Concierto de Aranjuez

Visitors to the Royal Palace of Aranjuez outside Madrid, Spain, are inevitably wowed by the exquisite 16th-century palace and the foliage, sculptures, and fountains of the surrounding gardens. The palace and adjacent grounds are a feast for the eyes, and generations of Spanish royalty enjoyed it as their springtime residence. It might be assumed then that Joaquín Rodrigo had this visual grandeur in mind when he composed the Concierto de Aranjuez in 1939. In reality, however, Rodrigo never saw any of it. Having lost his sight at the age of three after a bout with diphtheria, Rodrigo experienced the world through his other senses and was drawn to music at a young age. He began studying piano, violin, and solfege (ear training) at age eight, then harmony and composition as a teenager, utilizing a Braille system of music notation. Every one of his works required transcription into standard notation before it could be performed or published. The process was painstaking and required the composer to dictate an entire work, note by note and instrument by instrument, to a copyist. Despite these challenges, Rodrigo went on to produce more than 200 works, including 11 concertos for various instruments.

By far his most well-known work, the Concierto de Aranjuez was the result of a wine-fueled dinner conversation with the Spanish guitarist Regino Sáinz de la Maza. Rodrigo wrote: “In September of 1938, I was in San Sebastián on my return to France. It was during a dinner organized by the Marqués de Bolarque with Regino Sáinz de la Maza and myself. We ate well and the wine was not bad at all; it was the right moment for audacious fantasizing. All of a sudden, Regino, in that tone between unpredictable and determined which was so characteristic of him, said: ‘Listen, you have to come back with a Concerto for Guitar and Orchestra.’ And, to go straight to my heart, he added in a pathetic voice: ‘It's the dream of my life’ and, resorting to a bit of flattery, he continued: ‘This is your calling, as if you were the chosen one.’ I quickly swallowed two glasses of the best Rioja, and exclaimed in a most convincing tone: ‘All right, it's a deal!’”

Returning to Paris, where he and his wife had been living during the Spanish Civil War, Rodrigo composed the work during the first half of 1939. He intended it to be an evocation of the sounds and perfumes of the palace gardens he and his wife had visited on their honeymoon. When he returned to Spain in September 1939, he carried with him the original Braille manuscript of the concerto. Regino Sáinz de la Maza and the Orquesta Filarmónica de Barcelona gave the premiere in November 1940. The concerto’s popularity has never waned, and it is today considered a cornerstone of the classical guitar repertoire. Rodrigo became a hero in his native country, eventually being elevated to Spanish nobility by King Juan Carlos I in 1991. Today the Marqués de los Jardines de Aranjuez and his wife Victoria are buried in the cemetery at Aranjuez.

The first movement begins joyfully with an introduction for the solo guitar, strumming in a flamenco style, leaving little doubt that we are in Spain. The orchestra answers the guitar, staccato strings imitating the Spanish rhythmic figures. There follow two charming themes, balanced beautifully between the solo guitar and orchestra. Rodrigo’s ear for orchestration is exceptional, and the chirping woodwinds and splashes of color from the strings and brass serve as the perfect complement to the guitar without ever overwhelming it.

The Adagio is the soul of the concerto and the movement that inevitably draws a sigh of recognition from audiences. A plaintive melody is introduced by the English horn, accompanied by soft strumming from the guitar. The soloist takes over the melancholy tune, embellishing it like a Spanish troubadour. The movement spins out as a dialogue between soloist and orchestra and concludes with an extended cadenza for the guitar. Much has been made over the years about the inspiration for the movement, whether it was a reaction to the Spanish Civil War, or to Rodrigo’s wife having suffered a recent miscarriage, or to some other sad memory. Regardless, it is a deeply personal movement that continues to affect even modern-day audiences profoundly.

The sunshine returns in the final movement as a jaunty, Renaissance-style theme in an irregular meter brightens the mood considerably. Quirky orchestral writing underpins virtuosic passages for the soloist. As if to brush the whole thing off as just a bit of fun, the piece concludes with three simple repeated notes in the guitar, inevitably eliciting an audience chuckle.