Days 32 – 34

Day 32

1 February 2017: Mendelssohn – Symphony No. 1 (1824)
We've already had Mozart's first symphony, written when he was eight, and Schubert's first symphony, written when he was 16, and today it's another child prodigy – Felix Mendelssohn. The fact that this symphony was completed just eight weeks after his 15th birthday but is listed as Op.11 gives an indication of just how early young Felix began composing. The list of other compositions, to which no opus numbers were given, that Mendelssohn wrote prior to this symphony (including twelve string symphonies, a violin concerto, a piano concerto, and two concertos for two pianos) is absolutely mind-boggling. They certainly started 'em young in those days.

Mendelssohn was thus hardly a novice when he produced this symphony, and there is nothing immature about it at all. True, it is clearly modelled on Mozart's Symphony No. 40; indeed, the similarity between the theme that opens the fourth movement and its counterpart in the Mozart sails perilously close to plagiarism. In addition, the stormy opening sounds distinctly Beethovenian, but Mendelssohn's own voice is far from lost amidst the stylistic influences. This is best heard in the use of a double fugue in the final movement, a skill evolved from his early string symphonies. There is something a bit contrived about the C major coda it ends with, but we'll put that down to youthful exuberance.

Day 33

2 February 2017: Rubbra – Symphony No. 1 (1937)
By contrast to yesterday's precocious teenager Mendelssohn, Edmund Rubbra was 36 when he began his symphonic career. He went on to write 11, and up until about a year ago I hadn't heard any of them. Rubbra is a very recent discovery for me, and I did despair at how I could have lived on this earth for over half a century, listening to far more 20th century music than most, and yet his music had always eluded me. In many ways, my discovery of him may have subconsciously triggered this whole Symphony A Day thing, and encouraged me to seek out other composers I knew only by name.

Rubbra reminds me of Herbert Howells, another composer I'm a big fan of, in that I can't quite figure out how his music 'works'. It seems unstructured and almost meandering but somehow always engaging. The melodic line appears to come first for Rubbra, develops organically and then the harmonies and counter-melodies just emerge around it. Formal considerations are secondary, if they exist at all. This symphony is a masterful work. After a powerful opening movement and a short scherzo based on the French dance Perigourdine, the symphony ends with a near-20-minute Lento of increasing intensity and drive that eventually subsides into a deathly pianissimo, before building again towards a mighty conclusion. His is a genuinely awe-inspiring voice, and I’m enjoying discovering his work.

Day 34

3 February 2017: Tippett – Symphony No. 1 (1945)
The very first piece in the very first classical music concert that I paid money to attend was the Concerto for Double String Orchestra by a composer I had never heard of at the time – Sir Michael Tippett. It was the aural equivalent of love at first sight, and I've remained a devotee ever since. His first symphony was written about five years after that Concerto, and occupies the same musical sound world of additive rhythms (syncopation) and mostly diatonic counterpoint. Tippett's music became increasingly complex and dissonant as his career progressed, but his early works, of which this is a great example, are quite easy on the ear.

Tippett apparently started conceiving this symphony while he was in prison in 1943, where was detained for refusing to carry out war-related duties while claiming to be a conscientious objector. It follows the conventional four-movement form; the first is lively and rhythmic, while the second is a profound Adagio built on a ground bass in a clear tribute to one of his own musical gods – Purcell. The third movement scherzo contains a central trio for strings that is a very close relation to his Little Music for Strings, written the following year. The finale employs two contrasting fugues which are interrupted by the appearance of the bass drum towards the end and the music fragments into nothingness. It is a bold and confident piece by a composer on an upward trajectory.

Days 28 – 31

Day 28

28 January 2017: Tchaikovsky – Symphony No. 1 (1866)

Starting today, and for the next seven days, I'm listening to a week of First Symphonies. Because I'm covering all composers' works in chronological order – save for a few date-specific exceptions – it is, inevitably, mostly first symphonies I'm listening to at the moment. I thought I would consciously group a few together though, to explore how different composers have tackled their first venture into symphonic territory.

