Days 219 – 224

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!

Days 213 – 218

Day 213

1 August 2017: Florence Price – Symphony in E minor (1932)

Although Florence Price was not the first American woman to make a name for herself as a symphonist, with the estimable Amy Beach having blazed a trail as early as 1896 (see Day 54), she was, however, the first of African-American origin to have done so. It's impossible to overstate just how great an achievement that was in 1930s USA. Incredibly, this was her first orchestral work, written while she was recovering from a broken foot, as it happens. It won first prize in the Rodman Wanamaker Competition, and was performed the following year by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra – meaning Price became the first black woman to have been afforded such an honour.

It's an oddly imbalanced work, with the first two movements having a combined duration of around 30 minutes, while the second pair barely reach the nine-minute mark between them. Also, I think it's fair to say that Florence Price was, shall we say, at least familiar with Dvorak's 'New World' Symphony. The first movement's main pentatonic theme, its harmonic language, and orchestration all bear more than a passing resemblance to the Czech composer's work. That said, it is a really nice piece. The slow movement with its brass chorales has a real delicate beauty to it. I could definitely have lived without the swannee whistle in the third movement though.

Day 214

2 August 2017: Enescu – Symphony No. 3 (1918)

Firmly ensconced in the category of composers whose name I'm familiar with but whose music I've never heard, George Enescu was exactly the sort of person I was aiming to discover more about in my Symphony A Day adventure. Enescu was a close friend of Alfredo Casella, who has already featured in these pages – most recently last week – having been fellow-pupils of Gabriel Fauré in Paris. In fact, Casella's second symphony (see Day 206) was dedicated to Enescu, who had previously dedicated his own first symphony to Casella.

Symphony No. 3 is regarded by many of those more familiar with his work as the greatest of the three he wrote. It's certainly a very substantial work, clocking in at around 50 minutes, and employing a large orchestra plus a wordless choir. The first movement starts with a throbbing bass line setting a dark tone for the work, but over the course of the ensuing 20 minutes it passes through so many other phases that I'm afraid I rather lost whatever thread Enescu was following. These are the perils of listening works of this scale just once; clearly this is a piece that requires a few listens to fully assimilate. For the most part, this is a solemn and brooding work, but all of this leads to the ecstatic culmination of the final movement, which features the choir in all its glory. The result is an almost dreamlike world of sublime, heady writing akin to Scriabin in certain passages. For reasons already mentioned, I will be revisiting this symphony in the coming days, as it has certainly piqued my interest in Enescu.

Day 215

3 August 2017: Prokofiev – Symphony No. 4 (1929/1947)

Well, this is a bit of an oddity. When Sergei Prokofiev decided to revise his fourth symphony 18 years after he'd originally composed it, he did it so thoroughly that he effectively considered it a different work, worthy of its own new opus number. Hence Prokofiev's catalogue contains a Symphony No. 4, Op. 47 and a Symphony No. 4, Op. 112. It was originally composed immediately after the third, and in the same year as its predecessor's premiere. And as he had with his third symphony, he used material from another work as the basis of its thematic material. For the third, he drew from his opera The Fiery Angel (see Day 160), and this time it was his ballet The Prodigal Son that was raided. The work was poorly received and probably would have slipped away into relative obscurity, maybe receiving some kind of later re-appraisal by a more discerning audience a few decades later.

In an unexpected move, however, Prokofiev decided to thoroughly revise the work in 1947. The timing was odd. Prokofiev had, by this point returned to live in the Soviet Union but was, in common with other Eastern bloc composers, working under an even more severe Socialist Realism doctrine than ever before. Nevertheless, buoyed by the success of his fifth symphony a couple of years earlier, Prokofiev took the red pen to the earlier work, and in the process, virtually doubled it in length. It is this later version that I've opted to listen to today. The first change Prokofiev made was to include a forceful introduction before presenting the hesitant opening theme of the original work. So right from the off, the feeling is of this being new work. The Andante tranquilo showcases Prokofiev's unequalled gift for melody, while the third movement was worked almost unaltered from dance music for the 'Beautiful Maiden' in The Prodigal Son. The revised symphony was more enthusiastically received, rather vindicating Prokofiev's decision.

Day 216

4 August 2017: Dvorák – Symphony No. 6 (1880)

In common with its five predecessors, Antonin Dvorák's sixth symphony is rather overshadowed by the hugely popular trilogy with which he concluded his symphonic output. It was actually the first to be published in his lifetime, and for a time it was even considered to be his 'first' symphony before knowledge of his earlier efforts came to light.

The work represented a further move towards the more nationalistic style for which he would become famous, and as such is something of a transitional piece. It is a pleasing synthesis of the Czech folksongs that were increasingly permeating his work, and the Germanic symphonic style that had formed the core of his earlier compositions. Many have observed parallels between this work and the second symphony of his good friend Brahms, especially in their respective first movements, and this does share a pastoral feel with his Viennese counterpart. All of Dvorák's slow movements tend to pale in comparison to the famous Largo from his ninth 'New World' symphony. The Adagio from this work, however, gives it a run for its money at least. The work as a whole is pleasant and not something you could take a dislike to, but there are clearly greater things to come from this particular composer.

Day 217

5 August 2017: Atterberg – Symphony No. 6., 'Dollarsymfonin' (1928)

I mentioned when I featured Kurt Atterberg's third symphony (see Day 100) that its title of 'West Coast Pictures' had led me to the mistaken belief that he was actually an American composer. It was probably a belief reinforced by this work's title of 'Dollarsymfonin' or 'Dollar Symphony'. In fact, the nickname derives from the fact that it won the highly prestigious International Columbia Graphophone Competition of 1928. The $10,000 prize was worth the equivalent of about $150,000 in today's money so it was certainly not to be sniffed at. The initial premise of the competition was for works that completed, or were at least inspired by, Schubert's 'Unfinished' Symphony No. 8. In the end the rules were amended so that any new symphony qualified, and some of the works that are known to have been submitted were Havergal Brian's 'Gothic' Symphony (part 1 only, see Day 50), Czesław Marek's Sinfonia, Franz Schmidt's Symphony No. 3 and Hans Gál's Symphony No. 1 (both of which I will be featuring next month).

