Days 100 – 103

Day 100

10 April 2017: Atterberg – Symphony No.3, 'West Coast Pictures' (1916)

A hundred days already ... where does the time go? Anyway what better way to bring up the century than with Swedish composer Kurt Atterberg's beautiful third symphony. I seem to have spent much of the last 100 days bemoaning then neglect of this or that composer, but the fact that Atterberg in general, and this symphony in particular, is relatively unknown in this country is really saddening. My lack of knowledge of him until quite recently led to my assuming, from the title of this symphony, that he was a Swedish emigre who moved to California, not registering the fact that Sweden has a west coast too!

Born in 1887, he is roughly contemporary with Prokofiev and Webern and while his music is nowhere near as challenging or ground-breaking as theirs, it has a sublime lyrical and impressionistic quality to it. His third symphony is widely regarded as his finest, and is three thematically linked sea pictures, if you will. The first, entitled Summer Haze sets the tone with glittering orchestral colours and soaring, wistful melodies. The second depicts a storm, and employs the well-established orchestral play book on a subject that most composers since Vivaldi have turned their minds to. The finale Summer Night returns to the calm of the first movement before building to a triumphant and exhilarating climax. With a degree of audience familiarity, this could be a huge favourite in the concert halls.  

Day 101

11 April 2017: Prokofiev – Symphony No. 2 (1925)

To say that Sergei Prokofiev took a different approach to his second symphony to the one he took to his first would be quite the understatement. The first, modelled on the classical symphonies of Haydn, is a bright and breezy 15 minutes or so of neoclassicism. This is a completely different beast – nearly three times as long, and not the remotest bit bright or breezy. The harmonic language is dissonant, especially in the first movement, and the texture is dense to the point of impenetrable. In fact, even Prokofiev had to concede that he couldn't fathom its essence, feeling a degree of sympathy for his audience.

The symphony is in two movements: the first being a brutal, violent Allegro, and the second a theme and variations that accounts for two thirds of the symphony's length. The form is essentially borrowed from Beethoven's Op. 111 Piano Sonata, but that is where any similarity to that particular work ends. There are moments of calm in the variations that counterbalance the sheer unpleasantness of the first movement, but the symphony as a whole remains generally unloved and is certainly the least-performed of Prokofiev's symphonic output. It's a work you really have to be in the mood for.

Day 102

12 April 2017: Casella – Symphony No. 1 (1906)

The late-Romantic Italian composer Alfredo Casella was a pupil of Gabriel Fauré, classmate of George Enescu and Maurice Ravel, and could list Debussy and Stravinsky among his friends. Being so well-connected, you might be wondering why he isn't better known. In fact, Casella was somewhat airbrushed out of Italian history for a while as a result of his support for the Fascist government of Mussolini during World War Two; an odd position for him to have taken given that his wife was Jewish.

As most Italian composers before him had tended to concentrate on writing operas, Casella was one of the first Italian symphonists since the classical period. He was also his own worst critic, and he took an almost immediate dislike to this work. Casella clearly intended that it should never be heard – even going to the extent of re-using a re-scored version of its slow movement for his second symphony just three years later. I can't think of another example of two consecutive symphonies by a composer actually sharing a whole movement. Anyway, I like it even if he didn't!

Day 103

13 April 2017: Arnold – Symphony No. 3 (1957)

Malcolm Arnold wrote nine very good symphonies, and sadly none of them are in any way familiar to audiences in this country, let alone abroad. The third ranks highly among them, and was written when he was at the peak of his powers. In the year of its premiere, Arnold would receive an Academy Award for his film score of The Bridge on the River Kwai. This is a far more serious work than that though, possibly deriving from the death of his mother during its composition, and to some extent his battles with his own sanity having been institutionalised at the start of the 1950s. Coincidentally, it was also completed in the year that Jean Sibelius, a composer Arnold acknowledged as one of his biggest influences, died.

