Tchaikovsky’s Rococo Variations

A theme and its variations gave Tchaikovsky license to engage his sunny side. They turn up in The Nutcracker, his A-minor Piano Trio, and these two works; in each of them, any gloominess is dispelled by the end. It’s as if the process of turning a theme through various tempos and keys led him always to a happier road. We know he could be overwhelmed with melancholia, but in these pieces, at least, it is hidden rather well. In these two works, as well, they gave him the freedom to use a more compact orchestra: Neither work includes the low brass, and the Variations on a Rococo Theme dispenses further with piccolo, trumpets, and timpani.

The Fourth Suite was Tchaikovsky’s homage to Mozart, and written to celebrate the one-hundredth anniversary of the premiere of Don Giovanni. In the first two movements, Tchaikovsky worked directly from Mozart’s original works, but for the third, based on the motet Ave verum corpus, Tchaikovsky instead used a piano transcription by Franz Liszt. This included an introduction and coda to what Mozart had written. Maybe we can consider this movement to be a tribute from two composers to Mozart. Here are the works Tchaikovsky orchestrated for his suite:

• Gigue in G, K.574
• Minuet in D, K.355
• Ave verum corpus, K.618
• Variations on “Unser dummer Pöbel meint,” K.455

The final set of ten variations takes up more than three-quarters of the work’s length, with Tchaikovsky taking the rather simple and memorable melody and orchestrating it in the primary colors of the Romantic orchestra. The first variation features the clarinet and violins; the second throws in syncopations on the cymbals; the third is a miniature fantasia for the flute; the fourth could almost be the ebullient end to a symphony; the strings take over for the measured tone of the fifth; the woodwinds are again featured in the folksy sixth; the seventh harks back to the intimate sound of the fifth; the eighth adds glockenspiel plinking out the melody over rapidfire repeated notes from the strings; the ninth variation is the longest, featuring a lyrical violin solo; and then finally in the tenth, Tchaikovsky wraps up his shiny suite with a waltz.

Tchaikovsky wrote the Variations on a Rococo Theme for William Fitzenhagen, who also had a great deal of input into its composition. It begins with a gentle introduction, with the solo cellist stating the main theme after a horn solo, and supported by his fellow stringed instruments. Tchaikovsky then writes a brief interlude for the winds, which will serve as bridge throughout the entire work whenever it appears. Unlike Tchaikovsky’s Mozart variations, in this work the eight variations are linked, without strictly defined endings. He usually asks just for a short pause before proceeding with the next variation. Without itemizing each individual variation here, it can be said that the second and final variations are the flashiest, that the third is a gorgeous passage of C major, and that the repeated trills and cadenza of the fifth are absolutely breathtaking. Tchaikovsky could create merriment wherever he desired, and he certainly does here.

© 2011 Marc Geelhoed

A theme and its variations gave Tchaikovsky license to engage his sunny side. They turn up in The Nutcracker, his A-minor Piano Trio, and these two works; in each of them, any gloominess is dispelled by the end. It’s as if the process of turning a theme through various tempos and keys led him always to a happier road. We know he could be overwhelmed with melancholia, but in these pieces, at least, it is hidden rather well. In these two works, as well, they gave him the freedom to use a more compact orchestra: Neither work includes the low brass, and the Variations on a Rococo Theme dispenses further with piccolo, trumpets, and timpani.

The Fourth Suite was Tchaikovsky’s homage to Mozart, and written to celebrate the one-hundredth anniversary of the premiere of Don Giovanni. In the first two movements, Tchaikovsky worked directly from Mozart’s original works, but for the third, based on the motet Ave verum corpus, Tchaikovsky instead used a piano transcription by Franz Liszt. This included an introduction and coda to what Mozart had written. Maybe we can consider this movement to be a tribute from two composers to Mozart. Here are the works Tchaikovsky orchestrated for his suite:

• Gigue in G, K.574
• Minuet in D, K.355
• Ave verum corpus, K.618
• Variations on “Unser dummer Pöbel meint,” K.455

The final set of ten variations takes up more than three-quarters of the work’s length, with Tchaikovsky taking the rather simple and memorable melody and orchestrating it in the primary colors of the Romantic orchestra. The first variation features the clarinet and violins; the second throws in syncopations on the cymbals; the third is a miniature fantasia for the flute; the fourth could almost be the ebullient end to a symphony; the strings take over for the measured tone of the fifth; the woodwinds are again featured in the folksy sixth; the seventh harks back to the intimate sound of the fifth; the eighth adds glockenspiel plinking out the melody over rapidfire repeated notes from the strings; the ninth variation is the longest, featuring a lyrical violin solo; and then finally in the tenth, Tchaikovsky wraps up his shiny suite with a waltz.

