Rachmaninoff's Independence
M. Zachary Johnson
March 23, 2005
A series of dark, haunting piano chords, gradually growing louder, opens Rachmaninoff's Second Concerto. It leads us into the heavy low notes that make the base of the accompaniment, and then we hear that famous romantic melody played by full strings, the higher tones of the piano accompaniment swirling around it. The listener is wrapped in the sumptuous orchestral sound and carried along by the sustained, lyric melody. The emotional tone is somber yet noble, melancholy yet rapturous.
What kind of man, with what kind of soul, was able to write that Concerto? If you would like to know the answer to that, read "Sergei Rachmaninoff: A Lifetime in Music," by Sergei Bertensson and Jay Leyda, the so-far definitive biography of Rachmaninoff. One aspect of Rachmaninoff's character stands out vividly in the biography: his independence.
Early in the story, we are just getting a picture of Rachmaninoff's development, of his character, and of his personality. At the age of nine, since his family was moving into a cramped St. Petersburg apartment, Rachmaninoff was sent to stay for a while with his aunt and uncle Trubnikov. The Trubnikovs recalled that "whenever one of the family moved to give him a hand with anything, he would push the hand aside with a half-whispered 'Ya sam' (Myself). 'Myself' became his nickname among the Trubnikovs."
Years later, just before Rachmaninoff's graduation from the St. Petersburg Conservatory, the same independence comes through during rehearsals for a performance of student compositions. A fellow student recalled that
"at rehearsals the eighteen-year-old Rachmaninoff showed the same stubbornly calm character that we knew from our comradely gatherings. Safonov, who ordinarily conducted the compositions of his students, would brutally and unceremoniously change anything he wished in these scores, cleaning them up and cutting parts to make them more playable. The student composers, happy to have their creative essays performed..., did not dare contradict Safonov and readily agreed to his comments and alterations. But Safonov had a hard time with Rachmaninoff. This student not only refused categorically to accept alterations, but also had the audacity to stop Safonov (as conductor), pointing out his errors in tempi and nuance. This was obviously displeasing to Safonov, but being intelligent, he understood the rights of an author, though a beginner, to make his own interpretation, and he tried to take the edge off any awkwardness. Besides, Rachmaninoff's talent as a composer was so obvious, and his quiet self-assurance made such an impression on all, that even the omnipotent Safonov had to yield."
In 1897, when his First Symphony was premiered in St. Petersburg and was generally hated as unimaginative, "gloomy" and "modernist," Rachmaninoff wrote in a letter: "I'm 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."
Rachmaninoff "was not a regular churchgoer and did not go to confession, and no priest would marry him without a certificate that he did both these things. And yet Sergei refused to attend confession."
Rachmaninoff was a staunch opponent of modern music, even as it became mainstream in the field of serious music. And he saw through at least one of the ideological confusions that came with modernism. One interviewer "launched a question which he believed he phrased in a manner both crafty and subtle. He asked Rachmaninoff, 'Do you believe that a composer can have real genius, sincerity, profundity of feeling, and at the same time be popular?' Rachmaninoff: 'Yes, I believe it is possible to be very serious, to have something to say, and at the same time to be popular. I believe that. Others do not. They think--what *you* think,' with a long indicating finger and a look of such evident comprehension that Mr. Rachmaninoff's questioner was suddenly left high and dry, with not a word to say!"
Perhaps the most meaningful example of Rachmaninoff's independence is in his musical practice. Composer Nikolai Medtner recalls a concert in 1905:
"I shall never forget Rachmaninoff's interpretation of Tchaikovsky's Fifth Symphony. Before he conducted it, we heard it only in the version of Nikisch and his imitators. True, Nikisch had saved this symphony from a complete fiasco (as conducted by its composer), but then his pathetic slowing of the tempi became the law for performing Tchaikovsky, enforced by conductors who followed him blindly. Suddenly, under Rachmaninoff, all this imitative tradition fell away from the composition, and we heard it as if for the first time; especially astonishing was the cataclysmic impetuosity of the finale, an antithesis to the pathos of Nikisch, that had always harmed this movement."