A splendid, lyrical opening movement, in which the Sibelian influence is most clearly evident, sets the scene for a magnificent Lento slow movement. This Passacaglia, on which 20 variations are based is, in my opinion, some of the best music he ever wrote. The relatively brief finale that follows is almost a throwaway gesture, but it works very well as an antidote to the rather portentous music that preceded it. If Arnold has a reputation for being a composer of light music, this symphony would dispel that in an instant.

Days 95 – 99

Day 95

5 April 2017: Leiviskä – Symphony No. 3 (1971)

Completely unplanned, but I seem to be in a sequence of third symphonies at the moment (with another one tomorrow). Of these, I'm fairly confident in saying that this by the female Finnish composer Helvi Leiviskä is the most obscure. Leiviskä studied composition at the Sibelius Academy, but was well into her thirties before any of her music was publicly performed. At that first concert, which featured her Piano Concerto and Triple Fugue for Orchestra, a contemporary reviewer said that her composition 'spoke with the voice of a man'. I think it was probably meant as a compliment.

We'll have to take his word for it, however, as no recording of either work exists, and sadly the third symphony, to the best of my knowledge, is the only one of the three she wrote to have been recorded. This dates from 1971, by which point Leiviskä was approaching her seventies and had abandoned tonality completely. The orchestral gestures seem to belong to the late-Romantic period but the musical language is much more modern, giving the piece a strange out-of-focus feel. It's a very strong work, and it certainly makes me wish I could hear some of the rest of her output.

Day 96

6 April 2017: Schubert – Symphony No. 3 (1815)

The still only 18-year-old Franz Schubert began composing this work just two months after his second symphony, and the two works together represent pretty much the only orchestral music he wrote in an extraordinarily prolific year when his primary focus was on lieder and choral music. The sheer volume of music Schubert wrote in the year 1815, meant much of it – this symphony included – virtually slipped under the radar.

The third symphony is much shorter than its predecessor, mostly due to the light-as-a-feather inner movements both taking under four minutes each in performance. The graceful Allegretto and energetic Minuetto counterbalance a large-scale first movement that features a lengthy slow introduction, making it feel more like an overture than an opening movement to a symphony. As with the second symphony, the finale is quick and lively, galloping along in the manner of a tarantella. After its almost meditative introduction, the symphony is never less than spirited and joyful for the rest of its duration. Sadly, like many of his early works, it would not receive a public performance until many years after his death.

Day 97

7 April 2017: Magnard – Symphony No. 1 (1889)

The French composer Albéric Magnard was a very impressive man. His father was editor of Le Figaro, and he could have easily settled for lived a life of privilege. Instead, he decided to pursue his musical ambitions and sought to be recognised on his own merits, rather than as 'fils du Figaro'. That he achieved this goal is notable enough, however his heroic death raises him further in my estimation. At the outbreak of World War One, he packed his family off to a safe haven while he stayed behind to guard their property. When the invading German forces arrived, he attempted a one-man defence, shooting one of them dead. Unfortunately, though the Germans responded by setting fire to his house, killing Magnard and in the process destroying many of his compositions.

More than enough of his music survives for his worth as a composer to be appreciated. He is, perhaps lazily, sometimes referred to as ‘le Bruckner français’, although some also align him with Mahler or Wagner. Either way, he was an outstanding composer of the late-Romantic period, who would probably be better known were it not for the fact that he lived at a time when there was some pretty serious competition, not least from the composers already mentioned. This symphony is undoubtedly the most Brucknerian of his four, especially in his brass writing in the Religioso slow movement, which is absolutely wonderful. I discovered Magnard a couple of years ago, and once again found myself wishing that concert programmers would spread the net a bit wider to trawl up gems like this.

