Program Notes: Nobuyuki Tsujii Plays Rachmaninov

ANTONÍN DVOŘÁK 
Carnival Overture, Op. 92 
BORN: September 8, 1841, in Mühlhausen, Bohemia, Czech Republic 
DIED: May 1, 1904, in Prague, Czech Republic 
WORK COMPOSED: 1891 
WORLD PREMIERE: April 28, 1892, in Prague 

What to Listen For:  

• The sounds of a Czech festival in full swing with cymbals and tambourines adding color to the energetic dance melodies. 

The sounds of a Czech festival in full swing with cymbals and tambourines adding color to the energetic dance melodies. 

Antonín Dvořák was relatively unknown outside of Prague for much of his life. A turning point came at the age of 36, when he submitted a score to an Austrian composition contest and caught the attention of the great German composer Johannes Brahms, who was serving on the jury. Dvořák won the award and Brahms, who was at the height of his fame, used his clout with his publisher to ensure that Dvořák’s music be published and circulated. As a result, Dvořák’s music became widely available, and he gained international recognition as the leading voice in Czech music. His popularity brought about an invitation to direct the newly founded National Conservatory of Music in New York City, and he gladly accepted, eager to explore the roots of American music. 

Shortly before leaving for the U.S., Dvořák composed a group of three overtures titled Nature, Life and Love. Originally conceived as a triptych, he later revised this plan, giving them each separate titles: In Nature’s Realm, Carnival and Othello. Carnival was the most successful of the three, with its infectious exuberance and joyful depiction of festivities making it an instant hit. Dvořák conducted the premiere during his farewell concert in Prague in April 1892. Six months later, Carnival was on the first program he conducted at Carnegie Hall for a celebration of his arrival in America.  

The opening of Carnival Overture is an explosion of raucous energy, with the full force of the orchestra on display. The gentler second theme soars in the violins then transitions to another festive tune with jaunty dotted rhythms. The pastoral middle section features solos from the English horn, flute and violin. This is the music of the “lonely, contemplative wanderer” that Dvořák mentions in his description of the overture; that wanderer comes upon the carnival at night and hears the clanging of instruments all around, “mingled with shouts of joy and the unrestrained hilarity of people giving vent to their feelings in their songs and dance tunes.” 

SERGEY RACHMANINOV 
Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, Op. 18 
BORN:  April 1, 1873, in Semyonovo, Russia 
DIED: March 28, 1943, in Beverly Hills, California 
WORK COMPOSED: 1900–1901 
WORLD PREMIERE: November 9, 1901, in Moscow 

What to Listen For: 

• The exquisite melodies in both the piano and orchestra that unfold, one after another, in quintessential Rachmaninov fashion: exhilarating, nostalgic and heartfelt. 

The exquisite melodies in both the piano and orchestra that unfold, one after another, in quintessential Rachmaninov fashion: exhilarating, nostalgic and heartfelt. 

Sergey Rachmaninov was born into a family of aristocrats who owned estates throughout Russia, yet as he grew up, the family’s wealth was stripped away by the financial incompetence of his father, who sold one estate after another to pay off debts. In 1882, with most of their land gone, the family moved to a flat in St. Petersburg, where the young Rachmaninov began piano lessons. Hardship continued to follow the family as Rachmaninov’s sister died from diphtheria and his parents separated. Sergey struggled in school and was prone to depression, but his talent as a pianist was undeniable and he graduated early from the Moscow Conservatory having already composed a number of successful works.  

By his early 20s, he was gaining a reputation as a composer when the disastrous premiere of his First Symphony sent him into an impenetrable gloom, leaving him unable to compose for the next three years. It wasn’t until he met Nikolai Dahl, a hypnotherapist, that he was able to work through his writer’s block. He later spoke of the experience, saying, “I heard the same hypnotic formula repeated day after day…. ‘You will begin to write your concerto… You will work with great facility… The concerto will be of an excellent quality.’” After three months, he emerged from his treatment with renewed energy and composed his Second Piano Concerto, dedicating it to Dr. Dahl.  

This magnificent work delivers broad, powerful melodies full of passion. The opening chords of the piano ring out with increasing tension while the low F bass note tolls like a massive bell. The piano quickly delves into roiling arpeggios, swept up in the enveloping force of the orchestra as the strings sing the first melody. This swift integration of the piano into the orchestral texture is remarkable. Unlike the majority of piano concertos from the Romantic era, where the piano dominates the narrative, here, Rachmaninov treats the two entities like equals, united in the delivery of this emotionally charged music.  

