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WATCH rte.ie/culture LISTEN RTÉ lyric fm RIMSKY-KORSAKOV Polonaise from Christmas Eve TCHAIKOVSKY Introduction, Melodrama and Dance of the Tumblers from The Snow Maiden Suite TCHAIKOVSKY Symphony No. 1, ‘Winter Daydreams’ David Brophy conductor FRIDAY 4 DECEMBER 2020, 7pm RDS CONCERT HALL 1 Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov 1844-1908 Polonaise (Christmas Eve) Rimsky-Korsakov’s opera Christmas Eve was first performed in St Petersburg in 1895. It is based on a story by Gogol, recounting Russian folk tales featuring the Devil and the mischief he can get up to on Christmas Eve by playing on the imaginations of simple peasants. The opera consists of a number of tableaux in one of which the Polonaise is performed as an act of homage to the Empress. Note by Richard Pine © RTÉ 2 Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky 1840-1893 The Snow Maiden Suite i. Introduction ii. Melodrama iii. Dance of the Tumblers The auguries for Tchaikovsky’s Snegurochka (The Snow Maiden) were favourable, the project re-uniting him with the playwright Alexander Ostrovsky with whom he had enjoyed a long creative partnership. The pair had first collaborated nearly a decade before when Tchaikovsky composed an Overture (his first large-scale orchestral piece) for Ostrovsky’s play, The Storm in 1864. They reunited several times more, Tchaikovsky providing incidental music for another play and Ostrovsky contributing to the libretto of the composer’s now all but lost first opera, The Voyevoda. In the early years of the 1870s, Ostrovsky again provided the libretto for Tchaikovsky’s The Oprichnik, their relationship surviving the composer’s mislaying of the libretto and, in embarrassed panic, substituting his own hastily written text. The faux pas was perhaps ameliorated by the artistic and popular (if not critical) success in 1873 of The Snow Maiden, Ostrovsky’s ‘spring legend’, for which Tchaikovsky had provided the incidental music. Ostrovsky’s play also prompted an opera of the same name from Rimsky-Korsakov in 1881. The play was itself based on a traditional fairytale about the daughter of Grandfather Frost and the Spring Fairy who yearns to feel love but can’t because her heart is made of ice. Its blend of fantasy, romance, imprisoned feelings and aching, unfulfilled emotion were the very ingredients that throughout Tchaikovsky’s life provided the grit that he transformed into musical pearls. 3 In all, Tchaikovsky composed 19 individual cues for Ostrovsky’s play. And did so, as he later recollected in a letter to his patron Nadezhda von Meck, ‘in three weeks, without exerting myself’. It was not an altogether accurate memory, composition having been hindered by an injury to his hand that rendered putting notes onto page painful and protracted. More reliable was another missive to von Meck in which Tchaikovsky described The Snow Maiden as “one of my favourite offspring. Spring is a wonderful time; I was in good spirits, as I always am at the approach of summer and three months of freedom. I think this music is imbued with the joys of spring that I was experiencing at the time”. Liberally borrowing from his abandoned opera Undine and from traditional Russian folk songs, The Snow Maiden boasts a colourful and animated score that adroitly spotlights sections of the orchestra to brilliant effect. Lifted in its entirety from Undine, the atmospheric, scene-setting ‘Introduction’ immediately establishes the sense of sylvan fantasy and the quiet wistfulness and swirling, yet-to-be-unleashed emotional impetus so characteristic of Tchaikovsky’s music. A wash of moody introspection with melancholic strings and drifting woodwinds, the subtle dark silkiness of the ‘Melodrama’ discreetly understates its title with all the sour-sweet poignancy of a love poem read aloud to an absent listener. One of The Snow Maiden’s most popular set pieces, the drunkenly effervescent ‘Dance of the Tumblers’ is a thrilling exercise in propulsive and playful orchestral bravura that shows off Tchaikovsky’s distinctive gift for brilliantly animated orchestration with an irresistibly, if exhausting, spirited gusto. Note by Michael Quinn © RTÉ 4 Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 1 in G minor, Op. 13 ‘Winter Daydreams’ i Allegro tranquillo ii Adagio cantabile ma non tanto iii Scherzo iv Finale (Andante lugubre–Allegro maestoso) When Tchaikovsky embarked on his first symphony in 1866 he was a composer more recognised for his potential than for his achievement. One of Russia’s leading musicians, Nikolay Rubinstein – who was devoted to Moscow’s musical life – had taken the young composer under his wing and given him more than was sufficient to keep body and soul together. This included music-theory teaching, accommodation in his own home, taking him to the theatre and opera, and introducing him to high society. Tchaikovsky’s inexperience in group teaching was a problem, but he found his classes, comprised almost entirely of young women, sympathetic; his shyness receded. With a