You old romantic, you!

In my early record collection was a lovely, only slightly scratchy LP, with an equally well-aged photographic portrait on its cover, of Sergei Rachmaninoff playing his own compositions. Needless to say, if you’re a big gooey fan of sweeping, high intensity passionate music like I am and you’re going to have a limited audio selection, it’s beyond stupendous to have such a jewel in it. I undoubtedly increased the mileage on that piece of vinyl tenfold, listening to it in a virtually continuous loop at times, before the era of CDs rendered my old faithful stash of LPs–at least the equipment on which I played them–obsolete. I’m no sophisticated audiophile, able to detect the finer distinctions between LP and CD, let alone to wring the delicacies out of super-duper-HD-splendiferous solid plutonium audio wire with sprinkles on it. But I know gorgeous and moving music when it smacks me upside the head. So of course I’ve always been a sucker for Sergei.

My fabulous blogger friend XB at ‘In Search of My Moveable Feasts’, offered a 25 July rumination on Rachmaninoff and the question posed in some circles as to whether he should be considered a second-rate composer. In some ways, asking me that particular one boils down to what is always treated as quite the prickly question: whether there is a direct relationship, either as equivalents or as antagonists, between popularity (wide public approval, say) of an artist or his work and their level of critical acceptability and the kind of greatness that somehow transcends the current stamp of approval. I’m not entirely sure I buy that these are mutually exclusive evaluations. But at bottom, the very happy obsession to which I confessed earlier answers the question for me far enough for my purposes: Mr. Rachmaninoff makes music that moves me deeply and without which I would be loath to spend any great length of time, and that’s my brand of critical success.

Meanwhile, the portrait above, which was based on the album cover photo, was a surprise to many. It was made as part of a portrait show honoring many of my favorite influences, particularly artists of every stripe, each of whom has played some role in pushing me ahead artistically. It wasn’t until the show was hanging in the gallery that others pointed out and I saw for the first time the marked resemblance between Sergei Rachmaninoff and the also marvelous Vladimir Horowitz in profile, all the more intriguing considering how well known Horowitz is for playing the compositions of fellow eastern Europeans like, say, Rachmaninoff.

In a final confessional note, I will say that an additional major source of my attraction to this great Rach star is his glorious choral music, most notably the exquisite Opus 37, the All Night Vigil (in popular parlance, his ‘Vespers‘). That my life-partner was in the midst of rehearsing an upcoming production of that miraculous piece when we came together could possibly be blamed in part for this addiction. The Sweet Nothings he whispered to me in his sleep being Church Slavonic seemed plenty romantic! As it has transpired, I have now been blessed to be immersed in this piece several times again as he’s conducted it in rehearsals and concerts with an array of different choirs. Given my experience, if Greatness is partly defined by the sophistication and complex subtlety that grows and changes with repeated exposure, never losing but rather increasing in richness over time–I would call Rachmaninoff decidedly first-rate. Whether anybody else buys that as valid or not, I’ll happily wake up any day to a faint humming of ‘Bogoroditse Djevo’, whether it’s from the CD player or from the other side of my bed.