In the beginning of the second movement, the piano again becomes an accompanist, playing gentle triplets underneath the lyrical flute and clarinet that soar above. The warmth of this movement is a tender respite between the brooding, sorrowful first movement and the virtuosic dazzle of the finale. After building to many climaxes, the piano and orchestra reach a victorious conclusion in the last movement. The resolute nature of this music triumphs over the darkness that began the concerto, in a path similar to Rachmaninov’s own struggle through depression and welcome return to composing. 

BOHUSLAV MARTINŮ 
Symphony No. 6, “Fantaisies symphoniques”, Op. H. 343 
BORN: December 8, 1890, in Polička, Bohemia, Czech Republic 
DIED: August 28, 1959, in Liestal, Switzerland 
WORK COMPOSED: 1951–1953 
WORLD PREMIERE: January 7, 1955, in Boston 

What to Listen For: 

• A musical stream of consciousness weaves together contrasting moods to create a fantasy dreamscape that veers from frenzy to rapture.  

A musical stream of consciousness weaves together contrasting moods to create a fantasy dreamscape that veers from frenzy to rapture.  

Martinů was a shy and reclusive figure who spent much of his life in exile from his Czech homeland, first by choice and later by circumstances brought on by World War II. As a child, he lived with his family in rooms above the town’s belltower and clock, since his father was responsible for keeping a watch out for fires. Martinů spent countless hours in the tower, later recalling the unique sense of isolation as he would gaze out at the country and town below, seeing “everything in miniature, with tiny houses and tiny people moving, creating a kind of shifting pattern.” This large-scale perspective, along with the constant ringing bells and ticking clock, left a lingering impression that would seep into his later compositions.  

After learning violin from a local tailor, he attended the Prague Conservatory and later played in the Czech Philharmonic during World War I. In 1923, he moved to Paris, where he absorbed the trends of the French modernist composers and the neoclassical music of Stravinsky. Experimenting with these newfound influences, he composed many ballets that incorporated elements of jazz as well as an opera based on a surrealist play titled Julietta. He thrived in this environment for many years before the threat of another war forced him to leave in 1940. It wasn’t until after he landed in America at the age of 52 that Martinů composed his first symphony. He received encouragement from his friend and supporter Serge Koussevitzky, who had moved to the U.S. from Paris to conduct the Boston Symphony and was eager to perform Martinů’s music with the orchestra. The accessibility of American orchestras that were willing to play his music was thrilling and Martinů wrote five symphonies in the next five years.  

Work on the “Fantaisies symphoniques” began eight years after his initial burst and was commissioned to celebrate the 75th anniversary of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. It would be the last major piece Martinů composed before leaving the U.S.; by the time he made his final revisions, he was back in France. Inspiration came from the music of Hector Berlioz, the groundbreaking composer whose own Symphonie Fantastique changed the course of modern orchestral music. Like Berlioz, Martinů’s symphony is rhapsodic and personal, a fantasy of imagination. Unlike Berlioz, who provided a vivid storyline for his work, Martinů kept the context of his music private, saying, “I alone know what it is about — all other speculation on the subject is movie fantasy.”   

Martinů does not adhere to any traditional structure within his Sixth Symphony, focusing instead on a fantastical world of instrumental colors. The opening is a tight swirl of woodwind sounds, with a muted trumpet piercing the texture in a fanfare tinged with menace. In a nod to the father of all Czech music, a solo cello plays a melody derived from Dvořák’s Requiem that serves as a thematic seed for the entire work. A series of disparate ideas follow, ranging from frenzy and aggression to rapture and nostalgia, coming together to form a movement of dreamy enchantment. 

The second movement develops the nervous energy from the first movement with a new urgency. Brass and percussion interrupt the perpetual motion with stark chords before strings play another melody that alludes to the composer’s homeland, a small pang of homesickness nestled in the otherwise skittish music. 

The final movement is mournful, with poignant string melodies that are overtaken by the brass, which continue to threaten the peace. Martinů builds to a huge climax that dissipates in a fog, concluding the work with a serene chorale.  

All notes by Catherine Case © 2022