Piano Trio in E minor Op.50

Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847)

Piano Trio in C minor Op.66 (1845)

Allegro energico e con fuoco

Andante espressivo

Scherzo: molto allegro quasi presto

Finale: allegro appassionato

Simon Parkin (b

First Trio (1987)

Tempo Rubato  

Presto  

Adagio

Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)

Piano Trio in A minor Op.50 (1881-2)

Pezzo elegiaco: moderato assai - allegro giusto

Tema con variazioni -

Variazione finale e coda

Although it has been much abused in the past by virtuoso pianist-composers, the piano trio is just as capable of intimate expression and serious thought as the string quartet. One of the greatest examples of its kind, Mendelssohn’s Piano Trio in C minor, conceals nothing of the stress he was suffering at the time he wrote it. As he told his sister Rebekka early in 1845, “I have been feeling such an urgent need for physical rest (for no travelling, no conducting, no performing) that I am forced to yield to it and, God willing, I mean to order my life to that purpose during the whole year.” His state of mind is clear enough from the anxious opening of the first movement and from the way that the encouragement offered by the contrastingly lyrical second subject proves illusory in the end. The two middle movements - a cosy song-without-words Andante espressivo and a characteristically elfin Scherzo - are both studies in escapism. True salvation is achieved in the Finale, where the chorale melody “Vor deinem Thron” (Before thy throne) ultimately converts C-minor adversity to C-major triumph.

Simon Parkin, who as pianist of the Manchester Piano Trio knows the medium from the inside, has not been reluctant to confide in it. “This trio was written,” he says, “in something of a romantic haze, and is therefore overtly emotional in places, particularly the outer movements.” He goes on to say that “the harmonic language at the start is rather expressionist, but the style expands from there to encompass minimalism, heroic Americanism (in a scherzo partly inspired by the ‘A-team’—it was 1987, after all!), and Shostakovich during his more heart-on-the-sleeve moments. There are, hopefully, enough unifying devices to bind the disparate styles together. There is a certain amount of 12-tone technique, for example, which is hopefully far enough below the surface not to spoil the piece, but to make it more coherent. The intervallic connections between the movements should be clear, and there are even some tunes!”

Tchaikovsky swore he would never write a piano trio: “It is beyond my powers… It is impossible for me to stand the piano playing in partnership with either a solo violin or a solo cello. It seems to me that these sounds repel each other…Even thinking about the sound of a trio is a source of actual physical discomfort to me.” What changed his mind was the sudden death of his colleague, mentor and friend Nikolay Rubinstein - the symbolism of an incontestably authoritative piano part in an intimate setting presumably seeming particularly apt to Tchaikovsky at this time. Taking care not to write, as he put it, “symphonic music adapted to the trio,” he dedicated it “to the memory of great artist” and had it first performed at the Moscow Conservatoire on the first anniversary of Rubinstein’s death. Beginning in melancholy and ending with a brief funeral march, the work enshrines at its heart a monumental series of eleven variations, each one of which alludes to an episode in Rubinstein’s life.

Pezzo elegiaco: moderato assai - allegro giusto

Tema con variazioni -

Variazione finale e coda

“You ask why I do not write a trio,” wrote Tchaikovsky to Nadezdah von Meck, who badly wanted something by her favourite composer for her resident ensemble of musicians. “It is beyond my powers… It is impossible for me to stand the piano playing in partnership with either a solo violin or a solo cello. It seems to me that these sounds repel each other…Even thinking about the sound of a trio is a source of actual physical discomfort to me.” A few months later, in Rome in December 1881, he wrote to her again: “You will be very surprised…I have already written the beginning of a trio.”

What had changed his mind was not, in spite of his loyal protestations to his patroness, “the thought that I can give you pleasure with this trio.” That surely had something to do with it but he was moved more by the sudden death of his colleague, mentor and friend Nikolay Rubinstein. It was presumably the symbolism of an incontestably authoritative piano part in an intimate setting that appealed to Tchaikovsky at this time. Taking care not to write, as he put it, “symphonic music adapted to the trio,” he completed the work in Rome in the middle of January 1882, dedicated it “to the memory of great artist” and had it first performed at the Moscow Conservatoire on the anniversary of Rubinstein’s death two months later.

Although there were obvious dangers in writing a work of such proportions for piano trio - it is actually longer than the Symphonie pathétique - Tchaikovsky justly considered it “not at all a bad work.” The first movement, which grows so naturally out of its melancholy opening theme in A minor - one idea tending to overlap another - is a spontaneously developed and uncommonly successful structure. As he said, “there is a certain lamenting quality about it” but there is much variety in it too. The heroic second subject introduced by piano and the lovely violin and cello duet which emerges in the development section are among Tchaikovsky’s finest inspirations. Even so, as the title of the piece indicates and as the adagio con duolo recapitulation of the main theme confirms, the elegiac mood predominates.