Of all the 'giants' of classical music, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky is the one who tends to be the most sneered at. Probably because he was never pushing boundaries or innovating, he is, justly I suppose, viewed as quite conservative. He certainly formed no part of my music degree for that very reason, but I could happily be cast away on a desert island with his complete works. If it's possible to have a guilty pleasure in classical music, then Tchaikovsky is mine.

Tchaikovsky's first, which carries the name 'Winter Daydreams' is by no means his best-known symphony. Although not exactly obscure, it's the fourth, fifth and especially sixth that have become concert hall standards. It apparently caused him more physical and mental anguish than any piece he ever wrote, although this doesn't manifest itself in the music, which is light and graceful, and makes use of Russian folk-song. Above all, as with all of Tchaikovsky's music, it's absolutely dripping with wonderful tunes.

Day 29

29 January 2017: Bax – Symphony No. 1 (1922)

Arnold Bax is a composer I've had the greatest fondness for ever since my student days. His symphonic poems Tintagel, Garden of Fand and November Woods were almost as much the soundtrack to my twenties as U2. His symphonies were a later discovery for me, and while they lack the clear visual imagery of the poems, they're still a great body of work. You would, however, go a long way before you found an orchestra playing one in a concert hall.

The first symphony, which Bax started to write three years after the Great War, is seen by many as a reaction to that conflict. Its opening militaristic theme in the brass and percussion evolves into a triumphal march in the final movement, which lends weight to this argument. In reality, that almost certainly wasn't the case, with Charles Grove asserting that it was more likely the 1916 Easter Rising in Ireland – a place Bax regarded as his spiritual home, even though he wasn't Irish – that provided the inspiration. Either way, it's well worth a listen.

Day 30

30 January 2017: Rautavaara – Symphony No. 1 (1955)

Einojuhani Rautavaara, who died only last year, is not exactly a household name outside of his native Finland. If you were really paying attention, you'll recall that he was a pupil of Roger Sessions, who I featured three days ago. Incidentally, Rautavaara's opportunity to study with Sessions at the Juilliard School in New York came when Sibelius, in honour of his 90th birthday, was asked to nominate a young Finnish composer to attend. It's clear that the directions master and pupil took after their time together were markedly different, as this work, which actually predates Sessions' first symphony by two years, is poles apart from the serialist piece produced by his teacher.

Rautavaara's style went through a variety of phases, and he also had a tendency to radically revise works, meaning no definitive version ever really exists. This symphony was written in 1955 (the linked video is of this version), but he revised it in 1988, and then in 2003 he added an entirely new central movement. I would normally regard such a substantial later change as an incongruous addition, but it's so completely beautiful that I just can't hold that view. It's an almost transcendental symphony, and the lush writing for strings grabs your attention right from the off.

Day 31

31 January 2017: Glass – Symphony No. 1 'Low' (1992)

Philip Glass had moved away from the hardcore minimalism for which he had become famous when he decided to write his first symphony. As anyone who has ever tried to listen to all four-and-a-half hours of his opera Einstein On The Beach will testify, stretching repetitive figures over a large-scale work becomes pretty hard going. By the late-eighties though, Glass's music had become far more accessible, and with his breakthrough piece The Light – his first for a symphony orchestra – he paved the way for the first of what is now ten symphonies, with an eleventh on the way.

I'll be honest, I heard this symphony before I heard the Bowie album, and without that context it did sound to me, at the time, just like an extended-form version of The Light. The symphony's outer movements are based on the tracks Subterraneans and Warszawa from side two of the album (or what would have been side two in the days when albums had sides), and are pretty much direct quotes at the outset. These quotes essentially become musical cells that Glass uses to grow organically using his well-established minimalist techniques. The central movement is based on the track Some Are, which wasn't featured on the album, and to this day I've never heard it. In many ways, this movement is closer to old-school Glass with far more emphasis on rhythmic repetition. Glass would return to Bowie four years with his Heroes Symphony – I’ve got that scheduled in for some time in December. But for the time being ... Happy 80th Birthday, Philip!

