Desert Island Classics #8: Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture
Desert Island Classics #8
Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture, Op 49: Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra, University of Minnesota Brass Band, 1775 Douay Bronze Cannon, Bells of the Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial Carillon, The Riverside Church (NY), conducted by Antal Dorati (stereo version recorded 1958).
As the United States approaches July 4th, I am reminded of my years living in Boston and the many times I made my way down to the Edward A. Hatch Memorial Shell on the Charles River Esplanade to take in the thousands of people gathered to hear the Boston Pops Orchestra annual Fourth of July celebration. The most iconic portion of the concert, other than the fireworks of course, is the playing of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. It is always a crowd pleaser, even if in my opinion the event has lost some of its star quality since the days of prior directors John Williams and Arthur Fiedler.
While the piece certainly has a patriotic and nationalistic feel to it, it seems rather odd and incongruous, given the history of the 20th century and of course recent history, that a piece written by the greatest Russian composer to ever live should now hold such a beloved place in American life. Indeed, Americans tend to act as though we own the 1812, and how appropriate that its bombast and militaristic nature are set to fireworks. It is a thrilling combination, despite the fact Tchaikovsky most certainly did not have American Fourth of July celebrations in mind when he wrote it. But what of the history of the overture itself, the full title being The Year 1812, Solemn Overture, Op. 49, what do we know about its development?
The Year 1812, Solemn Overture, Op. 49
Much of the information in this section on the 1812 is from Geoffrey Norris, Gramophone Magazine.
The 1812 Overture may very well be both the most popular, and at the same time least popular, classical work ever composed. Written to commemorate Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow, it seems Tchaikovsky himself was not fond of it. When a friend admitted she liked the piece very much, Tchaikovsky replied, “But what do you see in it? The thing was written to order.” As it happens, the 1812 became, even in Tchaikovsky’s own lifetime, a work which audiences across Europe and the United States seemed to clamor for repeatedly. Fast forward to today, and it is still an almost universal crowd pleaser. But not everyone loves the 1812, with its overt bombast and over-the-top effects. Musical commentator Ralph W. Wood said in his 1945 book on Tchaikovsky that the 1812 is “one of the most dreary and repulsive works in the whole of music…noisy, vulgar, and empty.” Even Tchaikovsky might have agreed, but it seems there are more fans of the piece out there than detractors.
In the summer of 1880, Tchaikovsky’s publisher came to him with a commission to write a piece for the Arts and Industry Exhibition in Moscow. Tchaikovsky was less than enthused about writing pieces for such events, but at the time he was the most lauded Russian composer living, and so he felt an obligation to produce something.
Nikolai Rubinstein, the organizer of the music for the exhibition, gave Tchaikovsky three options: he could write an overture to begin the exhibition, he could write an overture to celebrate the silver jubilee of tsar, Alexander II, who had risen to the throne in 1855. Or it could be a cantata for the opening of the Cathedral of Christ the Redeemer, a project that had been worked on for decades and was finally nearly complete (the cathedral was ordered to be destroyed by Stalin in 1931, but was rebuilt in the 1990s at tremendous cost). This last option intrigued Tchaikovsky, as the construction of the Cathedral was actually begun as a way to commemorate the 1812 Russian defeat of Napoleon’s French army. Nevertheless, Tchaikovsky found the whole idea of writing a piece of music to commemorate such an event repugnant and counter to his artistic values. Besides, Tchaikovsky did not care at all for the Cathedral and cared even less for the tsar.
Tchaikovsky even took the matter to his pen pal patroness Nadezhda von Meck, and said to her, “There is nothing more antipathetic to me than composing for the sake of some festivities or other. What, for instance, might one write on the occasion of the opening of an exhibition apart from banalities and generally noisy passages?” Still, Tchaikovsky set about working on the overture, and had it completed within a week. It was typical of Tchaikovsky to be self-deprecating about his own work, or to doubt his work’s true value. But of the 1812, he had virtually nothing positive to say. After competing it, he said “I wrote it without any warm and loving feelings, and so it will probably be lacking in artistic merit”, but only 18 months later his feelings had changed a bit, telling his publisher “I’m undecided as to whether my overture is good or bad, but it is probably (without any false modesty) the latter.”
The 1812 overture was an immediate success at its August 1882 premiere for the Arts and Industry Exhibition in Moscow, and immediately became a hit in St. Petersburg as well. The actual overture introduces some novelties, the first being the inclusion of cannon shots, the second being the use of church bells, and the third whether to use the optional military band. But thematically, the overture is a mix of different themes that either Russian or French listeners of the time would have recognized. The opening is taken from a hymn from Russian Orthodox chant, “Spasi, Gospodi, Iyudi Tvoya” (“God, Preserve Thy People”). There is a quotation from a Russian folk song before the arrival of Napoleon on the scene. The arrival of the French are represented by what is now the French national anthem, the Marseillaise. Tchaikovsky chose to include the Marseillaise despite the fact Napoleon had banned it, and it wasn’t used again as the national anthem of France until the 1870s. However, it would have been instantly recognizable to listeners in Tchaikovsky’s time.
In Soviet times it would have been unthinkable to keep the quotation from the Russian Imperial anthem “Bozhe, tsarya khrani” (“God, Save the Tsar”) as Tchaikovsky had written toward the conclusion of the overture (nevermind that “God, Save the Tsar” also would not have been in use in Napoleonic times), so they replaced those 10 bars of music with the chorus tune “Slavsya” (“Glory”) from Glinka’s opera Ivan Susanin. If you would like to hear the Soviet version, I found it on a recording by the USSR State Symphony Orchestra conducted by Evgeny Svetlanov on the Melodiya label.