Not only was there an impressive list of entrants, the roll of stellar judges was jaw-dropping. Composers Ravel, Respighi, Szymanowski, Glazunov, and Nielsen were all involved at various stages, assisted by an army of music dignitaries including Thomas Beecham and Donald Tovey. The deliberations were long and rancorous, with Atterberg's victory coming courtesy of chairman of the judges Glazunov's casting vote. It was a hotly disputed and contentious result, with the largely unheard of Atterberg considered an unworthy winner, especially as the symphony's main selling point was believed to be the fact that it steered clear of modernism! As a result, contemporary reviews of the work were scathing. The fact that it entered the world to such a barrage of criticism seems to have damaged the work's reputation irreparably, as neither it nor its composer are especially well-known. Despite the criticism, some of which, I accept, has a modicum of justification, I think it's a really nice piece. The Adagio is stunningly beautiful, and I particularly enjoy the section where, after building to an impassioned peak at around its mid-point, the music subsides into a calm, still section featuring some lovely woodwind solos. The Vivace last movement bounces along nicely, and as a whole it's all rather harmless fun. The controversy it engendered seems inversely related to the uncontroversial nature of the music.

Day 218

6 August 2017: Mahler – Symphony No. 7 (1906)

I find myself listening to most of Gustav Mahler's symphonies on a Sunday as it's just about the only day of the week I can guarantee having the 70 minutes or more I'll need to devote to it. Mahler didn't really do 'small scale' and recordings of this particular work vary in length between 70 and 100 minutes, depending on the self-indulgence of the conductor. It is, as you'd expect, written for a massive orchestra, including unconventional (for the time) orchestral instruments such as guitar, mandolin, tenorhorn, and rute. The symphony is sometimes called 'Song of the Night' as a result of its two Nachtmusik movements. The opening of the first of these is one of Mahler's better known themes as result of its use in the UK for many years in adverts for Castrol GTX oil!

I have to concede that this is not my favourite Mahler symphony. It is Mahler, so by default it's better than vast majority of symphonies out there, in my view. However, I find it errs on the side of turgid at times, and I struggle with it as a rule. The path of dark, funereal opening leading to all-stops-out blazing finale feels like a well-trodden path by now. That said, the scenery passed along the way is certainly interesting at times. Sandwiched between the two Nachtmusik movements is probably Mahler's best Scherzo; a twisted waltz that has a deeply unsettling feel, with echoes of the burlesque finale from Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique. After the nocturnal music that has gone before, the finale feels like it belongs to a different symphony altogether and, to me, it is an unsatisfactory ending. No less a critic than Michael Kennedy considered this to be Mahler’s most glamorous symphony, and Mahler himself considered it 'light-hearted', which makes me wonder if the performances I've heard of it have all just completely missed the point. Maybe one day the enigma of this symphony will all make sense to me.

Days 206 – 212

Day 206

25 July 2017: Casella – Symphony No. 2 (1909)

Today happens to be the 134th anniversary of Alfredo Casella’s birth, so it is apposite that I should give his second symphony an airing. Actually, it's questionable whether Casella considered this his second symphony. He wrote it in the same year as he conducted the premiere of his first, and as you might recall when I featured that a few months ago (see Day 102), Casella pretty much disavowed it immediately, to the extent that he used a re-scored version of the slow movement in this piece. The implication seems quite clear that he did not intend the earlier work to be heard again.

While the first symphony is by no means a bad composition, it is clearly substantially inferior to this. The dark tone is set right from the off with a funereal theme set against a tolling bell, and while the scherzo provides relative light relief, the overall mood of the work for the most part is sombre. The beautiful slow movement that Casella thought so much of that he played it again, Sam, is of course just as beautiful second time around, but benefits from this more opulent scoring. Oddly, the march-like finale is not actually the final movement, being superseded by six-minute Epilogo. It is this that elevates Symphony No. 2 to greatness. Starting quietly, its soaring string line builds through a long crescendo to a magnificent climax featuring full orchestra, organ and bells. As for its undoubted neglect, well, as mentioned when discussing his first symphony, Casella was persona non grata for a while in his homeland for his support of Mussolini during the last war. Even so, it beggars belief that this symphony was first recorded just eight years ago, exactly 100 years after it was written. Casella's rehabilitation is under way, but has quite a way to go still.

Day 207

26 July 2017: Tchaikovsky – Symphony No. 4 (1878)

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky's six numbered symphonies can, more or less, be split down the middle. The first three are comparatively lightweight, and less-frequently performed, while numbers four to six are giants of the symphonic repertoire and can be heard regularly in concert halls all over the world. While unquestionably great works, there was a time when I rather tired of them. In my student days, my now wife and I were regulars at the subscription concert series at Victoria Hall, Hanley, and it felt like every second programme featured Tchaikovsky 4 or 5. Listening today felt like reacquainting myself with an old friend, albeit one I'd been giving a wide berth to for the last twenty years.

The symphony is bookended by the famous 'Fate' fanfare, and as symphonic openings go, it really is right out of the top drawer. Parallels are often drawn with the similarly arresting opening of Beethoven's fifth, and this was something the composer was complicit in having written of his incorporation of the Beethoven in this symphony's programme. The delicate Andantino features one of Tchaikovsky's most plaintive melodies, while the extraordinary third movement Scherzo features the strings playing pizzicato throughout, no doubt chafing the finger skins of many a fiddle player down the years. The finale rattles along at a furious pace until just past its halfway point when, in a genuine masterstroke, the opening 'Fate' fanfare crashes back in. From the barren aftermath it leaves, the music recovers its impetus with the return of the movement's first theme and ploughs headlong towards its crowd-pleasing conclusion. Vintage Tchaikovsky.

Day 208

27 July 2017: Sullivan – Symphony in E, 'Irish' (1866)

Confession time: I cannot stand Gilbert & Sullivan. I don't use those words lightly, because to tell the truth there's not much music I do genuinely dislike. Maybe the really whiniest forms of Country music, and pretty much all hip hop, but apart from that I've got a high tolerance level. G&S though ... urgh. Don't ask me to explain why, it's clearly just a personal thing given how enduringly popular they are with amateur operatic societies to this day. To use what I promise will be the only Morrissey quote I'll deploy this year, it says nothing to me about my life.