Days 24 – 27

Day 24

24 January 2017: Stravinsky – Symphony of Psalms (1930)
Stravinsky was already 48 years old when he decided to have a stab at writing a choral symphony. By that time, the one-time enfant terrible had rowed back on his percussive and dissonant early style and had embraced neo-classicism. This work sets Psalms 39, 40 & 150, and while being mostly diatonic – his publisher had requested something ‘popular’ – it actually makes use from time to time of an octatonic scale (eight notes instead of the usual seven) of alternate tones and semitones. It's an excellent work, with the choral writing – not something Stravinsky was especially well-known for – being particularly fine in the second movement setting of Psalm 40.

A small bit of trivia arising from this piece: Prokofiev selected random words from the chosen psalms when looking for a Latin text for his own cantata Alexander Nevsky. The resulting lines were, Peregrinus expectavi, pedes meos in cymbalis, which (very) roughly translates as, ‘The Crusaders waited, my feet with cymbals’. Well, quite.

Day 25

25 January 2017: Strauss – Symphonia Domestica (1904)
I have heard this symphony exactly once before. It was in the Royal Festival Hall in late-1993 as part of a BBC Symphony Orchestra season of works by Strauss and yesterday's featured composer Stravinsky. The juxtaposition of these two largely unlike composers was seemingly driven by no other reason than that they usually appear next to each other in an alphabetical list of composers. I don't recall being particularly inspired by it then, and it passed me by again today.

I do like Strauss: Metamorphosen, Tod und Verklärung, and Four Last Songs are all played regularly in this house. In the Symphonia Domestica though, it feels like the subject matter doesn't deserve the overblown treatment it's getting from the 110-strong orchestra (including eight horns and five saxophones). There are big, lusciously scored tunes – each representing a different member of the family – and there is a programme to follow should you feel so inclined. The painfully literal depiction of some of these events, however, such as a clock striking seven, or a baby crying, are just unsymphonic. It might be another 23 years before I give this another blast.

Day 26

26 January 2017: Farrenc – Symphony No. 1 (1842)
It's hard to write anything about any of the female composers I'm featuring in this series without using the word ‘neglected’. In Louise Farrenc's case, however, it's a simply unavoidable word. There is absolutely no reason on God's earth why this piece, or indeed any of her three symphonies, shouldn't be as well-known as, say, those of Mendelssohn or Schumann. There's no drop in quality, just a lack of familiarity.

Farrenc already had a substantial body of piano music and chamber works under her belt before she branched out into orchestral writing. This symphony dates from 1842, the same year that she was appointed Professor of Piano at the Paris Conservatory. She remained in this most prestigious of posts for thirty years, and was, naturally, a gifted pianist in her own right. It is a pity that her qualities as a composer weren't given equal value to those she acquired as a performer and teacher. This is a beautifully structured symphony, with energetic writing throughout and no shortage of fine tunes.

Day 27

27 January 2017: Sessions – Symphony no. 3 (1957)
To the best of my knowledge, I've never previously heard anything by Roger Sessions. Apart from being a very respected composer, Sessions has an impressive track record as a teacher of composition. He taught at Berkeley, Harvard and the Juilliard, and his students include such luminaries as Peter Maxwell Davies, John Adams, Einojuhani Rautavaara, Ellen Taaffe Zwilich (all of whom will feature this year, or, in Adams' case, have already featured) plus Elmer Bernstein, Conlon Nancarrow and Milton Babbitt.

Sessions wrote nine symphonies, so in picking one, I took guidance from Mark Lehman's piece ‘The Great American Symphony’ who says of the third that it ‘remains the most moving and satisfying’. It seems like a fair judgement, having also listened to the fourth for comparison. It employs serialism (in which the twelve notes of the chromatic scale are ordered into a ‘tone row’ to provide a thematic basis) and normally that has me running for the hills. This, however, remains an engaging piece, and in the haunting third movement Sessions manages to imbue the music with a pathos and emotion that other composers who use this cold, academic method mostly fail to achieve.

