COMPOSER: born April 1, 1873, Oneg, Russia; died March 28, 1943, Beverly Hills
WORK COMPOSED: Between January and October 1895. Dedicated to “A.L.” (Anna Lodyzhenska)
WORLD PREMIERE: Alexander Glazunov led the Russian Symphony Society in concert in St. Petersburg on March 27, 1897
INSTRUMENTATION: 3 flutes (1 doubling piccolo), 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, bass drum, cymbals, military drum, snare drum, tam-tam, triangle and strings.
ESTIMATED DURATION: 42 minutes
The right person on the podium can make all the difference. Consider the case of 22-year-old Sergei Rachmaninoff, a rising star in Russian musical circles, and the notoriously disastrous premiere of his first symphony. Critic and composer Cesar Cui, one of “The Mighty Five,” a group of Russian composers that also included Mily Balakirev, Alexander Borodin, Modest Mussorgsky and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, was particularly vicious. His review of the premiere has become famous in its own right, particularly the following:
“If there were a conservatory in Hell, and if one of the students were given an assignment to compose a programmatic symphony on the theme of ‘The Seven Plagues of Egypt’ and composed a symphony like Rachmaninoff’s, he would have fulfilled his assignment brilliantly and thrilled the inhabitants of Hell.”
Others in the audience agreed that the performance was awful, but were more sympathetic to Rachmaninoff, like conductor Alexander Khessin, who, recalling the premiere, remarked, “The Symphony was insufficiently rehearsed, the orchestra was ragged, basic stability in tempos was lacking, many errors in the orchestral parts were uncorrected; but the chief thing that ruined the work was the lifeless, superficial, bland performance, with no flashes of animation, enthusiasm or brilliance of orchestral sound.”
A more thoughtful assessment appeared in the April issue of Russkaya Muzykalnaya Gazeta:
“The climax of the concert, Rachmaninoff’s D minor symphony, was not very successfully interpreted, and was therefore largely misunderstood and underestimated by the audience. This work shows new impulses, tendencies toward new colors, new themes, new images, and yet it impresses one as something not fully said or solved. However, I shall refrain from expressing my final opinion, for it would be too easy to repeat the history of Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony, only recently ‘re-discovered’ by us, and which everyone now admires as a new, marvelous, and beautiful creation. To be sure, Rachmaninoff’s first symphony may not be wholly beautiful, integrated and definite, but some of its pages seem far from mediocre. The first movement, and especially the furious finale with its concluding Largo, contains much beauty, novelty, and even inspiration …”
Given Rachmaninoff’s own abilities as a conductor (although today he is best known as a composer, during his lifetime, Rachmaninoff had three successful musical careers: composition, performance, and conducting) with the 20/20 benefit of hindsight, he and his music would have been better served had he conducted the premiere of the Symphony No. 1 in D minor himself. But in 1897, Rachmaninoff was at the beginning of his musical career, and not yet established as a conductor. Logic and convention dictated that a better-known colleague should conduct the premiere of Rachmaninoff’s highly-anticipated first symphony. Unfortunately, the colleague in this instance was fellow composer, pedagogue, and conductor Alexander Glazunov. Although Glazunov had an established reputation as a conductor, Rachmaninoff was dismayed by his lackluster performance at Op. 13’s premiere. Six weeks later, Rachmaninoff wrote to his friend and colleague Alexsandr Zatayevich:
“I am not at all affected by its lack of success, nor am I disturbed by the newspapers’ abuse; but I am deeply distressed and heavily depressed by the fact that my Symphony, though I loved it very much and love it now, did not please me at all after its first rehearsal. This means, you’ll say, that it was poorly orchestrated. But I am convinced, I reply, that good music can shine through poor instrumentation, nor do I consider the instrumentation to be wholly unsuccessful. So two surmises remain. Either, like some composers, I am unduly partial to this composition, or this composition was poorly performed. And this is what really happened. I am amazed – how can a man with the high talent of Glazunov conduct so badly? I speak not merely of his conducting technique (there’s no use asking this of him), but of his musicianship. He feels nothing when he conducts – as if he understands nothing! … If the public were familiar with the symphony, they would blame the conductor … but when a composition is both unknown and badly performed, the public is inclined to blame the composer.”
