WHAT IS MUSIC? OR EVERYTHING YOU ALWAYS WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT
CLASSICAL MUSIC, BUT DIDN’T KNOW WHO TO ASK
A personal viewpoint by Elwood Herring
Last update8 Jan 2015
Dedicated to my sister Christina (1954-2014)
INTRODUCTION
Ever since my childhood, I've been fascinated by music. I’ve always felt an urge to get to the
bottom of exactly what it is about this highly organised sound that can appear totally artificial and at the
same time, so natural. What is this language without words that can convey so many emotions and be
understood by almost everyone? I’ve long been intrigued by why there are eight notes in an octave, or
twelve if you count the semitones. Why is this? Why do we have tones and semitones at all? Where do
major and minor scales come from, and why do minor keys sound "sad"? Well now at the age of 53 (and
counting) I understand the science and theory behind music (and have even written large scale works of
my own), but I am still at a loss to understand why music almost sounds like a living, breathing entity at
times. So this book is my attempt to explain music (in my own terms), and explore some of the musical
masterpieces that have made the biggest impression on me.
To start at the beginning of my own personal musical journey (since that’s where we are), I don't
think I ever heard any "classical" music at all until I was about 16. Until then, all I ever heard were
three-minute pop songs and the like, usually from the radio BBC "light programme" as it was then called
- later renamed Radio 2. At primary (catholic) school we had regular hymn singing, but the hymns were
so abysmally dreary it was a struggle to keep awake. (Why are most catholic hymns so dreary? I’ve
never worked that one out. Surely anyone wanting to write music praising God would want it to be
lively and joyous? But not the stuff we were made to chant monotonously, anyway.) At home, my
parents sometimes listened to a small collection of LP's, but not very often, and always the same ones; I
distinctly remember Guy Mitchell's greatest hits, Nat King Cole's various over-romantic ballads, songs
from South Pacific and such like. On the radio, I occasionally heard hits by the Beatles and other bands
around at the time, and naturally preferred these to my parents' small collection of well-worn LPs. But
even the best offerings of the Beatles (lively and infectious though they were, unlike any hymn ever
written) still left me ultimately unfulfilled. There seemed to be nothing anywhere that lasted longer than
three or four minutes. If I did hear anything played by an orchestra, it was probably backing music to a
film on T.V. or the saccharine tones of Mantovani that meant nothing to me. (Much later in life I
discovered that Mantovani actually lived for a time in my home town of Northfield, Birmingham. I was
not impressed. However I cheered up when I also discovered that Tolkien’s birthplace was just down the
road too!)
During the 60’s my grandparents owned a "pianola" or player piano that my sister and I would
take turns to play on whenever we visited them. Naturally, I would invariably pick out the largest piano
rolls in the box to give me a longer turn, which gave me my first exposure to such classics as Strauss's
Tales from the Vienna Woods and Suppé's Poet & Peasant overture - but played on piano, not an
orchestra. At this point I didn’t know they were orchestral pieces at all. They were simply piano rolls to
me. Interesting as they were, I had nothing to attach them to; I had no idea of the existence of the whole
classical genre of music. I had an itching feeling that there must be more than what I heard, but no way
to find out. School music lessons were not really much help, although I do recall hearing Benjamin
Britten's Young Persons Guide to the Orchestra and having the different sections of the orchestra
explained to me; and also Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf which slightly intrigued me with its various
instruments playing the part of different animals. I was about 14 by then, and my ears were beginning to
get impatient.
Then, one day in 1973 when I was in the middle of my 'O' levels, I had a day off from school as
there were no exams that day, and for the first time ever I was alone in the house. I was bored, and set
about looking for something to do. I opened the old familiar record cabinet, and looked through the
various LPs I had heard so often, and considered playing one. I pulled a few out - and noticed that there
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were some that I hadn't seen before, plus some older and different type discs hidden at the back of the
cabinet. The labels of these stated “Speed 78 RPM” and I already knew from messing about with the
turntable that I could adjust its speed to play them. What a surprise - music that had been hidden away
from me all these years, and just asking to be played! I looked through the unfamiliar sleeves and saw
names like Tchaikovsky, Schubert, Brahms, Beethoven - names I had only heard of from books, or dry
music lessons at school. On the labels I saw the same names, plus dozens of others; Handel, Strauss,
Grieg, even some really exotic names like Gounod, Reznicek, Meyerbeer, Ippolitov-Ivanov (which for
years I thought were two people, like another one I found with the names "Rossini-Respighi" which
actually were two people!)
I wish I could remember the date I found these records, as it marked my rite of passage into the
world of Real Music - and I haven't looked back since. I had been living on gruel for 16 years, and had
suddenly discovered a vast banquet! I gorged myself on these records at every available opportunity
after that miraculous initiation; I drove my parents (and undoubtedly my neighbours) mad with constant
requests to hear my wonderful discoveries; I wore the record player out and had to save up and buy
myself a cheap stereo player with the money I received from my first job. I was hooked - a classical
music junkie at the tender age of 16, I just couldn't hear enough. Why, oh why hadn't I heard any of this
before, if it was all in the house all along?
OK, so what were these wonderful pieces I had stumbled upon? Even now, 40 years on, a great
deal of these pieces can evoke memories of that old record cabinet and those scratchy 78's - and no
wonder, as they are still amongst the finest masterpieces ever written. Consider some of these for
starters:
On LP I found such gems as:
Beethoven's Eroica symphony (the Sergeant Pepper of 1804, and still an awesome work.)
Schubert's Unfinished symphony (magnificent melancholy)
Mendelssohn's Hebrides overture (which I still regard as the pinnacle of musical perfection)
Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture and Romeo & Juliet fantasy (complete with clashing sabres and
cannons!)
Ibert's Divertissement and Saint-Saens' Carnival of the Animals on the same disc
Rimsky-Korsakov's Capriccio Espagnol and Tchaikovsky's Capriccio Italien
Schumann's sombre Manfred overture and Brahms' cheery Academic Festival overture
Bizet’s charming 1st symphony, written when he was just 16. I was impressed. I was only 16 then too.
On the old crackly 78's I found (amongst others):
Grieg's sublime Piano Concerto
Tchaikovsky's romantic 5th symphony (the complete set of about 6 78's)
Tchaikovsky's 1st Piano concerto (only the beginning of the 1st movement and the last movement - that
was the problem with 78's, large scale works would take up several discs, and most people only bought
the sections they liked, which meant for years I didn't know how the 1st movement of this piece
developed!)
Beethoven’s 5th symphony (but only the 1st movement, for the same reason.)
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Rossini's lively Boutique Fantasque (complete on 4 discs)
Sibelius's majestic Finlandia overture
Saint-Saens' eerie Danse Macabre (Which I absolutely loved, and completely wore the record out!)
Strangely, in the entire collection there was nothing by either Bach or Mozart. I discovered these
composers later when I started buying my own records, and also when I started raiding my friends'
parents' collections for more classics. My best friend helped a great deal here, or at least his mother did,
kindly letting me borrow almost her entire collection that consisted of such musical wonders as:
Chopin's 1st piano concerto, and Saint-Saens' 2nd (with its marvellously scatty second movement)
Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique (with its startling depiction of a Witches Sabbath!)
Dvořák's New World symphony (some of which I knew from those old "Hovis" adverts)
Mozart's 36th, 39th, 40th & 41st symphonies (Mozart has never been one of my top 10 composers, even
though I quite like these four symphonies. I seem to have a blind spot when it comes to Mozart, I find
his music adequate for its time, but he is certainly not the great Musical Genius that he is made out to be,
even by musicologists. Haydn, however...)
Haydn's 39th and 73rd symphonies (still amongst my favourites even though they are not well-known
Haydn works)
Brahms' 1st symphony and 2nd Piano concerto (which I immediately fell in love with)
Stravinsky's Firebird suite and Petruchka, which amazed me with its sumptuous cacophony of
interlaced carnival sounds
Bartok's 2nd Piano Concerto, which shocked and intrigued me
and Mahler's 1st symphony, which totally knocked me out. I remember reading the sleeve notes on the
back, and on learning that he had written a total of 9 symphonies, thinking "If this is only his first, and
he was only in his 20's when he wrote it, what on earth do the later ones sound like?!" Of course, I
eventually found out, and the wait was worth it.
