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In 1950, the composer drew a five-movement concert suite from the opera. The first movement (Introduction) is none other than the opera’s brief overture, filled with those abrupt jumps from key to key that Prokofiev was so fond of. The second movement (Serenade) is an adaptation of the beautiful lyrical melody that the young amoroso tenor Antonio sings under the balcony of his beloved.

As it often happens in comedies, Luisa, the object of Antonio’s affections, was promised by her father to a suitor who is not at all to her liking: in this case, a rich but very ugly fish merchant named Mendoza. The Duenna (Luisa’s governess) assumes the young girl’s identity and seduces the obnoxious Mendoza (who has never met the real Luisa), hoping to marry him for his money. Luisa’s father Don Jerome, believing that his daughter has eloped with the merchant and quite pleased (as well as amused) at the thought, plays some music with his amateur friends: this is the clumsy minuet heard as the third movement of the suite.

The fourth movement (Dreams, Nocturne) relates to the second love story contained in the opera, that between Luisa’s brother Ferdinand and her friend Clara. This passionate love music shows Prokofiev’s most effusively romantic side; it is also the longest of the suite’s five movements. The final movement (Dance) corresponds to the opera’s concluding scene where all the lovers have been united–including Mendoza and the Duenna. With this comic opera set far away and long ago, Prokofiev gave his audience a chance to smile during some very difficult times—a chance we all may welcome even today.

In several interviews, Raskatov has referred to the Netherlands as his “second musical homeland.” Another fruit of his deep artistic connections to the country is the present Oboe Concerto, which was first performed by the Concertgebouw Orchestra under Klaus Mekälä on December 14, 2022. The soloist who has inspired the work is the Concertgebouw’s principal oboist, Moscow-born Alexei Ogrintchouk.

Throughout his career, Raskatov has been keenly aware of two dangers faced by contemporary composers. One is to write extremely complicated, esoteric music that alienates many listeners. The other is to write in a style that the audience already knows and likes, sacrificing originality and innovation. Raskatov has been able to avoid both of those pitfalls. His music is challenging yet rewarding; he is not afraid to explore new sounds, yet he communicates effortlessly with the listener, thanks to his use of musical phrases and motifs that can easily be interpreted as gestures endowed with emotional meaning of one kind or another.

The concerto is in six brief sections, the last three of which are played without a pause. The size of the orchestra is rather reduced and is made up of several small groups that dialog with the soloist and with one another. The first group consists of three high-pitched instruments: piccolo flute, piccolo clarinet, and piccolo trumpet. The second group consists of four low-pitched brass instruments: two horns, a bass trombone and a contrabass trombone. The third group consists of the percussion section (four players), often joined by the harp. The percussionists play both unpitched and pitched instruments, but the mallet trio of glockenspiel, vibraphone and marimba is often prominent as a special feature. Group four is made up of the strings, appearing either by themselves or in conjunction with the other groups.

Navigating within these very different sound environments, the soloist moves back and forth between long legato lines and rapid figurations, spending a considerable amount of time in the instrument’s most challenging high register. The composer imagines time flowing like a river through these sometimes calm, sometimes more animated musical landscapes; in the final section, titled “Lullaby of Water,” the four instrumental groups provide a soothing background for the soloist, whose line at one point is marked quasi preghiera (“like a prayer”).

The Pathétique (so called by the composer himself) is not only the most intensely emotional of Tchaikovsky's symphonies. It is also the one in which Tchaikovsky reached the pinnacle of his art in terms of compositional technique and sophistication—and it is the combination of these two aspects–exceptional emotional richness and supreme craftsmanship—that makes the Pathétique Tchaikovsky's crowning masterpiece.

Technical devices, such as the re-use of the bassoon theme of the opening Adagio as the first theme of the Allegro non troppo main section, produce an immediate dramatic effect, enhanced by the brilliant orchestration with divided violas and cellos answered by a quartet of woodwinds. The contrast between this ‟active” first theme and the expansive, warmly melodic second idea is maximized by the circumstance that the two themes are separated by a lengthy transition section raising our expectations, and a significantly slower tempo (Andante) for the second theme. The development section carries the tension to a high point through intense contrapuntal activity punctuated by violent syncopated figures in the woodwinds; then we hear tragic march that almost sounds like something Tchaikovsky’s younger contemporary Mahler would write. The rumbling bass accompaniment of this march is derived from the main theme. The full orchestral sonorities of the recapitulation change the character of the first theme from painful and languid to desperate and dramatic, with the return of the expansive second melody bringing much-needed solace. The subdued, morendo ("dying away") ending of the movement foreshadows the fourth-movement Adagio lamentoso.

In between, however, there are two lighter movements: a graceful waltz with a limp (written in 5/4 time; in other words, every other 3/4 measure is shortened by a beat), and a lively march whose theme unfolds only gradually and that seems, at least momentarily, to suggest triumph and happiness. But in the end, the respite brought by the two middle movements proves to be only temporary. 

It was highly unusual to end a symphony with a slow movement; and the finale of the Pathétique is one of the most heart-rending Adagios in the history of music. Its doleful B-minor theme (whose notes are played alternately by first and second violins) is followed by a second idea that is no less sad in tone despite being in the major mode. Tchaikovsky marked this D-major theme con lenezza e devozione (‟tenderly and with devotion”). Twice, the music rises to triple fortissimo in a state of utter despair, only to fall back each time into the pianissimo in which the symphony finally dies away.