Principal Conductor and Artistic Advisor VLADIMIR JUROWSKI Principal Conductor Designate EDWARD GARDNER supported by Mrs Christina Lang Assael Principal Guest Conductor Designate KARINA CANELLAKIS Leader PIETER SCHOEMAN supported by Neil Westreich Patron HRH THE DUKE OF KENT KG Chief Executive and Artistic Director TIMOTHY WALKER CBE AM Chief Executive Designate DAVID BURKE
Programme notes Wednesday 27 May 2020 | 7.30pm
Sibelius Violin Concerto Rachmaninoff Symphony No. 2 in E minor
Programme notes
Speedread Tonight’s programme tells of hard-won triumphs. Sibelius had long aspired to establish himself as a violinist and had written numerous works for the instrument during his youth. Sadly, he would come to the ‘painful awakening […] that I had begun my training for the exacting career of a virtuoso too late’. But in 1903–4, Sibelius created one of the concerto repertoire’s most impulsive and imposing challenges, in turn leaving an even greater mark on the history of the violin. Rachmaninoff had no issue with virtuosity when it came to his own instrument: the piano. Yet, as a composer, he had been horribly bruised by
Jean Sibelius
the critical reaction to the premiere of his First Symphony in 1897; so bruised, in fact, that he retreated into near-silence and a deep depression. When, finally, sessions of hypnosis broke the impasse, a stream of masterpieces came forth, beginning with the Second Piano Concerto, which flaunted Rachmaninoff’s twofold skill as pianist and composer, and, then, the Second Symphony. Its earnest homage to the composer’s mentor – and Sibelius’s idol – Tchaikovsky, the four movement’s radiant melodies and the giddy finale that caps the piece all help to provide one of the most generous-hearted works in the repertoire.
Violin Concerto 1 Allegro moderato 2 Adagio di molto 3 Allegro, ma non tanto
1865–1957
Sibelius had a passionate knowledge of the violin, having been a devoted exponent of the instrument since an early age. As a young man, he performed concertos by Ferdinand David and Mendelssohn, and played in the Conservatoire orchestra while studying in Vienna. His ambitions to join the city’s increasingly renowned Philharmonic Orchestra were, however, thwarted, to say nothing of a potential career as a soloist: ‘My tragedy was that I wanted to be a celebrated violinist at any price. Since the age of 15, I played my violin practically from morning to night. I hated pen and ink – unfortunately I preferred an elegant violin bow. My love for the violin lasted quite long and it was a very painful awakening when I had to admit that I had begun my training for the exacting career of a virtuoso too late.’
It was, however, with ‘pen and ink’ rather than string and bow that Sibelius was to establish himself on returning home from Vienna to Finland, writing both abstract symphonic works and programmatic tone-poems. By the time he came to create his Violin Concerto, at the turn of the last century, Sibelius was the nation’s most prominent composer. He was an avid follower of Karelianism, which focussed, both politically and artistically, on the pre-industrial region of Karelia, between modern-day Finland and Russia. Most crucially, the area was home to the Kalevala, the epic source of Sibelius’s most patriotic works. But he had also begun writing a series of symphonies, in which the ‘bardic’ elements of his programmatic compositions met with a passion for wider symphonic literature, not least the works of Tchaikovsky.
