Rachmaninov (1873-1943) - Symphony No. 2
The Russian
Revolution in 1917, with its abortive antecedent of 1905, has apparently
bestowed a double bequest, musically speaking, on civilisation. Some composers,
like Shostakovich, sat tight, flowering on the stony ground of oppression.
Others, like Rachmaninov, fled to richer pastures. Gardeners know that
it is risky, transplanting flowers while in bloom. To be forcibly uprooted,
and to flee in fear from your homeland must be terrible; how many talents
withered as a result?
The First
Symphony's failure at its 1897 premiere so devastated Rachmaninov that
he became incapable of composing. Fortunately, the ministrations of a hypnotist,
Nikolai Dahl, somehow (though don't ask me how) restored his dented
ego sufficiently for him to resume. The resulting Second Piano Concerto
(1900-1) was an unqualified success. However, all too soon came that other
wrench. In 1906, Rachmaninov fled from Russia. He spent the next three
and a half years in Dresden (reputedly the loveliest of cities), where
he enjoyed the opera, was within easy reach of Leipzig, and continued composing.
The first
product of this period was the Second Symphony (1906-7). Although
he was clearly more susceptible to criticism than exile, the latter's impact
does seem to permeate the music. In fact, it's tempting (though not compulsory)
to infer an autobiographical slant, briefly italicised in the synopsis
below. This symphony's sound-world is remarkable: sombre harmonies complement
orchestration like deeply burnished mahogany, a sound so similar to that
of Franck's Symphonie that I wonder it's not similarly slated. No
matter, it's a gloriously rich sound, an ideal medium for those gorgeously
contoured melodies. Imagine the embers of a huge log fire, beating back
an icy black Russian winter's night. Rachmaninov's music similarly smoulders
redly for ages, and occasionally, with or without warning, flares briefly
and spectacularly.
For many
years, this symphony was performed with many cuts, apparently just to appease
the forerunner of today's “sound-bite” culture. Yet, with the disfiguring
cuts and expansive continuity restored, it seems not a moment too long.
The first movement, certainly, is the sort of music you should absorb through
your pores!
First
Movement - Largo; Allegro moderato: Of gloom and uncertainty in
the homeland. “Gloom” is right: the movement oozes Russian melancholy
(Russians are world beaters when it comes to gloom!). Rachmaninov lays
out a huge sonata form, complete with exposition repeat (sometimes omitted,
even in performances of the uncut version). The long introduction, emerging
from subterranean depths, languorously stews materials which feed the entire
work (though, without study, this is not obvious!). Rachmaninov,
perhaps compensating for the music's homogeneity, telegraphed key structural
points using solo instruments: an oboe introduces the first subject, surging
over sonorous chords, a clarinet heralds the second, its short phrases
sighing memorably. Necessarily the most distinctive, a violin prefaces
a development section culminating in a big climax replete with heavy percussion.
Only the second subject is reprised, running into the coda, a quick march
ending on a curiously abrupt grunt.
Second
Movement - Allegro molto: Of flight, and optimism for the future.
Based on a scherzo form, ABA-C-ABA, this generally avoids wholesale repeats.
By contrast with the first movement, the Russian fire now spits colourful
sparks, although rich chords still abound. Listen out for a little “tiddly-pom”
phrase, which was recalled in the late Symphonic Dances. [A] is
a vaulting horn theme over a scintillating string rhythm, while [B], on
violins, is Rachmaninov at his most drop-dead gorgeous. A loud bang triggers
the chattering trio section [C], which develops a marching character (snare
drum). Near the end, a “Russian Orthodox” style chorale appears briefly,
and enigmatically.
Third
Movement - Adagio: Of regret at what has been left behind. To
describe this movement as a variations on three themes cast broadly into
a ternary structure maybe wouldn't be wide of the mark, but it would completely
miss the point! This breathtaking and unparalleled lyrical outpouring requires
of its listener nothing less than utter submission to its sheer emotiveness.
A verbal prop, should any be needed, is offered by this poetic quotation:
O you who hear, reflect
on all you’ve lost -
And at what cost - while you live on, in fear
That in your sleep fond memory may fade!
Now, wakeful made, attend my song - and weep.
Finale - Allegro vivace:
Of resolution and new confidence. This is another telescoped sonata
form. Adopting a phrase from the lead-in to the first movement's big climax,
the first subject erupts, sizzling, flaring, bristling with vitality, moderated
at its core by a march (woodwind answered by bass strings). A strong modulation
releases the second subject, sung by strings in short, swooning phrases,
momentarily reminiscent of Tchaikovsky. There is here a secret formula,
which Rachmaninov (even more than Tchaikovsky) had off pat and Hollywood
tried to copy, though without success. The development, following a hesitant
hiatus, kicks the first subject around busily, but in relatively subdued
mood. The tension is cranked up to reprise only the first subject. This
twists into the coda. Protracted, powerful crescendi launch the second
subject, soaring into a triumphant “Russian Orthodox” chorale (yes, the
very same!). But even this blazing paean is not the clincher: that belongs
to the first subject's whirling spirit.
.
© Paul Serotsky
29, Carr Street,
Kamo,
Whangarei 0101,
Northland,
New Zealand
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