Day 360
26 December 2017:
Saint-Saëns – Symphony No. 3, 'Organ Symphony' (1886)
Another personal
favourite. Actually, they all are from here on in, as I've deliberately saved
the best until last. Camille Saint-Saëns' Organ
Symphony was one of the very first symphonies I ever studied back in my
youth. I borrowed the miniature score from Newcastle Library, and found that it
had been copiously notated by an anonymous previous owner, helpfully pointing
out fugues entries, variations on the main theme when they appeared, and so on.
Basically, all stuff that as an A level music student learning my craft I found
incredibly useful.
I think I can cite
this symphony was one of the reasons why I embarked upon the Symphony A Day project. I know this work
inside out, but not his other two numbered symphonies, nor the two unnumbered
ones that I wasn't even aware of this time last year. It was as much as
anything the desire to hear these other works, and other less familiar
symphonies by well-known composers that got me started. In Saint-Saëns case,
all it did was make me aware of just how big a gulf in quality there is between
this and the other four, although they are all certainly worth hearing.
There is an effortless
brilliance about this symphony, a shimmering vitality that sets it apart from
other contemporaneous works from a period that could tend toward stodginess.
The fact that its cyclic form is based upon one of the more memorable themes
ever written certainly helps. Fans of the film Babe will certainly recognise it, as its theme song If I Had Words (also a hit for Yvonne
Keeley and Scott Fitzgerald in 1978) is based on this tune. The novel prominent
use of an organ and two pianos in the score is another selling point, and the
gratuitous organ chord that opens the 'fourth' movement (although technically
part two of the second movement) is a magical moment. And while the
organ-driven finale certainly grabs the headlines, the 'second' movement (part
two of the first movement) Poco adagio
is absolutely beautiful. I will never tire of hearing this symphony.
Day 361
27 December 2017:
Schubert – Symphony No. 9, 'The Great C Major' (1826)
It's hard to believe
that Franz Schubert's final completed symphony lay neglected and unperformed
for more than a decade after his death. It was eventually published in 1840 –
confusingly, as Symphony No. 7 in C major
– having received a first public performance only the previous year. It was,
for a long time, considered too long and complex for both audiences and
orchestras; in fact, it remains challenging to play even now. It may not have
seen the light of day at all had it not been for some devoted championing from
first Mendelssohn and then Schumann.
Schubert is thought to
have attended the premiere of Beethoven's ninth symphony the year before he
started work on this piece, and no doubt felt that the boundaries of symphonic
form had been shifted by that masterwork. The fact that both this and his huge String Quintet – also in C major – run
to nearly an hour of music can probably be attributed to the fact that they
were written after he had encountered the Beethoven. The forward-looking
approach to tonality is another outstanding feature, with modulations to the
mediant and submediant throwing listeners off balance. There is even a brief
quotation of the Ode To Joy from
Beethoven's ninth in the final movement, again as if to acknowledge the
influence of the master. In this symphony, it is possible to get a feel for how
the unfinished eighth (see Day 310) might have turned out. And having moved up
a gear with these late works, the greater the sadness that he should have died
tragically young at the age of 31, two years after completing this symphony,
having never heard this performed.
Day 362
28 December 2017:
Tchaikovsky – Symphony No. 6, 'Pathétique' (1893)
Pyotr Ilyich
Tchaikovsky's final symphony has become known by its French title of Pathétique despite the fact that it is
an incorrect translation of the Russian word Pateticheskaya, meaning passionate. Quite possibly, the reason it
stuck was because of the tragic circumstances surrounding it. Tchaikovsky
conducted the premiere of this just nine days before he died of cholera, an
event that scholars have been exercised over for years in trying to establish
whether it was a tragic accident or suicide. Although this has always been one
of my favourite symphonies, it does occasionally bring me out in a cold sweat
listening to it. This is attributable to the fact that, as a budding conductor
at university, I took part in a conducting masterclass given by Elgar Howarth,
which involved working on the first movement of this. It was one of the most
nerve-racking things I ever did, although incredibly rewarding.
Tchaikovsky conceded
to Rimsky-Korsakov that it was in fact a programme symphony, although the
programme was never divulged, and it clearly went to his grave with him. The
form is certainly non-standard for a symphony, with a dark opening movement
followed by a waltz-like scherzo in
the unusual time signature of 5/4. The third movement has all the feeling of a
finale, ending in such a triumphal manner that audiences for over a century
have burst into spontaneous applause at the end it, assuming the symphony to be
over. What follows, however, is a heart-wrenching, desolate final movement in
which Tchaikovsky appears to stare his own mortality in the face, providing
fuel for those who maintain that his death just weeks later was at his own
hand. Whatever the background to the composition, it is a devastating document.
