It was March 7, 1928, and Maurice Ravel was celebrating his 53rd birthday in New York. The Frenchman, who by this point in his career was widely considered one of the world’s greatest living composers, was in the midst of a four-month tour that would take him to 20 cities across North America. He was scheduled to conduct the New York Symphony in a program of his works the following day but had accepted an invitation from the Canadian mezzo-soprano Éva Gauthier to attend a party in his honor. Among the guests invited that evening was one young man in particular that Ravel had been eager to meet: 29-year-old George Gershwin.
Like many Europeans, Ravel had heard Gershwin’s music, and he had been enchanted by a performance he attended of the musical Funny Face. He had expressed an interest in meeting Gershwin and was particularly hoping to hear him perform his Rhapsody in Blue. At the party that evening, Gershwin happily complied with the request, and the attendees were treated to an impromptu performance of Rhapsody in Blue as well as a selection of Gershwin’s songs. The performance, according to Gauthier, was spectacular. She later recalled, “George that night surpassed himself, achieving astounding feats in rhythmic intricacies, so that even Ravel was dumbfounded.” The respect between the men was apparently mutual, as Gershwin actually approached Ravel that evening with a request for composition lessons. Ravel, however, was so impressed with Gershwin’s natural talent that he turned him down, saying, “It is better to write good Gershwin than bad Ravel, which is what would happen if you worked with me.” A friendship had been struck, and Gershwin took Ravel to the Savoy Ballroom and the Cotton Club in Harlem, where he heard Duke Ellington and his orchestra. Later that month, Ravel published an essay in the magazine Musical Digest, where he encouraged Americans to take jazz seriously, writing, “Personally I find jazz most interesting: the rhythms, the way the melodies are handled, the melodies themselves. I have heard some of George Gershwin’s works, and I find them intriguing.” It should not be surprising, then, that when Ravel returned to France and began work the following year on his second piano concerto, the rhythms, melodies, and harmonies of American jazz were at the forefront of his consciousness.
Begun in 1929 and completed in 1931, the Concerto in G was originally intended to be performed by Ravel on a grand world tour that he had envisioned. He noted that his goal was to compose “a true concerto” in the spirit of Mozart and Saint-Saëns, one that put the spotlight squarely on the soloist and their virtuosity, as opposed to the larger, more symphonic concerti of the late 19th century. He wrote, “… the music of a concerto should, in my opinion, be lighthearted and brilliant, and not aim at profundity or at dramatic effects. It has been said of certain great classics [specifically Brahms] that their concertos were written not ‘for,’ but ‘against’ the piano. I heartily agree.” To this end, Ravel’s orchestra is markedly smaller than those required for a Romantic-era concerto, and the soloist and orchestra seem to be collaborating rather than competing for attention.
Opening with the “crack of a whip,” the first movement, marked allegramente (cheerfully), takes off like a horse bursting out of the stall as a perky piccolo solo, pizzicato strings, and piano glissandos set a jaunty mood. The soloist takes the spotlight next in a sultry blues music that could have come directly from one of the Harlem nightclubs Ravel and Gershwin visited. Extended solos for woodwinds, trumpet, harp, and horn give the middle of the movement an exotic feel as the nightclub music blends dreamily with elegant French Impressionist harmonies. The movement vacillates seamlessly between these two sound worlds—a true blend of the French and American sounds—and ends with a virtuosic, Gershwin-esque coda.
The second movement, one of the most poignant and beautiful Ravel ever wrote, opens with an extended piano melody, the composition of which Ravel lamented “nearly killed him.” The painstaking work paid off, however, as the deceptively simple right-hand melody, accompanied by a muted waltz rhythm in the left hand, creates an almost hypnotic effect. Woodwind solos eventually join the reverie, culminating in an extended solo for the English horn, above which the soloist provides a decorative filagree. The movement ends as peacefully as it began, drifting off into a gentle slumber.
Ensuring that no one remains asleep for long, thundering brass and percussion announce the opening of the final movement, a virtuosic tour de force for soloist and orchestra. There is a kind of manic energy to the movement as the piano races and chatters while woodwinds and brass swoop in jazzy riffs above it. Here Gershwin makes a return appearance as the syncopated rhythms and bustling energy of the music bring to mind the streets of New York. By the end, the entire orchestra is whirling in a magnificent frenzy as they and the soloist race together to a breathtaking conclusion.
Ravel had to content himself with conducting the premiere of the work in 1932, his skills at the piano having fallen short of what the piece required. Nonetheless, the concerto found immediate acclaim and served as proof that the “high-brow” European tradition and the “unwashed emotion” of American jazz could not only co-exist, but combine for a pretty spectacular cocktail—if only you have a composer skilled enough to create it.
Program notes by © Betsy Hudson Traba 2025