Happily one’s musical tastes are ever evolving …or at least mine are. New discoveries are made regularly and old ones are being constantly re-evaluated. At the present time, in the midst of an Apennine winter which is throwing up a succession of days ranging from brilliantly blue freezing to lukewarm grey  overcast I have rediscovered Tchaikovsky and in particular his first three symphonies.

How many symphonies did this composer, described by his fellow musicians as the most Russian of them, write? There are six numbered symphonies although wags like to say that Pyotr wrote just three since the preponderance of performances are of numbers 4, 5 and 6. However, if one adds the unnumbered ‘Manfred’ symphony and the restored symphony in Eb (which was supposed to be the original no 6) then the composer’s symphonic inventory expands to eight.

My original objections to this truly great composer were based on early childhood trips to the ‘Nutcracker’ ballet at London’s Royal Festival Hall which I regrettably found a bit boring.  Later that greatest of pianistic showmen, Liberace, stole the show (and the pleasure) for me with his rendition of that extraordinary opening of the first piano concerto. Emotional splurging became my description of this sort of music. Later the mistranslated sixth ‘Pathetique’, symphony (the correct translation from the Russian should be ‘passionate’) became unfortunately associated for me with a couple who, in student days occupied an adjoining accommodation. They would put on this searing work when indulging in their nocturnal sports under the sheets. Sheet (or winding sheet) indeed, for this work has been termed the longest musical suicide note as a few days after its first performance in 1893 the composer died after drinking a glass of water infected with cholera (whether accidentally or on purpose is still being debated today).   

A school friend, who later became well-known for his controversial monograph of another Russian composer, Shostakovich, (and also his exhaustive account of the Beatles song repertoire) bemoaned to me the fact that Tchaikovsky was just known for a handful of popular party pieces like the ‘1812’ and the Sugar-Plum fairy while his really great works were neglected.

The transport of my thousand-plus vinyl collection to a cantina of our new home, a collection which was very nearly disposed of, not only by the damp which made so many record covers look as if they had been devoured by mice, but also by the feeling that it was superfluous to requirements, has enabled me to play several Tchaikovsky recordings which I bought up during those years when local libraries were disposing of vinyl in favour of digital CDs, ignorant of the fact that vinyl would make a dramatic comeback thirty years later, and has prompted me in my reawakening of interest in Tchaikovsky.

In particular, the ‘un-played’ symphonies numbers 1-3 have utterly stunned me with their transcendent orchestration, their splendid melodies and (strangely for a composer whose life appeared to gravitate from one emotional crisis to another) their encouraging optimism.

True, symphony no 1, subtitled ‘Winter Day dreams’, caused the composer much angst but little of this shows through a truly delightful product, so appropriate for this time of year when the seemingly dead earth is really burgeoning with hidden creation. The title of the second symphony, ‘Little Russian’ or ‘Ukrainian’, reminded me of the present tense political climate regarding the country I visited earlier this century.  The finale, based on a folksong called ‘the Crane’ (the bird, not the building accessory…) is absolutely spectacular and so colourfully vibrant in its reiterations.

I have the Simon recording, the first one based on the original 1872 version which is so much more effective that its 1880 revision. The ‘Mighty Handful’, the nickname given to the group of five Russian composers fundamental for the renaissance of Russian music (that included Borodin and Rimsky Korsakov), thought so too and the movement has ever been especially popular with Russian audiences.

However, it’s Tchaikovsky’s symphony no 3 (with its subtitle ‘Polish’ given to it in view of its polonaise-like rhythms) that has completely captured me. Starting off with a somewhat lugubrious introduction it unfolds into the first movement’s life-affirming splendour. This is followed a delightful dance movement succeeded by an elegiac piece. Then comes the scherzo, absolutely enchanting in its quite ravishing orchestration. The finale would be sufficient to put any pessimistic thoughts to bed – it is truly life-enhancing at its most superbly fiery.  

Thank goodness we have music like this to stand ourselves back on our feet again, especially during these dismally confusing times: we thoroughly need it!