To purchase "Sergei Rachmaninoff: A Lifetime in Music" and to see other recommendations by M. Zachary Johnson, visit:
http://www.tiadaily.com/php-bin/news/showArticle.php?id=995
What kind of man, with what kind of soul, was able to write that Concerto? If you would like to know the answer to that, read "Sergei Rachmaninoff: A Lifetime in Music," by Sergei Bertensson and Jay Leyda, the so-far definitive biography of Rachmaninoff. One aspect of Rachmaninoff's character stands out vividly in the biography: his independence.
Early in the story, we are just getting a picture of Rachmaninoff's development, of his character, and of his personality. At the age of nine, since his family was moving into a cramped St. Petersburg apartment, Rachmaninoff was sent to stay for a while with his aunt and uncle Trubnikov. The Trubnikovs recalled that "whenever one of the family moved to give him a hand with anything, he would push the hand aside with a half-whispered 'Ya sam' (Myself). 'Myself' became his nickname among the Trubnikovs."
Years later, just before Rachmaninoff's graduation from the St. Petersburg Conservatory, the same independence comes through during rehearsals for a performance of student compositions. A fellow student recalled that
"at rehearsals the eighteen-year-old Rachmaninoff showed the same stubbornly calm character that we knew from our comradely gatherings. Safonov, who ordinarily conducted the compositions of his students, would brutally and unceremoniously change anything he wished in these scores, cleaning them up and cutting parts to make them more playable. The student composers, happy to have their creative essays performed..., did not dare contradict Safonov and readily agreed to his comments and alterations. But Safonov had a hard time with Rachmaninoff. This student not only refused categorically to accept alterations, but also had the audacity to stop Safonov (as conductor), pointing out his errors in tempi and nuance. This was obviously displeasing to Safonov, but being intelligent, he understood the rights of an author, though a beginner, to make his own interpretation, and he tried to take the edge off any awkwardness. Besides, Rachmaninoff's talent as a composer was so obvious, and his quiet self-assurance made such an impression on all, that even the omnipotent Safonov had to yield."
In 1897, when his First Symphony was premiered in St. Petersburg and was generally hated as unimaginative, "gloomy" and "modernist," Rachmaninoff wrote in a letter: "I'm 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."
Rachmaninoff "was not a regular churchgoer and did not go to confession, and no priest would marry him without a certificate that he did both these things. And yet Sergei refused to attend confession."
Rachmaninoff was a staunch opponent of modern music, even as it became mainstream in the field of serious music. And he saw through at least one of the ideological confusions that came with modernism. One interviewer "launched a question which he believed he phrased in a manner both crafty and subtle. He asked Rachmaninoff, 'Do you believe that a composer can have real genius, sincerity, profundity of feeling, and at the same time be popular?' Rachmaninoff: 'Yes, I believe it is possible to be very serious, to have something to say, and at the same time to be popular. I believe that. Others do not. They think--what *you* think,' with a long indicating finger and a look of such evident comprehension that Mr. Rachmaninoff's questioner was suddenly left high and dry, with not a word to say!"
Perhaps the most meaningful example of Rachmaninoff's independence is in his musical practice. Composer Nikolai Medtner recalls a concert in 1905:
"I shall never forget Rachmaninoff's interpretation of Tchaikovsky's Fifth Symphony. Before he conducted it, we heard it only in the version of Nikisch and his imitators. True, Nikisch had saved this symphony from a complete fiasco (as conducted by its composer), but then his pathetic slowing of the tempi became the law for performing Tchaikovsky, enforced by conductors who followed him blindly. Suddenly, under Rachmaninoff, all this imitative tradition fell away from the composition, and we heard it as if for the first time; especially astonishing was the cataclysmic impetuosity of the finale, an antithesis to the pathos of Nikisch, that had always harmed this movement."
To purchase "Sergei Rachmaninoff: A Lifetime in Music" and to see other recommendations by M. Zachary Johnson, visit:
http://www.tiadaily.com/php-bin/news/showArticle.php?id=995
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