Tchaikovsky wrote the Variations on a Rococo Theme for William Fitzenhagen, who also had a great deal of input into its composition. It begins with a gentle introduction, with the solo cellist stating the main theme after a horn solo, and supported by his fellow stringed instruments. Tchaikovsky then writes a brief interlude for the winds, which will serve as bridge throughout the entire work whenever it appears. Unlike Tchaikovsky’s Mozart variations, in this work the eight variations are linked, without strictly defined endings. He usually asks just for a short pause before proceeding with the next variation. Without itemizing each individual variation here, it can be said that the second and final variations are the flashiest, that the third is a gorgeous passage of C major, and that the repeated trills and cadenza of the fifth are absolutely breathtaking. Tchaikovsky could create merriment wherever he desired, and he certainly does here.

© 2011 Marc Geelhoed

Rudolf Barshai created this chamber symphony from Shostakovich’s Eighth String Quartet, a work rich in biographical lore. It quotes from six of Shostakovich’s own works and includes the four-note motto that stood for his initials, as well as incorporating themes from Tchaikovsky and Wagner. The motto is heard clearly at the outset: D-E flat-C-B. In German notation, E flat is “Es” and B is “H,” giving us D-S-C-H. Why was Shostakovich mining his own life for this work, at this time?

The story is that Shostakovich was depressed in 1960, having joined the Communist party in September, and then visited Dresden, in what was then Communist East Germany. Viewing the destruction of the Allies’ firebombing campaign, which turned the city to rubble, he was so moved that he wrote this quartet, officially dedicated “To the Memory of the Victims of Fascism.” He wrote it in three days and the quartet became known in the Soviet Union as his Dresden Quartet. The official Soviet line said the quartet was a memorial to the victims of the Axis powers; Shostakovich’s friends claimed it was his autobiography in music, framing his tragic outlook in angry and doleful sounds. Given the difficulty in determining the truth from the Soviet era, in which coded words were often used to say one thing and mean another, it’s nearly impossible to state definitively what a work of art may have “meant.” Probably the best for us to do today is simply to listen, read the evidence as it becomes available, and make our own judgments.

The five movements of the quartet (and chamber symphony) are arranged slow-fast-medium tempo-slow-slow. The composer’s motto is turned into a dolorous near-chorale with an extended viola solo, and the second movement uses one of Shostakovich’s favorite melodies, a furious “Jewish” melody first used in his Second Piano Trio. The third movement’s waltz brightens the atmosphere briefly before the pounding chords of the fourth movement assert themselves violently. Deep sadness characterizes the final movement, with its rising and falling use of the D-S-C-H motto and general soft dynamic. Whether it was war victims or himself Shostakovich was eulogizing, the piece is broad enough to encompass both, as well as anyone we wish to add.

© 2011 Marc Geelhoed

Prokofiev composed the Classical Symphony between 1916 and 1917. It is scored for two each of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns and trumpets; timpani; and strings. The SPCO has recorded the work with conductor Hugh Wolff for Teldec.

At the tender age of 17, Prokofiev played his first compositions in public. His music was immediately condemned as avant garde and difficult to understand, an opinion that suited the arrogant Prokofiev just fine. He was more than willing to trade on the image of a musical renegade. It is intriguing, then, that one of his most famous works is his Symphony No. 1, a piece that looks back to the older style of Haydn and is known by the nickname Classical. Prokofiev wrote his Classical Symphony in 1917, the year of the Russian Revolution. The composer traveled quite extensively that year, partly to escape the turmoil in Russia. It was a fertile time for him creatively, and he wrote and premiered many works on his tour.

Between Prokofiev’s graduation from the St. Petersburg Conservatory and the premiere of the Classical Symphony, he had visited London and met many of the musical figures who were shaping contemporary music in Europe. The idea of using modern 20th-century harmonies and resources in traditional forms like the symphony was one that occupied many composers in the first decades of the 20th century and beyond. But old ideas — particularly good ones — die hard, and Prokofiev’s countryman Igor Stravinsky turned away from modernism toward a truly neo-classical style in Pulcinella and other works. Although the Classical Symphony fits the usual definition of neo-classicism, Prokofiev never admitted it. It was an isolated experiment, he explained, adding that he disliked Stravinsky’s preoccupation with neo-classicism, which he famously called “Bach on the wrong notes.”

The Classical Symphony meshes the classical tradition of clarity and formality with the renegade spirit of Prokofiev’s early works. Classicism was attractive to the unsentimental Prokofiev because it eschewed the overwrought emotion of Romanticism. And so, we hear playful Haydnesque qualities in the Classical Symphony, as well as references to the classical practice of alternating opposites: loud and soft, high and low, gravity and levity. But over and above this, we hear Prokofiev’s 20th-century sensibility, especially his harmonic and rhythmic inventiveness. This experiment — juxtaposing a modern style with the traditional four-movement formality of the Classical-era symphony — allows for moments of parody and humor. Prokofiev claimed that the Classical Symphony is what Haydn might have written had he lived in another century, and any fan of Haydn knows that the older composer would have appreciated the humor and craftsmanship of Prokofiev’s work.

By Christine Lee Gengaro, Ph.D