Day 98

8 April 2017: Bax – Symphony No. 2 (1926)

Arnold Bax was something of a late starter as a symphonist, having written the first of his seven when he was 38. His second followed four years later, and I've always regarded it as his darkest work. The composer himself said he was aiming for a 'kind of oppressive, catastrophic mood', and his use of a larger than usual orchestra bears that out. Also in the mix for its darker colours are the pedals only of an organ.

It is a brilliantly conceived symphony, in that all of its thematic material is heard in the introduction to the first movement. As such, it acts almost like a mini operatic overture. Musically, it is intense and brooding throughout, with the occasional moments of light seeming quite pallid. Many regard the period during which this symphony was composed as Bax's finest. He was still of interest to critics looking for new and challenging music, whereas by the 1930s his essentially romantic style was beginning to look old-fashioned. Performances of this, or indeed any of his symphonies are very rare now. Bax is long-overdue a revival.

Day 99

9 April 2017: Mendelssohn – Symphony No. 2, Lobgesang (1840)

Or, to give this its full title, A Symphony-Cantata on Words of the Holy Bible, for Soloists, Chorus and Orchestra. It's now routinely referred to as Felix Mendelssohn's second symphony, but the numbering was the work of his publishers, who printed it as Symphony No. 2 in B-flat major after Mendelssohn's death. Whichever way you cut it, it's an extraordinary work. It is by far the longest of his symphonies, with a choral finale in the manner of Beethoven's ninth, and yet it is so rarely performed that many people aren't even aware that Mendelssohn wrote a choral symphony.

Lobgesang means Hymn of Praise, and the Biblical texts for the chorale finale, although taken from various books, are unified by the theme of praising God. It was a grand concept, quite well received in its day, but history has not been kind to the symphony. The obvious parallels with Beethoven's ninth have led to it being dismissed as a pale imitation, but if anything Mendelssohn's model was JS Bach. The use of the word 'Cantata' description of the work – Bach wrote hundreds of cantatas – and the use of chorales and fugues all indicate that Bach was the greater influence. Far from being a pastiche though, this is a highly original work that has been rather unfairly treated by time. I've enjoyed the excuse to listen to it again, filling today's Huge Choral Symphony Sunday slot!

Days 91 – 94

Day 91

1 April 2017: Tippett – Symphony No. 2 (1957)

Sir Michael Tippett's music passed from exuberant lyricism to at times impenetrable complexity in a relatively short space of time. This symphony catches him on the cusp, when he was still writing in a form of extended tonality, but experimenting with new forms and ideas. I regard this as his golden period, during which time he produced his opera The Midsummer Marriage, the Piano Concerto, the sublime Fantasia Concertante on a Theme of Corelli, and this symphony.

It is probably the most accessible and rewarding of his four symphonies. The opening gesture of pounding bass Cs, which apparently came from his listening to a Vivaldi concerto, immediately gives the listener something to ground themselves upon while flights of string passages take off all around. The form of the second movement is novel but perfectly lucid – four distinct thematic groups are stated in turn and then gradually fragment as the movement progresses, eventually giving way to a new sonority in a coda for four horns. After a lively, syncopated scherzo and a finale that features a set of variations over a ground bass, the opening pounding Cs return to round off a wonderful symphonic journey.

Day 92

2 April 2017: Beethoven – Symphony No. 3, 'Eroica' (1804)

In survey of leading conductors by BBC Music magazine last year, this symphony was voted the greatest of all time. I have no reason to quarrel with that outcome, although my personal taste is such that if there were a poll for the greatest THIRD symphony of all time, this wouldn't even make my top three*. Its importance, however, is beyond dispute. In one fell stroke, Beethoven took the symphony and elevated it as an art form to heights never previously imagined.