From another school friend I managed to borrow an LP of Beethoven’s 5th complete, as well as his
evocative Pastoral symphony. I also quickly unearthed recordings of most of the rest of Beethoven’s
symphonies (all apart from the 4th and 8th, actually.)
Note that ALL of these pieces are totally different from each other – every one of them has a
unique musical identity stamped on them by the composer. This was what I found so fascinating, that
music could be so variable, so individualistic, so passionate, so alive. You can keep your South Pacific,
thanks, and that whole collection of comatose hymns can be cast into the flames for all I care (yes, even
the ones written by composers such as Vaughan Williams! What was he thinking?) This is my (our)
musical heritage, and after 40 years I’m still grabbing it with both hands and consuming it with both
ears.
So, after devouring this awesome pile of musical exotica, at the age of 16 going on 17 my head
was filling up with music, and great music at that. It seems I was a dry sponge, just waiting for music
like this to soak up, and soak it up I did. But there always seems to be more room, and I am still
discovering new things. However, back in the early 1970’s the volume and diversity of the music I had
discovered just made me eager to hear more, and also to tell others about the treasures I had found. This
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was a bit tricky, as the flavour of the month at the time was the relatively lowbrow offerings of the Bay
City Rollers and Slade etc. I felt I was shouting into the wind. The kind of reaction I typically received
was along the lines of "Classical music's for old people, what are you doing listening to that boring
stuff? Cum on, feel the noize!" Aaargh! If only they knew.
I had discovered all these new forms that music could take - the symphony, the concerto, the
overture, variations on a theme, ballet music, chamber music, etc. Then there were the discrete
differences in styles from different periods in history - the baroque, the classical, the romantic, the postromantic - apparently I wasn't listening to much "classical" music at all (which is why I always put that
term in quotes) - the last Classical era composer was Beethoven, who was also the first Romantic era
composer. I started to notice that after Beethoven, composers were more and more putting their own
stamp on their music. It was easy to differentiate between Rimsky-Korsakov and Tchaikovsky, and
neither of them could be mistaken for Stravinsky, even by a listener who was tone-deaf. I remember
listening to his Petruchka ballet music, and thinking, "This is all the work of one man, and it's amazing.
He's using the same orchestra, more or less, as any other composer, but he gets completely different
sounds out of it. And it all came out of his head. Just one person can do all this. Incredible!"
So, my purpose of this book is to try and pass on my enthusiasm to others; to demonstrate that
"classical" music - for want of a better description - is not just for old fogeys or highbrow intellectuals.
Music is for everyone, and that goes for all music. (The composer Schnittke famously said “I love ALL
of music!”) There should be no boundaries to music, nothing off-limits, nothing "out of fashion" or out
of bounds. I don't want either to write a textbook on music theory, that's been done many times before
by people much more knowledgeable than me in these matters. Besides, music can easily be overanalysed - if you start poring over the crotchets and quavers, scrutinising the mixolydian modes and the
twelve-tone-rows, the music itself slips right through your fingers and disappears, and all you're left with
is dry theory. This in my opinion has been the downfall of a great deal of mid to late C20 th composers
who tended to concentrate too much on the theory and forgot they were, after all, only writing music meant to be appreciated by ordinary people who may not be able to follow over-complex musical
arguments. No - I want to explore my favourite music in terms of its emotional impact; how a certain
piece affected me the first time I heard it, what was going through the composer's mind when he wrote
it, what was perhaps going on in his life (because this is quite often relevant.) Not that you need to know
this to appreciate good music, but it does help to fill out the picture a bit, and a little understanding of
the composer's thoughts can yield a great deal of insight into the music itself. So I intend to keep the
musical theory to an absolute minimum, and concentrate on my personal thoughts and feelings. Rest
assured - I certainly won’t be mentioning mixolydian modes again – at least not in this section!
One other point I want to make here, and that concerns language. I am English; I speak English.
English is the standard International Language, and the language of the Internet. Classical music
however has been plagued with a polyglot mix of languages since the year dot, and is, I submit, partly
responsible for its unpopularity. For example, why do we usually refer to Dukas’s masterpiece The
Sorcerer’s Apprentice in English when it is actually a French piece (L’Apprenti Sourcier), yet other
pieces are almost never referred to in English (Symphonie Fantastique is almost never called The
Fantastic Symphony by English speaking people. Why not? That’s what it is.) Why, when discussing
Mozart’s operas, do we blithely trot out The Marriage of Figaro in English, but when it comes to Die
Entführung aus dem Serail (a title which means nothing to me), it is almost never referred to as The
Abduction from the Seraglio, which makes slightly more sense. Or Cosi fan tutte – wouldn’t it sound
better as All women are like that? I put it down to snobbery, which does music a great deal of harm in
the long run. Some titles are truly polyglot, for example Rimsky-Korsakoff’s Capriccio Espagnol – one
word French, the other Spanish - and written by a Russian! Why not call it Spanish Caprice – then we
all know what it is. So for the sake of this essay, since it is written in English I will use mainly English
titles, with the composer’s preferred title in parentheses where necessary. Sorry if this smacks of
xenophobia; it isn’t meant to, I just want to provide some sort of consistency of language which the
world of Classical Music drastically needs.
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CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION ...................................................................................................................................... 1
SO WHO WROTE THE FIRST SYMPHONY? .................................................................................... 9
THE 18TH CENTURY SYMPHONY - THE CLASSICAL PERIOD.................................................. 10
Haydn’s Best Symphonies: ............................................................................................................... 11
Mozart’s Best Symphonies: .............................................................................................................. 12
THE 19TH CENTURY SYMPHONY ................................................................................................... 13
THE EARLY ROMANTIC PERIOD – BERLIOZ & MENDELSSOHN ........................................... 16
THE MID-ROMANTIC PERIOD – LISZT, DVOŘÁK, TCHAIKOVSKY, BRAHMS .................... 20
THE LATE ROMANTICS –BRUCKNER, MAHLER, RACHMANINOV ....................................... 27
THE 20TH CENTURY SYMPHONY ................................................................................................... 34
UNFINISHED & RECONSTRUCTED SYMPHONIES ..................................................................... 36
SYMPHONIES IN ALL BUT NAME ................................................................................................. 37
2. THE CONCERTO ................................................................................................................................ 38
3. ORCHESTRAL MUSIC – SUITES, OVERTURES ETC. .................................................................. 38
4. CHAMBER MUSIC ............................................................................................................................. 38
5. BALLET MUSIC.................................................................................................................................. 38
6. SOLO INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC ...................................................................................................... 38
7. ANYTHING ELSE I’VE MISSED? (NOT COUNTING OPERA)..................................................... 38
These sections to be completed later8. DETAILED ANALYSES OF MY FAVOURITE PIECES ...... 38
8. DETAILED ANALYSES OF MY FAVOURITE PIECES ................................................................ 39
HAYDN, FRANZ JOSEPH (1732-1809) ............................................................................................. 39
Symphony no.39 in g minor (1770) .................................................................................................. 39
Symphony no.44 in e minor “Mourning” (“Trauer”) (1772) ............................................................ 39
Symphony no.45 in f# minor “Farewell” (1772) .............................................................................. 40
Symphony no.73 in D “La Chasse” (1783) ...................................................................................... 40
Symphony no.94 in G “Surprise” (1791) .......................................................................................... 40
Symphony no.101 in D “The Clock” (1794) .................................................................................... 41
WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1756-1791) ............................................................................ 42
Symphony no.36 in C, k425 “Linz” (1783) ...................................................................................... 42
Symphony no.37 – what’s the deal with this then? .......................................................................... 42
Symphony no.38 in D, k504 “Prague” (1786) .................................................................................. 42
BEETHOVEN, LUDWIG VAN (1770-1827) ...................................................................................... 44
Symphony no.1 in C major op.21 (1800) ......................................................................................... 44
Symphony no.2 in D major op.36 (1802) ......................................................................................... 44
Symphony no.3 in Eb major op.55 “Eroica” (1804) ......................................................................... 44
Symphony no.5 in C minor op.67 “Fate” (1806) .............................................................................. 46
