Seattle Symphony, Rimsky-Korsakov and Alexander Raskatov, March 22, '14

There is one very large question that has been looming in my head for a long time:  Why has there been such an outpouring of music from Russia in the last 150 years?  The astonishingly disproportionate number of both composers and performers that has emerged from that vast, cold country makes me wonder about its musical heritage and work ethic.  Truthfully, this is yet another research project that will have to wait until I can give it full focus; until then, I'll just have to do the best I can with individual artists.

Last Saturday's concert at the Seattle Symphony caught my attention with the title, "Tchaikovsky's Pathetique".  It is true that I probably would have enjoyed this symphony more than the first half of the concert, but as usual, my weakness for new pieces I haven't experienced before tempted me in for Rimsky-Korsakov and Alexander Raskatov.  

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, who is best known to me through his seminal book on orchestration techniques, is not the most original or melodically gifted composer from his time period, in my opinion.  His artistry is certainly something to aspire to, but he has been vastly overshadowed by the great Tchaikovsky, and rightly so.  The incidental music to "The Snow Maiden" was entertaining, but insubstantial.  I remember the melodies were distinct and definite, but I don't recall a single note.  Their programmatic roles were played perfectly, but unfortunately the program itself was never meant to be anything but fairy-tale.

I was impressed with the instrumental interplay; and although I found myself thinking about Ravel's Bolero at times, the conversations in the woodwinds especially had very distinct speaking roles and conferred with one another as individuals, almost arguing, rather than passing melodic ideas back and forth.  I enjoyed the use of traditional Russian folk-songs and elements thereof, particularly the syncopated tambourine and other creative, "snowy" uses of tinkling percussion.  The suite ended with much fanfare, and that, I'm afraid, was that.  It was fun, but not extraordinary.

The evening also featured the US premiere of Alexander Raskatov's Concerto for Piano and Orchestra, "Night Butterlies".  I heard many mixed reviews from the audience afterwards; the general opinion was that it was interesting, but there weren't very many butterflies.  For my part, I found myself having very definite "I like this" or "I hate this" feelings about the various multiple movements.  For the most part, it was Bartok-school (see previous post), with a very pronounced quilted patch style (Theme 1, repeat, Theme 2, repeat, Theme 1, repeat, Theme 2, repeat).  I must admit that I have a pet-peeve against almost all post-Classical pieces that repeat anything verbatim--we are in a musical era where change and flux is a natural part of the language, where musical meaning has deviated from the court-musician model, and although I recognize just how difficult it is to write, let alone learn and perform, highly complex passages with no repetition, I think that it is more important to state and develop concrete ideas.  This is a much longer discussion that is highly subjective, so I'll move on.

True to modern classical works, there were too many effects to mention.  I deeply enjoyed the use of idiophones, as I have an aesthetic weakness for the marimba and xylophone.  For me, these tones have a certain bubble-quality that penetrates the other sounds of the orchestra, but rather than ringing solo (like the glock or orchestral bells), they meld to the other sounds and add a foreign dimension.  Another effect that was commented on more than anything else was the instruction for the pianist to sing during the last movement.  The concept seems very obvious, though I'm not sure who else has done it (another thing to research...) but I would have enjoyed it more if there were words--preferably in an Asian language.  "Ahhh..." is the choral equivalent of a full section of strings in slow counterpoint with a clarinet or horn solo over the top--it's there for atmosphere, not message; but since the pianist was front stage, I felt this effect was inappropriate.

It may sound like I'm taking a very negative stance on this concerto, but in actuality it was fairly enjoyable for its class (20-21st century "classical").  I loved the strong rhythms that came in about 1/3 of the way through, and likewise, 2/3 of the way through there was an effective use of a single, very simple melody that passed between instruments and evolved as it did so.  Although the harsh effects that were inserted between the eerie, floating parts were not enjoyable to me, I found myself considering the direct impact of contrast that they created.  But the point is that I had to think about it to enjoy it.

I'm not so sure that's a good thing.

The Tchaikovsky "Патетическая", which I missed for the most part, to my regret, made that sensation of ambivalence more certain.  I had the chance to sneak into the back for the final movement--and I was spell-bound.  I wanted to cry, yet I couldn't move.  The sheer physical power of that movement made me realize: "If it's truly beautiful, you don't have to analyze it in order to enjoy it".  I'm not saying that modern music cannot attain this standard of beauty, but I think that with the qualifications for originality that we affect ourselves with, much careful thought, and quite a lot of trial-and-error, will be necessary to grasp that high star.  In truth, this movement was written weeks before Tchaikovsky passed away; in all history, there is only one "Symphony Pathétique: Adagio Lamentoso".  How many staves of sheet music were crossed out before this sublimity was reached?  How many struggling composers have failed, so that this one exquisite work from a single man could survive and transport us heavenward?  That is the amount that will be necessary before another such work will appear.

And yet, it is the struggle, not the goal, that contains so much beauty.  A lesson for me.

Cheers,
-G