Program Notes

Piotr Illyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)

Piano Concerto No. 1 in B Minor, Op. 23 (1874-75)

Scored for solo piano, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, timpani and strings 

Tchaikovsky's instant acclaim in Europe and the United States must have been something of a mixed blessing for the composer. Although his music was extremely well-received in Russia as well, it was not so unanimously popular. Especially in St. Petersburg, the place the composer looked to more than any other for acceptance and recognition, audiences seemed quite content to reserve their unconditional praise. This must have made it easier for Tchaikovsky's critics and colleagues to so callously rip his music apart. It seemed that with each new work, there were more and more people who thought they could improve it and had no problem saying so. Tchaikovsky even found some of these comments helpful and implemented a few of them into several of his earlier works. Others he found pretentious, annoying or simply rude, and his delicate temperament found it hard to cope.

But this one really hurt.

Nicolai Rubinstein, brother of the famous pianist Anton and a very dear friend of Tchaikovsky, led many premiers of the great Russian's music including his first four symphonies, Romeo and Juliet and Variations on a Rococo Theme . It was to him that Tchaikovsky dedicated his first piano concerto and had every intention that Rubinstein should play it himself at the premier. But what happened when Tchaikovsky submitted the work to Rubinstein for his suggestions shocked the composer to the core. In Tchaikovsky's own words:

I played the first movement. Not a single word, not a single comment! If you knew how stupid and intolerable the situation of a man who cooks and sets a meal before a friend, a meal the friend then proceeds to eat – in silence! Oh for one word, for friendly abuse even, but for God's sake, one word of sympathy, even if it is not praise! But Rubinstein was preparing his thunderbolt.

Then a torrent poured from Nicolai's mouth, gentle to begin with, but growing more and more into sound and fury. My concerto, as it turned out, was worthless and unplayable – passages so fragmentary, so clumsy, so badly written as to be beyond rescue – the music itself was bad, vulgar – here and there I had stolen from other composers – only two or three pages were worth preserving – the rest must be thrown out or completely rewritten.

I was not just astounded but outraged by the whole scene. I am no longer a boy trying his hand at composition and I no longer need lessons from anyone, especially when they are offered so harshly and in such a spirit of hostility. I need and shall always need friendly criticism, but this was nothing like it, with not a trace of friendliness to the whole proceedings. I left the room without a word and went upstairs. Presently Rubinstein joined me and there he repeated that my concerto was impossible and said that if within a limited time I reworked the concerto according to his demands, then he would do me the honor of playing this thing of mine at his concert. ” I shall not alter a single note,” I replied. “I shall publish the work exactly as it stands!” And this I did.

Tchaikovsky promptly scratched Rubinstein's name from the title page and the concerto's premier, as well as the dedication, was given to Hans von Bülow and performed in Boston's Music Hall, a very long way from St. Petersburg. The work was a triumph and has never left the concert stage since.

The greatest irony, though, in the history of this work was the fact that Rubinstein, in a remarkable Volte Face picked up the concerto not very long after this incident and became one of its greatest champions.

Later, accepting some “friendly” criticism the composer made some revisions to the concerto in 1876 and 1889. The last revision is the one most often performed.

After a brief fanfare, the orchestra begins what has become one of the most celebrated melodies in history, a soaring, stirring, majestic march to which the piano offers its wholehearted support. By the time this theme has finished, the piano, unwilling to play second any longer, takes it up as its own while the strings offer their own support in pizzicato. The theme then becomes a cadenza for the pianist, leading to a bolder statement of the theme led by the orchestra. Suddenly the music is interrupted by a horn call introducing a solemn interlude in which the brass leads the way, coming to a hymnal conclusion.

But it is only when the piano suddenly bursts in with its next passage that we come to a sudden realization. All that we have just heard has been given by way of introduction, never to be heard again in the concerto, and it is only now that the first movement proper has begun. The real first theme played on the piano is rhythmically neurotic and fidgety, such a far cry from the heroism of the introduction that it is almost a letdown. The piano and orchestra take it in turn to make something of this music but eventually peter out to make way for the quiet and lyrical second theme. The theme presents us with a sense of calm that leaves us unprepared for the sudden reassertion of the mood of moving heroism established in the introduction, given in booming octaves in the piano. The development section is taken mainly by the orchestra, at first serene, but gradually increasing in power, which then makes way for the piano's declaration, propelling the music forward toward the recapitulation. In the coda the piano begins with a cadenza that slowly builds and expands with the help of the orchestra, ending the movement with a mighty roar.

The second movement begins with another of Tchaikovsky's ravishing songs, given to the solo flute accompanied by pizzicato strings. The piano enters with its own beautiful contribution and alternates with woodwinds and cello and oboe soli. An unexpectedly agitated, yet engaging middle section follows. The melody is taken from a French song Il faut's amuser, danser et rire , one of the many songs in the repertoire of the Belgian soprano Désiré Artôt, with whom the composer was briefly engaged. A short piano cadenza leads us back to the opening theme and a shortened version of the first section.

The finale has all the fire and brilliance one would come to expect from Tchaikovsky in this kind of piece. The main theme is based on a Ukranian folk melody, treated to Tchaikovsky's own unique alteration. Here the piano dances, the orchestra sings and a good time is had by all. The coda adds just the right touch of showmanship topping off what Eric Blom describes as an example of Tchaikovsky's “honest theatrical ranting.”