Day 363
29 December 2017:
Sibelius – Symphony No. 7 (1924)
Jean Sibelius's
seventh symphony is, in my opinion, a serious contender for the title of
greatest symphony ever written. His lifelong mission as a composer had been to
pare down his art to say the maximum amount with the minimum of material, and
it reached its zenith in this work. In it, he condensed symphonic form into a
single movement of around 22 minutes in length. I certainly can't think of many
other pieces as tightly-wrought and intense, where every single note has a
purpose and nothing is wasted.
So unique was the work
that Sibelius himself wasn't even sure if he could call it a symphony. In fact,
when it was premiered it carried the title Fantasia
Sinfonica No. 1, and not designated as Symphony
No. 7 until its publication the following year. A symphony it most
certainly is though, with its unifying features being a logical extension of
cyclic form. It's as if the four movements are playing simultaneously and
Sibelius is operating a remote control to flick between them, and yet the
composition works as if the events are happening seamlessly. There is recurring
horn theme, which is identified in the sketches as 'Aino' (the composer's wife)
and struck me on first hearing as bearing a striking resemblance to a similar
passage in Brahms's first symphony. This acts as a totemic symbol at key points
throughout the work, providing further unity. The final four bars comprise one
of the most breathtaking symphonic endings ever written, a prolonged cadence in
which sections of the orchestra all resolve on to a final C major chord one by
one. Given that barely a week goes by when I DON’T listen to this symphony, I
listened to it twice today!
Day 364
30 December 2017:
Mahler – Symphony No. 10 (1910)
There are, I believe,
Gustav Mahler purists who to this day still refuse to accept any completions of
his final masterpiece, believing the sketches that remained incomplete at his
death to be only of interest to scholars. And while I am generally somewhat
wary of some well-meaning attempts to finished incomplete works (notably
Elgar's third symphony, which he'd barely started) Mahler's tenth was
tantalisingly close to being fully conceived. Two movements – the opening Andante–Adagio and the short, central Purgatorio movement – were, to all
intents and purposes, complete and orchestrated. The remaining movements were
fully written out in draft form on short score (four staves), and it was the
realisation that the entire work had been conceived and notated that encouraged
scholars to flesh out the bones of the skeleton.
After initially
withholding the score, Mahler's widow Alma eventually sent the manuscripts to
various composers (reportedly Shostakovich, Schoenberg, and Britten) who
declined to take on the task, although various musicologists have made attempts
at completing the work. The 'performing version' that is now widely recognised
as the definitive version was produced by the genius that was Deryck Cooke. I
strongly recommend watching the YouTube video I've linked here, which matches a
performance of the symphony to the handwritten score that Mahler left. It is
fascinating to see just how much (or how little) intervention was required to
pad out what at times was little more than an unharmonised melody for an
unspecified instrument, and yet at all times sound authentically Mahlerian. I
will be forever grateful to Cooke for his work, if nothing else because it
meant the world gets to hear the impassioned 'Almschi!' ending. Yes, Mahler may
well have orchestrated it differently, and would undoubtedly have cut or
revised some sections, but as a means of presenting the work in the state it
was when Mahler died, it is an astonishing achievement. Mr Cooke, I salute you!
Day 365
31 December 2017:
Beethoven – Symphony No. 9, 'Choral' (1824)
And finally ... I had
to finish with Ludwig van Beethoven's magnum opus. The last occupant of Choral
Symphony Sunday is the greatest of them all, and with it I have brought my Symphony A Day journey full circle.
Three-hundred-and-sixty-four days ago I (inadvertently) started with Brahms's Symphony No. 1, a work that he agonised
over for about 20 years, conscious of the fact that it would be compared
unfavourably with Beethoven's ninth. It is hard to appreciate just how immense
an achievement this was at the time. It was the longest symphony ever written
to date (surpassing his own Eroica by
about 15 minutes) and the first to feature a choir and soloists.
Unsurprisingly, few composers felt the urge to match or surpass its scale for
decades afterwards.
While the choral
finale is the stand-out feature of the piece, it cannot be overlooked that the
other three movements are breathtakingly good. The first movement's opening
inspired Bruckner to such an extent that he virtually copied the template for
every symphony he wrote. The scherzo
is conceived on a Mahlerian scale some 40 years before Mahler was even born.
The sublime slow movement, placed third in one of many masterstrokes Beethoven
pulls in this work, would have elevated this to a higher plane in itself.
However, three of the greatest symphonic movements ever written are merely a
preface to the choral finale that must have been jaw-dropping for the Viennese
public of the 1820s. That it should be built upon a tune of almost
nursery-rhyme simplicity is astonishing, with some observing that it is
actually a symphony within a symphony, with a discernible four sub-movement
structure. It is a breathtakingly brilliant work, in the view of many the
greatest symphony ever written, and an absolutely fitting way to complete the
year.
Thank you for reading!