Symphony No. 2 in E minor, Op. 27
Sergei Rachmaninov (1873-1943)
Largo - Allegro moderato; Allegro molto; Adagio; Allegro vivace
For some mothers the birth of a child is a joy; for others it is an ordeal. If something similar were to be said about composers and their compositions, the gestation and birth of this symphony would be labelled an ordeal. Sergei Rachmaninov’s First Symphony had been a disaster, largely because of the ineptitude of Alexander Glazunov, who conducted it. He was drunk. The fiasco threw Rachmaninov into a depression and a state of non-productivity that lasted for years. The success of his Second Piano Concerto in 1901 created renewed confidence. Was his Second Symphony an outcome of that resurgence, albeit eight years later? Well, up to a point. He composed it in secret and, on its completion, hid the score in a cupboard because he was not satisfied with it. After revisions and prompting from friends, he agreed to a performance, which took place under his own baton in St Petersburg in 1908. It was a triumph, and has enjoyed popularity ever since, though often in abridged form.
In the final movement of his Ninth Symphony, Ludwig van Beethoven quoted extracts from the three preceding movements. This idea caught on, and we find similar instances throughout the repertoire. Hector Berlioz extended the concept by introducing a ‘motto theme’ that recurred in varied forms in his ‘Fantastic Symphony’. He called it an idée fixe; Franz Liszt developed the technique further, calling it metamorphosis; Richard Wagner named the musical cells upon which his giant music dramas were built Leitmotivs. Regardless of nomenclature, the notion of overt ‘organic’ structure between and across movements was widely accepted by the end of the 19th century. Among Russian composers, it was the rule rather than exception. We find it in the symphonies of Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky and Sergei Prokofiev and, of course, Rachmaninov. Although germinal symphonic ideas tended to be motivic, in German music especially, Russian composers had a special penchant for the ‘big tune’ or, preferably, a number of them. It is the broad sweep of melody rather than the musical genome map that accounts for the popularity of many Russian symphonies.
In this symphony, the long first movement reveals Rachmaninov’s mastery of larger forms, his imaginative development of themes set out in the opening Largo, and a finely-judged control of musical suspense. When the big tunes come, the sense of joy and relief are beautifully anticipated and executed. Many Russian symphonies offer a scherzo-like second (rather than third) movement, and this is no exception. The scherzo includes some memorable features, among them a fugue that serves as the ‘trio’ section, and the appearance of Dies Irae from the Gregorian ‘Chant for the Dead’. He used the same melody in his ‘Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini’ and elsewhere. Other composers have quoted the Dies Irae in their otherwise original works, among them, Hector Berlioz, Franz Liszt, Tchaikovsky, Modeste Mussorgsky, and Camille Saint-Saëns.
The third movement unfolds truly gorgeous melodies, some reminiscent of the first movement’s opening Largo. It is this movement that tugs at listeners’ heart-strings, and it is hardly surprising that its main melodies have been ‘borrowed’, for example by Eric Carmen in his 1976 popular song ‘Never Gonna Fall in Love Again’; also by the jazz pianist Danilo Pérez in 2008. The finale, Allegro vivace, resembles Ludwig van Beethoven’s ‘Choral Symphony’ and Antonín Dvořák’s ‘New World Symphony’ in that the main thematic elements of all three preceding movements are recalled and absorbed into the fabric of a tightly-woven musical tapestry. Setting out in dance-like character, the movement offers noteworthy events such as cascading scales in imitation of bells, big romantic melodies and a rousing finish.
Sergei Rachmaninov (1873-1943)
Largo - Allegro moderato; Allegro molto; Adagio; Allegro vivace
For some mothers the birth of a child is a joy; for others it is an ordeal. If something similar were to be said about composers and their compositions, the gestation and birth of this symphony would be labelled an ordeal. Sergei Rachmaninov’s First Symphony had been a disaster, largely because of the ineptitude of Alexander Glazunov, who conducted it. He was drunk. The fiasco threw Rachmaninov into a depression and a state of non-productivity that lasted for years. The success of his Second Piano Concerto in 1901 created renewed confidence. Was his Second Symphony an outcome of that resurgence, albeit eight years later? Well, up to a point. He composed it in secret and, on its completion, hid the score in a cupboard because he was not satisfied with it. After revisions and prompting from friends, he agreed to a performance, which took place under his own baton in St Petersburg in 1908. It was a triumph, and has enjoyed popularity ever since, though often in abridged form.
In the final movement of his Ninth Symphony, Ludwig van Beethoven quoted extracts from the three preceding movements. This idea caught on, and we find similar instances throughout the repertoire. Hector Berlioz extended the concept by introducing a ‘motto theme’ that recurred in varied forms in his ‘Fantastic Symphony’. He called it an idée fixe; Franz Liszt developed the technique further, calling it metamorphosis; Richard Wagner named the musical cells upon which his giant music dramas were built Leitmotivs. Regardless of nomenclature, the notion of overt ‘organic’ structure between and across movements was widely accepted by the end of the 19th century. Among Russian composers, it was the rule rather than exception. We find it in the symphonies of Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky and Sergei Prokofiev and, of course, Rachmaninov. Although germinal symphonic ideas tended to be motivic, in German music especially, Russian composers had a special penchant for the ‘big tune’ or, preferably, a number of them. It is the broad sweep of melody rather than the musical genome map that accounts for the popularity of many Russian symphonies.
In this symphony, the long first movement reveals Rachmaninov’s mastery of larger forms, his imaginative development of themes set out in the opening Largo, and a finely-judged control of musical suspense. When the big tunes come, the sense of joy and relief are beautifully anticipated and executed. Many Russian symphonies offer a scherzo-like second (rather than third) movement, and this is no exception. The scherzo includes some memorable features, among them a fugue that serves as the ‘trio’ section, and the appearance of Dies Irae from the Gregorian ‘Chant for the Dead’. He used the same melody in his ‘Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini’ and elsewhere. Other composers have quoted the Dies Irae in their otherwise original works, among them, Hector Berlioz, Franz Liszt, Tchaikovsky, Modeste Mussorgsky, and Camille Saint-Saëns.
The third movement unfolds truly gorgeous melodies, some reminiscent of the first movement’s opening Largo. It is this movement that tugs at listeners’ heart-strings, and it is hardly surprising that its main melodies have been ‘borrowed’, for example by Eric Carmen in his 1976 popular song ‘Never Gonna Fall in Love Again’; also by the jazz pianist Danilo Pérez in 2008. The finale, Allegro vivace, resembles Ludwig van Beethoven’s ‘Choral Symphony’ and Antonín Dvořák’s ‘New World Symphony’ in that the main thematic elements of all three preceding movements are recalled and absorbed into the fabric of a tightly-woven musical tapestry. Setting out in dance-like character, the movement offers noteworthy events such as cascading scales in imitation of bells, big romantic melodies and a rousing finish.