Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra Programme Notes Online

Classic FM Series A Russian Christmas Thursday 7 December 2017 7.30pm Friday 8 December 2017 1.30pm

SERGEI PROKOFIEV (1891-1953) Lieutenant Kijé: Suite, Op.60 Kijé’s Birth Romance Kijé’s Wedding Troika Kijé’s Death Prokofiev was one of the first of the great composers to write music specifically for the cinema. His collaborations with Sergei Eisenstein in Alexander Nevsky and Ivan the Terrible are monuments in the history of the art. Alexander Feinzimmer’s satirical Lieutenant Kijé, one of the earliest Soviet sound films, might not be in the same league as those Eisenstein epics but the scenario appealed so strongly to Prokofiev’s ironic sense of humour that it inspired one of the most engaging of all film scores. It is to the credit of Yuri Tynianov, the author of the original Lieutenant Kijé story, that Prokofiev was engaged for the job in spite of the composer’s original reluctance and in spite of the opposition of some of the writer’s colleagues at the Belgoskino studios where the film was made in the early 1930s. Set in Russia round 1800, the film is about the absurdly elaborate efforts made to cover up a clerical error that added a non-existent ‘Lieutenant Kijé’ to the official list of army officers. Rather than admit to making a mistake, the authorities invent a whole life and

career for Kijé, including a period in exile in Siberia. The magnanimous Tsar Paul I pardons him, promotes him to the rank of general and, to the dismay of his sponsors, insists on meeting him. The only way out of the situation is to have him die a heroic death. The film and its director are now all but forgotten but Prokofiev’s music, which was converted into a concert suite in 1934, is one of the most popular items in the 20th-century orchestral repertoire (alongside Kodály’s not dissimilar Háry János). After a distant bugle call, Kijé’s Birth begins as a miniature march, takes on the impressive panoply of a full-orchestral fanfare, features Kijé’s motto theme in quiet episode for flute and saxophone, recalls the miniature march and ends with an echo of the opening bugle call. Romance (which exists in an alternative version for baritone soloist) is based on the Russian folk song ‘The Grey Dove is Singing’, the melody of which is awarded first to a muted solo double bass, later to a tenor saxophone and finally to double bass and bassoon under an elaborate embroidery of flute arabesques. Although it begins and ends with mock solemnity, Kijé’s Wedding is celebrated most prominently by a cheerfully tuneful solo cornet. Troika (which also exists in an alternative version for baritone solo) is based on an old hussar song which, though grossly distorted at the beginning and the end, supplies the tune for an exhilarating horse-drawn sleigh ride coloured by a variety of jingling bell sounds. Beginning and ending like Kijé’s Birth with a distant bugle call, Kijé’s Death offers a summary of the imaginary officer’s life and career and, at the same time, a brilliantly contrived recapitulation (drawing together) of some of the more attractive material from the preceding four movements. Gerald Larner © 2017 DMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH (1906-1975) Piano Concerto No.2 in F major, Op.102

Allegro / Fast Andante / At a walking pace Allegro / Fast Shostakovich’s effervescent Second Piano Concerto dates from the years immediately after Stalin’s death when he and other ‘renegade’ Soviet artists were gradually being restored to favour. This cheerful work seems to reflect relief at Stalin’s demise and was written as a present for his son Maxim, whose performance of the work on 10 May 1957 (his 19th birthday) qualified him for entry into the Moscow Conservatoire. What a birthday present! The concerto simply brims with boyish cheek and musical mischief, reminding us that despite his rather dour image, Shostakovich retained a keen sense of humour throughout all his struggles with adversity. First movement At the beginning of the Allegro bassoon and oboe introduce a jaunty theme before the piano marks out an equally perky response. Encouraged by the snare drum, the piano then states another theme, one that sounds suspiciously like ‘What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor?’ Suddenly a brash orchestral chord ushers in a more serious mood, but the anxiety is short lived and humour never far from the surface. Even when there is a gloriously bold orchestral climax, Shostakovich seems to be parodying one of his own symphonic habits. For a while the piano is left alone to embellish its earlier opening theme before the music marches, then charges towards the most light-hearted of conclusions. Second movement The sombre opening of the Andante briefly introduces a more shadowy scene but as the piano enters we become bathed in the warm glow of nostalgia. Tender, lyrical and Rachmaninov-like, this is Shostakovich at his most unashamedly romantic. Third movement

