Sergei Rachmaninoff was born in Semyonovo, Russia in 1873 and died in Beverly Hills, California in 1943. He completed his Second Symphony in 1907 and led the first performance in St. Petersburg the following year. The Symphony is scored for 3 flutes, piccolo, 3 oboes, 2 clarinets, bass clarinet, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, percussion, and strings. Duration: 43 minutes.

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Rachmaninoff’s First Symphony was a disaster. The players didn’t like it, the conductor of the premiere—allegedly drunk on the podium—didn’t like it, the audience didn’t like it, even Rachmaninoff didn’t like it. The critics savaged it: one said it “would have delighted the inhabitants of Hell.”

Rachmaninoff fell into a deep depression and began drinking heavily. Every morsel of confidence he had in his compositional ability vanished, and he didn’t compose a note for three years. Eventually, at the urging of his family, Rachmaninoff saw a hypnotist, and his creative logjam was broken.

The first work the rejuvenated Rachmaninoff composed was his Piano Concerto No. 2, which became one of the most popular concertos ever written. His career soared, and Rachmaninoff was in-demand as a composer, conductor, and pianist all over the world. His many engagements and social obligations left him little time for composing, which is why, in the winter of 1906, he moved his family from Moscow to Dresden.

There he could operate incognito. (When he ran into an acquaintance on the street, he told him, “Please don’t give me away!”) He made good use of his time: in Dresden he composed his First Piano Sonata, The Isle of the Dead, his Third Piano Concerto, and his Second Symphony.

Rachmaninoff was still leery of symphonies. “No more symphonies,” he said. “Curse them! I don’t know how to write them, but mainly I don’t want to.”

Be that as it may, his Second Symphony was instantly popular and remains so. The work begins with a dark phrase for the cellos and basses. This music is the motive that drives not just the first movement but the entire work. The main theme of this introduction is derived from it, as is the main theme of the Allegro. This movement is broad, expansive, lyrical, and written on a time-scale not much contemplated by composers anymore.

The Scherzo is athletic and brilliant. After it reaches a mildly humorous falling-to-pieces ending—and we have enough silence to make us take the bait—a loud crash brings an even more brilliant fugal Trio.

The Adagio begins with a full-blown melody seemingly already in progress, but this soon leads to a long, ruminative clarinet melody that is the heart of things. As the movement unwinds it seems never to repeat itself until the clarinet melody returns, this time in the violins.

The Finale opens with a burst of energy and continues in high-octane fashion. Along the way there is a conspiratorial march, reminiscences from previous movements, and a lively capping-off.

It seems a paradox that while audiences in Rachmaninoff’s time were well-conditioned to very long concerts, there was also a penchant for cutting lengthy works. Several conductors refused to program the Second Symphony without making drastic cuts, and Rachmaninoff himself offered a cut version and was obligated to “approve” others. Nowadays, in part because of the original-instrument original-version movement—a paradox again—this is nearly unheard of. So while hardly anyone heard the Second Symphony the way Rachmaninoff wrote it before the 1970s, today we almost always hear every note—and a good thing, too.

                                                      © Mark Rohr 2008