Thankfully, this bears no relation to any of his ghastly operettas. That may be because there was no input from his partner-in-crime, WS Gilbert, whom he had yet to meet, but in reality this was written before he had developed a style of his own. Sullivan was only 21 when he started work on this, and being a youthful work, the influences (Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Schumann) are still pretty easily detected. As for the 'Irish' nickname, it indicates nothing more than that the first movement was conceived while Sullivan was holidaying in Ireland. Whatever its merits and demerits, the fact is that this is symphony written by an Englishman in the 1860s, and there aren't many of those around. It pre-dates Stanford's first symphony by ten years and Parry's by sixteen. And while it's never likely to be much more than a curiosity in the grand scheme of English music history, there is plenty to like about this work ... not least that there isn't a patter song in sight.

Day 209

28 July 2017: Khachaturian – Symphony No. 2, "The Bell" (1944)

At around about the time that Shostakovich was writing his own devastating depiction of war-torn Russia, the Symphony No. 8 (see Day 158), Aram Khachaturian composed this 'requiem of wrath' in response to the same events. Like Shostakovich, however, they were not events he was experiencing first-hand as they spent most of the war safely hidden away in a composers' retreat 150 miles east of Moscow. Nevertheless, the incalculable losses suffered by the Soviet Union during World War II were deeply felt across the whole country and inevitably permeated the music of the time.

As a rule, Khachaturian doesn't really do subtlety and this work batters its point home in no uncertain terms. At around 50 minutes in length, it can be quite an arduous listen, but given the time and place it was written, it was hardly going to be a musical tea party. The symphony takes its title from the bell motif that opens the work in almost murderous fashion, and straight from the off it's clear this is going to be a bumpy ride. It's not all blood and guts though, as there are many moments of often sparsely scored music of a desolate nature. The third movement is the core of the piece – an austere funeral march based on an Armenian folk tune Vorskan akhper, and one in which Khachaturian expressly set out to portray the 'superhuman suffering' of his compatriots. Harsh brass prefaces the final movement, which picks up the aural assault where it had left off. There is a brief moment of calm towards the end but it soon builds again to a terrifying denouement. If nothing else, this work can be held up to prove that there is a lot more to Khachaturian than his popular ballet scores.

Day 210

29 July 2017: Sammartini – Sinfonia in A major, J-C 63 (c. 1760)

While Haydn is often referred to as 'The Father of the Symphony', it is probably fairer to say that he popularised a form that was developed elsewhere. Of the many composers who might lay claim to creating the genre, Giovanni Battista Sammartini is indisputably one of the founding fathers of the symphony as we know it. Sammartini wrote about 80 Sinfonias, and the "J-C" cataloguing system bears no relation to the order in which they were composed. Consequently, the c.1760 date I've given this particular one is very 'circa' as it could have been written any time between 1759 and 1775. This is one of his later symphonies, with some of the earlier ones dating back to the 1730s, the decade in which Haydn was born.

I could have chosen any one of those 80-or-so symphonies, but this is a perfectly representative choice. It differs from the later style typical of Haydn, Mozart et al in that it has three movements. They follow the fast-slow-fast pattern typical of the Italian opera overture, from which the Sinfonia spawned. The influence Sammartini had on the Classical period composers is clearly discernible here, with its ostensibly rhythmic themes based around the notes of the triad. The light elegance one associates with Haydn's slow movements again has its roots in this music, although the triple time final movement is closer in style to the third movement minuets of the Classical period. This does lead to a slight feeling of incompleteness, as if there should be a presto finale to finish. That said, this is delightful music of great historical importance.

Day 211

30 July 2017: Magnard – Symphony No. 2 (1896)

Albéric Magnard, is a composer probably more famous – if he is known at all – for the heroic nature of his death than for his music. His demise at the age of 49, single-handedly defending his property from invading German forces in the early years of World War I, turned him into a national hero. Sadly, it hasn't secured his musical legacy as he is little-known in his native France, and largely unheard of in this country. I feel duty bound to do my bit to help promote him.

This symphony was originally composed in 1892, After it was first performed in full four years later, however, the original second movement (entitled Fugues) was dispensed with and replaced with the Danses movement that now occupies that slot. This resulted, by all accounts, in the overall work becoming ten minutes shorter when it was presented in its new configuration in 1899. Although nominally in E major, the symphony's unsettling opening doesn't really establish any key with any degree of certainty for quite some time. There is a feeling throughout of a free spirit at work, seemingly going where his fancy takes him. This really comes to the fore in the sublime third movement; a theme and variations marked Très nuancé, which, at times, is close to what I imagine we might have got had Ravel ever written a symphony. There are also echoes of Strauss, and the conclusion of the symphony features a grand theme that might have been lifted from Elgar. All of these similarities would have been entirely accidental though, as Magnard is a composer of great originality. I'm a big fan of his work and wish he could be gifted with some form of revival.

Day 212

31 July 2017: Panufnik – Metasinfonia (1978)

Andrzej Panufnik went through a period of refining his musical language in the mid-Seventies, and the practical offshoot of this was a cluster of four symphonies produced in almost as many years. Metasinfonia is the fourth of those and his seventh overall. It was written for the unusual combination of organ, timpani and strings, and in it Panufnik made a conscious effort to redress the balance between ‘feeling and intellect’, that had, to be honest, made its two predecessors rather cold, academic exercises. Having written at great length about the schematic approach he took to Nos. 5 and 6, even to the extent of providing diagrams in the score, Panufnik’s programme notes for Metasinfonia were far more concise, accepting that the technicalities of his compositional methods might be of little interest to the listener.

Metasinfonia feels more like an organ concerto than a symphony, something the composer himself acknowledged. The changing dynamic between orchestra and soloist does, however, provide this work with an extra dimension that informed all the subsequent works Panufnik was to write. It feels like a less rigid composition generally, and the simple fact is that this particular combination of instruments sounds fantastic to my ears. With Metasinfonia, Panufnik felt he had found his feet again as a composer, and while it is by no means his most well-known work – almost certainly the least-performed – I think it is a very strong piece that deserves greater familiarity.

