Violin Concerto No.2 in G minor, Op.63

Written at about the same time as Romeo and Juliet, not long after Lieutenant Kijé and not long before Peter and the Wolf, the Second Violin Concerto dates from the middle of a period when Prokofiev’s melodic gift was more than usually abundant. It could be that this remarkable flow of inspiration was connected with the composer’s return to Russia in 1934 to live there again after fifteen years abroad. Certainly, Soviet commentators were not slow to draw attention to the “Russian national flavour” of the melody presented by the violin, unaccompanied, at the very beginning of the Concerto in G minor.

Russian in character though it is, the rueful main theme of the first movement was actually written in Paris. But, whatever its origin, it suits the violin perfectly, as do the high double-stopped chords and the racy rhythmic figuration which spring from it in the next few bars. This direct and immediate contrast is fundamental to Prokofiev's characterisation of the solo instrument in at least the first two movements of the work. The same sort of thing happens when, at a somewhat slower tempo, the violin introduces the lovely second subject in B flat major and then runs off again as though it cannot bear the sentiment. In the development section, where it adds elaborately decorative lines or percussively articulated harmonies to thematic allusions in the orchestra, it is scarcely ever still. Lyrical repose is restored, where appropriate, in the recapitulation.

The slow movement is based on a similar contrast, though to begin with the violin is most exquisitely poised on the point of a subtle metrical conflict both between the melody and its accompaniment and within the melody itself. This main theme - which, incidentally, is Russian at least in that it was written down in Voronezh on the Don River when Prokofiev was performing there in 1934 - alternates with episodes which involve the violin in delicate linear interweavings with flute and oboe and in brilliant colour combinations with muted trumpet and horns. In the Allegretto middle section it is energetically involved in exchanges with a variety of orchestral protagonists.

Any idea that the scherzo-like section in the middle of the Andante will require a thoughtful finale in compensation cannot last long. The last movement is a scherzo in itself, a kind of danse macabre, with a sustained display of rhythmic wit, intellectual virtuosity, and technical exuberance. The main theme is a heavily muscular dance tune, introduced in enormous multi-stopped chords by the violin and later associated with a passionate melody on the G string. As well as being thrown against an ingenious septuple episode, in which the violin bounces around a tune on the trumpets, the two main themes are contrasted also with a brilliant variation on themselves in the middle. They are formally recapitulated before they are precipitated into a reckless coda.

Castanets are given a prominent role here presumably not so much in an attempt to pass off the material as Spanish as in anticipation of the first performance, which was to take place in Madrid in December 1935, with Robert Soëtens the soloist and Enrique Arbós conducting the Madrid Symphony Orchestra.