When people think of traditional Russian music, it generally falls into two main categories: grand militaristic marching rhythms and celebratory folk songs. The marches are predominantly played in the minor scale, with low, powerful choral voices and brass sections. The other side of the Russian coin is a fierce celebration of life, with unbridled passion and dance. The humorous Russian folk songs known as “chastushkas,” frequently played on the three-stringed balalaika and accordion, avoid complex harmonies and are often sung in unison with a sense of pure, unrefined joy.
Whether in celebration or deep, melancholic reverie, the music of Russia is tinged with a very distinctive Eastern feel. This is primarily due to the use of the Phrygian scale, which can be found throughout the East from Arabia to India; its flavor can be heard as far West as Spain, where it features in flamenco music. Its influence in Russian music is unmistakable.
Composer Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840–1893) brought a sophistication to the Russian canon that transformed all expectations. He worked during the Romantic Period of classical music—and all that Russian passion fit right in, albeit heavily seasoned with European sensibilities. “Piano Concerto No. 1,” composed between November 1874 and February 1875, is one of Tchaikovsky’s most iconic contributions to the romantic genre, with saturated harmonies, grand, sweeping orchestrations, and one of the most recognizable piano introductions ever written.
Tchaikovsky is one of the few classical composers whose melodies come so easily to mind and pack such a strong emotional impact. This might have something to do with his repetition of melodic motifs, which is very much in the tradition of the folk music of his homeland. The folk influence features much more strongly in his “Symphony No. 2,” which honors the faster rhythms of the peasant dances. It is clear that his genius was closely tied to the emotional power of music.
Although he was a musical child, his education led him into the civil service, and he didn’t enter formal musical education until the age of 22. Anton Rubinstein, who established the conservatory in Saint Petersburg, was a great admirer of Western music, and the cosmopolitan nature of Tchaikovsky’s work likely found favor there.
In one charming story from his letters, Tchaikovsky tells how he came to Moscow to seek advice on his piano compositions from Anton Rubinstein’s brother, Nikolai, and played him the first movement of his “Piano Concerto No. 1.” Apparently, Nikolai didn’t care much for it and went so far as to offer advice on how it could be improved.
Tchaikovsky was adamant, and later wrote that he responded that he “shall not change a single note,” and it seems he was correct. “Piano Concerto No. 1” had its American premiere at the Boston Music Hall (later renamed the Orpheum Theatre) in 1875 and has since been at the top of every performance list, in every concert season, with every orchestra, in just about every country around the world. The conservatory in Moscow, where Tchaikovsky first played the piece for Nikolai Rubinstein, ended up being named in the composer’s honor.
Tchaikovsky composed three of the world’s most beloved ballets, “Swan Lake,” “The Nutcracker,” and “Sleeping Beauty,” and these popular compositions have been featured in countless movies. Likewise, Tchaikovsky’s “Fantasy Overture” from “Romeo and Juliet” has become a cliché motif played for lovers in film and even TV commercials. As overplayed as it has become, it is hardly Tchaikovsky’s fault that he wrote a piece of music that plays in our hearts whenever two people fall in love.
Almost everyone is familiar with the iconic “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” from the “Nutcracker Suite”—a whimsical, delightfully ornate, and truly magical passage of music. “The March of the Toy Soldiers” and “The Dance of the Red Flutes,” also from “The Nutcracker,” each have an almost nursery rhyme-like simplicity that belies how accomplished and inventive they are. If you compare these compositions to the magisterial scale and drama of Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture” (written to commemorate Russia’ s successful defense against the invasion of Napoleon’s Grand Armée in 1812), you may begin to wonder if these were composed by two distinctly different people.
Although “Swan Lake,” the first of Tchaikovsky’s composed ballets, was not well received at its Moscow debut in 1877, it has since become the world’s most famous ballet. “The Swan Theme” is possibly one of the most beautiful, lilting melodies ever written, haunting us to this day. The heartbreaking oboe and shimmering strings, followed by a crescendo of terrifying horns, make this composition an earthshaking drama of tragic, burning sorrow.
Tchaikovsky’s palette moved far beyond the boundaries of any border into the souls of music lovers the world over. He was sincere in his quest to express all that was in him on an emotional level, and it seems the world agrees with his interpretation of what is in our hearts—the ultimate test. He wrote an accompaniment, or perhaps even a salve, for all that might befall us upon life’s road, and it is as magical as “The Nutcracker” itself that this man even existed. All three of his ballets, in particular, set the bar so high that he still is an impossible act to follow.
