Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 35
Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky (1840-93)
Allegro moderato; Canzonetta: Andante; Finale: Allegro vivacissimo
The three years between the completion of the score and the first performance of Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto were punctuated by moments of personal, musical and political turmoil, as was the aftermath. Few concertos have struggled this hard to reach an audience and to gain acceptance. Because his disastrous marriage to Antonina Miliukova had provoked such a deep depression, Tchaikovsky fled to a resort on the shore of Lake Geneva to recuperate and to compose. He was joined there by the virtuoso violinist Iosef Kotek, and together they worked on the Violin Concerto. They teamed up in other ways as well, to a point where friends felt that Kotek should not play the solo part at the première for fear his intimacy with Tchaikovsky might become known and provoke a scandal. Other leading virtuosi were reluctant to take it on for a variety of reasons. The first performance was eventually undertaken by Adolph Brodsky on December 4, 1881 in Vienna, under the baton of Hans Richter, but there was more trouble to come.
Johannes Brahms’s violin concerto had been premièred one year earlier, so comparisons were inevitable. This is where the politics (well, musical politics) come in. The influential critic, Eduard Hanslick, was a devotee of Brahms and therefore hostile to almost everyone else. This time, Tchaikovsky was the victim of Hanslick’s venom: ‘Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto poses for the first time the appalling notion that there can be works of music that stink to the ear.’ Gleefully, other Viennese critics joined the attack: ‘Such a piece of music, made up of motley bits of phrases stitched together, might be neo-German, but it is under any circumstances repulsive and barbaric…’ (Wörz); ‘Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto sounds, in its brutal genius, in its abolition of all formal limits, like a rhapsody of nihilism’ (Königstern). It was Jean Sibelius who remarked that no-one had ever erected a statue in memory of a critic. Several statues have been erected in memory of Tchaikovsky.
A number of hands helped to refine the work, and most commentators agree that the changes have been beneficial. Needless repetitions have been excised, and the solo part has been made more manageable and mellifluous. Tchaikovsky himself jettisoned the original slow movement, replacing it with the ‘Canzonetta’ we now know, written in a single day according to report. The overall result is so appealing, it is difficult to understand how those early critics failed to notice the concerto’s merits. Above all, the work teems with melody. As in the violin concerto by Brahms, the tunes cascade one upon another. Tchaikovsky’s concerto gives virtuosity a freer rein while retaining its potential for sensitive artistry. Listeners need no one to hold their hand to guide them through the three movements because each reveals a formal balance that is easily discerned.
Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky (1840-93)
Allegro moderato; Canzonetta: Andante; Finale: Allegro vivacissimo
The three years between the completion of the score and the first performance of Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto were punctuated by moments of personal, musical and political turmoil, as was the aftermath. Few concertos have struggled this hard to reach an audience and to gain acceptance. Because his disastrous marriage to Antonina Miliukova had provoked such a deep depression, Tchaikovsky fled to a resort on the shore of Lake Geneva to recuperate and to compose. He was joined there by the virtuoso violinist Iosef Kotek, and together they worked on the Violin Concerto. They teamed up in other ways as well, to a point where friends felt that Kotek should not play the solo part at the première for fear his intimacy with Tchaikovsky might become known and provoke a scandal. Other leading virtuosi were reluctant to take it on for a variety of reasons. The first performance was eventually undertaken by Adolph Brodsky on December 4, 1881 in Vienna, under the baton of Hans Richter, but there was more trouble to come.
Johannes Brahms’s violin concerto had been premièred one year earlier, so comparisons were inevitable. This is where the politics (well, musical politics) come in. The influential critic, Eduard Hanslick, was a devotee of Brahms and therefore hostile to almost everyone else. This time, Tchaikovsky was the victim of Hanslick’s venom: ‘Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto poses for the first time the appalling notion that there can be works of music that stink to the ear.’ Gleefully, other Viennese critics joined the attack: ‘Such a piece of music, made up of motley bits of phrases stitched together, might be neo-German, but it is under any circumstances repulsive and barbaric…’ (Wörz); ‘Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto sounds, in its brutal genius, in its abolition of all formal limits, like a rhapsody of nihilism’ (Königstern). It was Jean Sibelius who remarked that no-one had ever erected a statue in memory of a critic. Several statues have been erected in memory of Tchaikovsky.
A number of hands helped to refine the work, and most commentators agree that the changes have been beneficial. Needless repetitions have been excised, and the solo part has been made more manageable and mellifluous. Tchaikovsky himself jettisoned the original slow movement, replacing it with the ‘Canzonetta’ we now know, written in a single day according to report. The overall result is so appealing, it is difficult to understand how those early critics failed to notice the concerto’s merits. Above all, the work teems with melody. As in the violin concerto by Brahms, the tunes cascade one upon another. Tchaikovsky’s concerto gives virtuosity a freer rein while retaining its potential for sensitive artistry. Listeners need no one to hold their hand to guide them through the three movements because each reveals a formal balance that is easily discerned.