The ‘Cello Concerto’ by Elgar is the most famous piece for solo cello accompanied by an orchestra. The beautiful, rich sound of the cello is captivating. But, we also sense loneliness: the cellist seems to be searching for something. In this episode I share insights into the piece and I answer the questions ‘What is a Concerto?’ and ‘What is Texture?’.

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Hi! My name’s Scott Wilson. I’m a conductor and I’m passionate about classical music. In this podcast we discover the music of one of our greatest artforms. We listen to a new piece in each episode, I share insights into the music, and over time, I’ll take you on a journey through classical music’s composers, musicians, and history. Everything’s discussed in an easily digestible way, and no prior knowledge is needed. This podcast is for you!

In this episode we’re listening to the ‘Cello Concerto’ by the English composer Elgar. It’s the most famous piece for solo cello accompanied by an orchestra. Listen to this opening: the rich sound of the cello grabs the listener with such intensity! I hope you enjoy it!

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Don’t you just wish you could play the cello! The sound of that instrument is gorgeous. Well known but not really discussed amongst orchestral musicians, is that the cello is often described as being the most beautiful sounding instrument. And cellists know it too. They’re at one with the instrument, surrounding it, almost hugging it: they entice a uniquely rich sound out of their alluring instrument. A certain confidence comes with being a cellist. They know the effect their instrument has over listeners.

Think about that opening. It’s bold and powerful. But now listen to what the orchestra plays immediately afterwards.

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This melody will be played six times in a row. Each time it’s different, but it maintains its essential quality: it’s alone, and it’s searching for something. It’s not sad, exactly. Something sad would be slower, and somehow more mournful. No, this melody is introspective. It’s personal: maybe it’s looking for something that was there, but has been lost.

Let’s continue listening. The melody is now played by the solo cello. Underneath there’s a low pitch sustained throughout, and above you'll hear occasional high-pitched chords. The melody of the cello sits in the middle of these two extremes.

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We’re going to listen to that same music again. As you listen, really focus on the spread of the sound. At the bottom you’ll hear a continuous low note played by the double basses, in the middle is the cello melody, and at the top you’ll hear occasional, brief chords from the clarinets. To me, those chords sound like search lights turning on and off. When the lights are off, it’s stark: the melody’s left all alone.

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So, initially we heard the melody played on it’s own. Then we heard the melody played by the solo cello in between a low bass note and occasional high-pitched chords. At the end there, the melody was played by the first violins, second violins, and violas all at the same time. What we’ve heard so far, is three different textures in the music. Texture is the thickness or the density of the sound, and in discussing this, I’m continuing my theme from the past few episodes exploring how music works. Varying the texture in the music is one of the ways composers are able to create different atmospheres. As the texture changes - meaning, as the thickness or density of the sound changes - it affects a listener’s emotional response to the music.

We’ll continue straight on. The orchestra now plays pitches that are tightly wrapping themselves around the melody. Intensity’s created by a melody that’s struggling to maintain prominence within, what is now, a denser texture. 

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Wow! The cello reaches a climax, screaming out before the orchestra engulfs it in sound. The journey of the music so far has been from transparent textures to the dense sound we hear now. And we’ve arrived at the sound of Elgar. His orchestral works frequently feature very thick orchestral textures; and they’re created by many layers of sound, one on top of the other stacked from the low basses, right up to the high-pitched flutes. The listener can no longer distinguish the unique sounds of individual instruments; but instead, all the instruments blend into one.

Imagine hearing this next bit in person. You’d feel like you’re immersed in a thick blanket of warm orchestral sound.

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This sound - this texture - is like listening to an organ in a cathedral. The sound comes at you from all directions, you can’t quite pinpoint its source. And from the perspective of a conductor, thick textures cause the orchestra to become heavier and a little cumbersome. When the texture is dense, adjustments faster or slower need to take place with greater preparation. In contrast, transparent textures result in a larger range of possibilities: the orchestra is lighter and more responsive to fleeting, momentary changes in speed.

In that last excerpt, the orchestra - with its very Elgar-like, thick-textured sound - is moving at a grand, stately pace. The orchestra played the melody, having more or less swamped the cello only moments before. And yet, at the end, the orchestra disappeared again. We’re left with the solo cello. Following that mass of orchestral sound, the cello feels vulnerable: it’s now all alone. Even more surprising is that the orchestra, which took charge so authoritatively, lost confidence, disappearing within moments of its arrival.

This theme of loss - of loss of confidence, or loss of one’s way - permeates this piece. The ‘Cello Concerto’ was written in 1919, following the end of World War I. It’s a piece that echoes the loss of confidence experienced not only by Elgar, but by England. After World War I the self-assured certainly in the British Empire worldview gradually diminished. For Elgar, it was a time of introspection: the music in his ‘Cello Concerto’ questions and doubts, and only has momentary bouts of confidence.

Let’s listen a little further along in the piece. What I hear is melodies which set out confidently. But then, soon after, they seem to hesitate, ebbing backwards to where they began.

Here’s the first one, setting out optimistically:

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But then it loses trajectory, and falls down.

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The melody heads off again:

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Only to sink back downwards.

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These aren’t the long, lyrical melodies typical of the greatest singing instrument, the cello. They’re brief. They have a searching quality, but they don’t arrive at a destination. The music expresses doubt.

Here’s those melodies played by the orchestra with the soloist.

