March 7 marks the 150th birthday of Maurice Ravel, and his reputation is holding up very well indeed. There were times when his music was dismissed by poohbahs as insufficiently avant-garde, but audiences have remained remarkably — and understandably — loyal. The publication Bachtrack compiles annual statistics of classical music concerts worldwide, and it is a rare year when Ravel does not make the list of top ten composers. In 2022 he ranked seventh (after Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Brahms, Schubert, and Schumann), with his tone poem La Valse ranking as the most often performed of all classical compositions. He dropped to No. 10 in 2023, then rose only to No. 9 in 2024, probably because performers were holding off, preparing to unleash their Ravel repertoire in full force during this 2024-25 anniversary season.
These figures are all the more noteworthy given that the composer published only about 45 pieces in his lifetime (their number increased through posthumous editions). Ravel was physically unassuming — 5’3” tall, 108 pounds — and his scores are not the most imposing in the repertoire, not being generally extroverted in a barnstorming way, but his musical wit, urbanity, and refinement made him a giant. The luscious orchestral climaxes in Daphnis et Chloé do not rattle the rafters, and even such virtuosic works as his two piano concertos — one for the left hand alone, both filled with technical challenges, and both performed by the New York Philharmonic this month — do not seem conceived to dazzle in the way that coeval concertos by Rachmaninoff or Prokofiev do. On the other hand, Ravel composed the 1908 piano suite Gaspard de la nuit with the intent that its last movement, Scarbo, should be the most knuckle-busting piano solo out there, outdoing even Balakirev’s fearsome Islamey; more than a century later, the occasional pianist must wonder, moments before launching into it, whatever possessed them to program something that could so easily go awry.
Still, grandeur was rarely Ravel’s goal; it would have been contrary to his character. His fellow piano students at the Paris Conservatoire viewed him as friendly but reserved. One classmate, the pianist and conductor Alfred Cortot, described him as a “slightly bantering, intellectual, and somewhat distant young man.” Another, the pianist Ricardo Viñes, found him driven by whatever was “poetry, fantasy, precious and rare, paradoxical and refined,” and at the same time outspoken due to “a love of Art and Beauty, which guide him and which make him react candidly."
Finesse informed Ravel’s person as it did his art. As a young man he dressed as a dandy — who “must aspire to be sublime without interruption; he must live and sleep before a mirror,” wrote Baudelaire — and that trait stuck with him for the rest of his life. Just after he died, his pianist- friend Hélène Jourdan-Morhange wrote: “This New Year of 1938 is the first one for 21 years which has not (alas!) found me in a state of perplexity on the subject of Ravel’s neckties. … ‘Now then’ he would say, ‘I’ve ordered two jackets, one beige and one violet-blue …. What would you say to a red tie? Or perhaps an indigo one?’"
As with his neckties, so it was with his music. Ravel’s orchestral writing is filled with colors that seem at once startling and absolutely right. Has a contrabassoon solo ever been as perfectly craft- ed to the need at hand as the one in his Mother Goose Suite? Who else would have given an entire variation in Boléro to the little-used oboe d’amore, more mellow than a regular oboe but less melancholy than an English horn? More than 20 composers have made orchestral arrangements of Musorgsky’s piano suite Pictures at an Exhibition, but Ravel’s has been the gold standard ever since it appeared in 1922 — and what music-lover could do without the eerie sound of the alto saxophone, the haunting balladeer of the piece’s Old Castle movement, singing mournfully above muted strings? In neckties and orchestration alike, Ravel was a creative colorist.
In his early years, he was often eclipsed in critical admiration by Debussy; then, shortly after World War I, young composers like Poulenc and Milhaud justifiably elbowed into the spotlight of French music. Ravel spoke well of them, and he survived just fine. “The years passed,” wrote Prokofiev in a memorial tribute, “the new composers have taken their allotted place in French music, but Ravel still remains one of the leading French composers and one of the outstanding musicians of our time."
Ravel at 150
Following performances of La Valse (led by Susanna Mälkki) and his Piano Trio (on the NY Phil Ensembles series) this past fall, the New York Philharmonic’s celebration of Ravel continues March 13–16 with concerts on which Gustavo Dudamel conducts both of his piano concertos, with The Mary and James G. Wallach Artist-in-Residence Yuja Wang as soloist. Coming up, May 16–18, Juanjo Mena leads the complete score of Daphnis et Chloé, featuring the New York Philharmonic Chorus. Offstage, one can delve into Ravel at 150, an exhibition (which includes original manuscripts on loan from the Morgan Library & Museum and Ravel-related materials never before presented publicly) located in the Katherine and Gary W. Parr Archive Gallery, on David Geffen Hall’s Leon and Norma Hess Grand Promenade and available online at the NY Phil’s Google Arts and Culture hub.
However, what makes the NY Phil’s Ravel celebration stand apart from others is the rare honor of premiering a work by this seminal figure in 20th-century music. Along with the piano concertos, on this month’s concerts Dudamel is leading the Orchestra in the World Premiere of Ravel’s Prélude et Danse de Sémiramis, composed in his youth for a competition then lost for years, which is also featured in the NY Phil exhibit.
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