Days 20 – 23

Day 20

20 January 2017: Adams – Chamber Symphony (1992)
Exactly 100 years after the Nielsen Symphony featured yesterday, we have this Chamber Symphony from the American minimalist John Adams. Written for a 15-piece ensemble that includes a synthesizer and drum kit, it was inspired by the unlikely combination of Arnold Schoenberg and Tom & Jerry cartoons! Apparently, while Adams was studying the score of Schoenberg's Chamber Symphony (which is written for similar forces) his son was watching cartoons in the next room and Adams was struck by how much the two styles had in common.

It's certainly very different from any other John Adams work I've heard. Quite light-hearted with fast flurries of notes in sharp, angular rhythms; the first movement – named 'Mongrel Airs' – in particular is bordering on unplayable. Even the middle movement entitled 'Aria with Walking Bass', which features a long slow tune that starts on the French Horn, is soon disrupted by busy, energetic writing in the other parts. If you were listening to this for the first time with no knowledge of who had written it, you would struggle to guess the composer.

Day 21

21 January 2017: Parry – Symphony No. 1 (1882)
England was very much 'Das Land Ohne Musik' when Charles Villiers Stanford and Hubert Parry were penning their first symphonies six years apart in the late-19th century. There simply was no symphonic tradition in this country at that time, so these two trailblazers set about creating one. History has been a little unkind to them, as they tend to be viewed more as inspirers of the next generation of composers – most notably Elgar and Vaughan Williams – rather than valued as composers in their own right.

Parry's first symphony was the later of the two, and while they both looked to Europe for stimulus, it was Parry who somehow seemed to imbue his work more with a sense of Englishness. Certainly the influence of Schumann, Brahms and maybe Dvorák can be heard, but the heavier brass scoring and the pastoral nature of the tune writing makes it identifiably Parry. Sadly, after a couple of initial performances, it remained unpublished and unperformed for over 100 years, meaning it failed to have the influence it ought to have had. A disappointing fate for what was arguably the first truly great English symphony.

Day 22

22 January 2017: Sibelius – Kullervo (1892)
If you're going to announce your arrival as a symphonist, then you might as well do it with a gigantic choral work. Jean Sibelius was still in his twenties when he decided to set texts from the epic Finnish-language poem Kalevala to tell the story of the title character. This was a controversial move in itself, as setting Finnish text at a time when Finland was under Swedish rule led to him being called a traitor in some quarters.

Rather like yesterday's Parry, the symphony received just a handful of performances in its entirety in the composer's lifetime, although performances of individual movements were authorised. After that it was withdrawn and was only published after Sibelius's death, at the composer's instruction. It has to be said that the subject matter is rather unedifying, telling as it does the story of a character who kills himself after ravaging a woman he discovers to have been his own sister. In musical terms though, this is poles apart from the austere numbered symphonies that followed it. It's about 75 minutes long, so there's a very good reason why I've chosen to listen to it on a Sunday!

Day 23

23 January 2017: Mozart – Symphony no. 1 (1764)
This was written by an 8-year-old. OK, so Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was no ordinary 8-year-old, but the fact that he knocked out this symphony whilst on a Grand Tour of Europe demonstrating his Wunderkind abilities as a performer, at an age when many children can barely spell their own names, is bewildering. It was written at 180 Ebury Street, Belgravia, the family's base during their stay in London, which is now commemorated with a blue plaque.

At roughly nine minutes long, it's probably the shortest symphony I'm going to listen to this year, and quite a marked contrast to yesterday's Sibelius. We'll probably never be able to establish just how much 'help' young Wolfgang may have had from his father Leopold, but his subsequent achievements suggest it might not have been that much. Whichever way you cut it, this is one of the most astonishing documents in all music history.

Days 15 – 19

Day 15

15 January 2017: Witt – Symphony in C major, "Jena" (1793?)
Friedrich Jeremias Witt is not a name familiar to many, and indeed he may well have slipped into total obscurity were it not for an academic slip-up just over 100 years ago. The manuscript for this symphony was found by Fritz Stein in the German city of Jena (hence the name) in 1909 and he immediately deduced that it was the work of Beethoven. When others agreed, it was actually published by Breitkopf und Härtel two years later as "Jenaer Symphonie" by L. van Beethoven. It was only when another copy of the score was discovered, this time with the author's name on it, that the mistake was realised.

