Violin Concerto No. 1 in D major, Op. 19
Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953)
Andantino; Scherzo: Vivacissimo; Moderato - Andante
For Russia, 1917 was a tumultuous year. The Tsar abdicated, strikes and civil disobedience abounded, a disastrous war had been waged to the west, and a revolution was erupting. Sergei Prokofiev seemed hardly to notice; indeed, it was an unusually productive year for him with a haul of fine works, this concerto being one of them.
Prokofiev identified four distinct stylistic strands running through his compositions. He called one of these his ‘lyric line’. He wrote, ‘...for a long time I was given no credit for any lyric gift whatsoever, and for want of encouragement it developed slowly.’ He cited this concerto as a good example of his lyric style. When the Russians heard it, they liked it, but that was not until 1925, the problems over mounting a credible première being too great to overcome in 1917. The first performance was given in Paris, where the locals were lukewarm because of its ‘excessive lyricism’. (Igor Stravinsky’s spiky Octet for Wind Instruments, conducted by the composer, was premièred at the same concert.) When this concerto was adopted by the great Hungarian violinist, Joseph Szigeti, it prospered throughout Europe and later in the USA.
The layout and general approach are unusual. Prokofiev dispensed with the orchestral exposition that characterises the first movement of so many concertos, preferring to let the soloist plunge straight in with a song-like melody, discreetly accompanied. The solo violin part is marked ‘Sognando’ which means ‘dreamily’. Although much of the substantial first movement is imbued with this reflective mood, there are virtuosic passages for the soloist and some piquant moments in the orchestration. Rather than recapitulate the opening material note for note, Prokofiev hints at repetition by reusing certain orchestral textures, and offering snippets of previously complete melodies. The result is rhapsodic rather than architectural, but it’s always bewitching, especially the very end of the movement, which features the first flute releasing a rising series of notes, ‘...curling upward like a twist of scented smoke’ as the American musicologist Michael Steinberg described it. The second movement is a scherzo, very much in the insistent style of Dmitri Shostakovich, but that can be no more than coincidence, given that Shostakovich was only 11 years of age in 1917. Again, Steinberg captures the mood: ‘The music, full of contrast, is by turns amusing, naughty, for a while even malevolent, athletic, and always violinistically ingenious and brilliant.’ The scherzo comes and goes at speed, to make way for the final movement, which is largely steady in pace and solid in character yet packed with exquisite musical detail. Bit by bit, it becomes more reflective with reminders of some of the musical material from the first movement. The lyricism returns and, in the final bar, another whiff of the flute’s ‘twist of scented smoke’ tells us the journey is over.
This is a significant 20th century violin concerto, ranking alongside those by Jean Sibelius and Béla Bartók. As in all the best concertos, the virtuosity of the soloist is placed at the service of musical expression, and the listener is left with a feeling that, in some elusive way, an intriguing and beautiful tale has been told.
Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953)
Andantino; Scherzo: Vivacissimo; Moderato - Andante
For Russia, 1917 was a tumultuous year. The Tsar abdicated, strikes and civil disobedience abounded, a disastrous war had been waged to the west, and a revolution was erupting. Sergei Prokofiev seemed hardly to notice; indeed, it was an unusually productive year for him with a haul of fine works, this concerto being one of them.
Prokofiev identified four distinct stylistic strands running through his compositions. He called one of these his ‘lyric line’. He wrote, ‘...for a long time I was given no credit for any lyric gift whatsoever, and for want of encouragement it developed slowly.’ He cited this concerto as a good example of his lyric style. When the Russians heard it, they liked it, but that was not until 1925, the problems over mounting a credible première being too great to overcome in 1917. The first performance was given in Paris, where the locals were lukewarm because of its ‘excessive lyricism’. (Igor Stravinsky’s spiky Octet for Wind Instruments, conducted by the composer, was premièred at the same concert.) When this concerto was adopted by the great Hungarian violinist, Joseph Szigeti, it prospered throughout Europe and later in the USA.
The layout and general approach are unusual. Prokofiev dispensed with the orchestral exposition that characterises the first movement of so many concertos, preferring to let the soloist plunge straight in with a song-like melody, discreetly accompanied. The solo violin part is marked ‘Sognando’ which means ‘dreamily’. Although much of the substantial first movement is imbued with this reflective mood, there are virtuosic passages for the soloist and some piquant moments in the orchestration. Rather than recapitulate the opening material note for note, Prokofiev hints at repetition by reusing certain orchestral textures, and offering snippets of previously complete melodies. The result is rhapsodic rather than architectural, but it’s always bewitching, especially the very end of the movement, which features the first flute releasing a rising series of notes, ‘...curling upward like a twist of scented smoke’ as the American musicologist Michael Steinberg described it. The second movement is a scherzo, very much in the insistent style of Dmitri Shostakovich, but that can be no more than coincidence, given that Shostakovich was only 11 years of age in 1917. Again, Steinberg captures the mood: ‘The music, full of contrast, is by turns amusing, naughty, for a while even malevolent, athletic, and always violinistically ingenious and brilliant.’ The scherzo comes and goes at speed, to make way for the final movement, which is largely steady in pace and solid in character yet packed with exquisite musical detail. Bit by bit, it becomes more reflective with reminders of some of the musical material from the first movement. The lyricism returns and, in the final bar, another whiff of the flute’s ‘twist of scented smoke’ tells us the journey is over.
This is a significant 20th century violin concerto, ranking alongside those by Jean Sibelius and Béla Bartók. As in all the best concertos, the virtuosity of the soloist is placed at the service of musical expression, and the listener is left with a feeling that, in some elusive way, an intriguing and beautiful tale has been told.