So the story goes: the premiere of Rachmaninoff’s first symphony, conducted by an inebriated Alexander Glazunov and met with public and critical disdain, tipped Sergei Rachmaninoff into an extended depression. It was his subsequent association with Dr Nikolai Dahl which, over a period of years, helped retrieve the composer from his creative slump. The wealth of key works that followed stands as a testament to his mastery of musical language and to the lasting, widespread appeal his music has garnered.
There is a tendency to look at Rachmaninoff’s output from a before-and-after perspective, with the unintended consequence of assuming that what came after his extended depression was somehow superior to what came before. We’re human beings, after all: we yearn for a redemptive arc in our stories. Shared human connection is rooted not only in music, but in narrative too. Relying too much on redemption in Rachmaninoff’s story risks overlooking a universal truth that extends beyond music itself: rejection isn’t failure, though failing to respond to it might be. Someone else’s opinion of your work doesn’t define you; how you respond to their judgment does.
In this way, Rachmaninoff’s second symphony isn’t the clichéd ‘better second album’, but the result of the confidence he gained when his second piano concerto was successfully premiered in 1901. The works that followed—the concerto, the symphony, and beyond—reflect how the composer worked through his thoughts, feelings, and beliefs to create a different outcome. The consequence of growth.
In sporting terms, it’s the equivalent of the young swimmer transformed from promising amateur to Olympic hopeful by the right coach. In Rachmaninoff’s case, the coaching was quieter, drier, and highly suggestive. Dr Dahl used hypnotism and daily therapy to rebuild the composer’s resolve, confidence, and resilience. While modern workplaces recruit coaches to achieve similar outcomes, hypnotism is rarely part of the toolkit. Yet Dahl’s unique mix of psychological insight and love of classical music made him an irrefutably influential figure in art music at the turn of the century, transforming both Rachmaninoff’s view of himself and the world’s view of Rachmaninoff long after his death.
One of Rachmaninoff’s most-loved works, the second symphony is a musical monument to love and loss. Here, in contrast to the first symphony, the composer seems bolder and more self-assured, reflected in the scale of the sound and the inventive development of the material introduced in the first movement. Rachmaninoff’s compositional voice is at its grandest, most relatable, and most confident.
At the heart of the symphony lies one of Rachmaninoff’s finest creations: a slow movement that is a ‘bucket list’ solo for any clarinettist who feels at ease—or even seeks—the spotlight. It tells a story of love, yearning, and the anguish of loss. Floating serenely above the orchestra, the solo clarinet expresses in a single musical line what it is to love, as strings ebb and flow beneath. Later, the theme, lost in the development, returns delicately traced by the strings, the clarinet’s original voice now only a memory.
Emotionally, the entire symphony walks a razor-thin line between heart-on-sleeve vulnerability and mawkish sentimentality, foreshadowing the film music that would accompany countless Hollywood romances in the decades to come. Yet here, the writing remains efficient, inventive, and imbued with the clarity and self-assurance that often comes from intense therapy and gritty determination.
The arc of Rachmaninoff’s journey offers a familiar truth: creativity thrives on reflection, challenge, and renewal. The second symphony endures not only as a musical triumph but also as a symbol of persistence rewarded with resilience—and as one of the most concise and relatable expressions of love and loss.
The Ulster Orchestra will perform Rachmaninoff’s second symphony on Friday 16 May at Ulster Hall. Book tickets.