For a start, the Eroica is almost twice as long as any symphony ever written to that point, but it's not just its scale that is impressive. This marks the beginning of the concept of the symphony as high art rather than as court entertainment. The technical challenges, the complexity of its structure, the ingenious use of a funeral march as a slow movement, even the harmonic curve ball of the C sharp at the end of the initial theme – which has no business in a symphony in E flat major – all combine to make this a piece something to be reckoned with. The story of the dedication to Napoleon Bonaparte being vigorously scratched out from the manuscript after he had declared himself Emperor just adds to the mythology of the work. Inevitably, the Eroica was lost on its audience when it was first performed, who just found it long and perplexing. As with all great art though, it took time to be fully appreciated, and it has rightly become one of the best-loved pieces of music ever written.

* For the record: Panufnik, Saint-Saens, Vaughan Williams.

Day 93

3 April 2017: Alwyn – Symphony No. 3 (1956)

Northampton-born William Alwyn was a really quite extraordinary figure. He was a poet, an artist, and a musician, as well as serving on, or in some cases founding, various professional bodies such as the Performing Right Society. He wrote five symphonies, numerous concertos and operas, but he is probably best-known (if he is known at all) for the 70+ film scores he wrote between 1941–1963. Many great post-war films were scored by Alwyn including Carve Her Name with Pride, Geordie, Odd Man Out, and the Disney film Swiss Family Robinson.

And yet he remains a neglected figure, seen by many of those who may be aware of his work as a conservative and backward-looking figure. True, in this work there are echoes of Walton and Holst, and especially the fourth and sixth symphonies of Vaughan Williams. The skill on display in this work, however, is quite remarkable. The first movement makes use of just eight notes of the chromatic scale, while the chilling second movement employs, almost unbelievably, only the other four. It's a quite brilliant technical achievement from a composer who deserves a greater audience.

Day 94

4 April 2017: Dvořák – Symphony No. 3 (1872)

After two symphonies that he had managed to lose almost immediately after writing, the third symphony by Antonin Dvořák is in many ways the first 'proper' one. He could have been justified for following Bruckner's example and saying that the earlier efforts 'did not count'. He never heard them performed and consequently never had a chance to edit or revise music that otherwise only existed in his head. Symphony No. 3 was written about seven years after its predecessors, and was premiered in 1874. This afforded Dvořák the luxury of being able to revise the work, which he did in the late 1880s.

It is far more concise than the earlier examples, and in fact only has three movements – the only one of symphonies that does. The first movement is Dvořák at his most gloriously lyrical, while the unusually long central slow movement is as good as any he wrote, and is really quite bright in tone in its middle section, where the orchestral writing in particular is quite redolent of Wagner. Sadly, despite its strength as a piece, it is rarely performed today, being overshadowed by the far more popular late symphonies. A familiar fate for earlier works of many of the great composers I've been featuring.

Days 87 – 90

Day 87

28 March 2017: Shostakovich – Symphony No.6 (1939)

After the furore that surrounded Dmitri Shostakovich's fourth and fifth symphonies, the sixth, which followed two years later, was an almost welcome anti-climax. Having softened his harmonic language a little to avoid criticism from the authorities in the fifth symphony, he surely felt he was on safer ground in composing this work. It is also a lot lighter than its predecessors, with the composer attempting to convey 'spring, joy, and youth'.

Historically, the sixth has tended to be overlooked somewhat as a kind of interlude between the mighty fifth and the globally significant seventh symphony known as the 'Leningrad'. It has an odd structure, with only three movements. The long Largo first movement is much longer than the two quick movements that follow it combined, almost giving the impression that Shostakovich lost interest in the project and couldn't be bothered to finish it properly! It feels imbalanced, although musically it is highly enjoyable, with some really nice moments in the first movement in particular. Knowing what was to follow in his next two symphonies, however, he can certainly be forgiven this moment of relatively light relief.

Day 88

29 March 2017: JC Bach – Symphony Op.6 No.6 in G minor (c. 1762-69)

Johann Christian Bach was the youngest son of JS Bach – born when his old man was 50 – and he was a key figure in the Classical era. He is often referred to as the 'London' Bach, as he moved to England in 1762 and remained here until his death 20 years later. In 1764, an eight-year-old prodigy by the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart visited London, during which time he wrote his first symphony (see Day 23). While he was in London, Mozart met with JC Bach and they performed keyboard duets together. Mozart became a great admirer of Bach's and fell under his influence.

