On the Line

"I have always felt that next to the human voice the violin is the most potent instrument for expressing our deepest thoughts and feelings." --Composer George Rochberg

Admirers of the piano, cello and, most recently, the Moog synthesizer may not agree with Rochberg, but one thing is clear. In his Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, he has written a new work that not only has plenty to say but is also enjoyable. The acrobatic leaps and biting double stops of its solo part are the flashiest since the Prokofiev No. 2 in G minor. Its poignant melodies are the most immediately appealing since the Sibelius D minor. Ranging in mood from the innocent to the diabolic, from the elegiac to the ecstatic, Rochberg's 38-minute score seems sure to become a favorite with violinists, conductors and their audiences.

The work was commissioned partly by the National Endowment for the Arts as one of its Bicentennial grants (TIME, March 24). It is currently the hot property of Virtuoso Isaac Stern, who gave the world premiere a month ago with the Pittsburgh Symphony. Already he has repeated it with the Pittsburgh in New York and Storrs, Conn., and played it three times in Chicago with Sir Georg Solti. Next week he performs it with Seiji Ozawa and the San Francisco Symphony.

Violin Concerto's melodic style and rich harmony go back to turn-of-the-century post-romanticism. Its fantasies and ornate five-movement shapes suggest the baroque. Yet it is not a total throwback. Its forays into atonality are imaginative. What makes it fresh and exciting is Rochberg's willingness to be unafraid of the past. He wants to be able to use any device, technique or idea he likes. It is an eclectic spirit that seems to be catching on. Disciples of Anton von Webern may disapprove of the concerto's synthesis of styles, but that great blender of vogues, J.S. Bach, would have loved it.

The glory and courage of Rochberg's new work lies in its freedom from the dogmas of modern music. A decade ago he was a card-carrying serialist. The Violin Concerto culminates his break with that school. His change of heart occurred when his son Paul, who was writing poetry and fiction, died at 20 of a brain tumor. Suddenly Rochberg felt the need to express himself in a more personal, intimate manner. More and more it became apparent that he could not do it with serialism. Says Rochberg: "Intense chromaticism [that is, serialism] is like a pressure cooker--things are always boiling."

No Message. Rochberg composes in a split-level brick and stone house in Newtown Square, Pa., a suburb of Philadelphia, either in his study or, when that gets too messy, on the dining-room table. He is a professor and former chairman of the music department at the University of Pennsylvania. He and his wife Gene like the movies and spend summers on the Jersey shore, but other than that, says Rochberg, "I have virtually no hobbies." He speaks of his music with a refreshing lack of pompousness. "Every time you write a serious work, you are in effect laying your life on the line. But I can't think about that or worry what my message is. My job is to convince the performer, in this case Isaac Stern. His job is to convince the audience. If we both do our jobs, then maybe we have something." Rochberg and Stern seem to have carried out their assignment.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.