Cello Concerto in E minor, Op. 85
Edward Elgar (1857-1934)
Adagio - Moderato; Lento - Allegro molto; Adagio; Allegro - Moderato - Allegro, ma non-troppo - Poco più lento - Adagio
In his influential book, ‘The Rest is Noise’, Alex Ross captured the sadness and confusion that characterised the inter-war years for so many composers.
As the twentieth century rumbled on, composers with strong national ties were haunted by feelings of obsolescence. Many twentieth-century symphonies, concertos, oratorios, and chamber works of the so-called conservative type were rich in lamentations for a lost world…
He cited Edward Elgar’s ‘…supremely elegiac Cello Concerto of 1918-19’ as an example. Because of a calamitous première, the concerto was rarely performed until the twenty-year-old Jacqueline du Pres brought it into the limelight through an expressive account, recorded in 1961. Her commitment and understanding of the work led to general acceptance, admiration and, eventually, the unalloyed devotion of concert-goers. Despite its ‘old-fashioned’ style, the concerto is novel in various respects. It has four movements instead of the more usual three; the first movement is slow rather than brisk in tempo; the orchestration is light, allowing the soloist to be heard without straining; the first main theme, described by Paul Serotsky as ‘lilting like a lullaby’, breaks cardinal rules for composition students by repeating a two-note rhythmic cell without a break more than 100 times before moving on to other metrical ideas. Listeners who approach this work with an open mind and with flexible notions about what a concerto should be, are sure to be surprised, enchanted and moved.
The robust opening for the soloist is memorable. That’s handy because it reappears at the very end, reminding us of the eventful journey we have completed. It also makes clear from the start that the cello will dominate. This is no traditional tussle between soloist and orchestra; the orchestra knows its place, asserting its strength only when the soloist is resting. Once the movement proper gets under way with its ‘lullaby lilt’ the overall shape is discerned easily. Eventually, a new melody arrives, tossed between clarinet and cello. This in turn yields to a varied reprise of the first theme for the movement’s completion.
Following with barely a break, the second movement also begins with a cadenza-like statement from the soloist. After some musical contemplation, we suddenly find ourselves on a helter-skelter, hurtling along perilously, the cellist visiting extremes of bowing speed and pitch. At no time can we stop to admire the scenery because the movement ‘…vanishes with the detonation of a burst bubble’ as Sir Donald Tovey observed so adroitly. The second movement is akin to the first in that it contrasts and interweaves two distinct themes, this time with joie-de-vivre rather than a sense of longing. Similarity of mood links the third movement to the first as well. The third’s slower tempo allows a theme of song-like persuasion to bewitch us. A reduced orchestra and the uninterrupted flow of melody create a world of calm reflection, simply stated and over all too soon.
The finale is more complex and more surprising. For the third time in this concerto, the cello toys with melodic fragments, seeming to search for a trigger to set the finale into motion. Once properly under way, the energy of all the participants is impressive. The unknowing listener wonders what tour-de-force will seal the triumph: an accelerando, a crescendo and some fortissimo chords perhaps? Unexpectedly, the pace slackens and a new expressive melody for the soloist appears, supported by heart-tugging harmonies. Then a second, even more impassioned theme takes over. The unknowing listener now wonders how Elgar will cause the work to fade away to nothing. Wrong again. Elgar recalls the very first bars of the concerto, then, almost tongue-in-cheek, revives the jaunty theme of the last movement, ending the concerto with a chuckle and a flourish.
Edward Elgar (1857-1934)
Adagio - Moderato; Lento - Allegro molto; Adagio; Allegro - Moderato - Allegro, ma non-troppo - Poco più lento - Adagio
In his influential book, ‘The Rest is Noise’, Alex Ross captured the sadness and confusion that characterised the inter-war years for so many composers.
As the twentieth century rumbled on, composers with strong national ties were haunted by feelings of obsolescence. Many twentieth-century symphonies, concertos, oratorios, and chamber works of the so-called conservative type were rich in lamentations for a lost world…
He cited Edward Elgar’s ‘…supremely elegiac Cello Concerto of 1918-19’ as an example. Because of a calamitous première, the concerto was rarely performed until the twenty-year-old Jacqueline du Pres brought it into the limelight through an expressive account, recorded in 1961. Her commitment and understanding of the work led to general acceptance, admiration and, eventually, the unalloyed devotion of concert-goers. Despite its ‘old-fashioned’ style, the concerto is novel in various respects. It has four movements instead of the more usual three; the first movement is slow rather than brisk in tempo; the orchestration is light, allowing the soloist to be heard without straining; the first main theme, described by Paul Serotsky as ‘lilting like a lullaby’, breaks cardinal rules for composition students by repeating a two-note rhythmic cell without a break more than 100 times before moving on to other metrical ideas. Listeners who approach this work with an open mind and with flexible notions about what a concerto should be, are sure to be surprised, enchanted and moved.
The robust opening for the soloist is memorable. That’s handy because it reappears at the very end, reminding us of the eventful journey we have completed. It also makes clear from the start that the cello will dominate. This is no traditional tussle between soloist and orchestra; the orchestra knows its place, asserting its strength only when the soloist is resting. Once the movement proper gets under way with its ‘lullaby lilt’ the overall shape is discerned easily. Eventually, a new melody arrives, tossed between clarinet and cello. This in turn yields to a varied reprise of the first theme for the movement’s completion.
Following with barely a break, the second movement also begins with a cadenza-like statement from the soloist. After some musical contemplation, we suddenly find ourselves on a helter-skelter, hurtling along perilously, the cellist visiting extremes of bowing speed and pitch. At no time can we stop to admire the scenery because the movement ‘…vanishes with the detonation of a burst bubble’ as Sir Donald Tovey observed so adroitly. The second movement is akin to the first in that it contrasts and interweaves two distinct themes, this time with joie-de-vivre rather than a sense of longing. Similarity of mood links the third movement to the first as well. The third’s slower tempo allows a theme of song-like persuasion to bewitch us. A reduced orchestra and the uninterrupted flow of melody create a world of calm reflection, simply stated and over all too soon.
The finale is more complex and more surprising. For the third time in this concerto, the cello toys with melodic fragments, seeming to search for a trigger to set the finale into motion. Once properly under way, the energy of all the participants is impressive. The unknowing listener wonders what tour-de-force will seal the triumph: an accelerando, a crescendo and some fortissimo chords perhaps? Unexpectedly, the pace slackens and a new expressive melody for the soloist appears, supported by heart-tugging harmonies. Then a second, even more impassioned theme takes over. The unknowing listener now wonders how Elgar will cause the work to fade away to nothing. Wrong again. Elgar recalls the very first bars of the concerto, then, almost tongue-in-cheek, revives the jaunty theme of the last movement, ending the concerto with a chuckle and a flourish.