The choice of this symphony is deliberate as it dates from around that time (unfortunately the actual date of composition cannot be determined) and the key of G minor is the one Mozart was to develop something of an affinity with. For its time, this is really quite ground-breaking stuff. The slow movement, at around eight minutes, is unusually long and really quite sublime, almost like an extended orchestral aria. And there is a wilfully unresolved ending in the finale, which features a rapid decrescendo on a descending figure that must have bewildered the London audience in its day. It's an almost Sibelian gesture that seems to have come from a different time. There's an air of experimentation in this symphony, which the young Mozart must surely have breathed.

Day 89

30 March 2017: Tchaikovsky – Symphony No.2, 'Little Russian' (1872)

As with his first symphony (see Day 28), Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky drew upon folk music for much of the thematic material for this, his second. This time it was the folk music of Ukraine that he featured, which is where the symphony's nickname is derived from  – Ukraine at the time was referred to as 'Little Russia'. The first tune is heard right at the outset, with a solo horn playing Down by Mother Volga, and another folk song The Crane features in the finale.

Its folk themes meant that the work was praised by 'The Five' or 'Mighty Handful', whose ethos of a Russian art form separated from Germanic influence was otherwise generally at odds with Tchaikovsky's aesthetics. The first three of his symphonies contain little of the fire and brimstone that characterised the remaining three (or four if one includes Manfred), and this is certainly a very easy-on-the-ear work. Despite the fact that the themes are borrowed rather than his own, it remains recognisably Tchaikovsky.

Day 90

31 March 2017: Parry – Symphony No. 2, 'Cambridge' (1883)

Hubert Parry began working on his second symphony almost immediately after he'd returned from a trip to Bayreuth to attend the first three performances of Wagner's opera Parsifal. Parry had met Wagner five years earlier in London, and while Parry hugely admired him – referring to Parsifal as 'the very highest point of mastery' – any search for Wagnerian influences in this symphony would be in vain.

The clearer influences are Brahms and Mendelssohn, and as Parry was still concerned with developing an English symphonic tradition it is in many ways commendable that he stuck to his guns despite the overwhelming effect Parsifal had clearly made on the composer. The elegiac quality that permeates Parry's work, and that of his successor, Elgar, comes through most strongly in the quieter sections of the third movement Andante, where Teutonic tradition could not have been dispelled further. As for the title? The symphony was merely first performed in Cambridge; there is no other connection to the city at all in the music.

Days 83 – 86

Day 83

24 March 2017: Brahms – Symphony No. 2 (1877)

You might recall that Johannes Brahms kicked off the Symphony A Day shenanigans back on 1 January with his first symphony, one that he had agonised over for about 20 years. His second was a far less stressful affair, written over the course of the summer following the premiere of his first, and it really is a completely different beast. This is a more reflective and tranquil work, although Brahms himself, jokingly, considered it to be melancholic and tinged with sadness.

The opening movement features a melody based on his famous Lullaby, effectively as the second subject of a fairly loose sonata form. At over 20 minutes in length it is almost as long as the other three movements combined, but its generally pastoral mood never allows it to drag. The slow movement that follows features some of the darkest music Brahms ever wrote with trombones and tuba prominent. A very lightweight scherzo leads into a joyous Allegro con spirito finale to round off a delightful work, one which demonstrates his growing confidence as a symphonist.

Day 84

25 March 2017: John Joubert – Symphony No. 1 (1955)

South African-born composer John Joubert celebrated his 90th birthday last Monday, so it's only appropriate I should mark the occasion by giving one of his two symphonies a blast. His first was written when he was just 28, by which time he had moved to the UK and was lecturing in music at the University of Hull. His popular carols Torches and There is No Rose of Such Virtue has already made his name as a composer when he turned his mind to this symphony.

