I have very strong thoughts about Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini.
The first time I heard this music was on some long road trip on some forgotten California city’s public radio station. I was channel surfing and stumbled on it. It was piano music with an entire orchestra, but it was unlike most of the standard classical music those stations typically play. And it kept changing.
It was like an anthology of music in one piece. It seemed fun and exploratory. It grew dark. It became almost comedic. It was technically brilliant. It was preposterous. It was intense. I had never heard anything like it. It was insane and beautiful.
I remember listening to it for the first time and thinking, do you remember those Bugs Bunny cartoons where Bugs is maniacally conducting an orchestra and he loses his entire bag of marbles furiously conducting the absolute shit out of an orchestra? I am now sure that this was an homage to Rachmoninoff–I’ve not done a single bit of research into this, and I am still entirely sure this is the case.
Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini is no more a rhapsody than Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2 is a sonata, but I like when classical music geeks fight over things because it means the composers are doing something right. (It is hilarious to think that Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini might be better classified as a sonata, and that maybe Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2 might be closer to a rhapsody? I didn’t major in music, leave me alone.)
But it is definitely on a theme of Paganini. The whole thing is a glorious playful deconstruction and homage to what is one of the best pieces of music by one of the best violinists to compose or play the instrument. (Immediately go to that Wikipedia link and watch Kyoko Yonemoto play this piece of music if you haven’t heard it yet.) Rachmaninoff took that and said I see your violin and raise you an entire set of 88 keys and the greatest hands to ever touch a piano.
Variation VIII is likely where I first started listening during that road trip that initial time I heard it. Oh, there are twenty-four variations–should have mentioned that. Twenty-four variations on that one theme. I’ll start with number 8 because that is where it hooked me, and maybe go from there.
Number 8: Some type of dark, intense call and response. Pianist and orchestra are basically fighting.
Number 9: The fighting continues, syncopated, alternating between sixteenth and triplet time. Of the many versions of this entire piece that I’ve now heard, the recording with Rachmaninoff himself on keys is the closest to what I imagine his original intent was. Most other recordings get the timing wrong. Piano and orchestra are taking alternating notes as quickly as the bass drums in a marching band take sixteenth note runs–the timing must be precise. The absolute brutality of the battle reaches a fever pitch. The maniacal piano stabs menace and complement the intense orchestration.
Number 10: The battle simmers down and quells. The transition away from the intense altercation stes up the next series of variations. This part is one I listen to the closest when I encounter any new recordings or versions of the piece. It is too easy for a pianist, orchestra, or recording studio to highlight the wrong things. Rachmaninoff’s composition and playing style seem to demand an almost chaotic disregard for the actual notes he’s playing–in variation 10, especially, the piano part flies all over the keyboard. Too often, a recording slows down or highlights his transitions as fundamental showcases of the notes on the page. Rachmaninoff himself plays these parts as almost throw-away bits of transition–he uses them as padding to get from one place to the next. Even in the recording where his piano is recorded at a slightly too-high volume relative to the orchestra, the piano transitions are a muted, nearly garbled mess of notes intended as just vibes.
Number 11: is where things take a turn. And I’ve so far only described like two minutes of the entire piece. It gets so much better.