Piano Concerto in F
George Gershwin (1898-1937)
Allegro; Adagio – Andante con moto; Allegro agitato
Although George Gershwin’s Piano Concerto is the most frequently played of American concertos, it is rarely performed in the UK. The reason could be that it is regarded as neither fish nor fowl. More specifically, it is neither wholly jazz nor wholly classical. It’s a sort of musical hermaphrodite, shunned by some simply for being what it is.
The conductor, Walter Damrosch, attended the first performance of Gershwin’s ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ in 1924, and was impressed enough to commission this concerto soon after. ‘Many persons had thought that the Rhapsody was only a happy accident’, Gershwin wrote. ‘I wanted to show them that there was plenty more where that had come from.’ And this he did to the delight of the audience attending the première in 1925. The critics were less impressed. Some judged it to be a work that had brazenly and inexcusably sullied the concept of ‘The Concerto’.
Gershwin was clear about his intentions: ‘I made up my mind to do a piece of ‘absolute’ music.’ By this he meant the concerto needed no titles, no story, no musical clichés inviting labels. In short, he intended the concerto to be stylistically neutral, and here he was being naïve. Peter Gammond has pointed out that the concerto abounds with jazz inflections. This is undeniable, but cannot be a weakness because Gershwin was such a brilliant jazzer. Alex Ross had no doubt about Gershwin’s genius:
Epitomizing the Jazz Age in every pore of his suave being, Gershwin was the ultimate phenomenon in early-twentieth-century American music, the man in whom all the discordant tendencies of the era achieved sweet harmony.
An air of equivocation has surrounded the work for 90 years, so one might wonder what today’s critical view might be. The concerto is a hybrid – blending styles that have seemed reluctant to emulsify. The ‘classical’ elements are reminiscent of the piano concertos of Rachmaninov, their sweep of romantic melody reaching the heart without troubling the head too much. The jazz is jazz, wonderfully infectious jazz at that, with alluring rhythms and piquant harmonies.
Little of this concerto is either ‘pure’ classical or ‘pure’ jazz. Comprising many so-called episodes that are not always clearly connected to each other, the music oscillates this way and that. Broadly, the slower episodes are more romantically/classically orientated; the faster episodes are jazzier. The first movement contains an arresting romantic melody at its core, surrounded by music that is more strongly influenced by jazz. The second movement offers a mirror-image of this. The flanking sections have a predominantly classical feel. In this movement, hints of jazz are present in the opening trumpet obligato for sure, but the upbeat central section is more overtly jazzy in character. Almost identical in length, these movements offer interlocking opposites: fast – slower – fast (jazz – classical – jazz) in the first movement; slow – faster – slow (classical – jazz – classical) in the second. We would not necessarily listen out for these features as the concerto progresses, or even notice them, but the balancing act stimulates a subconscious awareness of symmetry and arouses an attendant acceptance.
The third movement is half as long as either of the other two. Apart from reaching thrilling levels of energy and exuberance, it could be conveying a message from the composer, couched in musical form, suggesting: ‘This concerto is an encounter between classical music and jazz. Up to now, you have been listening to a finely balanced debate, but we can’t finish by sitting on the fence. One of them has to win.’ By the end, we should know which of them it is, notwithstanding a reprise of the romantic tune just before we say ‘Good bye’.
George Gershwin (1898-1937)
Allegro; Adagio – Andante con moto; Allegro agitato
Although George Gershwin’s Piano Concerto is the most frequently played of American concertos, it is rarely performed in the UK. The reason could be that it is regarded as neither fish nor fowl. More specifically, it is neither wholly jazz nor wholly classical. It’s a sort of musical hermaphrodite, shunned by some simply for being what it is.
The conductor, Walter Damrosch, attended the first performance of Gershwin’s ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ in 1924, and was impressed enough to commission this concerto soon after. ‘Many persons had thought that the Rhapsody was only a happy accident’, Gershwin wrote. ‘I wanted to show them that there was plenty more where that had come from.’ And this he did to the delight of the audience attending the première in 1925. The critics were less impressed. Some judged it to be a work that had brazenly and inexcusably sullied the concept of ‘The Concerto’.
Gershwin was clear about his intentions: ‘I made up my mind to do a piece of ‘absolute’ music.’ By this he meant the concerto needed no titles, no story, no musical clichés inviting labels. In short, he intended the concerto to be stylistically neutral, and here he was being naïve. Peter Gammond has pointed out that the concerto abounds with jazz inflections. This is undeniable, but cannot be a weakness because Gershwin was such a brilliant jazzer. Alex Ross had no doubt about Gershwin’s genius:
Epitomizing the Jazz Age in every pore of his suave being, Gershwin was the ultimate phenomenon in early-twentieth-century American music, the man in whom all the discordant tendencies of the era achieved sweet harmony.
An air of equivocation has surrounded the work for 90 years, so one might wonder what today’s critical view might be. The concerto is a hybrid – blending styles that have seemed reluctant to emulsify. The ‘classical’ elements are reminiscent of the piano concertos of Rachmaninov, their sweep of romantic melody reaching the heart without troubling the head too much. The jazz is jazz, wonderfully infectious jazz at that, with alluring rhythms and piquant harmonies.
Little of this concerto is either ‘pure’ classical or ‘pure’ jazz. Comprising many so-called episodes that are not always clearly connected to each other, the music oscillates this way and that. Broadly, the slower episodes are more romantically/classically orientated; the faster episodes are jazzier. The first movement contains an arresting romantic melody at its core, surrounded by music that is more strongly influenced by jazz. The second movement offers a mirror-image of this. The flanking sections have a predominantly classical feel. In this movement, hints of jazz are present in the opening trumpet obligato for sure, but the upbeat central section is more overtly jazzy in character. Almost identical in length, these movements offer interlocking opposites: fast – slower – fast (jazz – classical – jazz) in the first movement; slow – faster – slow (classical – jazz – classical) in the second. We would not necessarily listen out for these features as the concerto progresses, or even notice them, but the balancing act stimulates a subconscious awareness of symmetry and arouses an attendant acceptance.
The third movement is half as long as either of the other two. Apart from reaching thrilling levels of energy and exuberance, it could be conveying a message from the composer, couched in musical form, suggesting: ‘This concerto is an encounter between classical music and jazz. Up to now, you have been listening to a finely balanced debate, but we can’t finish by sitting on the fence. One of them has to win.’ By the end, we should know which of them it is, notwithstanding a reprise of the romantic tune just before we say ‘Good bye’.