EXPLORING MUSIC: AN INTERESTING INTERPRETATION--TCHAIKOVSKY'S 'Pathetique'
David M. Greene
The MHS Review 397 VOL. 12, NO. 1 • 1988
Not long ago, casting about for a term to describe the subjectivity of Tchaikovsky in his symphonic poems, I hit upon' the word omphaloskeptic. I assure you, it is not a word I use every day. In fact, up to that point I had never heard of it. Operating on a hunch, and recalling that omphalos was the Greek word for navel, I consulted the Unabridged and there it was. (Had my mind been in the Latin mode, I should have had no luck.) Anyhow, when it appeared in print, it exerted a strange appeal on members of the administration of the university where I work, and now they go about muttering it under their breaths. God knows what the donors think! (Note: -skeptic comes from Greek skepsis = "the act of viewing or contemplating." And, if you're interested, omphalitis is an unpleasant avian disease known to the trade as "mushy chick.")
Not all of Piotr Ilyich's symphonies, in my opinion, qualify as omphaloskeptic, but nos. 4 and 5 seem to me to turn increasingly inward, and there is no doubt at all about no. 6. Some composers seem to get something akin to writer's block as they approach or pass the magic goal of nine set by Beethoven: Schubert, Dvorak, Bruckner, Mahler, Sibelius, for example. For Tchaikovsky six seems to have been the charm.
He began work on his sixth symphony in May 1892, and by late October he was ready to begin its orchestration. But on December 16, he wrote his nephew and heir, Vladimir Lvovich ("Bob") Davidov, from Berlin that, having given the work an objective scrutiny, he had torn up the manuscript, since the whole thing had been a matter merely of writing to be writing. (We now know that he was doing a bit of self-dramatization: he used some of the material for his third piano concerto, and Semyon Bogatiryov [1890-1960] "reconstructed" a "7th Symphony" from that and other manuscript material.)
On the 10th of February of the next year (which was to be his last) he wrote his brother Anatol that he was hard at work on a new symphony, which was much more to his liking. The next day he confided to "Bob" that it would have a program, which, however, would remain known only to its creator. He had conceived the idea, he said, while traveling, adding significantly that "it is completely saturated with myself and quite often during my journey I cried profusely.'' In a later missive he noted that he was suffering from verbally inexpressible distress and anguish, though they found musical expression Ill the symphony. (He also complained ol bellyaches and wobbly legs.)
No one knows for sure what the program was, though there is little doubt that it was a very gloomy affair. Even the two middle movements, a limping waltz in 5/4 time and a brilliant march, which one, might suppose relatively lightherted strike one as haunted and feverish. There is a descending scale-passage in the first movement that comes to characterize the whole symphony. Years ago a concatenation of circumstances convinced me it was the key to the program.
Tchaikovsky's visit to New York was in connection with the opening of Carnegie Hall. He was, as noted, a great weeper, and apparently wept copiously while there. Fifty years later I took vocal lessons four flights up in Carnegie. Every time I hear the passage in question, I see Peter Ilyich stumpling down those stairs, weeping copiously. Beyond such nonsense, the only other key that we have is the subtitlt·, "Pathetique," suggested by brother Modest. Its actual meaning has more to do with suffering than it does with our notion of pathos.
I should not have thought of Kurt Masur as my chosen candidate to lead this symphony, but I must say that his interpretation is an interesting one. There is nothing stodgy about it, and he makes the two fast movements positively manic. My review copy was a compact disc. I like to play ( I is at a fair volume and I must say that when Masur launched into the Allegro of the first movement I thought the speakers had exploded. Wow!
Not long ago, casting about for a term to describe the subjectivity of Tchaikovsky in his symphonic poems, I hit upon' the word omphaloskeptic. I assure you, it is not a word I use every day. In fact, up to that point I had never heard of it. Operating on a hunch, and recalling that omphalos was the Greek word for navel, I consulted the Unabridged and there it was. (Had my mind been in the Latin mode, I should have had no luck.) Anyhow, when it appeared in print, it exerted a strange appeal on members of the administration of the university where I work, and now they go about muttering it under their breaths. God knows what the donors think! (Note: -skeptic comes from Greek skepsis = "the act of viewing or contemplating." And, if you're interested, omphalitis is an unpleasant avian disease known to the trade as "mushy chick.")
Not all of Piotr Ilyich's symphonies, in my opinion, qualify as omphaloskeptic, but nos. 4 and 5 seem to me to turn increasingly inward, and there is no doubt at all about no. 6. Some composers seem to get something akin to writer's block as they approach or pass the magic goal of nine set by Beethoven: Schubert, Dvorak, Bruckner, Mahler, Sibelius, for example. For Tchaikovsky six seems to have been the charm.
He began work on his sixth symphony in May 1892, and by late October he was ready to begin its orchestration. But on December 16, he wrote his nephew and heir, Vladimir Lvovich ("Bob") Davidov, from Berlin that, having given the work an objective scrutiny, he had torn up the manuscript, since the whole thing had been a matter merely of writing to be writing. (We now know that he was doing a bit of self-dramatization: he used some of the material for his third piano concerto, and Semyon Bogatiryov [1890-1960] "reconstructed" a "7th Symphony" from that and other manuscript material.)
On the 10th of February of the next year (which was to be his last) he wrote his brother Anatol that he was hard at work on a new symphony, which was much more to his liking. The next day he confided to "Bob" that it would have a program, which, however, would remain known only to its creator. He had conceived the idea, he said, while traveling, adding significantly that "it is completely saturated with myself and quite often during my journey I cried profusely.'' In a later missive he noted that he was suffering from verbally inexpressible distress and anguish, though they found musical expression Ill the symphony. (He also complained ol bellyaches and wobbly legs.)
No one knows for sure what the program was, though there is little doubt that it was a very gloomy affair. Even the two middle movements, a limping waltz in 5/4 time and a brilliant march, which one, might suppose relatively lightherted strike one as haunted and feverish. There is a descending scale-passage in the first movement that comes to characterize the whole symphony. Years ago a concatenation of circumstances convinced me it was the key to the program.
Tchaikovsky's visit to New York was in connection with the opening of Carnegie Hall. He was, as noted, a great weeper, and apparently wept copiously while there. Fifty years later I took vocal lessons four flights up in Carnegie. Every time I hear the passage in question, I see Peter Ilyich stumpling down those stairs, weeping copiously. Beyond such nonsense, the only other key that we have is the subtitlt·, "Pathetique," suggested by brother Modest. Its actual meaning has more to do with suffering than it does with our notion of pathos.
I should not have thought of Kurt Masur as my chosen candidate to lead this symphony, but I must say that his interpretation is an interesting one. There is nothing stodgy about it, and he makes the two fast movements positively manic. My review copy was a compact disc. I like to play ( I is at a fair volume and I must say that when Masur launched into the Allegro of the first movement I thought the speakers had exploded. Wow!