Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)

This unique program is the only one in the ASO’s 2024–25 season dedicated entirely to a single composer. Fittingly, it comes just after the 185th anniversary of Tchaikovsky’s birth on May 7. The first half of the program features two of his lesser-known works, while the second showcases one of his most celebrated symphonies.

Born in Votkinsk, Tchaikovsky was the first Russian composer whose music had significant influence in the West. As with many composers, he displayed exceptional talent on the piano from an early age, but at the time, musical career paths in Russia were limited. The few available roles— teaching or working in state theaters—were considered low in social status, and most Russian composers of the time had another primary vocation. As a result, Tchaikovsky initially studied to become a civil servant.

He hit a stroke of luck, however, with the timing of his graduation. Just as he was finishing his studies, Tsar Alexander II launched a nationwide effort to grow Russian arts culture. As part of this movement, the Saint Petersburg Conservatory was established, and Tchaikovsky enrolled in one of its first classes.

His training at the conservatory developed his skills considerably, but it also introduced an unexpected conflict in his musical voice. Tchaikovsky grew up immersed in the traditional music of Russia, but the conservatory taught a western approach to music.

There are many differences between the musical traditions of Eastern and Western Europe, but the most significant is the emphasis on structure versus melody. This difference is somewhat akin to a poet being focused more on the use of a specific rhyme scheme versus the meaning and sound of the particular words chosen.  Western classical music is highly focused on form–both the architecture of the piece and the way that harmonies progress from one to another. Russian music, in contrast, is more concerned with melodic and dramatic expression. It tends to favor slightly different scales, asymmetrical folk-inspired meters, and often repeats melodic material with a new accompaniment, rather than developing a melody as is typical of Western tradition.

As a Russian artist who was trained in Western compositional practice, Tchaikovsky wrestled with his musical identity but ultimately forged a unique voice that blends the highly satisfying harmonic language of Western Classical music with the rich melodic depth of his roots.

Following the premiere of the fifth symphony, he remarked “On Saturday I took part in a Russian Symphony concert. I am very glad that I could prove, in public, that I do not belong to any particular party.”

Among all his compositional assets, Tchaikovsky possessed a particular gift for melody. This is perhaps why he remains one of the most well-known and frequently performed composers today. Each year, millions of people celebrate the holidays with The Nutcracker, but his greatest hits extend far beyond the beloved Christmas staple. Tchaikovsky is responsible for some of the most iconic and recognizable melodies in the classical canon, including the love theme from his Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture–a piece so often used for romantic scenes that it has become almost a caricature of love at first sight. His other ballets, Sleeping Beauty and Swan Lake have also had an enduring cultural impact. Disney’s “Once Upon a Dream” is directly adapted from Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty score, and the “swan theme” from Swan Lake remains one of classical music’s most famous melodies. Simply put, the man knew how to write a truly unforgettable tune.

Like many great artists, Tchaikovsky’s creativity was fueled, at least in part, by personal tragedy. His first composition was written following the death of his mother when he was just fourteen. He was also deeply affected by the death of his close friend and colleague Nikolai Rubinstein. Beyond this, his sexuality has been the topic of much discussion and debate. Most scholars agree that he was gay, but the extent to which this caused him distress remains unclear. Some believe he struggled greatly with his sexual identity, while others argue he may have reached a degree of private acceptance.

Regardless of his internal experience, being publicly outed as a gay man in Tsarist Russia would have been extremely dangerous, which must have caused at least a degree of worry. Part of the long-standing confusion surrounding his sexuality stems from the Soviet Union’s efforts to suppress it; Soviet editors actively censored letters and documents that referenced his romantic feelings for men, and members of the Russian Culture Ministry continued to deny it as recently as 2013.

His death, too, has sparked considerable debate. Just six days after the premiere of his Pathétique—or “Tragic”—Symphony, he succumbed to Cholera–the same disease that took his mother. However, many have speculated that he may have deliberately consumed contaminated water. I won’t add to the speculation surrounding Tchaikovsky’s personal life or death, but it’s easy to understand why it has drawn such intense interest. His music carries a sense of emotional turbulence that suggests inner conflict. Many composers have possessed a unique ability to capture specific emotional states—Mozart evokes a sense of serene contentment, Beethoven a restless intensity. For Tchaikovsky, it is a profound, heartbreaking longing. Perhaps this is why scholars have been so fascinated by his private life: his music expresses such exquisite yearning that one can’t help but wonder what it was that he longed for so ardently.

 

Overture to the Tempest (1873)

Run Time: Approx. 25 Minutes

The Tempest, written in 1873, was Tchaikovsky’s second work inspired by a Shakespeare play, following his earlier Romeo and Juliet. The story centers on Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, who has been exiled to a remote island with his daughter, Miranda. Using his magical powers, Prospero conjures a storm that shipwrecks his usurping brother, Antonio, and his crew. Among the stranded sailors is Antonio’s son, Ferdinand, who meets and falls in love with Miranda. Fortunately, the young couple fares much better than Romeo and Juliet, and the play ends with all parties making amends. Prospero is restored to his rightful seat, and Ferdinand and Miranda are engaged.

