Concierto de Aranjuez

As a demonstration that not all the best Spanish music was written by French composers – Bizet, Chabrier, Debussy, Ravel – Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez is as convincing an item of evidence as any. It is true that, like many Spanish composers of his generation, Rodrigo studied in Paris and that his most famous score was actually written there, in 1939. And yet, although he distanced himself from the raw Spanish instinct by associating the work with Aranjuez – the favourite resort of Bourbon royalty thirty miles south of Madrid – it is unmistakably and essentially Spanish. At the same time, although Rodrigo himself couldn’t “play four notes in a row” on the guitar, his Concierto de Aranjuez could scarcely be more idiomatically written.

Another Spanish aspect of the work is that it respects no classical formal principles, apart from the conventional three-movement layout. Rodrigo preferred to allow his material to shape its own framework. At the beginning of the first movement it is as though he is waiting for a melodic inspiration to emerge from the opening rhythmic pattern. It is repeated twelve times in all, in the same harmonies, before oboe and first violins are stimulated to convert it into something more tuneful in the same key. The rest of the movement consists largely of improvisations on that main theme in a variety of instrumental and harmonic colours and, after a kind of recapitulation, in a vigorously conclusive gesture from the whole orchestra.

The Adagio is another melodic improvisation inspired, surely, by the cante jondo - the soulful “deep song” of the traditional flamenco singer. The equivalent of the vocal part is at first taken by the cor anglais to the accompaniment of a regular four-note rhythmic pattern which continues to the end of the movement. The melody passes next to the guitar, which repeats it and develops it with ever more elaborate decoration of its basically simple line. Little is left of the theme in the cadenza but the orchestra dutifully recalls it in its original shape (though not in its original harmonies) before the end of the movement.

According to Rodrigo, the Allegro gentile “recalls a courtly dance” – although it is scarcely likely that the eighteenth-century court at Aranjuez knew many dances varying between duple time and triple time with every few bars. But the orchestra accepts it gratefully enough and preserves the same metrical pattern and the same basic theme throughout. The texture are brilliantly varied until, with nothing left to say on the subject, the soloist discreetly runs out of earshot at the end.

Most of the things a guitar can do a harp can do to. So it is hardly surprising that the Spanish harp virtuoso, Nicano Zabaleta, should have wanted to appropriate for his own instrument the most popular of all Spanish concertos and that the composer should have approved of the idea. It was at Zabaleta’s request that, in 1973, Rodrigo completed the present arrangement of his Concierto de Aranjuez, leaving the orchestral parts exactly as he had written them 34 years before and making only minimal adjustments to the solo part.

Of course, it is impossible to transfer a concerto from one instrument to another, however much the two might have in common, without losing something here and there. But, in this case, there are gains too. The problem for the harpist, in so far as there is one, is that the Concierto de Arnjuez - named after the favourite resort of Bourbon royalty thirty miles south of Madrid - is a very Spanish work and that the guitar is a very Spanish instrument. Anyone familiar with the guitar version might find that the flameno dance rhythm at the beginning of the finale sounds a little prim on the harp. On the other hand, the third movement, which (according to the composer) “recalls a courtly dance,” might sound even better in its refined harp colouring.

Another Spanish aspect of the work is that it respects no classical formal principles, apart from the conventional three-movement layout. Having studied with Paul Dukas at the Ecole Normale and at the Sorbonne, Rodrigo obviously knew all about that sort of thing, but here he preferred to allow his Spanish material to shape its own framework. At the beginning of the first movement it is as though he is waiting for a melodic inspiration to emerge from the opening rhythmic pattern. It is repeated twelve times in all in its plain D major harmonies - six times by the harp, six times on spiccato strings - before oboe and first violins are stimulated to convert it into something more tuneful in the same key. The harp immediately offers another version and, although the soloist is cheerfully accompanied by the bassoon in the provision of contrasting material, the general tendency of the movement is to improvise variants of that same main theme - on solo cello, for example, against the initial rhythmic patter in A minor harmonies, on various woodwind instruments in counterpoint with virtuoso figuration on the harp and, after a kind of recapitulation, in a vigorously conclusive gesture from the whole orchestra.

The Adagio is another improvisation in spire surely the the cante hondo - the soulful “deep song” of the traditional flamenco singer. The (so to speak) vocal part is at first taken by the cor anglais to the accompaniment of B minor harmonies in a regular four-in-a-bar beat which continues to the end of the movement. The melody, beginniing on a characteristic mordent, passes next to the harp, which repeats it and develops it with ever more elaborate decoration of its basically simple line. In the cadenza - the one part of the concerto where there is any noticeable difference between the harp and the guitar version - all that is left of the melody is the opening mordent. The orchestra is there, however, to recall the song in its original shape, but in F sharp minor rather than B minor.

The soloist contrives to end the slow movement in B major, in which key he (or she) introduces the “courtly dance” of the Allegro gentile. It is not likely that the eighteenth-century court at Aranjuez knew many dances varying between duple time and triple time with every few bars. But the orchestra accepts it gratefully enough, presenting it with no further ceremony in D major. The movement does not, of course, stay in the tonic key throughout, although the same metrical pattern and the same basic theme do prevail. The textures are brilliantly varied - the melody appearing on pizzicato violins over busy broken-chord figuration on the harp, on harp and then trumpets over a persistent monotone on cellos, on the full orchestra in D major again - before the soloist discreetly runs out of earshot.