Tchaikovsky’s music, more than almost any we can think of, goes “straight from the heart to the heart,” to borrow Beethoven’s description of his own music. Tchaikovsky’s melodic gift is second to none, sharing a well-deserved berth along with Mozart, Schubert and Dvořák as classical music’s great tunesmiths. Though working within a harmonic framework far less adventurous than, say, Wagner, Tchaikovsky had an unerring instinct for the right sequence of chords to intensify feeling, and a generous and well-chosen palette of orchestral sonorities with which to drape his musical narrative. The spirit of dance is ever-present; no wonder that he still remains the paragon of ballet composition. Above all, there is an emotional immediacy in this music that appeals to a broad spectrum of people, yet a sophistication in manipulating musical materials that engages cognoscenti. Whatever personal demons tormented him—and there were many, ranging from his extraordinary sensitivity to noise and to slights intended and imagined, to inner turmoil attending his homosexuality—he bravely tried his compositional hand at all the genres of his time. Operas, symphonies, concertos, chamber music, solo piano works, song and ballets flowed from his everactive pen. The year 1877 was fraught with emotional turmoil for Tchaikovsky, which focused on a former student, Antonina Miliukhova, who proclaimed her love for the composer in a passionate letter. Tchaikovsky claimed to have not even remembered the young woman whom he had met 12 years earlier. As unlikely as it might seem at first blush, their re-acquaintance resulted in marriage— ultimately ill-fated to be sure. Tchaikovsky had confided in his brother Modest that he thought he should marry to defuse potential ruination lest the knowledge of his homosexuality be exposed. In 19th-century Russia, arrest and exile to Siberia was a likely consequence of such practice. Antonina’s amorous desires conflicted with Tchaikovsky’s sexual preferences resulting, not surprisingly in an unconsummated marriage and a suicide attempt by the distraught composer.

That same year Tchaikovsky entered a long epistolary relationship with Madame Nadezhda von Meck, a wealthy patron of the arts who insisted that they never actually meet. Until shortly before his death she provided much-needed financial assistance as well as deeply considered exchanges on esthetic matters. As a counterpoise to the strife engendered by his catastrophic marriage to Antonina, Mme. von Meck’s participation in Tchaikovsky’s life helped stabilize his labile emotions. In gratitude he dedicated his Symphony No. 4 to her. Emotion is never lacking in Tchaikovsky’s symphonic canon, but clearly the extreme mood shifts in the Fourth reflect the turmoil of his life at the time, especially in the opening almost frenzied first movement. The composer, who had provided a program at von Meck’s request, noted “This is Fate, the power that hinders one in the pursuit of happiness from gaining the goal, which jealousy provides that peace and comfort do not prevail, that the sky is not free from clouds—a might that swings, like the sword of Damocles, constantly over the head, that poisons continually the soul. This might is overpowering and invincible. There is nothing to do but submit and vainly to complain.” This epic movement, Andante sostenuto — as long as the remaining three — opens with a recurring fierce brass fanfare that serves as a kind of emotionally generative leitmotif. Two contrasting themes emerge: an aching melody in the strings and a tender dance-inspired tune first sung by a solo clarinet. Structurally the movement seems like an uneasy partnership of sonataallegro and the free-ranging traits of a tone poem. It is easy to fault Tchaikovsky for his discomfort with traditional German/ Austrian form, yet the very duality of its layout actually enhances its wildly veering range of emotional utterance. The unquestionably bleak mood of the coda seems to assert the triumph of Fate over joy. Marked Andantino in modo di canzona, the second movement flows from a long and exquisitely melancholy theme courtesy of the oboe that largely avoids the tempestuous atmosphere of the opening Andante sostenuto except for the compellingly dark climax, which recalls the continuing presence of unkind Fate. The sun shines in the light and deftly written Scherzo, novel and enchanting in having the strings play pizzicato throughout the entire movement. Tchaikovsky noted, “Here are capricious arabesques, vague figures that slip into the imagination when one has taken wine and is slightly intoxicated.” Oboes and bassoons fill the central Trio with suggestions of a rustic dance punctuated by droll asides from brass and piccolo lampooning military band music. The Allegro con fuoco finale surges from the gate with manic energy largely unabated in this frantic romp. Winds introduce the primary theme, a Russian folk song called “In the Meadow there Stands a Birch Tree.” A swaggering march-like theme enters, seemingly self-assured, before Tchaikovsky reprises the fearsome Fate motif, ending the presumed defeat of negativism. However - Tchaikovsky did not want the symphony to end in despair and resumes the optimistic momentum, noting “There is still happiness…Rejoice in the happiness of others—and you can still live.”