It is a very accessible work, with the first and third movements in particular practically bouncing with rhythmic vitality. The final movement contains some really lovely music during its extended slow introduction, before eventually ending on a positive note. The work certainly has more in common with the more conventional English composers of the time, than with the burgeoning avant garde in Europe, but for an early work it shows a great amount of confidence and no little skill.

Day 85

26 March 2017: Liszt – A Faust Symphony (1857)

Predominantly known for his often bewilderingly difficult piano music, Franz Liszt did also produce two significant symphonies that tend to be rather overlooked. This one in particular probably suffers from being just too big. At around an hour-and-a-quarter in length, it finds itself in the Mahler–Bruckner category of symphonies that pretty much take up a whole programme. Add in the requirement for a male chorus for the final movement and it really becomes a significant undertaking, one which few concert programmers take the risk on. I believe it's only ever been performed at the Proms once, for example. The choir in the finale does mean, however, that it takes this week's Huge Choral Symphony Sunday slot!

I really like this piece, and along with Dvorak, Liszt is a composer that I've developed an increasing admiration for as I've got older, for some reason. It could be argued that this is actually three independent symphonic poems each based on characters in Faust (Faust himself, Gretchen, and Mephistopheles) but they are clearly thematically linked and do make a satisfying symphony. The recurring motif across the piece is a theme that uses all twelve notes of the chromatic scale, and is widely accepted to be the first instance of a tone row – although clearly it wasn't put to the same atonal use as that developed by the New Viennese School of Schoenberg, Webern, and Berg 60 years later. The appearance of an organ for the finale was also quite novel for the time, and the concept of using music to portray characters was something that hugely influenced his future son-in-law – a certain Richard Wagner. All of which makes the relative neglect of this symphony all the more baffling.

Day 86

27 March 2017: Mozart – Symphony No. 25, 'Little G minor' (1773)

To be honest, most of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's early symphonies are fairly insignificant works, save for the constant wonder of just how old he was when he wrote them. This, his 25th symphony, for example, was composed when he still only 17, starting work on it just two days after completing No. 24. I think it's fair to say that this is the first of Mozart's more well-known symphonies, with the first movement becoming familiar to the world at large having been used over the opening titles of Miloš Forman's film Amadeus.

It is known as the 'Little G minor' to distinguish it from his other G minor symphony, the similarly famous No. 40. These are the only of his numbered symphonies to be written in any minor key, and there are many learned articles on Mozart and his affinity with the key of G minor. It instantly distinguishes the work from any of its predecessors, and the effect of the syncopated first theme in this minor key creates an unsettled mood, although this turns on a dime when the second subject burst out in a blaze of B flat major. Throughout the work there a passion indicative of the Strum und Drang vogue of the time, which added an extra dimension to his work. In this symphony, Mozart distinctly shifted up a gear as a composer and he would go on to take the form into whole new areas.

Days 79 – 82

Day 79

20 March 2017: Saint-Georges – Symphony No. 1 in G major (1779)
The wonderfully named Joseph Bologne, Chevalier de Saint-Georges is one of the more fascinating characters in the history of music. The first classical composer of Afro-Caribbean descent, he was also a virtuoso violinist, a conductor, as well as an athlete and champion fencer. He was feted in royal and aristocratic circles, but those connections ultimately led to his imprisonment after the French Revolution, and his music was subsequently banned by Napoleon.

I'll come clean and say that I knew very little about Saint-Georges until his name cropped up on this year's BBC Ten Pieces list, where they assert that he was known by many as 'the black Mozart'. There is a suggestion that Mozart based the villainous character of Monostatos in his opera The Magic Flute on Saint-Georges, although the evidence in flimsy. The frustration is that he was only really active as a composer for about 20 years, and this is one of only two symphonies he wrote (although there are eight Symphonies concertantes too) so his output is rather dwarfed by Mozart's 41 and Haydn's 104. It's a very fine, if totally conventional work, and a reminder that there were some perfectly good classical-period works being written outside of Vienna.