Others present at the premiere corroborated Rachmaninoff’s opinion regarding Glazunov, whose alcoholism was an open secret in Russian musical circles. (Glazunov’s most famous composition student, Dmitri Shostakovich, recalled that Glazunov habitually kept a bottle hidden in his desk, from which he would surreptitiously sip through a tube during lessons).
Glazunov’s role in the fiasco notwithstanding, lasting damage was done to both Rachmaninoff himself and his aspiring career. As a result, Rachmaninoff sank into a depression so severe he abandoned composition entirely for three years. In 1900, he tried and failed to write his second piano concerto. As Rachmaninoff recounted in his Memoirs: “I did nothing and found no pleasure in anything. Half my days were spent lying on a couch and sighing over my ruined life.” Desperate, Rachmaninoff sought help from a hypnotist, Dr. Nicolai Dahl, who was also an amateur string player. Dahl, using hypnotic techniques, planted encouraging thoughts in Rachmaninoff’s head during their sessions. “I heard the same hypnotic formula repeated day after day while I lay half asleep in my armchair in Dr. Dahl’s study,” Rachmaninoff wrote. ‘You will begin to write your concerto … You will work with great facility … the concerto will be of excellent quality …’ It was always the same, without interruption. Although it may sound incredible, this cure really helped me.”
Rachmaninoff recovered, but the D minor Symphony did not, at least not during his lifetime. Rachmaninoff refused to revise or publish it, and neglected to take the manuscript score with him when he left Russia for the United States in 1917. The orchestral score has since been lost, but some months after Rachmaninoff died, a two-piano transcription of Op. 13 surfaced in Moscow. Not long afterwards, the orchestra parts were found at the Leningrad (formerly St. Petersburg) Conservatory; together these discoveries allowed for a reconstruction of the full score. In 1945, when the refurbished symphony received its first performance since its premiere, audiences and critics hailed it as a triumph.
Fans of Rachmaninoff’s music know that he had a lifelong preoccupation/mild obsession with the opening notes of the Dies irae (Day of Wrath), the plainchant taken from the liturgy of the Mass for the Dead. Rachmaninoff embedded the Dies irae in many of his own compositions, including Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Isle of the Dead, his first piano sonata, and the tone poem The Bells. Many other composers have also incorporated the Dies irae into their music, but for Rachmaninoff this stark, powerful fragment had a lifelong magnetism that kept him returning to it throughout his life.
In the D minor Symphony, Rachmaninoff treated the Dies irae as a behind-the-scenes motivator. He never quotes it directly, but the opening theme of the Allegro ma non troppo, which recurs at the opening of each subsequent movement, borrows the contours of the Dies irae’s rise and fall in a manner that tempts the listener to believe they have heard the actual tune.
Russian-ness permeates this work. Rachmaninoff’s profound connection with and love for the music of his homeland is evident throughout, as is his signature combination of unabashedly lush melodies tinged with melancholy poignancy. His orchestration is effective, showing his skills at handling the multiverse of timbres found in an orchestra. Additionally, Rachmaninoff ventures into bold statements, particularly in the closing Allegro con fuoco (with fire). A confident brass fanfare opens a triumphal march with military flourishes (snare drum and other percussion). This contrasts with ominous muttering in the strings, which riff on that Dies irae-esque fragment so insistently one could swear the gates of Hell were about to open. Instead we hear sweeping themes for horns, in a manner that nods at Mahler and anticipates Shostakovich.
The Czar’s official title was “Czar of All the Russias.” This symphony translates that geographical concept into music with its broad scope, range of moods, shifting colors, and inherent power.
