Piano Trio (orch. Yan Pascal Tortelier)

Modéré

Pantoum: assez vif

Passacaille: très large

Final: animé

In the summer of 1914 Ravel went to St-Jean-de-Luz as a Basque and in the autumn returned to Paris as a Frenchman. Like his mother, he was born in Ciboure, a tiny fishing port just north of Spain on the Atlantic coast. Although he was brought up entirely in Paris, he identified more and more in later life with the Basque country, its landscape, its people, its language and its music. The first movement of the Piano Trio, which was written across the river from Ciboure in St-Jean-de-Luz, is an undisguised expression of affection for what Ravel proudly called “my country.” If the opening theme is, as the composer declared, “Basque in colour” so is the whole movement, which preserves much the same exotic modality and hypnotic additive rhythms throughout.

The two middle movements of the Piano Trio are of more structural than idiomatic interest: Pantoum, which takes its title from an elaborate Malaysian verse form, is remarkable above all for the ingenious way in which it combines the two triple-time tunes of the first section with a broader melody in quadruple time in the middle. Passacaille, which is based exclusively on the theme introduced in the bass of the piano, provides a necessary element of stability.

The Final – which was completed after Germany declared war on France in August 1914 and at the same time as the composer was making determined efforts to get himself enlisted for active service – opens with another theme of Basque rhythmic associations, as though it were to be another tribute to the region. But, after a development section ringing with military trumpet calls in the massively scored piano part, it changes direction and expands its expressive scope far beyond local consider­ations to a climax so comprehensive that the three instruments have to resort to orchestral procedures to make their heroic point.

The Piano Trio was first performed in Paris in January 1915 and Ravel was finally allowed to enlist, as a truck driver, two months later.

Modéré

Pantoum: assez vif

Passacaille: très large

Final: animé

In the spring of 1914 Ravel went to St-Jean-de-Luz as a Basque and in the autumn returned to Paris as a Frenchman. The transformation is vividly reflected in the Piano Trio he was writing at the time. What he had begun in March 1914 as a tribute to his native Basque country had by September become a fervent statement of patriotism in the face of tinvading armies at the beginning of the First World War.

The essentially peaceable nature of the first movement is immediately evident in the Basque modal colouring and the hypnotic additive rhythms of the two main themes. The tender treatment of this material, the dramatically passionate development of the first theme and the lingering end to the movement combine in as overt an expression of affection as is to be found anywhere in Ravel’s music.

The turning point in the expressive direction taken by the work comes between the second and third movements. Based on an elaborate Malayan verse form the Pantoum seems to be the solution to another of the daunting technical problems Ravel would regularly set himself. Certainly, the metrical complexity developed during the course of this scherzo-equivalent has no musical precedent. It cannot have been here that, as he confessed while at work on the Piano Trio, Ravel was “weeping over the sharps and flats.” The moral dilemma the outbreak of war had put him in – the choice between his duty to his widowed mother and what he perceived as his duty to enlist in this “most grandiose and the most noble action” – is unmistakably reflected in the Passacaille. The regular cycle of repetitions of the passacaglia theme does not conceal the pain,

The Final – which was completed at the same time as the composer was making determined efforts to get himself enlisted for active service – opens with another theme of Basque rhythmic associations, as though it were to be another tribute to the region. But, after a development section ringing with military trumpet calls in the massively scored piano part, it changes direction and expands its expressive scope far beyond local consider­ations to a climax so comprehensive that the three instruments have to resort to orchestral procedures to make their heroic point.

Modéré

Pantoum: assez vif

Passacaille: très large

Final: animé

In the spring of 1914 Ravel went to St-Jean-de-Luz as a Basque and in the autumn returned to Paris as a Frenchman. The transformation is vividly reflected in the Piano Trio he was writing at the time. What he had begun in March 1914 as a tribute to his native Basque country had by September become a fervent statement of patriotism in the face of the invading armies at the beginning of the First World War. At its triumphant climax, at the very end of the last movement, there are as many as twenty-four bars with all three instruments playing fortissimo, the violinist and cellist occupied at full stretch with sustained high-pitched trills while the pianist clutches handfuls of notes in chords covering five octaves or more.