Symphony no.6 in F major op.68 “Pastoral” (1808) ........................................................................ 47
Symphony no.7 in A major op.92 (1812) ......................................................................................... 47
Symphony no.9 in D minor op.125 “Choral” (1824)........................................................................ 48
SCHUBERT, FRANZ (1797-1828) .................................................................................................... 50
Symphony no.8 in b minor op.125 “Unfinished” (1822).................................................................. 50
FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY (1809-1847) ..................................................................... 52
Symphony no.1 in C (1824) .............................................................................................................. 52
SCHUMANN, ROBERT (1810-1856) ................................................................................................. 53
Symphony no.1 in B op.38 “Spring” (1841)..................................................................................... 53
BIZET, GEORGES (1838-1875) .......................................................................................................... 54
Symphony no.1 in C (1855) .............................................................................................................. 54
TCHAIKOVSKY, PYTOR ILYCH (1840-1897), Russian .................................................................. 55
Symphony no.1 In G "Winter Dreams" op.13 (1874)....................................................................... 55
Symphony no.2 In G "Little Russian" op.17 (1872) ......................................................................... 55
MAHLER, GUSTAV (1860-1911), Austrian ....................................................................................... 57
MAHLER, GUSTAV (1860-1911), Austrian ....................................................................................... 57
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Symphony no.1 in d minor “Titan” (1888) ....................................................................................... 57
Symphony no.2 in c minor ‘Resurrection’ (1898) ............................................................................ 58
Symphony no.5 (1902)...................................................................................................................... 61
IVES, CHARLES EDWARD (1874-1954), American ........................................................................ 62
Symphony no.2 (1902)...................................................................................................................... 62
SIBELIUS, JEAN JOHANN JULIUS (1865-1957), Finnish ............................................................... 63
Symphony no.1 in e minor, op.39 (1899) ......................................................................................... 63
Symphony no.2 in D, op.43 (1902)................................................................................................... 63
9. MY FAVOURITE COMPOSERS........................................................................................................ 65
BACH, JOHANN SEBASTIAN (1685-1750), German................................................................... 65
HAYDN, FRANZ JOSEPH (1732-1809), Austrian ......................................................................... 65
BEETHOVEN, LUDWIG VAN (1770-1827), German ................................................................... 65
MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY, FELIX (1809-1847), German.................................................. 66
BRAHMS, JOHANNES (1833-1897), German ............................................................................... 66
TCHAIKOVSKY, PYTOR ILYCH (1840-1897), Russian .............................................................. 66
MAHLER, GUSTAV (1860-1911), Austrian ................................................................................... 66
SIBELIUS, JEAN JOHANN JULIUS (1865-1957), Finnish ........................................................... 67
10. COMPOSERS NAMES AS ADJECTIVES ....................................................................................... 68
11. GLOSSARY ....................................................................................................................................... 69
12. REFERENCES & CREDITS .............................................................................................................. 70
Additional notes and criticisms kindly supplied by Joshua B. Lily.................................................. 70
Note: I am not writing this book linearly; I am skipping around it adding bits here and there as I think of
them, so if you think you’ve already read a chapter, it may have changed since you last saw it!
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1. THE SYMPHONY
Put yourself in my position in 1973 - I'm sixteen, I know nothing - and I mean nothing about
classical music. In 1973 in England everybody’s talking about Slade, T. Rex, Paper Lace (“Billy don’t
be a Hero” was a big hit at the time), and The Wombles. (Not that there’s anything wrong with The
Wombles; Mike Batt wrote some excellent music for them!) Anyway, I find a mono recording of
Beethoven's 3rd symphony (The Heroic or Eroica if you insist, which every schoolboy thinks of as the
“Erotica”) and put it on the turntable. Of course I have heard of Beethoven, but apart from the opening
bars of the famous 5th da-da-da-dum, I know nothing of the man or his music. At the start of my
lifetime-long journey into music I have inadvertently stumbled on possibly the greatest classical
symphony ever written, bar none. It starts with two loud stabs to grab your attention;
Bam! Bam!
If you have a recording of this musical epic, please put it on now. Imagine you've never heard it
before. Imagine you've never heard anything classical before. (If you haven't, then you shouldn't have to
stretch your imagination too hard! But all the same, try to forget about the sort of music you usually
listen to as well.) You will be almost in the same state of mind as the first audience to hear this piece in
1804. I imagine they all sat with their mouths open, thinking, "What on earth is this?" It's music, but it
doesn't just trot along merrily like something by Mozart or Haydn - it roars! It cries! It stamps its feet
and shouts! It demands to be heard - you can't ignore it; it's like a petulant child wanting his favourite
toy and doing everything he can to get your attention. Not that it's constantly loud, it dies away, then
comes back at you again, more urgent than ever. It changes its mood every minute or so, with the result
that you're never sure what's going to happen next. But everything that does happen sounds logical and
inevitable, after you've heard it. All this was Beethoven's intention, of course. He knew exactly what he
was doing, and never puts a foot wrong - at least not intentionally. According to the critics of the time
though, he did make quite a few mistakes, but to young Ludwig they weren't mistakes at all. I'll point
these "mistakes" out later. Suffice to say that even at this early stage of his career, Beethoven was happy
to bend the rules considerably and annoy everyone around him who thought they know what good music
was all about. Beethoven was 33 at the time he wrote this - and had already written a considerable
amount of music, but this symphony marked a turning point, not only in his writing style, but also in the
style of ALL music, amazing as that may sound. When Haydn (Beethoven's music teacher) heard it, he
said that "From today, music will never be the same again" - and he was right. The pupil had become the
master.
And this was more or less the first symphony I ever heard in my life. I couldn't have had a better
introduction.
So, let's take a closer look at this musical form called the "symphony". What exactly is a
symphony, anyway? How do you define a symphony? How do you write one? Which composers were
the best symphonists, and why? Do composers still write symphonies? If so, who? OK, here’s what I’ve
learned over the years.
The symphony is sometimes said to be artistically the highest form of music - but that's not
necessarily true. It is however a highly regarded form of abstract music, with its own rules (which are
quite often broken) and accepted forms (which are not always adhered to). In fact, if you try to define
what a symphony actually is, you quite quickly come unstuck. Consider the following:
Any musicologist worth his salt will tell you that a symphony:
Generally comprises four sections or "movements" (although it can have any number; Mahler's
symphonies usually have 5, Messiaen's have up to 10, plus there are numerous single-movement
symphonies. Mendelssohn’s symphonies have standard movements, but mostly they are not discrete
sections, they tend to merge together seamlessly into a continuous stream of music.)
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The first movement is usually in a fast tempo, then there is a slow movement, followed by a "scherzo" or
movement in 3/4 time, then a fast finale with a rousing conclusion. (Again there are plenty of examples
that do not fit this pattern at all. Tchaikovsky’s 6th and Mahler’s 9th both end with slow ponderous
adagios; Shostakovich’s 6th opens with a long almost painfully slow adagio, etc. Bax didn’t bother with
scherzos at all; every one of his symphonies have just 3 movements.)
It is written for an ensemble orchestra without solo parts. (But Sorabji’s and Widor's symphonies are
mostly for solo organ, Bernstein's 2nd and Szymanowski’s 4th are more like piano concertos, Malcolm
Williamson wrote a symphony for voices alone, and some of Glenn Branca's are written for massed
electric guitars!)
It lasts approximately 30-40 minutes (But nearly all of Mahler's last well over an hour; Mozart's early
symphonies and Havergal Brian's late ones last less than 10 minutes.)
The first movement is usually written in a style called "Sonata form"; the third or “Scherzo” movement
is in triple time, and the finale is in rondo form. But most Russian symphonies don't, they have their
own ideas about what a symphony sounds like, and it differs considerably from the accepted Germanic
standard set down by the Viennese school of composers. (I will attempt to explain such descriptions as
sonata form, scherzo & rondo later.)
So, after weighing all that up, we come to the conclusion that a symphony is - a piece of music!
You could write a 5-minute banjo solo and call it a symphony if these rules are anything to go by. The
dictionary definition of the word symphony is literally "sounding together" - that's all it means. So even
by that definition, Widor's solo organ symphonies are out - they only involve one instrument. Surely
"sounding together" implies more than one...?
