- Composer
- Rachmaninoff
- Work
- Symphonic Dances, Op. 45
- Key
- A minor
- Composed
- 1940
- Movements
- 3 movements
I. Non allegro (A minor)
II. Andante con moto (F major)
III. Lento assai — Allegro vivace (A minor) - Instrumentation
- piccolo, flute 2, oboe 2, English horn, clarinet 2, bass clarinet, alto saxophone, bassoon 2, contrabassoon, horn 4, trumpet 3, trombone 3, tuba, timpani, triangle, tambourine, snare drum, cymbals, bass drum, tam-tam, xylophone, glockenspiel, tubular bells, harp, piano, strings
- Premiere
- January 3, 1941 — Eugene Ormandy, Philadelphia Orchestra
- Dedication
- Philadelphia Orchestra
- Duration
- c. 35–40 minutes
On an August day in 1940, two men sat at a piano in the drawing-room of a Long Island estate. One was Sergei Rachmaninoff, age 67. The other was Vladimir Horowitz, the most formidable pianist of his time. Rachmaninoff laid out the score for a new two-piano arrangement he had just finished, and together, they played the piece for the very first time.
There was no audience. It wasn’t an official premiere. But who could have known that this piece would be Rachmaninoff’s last? He lived for another three years, but he never picked up his composer’s pen again. The Symphonic Dances, Op. 45, was his final statement. And it wasn’t a simple goodbye—it was a lifetime of conflict, fear, and ultimate victory, all packed into one searing work.
The Final Score, Written in the Shadow of Death
Rachmaninoff wrote his last major work in America. It was 1940, 22 years after he had fled Russia. He spent the summer at Orchard Point, an estate on Long Island, New York. Overlooking the Long Island Sound, he composed nearly the entire piece.
His working title was Fantastic Dances. Each movement had a subtitle: ‘Noon’, ‘Twilight’, and ‘Midnight’, representing three distinct times of day. He later removed these subtitles, but the concept still holds up. The first movement bursts with midday energy, the second is a dusky waltz, and the third plunges into the darkness of midnight before finding the dawn. A note in the original sketch next to the second movement simply says “dusk,” confirming his initial idea.
The person who first pushed him to write it was Eugene Ormandy, the music director of the Philadelphia Orchestra. They exchanged letters throughout the summer of 1940, and by late August, Rachmaninoff told Ormandy the piece was complete, with only the orchestration left to finish. The final score is dated October 1940. The premiere took place on January 3, 1941, with Ormandy conducting the Philadelphia Orchestra, to whom the work is dedicated.
So why did Rachmaninoff pour his last creative energies into this specific piece? One clue lies in the massive success of the ballet based on his Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini in 1939. He saw how his rhythmic music could find new life on stage. Evidence suggests he envisioned the Symphonic Dances as a ballet from the start. He even discussed a collaboration with the choreographer Michel Fokine, who responded with enthusiasm. Tragically, Fokine’s sudden death in August 1942 put an end to that plan.
There’s an even older story here. Back in 1914-15, Rachmaninoff had started sketching a ballet called The Scythians, but he abandoned it when he left Russia. It’s highly likely that some of those ideas found their way into the Symphonic Dances. A 25-year-old abandoned sketch, resurrected in his final work. Rachmaninoff wasn’t a man who let things go easily.
A Secret Will: The Hidden Messages
This piece is riddled with melodies quoted from Rachmaninoff’s own earlier works. But this isn’t just a simple nostalgic look back. These quotes are a cypher, a key to understanding the emotional state in which he wrote his final testament.
Near the end of the first movement, Rachmaninoff briefly quotes the main theme from his Symphony No. 1 (1897). But he does something crucial: he changes it from minor to major. The First Symphony was the most catastrophic failure of his life. To take that melody, the sound of his deepest trauma, and transform it into a major key 43 years later—that was an act of reconciliation. A peace treaty with his own past.
Let’s talk about that premiere. St. Petersburg, March 1897. The first performance of Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 1. The conductor was Alexander Glazunov, who, according to eyewitnesses, was drunk on the podium. The performance was a train wreck. The premiere was a disaster. Critic César Cui famously wrote that the symphony “would have delighted the inhabitants of Hell.”
Rachmaninoff was so devastated he couldn’t compose for three years. He fell into a deep depression, his self-confidence completely shattered. He only recovered after undergoing hypnotherapy. And now, 43 years later, in the Symphonic Dances, he brings back that melody of failure—but this time, in a major key, played in perfect time by one of the world’s greatest orchestras. It wasn’t revenge or denial. It was absolute peace.
The third movement contains even weightier quotations. Two liturgical chants collide: the Dies Irae (Day of Wrath) and “Blagosloven yesi, Gospodi” (Blessed art Thou, O Lord). The Dies Irae is the theme of death that haunted Rachmaninoff his entire life, appearing in the Paganini Rhapsody, the Second Symphony, and many other works. Critics often trace this obsession to his childhood, where he lost his sister and close friends in rapid succession.
