What Prokofiev Really Thought

I want to explain how I understand Prokofiev's 1st Sonata, which I played in recital here in the Netherlands a few days ago.

I feel very strongly about this piece; I believe I understand the music of Prokofiev (and Shostakovich and Virtuoso rubbish) to a depth that I have not yet reached with Mozart, Brahms, and the great operatic works. (That's the privilege I have for being young and immature.)

I paraphrased both myself and a certain writer I've quoted previously when I spoke a few words before the performance:

If the silence from which music emerges is the connecting point for everything, then music is parallel in nature to the ultimate cycles of life, both human and natural. Just as a human life arcs from birth to death, a sound wave returns to its initial frequency, or water continues through the cycle of evaporation, rain and return to the ocean, so Prokofiev's 1st Sonata reflects the eternal pendulemic movement to and from balance, illustrated through a single cycle.

The core structure of every story is so; this is the essence of the conflicting forces that drive both nature and human life.

It is not easy to peer into the great nothingness and ask: "What is there?". But it is probably the greatest adventure of all.

This sonata is how Prokofiev asks that question.

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So did Prokofiev really think about all this? Don't expect me to defend myself. You might be surprised to hear me say that the answer is a definite 'mo'.

I have it on good authority that a conversation between Prokofiev and David Oistrakh (for whom the piece was written) went very much like this:

Prokofiev: Oi, Dave. I've written a Sonata for you.
Oistrakh: Nice. Let's try it out.

[they read through it]

Prokofiev: What do you think?
Oistrakh: I think you may have written one of the greatest violin pieces ever.
Prokofiev: Really? Oh.

The music Prokofiev came out with was written intuitively. He was expressing things he felt very deeply in a way that he didn't for the 2nd (flute) Sonata. There's no way of knowing if he ever consciously rationalised the meaning of his work. After all, it's music - there's no need to! But it's not realistic to expect everyone to understand it or perform it intuitively, although I'm sure people do.

I think it *does* help therefore, to create a story, a set of images, a narrative, or even just a few pointers that illustrate important aspects of the music. It gives people something to hold on to. It prepares them, in the way that opera-goers often learn the story of an opera, and maybe a few main themes or motifs, before going to see it. This is another reason why it's good that 'interactivity' is becoming more important now, whether it's a digital TV info system, a website presentation, or just a few words spoken at the beginning of a concert. Because it allows people to see another angle on the music, so that whether or not they choose to embrace that angle, it has value, because by rejecting it you have strengthened whichever other ideas you believe in.

That's why I increasingly think it's OK to create silly storylines or settings for music, and to make no apology for it. Just because something is oversimplified or inauthentic doesn't mean it shouldn't be there. Because the fact that it *is* there is sometimes more important than whatever it's trying to say.