1934 was a year of indecision for Prokofiev. He spent a large part of it visiting Russia, yet respect for his work was becoming especially high in the West. He was, for example, elected to honorary membership in the Academy of Music in Rome. And, as a result of his growing fame, he was asked by a group of French musicians to compose a violin concerto for the famous virtuoso Robert Soetens. The composer was torn between remaining in the West to take advantage of his rising fame and returning to the homeland he had left 16 years earlier.
He knew full well that to move back to Russia would affect his musical style, because the brilliant, hard driving, powerful works he had been writing while living in Paris would never satisfy the official Soviet requirements for art. Russian music was supposed to be readily accessible, melodic and consonant.
The Second Violin Concerto became a transitional work. The first movement was composed in Paris, while the remaining movements were written after Prokofiev’s return to Russia. Stylistically, however, the concerto is typical of his Soviet period, in that it is lyrical, tonal, relatively consonant, and simplified.
Despite returning to Russia, the composer was still able to make extensive concert tours. Consequently, the concerto was composed in hotel rooms in a variety of European cities. The premiere took place on Prokofiev’s and Soetens’ tour of Spain, Portugal, Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia.
The composer liked Spain. The Spanish people displayed a great love of music. He said, “Wherever I played, after every concert, whether in a café or during supper in a restaurant, they would ask me thousands of questions about the Soviet Union, about Soviet music. The Spaniards were particularly interested to hear about our unions of creative artists, composers’ contracts, and the centralization of our concert institutions and orchestras.”
When Soetens premiered the concerto in Madrid, Prokofiev was accorded a standing ovation by both audience and orchestra. Later a special delegation was sent to the composer to express appreciation for his having allowed the work to be played first in Spain.
The first movement is cast in a traditional sonata form, except that the usual opposition between a dramatic first theme and a lyrical second theme is not evident. Both themes are lyrical. Nonetheless there is drama, as well as excitement and virtuosity, in the transitional and developmental passages. As the development section is remarkably straightforward, it is easy to follow the two themes through their various transformations. Prokofiev’s concern with accessibility is clear throughout the concerto.
The second movement, like the first, is predominantly lyrical, with the solo instrument seldom silent. Again, Prokofiev makes the main theme’s transformations easy to follow. Many of the textures derive from the opening opposition of staccato (short note) accompaniment and legato (smoothly connected) solo line. At the very end these roles are reversed, as the violin plays a pizzicato accompaniment to the lyrical tune in the cellos, horns and clarinets.
In contrast to the earlier movements, the finale is brash, a bit sarcastic, almost demonic—
certainly not lyrical. As earlier, the solo instrument plays nearly constantly. There are no cadenzas. Despite the lack of outright lyricism, the music is melodic, as befits a concerto by a proper Soviet composer. Dance rhythms abound, and several times the music almost becomes a waltz. There are also exciting rhythmic and metric asymmetries, such as the passage in 7/4 time that is heard twice.
Prokofiev’s Second Violin Concerto was written nearly 20 years after his First. Comparisons are instructive. What is surprising is that the two works are not more different, considering the avant-garde music the composer was creating in the intervening years. Although there are certain stylistic differences, they share the idea of lyricism contrasted with harshness. The First Concerto was composed while Prokofiev was preparing to leave Russia, the Second upon his return. Thus, the two works form an appropriate frame around the composer’s Parisian period.
—Jonathan D. Kramer