But in the finale of the Symphonic Dances, the Dies Irae is finally defeated. The resurrection chant from the Russian Orthodox All-Night Vigil grows stronger and stronger, ultimately overpowering the theme of death. In the score, Rachmaninoff himself hand-wrote the word “Hallelujah.” As the orchestra delivers its final thunderous chords and the tam-tam fades into silence, the specter of death has been vanquished.
This is why the Symphonic Dances is so much more than a set of orchestral dances. Rachmaninoff folded his entire life into this one piece: the failures of his youth, the Russia he left behind, his fear of death, and the hope he finally grasped at the end. It’s no exaggeration when listeners call this piece his secret last will. He was a man who could keep a secret, content with encoding a message only he would fully understand.
Why Is There an Alto Saxophone? The Paradox of a Unique Orchestra
Seeing an alto saxophone in a symphony score is a rare event. It pops up in Bizet’s L’Arlésienne and Ravel’s Boléro, but for the most part, it’s an outsider in the classical orchestra, too strongly associated with jazz and pop music. Yet Rachmaninoff chose it for a key solo in the first movement.
There’s a theory that American composer Robert Russell Bennett, a master of Broadway musical orchestration at the time, suggested using the saxophone. If true, it’s proof that Rachmaninoff was absorbing the musical culture of his new American home.
The result is startling. Midway through the first movement, after the onslaught of brass and percussion subsides, the alto saxophone sings a lonely, lyrical melody. It sounds strange. It feels out of place. But that very strangeness defines the piece’s identity: this is Rachmaninoff, but written in America, belonging neither to Europe nor to Russia. It’s the sound of an exile, a musician caught between worlds.
The rest of the orchestration is massive. From piccolo to contrabassoon, four horns, a full brass section, harp, piano, and a huge percussion battery including tam-tam, xylophone, glockenspiel, and tubular bells. Mobilizing an orchestra of this size for a 35-minute piece might seem wasteful. But Rachmaninoff wastes nothing. Each instrument has its moment to shine, often appearing just once before disappearing. The tam-tam, for instance, waits for 35 minutes just to deliver its final, resonant blow at the very end.
The Three Dances: A Movement-by-Movement Guide
Mvt. 1: Non allegro — Tension Built on Staccato
The opening is immediately distinct. From the very first bar, sharp, stabbing staccato chords drive the rhythm forward. This isn’t the smooth, flowing Rachmaninoff of the piano concertos. It’s all sharp angles, aggressive accents, and a relentless pulse. Some have noted its similarity to Prokofiev’s style, and it’s easy to see why. Compared to his Piano Concerto No. 2, it sounds like a completely different musical language.
Then comes the alto saxophone solo. As mentioned, this is the heart of the movement. The entire orchestra holds its breath as the saxophone’s melody unfolds. It’s a timbre Rachmaninoff had never used in any of his previous works. Was it an attempt to find a new voice? At 67, the composer was learning a new instrument, writing its sound into his score.
The movement concludes with the quotation from his First Symphony. You might not notice it on a first listen. But once you know it’s there, your ear will catch it every time. It’s the sound of a youthful failure, once in minor, now resolved in major—a final gesture of peace.
Mvt. 2: Andante con moto — A Darkening Waltz
This is a slow waltz, but it’s anything but light. The word “waltz” might bring to mind Viennese ballrooms, but this music evokes a much different atmosphere. The sketch was marked “Dusk,” and it truly sounds like music for a time when the light is fading.
In the middle section, the clarinet and violins trade a melody that is beautiful but tinged with unease. It’s classic Rachmaninoff harmony—a feeling of unresolved tension. Opinions on this movement are sharply divided. Some call it his most beautiful slow movement; others find it overly sentimental. Either way, it forces a reaction.
Conductors disagree most about the tempo of this movement. Played slowly, its melancholy deepens. Played faster, the dance-like quality comes to the forefront. Vladimir Ashkenazy’s 1982 recording with the Concertgebouw is often cited as a top recommendation, partly for his masterful tempo choice. In contrast, Yevgeny Svetlanov takes the same movement three minutes slower. Neither is wrong. After all, twilight feels different to everyone.
Mvt. 3: Lento assai — Allegro vivace — Dies Irae and Hallelujah
It is now midnight. And Rachmaninoff puts all his cards on the table.
The movement begins slow and heavy, then erupts into a furious Allegro vivace. The tempo shifts dramatically throughout, with the slow sections only serving to heighten the tension of the fast ones. It doesn’t sound like turmoil within a piece of music; it sounds like an actual battle between life and death.
The Dies Irae makes its appearance. This medieval chant, meaning “Day of Wrath,” signifies judgment and death. Rachmaninoff used it his entire life, from the piano concertos to the Paganini Rhapsody. He never shied away from the subject of mortality. Seeing it appear in his final work, one has to wonder: did he know this was the end?
But in the finale, the Dies Irae is pushed back. The resurrection theme from the All-Night Vigil grows in power, a wave of light pushing back the darkness. Rachmaninoff wrote “Hallelujah” by hand in the score. As the orchestra strikes its final blow and the tam-tam fades, the theme of death is gone.
These final three minutes elevate the Symphonic Dances to another level. It’s less a dance and more a confession. And the final word of that confession was “Hallelujah.”