Without a pause the outrageous finale bursts into life in irreverent, chattering style. The orchestra muscles in with a competing theme, slightly awkward with its seven-beats-to-the-bar swagger. Thereafter the two themes battle it out in a riotous display, each attempting to upstage the other like father and son during the rough-and-tumble of impromptu horseplay. Anthony Bateman © 2017 NIKOLAI RIMSKY-KORSAKOV (1844–1908) The Snow Maiden: Suite Introduction Dance of the Birds Cortège Dance of the Tumblers “In Rimsky-Korsakov’s scores there is never the slightest doubt about the ‘meteorological’ picture the music is meant to convey. When there is a snowstorm, the flakes seem to dance and drift from the wood instruments and the sound-holes of the violins; when the sun is high, all instruments shine with an almost fiery glare.” The Russian composer’s well-honed orchestrational skills – here eloquently described by his esteemed compatriot Sergei Rachmaninov – are a recurring feature in his output. Whilst his ability to evoke contributes immeasurably to the success of programmatic pieces like Scheherazade and Capriccio Espagnol, it perhaps most significantly emerges as the musical driving force behind his numerous efforts in the opera house. Although The Snow Maiden was only the third such project that Rimsky-Korsakov had turned his hand to, it numbered among his most successful ventures, not least to his own ears; he considered it his finest work, and even experienced something of a creative block in the years that followed its 1882 premiere at the Mariinsky Theatre, St Petersburg. Nevertheless, the composer was still

unable to rein in his own tendency to tamper with his own music, eventually producing a revised version that first aired in 1898. The Snow Maiden was conceived during a particularly happy time in Rimsky-Korsakov’s life, with its first draft emerging during the summer of 1880 while the composer was staying with his wife at a country house they had rented in the village of Stelovo. The rustic surroundings proved particularly inspirational for him as he worked from his source material, an ancient story that had been recorded two decades earlier in a volume of folk tales collected by Alexander Afanasyev, and subsequently been adapted for the stage by writer Alexander Ostrovsky in 1873. Though Ostrovsky’s play had already been underpinned by an incidental score – produced by none other than Tchaikovsky – Rimsky-Korsakov nevertheless recognised the potential to marry music and drama yet further. The eponymous Snow Maiden sits at the heart of this compelling narrative of love, longing and heartbreak. Intrigued by the lives of mortal men and women, the 15-year-old requests leave of her supernatural parents – Grandfather Frost and Spring Beauty – so that she might partake in village life. Though her wish is granted, more barriers arise; heated interest from a number of potential suitors (single or otherwise) eventually leads the Snow Maiden to implore her mother for another allowance: the power to love. Though this petition is also granted, the consequences are tragic. In the midst of her wedding vows, she finds herself caught in the bright light of the sun; with a final bittersweet aria, she melts away, causing the 15-year winter to give way to spring. This orchestral suite unites four scenes from Rimsky-Korsakov’s score, allowing glimpses into the events of the opera. The stillness of the moonlit Introduction sees woodwind birdcalls echo across a snow-capped landscape, icy string flurries interceded by ominous motifs that foreshadow what will unfold. Birds remain a fixture for the second movement, eager woodwind dialogues cajoling the ensemble into more optimistic, and indeed energetic territory. Angular plucked figures and sparkling brass fanfares herald a

jaunty procession in honour of the local Tsar – called upon to appease the outrage of a jilted bride – before boisterous strings whip up the full orchestra into an exuberant, tambourine-tinged dance to accompany the acrobatic entertainers performing at a woodland festival. Richard Powell © 2017 FREDERICK DELIUS (1862-1934) Sleigh Ride The cosmopolitan character of Delius’ music is very much reflective of just how ‘international’ his life became. Although he was born and raised in Bradford, the composer’s parents had previously relocated from their native Germany; before long young Frederick was being sent to various parts of Europe as an apprentice wool merchant, an industry in which his father had achieved considerable success. Nevertheless, Delius’s musical talents – evident from his early efforts on piano and violin – left him feeling divided. Against the wishes of his family, he began to make illicit sojourns to France and Norway in pursuit of both respite and musical satisfaction. Norway in particular became close to the composer’s heart and represented something of a haven thereafter. His affection for the country was only enhanced by the close friendship he struck up with its most famous musical son, Edvard Grieg, and his wife Nina. They had been introduced in Leipzig in 1887, and it was at a Christmas Eve party hosted by the Griegs later that year that Delius took to the piano to air a miniature he had composed entitled ‘Norwegian Sleigh Ride’. Recognising its potential, he began work on an orchestration two years later, incorporating the new version as the second movement of his Three Small Tone Poems in 1890; the work was not performed, however, until 1946, when it was revived by conductor Thomas Beecham as part of a ‘Delius Festival’ that he had instigated in London.