The essentially peaceable nature of the first movement is immediately evident in the modally flavoured A minor harmonies and the hypnotic additive rhythms of the opening theme. Its Basque colouring is paralleled by that of the second subject which, quietly introduced at a slightly reduced tempo by the violin, is also in the Dorian mode and based on a similar rhythmic pattern. The tender treatment of the new material, the dramatically passionate development of the first theme and the lingering end to the movement combine in as overt an expression of affection as is to be found anywhere in Ravel’s music.

The turning point in the expressive direction taken by the work comes between the second and third movements. Based on an elaborate Malayan verse form (used by Baudelaire in Harmonie du soir) the Pantoum seems to be the solution to another of the daunting technical problems Ravel would regularly set himself. Certainly, the metrical complexity developed during the course of this scherzo-equivalent has no musical precedent. It cannot have been here that, as he confessed while at work on the Piano Trio, Ravel was “weeping over the sharps and flats.” The moral dilemma the outbreak of war had put him in – the choice between his duty to his widowed mother and what he perceived as his duty to enlist in this “most grandiose and the most noble action” – is unmistakably reflected in the Passacaille. The regular cycle of repetitions of the passacaglia theme does not conceal the pain, which is apparent in the arch-form progress from a very low point in pitch and dynamics to a high-placed central climax and back down to the depths again.

Having contrived an ending in A major, the Passacaille leads directly into the Final, which conscientiously takes a melodic hint from the previous movement in shaping its main theme. Purposeful though that 5/4 theme is, it cannot compete with the F sharp major second subject in terms of heroic splendour. In spite of a development section which recalls the grim mood of the Passacaille and which encounters sinister military trumpet calls on the way, the closing stages of the work witness a triumph so comprehensive that, as the heroic second subject approaches its ultimate destination of A major, the three instruments have to resort to orchestral procedures to make their conclusively jubilant point. Ravel complained that he could never get it to sound “trumpet enough” in performance.

Gerald Larner©2002

Modéré

Pantoum: assez vif

Passacaille: très large

Final: animé

Intensely private though he was about his personal affairs, Ravel was always frank about the musical sources of his inspiration or of the solutions to his technical problems. “C’est du Saint-Saëns,” he said quite simply of the Piano Trio, indicating not for the first time his admiration for the professional skill of a composer who “never made a mistake.” However, although Ravel did consult the Saint-Saëns Piano Trio in F, Op.18, he did so only for technical guidance in the problems of balancing and blending two string instruments with piano. There is little or nothing of that work in the material or the style of Ravel’s Trio, which is in a world of its own.

The Piano Trio was written in St-Jean-de Luz - just across the Nivelle from the composer’s birthplace in the Basque fishing port of Ciboure -between March and August 1914. As war approached it was an increasingly worrying time for Ravel. Although he was exempt from military service, on account of his small stature and his frail physique, and although he was tortured by the thought of having to leave his widowed mother, he was determined to enlist. The final stages of the composition coincided with his efforts to get himself accepted by the military authorities in Bayonne. “In five weeks I have done five months’ work,” he told a friend. “I wanted to finish my Trio before joining up.”

The pressure under which the work was written is one reason for its distinctive character. Another is Ravel’s subtle use of local colour. The pure Dorian harmonies together with the hypnotic repetitions of the 3+2+3 rhythms suggest an exotic setting from the start. Whether the opening theme is actually “Basque in colour,” as the composer asserted, or Castilian, as others have claimed, is not of the first importance. Ravel’s intended tribute to the Basque country is clear enough and is still clearer on the entry of the second subject: quietly introduced at a slightly reduced tempo by the violin, it is also in the Dorian mode and is based on a similar, though not identical, rhythmic pattern. The tender treatment of the new material (in a still declining tempo), the dramatically passionate development of the first theme (in a long acceleration) and the lingering end to the movement combine in as overt an expression of affection as is to be found anywhere in Ravel’s music.

The Pantoum title, a reference to an elaborate Malayan verse form used by Baudelaire in Harmonie du soir, suggests that the second movement is the solution to another of the daunting technical problems Ravel would regularly set himself. Certainly, the metrical complexity developed during the course of this scherzo-equivalent has no musical precedent. What happens is that in the outer sections two themes - one brightly percussive, the other a curiously Spanish-coloured waltz - alternate, at a comparatively early stage passing over a hint of a broader melody on the piano. In the middle section the alternation continues in the original 3/4 but now in ingenious melodic and metrical counterpoint with the broader melody expressively augmented in 4/2, first on the piano and then on the strings.