First Time Listening? Here’s What to Listen For
If this is your first time with this piece, just remember these three things:
* Find the saxophone solo in the middle of the first movement. Suddenly, everything goes quiet, and this unfamiliar melody emerges. That’s the alto sax. Almost no other composer gave the saxophone such a starring role in a symphony. The first time, it feels jarring, almost wrong. The second time, you’ll realize that jarring quality is the whole point.
* Pay attention to the moment the third movement explodes in speed. It starts slow and then just erupts. That’s the heart of the piece. From there, it’s a breathless sprint to the finish. Don’t miss that feeling of acceleration.
* Don’t miss the final 2-3 seconds after the last chord fades, when the tam-tam rings out. This is the sound of Rachmaninoff’s handwritten “Hallelujah.” It’s the moment the entire meaning of the work becomes clear. Don’t get up until that sound has completely faded away.
The total performance time is about 35-38 minutes. It might seem long at first, but once you’re past the midpoint of the third movement, it’s over before you know it. Listen once as background music, then a second time with your full attention. It will feel like two completely different pieces.
Rachmaninoff’s Final Music — Why It’s Still Performed Today
During Rachmaninoff’s lifetime, the Symphonic Dances didn’t get much attention. For decades, it remained one of his lesser-known works, overshadowed by the massive popularity of his Piano Concertos Nos. 2 and 3. It’s a difficult piece for orchestras to play and not an easy listen for first-timers.
But in the last 20 years, that has changed. Conductors like Jansons, Rattle, Jurowski, and Petrenko have rediscovered it. A consensus has formed that any discussion of 20th-century Russian orchestral music is incomplete without it. A growing number of musicologists now argue it is his “supreme achievement,” with some even claiming it surpasses the famous Piano Concerto No. 2.
One reason for this is the work’s unflinching honesty. In his later years, Rachmaninoff knew he was a man out of time. In an era dominated by the modernism of Schoenberg and Stravinsky, he was still writing in a lush, Romantic style. He faced criticism for it. But in the Symphonic Dances, he made no compromises. He poured everything he had into the music, regardless of what the critics or the era demanded. You can hear that defiant integrity in every note.
The work has also been reborn as a ballet multiple times. In 1994, Peter Martins choreographed it for the New York City Ballet, and in 2017, Liam Scarlett staged it for The Royal Ballet at London’s Royal Opera House. A piece conceived for the ballet but never realized as one in his lifetime finally found its dance partners nearly 80 years later. If only the choreographer Fokine could have lived to see it.
Russia from Exile: The Completion of a Musical Nostalgia
When Rachmaninoff left Russia in 1917, he thought he was just going on a trip. He believed he would return. But his departure became permanent. The Bolshevik Revolution transformed Russia into a country he no longer recognized. As a member of the land-owning aristocracy, his place in that society had been erased.
So he tried to hold onto Russia through his music. His Symphony No. 3 (1936) was a product of this nostalgia, and the Symphonic Dances was its final chapter. In an interview, he said, “I am a Russian composer, and the land of my birth has influenced my temperament and outlook.” The Russian Orthodox chants that flow through this final work, written on American soil, prove his point.
Some analysts suggest the staccato rhythms of the first movement evoke the pulse of Russian folk dances. The quotation from the All-Night Vigil in the third movement is even more direct. Rachmaninoff considered his own All-Night Vigil, premiered in Moscow in 1915, to be the pinnacle of Russian traditional music. He summoned that sound one last time in his final work.
The feeling of an immigrant’s nostalgia is familiar to many of us. Missing a home you can’t return to, knowing that the place in your memory has changed forever. Many listeners, regardless of their nationality, hear that sense of loss in the Symphonic Dances. That’s what great music does—it communicates a feeling that transcends borders.
Three Recommended Recordings
Vladimir Ashkenazy / Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra (1982, Decca)
This is still the most recommended recording. As a Russian-born exile himself, Ashkenazy understood Rachmaninoff’s position better than almost anyone. The legendary acoustics of the Concertgebouw hall in Amsterdam bring out every detail with stunning clarity. His tempo for the second movement waltz is particularly exquisite—not too heavy, not too light. If you’re new to this piece, start here.
Mariss Jansons / St. Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra (1993, EMI)
This is the first of two recordings by Jansons. It crackles with the raw, untamed energy characteristic of Russian orchestras. The tempo shifts in the third movement are terrifyingly intense; on first listen, it comes at you like a freight train. If you prefer raw power over polished refinement, this is the one for you.
Eugene Ormandy / Philadelphia Orchestra (1960, Columbia)
This is the studio recording from the man who conducted the world premiere. Ormandy was the only conductor to have heard Rachmaninoff’s intentions for the piece directly from the composer himself. While the sound quality can’t match modern recordings, it offers the closest thing we have to an original interpretation. The fact that Ormandy, who conducted the 1941 premiere, re-recorded the Symphonic Dances with the same Philadelphia Orchestra in 1960 speaks to the work’s lasting significance in his repertoire.
Listen with the Score
The original score is in the public domain and can be downloaded for free from IMSLP. → View the score for Symphonic Dances on IMSLP