Overture to Ruslan and Ludmila
Mikhail Glinka (1804-57)
Mikhail Glinka’s second opera ‘Ruslan and Ludmila’ is now a favourite in Russia despite its unsuccessful première in 1842. Although the fairy tale upon which the opera is based is unfamiliar in Western Europe, the high spirits of the overture offer immediate appeal. Such ebullience is not the outcome of musical naiveté. Musical anoraks might note a ‘whole-tone’ scale played by the trombones towards the end of the overture. This is the first instance of such modernity in orchestral music, here intended to represent the wicked wizard Chernomor. Since Glinka’s avant garde innovation, other Russian composers, notably Alexander Borodin and Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov, have used the whole-tone scale to symbolise evil.
The overture could be classified as ‘easy listening’, but it is stimulating listening too with spectacular string passages at the beginning and a song-like melody, first heard on the violas and cellos, offered as a contrast. It all gallops past us two or three times and ends in triumph. Given such delight, one may wonder why we have not heard more of Glinka, and more of his music.
His pampered upbringing led to deficiencies that were noticed by others. Tchaikovsky said of him, ‘Glinka was a talented Russian gentleman of his time, prettily proud, little developed, full of vanity and self-adoration’. Benefiting from financial security, Glinka did not have to work hard for his living. Among other recreations, he indulged a passion for teen-age girls, one of whom, Maria Petrovna Ivanova, he married. He was serially unfaithful to her, so she left him and married another man without bothering to divorce Glinka first. He travelled widely in Europe, absorbing the stylistic mannerisms of Italy and France with ease, and he introduced Leitmotivs into his opera ‘A Life for the Tsar’ before Richard Wagner alighted upon the same idea. Even so, his natural talent was not robust enough to over-ride well entrenched sybaritic leanings. Lyudmila Glinka observed, ‘My brother wrote (music) only when something strong and pleasant acted upon him, be it a woman, nature, the climate, or an outstanding work of art.’ Given an appropriate time-warp, he might or might not be one’s first choice of dinner guest. Either way, the verdict shouldn’t blind us to the artistry and spirit of this winning overture.
Mikhail Glinka (1804-57)
Mikhail Glinka’s second opera ‘Ruslan and Ludmila’ is now a favourite in Russia despite its unsuccessful première in 1842. Although the fairy tale upon which the opera is based is unfamiliar in Western Europe, the high spirits of the overture offer immediate appeal. Such ebullience is not the outcome of musical naiveté. Musical anoraks might note a ‘whole-tone’ scale played by the trombones towards the end of the overture. This is the first instance of such modernity in orchestral music, here intended to represent the wicked wizard Chernomor. Since Glinka’s avant garde innovation, other Russian composers, notably Alexander Borodin and Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov, have used the whole-tone scale to symbolise evil.
The overture could be classified as ‘easy listening’, but it is stimulating listening too with spectacular string passages at the beginning and a song-like melody, first heard on the violas and cellos, offered as a contrast. It all gallops past us two or three times and ends in triumph. Given such delight, one may wonder why we have not heard more of Glinka, and more of his music.
His pampered upbringing led to deficiencies that were noticed by others. Tchaikovsky said of him, ‘Glinka was a talented Russian gentleman of his time, prettily proud, little developed, full of vanity and self-adoration’. Benefiting from financial security, Glinka did not have to work hard for his living. Among other recreations, he indulged a passion for teen-age girls, one of whom, Maria Petrovna Ivanova, he married. He was serially unfaithful to her, so she left him and married another man without bothering to divorce Glinka first. He travelled widely in Europe, absorbing the stylistic mannerisms of Italy and France with ease, and he introduced Leitmotivs into his opera ‘A Life for the Tsar’ before Richard Wagner alighted upon the same idea. Even so, his natural talent was not robust enough to over-ride well entrenched sybaritic leanings. Lyudmila Glinka observed, ‘My brother wrote (music) only when something strong and pleasant acted upon him, be it a woman, nature, the climate, or an outstanding work of art.’ Given an appropriate time-warp, he might or might not be one’s first choice of dinner guest. Either way, the verdict shouldn’t blind us to the artistry and spirit of this winning overture.