It might be more appropriate to look for a definition of the word Symphonic instead, as that may
be more helpful. Lots of things can be – and often are – called symphonic, and not all of them have
anything to do with music. I have heard paintings being called symphonic, even computer programs. It
seems to me that the word “symphonic” conveys any work of any type that has had a great deal of
thought put into its conception, and has a specific design right from the start. You could call the Sistine
Chapel painting symphonic. You could even call Birmingham’s Spaghetti Junction symphonic at a pinch
– it was at least designed to look exactly as it does (apart from the crumbling bits!) but I would not call
the London Underground symphonic, as it was not designed as a complete finished work It started off
quite small and grew over the years as London itself grew. I hope you can see the distinction. The
London Underground is more organic than symphonic. So, getting back to the music, if a symphony is
basically “symphonic” as I’m sure it must be, then it must also fit these criteria. It must have a certain
definite structure and complexity that is an integral part of its design. So that’s my definition of a
symphony, and I’m sticking with it.
So going by the above guidelines, the symphonies that deviate the least from them are probably
Brahms's four, I reckon - even Beethoven's output of nine deviate in one way or another. Dvořák's nine
symphonies are also quite acceptable as benchmarks for a standard symphony - at least for a late C19th
model. For the C18th you would find Mozart's middle period symphonies and most of Haydn's late ones
quite acceptable. But what about a model for C20th symphonies? The C20th saw the most radical
departures from the symphonic norm ever, and it's hard to pin down a typical C20th work. Prokofiev's
5th, perhaps, or Walton's 1st, or Tippett's 1st and 2nd (not very well-known works, but they deserve to be.)
However, going by my definition deriving from the term symphonic opens the door to extremely diverse
styles, which basically encompasses all other symphonies past and present (and probably future too.)
The upshot of all this is that the term symphony is extremely loose, but for a novice it helps to
learn the way the form developed over the centuries, which in turn makes it easier to see why each
composer chose to bend the rules in his own particular way. So, let's start at the beginning...
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SO WHO WROTE THE FIRST SYMPHONY?
There is no "first symphony" as such; but its development can be traced way back to medieval
times when musicians would play little suites of dances for ceremonies and special occasions, or even
just for tavern or street music, of which there seems to have been a great deal in those days. These suites
would be made up of several dance tunes in different rhythms and speeds for the party guests to dance
to. An excellent example of this would be the suite called Dansereye by Tylman Susato (c1500-c1561).
Not much is known of Susato; he lived in Antwerp and seems to have been more of a music collector
than a writer, but the tunes he either collected or wrote are very engaging. At that time, music was very
sparsely annotated compared to today's standards, and instrumentation was open to whatever musicians
were around at the time to play it, so each performance was more or less unique. The main reason
Susato's music survives is mainly due to the fact that music printing had just come into existence at the
time, and Susato was employed as a calligrapher in Antwerp as well as being a respected musician in the
town. This combination of skills resulted in Susato's music being the earliest printed music in the world,
and hence survives intact today.
So is Susato the "father" of the symphony? Well... no. But he is definitely an ancestor of sorts.
Dansereye is basically dance music as its title suggests, but the idea of small connected pieces that make
up a larger whole has its genesis here.
Moving on almost a century, we come across Michael Praetorius, and his lovely collection of
dance tunes called Terpsichore ("Terp-sickory") from 1612. Not much has changed since Susato's time,
the only advance being that Praetorius specifies his instruments much more precisely. Terpsichore
comprises over 300 dance tunes collected by Praetorius, but he arranges them in what he called Whole
consort or Broken consort. Whole consort means basically instruments of the same family such as
strings or wind instruments, and consequently Broken consort refers to a more mixed bag of
instruments. In his own words, a broken consort is "when several persons with a variety of instruments,
such as a clavicembalo or large spinet, large viol, harp, lutes, theorbos, pandoras, cither, viola da
gamba, solemn trombone or racket are gathered together in company to form a smooth, gracious and
harmonious ensemble, and to play together in sweet accord." Praetorius gives each instrument in the
ensemble its own distinct voice, which in a way is the beginning of orchestral "colour" so beloved of the
best composers of the later centuries. The music is still intended to be danced to, but the orchestral form
of the symphony has its roots here, even if the instruments themselves are unfamiliar to today's
audiences. You could say that a modern orchestra is a set of whole consorts (the string section, the brass
section etc) arranged in a meta-broken consort!
Another century on and we find ourselves now in the early C18th. The man around whom all
music seems to revolve (and indeed evolve) at this point in time is Johann Sebastian Bach (16851750). Bach has very little to do with the development of the symphony, at least not directly, but without
his invention of the Equal Temperament scale of tuning, music wouldn’t have developed much further at
all. But Bach had two sons (amongst his 20-odd children), Johann Christian and Carl Phillip
Emmanuel, who were writers of the embryonic symphony - sometimes called Overture, or Concerto
Grosso, or even Sonata (musical forms of all kinds were being developed at this stage, and had not yet
formed separate identities.) The musical form that came to be known as a symphony in the mid-1700’s
developed mainly from the Italian Overture, which tended to have three sections in the sequence fastslow-fast. From this and the dance suite form previously discussed, the early C18th symphony began to
take shape.
Another good example of an early C18th symphonic composer would be William Boyce (1711 1779) – an English composer no less! He wrote a handful of short symphonies in the Italian style
between 1739 and 1756; each lasting between 5 and 10 minutes. Charming little miniatures; they also
serve as a base-point for comparison against the later C18th model. Not much else is heard musically
(symphonic or otherwise) from England from this point right up to the time of Elgar at the end on the
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C19th, giving rise to the rather unfair label Land Without Music. Even Boyce was considered a
lightweight; not a contributor to the feverish musical development going on in the heart of Europe.
THE 18TH CENTURY SYMPHONY - THE CLASSICAL PERIOD
The earliest symphonies tend to be less than ten minutes long, and nearly always fast-slow-fast,
with each section having very little if anything to do (thematically) with the others. As well as J.C and
C.P.E. Bach, other composers are generally credited with developing the early symphony; namely
Monn, Sammartini and Stamitz – the latter inserted a fourth movement (usually placed third) called the
Minuet. Now the stage is set – the symphony has become a discrete musical form, all it needs is a master
composer to give it the breath of life and send it out into the world. Enter Joseph Haydn.
Haydn is generally credited with being the “godfather” of the symphony – and with good reason.
Not simply because he wrote over 100 of them in his lifetime (some composers, i.e. Molter, wrote
more), but because Haydn took the idea and stretched it; twisted it into new shapes like a novelty
balloon-blower at a children’s party. Haydn found the symphony a mere musical whim; he left it an
artistic creation with a great deal of merit. Many of Haydn’s symphonies are still performed regularly
today by full-blown orchestras, even though some of them were written for only a handful of players.
Haydn incorporated Stamitz’s idea of the Minuet as a third movement, and introduced a Trio to go with
it, so we have the Minuet & Trio as a standard 3rd movement. He often gave the first movement a slow
introduction before the main theme starts – but not always. He sometimes changed the order of the
movements. Three early symphonies of his, called Morning, Noon and Evening (nos. 6, 7 and 8) have
several solos in each movement, written for specific players in the orchestra of Prince Esterhazy,
Haydn’s employer. Haydn loved playing little jokes on his audience occasionally; the most famous
being in the Farewell symphony (no.45) where after a furious finale, the music suddenly stops – then
restarts with a slow languid theme, then each player in turn leaves the stage till at the end there are just
two solo violins, who bring the music to a thoughtful close then also snuff out their candles and leave
the darkened stage. The music was written in response to the players complaining that they hadn’t had a
holiday in months, which makes the whole symphony a kind of “protest song”. (The prince apparently
took the hint, and gave them their holiday!)
Now we move rapidly on to 1772, and a few hundred miles away in Prague a precocious
teenager – already an old hand at composition - is busy writing symphonies in profusion. His name?
Why do you need to ask? You know exactly who I’m referring to. The upstart genius himself; Johannes
Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus… (known to his friends as Amadeus) Mozart.