Stability is restored in the Passacaille partly by means of the regular cycle of repetitions, partly by means of the arch-form progress from a very low point in pitch and dynamics to a high-placed central climax and back down to the depths again, but above all by means of the incorporation of the salient melodic points of the main themes of the previous movements in the passacaglia subject. Having contrived an ending in A major, it leads directly into the Final, which adroitly confirms the Basque setting in its 5/4 (sometimes 7/4) metre and which conscientiously takes a melodic hint from the Passacaille in shaping its main theme. In spite of a development section which begins as though it were to be another passacaglia and which incorporates military trumpet calls in a massively scored piano part, the closing section of the work witnesses a triumph so comprehensive that the three instruments have to resort to orchestral procedures to make their conclusively jubilant point.

Gerald Larner ©2005

Modéré

Pantoum: Assez vif

Passacaille: Très large

Final: Animé

At the climax of Ravel’s Piano Trio, at the very end of the last movement, there are as many as twenty-four bars with all three instruments playing fortissimo. The violinist and cellist are occupied at full stretch with sustained high-pitched trills while the pianist clutches handfuls of notes in chords covering five octaves or more. It seems that the composer, master of proportion and instrumental sonority though he was, has set the piano trio a task it is not equipped to fulfil.

The explanation of this apparent anomaly is that, in the six months taken to write it, the expressive objective of the Piano Trio had undergone a fundamental change. What Ravel had begun in March 1914 as a tribute to the Basque country where he was born, and where he was staying at the time, had by September become a fervent statement of patriotism in the face of the invading armies at the beginning of the First World War. The evidence is not only the in the music itself but also in the composer’s heroic efforts to enlist – although he had long been exempt from military service on medical grounds – and his intense disappointment at not being able to take part immediately in what he described as “the splendid moments of this holy war” and “the most grandiose and the most noble action since man came into existence.” So it is not surprising that he was frustrated by performances of the Piano Trio that failed to sound “trumpet enough” at that climactic point in the last movement.

The essentially peaceable nature of the first movement is immediately evident in the modally flavoured A minor harmonies and the hypnotic 3+2+3 rhythms of the opening theme. Whether this material is authentically “Basque in colour,” as the composer asserted, is not of the first importance. Ravel’s intended tribute to the Basque country is clear enough and is still clearer on the entry of the second subject: quietly introduced at a slightly reduced tempo by the violin, it is also in the Dorian mode and is based on a similar, though not identical, rhythmic pattern. The tender treatment of the new material (in a still declining tempo), the dramatically passionate development of the first theme (in a long acceleration) and the lingering end to the movement combine in as overt an expression of affection as is to be found anywhere in Ravel’s music.

The Pantoum title, a reference to an elaborate Malayan verse form used by Baudelaire in Harmonie du soir, suggests that the second movement is the solution to another of the daunting technical problems Ravel would regularly set himself. Certainly, the metrical complexity developed during the course of this scherzo-equivalent has no musical precedent. What happens is that in the outer sections two themes – one brightly percussive, the other a curiously Spanish-coloured waltz – appear in alternation and at a comparatively early stage pass over a hint of a broader melody on the piano. In the middle section the alternation continues in the original 3/4 but now in ingenious melodic and metrical counterpoint with the broader melody expressively augmented in 4/2, first on the piano and then on the strings.

The turning point in the direction taken by the work is the Passacaille. It can only have been here that Ravel was, as he confessed, “weeping over the sharps and flats” as he faced the moral dilemma that the outbreak of war had put him in and as he considered the painful prospect of leaving his widowed mother to fend for herself. His state of mind is unmistakably apparent in the passacaglia’s inexorable arch-from progress from a very low point in pitch and dynamics to a high-placed central climax and back down to the depths again. Even so, by incorporating salient melodic points from the main themes of the previous movements in the passacaglia subject, the composer keeps a firm control on the overall unity of the work.