Days 200 – 205

Day 200

19 July 2017: Vaughan Williams – Symphony No. 5 (1943)

Ah, Ralph Vaughan Williams. How do I love thy fifth symphony? Let me count the ways. It gives me great pleasure to bring up the double-century in my Symphony A Day journey with one of my all-time favourites. I'm not going to make a case for this being the greatest symphony from a technical point of view, nor will I argue for its inclusion alongside the Eroica or Symphonie Fantastique for being the most influential. No, this one is personal, it just touches me in a way that very few other works of art ever have. If I had name the symphony I'm featuring this year that I've listened to the most in my life, this would probably come out on top.

I've often pondered why this strikes such a chord with me. The best I can come up with its use of modes throughout giving rise to music that is tonal-but-not-tonal; sufficiently piquant to steer it away from the blandness it could easily have sunk into. Right from the off that tonal ambiguity is heard, with an essentially D major theme playing over a pedal C bass. There's a yearning feel about the music that probably seemed nostalgic even when it was written, and the fact that it was first performed during World War II must have left its audience longing for the peace it beautifully depicts. The symphony actually makes use of a wealth of material Vaughan Williams had written for his at-the-time unfinished opera The Pilgrim's Progress. I only heard the finished opera very recently and was quite surprised at just how much of it is practically unchanged in the symphony. That is especially true of the Romanza third movement, with the opening cor anglias theme coming straight from the start of Act I Scene 2. The searing intensity of this movement rarely fails to bring a tear to the eye of this wizened old cynic. A wonderful Passacaglia fourth movement culminates in a triumphant return of the symphony's opening theme, which in turn subsides into some gorgeous string writing that soars up to the heavens. It's a hugely spiritual work, and it will always occupy a special place in my heart.

Day 201

20 July 2017: Beethoven – Symphony No. 6, 'Pastoral' (1808)

So, how on earth does one follow a giant of the symphonic repertoire like the mighty Fifth. Well, by writing an even better one of course. Technically, he didn't actually follow the Fifth with this as both were premiered (along with his Piano Concerto No. 4, and Choral Fantasy for piano, chorus and orchestra) in the same extraordinary four-hour concert on 22 December 1808. By virtue of being performed first in that concert, this was actually the fifth symphony in order of premiere, if not in order of composition. Anyway, this hugely popular work is many people's favourite symphony, and it's hard to think of another with so many glorious tunes packed into its 40-minute length. While that in itself would undoubtedly secure its place in the hearts of any music-lover, there is the unescapable fact that a whole generation grew to love this piece through its use in the Walt Disney film Fantasia.

And what's not love about it? The addition of a helpful descriptive title for each movement allows the audience to clearly see what picture Beethoven was painting with his music, which all adds to the listening experience. The first movement, 'Awakening of cheerful feelings on arrival in the countryside', contains some of the composer's most instantly recognisable music. There's a treat for ornithologists in the 'Scene by the brook' second movement, with bird songs featured towards the end identified by Beethoven in the score as the nightingale, quail, and cuckoo. The final three movements are, unusually for the time, sequenced together with the terrifying storm of the fourth movement subsiding into the 'Shepherd's song' of the finale, which is right up there among the greatest tunes ever written. Quite simply, it's brilliant from start to finish, but I suspect I'm preaching to the converted here.

Day 202

21 July 2017: Bax – Symphony No. 4 (1930)

Fun fact: this is the fourth day in a row that I've featured a symphony that lives permanently on my phone in iTunes, which indicates that I'm on something of a run of personal favourites at the moment. Arnold Bax's fourth symphony was, like much of his music, inspired by nature, and in this particular case, the seascapes of the Western Highlands. Even by his standards, this is a richly scored work, with xylophone, glockenspiel, celesta, harp, and organ all employed in addition to a larger than standard orchestra.

It has been said that this piece lacks a bit of cohesion, particularly in comparison to its predecessor, the wonderful third symphony. For me, it feels more connected to his brilliant tone poems such as November Woods and Tintagel than any of his other symphonies. You can practically smell the sea air in the wild and blustery first movement. The effect of a large orchestra playing mostly quiet and calm music is something I always enjoy hearing, and it is used to great effect in the Lento moderato slow movement, as if depicting great forces at rest, that could be stirred up by a change of wind direction at any moment. The triumphal ending is unusual for Bax, and again adds to the feeling that this is a largely joyful work, celebrating an environment he clearly loved.

Day 203

22 July 2017: Still – Symphony No. 1, 'Afro-American' (1930)

Coincidentally written in the same year as Bax's Symphony No. 4, William Grant Still's Afro-American Symphony is a very different proposition. Still is another of those composers who, if asked about a few days before listening to one of their works as part of this series, I would have drawn a blank. He is, however, one of my most enjoyable discoveries of the year, and judging by the response to my Twitter post, a highly popular choice. This work led to Still being the first African American to have a symphony performed by a major orchestra, and was, according the academic Dr. Edith Borroff, the most performed symphony by an American prior to 1950. It was performed by 38 different orchestras on both sides of the Atlantic in its first 20 years.

It's not hard to see why it was so hugely popular. It's a lovely, bluesy, Gershwinesque work that tapped into the appetite at the time for jazz and African-American music. The four movements are each prefaced in the score by words from the black poet Paul Laurence Dunbar, and were also given titles: Longing, Sorrow, Humor, and Aspiration. I think I can safely say that this is the first symphony I've featured this year that calls for a tenor banjo! This features prominently in the lively third movement, which has always been a concert favourite. The first movement has echoes of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, and is a straight twelve-bar blues for the most part, featuring some beautiful blues-inflected melodies. The whole work is an absolute delight, and I'll be exploring some more of his work in future.

