Elgar Cello Concerto op85 Sheet Music, Program Notes and recordings

Cello Concerto in E minor, Op. 85

An Elegy for a Lost World

The premiere of Elgar’s Cello Concerto was one of the most infamous fiascos in London’s musical history. The concert was under the direction of Albert Coates, who was conducting the rest of the program. Coates, a man of considerable ego, used almost the entire three-hour rehearsal slot to work on his own selections, leaving the composer a paltry twenty minutes to run through his brand-new, deeply complex concerto. Elgar, furious and humiliated, did his best, but the under-rehearsed orchestra struggled. The critic Ernest Newman memorably wrote that the ensemble "made a public exhibition of its miserable self. " The performance was a failure, and the work, born of such private grief, was met with public indifference. This catastrophic beginning seemed to seal the concerto's fate as a minor work by a composer whose time had passed. It would take nearly half a century for the world to realize that this quiet, sorrowful piece was not a failure, but a masterpiece of profound and lasting power.

A World in Ruins

To understand the Cello Concerto, one must understand the world of 1919. The Great War had ended, but the sense of relief was overshadowed by an immense sense of loss. A generation had been decimated, and the confident, optimistic spirit of the Edwardian era had been replaced by disillusionment and cynicism. Elgar felt this change acutely. He was now in his sixties, his health was failing, and many of his friends had not survived the war. He felt like an anachronism, a relic of a bygone age whose grand musical language no longer resonated. He composed the concerto in a cottage in Sussex, finding solace in the English countryside. This sense of retreat, of turning inward from a broken world, is at the very heart of the music. It is a work of quiet contemplation, not of public ceremony.

The Opening Declamation

The concerto begins like no other. There is no orchestral introduction, only the solo cello, which enters immediately with a noble, sorrowful, and intensely dramatic recitative. This opening passage, played nobilmente, is the emotional and thematic kernel of the entire work. It is a bold, declamatory statement of grief that immediately establishes the concerto's elegiac tone. After this arresting preamble, the orchestra enters, and the violas introduce the first movement's main theme, a simple, swaying melody that feels less like a theme and more like a sad, wandering thought.

Movements I & II: A Melancholy Dream and a Fleeting Memory

The first movement proper is a long, ruminative Moderato in a lilting 9/8 time. The music avoids grand gestures, instead unfolding as a continuous, searching monologue for the cello. It is a landscape of shadows and sighs, a melancholy barcarolle carrying the listener on a current of sorrow. This is followed, with only the briefest pause, by a scherzo-like second movement. Marked Allegro molto, it is a ghostly, fleeting moto perpetuo. The soloist plays rapid, gossamer-light figures, like an anxious, whispered memory of a happier time, before the vision evaporates into thin air. It is over almost before it has begun, a brief flash of energy in a predominantly somber work.

Movement III: An Unadorned Heartbreak

The slow movement is the emotional core of the concerto. It is an Adagio of just sixty notes, a simple, unadorned song of almost unbearable sadness. Unlike the grand slow movements of concertos by Brahms or Beethoven, Elgar’s is intensely intimate. It is a pure, direct expression of loss, a single lyrical utterance from the cello with the most delicate of orchestral support. There is no artifice, no complex development, only a profound and deeply personal statement of heartbreak. It is one of the most moving and concise slow movements in all of music.

Movement IV: A Final, Defiant Gaze

The finale begins with an attempt at renewed vigor. The cello introduces a confident, swaggering rondo theme, and for a time, it seems as though the composer might finally shake off his melancholy. Yet the cheerful mood feels forced, constantly interrupted by moments of doubt and reflection. The true drama of the movement, and indeed of the entire concerto, arrives near the end. The music comes to a dramatic halt, and Elgar inserts a new, slow section—a long, intensely passionate recitative for the cello. Here, the music looks back, quoting the heartbreaking theme from the slow movement in a moment of sublime memory. It is as if the composer gives up the pretense of a happy ending and allows himself one last, lingering gaze at his sorrow. Following this profound moment of reflection, the opening recitative returns, leading to a final, furious rush and two abrupt, almost angry chords that bring the work to a stark and defiant close.

The Du Pré Phenomenon

For decades, the concerto was respected but rarely performed. That all changed in 1965 when the 20-year-old cellist Jacqueline du Pré made a recording of the work with the London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Sir John Barbirolli. Du Pré’s interpretation was a revelation. She played with a raw, fearless emotional intensity and a passionate commitment that laid bare the work's soul. Her performance was not just a reading of the notes; it was a deeply personal and cathartic experience that connected with audiences on an elemental level. The recording became a global bestseller and remains a benchmark performance. Tragically, du Pré’s own career was cut short by multiple sclerosis, a fact that has retrospectively added another layer of poignancy to her connection with Elgar’s elegiac masterpiece. It is no exaggeration to say that Jacqueline du Pré rescued the Elgar Cello Concerto from the margins of the repertoire and made it the universally beloved work it is today.