchaikovsky’s last ballet, The Nutcracker (1891–92), is a Christmas-season staple that has become the most frequently performed ballet in the literature. He based it on E.T.A. Hoffmann’s 1816 story Nußknacker und Mausekönig (“The Nutcracker and the Mouse King”).
Hoffmann’s story is an appealing mixture of reality and fantasy, and Tchaikovsky quickly grasped its suitability for the ballet stage. Each movement is touched with genius, but ultimately, it is the sway of the waltz that best suits Tchaikovsky’s prodigious gift as a ballet composer. The Nutcracker’s Waltz of the Flowers requires no introduction; however, the delicacy and sure technique of his orchestration remain miraculous. The cadenza that introduces the Waltz of the Flowers is one of the glories of the symphonic harp literature.
Swan Lake (1876) may be even more impressive than The Nutcracker simply because it was Tchaikovsky’s first attempt at ballet. Incredibly, it was a colossal flop at its premiere, plagued by poor staging, a second-rate choreographer and an ill-prepared conductor. The dancers complained that the music was un-danceable. Not until two years after Tchaikovsky’s death did Swan Lake receive a production worthy of its glorious score, with classic choreography by Marius Petipa. Since then, Swan Lake has become a bulwark of the repertoire.
Csárdás is one of a series of national dances at the Act III ball. It serves two functions in Swan Lake. As a plot device, it is a stock situation: a diversion intended to entertain guests attending the ball. For the choreographer, it is an opportunity for a soloist or members of the corps de ballet to show off. And what music Tchaikovsky composed for this interlude! His Csárdás is a miniature masterpiece, opening with the exotic, sensuous harmonies faintly scented with Gypsy aroma, then moving to a whirlwind section with the pronounced flavor of hot paprika.
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Alexander Nikolaevich Ostrovsky (1823–86) was a major figure in Russian theatre, writing comedies about the merchant class and the common people, pointing the way toward 20th-century realism. Ostrovsky’s The Storm was Tchaikovsky’s favorite play, and when the opportunity arose to compose incidental music for an Ostrovsky work, Tchaikovsky was pleased to participate.
The new production was The Snow Maiden, a symbolic play filled with folklore, proverbs, popular poetry and Slavic mythology. The “Dance of the Buffoons ” from Act III is as over-the-top as anything Tchaikovsky ever composed: 4-1/2 minutes of irrepressible energy. Piccolo, trumpets, timpani and triangle punctuate the heart-pounding tempo.
Throughout 1880, Tchaikovsky’s letters to his patroness, Nadejhda von Meck, discuss his work on the 1812 Overture and a large-scale Serenade for Strings. He had composed the overture tongue-in-cheek and knew that his reputation would benefit more from the Serenade.
Indeed, his string writing throughout is masterful. No other 19th-century work for strings has become so firmly entrenched in the repertoire. The Finale is pure Russian folk music, with the subtitle Tema russo attached to the first part and the spirit of balalaika dancing driving the pace of the Allegro con spirito.
The outer movements of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto are flashy and spirited, but a relaxed mood prevails in the lovely Canzonetta, as Italianate in flavor as its title implies. Simple, heart-on-the-sleeve music, it is considered an expression of Tchaikovsky’s longing for his homeland during a long sojourn in Switzerland.
Solo violin remains the focus in the next selection, from Souvenirs d’un Lieu Cher (“Memories of a Treasured Place”), a set of three pieces for violin and piano in the tradition of salon music. Tchaikovsky composed them as a gift to his patroness, Mme von Meck. The Scherzo is a perpetual motion in tarantella rhythm, punctuated by pizzicato both for violin and the accompanying strings. A gorgeous lyrical interlude in the trio section features a vintage Tchaikovskyan melody. The orchestration is by Alexander Glazunov.
A pair of symphonic scherzos follows. The Symphony No. 2 (1873) is known as “Little Russian” because Tchaikovsky used three beloved Ukrainian folk tunes in the score. (Ukraine was called “Little Russia.”) Moscow audiences loved the homegrown touch; the work’s premiere was one of Tchaikovsky’s sweetest triumphs. The brilliant third-movement Scherzo, based on a single rhythmic idea, is imbued with the composer’s personality through ingenious metrical shifts and irregular phrase lengths of three and six bars.
Tchaikovsky conducted the premiere of his Sixth Symphony, the “Pathétique,” eight days before he died. His death was attributed to cholera, but rumors circulated that he had committed suicide. The mystery and scent of scandal added to the symphony’s renown.
All the characteristics we value most highly in Tchaikovsky’s music are present: imaginative orchestration, drama, delicious themes, superb development and sweeping emotive power. The third movement merges scherzo with march. Tchaikovsky’s elfin opening has little chance against the forceful militancy of the secondary idea. He introduces the march early on, gradually building to full orchestral power. It is a thrilling ride.
The triumphant Finale of Symphony No. 4 earned its nickname—“Fate”—from Tchaikovsky’s summary of the first movement in letters to Madame von Meck. An orchestral exclamation point ushers in the finale, enhanced by triangle, cymbals and bass drum. Tchaikovsky plunges us headlong into a village celebration that he described as “festive merriment of the people.” The finale also adapts a Russian folk song. Tchaikovsky’s fiery, exciting conclusion to this powerful symphony provides a fitting close to the Best of Tchaikovsky program.
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