Although he wrote extensively for his own instrument, the piano, and for the voice (in opera, choral works, and songs), Tchaikovsky is best remembered now for his orchestral music, including his unsurpassed ballets. Like his Russian contemporaries, he was interested in making his works “authentic” by incorporating folk melodies or other nationalistic elements. At the same time, his training from the St. Petersburg Conservatory left him highly skilled in more traditional compositional practices, with a solid grasp of formal principles and techniques of motivic development. Emotionally unstable throughout his life, his music often covers a vast emotional range – from giddy, surrealistic triumph to unbearable anguish. And yet, the composer whose music he most admired was Mozart, who maintained poise and balance in even his most expressive moments.
The serenade for string orchestra exhibits these dichotomies. The multi-movement serenade reached its peak under Mozart, whose numerous contributions to the form include the work known as “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.” As the genre had been neglected since Mozart’s time, Tchaikovsky’s revival of it can be understood as a return to the modest scope and narrower sonic palette that were more characteristic of eighteenth-century artistic sensibilities. The formal structure of each movement is very simple, facilitating communication with the audience even at first hearing. But, within this context, the piece clearly demonstrates its Russian heritage – particularly in the finale, which is based on a folk tune. Also, the range of effects in the string instruments, while still relatively narrow, goes beyond the standard Mozart’s time: the sweeping chords in the entire ensemble that punctuate phrase endings in the first movement, the delicate harmonics that close the third movement, or the independence of the string basses (which in Mozart’s time would have almost always doubled the cellos).
Tchaikovsky’s assessment of his own compositions was inconsistent and unreliable, and the enthusiasm with which he would embark on a particular piece was rarely reflected in his evaluation of the final product. His general insecurity left him particularly susceptible to the often conflicting appraisals tendered by critics and audiences. This serenade, however, seems to have pleased its creator from start to finish: in a letter to his patroness Nadezhda von Meck, he wrote, “It comes from the heart, and I like to think it possesses some merit.” By Tchaikovsky’s standards, such apparently mild language was strong praise indeed. The work’s lasting popularity has confirmed that, in this case, the composer’s instinct was right on target.