Sergei Rachmaninov was born on April 1st, 1873. He was the one of six children in a well-to-do, aristocratic, Russian family. He lived a life tinged with sorrow and disappointments. At a very young age, he was encouraged in his piano abilities by his mother, a professional pianist, and Rachmaninov was later able to obtain a scholarship to the Petersburg Conservatory. To the disappointment of teachers, who recognized his talent, he was an unruly and troublesome student.
In 1885, by recommendation of Alexander Siloti, Nikolai Zverev took Rachmaninov as a piano student in his special school for aristocratic families. Talent, not wealth, was a necessity. Rachmaninov was not eager to move to Moscow, but was comforted by the fact that his sister, Elena, would also be moving there to sing in the Bolshoi Opera House. However, she died before she even was able to travel there. Rachmaninov was devastated.
Rachmaninov’s studies with Zverev were intense and demanding. Practice began at two in the morning, and the students were required to play extremely complicated music from memory for distinguished dinner guests. One piece Rachmaninov learned to play by heart, after only two years of study, was Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, for eight hands, two pianos. Memorization of music was, without doubt, one of Rachmaninov’s greatest gifts.
Throughout his life, Rachmaninov continued his musical studies with various teachers, such as Taneyev. His compositions grew more and more complex, until three happenings in rapid succession, ripped his world apart. Two of his heroes, Tchaikovsky and Zverev, died, and the performance of his first symphony was a disaster, because of a drunken orchestra director. Rachmaninov sank into a deep depression, and after several years, when it become apparent that he was not getting any better, his friends persuaded him to seek help. After three months of intense therapy from Dr. Dahl, Rachmaninov started composing again.
In 1909, just nine years later, Rachmaninov wrote one of his greatest works: His Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor. This piece was, and is still today, considered the most difficult piece for any accomplished pianist to master. Rachmaninov himself, a master of the piano, did not deny having problems with the technical aspect of the piece. The piece was written to be played in Rachmaninov’s first tour of the United States. Played for the first time in New York, it was a great success.
The third concerto is a work of art no matter from which aspect you view it. It has a beautiful melody line that you find yourself humming. It is simple enough to remember, yet varied in numerous ways so that it never becomes monotonous. The technicality is daunting to any musician, but the skilled pianist makes it look and sound easy. The piece as a whole is haunting and tainted with a Russian aura that permeated many of Rachmaninov’s works.
Rachmaninov’s concerto was unique in that it did not fit the style of concertos during that time. Mozart had long ago set the style for any concerto: Three movement form, with contrasting rhythms and tones. This basic form was still used during Rachmaninov’s time, but a more atonal and dissonant sound was being heard in the music, and the scores were written in such a way that the soloist and orchestra were rivals. Rachmaninov adhered to the style of the Romantic period, not so much focusing on the idea of the orchestra playing against the piano, as if in combat, but rather the orchestra and piano complimented each other, more like dance partners.
Today, the 3rd concerto is considered to be ‘the’ piece for an accomplished pianist to learn. It was the piece selected by Olga Kern which won her the International Van Cliburn Competition in 2001. In 2007, it won Alexander Ghindin first prize in the Cleveland International Competition. In the 2006 Hamamatsu International Piano Competition, in Japan, the concerto was played by the third prize winner, Tae-Hyung Kim. It was used by Leif Ove Andsnes as his Russian debut piece. It is a piece mastered by talents from all over the world such as Lang Lang (China), Martha Argerich (Argentina), Van Cliburn (United States), Vladimir Ashkenazy (Russia),Vikingur Olafsson (Iceland), and Jorge Bolet (Cuba). It was also made popular through the movie “Shine,” based on the story of David Helfgott and his mission to learn the concerto.
What is it about Rachmaninov’s 3rd Concerto that makes it such a attraction, not only to pianist wanting to show off his or her technique, but also to those that listen to it? Perhaps a walk through the concerto will help paint the clearest vision of this masterpiece.
