Too Many Cooks: Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1

Too Many Cooks: Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1

By D. T. Baker

 

There’s a bit of old wisdom about the danger of too many cooks and what can happen to the meal. Proving that to be true is part of the story of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto in B-flat minor. Only substitute “cooks” for pianists.

 

Today, that concerto is one of the most, if not the most, often-performed piano concertos in the entire repertoire. Most pianists with an itch to become concert soloists are tripping over themselves to add it to their catalog. It really is that good, and you can find out for yourself when the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra is joined by pianist Illia Ovcharenko and conductor Karen Kamensek on Friday, Saturday & Sunday, May 30 & 31 and June 1. But while Tchaikovsky’s concerto has taken its place among the greats, the road getting there was beset by a number of pianists who seemed determined to get in the way.

 

First, foremost and most famously, there is Nikolai Rubinstein. Tchaikovsky’s friend – supposedly – and gifted pianist, Rubinstein was the performer Tchaikovsky had in mind as he wrote the work, intending that the concerto would not only be premiered by Rubinstein, but also dedicated to him. So driven was Tchaikovsky to write the piece (his first-ever concerto, by the way), he composed feverishly, sketching out the majority of it in only weeks – lightning speed for him. And yet, in one of the worst nights of his life, Tchaikovsky’s heart broke when he played the work for Rubinstein on (orthodox) Christmas Eve in early 1875.

 

Alarm bells were going off for Tchaikovsky as Rubinstein listened in stony silence for the entire work – not once making any indication. Upon its conclusion, however, Rubinstein unloaded. Worthless. Unplayable. Hackneyed. Clumsy, awkward, trite, vulgar. In short, save for a few bars here and there, the work was utterly useless. But Rubinstein wasn’t done yet.

 

He sat at the piano, banging out sections he heard Tchaikovsky play, shouting over them that this wouldn’t work, and that made no sense. It was a torrent of vitriol and invective. Tchaikovsky wrote later of the humiliation he felt. As if offering an olive branch, Rubinstein finally suggested that he could recommend a series of wholesale changes that might – just might -salvage the work.

 

Tchaikovsky would have none of it. “I will not change a single note,” he told Rubinstein. And he didn’t. Fortunately for the composer, the piece came into the hands of the great German conductor and pianist Hans von Bülow. Tchaikovsky had written glowing praise of a performance by Bülow during a recent Russian recital tour, and Bülow was happy to present the work. Tchaikovsky changed the dedication of the concerto to its new champion.

 

The hitch now was that the work would receive its world premiere a continent and an ocean away. The great Russian work was presented by the great German soloist in Boston, Massachusetts on October 25, 1875, while Bülow was on tour in America. Tchaikovsky’s instincts to leave the work as it was proved accurate, as the work was enthusiastically received – so much so, Bülow would write to Tchaikovsky, that the final movement was encored.

 

The concerto’s first Russian performance, however, was far less successful. It took place the following month, in St. Petersburg. Neither the soloist (Gustav Kross) nor the conductor (Eduard Napravnik) were quite up to the work’s considerable challenges, and neither the Russian music press nor Tchaikovsky were happy with the result.

 

Thank goodness, then, for young up-and-coming Russian prodigy, 19-year-old Sergei Taneyev. His presentation in Moscow a month after the St. Petersburg premiere was such a triumph that Tchaikovsky stated that he could not have hoped for a better performance.

 

The rest, as they say, is history. Hundreds of recordings, thousands of performances later, and we can be thankful that Tchaikovsky did not heed the words of Rubinstein. And that he was able to shrug off the lacklustre early presentations that might have doomed the piece. And come to have no cause for regret regarding the world premiere he could not attend so far away.

 

Today, its instantly familiar opening theme, its tender slow movement, and a finale that leaps from whirlwind Russian dance to heartbreakingly romantic music continue to delight and inspire audiences, as it will when it returns to the Winspear stage.

 

There is a footnote to it all. After the concerto had become established, within only two years of its first performances, no less than Nikolai Rubinstein had cause to reconsider his harsh early impressions. He took it upon himself to make the concerto part of his own repertoire, and to his credit, would become one of its greatest champions.