If the second movement is not quite as consistent in quality, it contains some no less wonderful episodes. Said to be inspired by a day spent in Rubinstein’s company in a beauty spot near Moscow in 1873 - with a picnic laid on and the songs and dances of peasants to entertain them - it is a massive set of variations on a simple folk-like theme introduced by the piano in the opening bars. Although there is apparently no truth in the traditional belief that each variation represents an episode in the life of Rubinstein - who would probably not have wanted to be associated with the triumphal march of the seventh variation or the three-part fugue of the eighth - they are most vividly characterised. The scherzo in the third variation, the musical-box imitation in the fifth, the extended waltz in the sixth (where the original theme is ingeniously incorporated as a counterpoint), the poignant lament in the ninth and the Chopinesque mazurka in the tenth are perhaps the most attractive of them.

The longest variation by far is the twelfth, identified by Tchaikovsky as Variazione finale and so extensively developed as to constitute almost a movement in itself (and to worry the composer so much about the wisdom of it that he authorised an extensive cut). Its function is to lead to a climactic recall in A minor of the opening theme of the work, sustained fff by violin and cello against cascades of piano arpeggios, and to a last, brief echo of the same melody in the rhythm of a funeral march.

Gerald Larner©

“To the memory of a great artist”

Pezzo elegiaco: moderato assai - allegro giusto

Tema con variazioni -

Variazione finale e coda

“You ask why I do not write a trio,” wrote Tchaikovsky to Nadezdah von Meck, the most generous of patrons, who badly wanted something by her favourite composer for her resident ensemble of musicians. “It is beyond my powers… It is impossible for me to stand the piano playing in partnership with either a solo violin or a solo cello. It seems to me that these sounds repel each other…Even thinking about the sound of a trio is a source of actual physical discomfort to me.” A few months later, in Rome in December 1881, he wrote to her again: “You will be very surprised…I have already written the beginning of a trio.”

What had changed his mind was not, in spite of his loyal protestations to Mme von Meck, “the thought that I can give you pleasure with this trio.” That surely had something to do with it but he was moved more by the sudden death of his colleague, mentor and friend Nikolay Rubinstein, who had been very helpful in furthering his career in spite of a serious difference of opinion over the First Piano Concerto. It was presumably the symbolism of an incontestably authoritative piano part in an intimate setting that appealed to Tchaikovsky at this time. Taking care not to write, as he put it, “symphonic music adapted to the trio,” he completed the work in Rome in the middle of January 1882, dedicated it “to the memory of great artist” and had it first performed at the Moscow Conservatoire on the anniversary of Rubinstein’s death two months later.

Although there were obvious dangers in writing a work of such proportions for piano trio – it is actually longer than the Symphonie pathétique – Tchaikovsky justly considered it “not at all a bad work.” The first movement, which grows so naturally out of its melancholy opening theme in A minor, one idea tending to overlap another, is a spontaneously developed and uncommonly successful structure. As he said, “there is a certain lamenting quality about it” but there is much variety in it too. The heroic second subject introduced by piano and the lovely violin and cello duet which emerges in the development section are among Tchaikovsky’s finest inspirations. Even so, as the title of the piece indicates and as the Adagio con duolo recapitulation of the main theme confirms, the elegiac mood predominates.

If the second movement is not quite as consistent in quality, it contains some no less wonderful episodes. Said to be inspired by the memory of a day spent in Rubinstein’s company in a beauty spot near Moscow in 1873 – with a picnic laid on and the songs and dances of peasants to entertain them – it is a massive set of variations on a simple folk-like theme introduced by the piano in the opening bars. Although there is apparently no truth in the traditional belief that each variation represents an episode in the life of Rubinstein (who would probably not have wanted to be associated with the triumphal march of the seventh variation or the three-part fugue of the eighth) they are most vividly characterised. The scherzo in the third variation, the musical-box imitation in the fifth, the extended waltz in the sixth (where the original theme is ingeniously incorporated as a counterpoint), the poignant lament in the ninth and the Chopinesque mazurka in the tenth are perhaps the most attractive of them.

The longest variation by far is the twelfth, identified by Tchaikovsky as Variazione finale and so extensively developed as to constitute almost a movement in itself (and to worry the composer so much about the wisdom of it that he authorised an extensive cut). Its function is to lead to a climactic recall in A minor of the opening theme of the work, sustained fff by violin and cello against cascades of piano arpeggios, and to a last, brief echo of the same melody in the rhythm of a funeral march.