Tchaikovsky follows the general arc of Shakespeare’s story, but he focuses most attention on the storm itself and the central love story. The work opens with the image of a calm sea, as strings create a foggy atmosphere over which horns play a plaintive melody. The open intervals suggest the vastness of the ocean, while the ominous harmonies hint at the calm before the storm. Led by blustery figures in the strings and woodwinds, the tempest begins. The timpani rolls thunderously over a frantic string section, while the brass section plays dark, terror-evoking chorales.

When the storm finally settles and the orchestra lulls, Tchaikovsky wastes no time in introducing Ferdinand and Miranda’s love theme. Innocent and tender, the melody is exchanged between the woodwinds and strings, tentatively at first, but eventually building into a passionate declaration. Tension returns, however, as the feuding families clash, led by an agitated woodwind section. But Tchaikovsky returns to the lovers’ theme with even greater insistence and passion.

Eventually, the music settles back into the seaside imagery from the opening, as the families reconcile, and Prospero prepares to leave the island. The work concludes just as it began, with a serene and stark image of the open ocean.

 

Piano Concerto No. 3 (1893)

Run Time: Approx. 19 Minutes

Written in 1893, Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 3 was initially conceived as a symphony, but upon receiving a commission for a new concerto, he abandoned what would have been his seventh symphony and reworked the music as a piano concerto. Although Tchaikovsky completed sketches for the entire work, he was only able to finish composition for the first movement before his death. The remainder of the concerto was later finished by Sergey Taneyev, however, most performances of the piece feature only the first movement composed entirely by Tchaikovsky.

The work carries the characteristic beauty and passionate complexity of Tchaikovsky’s oeuvre, while also displaying a sense of playfulness that foreshadows the music of later Russian composers such as Prokofiev and Shostakovich, who would follow in Tchaikovsky’s footsteps.

Symphony No. 5 (1888)

Run Time: Approx. 50 Minutes

Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony has become so universally beloved and frequently performed that it feels almost impossible to say something new about it. The work has been analyzed countless times, and most audience members have likely heard it—perhaps even studied it—before. So, for this final masterwork of our ASO season, allow me to step away from my usual academic lens and take a more personal approach.

As a horn player, this symphony holds a special place for me—it features one of the great horn solos in the entire orchestral repertoire. When coaching students on the excerpt, I often joke that “Tchaikovsky had a lot of big feelings.” As reductive as that may sound, I believe it’s the very reason this symphony has resonated so deeply with audiences for 137 years, and likely will for many more.

When listening to or playing this work, I’m always struck by the profound sense that Tchaikovsky had something he was urgently trying to express. We know from his own writings that he felt conflicted between the form-driven discipline of Western conservatory training, and his instinctive pull toward more dramatic, emotionally driven melody—more in line with the Russian tradition. As musicologist Leon Plantinga observed, “He struggled ceaselessly with the opposed demands of formal traditions he had learned in the conservatory and his own predilection for an emotional and expressive progression of events corresponding to an unspoken program.”

When we speak of an “unspoken program,” we’re referring to an underlying story or narrative arc, something traditional symphonies typically avoid. Indeed, when Tchaikovsky set about composing the Fifth Symphony, he began with the idea of “Complete resignation before Fate–or what is the same thing, the inscrutable designs of Providence.” Though the published work bears no written evidence of this conceptualization, the music practically demands such an interpretation.

The symphony opens with a somber clarinet theme that has come to be known as the “fate motif.” Introduced at the start of the first movement, it reappears throughout the work and ultimately becomes the main theme of the finale. Over the course of the final movement, this motif undergoes a remarkable evolution—heard as a stately march, a fiery and menacing outburst, flustered, bubbling turmoil, moments of unrestrained joy, and, finally, a resolute and victorious conclusion. The emotional journey is vast, and each transformation of the theme feels like a chapter in a story Tchaikovsky was determined to tell—even if only in music.

The second movement, which opens with the aforementioned horn solo, embarks on a similarly turbulent journey, full of longing, passion, and deep sadness. At the height of its drama, the orchestra erupts in a powerful and frustrated return of the fate motif, as if voicing the helplessness Tchaikovsky may have felt at the hands of destiny.

All of this, of course, is conjecture—Tchaikovsky never truly revealed the dramatic arc he may have intended. Yet the emotions evoked by this powerful work are undeniable. He achieves the remarkable feat of allowing us to feel what he felt–even if we’re not sure of the cause–offering a visceral window into his inner life and connecting us to another world, 137 years away. That kind of emotional power is timeless—and I doubt it will ever stop being celebrated.

-Valerie Sly, 2025