That his work was mistaken for Beethoven ought to be a measure of the piece's worth, although some critics immediately sought to distance themselves from ever having thought it of that calibre. Yes, it is derivative of Haydn – seemingly modelled in his Symphony No. 97 – but it's a fine work. He was actually born in the same year as Beethoven (1770) and was a highly respected composer in his day. Sadly, history has not been kind to him, and it is unfortunate that his brief moment in the sun came when his music was mistaken for that of his contemporary.

Day 16

16 January 2017: Dvorák – Symphony No. 1, "The Bells of Zlonice" (1865) 
I do like a piece with an interesting history, and today's choice has one more fascinating than most. The 23-year-old Antonin Dvorák submitted this substantial work for a competition in Germany, and regrettably he never saw it again. Having assumed it was lost forever, he catalogued it as an early work that he had destroyed.

Unknown to him, however, a Dr Rudolf Dvorák (no relation) wandered into a second-hand book shop in Leipzig some 17 years later and found the score of a symphony by a composer who shared his name. Obviously drawn by this fact, he bought it. The by-then 40-year-old Antonin Dvorák was scarcely any better known in Germany than he had been in 1865 when his lost symphony was written, so the academic who now owned it remained oblivious to the worth of the treasure in his possession. Fast forward to 1920: Dr Rudolf Dvorák dies and his son inherits the score. The by-then dead-for-16-years Antonin Dvorák's reputation as one of Europe's greatest composers is secure. Nevertheless, it would be three more years before the German doctor's son brought the score to the attention of the musical world, who then took an astonishing 13 more years to get round to giving it a first public performance.

While it was certainly a significant discovery, it also has to be said that it is rather a sprawling work. Then again, given that Dvorák never heard it played nor did he have the chance to edit it, it might retrospectively be viewed as a first draft. It's an intriguing piece, but not as interesting as its past.

Day 17

17 January 2017: Maconchy – Symphony for Double String Orchestra (1953)
The first female composer so far, Elizabeth Maconchy is an almost exact contemporary of Michael Tippett, with whom she shares some stylistic similarities. The opening movement of this symphony certainly bears a passing resemblance to Tippett's Concerto for Double String Orchestra – not just in the forces used, but in the rhythmic contrapuntal writing. The final movement Passacaglia is a really wonderful piece of writing that makes you wonder why this isn't a more familiar piece. Then you remember the gender of the composer and realise why. The tragic neglect of female composers is something that shames the world of music, and only in very recent times has the issue been addressed, although there's still a long way to go.

Much as I would like to feature Dame Elizabeth more, this will be her sole contribution. Of the four symphonies she wrote, two have been withdrawn (by the composer) and to the best of my knowledge no recording exists of the Little Symphony. That is such a shame, because this is great.

Day 18

18 January 2017: Beethoven – Symphony No. 1 (1800)
The first of Beethoven's nine symphonies, which are, in my humble opinion, the greatest body of work produced by any artist in any field. And while this symphony sounds quite unspectacular to modern ears, or even compared with the more famous of his own symphonies, it was a bold statement at the start of a new century.

Its first performance was in a showcase concert in Vienna that also featured his second piano concerto, and was programmed alongside works by the mighty musical ancestors who cast a shadow over the young Beethoven, Haydn and Mozart. It made an instant impression, with its strange opening chord sequence that doesn't establish the home key of C major until bar 13. The third movement is possibly the first example of a scherzo. Even though it's marked as a minuet, its allegro molto tempo was totally novel. Beethoven made it clear from the off that experimentation was the name of the game from now on, and as a consequence the symphony as an art form progressed at a staggering rate through the 19th century.

Day 19

19 January 2017: Nielsen – Symphony No. 1 (1892)
Carl Nielsen's first venture into symphonic territory, taken when he was 27 years old. While it is not uncommon for composers to conduct the première of a new piece, Nielsen took the rather unusual step of actually playing in the orchestra at its first performance. Quite how it would have sounded from the second fiddles where he was employed is hard to say, but it is a highly assured work, even if it demonstrates few of the orchestral fireworks he saved for his later symphonies.