Day 204

23 July 2017: Penderecki – Symphony No. 7, 'Seven Gates of Jerusalem' (1996)

There have been some pretty imposing works featured in my occasional Choral Symphony Sunday slot, but there can be few as mighty as this one. Krzysztof Penderecki hadn't originally conceived this work as a symphony, rather believing it to be an oratorio. And certainly its seven movements don't conform in any way to standard symphonic structure. Nevertheless, after a couple of performances under the title Seven Gates of Jerusalem, Penderecki subsequently affixed the name Symphony No. 7. That in itself was something of an oddity as his Symphony No. 6 was incomplete at the time, and in fact it remains incomplete to this day!

The work was commissioned to commemorate the third millennium of the city of Jerusalem, and it certainly made quite an impression. As mentioned when I featured his third symphony (see Day 41), Penderecki left his early avant-garde style behind in favour of a more conventional and direct language from about the mid-1970s onwards. There are occasional echoes of those earlier extended techniques to be heard at some points in this work, and the effect when they appear is quite stunning. The sheer raw power on display at times, especially in the orchestra-and-chorus tuttis that occur at key moments in the piece, takes one's breath away. The core of the symphony is the 15-minute-long fifth movement Lauda, Jerusalem, Dominum, where percussion-driven staccato music crescendos before making way for a central, plaintive, hymn-like passage for choir and soloists. Then from a sparsely scored orchestral section, the music builds once again to a massive climax. That is followed by an emotionally-charged Hajetà alai jad adonài, which features a speaker reciting in Hebrew. If there's a criticism, it is that over the work's seven movements, it is virtually all shade and precious little light. That said, this a very profound work that wasn't meant to have them dancing in the aisles. I had to listen to the full hour of this twice to fully get a handle on it, and it certainly rewarded a repeat hearing. I recommend this very highly.

Day 205

24 July 2017: Scriabin – Symphony No. 3, 'The Divine Poem' (1904)

Alexander Scriabin's career followed the reverse trajectory to yesterday's composer, Penderecki. Scriabin started his career writing luscious, late-romantic scores, such as this one, before developing a harsher and more atonal style later. This is a powerful and richly textured musical poem, in which Scriabin set himself the not inconsiderable target of depicting 'the evolution of the human soul and its ultimate union with the cosmos'. There is a programme of sorts – the lyrical, Straussian first movement is entitled Struggles and portrays humanity wrestling with the concept of God. The sensual second movement (Delights) involves humanity evolving a more Pantheistic view, while the final Divine Play comes from the resulting freedom from subordination to a supreme being.

Quite how much of this Scriabin manages to pull off in strictly musical terms is debatable. The massive 25-minute first movement dominates the work, and while it may not be held together by any kind of recognisable form, it maintains interest throughout by virtue of its splendid, overarching melodies. The music of the second movement is absolutely ravishing and, to be honest, I cared not in the slightest what the composer was trying to put across beyond the splendour of his own gift for harmony. I've never quite understood why Scriabin is performed far less frequently than some of his contemporaries, most of whom he was at the very least an equal to. I could quite easily see this spectacularly crowning off a Prom concert, just as it did in 2010 ... for the only time in the last 96 years.

Days 193 – 199

Day 193

12 July 2017: Mathias – Symphony No. 1 (1965)

Along with James MacMillan (see Day 75), William Mathias is the only other composer I'm featuring this year who I've actually met. Back in the mid-80s, when I was planning to do my music degree, I went for an interview at Bangor University. Mathias was Professor of Composition at Bangor the time, as he was up until four years before his untimely death in 1992, and he did a very good job of trying to persuade me to go there. In the end, I opted for Keele, but he certainly made a very big impression and I developed something of an interest in his work as a result.

His first symphony is a fairly early work, written when he was just 30, and his influences are fairly clearly discernible in it. There are strong echoes of early Tippett in the piece, and also of his composition teacher at the Royal Academy of Music, Lennox Berkeley. What there also is though, is an innate sense of compositional balance, and, in the cleverly paced slow movement, no shortage of damn-good-tune writing. It's fair to say that Mathias will probably never be held in the same regard as some of his more illustrious contemporaries, such as Birtwistle or Maxwell Davies. Hopefully, he won't slide into total obscurity either.

Day 194

13 July 2017: Webern – Symphony, Op 21 (1928)

Anton Webern didn't write a whole lot of music. There are only 31 opus numbers, many of which – like this symphony – are effectively miniatures. As a consequence, Pierre Boulez's recordings of Webern's entire body of work fit on just 6 CDs. The impact that this music had, however is immense. Together with his contemporaries Arnold Schoenberg and his colleague Alban Berg they were the engine room of the Second Viennese School, and pretty much changed the face of music in the 20th century. Of the three, Webern was probably the most hardcore in his approach to twelve-tone theory, ultimately using the ideas to organise not just pitch but rhythm and dynamics too.

Nothing highlights the problem I sometimes have with serialism more than the fact that many of the learned pieces that have been written analysing this symphony take considerably longer to read than the work itself takes to listen to. It does feel at times that it's about 90% academic exercise and 10% inspiration. I am quite prepared to accept, however, that this is a miniature masterpiece. Every single note has a purpose, and there is nothing in it that cannot be justified. It is music pared down to the barest essentials. Furthermore, it opened doors for composers that followed, and while the stark theory of serialism soon found its limitations, Webern and his ilk created a tool with which composers could build the music of the avant garde.

Day 195

14 July 2017: Elsa Barraine – Symphony No. 2 (1938)

I doubt if there are many out there who are familiar with the work of Elsa Barraine. I know I wasn't, but one of the many goals I set myself this year was to not only discover unfamiliar repertoire generally, but to make a conscious effort to explore the music of some of the more neglected female composers. Sadly, there are many, and as is to prove the point about how much digging has to be done to hear them, the reason I've chosen Symphony No. 2 is because, to the best of my knowledge, there is no recording of No. 1.

Barraine won the Prix de Rome in 1929, and while that was by no means a gateway to instant fame (the two previous winners are decidedly obscure names ... Edmond Gaujac and Raymond Loucheur, anyone?) she did enjoy a great degree of success in her native France prior to World War II. The war rather curtailed her composing; in fact, she pretty much abandoned music and became heavily involved with the French Resistance. She worked mostly in education after the war, but carried on composing well into her twilight years. Very little of her music is heard today, which is a shame because if this is anything to go by there's a lot to like about it. Musically, it's not obvious to spot any links to any of her contemporaries, and although the influence of the previous generation of composers such as Les Six may be in the mix somewhere, Barraine clearly forged a path of her own. The highlight for me was the taut string writing in the central Marche Funèbre movement. I'd like to hear more of her music, but it could take some finding.

