Prokofiev’s Second: a formidable prospect for any pianist in terms of both technical difficulty and mental and physical stamina. In a work that lasts around the 30-minute mark, the number of bars where the pianist does not play barely reaches double figures. Of Prokofiev’s five piano concertos, No 3 is by far the most popular (with 154 choices currently available in recordings according to one website), No 1 is in second place (103) and No 2 has been fast gaining ground over recent years, with 93 entries.

Zlata Chochieva is now adding another to the work’s recording history, which began only in 1953, the year of Prokofiev’s death (Jorge Bolet with the Cincinnati SO under Thor Johnson). When the composer gave the premiere in Russia 40 years earlier (September 1913), reception was mixed. Some loved its fierce intensity and wild outbursts. Others hated it. ‘The cats on the roof make better music,’ wrote one critic.

Prokofiev was 22 when he completed the concerto, having taken (what was for him) a long time from November 1912 to the following May to write it. Towards the end of this period, on April 27, he received a note from his close friend and fellow student Maximilian Schmidthof which read: ‘I must give you the latest news – I have shot myself.’ Prokofiev’s diary records: ‘Eyes open and both temples soaked in blood … Max had been sure of himself … and his hand was steady. The bullet went straight through the right temple and out through the left. A good shot. Bravo.’ Prokofiev returned home and inscribed on the score his dedication of the concerto to his friend.

But the Second Piano Concerto that he premiered in 1913 is very different from the one that Chochieva has recorded. That original version will never be heard again because the score was lost in a fire during the Russian Revolution. ‘Prokofiev wrote that there were people living in his flat,’ Chochieva tells me, ‘and they probably used the paper to light a fire to keep warm.’ Although the score was destroyed, he still had a two-piano version and, nothing daunted, in a phoenix-like mission, he revised and reconstructed the work. ‘The thematic material is completely intact. He worked on the counterpoint, improving the orchestral and piano parts,’ explains Chochieva. Prokofiev premiered version number two of No 2 in 1924 (Serge Koussevitzky conducted) – three years after the premiere of his Third. It was ‘so completely rewritten that it might almost be considered as No 4’, he wrote.

‘It’s a demanding piano part,’ says Chochieva. ‘There’s no doubt about the challenge for the pianist. When I first performed the piece, which was some seven years ago, I had only two months to learn it from scratch. I had to forget about anything else completely, and, of course, I was scared playing it for the first time, but it went very well. What amazed me, though, was hearing the orchestra play their part by themselves without me – the second movement, for instance. I was fascinated, because I thought, “Well, they don’t need the piano part – the orchestral part is so complete, so witty and colourful!” It led me to believe that there is no need for quick tempi in, for example, the first and second movements, because I really need to hear all I heard when they played by themselves. Of course, there is a way to make it a little more “virtuoso”, but I find it a spiritual, mesmerising, almost hypnotic experience.’

The work is scored for full orchestra including three trombones, tuba, bass drum, snare drum and tambourine. It has a unique structure: first-movement Andantino – Allegretto leading to a massive five-minute cadenza (totalling around 10 minutes); second-movement Scherzo – a moto perpetuo, Vivace (2-3 minutes); third-movement Intermezzo: Allegro moderato (around 7 minutes); and an Allegro tempestoso finale (10 minutes).

‘The opening is so atmospheric,’ says Chochieva. ‘For me, it’s like a poem of the bells – it’s not like a song or something to sing.’ It’s the movement’s opening theme that Prokofiev uses for the cadenza. ‘He expands the possibilities of the piano in this cadenza. It doesn’t sound like just one instrument but an orchestra – which allows him to create such a big episode without the orchestra! I was very unlucky with my fingers when recording it. It was not because I was trying to play too loudly, but because of all these crazy jumps – especially in the fourth movement. At some point I injured at least two fingers. I broke a nail. Then on the other hand I broke the skin on one finger. We had scheduled to record the cadenza at the end of the session when I was alone, so that the orchestra did not have to hang around. I thought, “What can I do? I have to do it now!” It was painful. But pain is closely associated with the brain – and when you forget about it, it hurts less. I’m not exaggerating. This is one of my favourite works for piano and orchestra, and I was so enthusiastic about recording it – it’s been a dream of mine. I thought, “I have to give it not 90 per cent but 200 per cent!” So I decided just not to care about my fingers, and although it was quite painful, it kind of worked.’

The piece is unforgiving, with only a few bars’ respite between the end of the cadenza and the Scherzo. ‘The Scherzo is tight and disciplined, almost neoclassical,’ says Chochieva. I’ve heard it said that this is the most difficult movement for the pianist – both hands in rigorous unison for a relentless 1500 semiquavers: ‘It’s tricky with the orchestra, but I wouldn’t say the most difficult. All the movements are difficult in different ways. The third movement is also quite interesting! A Prokofiev concerto is transparent and light, as well as powerful. The power comes from the innovative combination of colours and harmonies. It’s very well organised. Yes, No 2 is one of the most demanding of all piano concertos, very virtuosic, but I try to make technique less visible. I always like to discover the reason that provoked the composer to write so many notes …’ Are some of the demands needlessly difficult? ‘Not really, because having some kind of tension always helps to make music. In the cadenza, for instance, there’s a quite uncomfortable moment, but it’s because he doesn’t want to mix the polyphony: he wants the right hand to stick with one texture and the left to stick with another.’

In place of the expected slow movement comes an intermezzo that sets out as a heavy-footed trudge led by the lowest instruments (with bass drum). One commentator describes it as ‘a slightly more deranged version’ of the slow march from Peter and the Wolf. Chochieva tells me, ‘I love it because Prokofiev embraces this world of fairy tales and phantasmagoria which he loved so much. Another example is his Symphony No 3, which is thematically related to his opera The Fiery Angel. Don’t forget that one of his teachers was Rimsky-Korsakov, where you find similar things – he also makes everything super-colourful. He thought of Prokofiev and Stravinsky as his greatest pupils, both masters of orchestration.

‘The fourth movement is for me the most complex one in the sense of its diversity. It combines so many different things, and they live together – a very cruel, evil, futuristic image with a very theatrical sarcasm but which exists with a lyricism. In fact, the middle of this movement is my favourite part of the whole concerto. It is so sincere and pure, like a lullaby, something which is also part of the Russian folk tradition. He uses this kind of lullaby lyricism in the Third Piano Sonata.’

While learning the solo part for the 1913 premiere, Prokofiev wrote in his diary that it was ‘proving to be such a demanding and complex piece to learn that I was beginning to be worried that I would not master it in time’. Until recently, live performances of this work were seldom encountered. Increasingly, more pianists are taking to it. Chochieva laughs. ‘For me, it’s a bit like playing the Hammerklavier: “I can do this!” You know? I often ask why it was not played more often. Prokofiev himself played it a lot – it was said to be his favourite’ – but clearly not without some trepidation, for we read in a 1927 diary entry: ‘I come out to play in a more or less calm frame of mind. But I do not manage to stay calm during the most difficult parts: in the cadenza (specifically where I mark colossale), and at the beginning of the third movement, where the hands keep jumping over one another, I play badly. However, the rest I play well and with enthusiasm.’

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