Yet another embellishment of the score came in 1966 when Herbert von Karajan took the opportunity to add a choral section at the beginning in place of the lower strings, and subsequently the American conductor Igor Buketoff took the idea further by employing a children’s chorus to sing the folk tune, and then bringing the chorus back at the end for emphasis. While Tchaikovsky did not write a choral section, it is certainly fitting with the nature of the piece, and reportedly he was reportedly considering a choral piece at the time he wrote the 1812.
Early recordings of the overture had the challenge of how to effectively create the 16 cannon shots at the end where they sounded at least somewhat realistic. Otherwise, the piece could be played without them, but in my opinion does not have nearly the same impact. The other question is where to place the cannon shots? Karajan in his 1966 recording places the cannon shots precisely where Tchaikovsky indicated in the score, while others have decided it to be more effective to place the cannon shots at other intervals off the beat. The bells that join in toward the end present yet another challenge in the sense of just how loudly to play them? If they are not played loudly enough, they barely register. But if played too loud, they tend to drown out the rest of the orchestra. So finding that ideal balance also became a recording challenge.
Desert Island Recording
The landmark recording for the 1812 Overture came in 1954 when Antal Dorati recorded the piece with the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra, along with the University of Minnesota Brass Band, the 1775 Douay Bronze Cannon from the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York, and the 74-bell carillon from the Riverside Church in New York. The story goes that the cannon shots were recorded on the grounds of West Point with an ambulance crew standing by, just in case of an accident. Furthermore, when the bells at Riverside were recorded several times in a day, many local residents enquired about the noise it created and what it signified. This first effort by Dorati and forces was in mono in 1954, but it was re-recorded in 1958 in stereo at Northrop Auditorium. The two recordings are quite similar, though the nod goes to the stereo version from 1958. All the extra effort made to record the cannons and bells realistically paid off, as this was the first time on record Tchaikovsky’s effects written into the score were not only realized but very successfully too.
It is not the just the effects that are effective, but the entire performance. Although it has the hallmarks of most Mercury Living Presence recordings, both in a positive sense (clear and detailed sound), and a negative sense (some thinness in the strings and a general lack of depth and resonance), at the end of the day it is the keenly alert, vigorous, and rousing vision of Dorati and the orchestra which really brings great rewards. The real cannons and bells add something special, but Dorati and the orchestra also keep it from becoming ordinary and routine. It has a pulse, a forward push, that is exhilarating. No other recording of the 1812 comes close in my view, and Dorati’s recording remains the first choice for the desert island some 65 years later.
Other recommended recordings
The first recording I owned of the 1812 was by Sir Georg Solti and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, which was an excellent early digital recording made by Decca in 1987. The sound blew me away at the time, and especially the Chicago brass section. The overture fits Solti’s oversize personality too, and it is clear he takes full advantage of this opportunity. There is drama and sizzle, along with plenty of fireworks. On the CD I owned, it was paired with their recording of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, another showcase piece for the orchestra perfect for Solti. Although the cannons and bells don’t match Dorati, this is a very satisfying account in great sound.
Hands down the best of the versions that include the choral embellishments is by Vladimir Ashkenazy and the St. Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra, the St. Petersburg Chamber Choir, and the Leningrad Military Orchestra, recorded in 1997 by Decca. In addition to the warm and resonant Decca sound, Ashkenazy also uses real cannons and bells to great effect (though not quite as great as Dorati). The choir is outstanding, and it is easy to make a case for adding voices to the piece when it is performed as well as it is on this recording. Even without the choral part, this is one of the very best versions of the 1812, with spirited playing and Ashkenazy leading the Russian forces in a completely idiomatic performance. Highly recommended.
Another highly impressive account comes from Stuart Challender and the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, recorded in 1989 in excellent sound by the Australian Broadcasting Company. This can be found fairly easily on streaming services. Challender leads an intimate opening to the work and overall this recording shines in its interpretation of the music rather than the effects. The cannons are not as viscerally thrilling, although the bells create quite a cacophony. But where it really succeeds is in the beauty of the playing and the overarching thoughtfulness of the phrasing. Brass and strings are on point, and the sound has depth and presence.
One of my favorite recordings of the 1812 is one I discovered a year or two ago by Kenneth Alwyn and the London Symphony Orchestra joined by the Band of the Grenadier Guards, recorded in stereo by Decca in 1958. At the time, Alwyn was a brand new 33 year-old conductor and the choice of the up and coming LSO was a good one. There is passion and true feeling here, and nothing that indicates this may be second-rate Tchaikovsky. The piece is played for all its worth. The sound is definitely dated, and the recording balance is not ideal in several spots. Louder passages can be a bit congested. A few times there is a lack of polish from the orchestra. But no matter, this is exciting stuff and it brings more than the required drama, intensity, and feeling. The young Alwyn inspires playing of verve and vigor, along with a lot of exuberance. The cannon shots are not done nearly as well as Dorati from the same year, and sound fake and patched in. Then again nobody matches Dorati, and it was 1958 after all. Altogether, this is a great recording historically and the performance stands up well today.
If cannons are not your thing, you may opt for Leonard Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic from 1963 on Sony. Personally I find no cannons unforgiveable in this work, but there are a lot of good things in this recording. Bernstein had a natural affinity for Tchaikovsky, and his over-the-top personality pretty much fits the work. The strings in particular shine out wonderfully, and Bernstein keeps things moving until just before the coda, where he slows things down before speeding up again for the conclusion.
So happy Fourth of July to those of you in America, and to everyone I hope you revel in the somewhat guilty pleasure of the 1812 Overture!
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Notes:
Norris, Geoffrey. Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture: the complete guide. Gramophone Magazine. January 3, 2023. Online at gramophone.co.uk.