Sliding into the Blues with Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue
The Listen Guide

Rhapsody in Blue

Gershwin presenting a listen guide for his Rhapsody in Blue
Welcome, I'm George Gershwin, and this is your listen guide to my Rhapsody in Blue. Here you'll follow the music from first note to last and find out why nobody can say exactly what I played at the premiere, since I improvised part of the piano solo. On this site my fellow composers and I also teach you to recognize our pieces as soon as they begin, so come and  put yourself to the test .
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Where to point your ears

You don't need to know anything about classical music to enjoy Rhapsody in Blue, because the easiest way to hear it is as a conversation between a piano and a band. The piano is the voice that steps forward again and again, while the clarinets, saxophones, trumpets and trombones answer it like a lively crowd. In the original 1924 scoring you'll also hear a banjo and a small group of violins, and a banjo in a concert piece is part of the fun. I wrote the piano part and the tunes, but Ferde Grofé did the orchestrating, so when you admire the colours of the band, he deserves a good share of the thanks.

What's in a colour

My working title was American Rhapsody, which was accurate but about as colourful as a filing cabinet. Then Ira Gershwin visited a gallery exhibition of Whistler's paintings and suggested Rhapsody in Blue instead. A rhapsody is simply a free-flowing piece that follows its moods rather than a strict plan, and I liked the idea of naming music the way a painter names a canvas. So the title tells you what to expect: one long stretch of music held together by a mood rather than by rules.

Not a sonata, not a rondo, and in no hurry to explain itself

Choosing the form was an adventure, because I didn't want to squeeze the piece into a sonata, a rondo or any of the other tidy shapes that classical music often follows. What I ended up with is one movement for solo piano and orchestra, often described as a jazz concerto, that moves from scene to scene. The story goes that the whole structure came to me on a train to Boston, and that I had a definite plot by the time I arrived, but that comes only from my own later recollection and nobody has ever confirmed it. I'll take you through five sections, starting and ending in B-flat major with C major at the heart of it, and we'll walk through them one at a time.

Section 1: A slide, a strut and a door swung wide open

The piece begins in B-flat major with a long clarinet slide upward, and you'll recognize it the moment you hear it. When the slide has climbed as high as it can, the band joins in with a confident, swaggering tune, like a door swinging open on a party that's already underway. Listen to how the trumpets and saxophones toss phrases back and forth, because that give-and-take is the spirit of the whole piece. The mood is bright and a little cheeky, and the music feels relaxed, as if it has the whole evening ahead of it.

Section 2: The pianist takes the floor

Next the piano steps forward, and this is where I got to show what I could do at the keyboard. The playing is quick and playful, with the piano running up and down the keys before the band slips back in to join the fun. At the premiere on 12 February 1924 I hadn't fully written out my solo part and improvised some of it, so nobody knows exactly what the audience heard that night. That leaves a small mystery at the center of the piece's most famous evening, and I find I rather like it.

Section 3: The mood changes its mind

Here the music keeps changing its mind, and the pace shifts again and again between brisk, bouncing passages and easier, more relaxed ones. The piano and the band trade ideas back and forth, and each one seems to nudge the other toward a new mood. You may find it helpful to stop trying to predict what comes next and simply enjoy each turn as it arrives. These changes are what carry the story forward, because they prepare you for the calmer music that follows.

Section 4: A song tucked into the middle

In the heart of the piece the music settles around C major, and the whole atmosphere softens. A warm, singing melody takes over, and this is the moment to listen for the violins, which sing it with a broad and romantic sweep. The piano answers with long, flowing lines, and for a while the busy conversation turns into something closer to a quiet confession. If the rest of the piece is a lively evening out, this is the moment when you step outside, take a breath and look up at the night sky.

Section 5: Home again, slightly out of breath

Then the energy builds again, and the music climbs step by step toward a big finish. The piano and the band now play together with real excitement, as if everyone on stage has the same destination in mind. At last the piece returns to B-flat major, the key where it began, and that sense of coming home makes the ending feel just right. Paul Whiteman conducted his Palais Royal Orchestra on that first night, and I like to imagine the hall on its feet at the last chord, though I can only imagine it.

Press play and settle in

Now it's your turn to experience Rhapsody in Blue for yourself, so find a comfortable seat and press play. Let the music carry you along, and don't worry about getting everything right, because nobody is going to quiz you afterward. As you listen, keep in mind the conversation between the piano and the band, the long clarinet slide, and the singing melody in the middle. I hope the journey feels as thrilling to you as it did to me when I created it.
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I hope you enjoyed learning about my Rhapsody in Blue and what to listen for in it. Whenever I think back on that piece, I'm struck by how much of it came together by chance, from a clarinettist's warm-up trick to a deadline that left me very little time. Maybe that's why it still sounds so alive to me, like a conversation that never quite follows the script. There's still plenty more to explore in Rhapsody in Blue, from the way it was written to the many places it has turned up since. If you're curious, click on the links on this page and keep exploring. Next time you hear that clarinet begin its long climb, I hope you'll smile and feel a little as though you've met an old friend.