staunch supporter of Moscow’s musical academic life behind him, Tchaikovsky decided to flex his compositional muscles in the most prestigious musical form of the nineteenth century, the symphony. He did so at a time when there were almost no Russian symphonies of note and the German tradition had entered a hiatus that would only be relieved when Bruckner and Brahms established themselves as the successors of Mendelssohn and Schumann. Tchaikovsky himself had a great deal to play for as his musical achievement so far was modest. With a busy schedule, the fastidious composer had to drive himself hard to create his first symphonic composition; much had to be written in the small hours. Its composition cost him dear, it seems. He thought he was going to die before completing it (we don’t know precisely why he thought this) and he started to suffer from insomnia and severely frayed nerves. At the end of July, according to Tchaikovsky’s brother, ‘all this erupted into a terrible 5 nervous attack, the like of which he never experienced again during his lifetime. The most distressing symptoms of this illness were dreadful hallucinations, which were so frightening that they resulted in a feeling of complete numbness in all his extremities’. Unremarkably he didn’t do much more composition at night after this, but the extreme effort he expended on the symphony resulted in a work that was, by any standards of the time and in comparison with other first symphonies, extremely successful. The effort was worth it then, for the symphony sounds spontaneous and inspired, though he revised it in 1874. Even Tchaikovsky liked it and continued to do so many years later, which was rare for him. Perhaps under the influence of Mendelssohn’s ‘Italian Symphony’, Tchaikovsky gave his one a title, ‘Winter Daydreams’. He also gave the first and second movements individual titles, ‘Daydreams on a winter journey’ and ‘Land of gloom, land of mists’, but they don’t seem to tell us much about the music. The last two are just Scherzo and Finale with no descriptive information. The first movement is exquisitely written with a ravishing orchestral sonority and a deft response to the demands of sonata form. Its themes are short, reflecting the German tradition, and are subject to extensive development. One unusual feature is the extended coda, which follows a misleading winding down of the material, which has been sending out closure signals that are contradicted by a reanimation of the music and a late climax. It’s all very satisfying and points to the fact that Tchaikovsky had little reason to be diffident about his command of musical form. After a dreamy introduction for muted strings, which recurs at the end, the second movement unfolds a lovely melody which might easily be mistaken for a Russian folksong. It is simple music that evolves through repetition and changing orchestration, but nobody else could have written such eloquent, appealing music. The Scherzo portion of the third movement was an orchestration of part of a piano sonata from 1865. Most agree that it sounds better in its orchestral form where its delicate tracery ravishes the ear. For the central section, the 6 Trio, Tchaikovsky writes a waltz, his first major venture, as David Brown writes, into a form that he would use with unparalleled virtuosity in his ballets and other symphonic works. For the Finale, Tchaikovsky breaks out into a sweat, as did many other composers tackling this most intractable part of the symphony. How do you wrap up a four-movement work in a satisfying way? He starts mysteriously at a slow tempo with a Russian folksong, which is later used as the upbeat second subject of the sonata-form Allegro maestoso that follows. Tchaikovsky uses fugato to drive the music along; to bring the work to a triumphant, optimistic close he generates a massive build up to a restatement of the folksong, now dressed as a chorale and very loud. It’s a thrilling culmination for a fine first venture into symphonic form. Tchaikovsky was well on his way to mastery. Note by Simon Trezise © RTÉ 7 David Brophy conductor David Brophy was born in Dublin and is a graduate of the Technological University Dublin and Trinity College Dublin. Following further studies in Ireland, England and Holland, he was appointed Apprentice Conductor with Chamber Choir Ireland and subsequently became the first appointee to take the position of Assistant Conductor with the RTÉ National Symphony Orchestra. A former Principal Conductor of the RTÉ Concert Orchestra, David now enjoys a close relationship with both RTÉ orchestras in addition to regular appearances as guest conductor with the Ulster Orchestra. His career has seen him conduct throughout Europe, Africa, the United States, Canada and China. David has collaborated with many internationally acclaimed soloists, among them Tasmin Little, Julian Bliss, Barry Douglas, Sir Willard White, Martin Fröst, Lesley Garret, Sir James Galway, Lang Lang, Danielle de Niese, Nicola Benedetti, Kim Criswell, Daniel Hope, Dame Evelyn Glennie, Chloë Hanslip and Carolin Widmann.