That balanced focus, of local and external interests, is similarly witnessed in the Violin Concerto. In many ways, its duality reflects on the commissioner, Willy Burmester, who was a German violinist with Finnish connections. Taking on the project, Sibelius worked enthusiastically and played through ideas as they occurred. Originally, he had intended Burmester to give the premiere in Berlin, but decided to move the first performance to Helsinki, albeit selecting a date that Burmester could not make. Instead, the locally-based Czech violinist Victor Nováček took his place, giving, as it turned out, a rather disappointing performance and thereby getting the life of the Concerto off to an uneasy start. Consequently, Sibelius revised the work, toning down some of its most gruelling technical challenges, though it was still to remain one of the repertoire’s most demanding scores. The Concerto begins with ululating strings, creating a mysterious haze around the soloist’s modal-cumchromatic theme. A cadenza, over timpani and threatening bassoons, introduces the main Allegro, which progresses between full orchestral statements and the soloist-as-bard. The latter’s declamations
Serge Rachmaninoff 1873–1943
The genre of the symphony prompted many demons for Rachmaninoff. The premiere of his First Symphony in 1897 had been a total disaster. Although the quality of the performance was partly to blame (conducted by the usually reliable Glazunov), there can be no doubt that his compatriot Cui’s description of a ‘programme symphony on the Seven Plagues of Egypt’ had dented Rachmaninoff’s pride. For three years, the composer hardly wrote a note. Something had to break the deadlock. Friends arranged for him to meet his hero Tolstoy in order to rekindle
lend the whole movement a rhetorical air, never quite striding ahead, despite moments of outlandish virtuosity. The Adagio di molto, heralded by the woodwind, is lusher by far, with crushing harmonies from both the violin and a solo horn. Lower strings enter with a newly surging theme, underpinned by pulsating bass, which leads to an outpouring of emotion. The violin’s doublestopping offers a lachrymose response and there is real drive, even a sense of apprehension, before the movement closes serenely. The pulsations return at the opening of the finale. Throughout, rhythmic insecurities undercut a general feeling of confidence, but each successive entry of the soloist, often featuring incredible musical gymnastics, maintains the strive for triumph. As the orchestra finally emblazons a clear D major, however, it is the soloist who now goes off on a detour. This is clearly a battle of wills and Sibelius delays a feeling of homecoming to the very end, with the final cadences proving as impulsive as much of the Concerto’s preceding argument.
Symphony No. 2 in E minor 1 Largo – Allegro moderato 2 Allegro molto 3 Adagio 4 Allegro vivace
some sense of inspiration, but it proved useless. Finally, after pursuing a course of hypnosis, a breakthrough was achieved and the composer’s gremlins were quashed by the completion and riotous success of the Second Piano Concerto. And yet Rachmaninoff still had to overcome the dreaded genre of the symphony. Facing his fears, he began work in 1906 and confronted the problem head-on by choosing the home key of E minor, the same as Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony. Rachmaninoff’s mentor had similarly felt the hand of fate on his
Programme notes continued
shoulder, but in his Fifth Symphony – as well as in this homage – fate is overcome, with both works ending in triumphant celebration. For Rachmaninoff, musical victory was to turn into professional success, with the Symphony thankfully well-received at its premiere in 1908. Commanding an hour-long span of heady but combative music, it is surely one of the 20th century’s greatest and happiest contributions to symphonic literature. Like Tchaikovsky’s example, Rachmaninoff’s Symphony begins in darkness. Cellos and double basses introduce a weighty motif, which is answered by a chorale-like theme in the woodwind and brass and a more twisting response from the upper strings. The sections of the orchestra coalesce, but none of their statements finds release. Finally, a cor anglais sounds a lonesome plea and the strings are able to introduce the Allegro proper. Although we are still firmly in E minor, the music now feels freer, as melodies, formed from sequences of repeated motifs, hurtle across an ever-evolving landscape. Recalling the earlier cor anglais theme, a clarinet introduces a youthful melody that prefigures the third movement. But there are darker energies at play too, which burst through in violent climaxes. While the youthful, relaxed themes return, so too does the key of E minor, closing the movement in shadow. The hostile elements have clearly not been sated, as is made clear when the second movement launches with another stuttering attack. The glockenspiel adds an air of celebration, but the accented first theme returns again and again to erode any sense of happiness. And yet, despite the sounds of the Dies irae chant, this movement cannot help but wear excitements and hopes on its sleeve. Exasperated by this sense of emotional inconstancy, the orchestra launches into a purgative fugato. It begins with the strings, but they are quickly joined by the other sections of the orchestra and the music tips in a military march, more akin to Shostakovich than the romance of Rachmaninoff.
With the sighing Adagio, tempers finally relax and the composer lets his melodic gift come to the fore with one of the greatest tunes of all time. Emerging out of a straightforward arpeggio that lands on an aching leading note (one short of an octave), the initial motif describes pining affection. Out of this and the enrapt clarinet tune that follows, Rachmaninoff weaves one of his most effortless creations. Heartfelt sentiments now explained and a major key established, the Symphony’s finale provides a grand celebration of what has gone before, transforming the original tonic into E major. Cymbal-crashes and braying fanfares add to the party atmosphere. While themes often return from previous movements, their formerly aggressive tones cannot mar the sense of celebration. Instead, it is the happier melodies of the third movement that come to dominate, now decorated with woodwind counterpoint. And the military mood, so ironic in the scherzo, has become a Romantic march of triumph. Depression and symphonic self-doubt overcome, Rachmaninoff’s final bars are some of the most joyful in all music. Programme notes © Gavin Plumley