The Passacaille leads directly into the Final, which conscientiously takes a melodic hint from the previous movement in shaping its main theme. Purposeful though that theme is, in its A major harmonies and its 5/4 metre, it cannot compete with the F sharp major second subject in terms of heroic splendour. In spite of a development section which recalls the grim mood of the Passacaille and which encounters sinister military trumpet calls on the way, the closing stages of the work witness a triumph so comprehensive that, as the heroic second subject approaches its ultimate    destination of A major, the three instruments have to resort to orchestral procedures to make their conclusively jubilant point.     

Trio

orchestrated by Yan Pascal Tortelier

Modéré

Pantoum: assez vif

Passacaille: très large

Final: animé

At the climax of Ravel’s Piano Trio, at the very end of the last movement, there are as many as twenty-four bars with all three instruments playing fortissimo. The violinist and cellist are occupied at full stretch with sustained high-pitched trills while the pianist clutches handfuls of notes in chords covering five octaves or more. It seems that the composer, master of proportion and instrumental sonority though he was, has set the piano trio a task it is not equipped to fulfill.

The explanation of this apparent anomaly is that in the six months taken to write the Piano Trio its expressive objective had undergone a fundamental change. What Ravel had begun in March 1918 as a tribute to the Basque country where he was born, and where he was staying at the time, had by September become a fervent statement of patriotism in the face of the invading armies at the beginning of the First World War. The evidence is not only the in the music itself but also in the composer’s heroic efforts to enlist - although he had long been exempt from military serivice on medical grounds - and his intense disappointment at not being able to take part immediately in what he described as “the splendid moments of this holy war” and “the most grandiose and the most noble action since man came into existence.” So it is not surprising that he was frustrated by performances of the Piano Trio that failed to sound “trumpet enough” at that climactic point in the last movement.

Yan Pascal Tortelier, who in his violinist days often played the work with his cellist father Paul Tortelier and his pianist sister Maria de la Pau, feels the same way about it. But that is not the only reason why he undertook to orchestrate it. He was particularly impressed, he explains, by Ravel’s piano writing with “its many intricacies” and he realised that “there was even more in this piano part than could be achieved by the keyboard alone.” It is an indication of the quality of his orchestration, which was first performed in Belfast in 1990, that much of it sounds as though it could have been arranged by Ravel himself

The essentially peaceable nature of the first movement is immediately evident in the modally flavoured A minor harmonies and the hypnotic 3+2+3 rhythms of the opening theme. Whether this material is authentically “Basque in colour,” as the composer asserted, is not of the first importance. Ravel’s intended tribute to the Basque country is clear enough and is still clearer on the entry of the second subject: quietly introduced at a slightly reduced tempo by a solo flute, it is also in the Dorian mode and is based on a similar, though not identical, rhythmic pattern. The tender treatment of the new melody, the dramatically passionate development of the first theme, and the lingering end to the movement combine in as overt an expression of affection as is to be found anywhere in Ravel.

The Pantoum title of the second movement - a reference to an elaborate Malayan verse form used by Baudelaire in his Harmonie du soir - suggests that, not for the first time, Ravel had challenged himself to find a solution to a daunting technical problem. Certainly, the metrical complexity developed here has no musical precedent. What happens is that in the outer sections two themes - one brightly percussive, the other a curiously Spanish-coloured waltz - alternate, at a comparatively early stage passing over a hint of a broader melody on solo strings. In the middle section the alternation continues in the original 3/4 but now in ingenious melodic and metrical counterpoint with the broader melody expressively augmented in 4/2, first on muted strings and then on woodwind.

The turning point in the expressive direction taken by the work is the Passacaille. It can only have been here that Ravel was, as he confessed, “weeping over the sharps and flats” as he faced the moral dilemma the outbreak of war had put him in. In this version, thanks to the dramatic effect of the scoring for brass as the theme works its way up to its hightest point at the centre of the movement and turns back again, the pain is particularly apparent.

The Passacaille leads directly into the Final, which conscientiously takes a melodic hint from the previous movement in shaping its main theme. Purposeful though that theme is, in its A major harmonies and its 5/4 metre, it cannot compete with the F sharp major second subject in terms of heroic splendour. In spite of a development section which recalls the grim mood of the Passacaille and which encounters sinister military trumpet calls on the way, the closing stages of the work witness a triumph so comprehensive that, as the heroic second subject approaches its ultimate destination of A major, the full orchestra seems to be the only adequate medium for the jubilant message.