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Rating: "In this symphony, I say it without exaggeration, I have infused all my soul."
Tchaikovsky conceived and wrote his last symphonic score in 1893. It was his sixth symphony and would be his ultimate work, as the Russian composer died shortly after, tragically committing suicide. It is a work of immense symbolic value, and concerning this, Tchaikovsky himself said during its composition: "During my travels, the thought of another symphony occurred to me, this time with a program; a program that would remain a secret to all. A secret that I dare you to guess. This program is so intensely personal that often during my travels, composing it mentally, I cried a lot."
What he concealed was the fact that this symphony represents in total realism the musician’s soul, destroyed by all his torments and his misanthropic depression. And this is precisely the feature that makes Tchaikovsky one of the greatest composers, that is, his ability to depict human, terribly human feelings with the power of the romantic language and a new realism for an art as abstract as music. He did so in "Romeo and Juliet," with unprecedented expressive results that fully captured the drama of an impossible love. He did so in pieces like the 1812 Overture, where his attachment to his Russia was colored by patriotic tones in celebration of the victory against France at the beginning of the century. But this last work surpasses all the others as it is the perfect artistic relationship of a man's insecurities, his weakness, his fragility in human relationships. In the last symphony, Tchaikovsky manages to render his tears eternal, thanks to poignant harmonies perfectly presented in the symphonic construct, of which he was now an undisputed master, akin to Beethoven. But if the German, in his Ninth, managed to rise above personal sufferings, celebrating life's joy and the titanic thrust against nature's trifles, the last Tchaikovsky places himself antithetically to the titanic romanticism, observing the drama of life that slips away, destroyed by sorrowful events, like a Leopardian “La Ginestra” where only agonistic pessimism remains.
The first movement of the symphony introduces tragedy, with some of the most beautiful arrangements in all classical music. The atmosphere is one of lugubrious gloom, but an aesthetically invaluable gloom, almost as if it were one of those virtuoso Caravaggesque paintings, steeped in chiaroscuro. After the introduction, still in the first movement, there is a gradual increase in volume, where the instrumentation becomes inflamed, and the score gains rare power. Indeed, around the ninth minute, after the sotto voce repetition of the main theme, an ostinato explodes in which strings, brass, and woodwinds intertwine, outlining an emotional storm, technically ahead of all nineteenth-century orchestral music (Tchaikovsky would go on to influence the entire subsequent Russian and French school, from Stravinsky to Prokofiev, from Ravel to Debussy, up to our own Ottorino Respighi). This moment, like many others, is almost indescribable in words to me: it manages to combine power, suffering, and elegance. Masterpiece.
Once calm returns and the first movement concludes, the second is an “allegro con grazia”, a portrait of smiling melancholy that acquires a lightness differentiating it from the opening, making the work more varied. It is a kind of waltz, in 5/4 time, which at times has an almost vital surge, and at times reprises and drags the previous painful melodies. Following this trend, the third movement becomes faster, at times acrobatic, and takes on the guise of ballet, one of the favored realms of the Russian composer. It is the last vital surge of the work, a mad dance with few pauses and an engaging rhythm. Here the formal construct becomes dense and fills with spiraling scales from the flutes, string ostinatos, in a creative crescendo that makes the mood change, leading to the final and fourth movement, even more unpredictable. In this epitaph, the last glimmer of light fades, and the lugubrious and fatalistic atmosphere of the first movement returns, even more accentuated and seamlessly rendered. The orchestration of the last piece represents perfection, in which the emotional harmonic intensity reaches unprecedented peaks. Only one word can describe all this: introspection. In fact, the orchestra seems to speak in whispers in this last movement, where even the pauses and silences gain their musical value, with a profoundly deep meaning. Tchaikovsky feels increasingly alone, despite the throng of people attracted by his growing success and the fame that was already making him one of the most cited names in the orchestral repertoire throughout Europe. "I am weary to exhaustion from all these endless celebrations. Now I absolutely need a period of solitude." As the work draws to a close, the volume slowly reduces, and this melancholy conquers you, takes your heart, tears it apart, makes you relive the artist's tension, his inability to love life except through his works of art. The ending of the sixth is one of the most absurd and strange in the history of symphonies. It concludes unexpectedly. It fades quietly, without celebrations, so silent that the silence itself seems the true conclusion of the work, not the last note exhaled by the strings. There had never been a conclusion like this in the previous symphonic repertoire. Never.
Tchaikovsky recounts his impressions after the first performance of the work, on October 16, 1893 (which was also the only one he got to see): "Something strange happens with this symphony. It is not that it doesn't please, but it creates a certain bewilderment. As far as I'm concerned personally, I am prouder of it than of any other of my compositions." This audience reaction, as he hinted, was, in my opinion, caused precisely by the finale.
POST SCRIPTS:
- I own two versions: one by Riccardo Muti with the Philadelphia Orchestra and one by Lorin Maazel with the Cleveland Orchestra. I consider them both impeccable and not entirely dissimilar, even in rhythmic flow. Personally, I prefer Maazel's, as it grants even greater emphasis to the work, further sharpening the contrast between suffered pieces and lively accelerations.
- Historical sources have now confirmed that the Russian composer did not die of cholera but committed suicide by poisoning. To be more precise, we should add that Tchaikovsky was forced to commit suicide to cover up a scandal involving him and some of the tsarist authorities. He paid with his life for the necessity that his reputation remained untainted, and for years his suicide was kept secret along with the motivations to keep gossip about his homosexuality at bay.
- I chose a representation of Caravaggio instead of the usual banal classical music record covers, as it seemed to me that the almost requiem climate of the symphony could be synthesized in the atmospheres of these depictions, in Christ's dying Passion, characterized by a twilight climate that contrasts with the vague flashes of light in the represented bodies.
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