Nielsen's most significant innovation to the symphony was the introduction of progressive tonality. That is to say it ends in a totally different key to the one it started in. The composer Robert Simpson argues that this was first symphony to do so – ending as it does in C major, having opened in G minor. It was something that was soon taken for granted, of course, before the concept of a key signature was abandoned altogether. Few would have considered it a Danish invention, though.

Days 10 – 14

Day 10

10 January 2017: Spohr - Symphony No. 7 in C major, “lrdisches und Gottliches im Menschenleben" (1841)
Another Louis, but from a very different era. Louis Spohr was born in Germany 14 years after Beethoven, and, like his elder compatriot, he is seen as a pivotal composer bridging the Classical and Romantic periods. Unlike Beethoven though, he fell out of fashion almost immediately after his death, and it is only in the last 50 years or so that there has been a revival of interest in Spohr. He actually wrote ten symphonies, but I don't plan to listen to all of them – primarily because I don't think they've all been recorded – hence the reason for diving straight into his seventh, which is probably the most interesting of the lot.

The title translates as The Earthly and Divine in Human Life, and the work is programmatic with each of its three movements prefaced by a four-line verse motto, written by his wife Marianne. The first movement is entitled 'The World of Childhood', the second 'The Age of Passion', and the third 'Final Triumph of the Heavenly'. Apparently inspired by a holiday in Switzerland, it is a very unconventional symphony for the time. Not only by having three movements instead of the usual four, but there is no slow movement, no scherzo, and is written for two orchestras. The idea for a double orchestra also came from his wife – who probably deserves a co-writing credit – on the return journey to Germany from Switzerland. The two orchestras are used to great colouristic effect, with one orchestra representing the earthly and the other divine. It's a very fine work and well worth a listen.

Day 11

11 January 2017: Widor - Symphony for Organ No. 5 (1879)
There are a number of works that are dominated by one movement. Barber's String Quartet, for example – everyone knows the Adagio, but few have heard the whole thing. Similarly, the Sabre Dance from Khachaturian's Gayaneh might be the only movement most people have heard from that ballet suite. This, however, must be the most extreme example. Anyone who has ever attended a church wedding in this country will almost certainly have heard organists of varying degrees of competence fumble their way through Charles-Marie Widor's Toccata, which is the fifth and final movement of this, his fifth Organ Symphony. The rest of the symphony remains quite obscure.

Hearing something so familiar after about 30 minutes of quite impressionistic organ writing is still jarring no matter how well you get to know this piece. It almost sounds like it was written by a different composer altogether. Nevertheless, it is the major key culmination of a symphony designated as being in F minor, and the symphony as a whole was clearly intended as a recital piece rather than for use in a liturgical setting. It is interesting that he, and others of the French organ school such as Vierne and Dupré called these pieces 'symphonies' as opposed to sonatas or suites, due to the use of organ voicings to imitate orchestral colours, rather than an adherence to symphonic form. It's certainly interesting to hear a different take on the concept of the symphony.

Day 12

12 January 2017: Bruckner - Symphony No. 0 (1869)
This is something of an oddity. Anton Bruckner wrote this three years after his first symphony, and it was initially designated "Symphony No. 2". Seemingly stung, however, by the conductor Otto Dessoff's questioning, at its first rehearsal, of where the main theme was, Bruckner decided to withdraw the work until the last year of his life. His later symphonies were renumbered accordingly, and of this work, all he would say was it "does not count" and that it was "only an attempt."

The thing is, it's really not that bad. It has been recorded countless times under the batons of some of the greatest conductors – Solti, Barenboim, Haitink and Chailly spring to mind – and there is no tangible drop in quality from the two numbered symphonies that flank it chronologically. The finale contains an early example of his trademark Gesangperiod (song period), a transitional section often marked by pizzicato strings, and the hymn-like theme in the first movement is, again, typical Bruckner. As it's also, by a distance, the shortest of his symphonies, it represents a very good entry point to his Mahlerian-scale body of work.

