First, forgive me the personal prologue. But music is personal.
This year I started learning to play the piano. As a singer, a music lover, someone who grew up in a musical family and who shares her life with a musician, I felt that if I didn't learn to read music and play the piano before I died, it would be my biggest regret. Not seeing Greece or Rome would suck and weigh on me a little as I left the world, but knowing that I could have played music and never learned, would be PURE TORTURE.
After I decided to learn piano, I began to listen to classical music 24/7. Now, people, I mean 24/7. I sleep with the radio on and tuned to a classical station. It helps a lot. I learned a lot. I appreciate classical music on another level, and this, coming from someone who still listens to Big in Japan on repeat and who didn't know any composers aside from Mozart and Beethoven. Now that's changed. My world has expanded. It's amazing.
On to Tchaikovsky. My interest in him and his music began a long time ago, though I didn't even know it. My favorite Disney movie has always been Sleeping Beauty and I'd sing that "I know you" song all the time as a kid.
Then last year, at a dinner party I mentioned this to a friend and she said, "Oh, that's from Tchaikovsky..." Boum. The next day, I'm looking him up and listening to some of his work and then I heard his Piano Concerto Number One, and it literally made me weep. In that piece of music I could hear my life. My childhood, the terrible years that followed it, my crash and burn, my coming back up to the surface, innocence repossessed... It was the most beautiful, fragile, yet bold piece I'd ever heard. And my ears were not yet accustomed to classical music in general.
I bought a Tchaikovsky piano lesson book for beginners and the adventure started.
Now in Brown's book, which by the way is a condensed version of the four tomes he wrote on Tchaikovsky, a collection of letters combined with short and intriguing analysis of the composer's most famous or important pieces, I learned why Tchaikovsky's music still fascinates and captivates people today. It was a mix of the time period during which he lived, his complex family dynamics, his culture heritage, his sexuality, his personality, and of course, his talent that made his music what it is. Here was a man living in a country that was awakening, modernizing, turning its eyes to the West, but a country still fervently attached to its orthodox Church, agricultural culture, Tsar, and traditions. When Tchaikovsky was growing up, there was little room for musicians, never mind composers, in Russian society. Music was simply a medium used to convey religious fervor or political loyalties.
But his mother had a touch of French blood in her and his father was a fair and kind man who very early on, supported his son's artistic inclination. Tchaikovsky was sensitive as a child and sometimes, its reported, he'd weep in his bedroom from wanting to get the music out of his head. A sign of his genius manifesting itself as mental confusion. He loved his mother and the loss of her was a major and traumatic event that would scar him for life.
In the book, Brown encloses many letters Tchaikovsky wrote his younger brother Modest (who was also gay) and Tchaikovsky's personality is revealed. He was a fake extrovert. I can relate! It was his love for people and the need to please them that would force him out of his shell and he could be a buffoon, even show up in drag at a bal masque, dance the ballet with his nieces, play practical jokes on his friends, but after such a soiree or event, he'd retreat in his solitude, spent, unhappy, and feeling like he'd betrayed himself. He told his brother he could only be himself when he was by himself. Because people triggered something in him. The need to be loved.
He had a routine, composed every day, scoring and editing and producing a stupendous amount of work, from children's lessons to operas, symphonies to concertos and string quartets, and even religious music, something extraordinary for those times, as he was the first composer to submit a piece to the Church (the Imperial Church) and being accepted. If you can listen to the Russian Red Choir sing Tchaikovsky's Cherub's song on YouTube, go for it. it's truly powerful.
His life was spent taking care of people, his family mostly, though he didn't brag about it, but he was always looking out for the people he loved. When his niece got pregnant out of wedlock, he took her under his wing and made sure her little boy (George Leon) was raised in a good Parisian family and well taken care of. Tchaikovsky paid for the child's upbringing and this, when he wasn't rich himself. He would often stay with his sister or nieces in their pastoral estate and it seems that before his sister's morphine addiction, those were the best of times for him. He loved to walk and observe nature and generally tried to stay away from fancy dinners and all the glitz and glamour of the small but famous musical community.
He was loved in the US before the Russians really took to his music and was invited by Andrew Carnegie himself (Carnegie Hall) to come tour certain cities in America. Tchaikovsky was surprised at how friendly the Americans were and seems to have thoroughly enjoyed his stay.
But, wherever he went, however far he strayed, Mother Russia always called him back. He was torn all of his life between the need to compose more modern, avant-garde music, and the desire to please his fellow countrymen and women with simple, more Glinkaesque music.
He composed a few very well known operas. Eugene Onigin and Queen of Spades being the most famous and of course, he will forever be known for his ballets, The Nutcracker, Swan Lake and Sleeping Beauty.
If you listen to the Romeo and Juliet overture, to that little variation most people are familiar with, that moment when it seems Juliet is singing, the lightness and romance of that part, and then you switch to his Symphony number 6 (pathetique), your mind will be blown away by Tchaikovsky's range. The scope of his emotional world was astounding. He could convey fragility and virility easily, honestly, without too much fla fla.
And I think that his sexuality has a lot to do with it, although many people will take offence, claiming that a man's sexual orientation doesn't influence his work, but music is an expression of one's most intimidate world and sexuality, our desires and impulses are part of that world. He wasn't secretly ashamed of being gay, but he was worried about the people he loved and knew that they would be taunted or suffer if society found out about his affairs. I think, in reading the letters, I understand that Tchaikovsky accepted himself but not the consequences. And he was very lonely and would have loved to settled down with someone. It was impossible. It was the great tragedy of his life. He was a homebody type and society robbed him of a happy marriage. He would have probably married a man and taken care of him and been truly content. But alas, he was living in the nineteenth century. That being said, would his music be the same, had he met the man of his life and settled down with him in a quaint little dacha by the train track near Moscow?
I'll end this long and personal sort of review by saying that I didn't mention his long platonic relationship with pen pal Nadezhda von Meck because it's been well documented and that's usually what people know about him. That he had a patroness and that they wrote letters to each other and she sponsored him, until she stopped. It hurt him tremendously and he never quite got over what he perceived to be a betrayal.
It was interesting to read that David Brown met with von Mecks's grand daughter when he was researching the book and she is rumored to have told him that the reason her grand mother stopped writing Tchaikovsky, is that she had suffered a stroke and couldn't manage to hold a pen any longer and because the nature of her letters were too personal, she refused to dictate them.
Isn't it tragic to think that maybe it was all a misunderstanding? That would make for a great movie.
When Tchaikovsky died, which was on November 5th, by the way, 125 years ago, it took five hours for the funeral procession to reach the cemetery gates.
He was loved.