Day 219
7 August 2017: Górecki
– Symphony No. 2, 'Copernican' (1972)
In common with many
20th century composers, Henryk Mikołaj Górecki went through two very distinct
stylistic phases. Having started as a darling of the Polish avant-garde in the
mid-1950s, he later developed a much more consonant style and was bundled in with
the 'Holy Minimalists' following the bewildering success of his Symphony No. 3, 'Symphony of Sorrowful
Songs' in the early nineties. I can, however, think of very few examples of
symphonies that showcase both periods of a composer's development in a single
work, in the way that this does.
The title 'Copernican'
comes from the fact that the symphony was written to commemorate the 500th
anniversary of the astronomer Nicolaus Copernicus's birth in 1973 (although the
work was actually completed the previous year). It is in two wildly contrasting
parts. The first part, which represents the chaos of the world, features
massive, loud, dissonant whole-tone chords that span six octaves, and also fast
ad libitum passages for brass – very reminiscent of his compatriot Witold
Lutosławski. The second couldn't be more different, employing quieter, calmer
music based on the pentatonic scale, and occupying much the same sound world as
the third symphony. This represents the order of the universe, and features a
choir singing psalms from the Bible. Indeed, the last five minutes or so of
this work is so quiet as to be barely audible – leading me to think the piece
had finished long before it had! It is hugely important work in Górecki's
output, not only for the importance of the occasion for which it was written,
but also as it represents a summation of his career as a whole.
Day 220
8 August 2017: Kodály
– Symphony in C major (1961)
I've been amazed by
the number of symphonies I've discovered this year that had ridiculously long
gestation periods. The three decades it took Zoltán Kodály to complete this his
only symphony is certainly on the outer extremes of those examples. Kodály
started work on this in the 1930s, and after 15 years of what must have been
very intermittent work he had completed two movements. It may have remained in
that incomplete state for the rest of his life, however in 1959, following the
death of his wife of 48 years Emma Gruber, the 77-year-old Kodály married a
19-year-old student by the name of Sarolta Péczely. This seems to have
invigorated the old man, and he completed this symphony within a year.
AllMusic reviewer
Joseph Stevenson rates this as 'one of the greatest symphonies of the 20th
Century', although it is not a widely held belief. It is, nevertheless, a
splendid piece of work, and the culmination of a life devoted to the folk music
of his native Hungary. The folk-like themes are everywhere, with the opening
music featuring what appear to be open string drones in the manner of fiddle
tunes. The second Andante moderato
movement features a viola-led theme and variations that sounds for all the
world like his English counterpart Vaughan Williams at times. The final
movement, which as mentioned previously was written much later, is a
rip-roaring romp of Hungarian dances that is practically impossible to sit
still through. It is quite remarkable that this liveliest of movements should
be the work of a man approaching his eighties.
Day 221
9 August 2017:
Bruckner – Symphony No. 6 (1881)
Unlike the seeming
majority of critics, I like Anton Bruckner's sixth symphony, mostly for the
fact that it is almost completely different to the other nine. That's not to
say that I don't like his work as a rule because I do, and the one he followed
this with is an absolute doozy. But the sameness that makes the fifth almost
indistinguishable from the third or the eighth to the inattentive listener just
isn't present here. According to the composer 'the Sixth is the sauciest'. Well
quite.
Its oddity has led to
it being considered by many critics as the runt of Bruckner's symphonic litter.
It is certainly the least frequently performed, and words like 'peculiar',
'tiresome', and 'flawed' have been tossed out when discussing it. Personally,
I'd put it in his top three, as there is a clear originality of thought within
its bars, and it has more than its fair share of memorable themes. Right from
the off, the insistent ostinato
rhythm of the violins indicates a different direction from the swirling musical
mists that usually feature at the opening of a Bruckner symphony. The slow
movement is just gorgeous, even by Bruckner's high standards, and the scherzo is unlike any of those from his
other symphonies – almost Mahlerian in its twists and turns into dark corners.
The finale is probably the weakest of the four movements, but then I've never
considered Bruckner's final movements to be his forte. All energy seems spent
by the time he gets to them and this is no exception. Nonetheless, I do like
this symphony a lot, and after Nos. 4 & 7, it's probably the one I listen
to most often.