Day 80

21 March 2017: Vaughan Williams – A London Symphony (1913)
I've been a great fan of Ralph Vaughan Williams's work for as long as I can remember, and listen to his symphonies regularly. For some reason though, this one doesn't get aired as often, and I'm not really sure why. Maybe I find it just a bit too cheesy at times, with the impressionistic references being just a little obvious. There are the Westminster chimes in the outer movements, the jingling of hansom cabs, a harmonica player in the Scherzo, and a flower seller singing Sweet Lavender. All very evocative of Edwardian London, but hardly subtle. The slow movement is genuinely beautiful, however, and epilogue depicting the Thames flowing out to the sea is a splendid piece of writing.

I decided to listen to the original 1913 version of this symphony today, which was only recorded for the first time in 2001, and I only became aware of it very recently. It's about 20 minutes longer than the 'definitive' version of 1933 and almost all of the music that was cut was a lot darker in tone, giving the piece a very different overall feel. Some very interesting music was removed, but I have no doubt that Vaughan Williams was right to cut it. I do like this symphony, it's just that I think the five that followed it were all much better.

Day 81

22 March 2017: Lutosławski – Symphony No. 1 (1947)
One of the many things that still surprises me when listening to music is encountering an early work by an avant-garde composer and hearing just how conventional it is. Witold Lutosławski's first symphony is a far from tonal work, but it is an absolutely standard four-movement symphony with a slow movement and a scherzo which, compared to his later, aleatoric music, seems almost to have been written by another composer.

That is was written at all is an achievement in itself though. He started writing it in 1941, when his native Poland was under Nazi occupation and public gatherings – and thus, music performances – were prohibited. Lutosławski actually continued working on the symphony while hiding in an attic following the failed Warsaw Uprising of 1944. Having completed it against all the odds, Symphony No. 1 was eventually given a successful premiere in 1948, only for it then to be condemned the following year as 'formalist' by the Communist-influenced Polish Composer’s Union, at the very same conference at which his friend Panufnik's Sinfonia Rustica (see Day 3) was similarly denounced. Thankfully, the symphony is now recognised as the important document it is, and while not typical of his work as a whole, it is a significant landmark in Lutosławski's career.

Day 82

23 March 2017: Scriabin – Symphony No. 1 (1900)
This is the first time I've heard this symphony, which is indicative of my relationship with Alexander Scriabin. I like pretty much everything I've ever heard by him, yet very rarely listen to his music. Today was another reminder to change all that, because this is a gorgeous work. The influence of Mahler is clearly discernible, especially regarding the work's structure. It mirrors Mahler's third symphony in having six movements – albeit on a smaller scale – and also the device of featuring soloists and a chorus in the last movement follows the model of Mahler's second.

The work was an immediate success, winning the Glinka Award in the year of its publication, although this was without the choral finale, which the publishers had declined to publish having decided (upon advice from a committee led by Rimsky-Korsakov, Glazunov and Lyadov) was unperformable. Scriabin would go on to compose in a more atonal idiom later in his career, but this gem from the late-Romantic period is a glorious way to spend 50 minutes or so.

Days 76 – 78

Day 76

17 March 2017: Alfvén – Symphony No.3 (1905)
The first of three consecutive third symphonies is this from the Swedish composer Hugo Alfvén. In many ways Alfvén is a kind of Swedish Sibelius, with music steeped in history and landscape of his homeland, although it's fair to say much of his output has never achieved any great level of recognition outside of Sweden. His best-known work is probably his Swedish Rhapsody No. 1, otherwise known as Midsummer Vigil. I remember hearing it on the radio some time ago and realising I recognised the main theme from somewhere, possibly as the theme tune to some forgotten TV show. It was many years later that it dawned on me that it was because I'd heard it in Piero Umiliani's novelty hit Mah Nà Mah Nà.

