Violin Concerto in A Minor, Op. 53
Antonín Dvořák
“Would you like to write a violin concerto for me? Highly original, tuneful and for good violinists? Let me know what you think!” When Antonín Dvořák received this suggestion from his publisher Fritz Simrock in January 1879, he seized the opportunity. Having studied violin as a child, Dvořák was both familiar and comfortable with the instrument, but he also sought the advice of one of the 19th century’s most talented violinists.
Joseph Joachim began making a name for himself as a child prodigy (he performed Beethoven’s Violin Concerto under the direction of Felix Mendelssohn at age 12). As he matured, the virtuoso violinist inspired the creation of several major violin concertos, including those of Johannes Brahms and Robert Schumann. After finishing the first draft of his violin concerto, Dvořák sent it to Joachim, who advised many changes, some of them substantial. Despite his concerns, Joachim was also an ardent supporter of Dvořák’s music, and told him, “While working on this revision I was struck by the many beauties of your work, which it will be a pleasure for me to perform.” As it happened, Joachim did not premiere the concerto; in fact, he never played it in public.
In a letter to Simrock, Dvořák explained why the concerto was taking so long to finish: “At his [Joachim’s] request, I have revised the whole concerto; not a single bar has been left unaltered. I have no doubt that he will be pleased with what I have done. I have taken immense trouble over it. The whole concerto has now assumed a different aspect.” After this first revision, Dvořák undertook a second in 1882, to address Joachim’s misgivings about the dense orchestration, through which Joachim worried that “not even the fullest tone” of the soloist’s violin would penetrate.
A man of strongly conservative musical tastes, Joachim may have decided not to perform the concerto because he could not endorse Dvořák’s unusual structural choices. He wrote a standard three-movement concerto, but the first two movements, which contrast the energy and power of the orchestra with the singing lyricism of the solo violin, are played without pause, making them sound like one. The finale features distinctly Czech folk dances and rhythms, a wild furiant and a gentle dumka. Joachim’s doubts notwithstanding, Dvořák’s Violin Concerto became a favorite of violinists and orchestras, and it continues to delight and challenge both performers and audiences today.
Symphony No. 2 in E Minor, Op. 27
Sergei Rachmaninoff
Artists of all types have a love-hate relationship with critics: they need the exposure criticism brings to their work, but often scorn the critiques themselves. Other artists take criticism too much to heart, which was the case with Sergei Rachmaninoff. After Rachmaninoff premiered his First Symphony, he was so savaged by critics that he could not compose a note for three years. Eventually Rachmaninoff consulted a doctor, Nicolai Dahl, who used hypnotism to bolster Rachmaninoff’s flagging confidence. Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto was dedicated to Dahl, and it vindicated Rachmaninoff as a composer by becoming one of his most popular works.
After the success of the Second Piano Concerto, Rachmaninoff felt ready to tackle another symphony, and in 1906 he began work on his second. The writing was difficult for him, as he reported in a letter to a friend, and the work proceeded slowly. The final version lasted over an hour; Rachmaninoff later suggested several performance cuts that shorten it by as much as 20 minutes. Although Rachmaninoff, out of necessity, agreed to the cuts, which amounted to some 300 measures of music, he later confided to conductor Eugene Ormandy, “You don’t know what cuts do to me. It is like cutting a piece out of my heart.” Rachmaninoff likely appreciated the words of one critic, who wrote at the Symphony’s premiere, “After listening with unflagging attention to its four movements, one notes with surprise that the hands of the watch have moved sixty-five minutes forward. This may be slightly overlong for the general audience, but how fresh, how beautiful it is!”
Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 2 is ahead of its time by sonically anticipating the emergence of a new genre: the Hollywood film score. Twenty years before Ernest Korngold essentially invented the movie soundtrack, Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 2 often sounds like a score searching for a suitable love story. The luxe orchestration and opulent sound of the orchestra, along with Rachmaninoff’s ease in generating one lyrical theme after another, suggest a romantic—both rapturous and tragic at times—and a sweeping narrative arc.
The symphony opens with cellos and basses murmuring a dark theme that anchors the remainder of the first movement and recurs throughout the symphony. The violins contrast with a lyrical melody, which is followed by a plaintive English horn solo. Throughout the Allegro moderato, Rachmaninoff uses solo instruments as structural signposts, indicating changes of mood or harmony.
The horns launch the Scherzo with a bold, energetic theme, which the strings continue using a bouncier, skipping melody. These are contrasted by a series of interludes, one unabashedly romantic, and others feverishly intense. As was his wont in many orchestral works, including the Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Rachmaninoff includes the Dies irae melody (Day of Wrath) from the Requiem; it appears here in the coda to the trio.
In the Adagio, Rachmaninoff’s signature romanticism is heard in the violins’ opening melody, which could easily serve as the theme song in a cinematic love story. 1970s pop singer Eric Carmen wrote a hit song based on this theme, Never Gonna Fall in Love Again.
In the Finale Rachmaninoff unleashes a whirlwind of vibrant joy. Buoyant strings recall the Scherzo, but this music is abruptly interrupted by a stark call of muted horns. We also hear snatches of music from previous movements, especially the Scherzo and Adagio. The strings, playing in the style of a vigorous Italian tarantella, are the foundation for this movement, and its energy drives the symphony to a spirited conclusion.
© Elizabeth Schwartz. All rights reserved.
NOTE: These program notes are published by the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra for its patrons and other interested readers. Any other use is forbidden without specific permission from the author, who may be contacted at http://classicalmusicprogramnotes.com.
Elizabeth Schwartz is a musician, writer, and music historian based in Portland, OR. She has been a program annotator for more than 25 years, and writes for ensembles and festivals across the United States and around the world. Ms. Schwartz has also contributed to NPR’s “Performance Today,” (now heard on American Public Media). http://classicalmusicprogramnotes.com