Day 13

13 January 2017: Shostakovich - Symphony No. 1 (1925)
The 19-year-old Dmitri Shostakovich wrote this as a graduation piece at Petrograd Conservatoire. I presume he passed.

As first symphonies go, this is quite brilliant. I remember studying this for A level, when I was about the same age as he was when he wrote it, and as a budding composer myself it made quite an impression. The first movement's clarity of form is particularly striking, with its three very different themes returning in reverse order at the end. There are some bold compositional devices, such as the huge exposed piano chords at the climax of the scherzo, and the solo timpani at a similar point in the last movement. Such an assured piece of writing would have earned him a place among the great symphonists even if he'd written nothing else. As it turned out, it was only the first step on an extraordinary symphonic journey.

Day 14

14 January 2017: Holst - Symphony in F, 'The Cotswolds' (1900)
I will go to my grave insisting that the first four movements of The Planets would make a perfectly good symphony. However, I can't cherry pick in that way, and thankfully Gustav Holst did actually write two bona fide symphonies to ensure his inclusion.

This was the first, written in his mid-twenties, and was at the time the most ambitious work in his burgeoning career. At 23 minutes, it's short by symphonic standards and, to be brutally honest, a bit lightweight. The first movement in particular, after its promising opening fanfare, sounds like the kind of thing Stanford might have discarded. The shining beacon of this piece, however, is the second movement – an elegy to the Socialist William Morris, who died in 1896. There are hints of what was to come in the crunching harmonies, and the signature brass writing that would come to inhabit the Saturn movement of the Planets. I hadn't heard this piece before today, and once again it's a pleasing discovery.

Days 7 – 9

Day 7

7 January 2017: Korngold - Symphony in F sharp major (1952)
Today's piece is another symphony that turned out to be the only one written by its composer. Although born in Austria, Erich Korngold moved to the US following Hitler's rise to power, and became one of the greatest-ever composers of film music, winning Oscars for his scores for Anthony Adverse (1936) and The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938).

Sadly, his reputation as a composer suffered for his association with Hollywood and it was only after his death that works like the sublime Violin Concerto (which itself made use of themes from his film scores) and this tragically neglected symphony started to be appreciated. Apart from a single performance for radio, this wasn't actually performed in a concert hall until 1972 – 20 years after it was written. The epic slow movement – a memorial to its dedicatee, Franklin D. Roosevelt – is absolutely magnificent. This really should be better known than it is.

Day 8

8 January 2017: Mahler - Symphony No.1 (1889)
Any debate over the greatest symphonist will inevitably involve Gustav Mahler. Having died at the age of 50, he was only really active as a composer for about 30 years and he spent almost all of that time working on one or other of his 11 symphonies. They were his life's work, and every one is a monument.

The first symphony, by Mahlerian standards, is concise and accessible. It is only about 55 minutes long (the fourth is the only other of his symphonies to come in under the hour mark) and the musical language is direct. The first movement depicts daybreak with twinkles of sunlight and birdsong, the second features a folk-like Ländler tune, while the third – memorably – is a funeral march on the tune Frère Jacques (or Bruder Jakob, as Mahler would have known it). Many of Mahler's symphonies are, admittedly, daunting; the third in particular is downright off-putting. This, however, is an easy in to Mahler's erudite sound world. It certainly was for me, anyway.

Day 9

9 January 2017: Louis Andriessen - Symphony for open strings (1978)
This is the first symphony featured so far written by a living composer, namely Dutchman Louis Andriessen. He has written for just about every combination of instruments conceivable, except for a conventional symphony orchestra, for which he always refused to write. The only work in his substantial canon calling itself a symphony is this work for 12 solo strings.

It's a cleverly conceived piece, in that, as the title suggests, the players play only the open strings of their instruments, although they're all tuned differently so that the composer has a four-octave range of notes to work with. The result is a strange, expressionless sound, with vibrato physically impossible. And yet it evolves like a conventional symphony, with melodic themes (including one that sounds suspiciously like Blue Moon) having to be passed around the instruments, rather in the manner of a group of hand-bell players. It's certainly a stark contrast to yesterday's Mahler!