Day 196

15 July 2017: Rubbra – Symphony No. 6 (1954)

I don't think I can get through any kind of write-up of an Edmund Rubbra symphony without using the word 'neglected', so I'm going to get it in early. This is an absolutely fabulous symphony, and the fact that is utterly neglected and has been since the mid-1950s is nothing short of criminal. I've got no facts to back this up, but I'd be reasonably sure that, as a result of separate releases in the 1990s conducted by Norman Del Mar and Richard Hickox, this has been recorded more times in the last 60 years than it has been publicly performed.

I suppose that, just as the arrival of punk in the mid-70s rendered a lot of its rock music predecessors moribund, so the coming of the avant garde and the Darmstadt School in the mid-50s did for composers like Rubbra. Certainly the BBC played their part at the time by turning away from music they felt was embarrassingly traditional. Anyway, surely enough water has passed under the bridge by now for Rubbra to be listened to with fresh ears. I'd recommend any new listeners to start here because the glorious lyricism on display here is almost beyond compare in post-war British music. And as for the beautiful Canto: Largo e sereno second movement, that really is peak Rubbra in my view. The great thing about his music is that each new hearing seems to reveal something you missed last time. I can never tire of it.

Day 197

16 July 2017: Elgar – Symphony No. 2 (1911)

I had, more or less, assembled my listening schedule for this Symphony A Day project by the middle of January. So when the 2017 BBC Proms programme was announced in April, I thought it might be a nice idea to shuffle it around a bit so that I could marry up my symphony-listening task with a performance of said symphony at that day's Prom. The first such opportunity arose today in Prom 4, which saw Daniel Barenboim and the Staatskapelle Berlin perform Edward Elgar’s Second Symphony. It turned out to be an inspired decision, as I can honestly say that I've never heard this particular work performed better.

It is probably Elgar's most misunderstood work. It was dedicated to the memory of King Edward VII, who died the previous year, and had been intended as a loyal tribute to the King, who was still alive when Elgar began composing it. Any thought that this might be some form of patriotic tub-thumping, however, is dispelled within about two minutes of what is clearly a deeply personal score. The first movement starts nobly enough with a theme known as "Spirit of Delight", but it soon takes a more sombre turn, and by the time the heart-wrenching Larghetto second movement takes hold, there's not a dry eye in the house. Quite what inspired such overt soul-baring has been the subject of much speculation. Not many buy the tribute to the sovereign line, and other recently departed acquaintances such as Alfred E. Rodewald have been put forward. Likeliest is his alleged romantic liaison with Alice Stuart Wortley over the previous couple of years. It's not essential to know, in any event, the 'why' of this symphony. The combination of this score in the hands of this conductor demonstrates amply the emotional power of music.

Day 198

17 July 2017: Shostakovich – Symphony No. 10 (1953)

As coincidence would have it, the opportunity for another Proms tie-in arose with tonight's BBC National Orchestra of Wales performance of Dmitri Shostakovich's tenth symphony. After his ninth had been condemned by critics and authorities alike, essentially for being too glib, it would be eight years before Shostakovich would write No. 10. It's an undeniable fact of chronology that this symphony was first performed just a few months after the death of Stalin, leading many to conclude that the two events were intrinsically connected.  As it is though, the exact date of composition is unclear, with the suggestion that it was written a year or two earlier.

There is one very clear pointer as to the nature of this work though, and that is the prominent place given to his own musical monogram – the letters DSCH, which in German notation equate to the notes D, E flat, C and B. Shostakovich used this in many other works, usually those of a deeply personal nature such as the Violin and Cello Concertos, and his String Quartet No. 8. Thus the symphony is at least in some part autobiographical. It begins with another of Shostakovich's massive first movements, accounting for almost half the symphony's entire length and drawing clear parallels to the similarly scaled equivalent movements in Symphonies 5 and 8. If the Stalinist connection is to be believed, then this might be interpreted as a depiction of his nightmarish regime, and the fact that the DSCH theme emerges triumphantly at the end of the finale might tell us all we need to know about the composer's intention. Nothing is ever as simple as that with old Dmitri, though, and the fact that another monogram has been identified in the score – E-La-Mi-Re-A, associated with a female pupil of his by the name of Elmira Nazirova – leads me to think it's time to stop digging and start listening!

Day 199

18 July 2017: Sibelius – Symphony No. 4 (1911)

The big-hitters are coming thick and fast at the moment, and after a couple of emotionally saturated works from Elgar and Shostakovich, here we have probably the bleakest symphony of Jean Sibelius's output. Completed in 1911, coincidentally the same year as the Elgar, this is a very dark symphony from a dark period in the composer's life. Two years before beginning this work, Sibelius had undergone surgery to remove a cancerous tumour from his throat, and it was said that for some time afterwards he feared the disease's return. Again, some composer-as-visionary fruitcakes have said that there are portents of World War I in the music, as if the composer's cancer wasn't reason enough for the music to be as gloomy as it is.

It's hard to think of a darker opening to any symphony than the deep growl of the cellos, double basses and bassoons. The mood scarcely lifts at any point, although the second movement does have something approaching a jaunty tune at times, with occasional brightness from a glockenspiel. It's a brief respite though, and the music eventually descends into something approaching despair. The ending is particularly bereft of hope with stark A minor chords marked mezzo-forte; probably the only symphony in the conventional repertoire to end in the mid-dynamic range, which has left many an audience wondering whether the work has actually finished. I first heard this in the early-90s I think and just didn't 'get it' at all. It's now one of my favourites, although it can be a tough journey sometimes.

Days 190 – 192

Day 190

9 July 2017: Szymanowski – Symphony No. 3, "The Song of the Night" (1916)

The thing I find about Karol Szymanowski is that when he's good, he's very, very good. I was proofreading a book about him a while ago, and decided to listen to his music almost exclusively while I was doing it. Some if it left me a bit cold, to be truthful, but a lot of it really hit the spot, and chief among those works was this gloriously opulent symphony. And as it features a choir, then that means it's Choral Symphony Sunday again!