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Though I loved this music from the first time I heard it, it became more profound when I understood its historical context; when I perhaps glimpsed its meaning. Prior to World War I, Elgar’s music was bound with the values and world-view of Edwardian Imperialism. It’s self-assured, and often has a kind of bravado about it. At times, it sounds militaristic: it’s infused with the instruments, sounds, and rhythms of marches and ceremonial music. In other instances, Elgar writes long, calm, flowing melodies which somehow seem to evoke the English countryside and its gently rolling hills. This was a composer who saw himself as a country gentleman of British Empire England.

It’s no wonder that this music feels, at times, lost; or at least, lacking in confidence. The world that had sustained Elgar - and which he had believed in - had imploded. There was no going back; one needed to question whether their previous outlook on the world had indeed been the right one. Remember that thickly textured music before, the one I described as being typical of Elgar? It disappeared as quickly as it arrived. And in the music we’ve just heard. Yes, it’s beautiful. But it doesn’t get off the ground. The melody begins assertively, but only ever manages a few steps, before hesitating backwards. 

Moments later in the piece, the melody is again taken up by the cello. This time the music makes a determined effort to push forwards. Listen to the bite in the cello sound as it strives to take the melody further than before. But eventually, when doubt sets in, it’s heartbreaking. The music again sinks downwards, not getting anywhere.

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As mentioned earlier, the cello is an instrument that exudes confidence; it plays music that absorbs the listener in its abundantly rich and beautiful sound. The very fact that it’s a cello that’s called upon to play such searching and introspective music, makes this piece even more poignant. Of course, Elgar could’ve chosen virtually any instrument to play solo with an orchestra. But composers often choose an instrument either to align with or rally against its natural qualities. A decision like this adds an additional level of meaning in the music.

Another reason composers might decide to write for a specific instrument is because of a particular individual performer. During the second half of the 20th century there was an enormous increase in the number of concertos written for cello, in significant part because of the virtuoso Mstislav Rostropovich. Of course, Rostropovich performed Elgar’s Cello Concerto; but interestingly it’d be his student Jaqueline du Pre who’d become synonymous with the piece. Her recording, made with the London Symphony Orchestra when she was 20, remains this piece’s most famous performance. A cellist whose individual qualities are having a big impact on classical music right now is Sheku Kanneh-Mason. It’s his recording of Elgar’s ‘Cello Concerto’ that we’re listening to today. He too recorded it with the London Symphony Orchestra when he was 20 years old.

Among the numerous different types of pieces that orchestras play, Concertos are the vehicle for virtuosic performances by an individual musician. These large-scale pieces for soloist accompanied by an orchestra exist for every instrument, but the vast majority of concertos are for piano, violin, and cello. These are the instruments that are most associated with virtuosic performance. Singers appear as soloists with orchestras too, but their pieces are never called concertos, and are usually referred to as songs or arias.

But a concerto itself is a piece lasting between about 25 and 45 minutes, almost always with three different sections, which are referred to as ‘movements’. In a concerto there’s nearly always a cadenza too: a moment where the orchestra stops playing and the soloist spends a few minutes playing technically demanding music that’s written to show off the immensity of the performer’s skills.

Something interesting about Elgar’s ‘Cello Concerto’ is that it doesn’t have the standard three movements, but it has four movements. Four movements is what is typical of a Symphony, and it’ll be a Symphony that I’ll feature in the next episode. Alongside this, I’ll conclude my series of discussions on how music works, by taking a look at Form.

We’re approaching the end of the first movement of Elgar’s ‘Cello Concerto’. Our opening melody has returned, and once again we’re building towards a climax. The thick, orchestral texture that is such a feature of Elgar’s music, will be heard again.

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Even more dramatic than the first time, the orchestra cuts off leaving the solo cello hanging on its own. It painfully calls out to us. And there’s magic in what happens next. The cellist, for a moment, digs in and begins to push towards another climax. You’ll hear this:

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In the two times we’ve heard similar music before, this has been the moment where the cellist has launched upwards to the orchestral climax. But - devastatingly - that doesn’t happen this time. Instead the cellist retreats. We’ll listen to it now. Focus on that moment when the cellist almost decides to take us forwards. And then feel the music recede back to that melody from the beginning of the piece.

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This melody plays out the final few seconds of this eight minute movement. We really haven’t got anywhere, and as a result, it ends starkly: we descend down to one last, long, low note.

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That last note is the pitch on which the movement began. We haven’t come full circle. It’s more like we haven’t left. We set out a few times searching, trying to find a way forwards. But ultimately, we couldn’t find a path. We remain lost and alone.

Thank you for being with me for another episode of A Thousand Pictures. If you have questions or would like to make a suggestion of a piece or topic for a future episode, please get in touch via social media or email feedback@athousandpictures.com. Further information, a link to the recording featured in today’s podcast, and suggestions about what to listen to next can be found at athousandpictures.com. Or subscribe to our email list and you’ll receive this information directly to your inbox.

Today we’ve been listening to the first movement from the ‘Cello Concerto’ composed by Edward Elgar. I recommend the recording by the London Symphony Orchestra, featuring the cellist Sheku Kanneh-Mason, conducted by Sir Simon Rattle.

And finally, please subscribe, please rate and review, and please share this podcast with others. Your support is valuable and it’s appreciated: together we can create a community which celebrates classical music! Now go and listen to this wonderful piece, and get out there and hear a performance by your local orchestra!

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