The piece opens in predictably sprightly fashion, with sleigh bells and plucked strings underpinning a nimble piccolo melody that spreads throughout the orchestra. Delius’ subtitle for the work – ‘Winter Night’ – is soon realised through a trance-like lull; the forward momentum of the troika is temporarily sacrificed in favour of a glittering ‘nocturne’, woodwind melodies hovering gently above flowing strings. High spirits are maintained as the reappearing bells send the sleigh back on its merry way, signalling the return of the buoyant theme, ahead of a wistful close. Richard Powell © 2017 PIOTR ILYICH TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893) The Nutcracker: Suite suite chosen by Elim Chan Miniature Overture March Dance of the Sugar-Plum Fairy Trepak Arab Dance Chinese Dance Dance of the Reed Pipes Pas de Deux When Tchaikovsky conducted the first performance of his Nutcracker Suite in St Petersburg in March 1892 no fewer than five movements had to be encored. If the ballet itself was less successful when it was first staged nine months later, it was partly because of a scenario (based on E.T.A Hoffmann’s Nutcracker and Mouse King) which has a beginning and many picturesque events in the middle but no end. It was partly also because the public, hoping to find a whole score packed with such goodies as they had already heard in the Suite, were inevitably disappointed: apart from the Pas de Deux at the end of the present selection, there is little else in the ballet as immediately attractive and easily enjoyable as the eight pieces included in the Suite.

Bearing in mind that the Nutcracker is a relatively short ballet set in a household full of children at Christmas time, the Miniature Overture is both perfectly proportioned and, in the absence of such heavy instruments as cellos and basses, most appropriately coloured. So is the bright little children’s March with its hints of toy trumpets and pipes. The Dance of the Sugar-Plum Fairy from near the end of the ballet features the celesta, an instrument Tchaikovsky had recently discovered in Paris and had imported in secret so that such rival composers as Rimsky-Korsakov and Glazunov would not get to use it first. He makes delightful use of it here, most effectively offsetting its sugary tones with the dark chocolate sound of the bass clarinet and the liquorice of the cor anglais. The contrastingly vigorous Trepak is a traditional Russian dance closely related in style to that in the last movement of the Violin Concerto. The next three movements come from the second act of the ballet where the child heroine Clara and the Nutcracker Prince are welcomed as guests of the Sugar-Plum Fairy in the Palace of Sweets. Clara and the Nutcracker Prince are entertained to coffee in the Arab Dance, the languorously exotic melody of which is derived from a Georgian lullaby, and to tea in a Chinese Dance grotesquely scored for low-pitched bassoons and high-pitched flutes. In the Dance of the Reed Pipes they are offered cakes to go with the coffee and tea: the connection between cakes and the flutes used here is based on the fact that the French word “mirliton” means both a toy wind instrument and a pastry filled with whipped cream. The official Nutcracker Suite Op 71a, as first performed in 1892, ends with the Valse des fleurs, which is one of the most attractive of all Tchaikovsky dances of its kind. On this occasion, however it will be omitted to make way for the next number in the ballet score, an irresistible Pas de deux for the Sugar Plum Fairy and a Prince who might be the Nutcracker Prince or – the scenario is not clear

on this point – a certain Prince Coqueluche. His identity is unimportant, however, since the music for the Pas de deux is of a quality unequalled anywhere in the ballet and would not have been out of place in the composer’s late symphonies. After a harp introduction, its main theme, an eloquently passionate melody descending through an octave, is presented fortissimo by the cellos. It dominates the dance so comprehensively that there is little other thematic interest apart from a woodwind variant in the middle: there can be no diversion from the emotional intensity as Tchaikovsky’s gorgeous melody is passed through all main sections of the orchestra, resourcefully developed and driven to an expansive climax. Gerald Larner © 2017