The text is a 13th Century Persian poem that a friend of his had recently translated into Polish, in which the poet implores a friend not to sleep but to contemplate the beauty and stillness of the night. It's a suitably nocturnal, and for the most part slow-moving score, with a ravishing harmonic language influenced by Scriabin, Debussy and Tristan-era Wagner. I think if I was given the task of picking one work I'd like to hear performed live then this would be quite near the top of the list, as even on record it comes over as riot of orchestral colour with some epic choral writing. Sadly, its demands on singers and performers, and the small matter of it being in Polish, means it's a rarely heard work in this country. I'll have weigh up whether it's worth a trip to Poland to hear it.

Day 191

10 July 2017: Borodin – Symphony No. 2 (1876)

I seem to recall gorging on Alexander Borodin when I was student. He was BBC Radio 3's Composer of the Week at some point during my first year and I played the tape recordings I made to death. I still have a soft spot for him to this day, and this symphony is a particular favourite. It was a work that actually took Borodin best part of seven years to complete, as he kept breaking off to work on other projects – notably his opera Prince Igor, and ballet Mlada – as well as his other career as a notable chemist.

The wait was worth it, however, as it has become one of Borodin's best-known works and certainly his greatest symphony. Its mighty opening theme appears on his grave in St Petersburg, and was also used (along with many of his other popular tunes) in the Tony Award-winning musical Kismet. The first movement does tend to dominate the work a little, but a lively little Scherzo in the very unusual time signature of 1/1, and a wonderful Andante, in which a serene opening melody passes between the horn and clarinet, are hardly let-downs. In fact, the delicate coda at the end of the Andante is just about my favourite part of the whole work. The sense of foreboding of the first movement is completely dispelled by a lively Slavic-dance finale that could have come straight from his Polovtsian Dances, written around the same time. A truly great symphony, in my humble opinion.

Day 192

11 July 2017: Bizet – Roma Symphony (1871)

Georges Bizet wrote two symphonies in his sadly short life. The first, his Symphony in C (see Day 58), was written as a 17-year-old student but was published and became popular long after his death. This, the second, was a rather more laboured affair that took him 12 years to write, and is as rarely heard now as it was in his lifetime. The story of its composition is long and involved, but in a nutshell, after winning the Prix de Rome, Bizet lived in Italy for a few years and planned to write a symphony in which each movement depicted a different Italian city. Only the Scherzo was ever written though – ironically, given the work's final title, a movement written about Florence. The remaining three movements were added at various points later, and the symphony was frequently revised before Bizet, to all intents and purposes gave up on it.

Some people regard the work as unfinished, some regard it as a suite rather than a symphony, some question exactly how much it has to do with Rome – the title appears to have been added later to distinguish the symphony from his first, as this is also in C. From what I'd read about it, the only thing people seem to agree on is that it was, at best, uneven. I find this criticism baffling as I rather enjoyed it. The orchestration is marvellous, and the main theme from the Andante molto third movement is absolutely gorgeous. I'll definitely be coming to this work at some point in the future.

Days 183 – 189

Day 183

2 July 2017: Mahler – Symphony No. 6 (1904)

I've always been a little wary of terms like 'visionary' being bandied about when discussing composers. Far too often, events that occurred after a work was written have been retrospectively associated with the piece, with the implication that the composer had somehow anticipated them in their work. All stuff and nonsense, obviously, but there is, to be fair to the tin-foil hat wearers, seemingly something in the assertion when it comes to Gustav's Mahler's sixth symphony. Often titled as his 'Tragic' symphony, although not, as if to accentuate the earlier point, by Mahler himself, this is an almost unrelentingly sombre piece. And yet it was written at a time when Mahler, on the face of it, ought to have been at his happiest. He had married Alma Schindler the year before starting work on it, his second child was born during its composition, and he held the highly prestigious post of director of the Vienna Court Opera.

The one ray of sunshine in the work is the second subject of the first movement, which Mahler stated represented Alma. And while that soaring melody provides an element of light in an otherwise dark work, there is nothing but utter despair about the final movement. It runs to almost half-an-hour in length and is famous for a number of hammer blows (literally – they are marked in the score as "hammer") that shatter any gathering positivity in the music. There were originally three such blows, although Mahler later edited out the third one. The view among conductors seems to be divided over its reinstatement, with some recordings going against Mahler's wishes and putting it back in. There is also, as it happens, some dispute over the ordering of the inner movements. Mahler again having had second thoughts after some early performances, eventually deciding the Andante should come second. The greater enigma though surrounds the meaning of the hammer blows, and this is where things start to get spooky. Within a year of the symphony's completion, Mahler's eldest daughter died, he was forced to resign his post at the Vienna Court Opera, and he was diagnosed with a fatal heart condition from which he would die in 1911. Three hammer blows. Coincidence maybe, but all grist to mill for the Mahler-as-visionary believers. When I was acquiring all of Mahler's symphonies on LP back in my youth, this was the one I bought last for some reason. It is thus the one I know least well, and it doesn't grab as much attention as the fifth or the so-called 'Symphony of a Thousand' (No. 8). It is a punishing journey and unlike his earlier symphonies this tunnel only ends with a brick wall. I can't think of many other pieces that hollow out one's soul in quite the way that this does.

Day 184

3 July 2017: Gloria Coates – Symphony No. 1, 'Music on Open Strings' (1973)

When I scheduled Gloria Coates's fourth symphony into my listening scheduled earlier in the year (see Day 67), it was the only work of hers I intended to feature at that stage. However, I loved it so much that I've found room to squeeze in another couple. Coates wrote her first symphony at the age of 35, and four years after she'd moved from her native Wisconsin to Munich. This is arguably her best-known work, and one that helped establish her reputation in Europe.

