Scheherazade, Op. 35
Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908)
The Sea and Sinbad's Ship (Largo e Maestoso - Allegro non troppo); The Tale of the Kalendar Prince (Lento - Andante); The Young Prince and Princess (Andantino quasi Allegretto); Festival at Baghdad - The Sea - Shipwreck on a Rock surmounted by a Bronze Warrior - Conclusion (Allegro molto)
Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov provided the following terse description of Scheherazade for its première in 1888:
The Sultan Schariar, convinced that all women are false and faithless, vowed to put to death each of his wives after the first nuptial night. But the Sultana Sheherazade saved her life by entertaining her lord with fascinating tales, told seriatim, for a thousand and one nights. The Sultan, consumed with curiosity, postponed from day to day the execution of his wife, and finally repudiated his bloody vow entirely.
Although the four movements could be compared to those of a symphony, Rimsky-Korsakov chose to highlight the exotic and pictorial aspects of his new work rather than its structure and length. In doing so he pinpointed the secret of its remarkable success, also the reasons for its comparative neglect in more recent times. The work has no narrative beyond recurring reminders of Scheherazade’s presence and the Sultan’s threat. Both appear at the beginning. First we hear the awkward, almost dissonant fortissimo associated with the despotic Sultan, melting into mysterious chords, mainly on woodwind. Then we meet Scheherazade, suggested by a solo violin accompanied by harp. The titles of the four movements don’t ‘tell the stories’ that Scheherazade was recounting. Named after some of the tales found in One Thousand and One Nights, they suggest moods – no more than that – giving the composer freedom to summon innovative combinations of sound from the orchestra without being bound to a narrative. Rimsky-Korsakov indulged his genius for musical invention and his flair for creating a sense of the exotic through faux-Oriental melodies and sparkling orchestration. The work was a big hit across the world. The New York critic, Steven Griffiths, explained its appeal:
The reasons for its popularity are clear enough; it is a score replete with beguiling orchestral colours, fresh and piquant melodies, with a mild oriental flavour, a rhythmic vitality largely absent from many major orchestral works of the later 19th century, and a directness of expression unhampered by quasi-symphonic complexities of texture and structure.
A few contemporaries recognised these strengths as being potential weaknesses as well. ‘It reminds one more of a bazaar than of the Orient’, wrote Claude Debussy, and the Manchester Guardian critic, Neville Cardus, dismissed Rimsky-Korsakov as ‘a cultured aromatist’. Others were similarly forthright, pointing out that beneath the gleaming exterior there might not be a great deal of substance. Each of the four movements relies more upon variation and repetition than development, so the absence of symphonic structures and extended musical argument cannot be denied, but should we criticise a cat for not being a dog? The work was clearly intended as an entertainment rather than a treatise, and its power to entertain is undeniable and undiminished.
The glitter of Scheherazade brought its creator fame, admiration and devotion. The critic Paul Serotsky was unable to restrain his unalloyed enthusiasm. Having provided close analyses of the four movements (something omitted here), he owned up disarmingly:
Rimsky-Korsakov was one of my first loves in music. My original LP of Scheherazade was played until it disintegrated, but thirty-five years on the music, now more robustly preserved on CD, still unfailingly evokes the same fantastic images: a wonderful palliative against the stresses of modern life.
Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908)
The Sea and Sinbad's Ship (Largo e Maestoso - Allegro non troppo); The Tale of the Kalendar Prince (Lento - Andante); The Young Prince and Princess (Andantino quasi Allegretto); Festival at Baghdad - The Sea - Shipwreck on a Rock surmounted by a Bronze Warrior - Conclusion (Allegro molto)
Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov provided the following terse description of Scheherazade for its première in 1888:
The Sultan Schariar, convinced that all women are false and faithless, vowed to put to death each of his wives after the first nuptial night. But the Sultana Sheherazade saved her life by entertaining her lord with fascinating tales, told seriatim, for a thousand and one nights. The Sultan, consumed with curiosity, postponed from day to day the execution of his wife, and finally repudiated his bloody vow entirely.
Although the four movements could be compared to those of a symphony, Rimsky-Korsakov chose to highlight the exotic and pictorial aspects of his new work rather than its structure and length. In doing so he pinpointed the secret of its remarkable success, also the reasons for its comparative neglect in more recent times. The work has no narrative beyond recurring reminders of Scheherazade’s presence and the Sultan’s threat. Both appear at the beginning. First we hear the awkward, almost dissonant fortissimo associated with the despotic Sultan, melting into mysterious chords, mainly on woodwind. Then we meet Scheherazade, suggested by a solo violin accompanied by harp. The titles of the four movements don’t ‘tell the stories’ that Scheherazade was recounting. Named after some of the tales found in One Thousand and One Nights, they suggest moods – no more than that – giving the composer freedom to summon innovative combinations of sound from the orchestra without being bound to a narrative. Rimsky-Korsakov indulged his genius for musical invention and his flair for creating a sense of the exotic through faux-Oriental melodies and sparkling orchestration. The work was a big hit across the world. The New York critic, Steven Griffiths, explained its appeal:
The reasons for its popularity are clear enough; it is a score replete with beguiling orchestral colours, fresh and piquant melodies, with a mild oriental flavour, a rhythmic vitality largely absent from many major orchestral works of the later 19th century, and a directness of expression unhampered by quasi-symphonic complexities of texture and structure.
A few contemporaries recognised these strengths as being potential weaknesses as well. ‘It reminds one more of a bazaar than of the Orient’, wrote Claude Debussy, and the Manchester Guardian critic, Neville Cardus, dismissed Rimsky-Korsakov as ‘a cultured aromatist’. Others were similarly forthright, pointing out that beneath the gleaming exterior there might not be a great deal of substance. Each of the four movements relies more upon variation and repetition than development, so the absence of symphonic structures and extended musical argument cannot be denied, but should we criticise a cat for not being a dog? The work was clearly intended as an entertainment rather than a treatise, and its power to entertain is undeniable and undiminished.
The glitter of Scheherazade brought its creator fame, admiration and devotion. The critic Paul Serotsky was unable to restrain his unalloyed enthusiasm. Having provided close analyses of the four movements (something omitted here), he owned up disarmingly:
Rimsky-Korsakov was one of my first loves in music. My original LP of Scheherazade was played until it disintegrated, but thirty-five years on the music, now more robustly preserved on CD, still unfailingly evokes the same fantastic images: a wonderful palliative against the stresses of modern life.