Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
Concerto for Piano & Orchestra No. 2 in G major, Op. 44
Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky was born in Votkinsk, Russia, in 1840 and died in St. Petersburg in 1893. He composed his Second Piano Concerto in 1879-1880; it was first performed in New York by Madeleine Schiller, piano, and the New York Philharmonic under the direction of Theodore Thomas in 1881. The score calls for solo piano, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani, and strings.
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The Second Piano Concerto by Tchaikovsky has nearly become a footnote. Pianists and music lovers adore his Concerto No. 1 in B-flat minor so much—and it is performed so often—that his Second rarely gets the attention it deserves. That’s a shame, for although the Second Concerto’s virtues are different than those of the First (and they are), they are no less worthy.

Tchaikovsky had hoped that his Second Concerto would be premiered by Nikolai Rubinstein, the director of the Moscow Conservatory and a renowned pianist, conductor and teacher. Rubinstein had once chastised Tchaikovsky for his First Concerto in blistering terms (“vulgar, worthless, unplayable”), though he eventually changed his mind about that work once he saw how popular it was. Tchaikovsky wanted to please him with his second concerto, but he was understandably nervous: “I tremble at the thought of the criticisms I may again hear from Nikolai, to whom this concerto is dedicated. Still, even if once more he does criticize yet nevertheless goes on to perform it brilliantly as with the First Concerto, I won’t mind. It would be nice, though, if on this occasion the period between the criticism and the performance were shorter. In the meantime I am very pleased and self-satisfied about this concerto, but what lies ahead I cannot say.”

Rubinstein did have criticisms to offer, specifically that the work was overly long and the piano part rather episodic. But there was never a chance for Rubinstein to premiere the work, for he died before the first performance. We know that Tchaikovsky made a few cuts when he conducted the work himself, and a severely bowdlerized version done by one of his former students was issued by his own publisher. (Tchaikovsky was not amused.) Ever since a new edition of the concerto’s original score was published in 1949, however, most performances have reflected the composer’s original intentions.

The Concerto’s first movement serves notice that this is going to be a big work with unconventional architecture. The music begins with a muscular march from the orchestra that is soon taken up by the piano. At this point we have already heard two features of this movement and this concerto that set it apart: first, new themes are almost always introduced by the orchestra, not the soloist; second, the piano is frequently segregated from the orchestra, with each working out the music independently of the other. As if to underscore the point, we hear a substantial cadenza-like passage from the piano even before we get to the second, more lyrical theme in the solo clarinet.

This is probably what made Rubinstein call the work “episodic”: the orchestra and soloist tend to advance the music separately rather than together. The development works the same way, with the second of the two extended piano passages qualifying as a truly enormous cadenza. When it’s time for Tchaikovsky to bring back the orchestra and the movement’s big themes, he moves along right smartly; before long, splashes of cascading piano bring us to a quick-and-quirky coda.

The second movement defies our expectations, too. After dark and dissonant strings set a mysterious mood, we hear an extended arioso from a solo violin. This is by turns yearning and noble; as it winds down we expect the piano, but instead a solo cello carries on the violin’s music with the violin becoming a descant. At last the piano enters, alone, to make its own elaboration of the violin theme. After an unsettled middle section the violin and cello return with their own cadenza and lead us back to the movement’s origins. Eventually the triple concerto ends and the piano concerto resumes, the string soloists making their exit and the piano bringing us to the close of this extraordinary movement.

The Finale begins already in high gear, the soloist whirling and dancing its three themes with breathtaking virtuosity. After a surprising full-stop, the music presses on through the brilliant coda.

Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto—perhaps the most popular concerto ever composed—was a hard act to follow. Most criticisms of his Second Concerto seem to revolve around the fact that it is not the same as his First, however silly that may be. Yet when audiences get to hear an all-too rare performance of the Second Concerto they often find that its many beauties—and quirks—are every bit as satisfying.