Suite No.3 in G major, Op.55

Anyone who doesn’t know the orchestral suites cannot really know Tchaikovsky. In his suites he could indulge himself in a way that was impossible in his symphonies or even his ballets. As he wrote to Nadezhda von Meck on the very same day that he conceived the idea for the Third Suite, the form was attractive to him “ because of the freedom it affords the composer not to be inhibited by any traditions, by conventional methods and established rules.” The form and content of the Fourth and Fifth Symphonies, for example, were determined partly by emotional imperatives and partly also by received ideas about the kind of shape and stature a symphony should assume. But between those two works - between 1878 and 1887 that is - he wrote four orchestral suites in which he could try out new structures, test his contrapuntal ingenuity, make experiments in orchestration, exercise his wit, amuse himself with pastiche, or even (in the Fourth Suite, Mozartiana) rework material by his all-time favourite composer.

The Suite No.3 in G - which was written between extensive walks in the forest and obsessive games of cards at Kamenka in the Spring of 1884 - was originally intended to have five movements like its predecessor in C major, Op.53. But, finding the original first movement “loathsome,” the composer simply discarded it and began the work with the slow movement instead. The gentle intimacy of the opening bars, where violins quietly introduce the wistful first theme, would not do for a symphony. Nor would the engagingly rambling construction, even though it does develop more than a little passion with the entry of the sorrowful second main theme on three flutes and still more passion with the exultant recall of that once unhappy theme at the climax of the movement.

The E minor Valse mélancolique is remarkable partly for its rueful countenance - not least because of the high profile assumed by violas, flutes in their lower register, and cor anglais - and partly for its rhythmic flexibility: in the middle section, preoccupied with a simple two-note phrase from the main theme, the orchestra somehow contrives to get out of step with itself. The G major Scherzo, which is contrastingly bright in colour, has another adventurous middle section, this one beginning as a miniature march with delightfully delicate percussion colouring and eventually combining its 2/4 step with the 6/8 figuration from the first part of the movement.

Frequently performed as a single item (though not so much these days as it used to be) the Tema con variazioni is as long and as entertaining as the other three movements put together. Some of it represents the Tchaikovsky we rarely meet outside the suites - like the wonderfully scored woodwind septet in the third variation, the determined fugue in the fifth, the curious little chorale on woodwind again in the seventh, the exotic cor anglais solo in the eighth. And some of it represents the Tchaikovsky familiar from elsewhere - as in the rococo character of the theme itself, the brilliant Russian dance in the ninth variation, the romantic ballet scene introduced by a violin cadenza in the tenth, and of course the thoroughly operatic polonaise, which would have been as effective in a ballroom episode in Eugene Onegin as it in the finale in the Suite No.3 in G.

Anyone who doesn’t know the orchestral suites doesn’t really know Tchaikovsky. In his suites he could indulge himself in a way that was impossible in his symphonies or even his ballets. As he wrote to Nadezhda von Meck on the very same day that he conceived the idea for the Third Suite, the form was attractive to him “ because of the freedom it affords the composer not to be inhibited by any traditions, by conventional methods and established rules.” The form and content of the Fourth and Fifth Symphonies, for example, were determined partly by emotional imperatives and partly also by received ideas about the kind of shape and stature a symphony should assume. But between those two works - between 1878 and 1887 that is - he wrote four orchestral suites in which he could try out new structures, test his contrapuntal ingenuity, make experiments in orchestration, exercise his wit, amuse himself with pastiche, or even (in the Fourth Suite, Mozartiana) rework material by his all-time favourite composer.

The Suite No.3 in G - which was written between extensive walks in the forest and obsessive games of cards at Kamenka in the Spring of 1884 - was at one time intended to have five movements like its predecessor in C major, Op.53. But, finding the original first movement “loathsome,” the composer simply discarded it and began the work with the slow movement instead. The gentle intimacy of the opening bars, where violins quietly introduce the first theme in G major, would not do for a symphony; nor would the pleasingly discursive construction, even though it does approximate to sonata form and even though it does develop more than a little passion with the entry of the second subject (on three flutes in C minor) and still more with the climactic recapitulation of that theme in G major.

The E minor Valse mélancolique is remarkable partly for its rueful countenance - not least because of the high profile assumed by violas, flutes in their lower register, and cor anglais - and partly for its rhythmic flexibility: in the middle section, preoccupied with a simple two-note phrase from the main theme, the orchestra somehow contrives to get out of step with itself. The G major Scherzo, which is contrastingly bright in colour, has another adventurous middle section, this one beginning as a miniature march with delightfully delicate percussion colouring and eventually combining its 2/4 step with the 6/8 figuration from the first part of the movement.

Frequently performed as a single item (though not so much these days as it used to be) the Tema con variazioni is as long and as entertaining as the other three movements put together. Some of it represents the Tchaikovsky we rarely meet outside the suites - like the wonderfully scored woodwind septet in the third variation, the determined fugue in the fifth, the curious little chorale on woodwind again in the seventh, the exotic cor anglais solo in the eighth. And some of it represents the Tchaikovsky familiar from elsewhere - as in the rococo character of the theme itself, the brilliant Russian dance in the ninth variation, the romantic ballet scene introduced by a violin cadenza in the tenth, and of course the thoroughly operatic polonaise, which would have been as effective in a ballroom episode in Eugene Onegin as as it in the finale in the Suite No.3 in G.

Gerald Larner©