Alfvén wrote five symphonies, and I've opted for this, his third, which was inspired by a visit to Italy. The country made a huge impression on him, and it imbued the symphony with a lightness, which he described as 'an expression of the joy of living, an expression of the sun-lit happiness that filled my whole being.' The joy comes flying off the pages in this work, which is never less than uplifting. Another example of the wonders that are out there to be heard beyond the standard concert repertoire.

Day 77

18 March 2017: Panufnik – Sinfonia Sacra (1963)
This venture I'm embarking on takes me to many unfamiliar composers and some distinctly uncharted musical territory. Occasionally though, it throws up a piece I know so well I could probably conduct the whole thing from memory if you stuck me in front of an orchestra. Andrzej Panufnik's Sinfonia Sacra is very strong claimant to be my favourite symphony of all time. I first heard it at the Proms in 1989, in a scintillating reading by the BBC Welsh Symphony Orchestra under Tadaaki Otaka. I still have a tape of the performance in the house, which I played almost to breaking point.

It was the first of Panufnik's symphonies to be written after his defection to England, and represented a turning point in his life. Struggling to find commissions, he submitted this work into the Prince Rainier III Competition in Monaco in 1963. It won first prize out of 133 entries from 38 countries, and the international recognition he received kick-started his career. The symphony is in two parts. Part One comprises three contrasting 'Visions': the first a fanfare for four trumpets; the second a calm and contemplative passage for strings; the third a violent, percussion-driven depiction of war. Part Two is given over to a setting of an ancient Polish hymn, the Bogurodzica. Beginning with barely audible violin harmonics, it swells through a ten-minute long crescendo to a powerful finale that almost always brings me to tears. I don't think that I can convey in words just how much this symphony means to me.

Day 78

19 March 2017: Mahler – Symphony No.3 (1896)
So, to complete my trio of third symphonies, it's this monumental statement from Gustav Mahler. I'm a huge fan of Mahler, and this is a great symphony, but there's no escaping the fact that, at over 100 minutes in length, it is a daunting work. The first movement alone exceeds the 35-minute mark, making it longer than the entirety of most of the symphonies I've featured so far this year. The famous quote attributed to Mahler by Sibelius – "A symphony must be like the world. It must embrace everything." – might well have been about this piece.

Where to start with it? Well, the thing I find most interesting is the surely deliberate gesture at its very outset to ally himself to a symphonic tradition. The opening subject is, roughly, a minor key restatement of the main theme from the finale of Brahms's first symphony, which in turn was an exaggerated nod in the direction of the Ode To Joy theme in Beethoven's ninth. It's as if Mahler is acknowledging that the symphonic baton has been passed to him and it is his responsibility to take the form into domains as yet undiscovered.

The six (yes, six) movements were originally given titles, which indicate the 'whole world' extent of the work. The vast first movement starts out as another of his trademark funeral marches, but was given the title 'Pan Awakes, Summer Marches In', echoed in the music's transition from D minor to its relative major of F. The second movement is a minuet entitled 'What the Flowers in the Meadow Tell Me' while the third movement Scherzo carries the title 'What the Animals in the Forest Tell Me'. The introduction of a human voice – a solo alto – in the fourth movement appropriately signifies 'What Man Tells Me', in a beautiful setting of Nietzsche's 'Midnight Song'. The surprisingly brief fifth movement, with the title 'What the Angels Tell Me', features a choir of women and boys in a song that would later be included in his own Des Knaben Wunderhorn song cycle. All of which sets up the massive sixth movement – 'What Love Tells Me' – which brings everything together in a broad, sublime and impassioned love song to the world. And as with all of Mahler's symphonies, the sometimes arduous journey was worth its end.