It is a common mistake to suppose that Mozart succeeded Haydn in symphonic writing. In fact
since Mozart only lived for 35 years and Haydn more than twice that, the old master was still writing
symphonies (and other forms of music) long after Mozart’s death, although his style was almost
certainly affected by the younger genius. Mozart’s contribution to the symphony was to make it more
dynamic, more intense, introducing complex contrapuntal techniques and intricate key changes etc.
(Sorry about the word “contrapuntal” slipping in there, I must be more careful! I promise I’ll try to keep
it simple.) His final three symphonies; nos. 39 to 41 were reputedly all written within the space of six
weeks in 1791, but their impact on the musical world was enormous. Had Mozart lived even five more
years, who knows what wonders he might have unleashed on the world, with these three masterly works
alone it is obvious that his star was still ascending to unexplored heights of musical perfection. It is also
worth asking the question that had he lived into the C19th, what effect would he have had on the young
Beethoven, who wrote his first relatively unremarkable symphony at the turn of that century? (I hesitate
to call it “unremarkable” even with the qualifier “relatively” – it’s still an superb work. Just not quite up
to Mozart’s final few masterpieces, let’s be honest.)
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However, before we plunge headlong into another century let’s take stock of what we (or an
audience of the time) might have been aware of symphony-wise. There are really only two composers
we can point to at this stage; Haydn and Mozart. Their best works (in my opinion at least) would be:
Haydn’s Best Symphonies:
Nos 6, 7 & 8 Morning, Noon and Evening (Le Matin, Le Midi & Le Soir) – as described earlier.
No.39 - A rarely heard work, but one of my favourites as I heard it when still in my teens. The music has
a disturbing air of despondency and contains brief pauses every now and then, like someone sobbing
quietly behind a closed door.
No.44 the Mourning (“Trauer”). Haydn was experimenting with minor keys at this point in what came
to be known as his Sturm und Drang period (meaning “Storm and Stress”.) This was the start of
attempts to put emotions into instrumental music – the culmination of which was Mahler’s colossal
shouts of anguish in his 2nd, 6th and 9th symphonies 130 years later.
No.45 the Farewell – as described earlier.
No.60 The Distraction (“Il Distratto”) - plays like a regular four-movement Haydn symphony for about
20 minutes, but then he cheekily adds two more movements just when you think it’s all over. In the
finale proper, the orchestra makes a deliberate false start, screeches to a halt, then “tunes up” before
starting again – when played properly, it’s quite shocking. Haydn couldn’t resist his little jokes.
No.73 The Chase (“La Chasse”) – the finale is based on hunting calls and portrays a foxhunt quite
effectively. This could almost be called “Programme music” in which case it is the first of its kind, predating Beethoven’s Pastoral by 30 years.
No.94 The Surprise – with its famous sneaky tune in the second movement to lull the audience into a
false sense of security; then a sudden loud bang to wake them up.
No.96 The Miracle – so called because at the premiere the audience all gathered up close to the stage to
get a glimpse of Haydn – and a large chandelier came crashing down behind them! Nobody was hurt,
and the name stuck – although for some reason the name “Miracle” is sometimes given to no.102
instead. (Maybe they should have called it the “Chandelier” symphony, or perhaps the “Del Boy”!
“Awlrite Rodders, when I say free…”)
One note of warning here; although I will be keeping technical jargon to a minimum, I can’t
avoid talking about the main style of symphonic writing which is called Sonata Form, and consists of
such sections as Exposition, Development, Recapitulation and usually a Coda. Please read the definition
of these terms in the glossary at the back of the book if you don’t know what they are, as they crop up a
lot from now on, and there’s no getting away from them!
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Mozart’s Best Symphonies:
No.36 The Linz – supposedly written in four DAYS in 1783. Go figure.
(There was no no.37 by Mozart, only an introduction to a symphony written by another composer.)
No.38 The Prague. Possibly Mozart’s longest symphony at 30-35 minutes, but comprising only three
movements – i.e. no Minuet & Trio. The opening movement has a long slow introduction before the
main theme gets underway, which is one of Mozart’s best, and he really puts everything he’s got into it.
No.39 in E flat. Nos. 39-41 are Mozart’s “Big Three” which he is supposed to have written entirely in
the space of six weeks. What was the rush? Probably nothing; it was just his way.
No.40 The famous G minor, of which much has already been said by just about everybody. It’s
supposed to be melancholy, but I don’t think so. It isn’t a patch on Haydn’s Sturm & Drang symphonies
in my opinion, although it’s still an accomplished work and damn and blast it, you’re SUPPOSED to
like it!
No.41 The Jupiter - Mozart’s last and most complex symphony. A bit rich for my taste, it seems to me
to be uneven and bumpy, with too many stops & starts in the 1st movement. The finale gets a bit hectic
too, but it’s apparently quite popular for all that.
From these descriptions you can probably tell that I am more of a Haydn fan than a Mozart one –
I could name probably a dozen more Haydn symphonies that I like, but from Mozart’s output of 41
symphonies, these five are the only ones I can appreciate. But that’s just my opinion, and I am entitled to
it! For me, Haydn remains the true master of the C18th symphony, and his nickname as the Godfather of
the Symphony is well earned.
I’m skipping quickly over the Haydn/Mozart era in any case, as there is no real point in
examining these early symphonies in too much detail. There are plenty of other and more
knowledgeable musicologists around who have done that already, and I want to concentrate purely on
the impact the music has had on me personally and that means advancing to the 19th and 20th centuries,
so let’s move on.
Just before I do however, I’ll just have a go at explaining the point a lot of people make
concerning symphonies, and that is; why don’t they all have names? Why use numbers at all? Well, as
you can see by the above lists, some symphonies do indeed have names, but the vast majority don’t. In
H & M’s time they didn’t have numbers either; they were known by their key definitions, so the one we
know of as Mozart’s no.40 nowadays was simply called the “G minor” at the time. It wasn’t even the
40th symphony Mozart wrote, as he was so prolific that even he didn’t bother counting them, and they
were only numbered decades later. Even then a few were left out because they had been lost at the time,
and some undoubtedly still are. A catalogue of Haydn’s symphonies lists 108 completed ones and
several fragments and alternative versions of others, but only 104 are numbered specifically, and still
nowhere near chronologically. As for the ones that do have names, some of them were named
specifically by the composer, and others received their names years afterwards (like the Jupiter for
example. That wasn’t Mozart’s own title.) Sometimes I like to add my own pet names to my favourite
symphonies, like Dvořák’s “Brown” symphony (no.7). Well, it sounds very brown to me!
Anyway, a symphony is basically abstract (at least most of them are) and so giving them a name
would evoke connotations and irrelevant meanings that were never intended by the composer. Mahler
initially named his first symphony Titan but then withdrew the name after the first performance,
preferring it to be known simply as “No.1 in D minor”, and there are plenty of other examples. So now
you know.
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THE 19TH CENTURY SYMPHONY
At the dawn of the new century a new figure steps – no, strides boldly and grumpily into the
spotlight. He hails from Bonn, a city not known for any great musical talent. He is already 30 years old,
and has a great deal of music to his credit, although at this point mostly chamber and solo piano music.
His musical training was provided by Haydn, who he would later criticise as having “taught him
nothing” (there’s gratitude for you). He is slightly worried that he sometimes has difficulty hearing what
people are saying. His name, of course, is Ludwig Van Beethoven.
By 1804, and with two none-too-modest symphonies under his belt, he decides on a new tack.
Beethoven is a great admirer of Napoleon, who he regards as the “Champion of the poor”. His new
symphony, he states, is about Bonaparte. Mutters of confusion amongst the audience. “How can a piece
of music be about anything?” they ask. Well, that’s a good question. Up to this point, music has been
purely abstract. Even Haydn’s Sturm und Drang works couldn’t be attached to any real event in people’s
lives – they were abstractions, with no link to reality. Music - you either danced to it, prayed to it, or (if
you were a prince and could afford it) had it playing quietly in the background at your dinner parties to
entertain your guests. Well the guests at the first performance of Herr Ludwig’s new work are about to
have their whole cosy musical world blown away.
Beethoven is a new breed of composer. All composers before him were employees of the rich;
paid to produce works for their employers’ ears alone, who sometimes even took the credit for writing
them too. Haydn is a prime example of this arrangement, although towards the end of his life he was
given free reign to write what he pleased. Beethoven however, was an artist, and made sure people knew
it. He wrote what he wanted when he wanted, and if people liked what he wrote they might commission
him for a new work or offer to pay for his music to be performed for them, which they did. But what
Beethoven wrote continually puzzled or even shocked audiences and patrons alike. He simply didn’t
play by the rules. He was the quintessential and original musical maverick, insisting that he was a
member of the nobility by virtue of his talent alone. This tended to upset people in high places; on one
occasion he famously remarked to a prince, “You are a mere prince. There are hundreds of princes. I
am Beethoven! The will only ever be one Beethoven!” Basically he was an arrogant S.O.B., but he had
something to be arrogant about! He knew that his music would live on after him while princes come and
go with predictable regal monotony.
So we come to his third symphony, subtitled the Eroica – the Heroic, and heroic it certainly is.
Imagine an audience of music-loving but narrow-minded aristocrats (for which you can’t really blame
them at this point in time, used to hearing the aural tidiness of Haydn and Mozart), sitting down and
trying to take in this roaring tidal wave of music. If I had a time machine, and could visit any musical
performance of the past, this is the one I would visit just to see the looks on their faces. They must have
been horrified! Their whole world was being kicked away by this insane music that ebbed and flowed
like no music had ever done before. Offbeat rhythms; crazy scurrilous string passages; triple horns
blazing out strident fanfares… The cosy world of the baroque had gone for good. This was music with
raw emotion. It depicts the heat of battle, the charging horses, the power and passion of conquest, and all
in pure musical terms. Then just as the first movement comes to a rousing conclusion finishing on the
same two loud chords as it started; we are plunged into a bleak funeral march the like of which had no
precedent. The music almost disintegrates at the end, breaking up into pieces separated by long pauses,
as if grieving quietly at some great loss. A lament for a hero. Then just as we are recovering from that,
Beethoven gives us another twist – the Scherzo1. No dainty dance-like Minuet & Trio like the old
masters of the previous century, but a skittish piece in compound triple time, with those horns again
sounding out a chorale-like tune which hangs in the air at the end of the Trio – a question unanswered.
Then hot on the heels of that is the finale; intended to follow with hardly a pause for breath; presenting
us with almost the simplest tune imaginable to throw the audience off their guard, then proceeding to put
said tune through a seemingly inexhaustible profusion of variations till they must have been quite dizzy
trying to keep up. If there can be such a thing as Wide-Screen Music, then this is it.
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It is worth mentioning that when Beethoven heard that Napoleon had declared himself emperor,
he angrily scribbled out the name Bonaparte from the title page of the symphony and changed the
dedication to “The memory of a great man”. Most people now are in agreement that Beethoven was
referring to himself. As Haydn had noted after hearing it for the first time, Beethoven had put himself in
the centre of his own music; the Artist as Hero. And thus, with this one piece of music the Romantic era
was born. The door had been flung open to composers such as Berlioz, Liszt, Wagner, and ultimately
Mahler, to bare their souls in their music throughout the next hundred years.
If Haydn was the symphony’s Godfather, then Beethoven was its P.E. teacher and spiritual
guide: Haydn successfully oversaw its development into adolescence, Beethoven gave it muscles and
kicked it out into the Big Wide World with a swagger. After the Eroica came the strident Fifth, which
has no official name but is sometimes subtitled “Thus Fate knocks at the door” or simply Fate. And at
the same time he was writing this martial music he was also working on the 6th – the Pastoral. Music
that instantly evokes feelings of being at one with the countryside, with its birdcalls, peasant dances and
babbling brooks. Both were introduced to the public in the same evening in December 1808 in a fourhour all-Beethoven concert in freezing conditions at the Theatre an der Wien in Vienna. By this time
Beethoven was acutely aware of his oncoming deafness, and had great difficulty in coming to terms that
he – the greatest composer in the world (he knew exactly who he was) couldn’t hear his own
compositions; couldn’t even hear himself play the piano without jamming one end of a metal pipe in his
ear and holding the other end to the wooden frame of the piano. Yet he went on to write three more
symphonies and a vast catalogue of other works in the ensuing 20 years, including of course the glorious
9th or Choral symphony - by which time he was totally deaf. At the first performance of this huge Ode to
Joy, he clambered up onto the stage and tried to conduct the orchestra through the finale (even though he
couldn’t hear a note) and had to be ushered onto the side of the stage where he stood and watched the
orchestra (although according to some accounts he stayed on stage throughout the work). Then at the
end, with the stone deaf maestro not even realising that it had finished, the actual conductor walked over
to him and gently turned him around to face the rapturous applause of the audience, whose joy and
appreciation he could at least see. A lovely story.
While I am here I should of course mention his other symphonies. The general consensus is that
B’s best symphonies were the odd-numbered ones, specifically 3,5,7 and 9. But each one of them is a
masterpiece in its own right, and each reflects a different aspect of the composer’s inner thoughts. The
1st, written at the rather advanced age of 30, sees Beethoven emulating his teacher Haydn to some
degree, although right from the first bar it asserts its individuality by opening with a what sounds like a
closing cadence or musical “full stop” – very original! The 2nd is similar in style but greatly expanded,
stretching the Haydnesque form to its limits. Then comes the ground-breaking 3rd discussed earlier,
followed by the 4th which takes a step back from the brink and returns us briefly to the safe world of
Haydn and Mozart – albeit through Beethoven’s ears (which were still fairly good at that time). Then
comes the strident 5th, which must have shocked and scared audiences at the time with its clamorous
cacophany and confident swagger. Revolutionary music for revolutionary times. It must have sounded
then like a Death Metal concert sounds to us now; ominous and threatening. Then all is sweetness and
light again in the Pastoral 6th, by which time everybody had more or less come to the conclusion that
Beethoven was ready for the funny farm. Someone famously remarked of his 7th that he “must have
been drunk when he wrote it”, and it’s not hard to understand why. The music of the 7 th is (as always
with Beethoven) confident, but also unpredictable and slightly off-kilter. The offbeat opening to the
Scherzo is said to take even the best orchestras by surprise and always sounds like the musical
equivalent of a rugby scrum, and the Bacchanalian finale sounds like a drunken riot in full swing with
tipsy party-goers swinging from the chandeliers. Wagner famously called it the “apotheosis of the
dance”. (Thomas Beecham was characteristically much more acerbic, saying "It's like a lot of yaks
jumping about”!) Then we come to the 8th, and again Beethoven steps back from the brink and gives us
a demure well-dressed piece – but beware! The finale has some surprises in store, including a cheeky
semitone drop when you least expect it, and just when you think it’s all over it carries on for another
three or four minutes, chuckling away to itself. Then of course there is the Glorious 9th…
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Beethoven took a long time to get around to writing his 9th symphony, in fact it very nearly
didn’t get written at all. It was only when he received a commission of £50 from the Philharmonic
Society of London in 1822 that he got to work. But when the symphony finally arrived two years after
that it brought the house down. A good 70 minutes long on average, it leaves all the others standing in
terms of sheer scale, not only of length but breadth and scope. Everybody goes on about the choral finale
and the famous “Ode to Joy”, but personally I find the three preceding movements to be colossal
musical statements in their own right. This is not so much a symphony as a musical event. You have to
hear the whole thing to put the finale into context; it’s no good listening to it on its own. The mighty 1st
movement, which lasts as long as most Mozart symphonies all by itself, sets the scene for over an hour
of magnificent musical discourse. The scherzo (which Beethoven places second for a change – another
new idea) with its bold punctuation on the timpani delighted the first audience and provoked a
spontaneous cheer. It could be the Gods themselves having a heated argument, then finally agreeing to
disagree. Then comes the serene third movement, washing away the remains of the Olympian anger and
itself melting away at the end. Then… WHAM! A huge discord blasts out, followed by what sounds like
a question blared out by the whole orchestra. No, not a question, more like a demand. What now? We
hear past themes from the previous three movements trotted out for inspection, one by one, to be judged
unworthy in turn. No, that won’t do, nor that. What about…? No. NO. There must be something else.
Something MORE. Then…
A quiet little tune appears in the low strings, and begins to grow. Tentatively at first, then gaining
in confidence till it fills the whole orchestra. Yes! This is it! But wait! Something’s still missing. The
discordant howl screams out again, like a huge animal in pain. STOP! STOP!!!!
Now Beethoven pulls his masterstroke. The orchestra slams its brakes on so hard you almost get
whiplash, and then a human voice is heard for the first time after almost an hour of music. “O friends!
Not these sounds!” (“O freunde! Nicht diese töne!”) After that everything is raised another notch, and
the symphony goes into overdrive. The Ode to Joy is sung in all its glory, and it’s like the sun shining
for the first time in a hundred years. The cobwebs are swept away, and everything is light. Truly
magnificent. What would Haydn or Mozart have made of it, I wonder?
So next time you get the urge to listen to it, play it all the way through, don’t just content
yourself with the Ode section. Give yourself the luxury of setting aside 70-80 minutes of your time, and
hear the whole symphony as it was meant to be heard. It’s well worth it! (My favourite CD of the Choral
is by the Roy Goodman conducting the Hanover Band. It’s played on original C19 th instruments and
C19th tuning, and manages to get through the whole piece in just over an hour without rushing, but
imparts a sense of excitement to the whole thing. It’s how I imagine Beethoven actually meant it to
sound, and there are one or two surprises to anyone who thinks they know the work.)
Just before I move on however, I must mention Carl Maria von Weber, and his two
contributions to the symphonic genre. A contemporary of Beethoven and basically overshadowed by
him for his entire life, he nevertheless produced some fine music, of which his two symphonies are good
examples. Both written between 1806 and 1807, in other words during Beethoven’s most prolific period,
and so never really got the attention they deserved. Pity. Give them a listen too if you get a chance.
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THE EARLY ROMANTIC PERIOD – BERLIOZ & MENDELSSOHN
We now move forward three years to 1827 – old Ludwig is on his deathbed at the grand old age
of 57, and his protégée the symphony is progressing into confident adulthood. Our journey now takes us
to France, where a young romantic genius called Hector Berlioz is about to pour his own brand of
passion into the genre. Berlioz won’t have any truck with numbers for his symphonies; being French
n’est-ce pas?, he gives them names instead – and the first symphonic utterance from his pen is labelled
the Fantastic or Symphonie Fantastique, subtitled “An episode in the life of an Artist”. Which artist?
Why, himself, of course.
Berlioz (1803-1869) picked up the idea of the Artist as Hero from Beethoven and ran with it.
After a love affair with a singer called Harriet Smithson that went disastrously wrong, he spilled his
emotions onto the music stave with a vengeance; depicting the object of his tragic desire with a
recurring theme that ran throughout the whole of the five movement work. Hang on - Five movements?
Where did that extra movement come from? The only symphony prior to this with five movements was
Beethoven’s Pastoral, which had the third, fourth and fifth movements joined together into a seamless
whole. The extra movement was the “Storm” sequence, which suggested a real thunderstorm, and
nobody worried about it at the time as it fitted logically into the sound world that Beethoven had created.
But this was new – a symphony without a number, and with five separate movements each of which had
its own title to boot. First movement: Reveries, Passions. 2nd mvt: Scene at a Ball. Followed by Scene
in the Fields, then March to the Scaffold and finally The Witches Sabbath. Glory be. These titles
wouldn’t look out of place on a Uriah Heep album!
Berlioz was the first composer to use the idea of a recurring theme or what he called an idée
fixee2 or “fixed idea”) in his music – not just a simple meaningless tune but a melody which represented
a character; the appearance of this theme then becomes the character and the music takes on the role of
background to that character. This idea is still in use today, especially in film music. The next time you
watch a Star Wars film (especially The Empire Strikes Back or Return of the Jedi), notice that each time
you see a certain character such as Darth Vader, you hear a certain theme that represents him. (You
know the one; Da da da, dum-ti-da, dum-ti-da... Take a bow, John Williams.) Even if that character isn’t
on screen you might hear the tune if another character is talking about him or thinking about him. The
character and the tune become connected in your mind subconsciously. Wagner also used the idea in his
operas, but he didn’t invent it. The origin of this kind of musical representation is in fact the Fantastic
Symphony by Berlioz.
So as the music unfolds we hear in pure musical terms the adventures of the aforesaid artist, and
his fixation with the object of his desire. In the first movement we hear him reminiscing about all the
good times they had; the music (mostly just strings) leaps and dives like impassioned lovers consumed
by each other. In the second movement they are at the aforementioned ball engaged in a lively waltz; the
idée fixee becoming a part of the waltz tune. The third movement sees the artist standing on a hilltop –
alone. The music portrays a superb sense of isolation; the pertinent tune wafting across the scene like a
hint of perfume. At the start of the movement there is a little duet between two oboes representing
shepherds – one fairly nearby, the other in the distance; answering the call. The near one returns at the
end, but it is answered only by the distant thunder (a soft drum roll). This is Beethoven’s Pastoral idea
taken one step further - exquisite sound painting. You can hear the sunset in the music, and almost feel
the evening breeze cool and settle around you. Magnificent.
So far so good. But there are still two movements to come – and the next one is the now famous
March to the Scaffold. Things start to get ugly from this point – but in a fascinating and musically
exquisite way. Berlioz states that his hero has tried to poison himself with an overdose of opium (I often
wonder how close this is to the truth) and has a terrifying dream that he is about to be executed for the
murder of his loved one. There is a muffled drum roll, then raucous fanfares spit out a sarcastic
marching tune – the hero is being marched up to the waiting guillotine. Then a sudden pause – the idée
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fixee makes one brief final appearance. The doomed hero’s last thought? Then – CHOP! His head rolls;
the drums roll and the movement ends with another brief fanfare.
But this still isn’t the end! That was only a dream; he is still alive and still apparently dreaming.
Now we are led smack into the hurly-burly of the Witches’ Sabbath. This movement almost defies
description; it simply has to be heard to be believed. After a short schizophrenic introduction that sets
the gruesome scene, the music dies away and there is a brief pause before a loud bell starts tolling;
repeating the same three notes over and over again like a demented church bell ringer locked in the
belfry. Interlacing this call to arms the horns then shout out a long lolloping tune (based on the Dies Irae
– an ancient Gregorian chant) like some angry striding giant. This is subsequently answered by the
trombones in a similar vein, but double the speed; followed up at the rear by the woodwind section
sounding like some crippled midget trying to keep up with the others. This misfit trio stamp about for a
while like the Addams family woken up by that damn bell, then eventually the scene changes; we then
hear a crazy fugue on the strings which evokes a huge orgy with bodies falling over each other; the
fugue theme dies away then returns but in the “wrong key” - building up to a climax where the giant
strides are heard again on the trombones, then a brief but remarkable passage where the strings play col
legno (tapping their bows on the strings) - to me it sounds like a plague of bats flitting about. Then
another similar passage on flutes that immediately makes me think of mice and rats scurrying around.
I’ve never heard these analogies suggested anywhere else but to me that’s exactly what they sound like.
The whole movement is rounded out by more colossal grotesque fanfares and a final chord hammered
out like a machine-gun 25 times in the last three seconds.
And remember this was written in 1830. Beethoven’s body is hardly cold.
At this point we start to see the first divisions in musical development in terms of nationality.
The German symphonic tradition, which had its roots in Haydn and Mozart, continued through
Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann and Mendelssohn, only to lose its potency in the mid-1800’s mainly
due to the operatic output of Wagner. Wagner wasn’t interested in symphonies despite having written a
couple of early ones, and so in Germany at least there was a gap of some 30 years where no German
would be seen dead writing one. However, in other countries the idea of the symphony started to catch
on. Berlioz himself wrote three more, but in his usual method of eschewing numbers for names, called
them Funereal & Triumphant, Romeo and Juliet, and Harold in Italy (which is certainly more of a
symphony than the viola concerto it was originally intended to be.) Also in France we hear the 16 yearold Georges Bizet’s bright and breezy first symphony which bounces along with youthful zest. And
over in Sweden, Franz Berwald took up the symphonic baton and produced four works, which are often
overlooked, but excellent pieces none the less. (As for the Italians – well, it seems they were far more
preoccupied with Opera to write any decent symphonies. Do you know of any? I don’t.)
However, back in the pre-Wagnerite Fatherland there were symphonies aplenty emerging on the
scene, so kindly allow me to pay tribute to some of my favourites here before we go on.
It has been said that Schubert tended to work on one piece at a time, never starting a work until
he was satisfied with the one he was working on, which seems an odd thing to say when you know that
he actually left an awful lot of them uncompleted. At the time of his death just eighteen months after his
hero Beethoven, the world knew of just six Schubertian symphonies, all of them quite lightweight but
still competent. (The one we now know as no.9 turned up a while later.) There were also sketches for a
seventh, but that was considered to be all. More on Schubert in a moment…
Schumann’s symphonic total is four – definitely four. Although the one known as the 4th was
actually the first one to be written! This sort of thing happens a lot with the earlier composers, as lost
works are rediscovered and entered into the catalogues, in most cases nobody bothers to renumber the
rest, and to do so would cause confusion anyway. (The exception to this is Dvořák, whose symphonies
were completely renumbered in the 1950’s. You can still find old LP’s of his New World marked as
no.5. Nowadays of course it’s referred to as his 9th.) As a foursome, Schumann’s symphonies are
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appealing but hardly earth moving, and he is generally considered to be “not terribly good” at
orchestration. Some of his works were re-arranged by later composers (notably Mahler) to better effect.
Then we come to Mendelssohn, or Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy to give him his full name.
Mendelssohn is my absolute favourite C19th composer, bar none. Every single note he wrote sparkles
with light. Every phrase radiates beauty. I have often heard these praises heaped on Mozart, but in my
humble opinion every note of Mendelssohn’s is worth 10 of Mozart’s. At least. Mendelssohn’s total
symphonic count is five, plus twelve string symphonies he wrote while barely into his teens.
Mendelssohn’s five (fully orchestral) symphonies then, are:
The 1st in C minor (1824). Written at the tender age of 15, a scintillating half-hour that rattles
along at a terrific pace, and has some elements of Haydn’s Sturm & Drang in its nature. There isn’t a
single wasted note anywhere, which is generally true of all of Mendelssohn’s output. It’s lean, it’s mean,
and it strides boldly along like a seasoned marathon runner.
The 2nd, called the Hymn of Praise or Lobgesang (1839). This is Mendelssohn’s answer to
Beethoven’s Choral symphony, except in M’s case the chorus is ¾ of the whole work. A magnificent
shout of joy, almost the equal of the great master himself, and deserving of more publicity than it
generally gets. It was actually written to celebrate the 400th anniversary of the printing press and was
premiered in the Town Hall in Birmingham in 1840 (my home town!)
The 3rd, or Scottish symphony (1842). What can I say about this piece? Sumptuous. Chocolatey.
Passionate. It wraps itself around you like warm treacle, and keeps you in a cocoon of pure bliss for the
best part of an hour. Musical perfection. Yes, perfection; I’m not exaggerating. This symphony is
absolutely unimproveable. It could have been written by God.
The 4th, or Italian (1833). Similar in some ways to the 1st, it glides along effortlessly, with all
four movements merged into an almost seamless whole (as does the 3rd, a recurring trait of M’s with
exotic results.) This is one of the symphonies I heard all those years ago on a collection of 78rpm discs,
and I still get the urge to get up and change sides every four minutes when listening to this one. So it
turns out there is an “Italian” symphony after all, only it wasn’t written by an Italian, so there!
The 5th, or Reformation (1830). I’m not as familiar with this one as I am with the others, and not
as impressed, but having said that it is still a beautiful work and always welcome on my turntable so to
speak. (It was written to celebrate the 300th anniversary of the Diet of Augsburg of 1530.)
As well as the five orchestral symphonies listed here, Mendelssohn also wrote 12 symphonies for
strings alone between 1821 and 1823 (age 12 to 14). Youthful works they may be, but inferior or
immature they are not.
Mendelssohn’s music has been unjustly neglected over the years, mainly I believe because of the
Nazis’ lumping of his entire output with their detestable label Entartete musik (“Degenerate music”)
during the Jewish purges in the 1930’s and 40’s. Believe me, there is NOTHING degenerate about
Mendelssohn’s music, quite the opposite. It is also said that whenever Wagner conducted a piece by
Mendelssohn he wore gloves so he wouldn’t be “soiled” by M’s music. After the performance, Wagner
would take off the gloves and throw them on the floor to be swept away by a janitor. Another conductor
(whose name escapes me for the moment, but I think it might have been Otto Klemperer) also wore
white gloves to conduct M’s music, but as a mark of respect. I know which of these I prefer.
Mendelssohn gets my undying respect and admiration, and I love every note he ever wrote with
unbridled passion. His Scottish symphony is my idea of musical perfection, and his overture to the
Hebrides (“Fingal’s Cave”) is on an equal footing. There is nothing in the entire output of music that
can touch either of these works, except perhaps for other pieces by the same composer, or Beethoven’s
greatest masterpieces. When Mendelssohn died he was just 38. If only he’d lived even just 10 years
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more, I’m sure he could have left us many more sublime works. Theoretically he could have lived into
Mahler’s time, but sadly it didn’t happen. It seems that a great deal of the best composers died tragically
young. (Gershwin 39, Chopin 39, Bizet 37, Mozart 35, Schubert 31…) I can’t help wondering what
unimaginable masterpieces have been lost to us. Still, Long Live Mendelssohn – I salute you!
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THE MID-ROMANTIC PERIOD – LISZT, DVOŘÁK, TCHAIKOVSKY, BRAHMS
Now we reach the mid-point of the C19th, but before we venture any further let’s take a couple of
steps back to review a remarkable work that was completely unknown at the time – because its writer
left it unfinished in a drawer in his writing desk, then subsequently died young. I am referring of course,
to Schubert’s famous Unfinished Symphony.
Schubert lived in the same town as Beethoven, but his character couldn’t have been more
different from his hero’s fiery demeanour. Schubert was a quiet shy man, who regularly saw Beethoven
drinking in his local tavern, but could never pluck up enough courage to talk to him – which is a pity, as
we will never know if a meeting between them might have given Schubert enough courage to complete
some of his unfinished works. Schubert left dozens of works uncompleted, the most famous of which is
the one numbered 8.
Schubert’s symphonies are on the whole quite lightweight, more in the style of Haydn than
Beethoven, but this one piece in two rather long movements sounds as if it had been written by a totally
different composer. Maybe Schubert was deliberately trying something new, we will never know. We
will also never know what impact it might have made on the musical world in 1823 when Schubert
wrote it. Beethoven was still alive and still composing in that year – what would he have made of it if
Schubert had plucked up the courage to show it to him in the tavern? We can only guess. Instead he
gave the uncompleted manuscript to a friend (Josef Hüttenbrenner), who promptly forgot about it.
(Fool!) Beethoven died in March 1827 having no knowledge of Schubert’s existence, who subsequently
followed him to the grave a year and a half later at the tender age of just 31. His forgotten masterpiece
was not rediscovered for another 37 years, in 1865. By that time, the music world had changed
completely. Symphonies were out of fashion and symphonic poems were “in”, and their champion was
Franz Liszt.
Liszt did write two true symphonies however, and I should mention them here: the Dante (1856)
and the Faust (1857). I came to these works relatively recently, and was impressed with them straight
away. The Dante is an excellent work in its own right, with a beautifully serene 2nd movement and
ending with a rousing chorus. But the Faust is the one I want to concentrate on. It’s in three huge
movements each approaching half an hour, titled respectively Faust, Gretchen and of course
Mephistopheles. I don’t intend to go into the details of the story of Faust here, as neither did Liszt,
concerning himself purely with the musical depiction of the three characters of the novel. The first
movement is a bold depiction of Faust, fiery and confident, with a main theme which is of considerable
interest in itself. It comprises four descending sets each of three ascending notes which in total make up
the entire twelve notes of the Western scale. List has therefore pre-dated Schoenberg by some forty
years, being the first composer to use a twelve-tone note row! Granted it does not necessarily follow
Schoenberg’s strict definition of the term, but all 12 notes are there nevertheless, each sounding once
only. The second movement Gretchen is all sweetness and light by comparison; a beautiful musical
portrait of a gentle maiden. It lingers in the air long after the movement finishes, and you almost want it
to last forever. Then the final movement Mephistopheles comes blasting in and starts throwing his
weight around. