Piano Concerto in G major

If any composer found the musical equivalent of the style of the decorative arts of the late ’20s and early ‘30s it was Ravel. In fact, his Piano Concerto in G, which was first performed in Paris in 1932, is an essentially art-deco score. Thinking at one point of calling it a divertimento rather than a concerto, Ravel fashioned a work with the ziggurat angularity, bright colours, geometrical wit and jazzy allusions in vogue at the time.

The work begins with a crack of the whip, bright piano figuration and a cheerful piccolo tune which is later taken up by a brave solo trumpet. On the second solo entry the pianist seems uncertain where to go. There is a suggestion here of a Spanish guitar improvisation and it is really the percussion and a drawling clarinet and trumpet which suggest that the blues might make a better second subject. The soloist generously supplies two such melodies. At the appropriate point in the recapitulation, after the breathless toccata of a development section, a harp and then first horn linger lovingly over the first of the two blues tunes. The piano compensates by basing its cadenza on the second.

The Adagio assai is not as far from the world of jazz as it might seem. As Ravel confessed, the apparently effortless linear continuity of its opening theme was developed by studious reference to the Larghetto of Mozart’s Clarinet Quintet - but not without making clear allusions to the second blues theme of the preceding Allegramente. Introduced by the piano over even quavers in the left hand and later recapitulated by cor anglais, the main theme dominates all but the brief middle section of the movement.

The final Presto begins with a main theme in a four-note geometric pattern, a piano ostinato, and music-hall interjection in alien keys from clarinet, trombone and piccolo. Disparate thematic elements - a gallop on the piano, a horn call converted into flapper tune by the trumpet - are brilliantly integrated with the others in a non-stop continuity of virtuosity involving not only the tireless soloist but also the hard-worked bassoon.

“The music of a concerto,” said Ravel, “should, in my opinion, be light-hearted and brilliant and not aim at profundity or dramatic effects.” Although he did not apply the same principles to the left-hand Concerto in D, which he was writing at much the same time, he was as good as his word in the Piano Concerto in G. In fact, he went one better, reflecting something of the spirit of Mozart and Saint-Saëns, as he said, but also having fun with the popular music of the day. Very much a product of the late 1920s and early 30s, it is an essentially art-deco score reflecting the ziggurat angularity, bright colours, geometrical wit and jazzy allusions in vogue at the time.

The Concerto in G opens characteristically with a crack of the whip and a cheerful piccolo tune - which, according to the composer, came to him on a train journey between Oxford and London in 1928. There is no pretension to profundity here, although the first subject is not without its dramatic effect in the sensational series of piano glissandos before the opening theme is challengingly passed on to a solo trumpet. On the second solo entry the pianist seems uncertain where to go. There is a suggestion here of a Spanish guitar improvisation and it is really the cymbals and the wood block and the drawling clarinet and trumpet which suggest that the blues might make a better second subject. The soloist generously supplies two such melodies. To judge by the reaction of the bassoon, the orchestra prefers the second of them at this stage. But at the appropriate point in the recapitulation, after the breathless toccata of a development section, a harp cadenza and then first horn linger lovingly over the first of the two blues tunes. The piano compensates by basing its cadenza on the second.

The Adagio assai is not as far from the world of jazz as it might seem. As Ravel confessed, the apparently effortless linear continuity of its opening theme was developed “two bars at a time” with frequent recourse to the Larghetto of Mozart’s Clarinet Quintet - but not without making clear allusions to the second blues theme of the preceding Allegramente. Introduced by the piano over even quavers in the left hand and later recapitulated by cor anglais, the extended opening melody dominates the whole movement. When it is absent, in the short middle section, the succession of quavers continues in the pianist’s left hand.

The final Presto begins unmistakably in the spirit of the early ‘30s with a main theme in a four-note geometric pattern, a piano ostinato, and music-hall interjection in alien keys from E flat clarinet, trombone and piccolo. Disparate thematic elements - a gallop on the piano, a horn call converted into flapper tune by the trumpet - are brilliantly integrated with the others in a non-stop continuity which called for as much virtuosity from the composer as he now asks of the tireless soloist and the hard-worked bassoon.

Although it was Ravel’s intention to tour the world as soloist in the Concerto in G, he found that, in spite of intense and exhaustive exercise with the studies of Chopin and Liszt, he couldn’t actually play it. The first performance was given by Marguerite Long - at less notice than she would have liked and with the composer precariously conducting - in Paris in January 1932.

Ravel was a great stylist, not only in music but in everyday life too. He was conscious of the changing fashions and took care to dress accordingly. The interiors designed for him by Léon Leyritz in his little pied-à-terre in Paris would delight the eye of any admirer of art-deco furnishing. If any composer found the musical equivalent of the style of the decorative arts of the late ’20s and early ‘30s it was Ravel. In fact, in spite of the composer’s declared intention to write a work in the spirit of Mozart and Saint-Saëns, his Piano Concerto in G is an essentially art-deco score. Thinking at one point of calling it a divertimento rather than a concerto, Ravel fashioned a work with the ziggurat angularity, bright colours, geometrical wit and jazzy allusions in vogue at the time.

“The music of a concerto should, in my opinion,” said Ravel, “be lighthearted and brilliant and not aim at profundity or dramatic effects.” Although he did not apply the same principles to the more or less contemporaneous left-hand Concerto in D, the Concerto in G opens characteristically with a crack of the whip and a cheerful piccolo tune - which, according to the composer, came to him on a train journey between Oxford and London in 1928. There are no pretensions to depth here, although the first subject is not without its dramatic effect in the sensational series of piano glissandos before the opening theme is challengingly passed on to a solo trumpet.

On the second solo entry the pianist seems uncertain where to go. There is a suggestion here of a Spanish guitar improvisation and it is really the cymbals and the wood block and the drawling clarinet and trumpet which suggest that the blues might make a better second subject. The soloist generously supplies two such melodies. To judge by the reaction of the bassoon, the orchestra prefers the second of them at this stage. But at the appropriate point in the recapitulation, after the breathless toccata of a development section, a harp cadenza and then first horn linger lovingly over the first of the two blues tunes. The piano compensates by basing its cadenza on the second.

The Adagio assai is not as far from the world of jazz as it might seem. As Ravel confessed, the apparently effortless linear continuity of its opening theme was developed “two bars at a time” with frequent recourse to the Larghetto of Mozart’s Clarinet Quintet - but not without making clear allusions to the second blues theme of the preceding Allegramente. Introduced by the piano over even quavers in the left hand and later recapitulated by cor anglais, the main theme dominates the whole movement. When it is absent, in the short middle section, the succession of quavers continues in the pianist’s left hand.

The final Presto begins unmistakably in the spirit the early ‘30s with a main theme in a four-note geometric pattern, a piano ostinato, and music-hall interjection in alien keys from E flat clarinet, trombone and piccolo. Disparate thematic elements - a gallop on the piano, a horn call converted into flapper tune by the trumpet - are brilliantly integrated with the others in a non-stop continuity which called for as much virtuosity from the composer as he now asks of the tireless soloist and the hard-worked bassoon.

Although it was Ravel’s intention to tour the world as soloist in the Concerto in G, he found that, in spite of intense and exhaustive exercise with the studies of Chopin and Liszt, he couldn’t actually play it. The first performance was given by Marguerite Long, at less notice than she would have liked and with the composer conducting, in Paris in January 1932.

“The music of a concerto,” said Ravel, “should in my opinion be light-hearted and brilliant and not aim at profundity or dramatic effects.” Although he did not apply the same principles to the left-hand Concerto in D, which he was writing at much the same time, he was as good as his word in the Piano Concerto in G. In fact, he went one better, reflecting something of the spirit of Mozart and Saint-Saëns, as he said, but also having fun with the popular music of the day. Very much a product of the late 1920s and early 30s, it is an essentially art-deco score reflecting the ziggurat angularity, bright colours, geometrical wit and jazzy allusions in vogue at the time.

The Concerto in G opens characteristically with a crack of the whip and a cheerful piccolo tune - which, according to the composer, came to him on a train journey between Oxford and London in 1928. There is no pretension to profundity here, although the first subject is not without its dramatic effect in the sensational series of piano glissandos before the opening theme is challengingly passed on to a solo trumpet. On the second solo entry the pianist seems uncertain where to go. There is a suggestion here of a Spanish guitar improvisation and it is really the cymbals, wood block, drawling clarinet and trumpet which suggest that the blues might make a better second subject. The soloist generously supplies two such melodies. To judge by the reaction of the bassoon, the orchestra prefers the second of them at this stage. But at the appropriate point in the recapitulation, after the breathless toccata of a development section, a harp cadenza and then first horn linger lovingly over the first of the two blues tunes. The piano compensates by basing its cadenza on the second.

The Adagio assai is not as far from the world of jazz as it might seem. As Ravel confessed, the apparently effortless linear continuity of its opening theme was developed “two bars at a time” with frequent recourse to the Larghetto of Mozart’s Clarinet Quintet - but not without making clear allusions to the second blues theme of the preceding Allegramente. Introduced by the piano over even quavers in the left hand and later recapitulated by cor anglais, the extended opening melody dominates the whole movement. When it is absent, in the short middle section, the succession of quavers continues in the pianist’s left hand.

The final Presto begins unmistakably in the spirit of the early ‘30s with a main theme in a four-note geometric pattern, a piano ostinato, and music-hall interjection in alien keys from E flat clarinet, trombone and piccolo. Disparate thematic elements - a gallop on the piano, a horn call converted into flapper tune by the trumpet - are brilliantly integrated with the others in a non-stop continuity which called for as much virtuosity from the composer as he now asks of the tireless soloist and the hard-worked bassoon.

Although it was Ravel’s intention to tour the world as soloist in the Concerto in G, he found that, in spite of intense and exhaustive exercise with the studies of Chopin and Liszt, he couldn’t actually play it. The first performance was given by Marguerite Long - at less notice than she would have liked and with the composer precariously conducting - in Paris in January 1932. The classic recording made, according to the label, by Long and Ravel after their tour in April 1932 was actually conducted by Pedro de Freitas-Branco, in the composer’s presence and with his approval but without his distracting failures in baton technique.