Day 222
10 August 2017: Piston
– Symphony No. 2 (1943)
Walter Piston's books
on Orchestration and Harmony were indispensable reading when I was a music
student, especially the former with regard to composing for instruments I
didn't play (which would be virtually all of them). Some years passed before I
discovered that, as well being an academic, he was also an eminent composer.
The fact that it's taken me until today to listen to anything he'd ever written
is, I confess, quite shameful.
Anyway, this is
another candidate for the increasingly towering pile of enjoyable discoveries
this year. The first movement is a taut musical argument between its two very
contrasting subjects: the first slightly dark and the second bordering on
jaunty. The heart of the piece is the Adagio
second movement, which features a beautifully expansive melodic line the equal
of anything his countryman Samuel Barber may have written. Indeed, it was this
movement that Leonard Bernstein led the New York Philharmonic in a performance
of upon hearing news of the composer's death in November 1976. It all feels
like effortless writing, although by all accounts it was a piece Piston slaved
over for some time, and listening to this there's a feel of a master at work.
So good at it, in fact, that he obviously felt compelled to write books about it.
Day 223
11 August 2017: Berio
– Sinfonia (1969)
And now for something
completely different. We're into day 223 and none of the previous 222
symphonies sound anything remotely like this post-modernist classic. Luciano
Berio's Sinfonia is now approaching
its 50th birthday, yet it still has the power to shock. It is scored for a
large orchestra plus eight amplified vocalists who are employed to sing, talk,
shout, whisper and generally add an extra dimension to the sound world
throughout. It is one of the most enduringly successful works of the last
half-decade,
The first two
movements are very contrasting with the opening section a brutalist landscape
of quotations from Lévi-Strauss battling against avant-garde orchestral writing.
The slow second movement features the singers expanding the harmonics of single
piano notes in a hugely imaginative way, with the text having been taken from
Berio's own work, O King, a tribute
to Martin Luther King who had been assassinated the previous year. These
movement are but preparation for the sensory overload of the third movement; a
quite extraordinary collage of verbal and musical quotations, all of which are
built on a base of excerpts from the scherzo from Mahler's second symphony. Fragments
of text from Samuel Beckett and James Joyce collide with Debussy, Hindemith,
Ravel, Stravinsky, Strauss, Beethoven and many more to produce a dizzying,
heady mix of music and literature. It's an absolutely mind-blowing and trippy
work, feeling almost like some acid-induced 'happening' that would have been
entirely in keeping with the time in which it was written.
Day 224
12 August 2017: Franck
– Symphony in D minor (1888)
Seventies pop star
Carl Douglas is known for one thing and one thing only: his number one single Kung Fu Fighting. In interviews.
whenever he found himself fielding accusations of being a one-hit wonder, he
would respond with, 'Yes, but what a hit!' For some reason this quote came to
mind when considering Belgian composer César Franck's magnum opus, the Symphony in D minor. Franck was, in
symphonic terms, something of a one-hit wonder, and in fact I'd struggle to
name a single other work he wrote in his no doubt impressive career. It is,
however, one of the most frequently performed and recorded symphonies in the
repertoire, and has established his name almost single-handedly.
For all its popularity
now, Franck's Symphony wasn't terribly well received at the time.
Franco-Prussian enmity was still running high in the 1880s, and the symphony as
a form was viewed by many in the French-speaking world as a Germanic construct.
French orchestras refused to perform it, and when, finally, it was performed by
the Paris Conservatoire Orchestra the year before Franck's death, it was
savaged by the critics, with Charles Gounod describing it as incompetent.
Common sense eventually prevailed, and it reputation is now secure. Its unusual
three-movement structure sees all three make use of the same four-bar theme
that opens the work. The central movement, which is actually a slow movement
and scherzo rolled into one, begins
with a memorable cor anglais solo, while the finale sees the opening theme
transformed brilliantly into a sweeping melody that carries all before it towards
a triumphant finish. Definitely the best symphony ever written by a Belgian!
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