Piano Concerto No. 2 in G Minor

One of the most technically challenging and remarkably unorthodox works of the genre, Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2 was dedicated to the memory of his friend Maximilian (“Max”) Schmidthoff, whose suicide he learned of just as he finished the score. Completed in 1913, when he had recently turned 22, that original version was lost in the vicissitudes of the Russian Revolution and subsequent Civil War. Some 10 years after its original composition, Prokofiev rewrote the Concerto partly from memory, but also made revisions: The second movement—a toccata for the soloist—became even more relentless, lacking the original version’s respite (as described in Prokofiev’s diary) of a “charming” trio. Most remarkable is the first movement. Its opening is deceptively low-key, yet portentous: A motif, sounding like a fateful ground bass, is softly picked out by clarinet and pizzicato low strings. Yet the soloist’s first entry belies that initial impression, as the nonchalant character of their music becomes increasingly quirky—possibly as a nod to the late Max, whom the composer admired for his chic style and caustic wit. Almost imperceptibly, as the orchestra falls silent, the soloist embarks on what becomes an increasingly ferocious and technically challenging cadenza. After that remarkable coup de théâtre, we can only expect the unexpected in this extraordinary Concerto, which—apart from a mournful lullaby heard midway through the finale—maintains its ferocity through the remaining three movements.