The concerto opens with an extremely short orchestral introduction, to establish the rhythm and key signature of the piece. The piano enters at the third measure, establishing the main theme. The theme is a simple, step-wise melody line that is beautiful as well as mysterious. When the melody has been introduced, the orchestra repeats it, with the piano playing complicated arpeggios and trills above it, making it appear that the piano and orchestra have switched parts. The theme grows in intensity and is developed by layering the melody more and more subtly within the development. Rachmaninov’s love of full sounding chords, complicated technique, and a beautiful melody line are very obvious. After the development, the theme is reintroduced and then developed in a way that heads into a totally different direction. Whereas the development in the beginning had contained a sweeter and more sympathetic overtone, the second major development is darker and heavier, as if the music is reaching for it’s highest emotional pull, so as to convey the great emotions it can not put into words. The climax of the second development slowly dies, with the help of light, chromatic scales, and seems to enter into a new world of musical curiosity. This development seems to end on a question mark, rather that a statement. Then the development is further developed into an almost angry or frustrated tone color. In the soloist’s cadenza, the music seems to climb upwards, as though trying to grasp that emotion that it can’t quite express completely. As the climax reaches it’s fullest height, Rachmaninov again used gentle arpeggios to relax the listener, and leads into a gentle melody that makes you want to laugh and weep all at once. This quiet melody subtly leads you into the third repeat of the main melody, and before you know it, you are back where you started. The Allegro unexpectedly ends on a note of mystery.
The second movement (Intermezzo) introduces an entirely new theme, as well as a new rhythm and tone. The orchestra plays a long introduction, which has a great feeling of the lowest depths of sadness. When the piano finally enters, it is on a note of a heavier sadness, as though one is angry at the same time. The pianist has a brief moment to explain the pain and the orchestra reenters, as if to quiet the piano with a calmer descant. The piano seems to agree to calm, though a burst of anger seems to come through, as if it cannot not be completely calmed. It is an unexpected emotion in this movement, because it started so quietly. As the melody develops, however, the huge chords take on a different light, the sound seeming almost painful in musical texture. It further develops into a section that has quick repetition of notes, sound almost like flight, then slowly mellows away from this idea. The orchestra takes over, developing this theme and bringing us back to a sound similar to the beginning of the Intermezzo. This idea is suddenly burst and forgotten when the piano enters with flying scales, octaves, and thick chords. This abrupt change brings you dramatically into the Finale.
The Finale takes on such an unexpected transformation from the Intermezzo that one almost forgets to pay attention to the wonderful developments taking place through the virtuosic technique of the pianist. Almost before you can catch your breath, the pure dramatic display of this new, and yet familiar theme being fully revealed. Rachmaninov’s ability to express so much, and yet not simplify anything in the least, was one of his greatest gifts. He was considered to be a pianist who knew the limits of the virtuosic pianist, and his music pushed for every ounce of talent and technique the performer could possibly muster. It did not transcend the pianist’s ability, but rather it made sure that the pianist could not play without the utmost balance of talent and well-practiced technique. The Scherzando of the Finale seems to briefly move away from the theme, and show off the players technical abilities, then it moves from that into light arpeggios and scales, almost imperceptibly playing a beautiful melody line, which too few performers of the piece seem to recognize. This theme lowers quickly, running down the scale, and into the development of the Finale’s beginning theme. One of the best things Rachmaninov did for this piece was to give the player a rest from the large chorded climaxes and melded into the piece many fragments of lighter developments of the theme. He used this structure well throughout the entire piece, but it is especially noticeable in the finale. The melody is given time to structure itself and is given an almost transcendent beauty as the piano takes its moments to breath and slowly play a small melody line before the orchestra quietly hums the beginning chords and the movement has recognizably begun it’s main theme over again. One can almost feel that the orchestra is holding back slightly, as though afraid to reenter the world of heightened emotions that the soloist is constantly bringing its listener back to; However, when the soloist enters, the orchestra seems to finally give in to the pure magic of rich emotions that only Rachmaninov was able to display in his music. The Vivace noticeably draws it’s listener into a climax with its upward motion and march-like tempo. The orchestra builds up suddenly, allowing the soloist to almost sing it’s melody line from the first movement, which has developed in such a way that it unifies the entire piece together. The listener wonders how the music has reached a place of such naked and vulnerable emotion. As if coming to grips with the emotions themselves, the soloist makes one last climb to the greatest heights of emotion, almost bringing its listener to tears, then brings itself back down, as if resolved to no longer be controlled by sadness and determined to live life to its fullest.
Classical music critics have not been easy on Rachmaninov. His works are so technical that they believe he is too technical. They compare him to the composers who wrote scores and scores of some of the most beautiful music ever heard; and yet one should still consider this: Perhaps it is not the amount of pieces that a composer writes that makes he or she the best but rather the quality of those singularly outstanding works and their ability to touch people in a way that no other music can. Rachmaninov may not have written the most outstanding music, or the best, even, but he did something that no other composer has ever done: He wrote music that defines emotions in their most quintessential form and surpasses what we can put into words.
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