Title: Violin Concerto No. 2 in G minor, Op. 63
Duration: Approximately 26 minutes
Composer: Sergei Prokofiev  (Born in Sontskova, Ukraine in 1891; died in Moscow in 1953)
Work composed: 1935
World premiere: The Concerto had its premiere on December 1, 1935 at the Teatro Monumental in Madrid, performed by the French violinist Robert Soetens with the Madrid Symphony Orchestra conducted by Enrique Fernández Arbós. 
Instrumentation: solo violin, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, percussion (often played by one percussionist: snare drum, bass drum, castanets, suspended cymbal, triangle), strings

Prokofiev’s masterful Violin Concerto No. 2 was commissioned for the French violin virtuoso Robert Soetens (1897-1997) by a group of the virtuoso’s admirers and the work was composed and premiered in 1935.  Leading up to the premiere, Prokofiev had been gradually repatriating himself back to Soviet Moscow after more than two decades of building his career in the West as a composer, conductor, and pianist.  This change in life was also producing some musical changes for Prokofiev – shedding some of the ferocious modernism of his former years and actively embracing the new Soviet musical aesthetic of simplicity and lyricism.  The Concerto was literally composed around the world while Prokofiev wrapped up his touring life.  As he recalled in his autobiography, “the first theme of the first movement was written in Paris [France], the main theme of the second in Voronezh [Russia], the orchestration was completed in Baku [Azerbaijan], and then the premiere took place in Madrid [Spain].”  And the music itself is equally peripatetic, harboring multiple personalities: lyricism, anxiety, sarcasm, naiveté, and wildness, all alongside a hint that, given the right nudge, all hell might just break loose.  Its great popularity ever since its 1935 premiere is owed to the Concerto’s excitement, disarming beauty, and riveting contrasts, and to Prokofiev’s uncanny genius for orchestration (choosing specific instruments to create particular orchestral colors).

The first movement, Allegro moderato (moderately fast), begins with the violin soloist playing alone and quietly.  Its song is beautiful but lonesome and wandering, and it drapes across the measures irregularly without a discernible meter.  There’s a shy hint of a Russian folksong to it, but, everything about this opening melody is hauntingly ambiguous.  The violas and string basses then join the soloist, their strings muted and sounding as though they’re singing from behind the curtains; in addition, they begin in a completely new musical key, creating an effect of the light suddenly changing colors.  Together, these elements create one of the most evocatively mysterious openings in Prokofiev’s writing.  The music then picks up energy through several different musical sections, even introducing a duet between the solo violin and bass drum, until a second theme arrives at about two minutes.  This theme, also introduced by the soloist, is gorgeously lyrical and lighter in mood, and without any of the metrical ambiguity of the first theme.  The movement progresses continually through changing musical surroundings, with the soloist always the first to change the mood – lonely to frenetic, to gorgeously lyrical to nervously restless, sometimes wildly so.  As the movement progresses, the solo violin begins escaping increasingly into its higher registers.  Finally, the lonely first theme returns for one last time at the movement’s end, casting its doubts and shadows.

The second movement, Andante assai (this is a tricky tempo marking that can mean various things, but Prokofiev likely intends a very relaxed walking pace), is one of the loveliest moments, not only in this Concerto, but in all of Prokofiev’s works.  The first movement’s troubles are left behind, and here, the clarinets and pizzicato (plucked) strings play soft and lazy triplets.  The solo violin then sings, soaring above them, with a melody filled with lightness and lyricism.  As the triplets continue underneath, Prokofiev creates a sense of space between them by giving the soloist duple rhythms against the orchestra’s triplets – but all floating gently by.  The movement continues with various rhapsodic versions of this opening theme, until about four minutes.  Here, the soloist’s rhythms speed up, but quietly so, into a continuously oscillating pattern, overtop an almost mechanically treading orchestral accompaniment.  The section moves further into new themes, but essentially, the soloist is very busy throughout in a kind of cadenza-like way, and makes an opportunity for the return of the bass drum.  After a repeat of both of these prominent sections, the movement ends in a sweet reversal, with the soloist playing the lazy pizzicato triplets while the orchestra sings the original soaring song, and then sinking down into the depths as if into a deep sleep, the bass drum beating slowly and quietly.  

Though Prokofiev was actively leaving behind the more aggressive musical styles of his youth, he certainly maintained his musical sarcasm.  The third movement, Allegro ben marcato (fast and played deliberately, with forcefulness), begins in the guise of a dance – three beats per measure, waltz-like – but its ponderous nature sounds more like a clumsy bear or a drunkard.  With a roughhouse skipping-like rhythm, the violin saws away at this opening theme over an equally inelegant accompaniment in the orchestra.  After the ending of the first full statement of this theme, the bass drum plays as if to stomp the dance onwards.  This will be the beginning of a wonderfully chaotic and exhilarating finale, as well as the increasing presence of the percussion’s voice.  Shortly after, a calmer theme, also first played by the soloist, is much more lyrical and fluid but steps through wildly changing meters – for example, one passage, at about one minute into the finale, winds through several bars of 2 long beats, followed by 3 beats, then 2 beats, then 7 beats.  These sections are fleet and the music never seems to rest.  The clumsy bear theme returns, this time to the delightfully unexpected accompaniment of the castanets (two clamshell-shaped pieces of wood clapped together, making a crisp “clack” sound).  Musicologists speculate that Prokofiev added this percussive instrument in honor of the Concerto’s place of premiere in Madrid, given that castanets are a staple in traditional dance music in Spain.  As the finale devilishly dances away, the soloist is in constant motion, muscularly leading the orchestra through several musical sections.  One particularly exquisite moment occurs at about three-and-a-half minutes as the soloist plays rising and falling triplets over the thumping of the bass drum, while behind them, the upper strings play rising and falling glissandos (sliding up and down the finger board of the instrument) – the effect is otherworldly and mesmerizing.  The finale forges to its conclusion, gaining momentum, and here Prokofiev marks the score to be played tumultuoso (tumultuously).  The violin begins sprinting to the final bars in a kind derangement of rapid notes, with the meter changing frequently, and the bass drum incessantly driving each measure forward.  Meanwhile, the orchestra enters bit by bit as if trying to catch up, but when it does, the Concerto ends in splashes of color and exhilaration.