The symphony is written for string orchestra and, as the title implies, much of the work is played on open strings, unusually tuned to provide a wider range of notes. It is a similar principle to that employed by Louis Andriessen in his Symphony for open strings, which he composed five years later (see Day 9). The difference here is that Coates punctuates the music with her trademark glissandi and various percussive techniques. The most striking feature of the third and final movement is a scordatura technique, in which the players retune their instruments in performance back to standard tuning. I discovered when reading about Coates recently that she formed a connection with the post-war Polish avant garde school (which regular readers might recall was the subject of my music degree dissertation), and in particular Penderecki and Lutosławski. In fact, this symphony was first performed at the 1978 Warsaw Autumn Festival. That might explain why her music seems to have triggered something within me.

Day 185

4 July 2017: Haydn – Symphony No. 92, 'Oxford' (1789)

So many of the symphonies I've listened to this year are also known by a name. Some were provided by the composer, but many weren't and in some cases the nickname isn't terribly helpful. In this case, Symphony No. 92 was one of three Josef Haydn wrote when he was living in Vienna, to a commission from the French Count d'Ogny, for performance in Paris. So naturally it ended being called the 'Oxford' symphony! It acquired the name because, two years later, Haydn supposedly conducted it at a ceremony at Oxford University at which he was awarded an honorary doctorate. Again though, no one seems certain that this was the actual symphony he conducted at the ceremony.

In essence, all the name does is help identify this among the 104 (or more) that he wrote. It's a very fine work, with a slow introduction that is truly exquisite, from which emerges a trademark sonata form first movement where it is easy to detect the features that Beethoven would use in his early symphonies. The Adagio cantabile slow movement features a lovely theme that is at times hesitant, as if it were an aria from an unwritten opera. There are a few musical jokes in the light-hearted scherzo, and a brisk finale rounds off proceedings on a suitable high.

Day 186

5 July 2017: Saint-Saëns – Symphony in F, 'Urbs Roma' (1856)

Camille Saint-Saëns' symphonic output is, shall we say, patchy. There are three numbered symphonies, of which the third – his 'Organ Symphony' – is widely considered to be one of the greatest ever written. There are also two un-numbered symphonies, the first having been written when he was 15 and was scarcely more than a style-composition exercise. This is the other un-numbered symphony, written as an entry for a competition run by the Bordeaux Société Ste Cécile.

It appears that it won a prize, which surprises me given that Saint-Saëns virtually buried the work in his catalogue. It was unpublished in his lifetime, and it doesn't appear to be a piece the composer was especially proud of. That said, it's his longest symphony, and by no means a bad one. The first movement contains some memorable themes and is wonderfully orchestrated, with some nice, exposed brass sections. A brief and unremarkable scherzo is followed by a not-at-all brief and even less remarkable funereal slow movement. The last movement is very understated and not very finale-like, which means the 40-minute musical journey ends with a rather anti-climactic feel. What all of this has to do with the City of Rome of the title has been lost in time. There's no help from the generic movement titles and no programme was supplied for the work. As with all of his non-organ symphonies, I was unfamiliar with this work, and while I'm glad to have paid it a visit, I doubt I'll be back.

Day 187

6 July 2017: Schubert – Symphony No. 5 (1816)

Franz Schubert had written so much music prior to this work that it's hard to believe that he was still only 19 when he wrote this brilliant Mozart-influenced work. It is known from Schubert's diaries that he had been immersing himself in Mozart's work at the time he was writing this symphony and many have observed similarities with Mozart, particularly his Symphony No. 40 in G minor. The instrumentation, for example, is the same.

I remember hearing this on the radio a couple of years ago. I recognised it instantly but assumed it was, in fact, Mozart. On discovering it was Schubert 5, I racked my brains trying to recall how it had become so embedded in my subconscious and concluded that its main theme is simply one of those once-heard-never-forgotten tunes that composers would sell their first-born to write. The other movements are on a par with the first, making this his most consistent symphony, I'd say. Every one is a gem, with tune after tune just gliding through ether. On listening to this today, I put it straight back on again and gave it a second blast. Wonderful.

Day 188

7 July 2017: Nielsen – Symphony No. 4, 'The Inextinguishable' (1916)

Written one hundred years after the Schubert, featured yesterday, here is a very different symphony from Carl Nielsen. It's one that I love just as much though. Just as exhilarating, but in a different way. In the composer's words, he is attempting to convey 'the elemental will of life', something he may have felt compelled to do, two years into the most devastating war mankind had ever inflicted upon itself.

This is one of those symphonies that grabs you by the scruff of the neck from the very first bar. A quick flurry of notes, and then you're carried along by a relentless falling tritone figure towards a glorious, exultant tune based on a descending major scale. And that is just the first few minutes. That glorioso theme returns at the end of the first movement and seems to embody that inextinguishable life-force while all around is chaos. The final movement sees an actual battle emerge in the orchestra as two timpanists – instructed to be facing each other – compete to drown the other out. The combative percussionist, incidentally, is a theme he would revisit with even more dramatic consequences in his next symphony (look out for that in a couple of months’ time). The fourth symphony is around 30 minutes of some of the most intense symphonic writing ever heard at the time, and it remains one of his most popular and frequently performed works today.

Day 189

8 July 2017: Bruckner – Symphony No. 5 (1876)

To be honest with you, dear reader, I have something of an ambivalent relationship with Anton Bruckner. I don't doubt his greatness, and there are many days when I can happily luxuriate in music that seems almost heavenly in its conception. There are other times, however, when I've seen one of symphonies looming on the horizon in my pre-determined Symphony A Day listening schedule and there is an unmistakable sinking feeling that I'll be wading through 70–80 minutes of late-Romantic treacle.

I probably wouldn't have chosen to listen to this today, but having said all that, this is a perfectly good symphony that does have some distinguishing features that help it stand out from the crowd. Not least is the unusual fact that three of its four movements open quietly with plucked strings, which gives rise to its unofficial nickname, the 'Pizzicato' symphony. Yes, there were moments when I found myself thinking, 'this bit sounds remarkably similar to his "n"th symphony', and I was totally thrown when the fourth movement began and I thought my iPod had gone into shuffle mode and played the first movement again. Despite its near identical opening, it does, however, take a completely different turn and develop into the most wonderful fugue, ending in a blaze of glory with a brilliant brass finale. I just wonder why, for me, the prospect of Bruckner is often far less appealing than the actual experience.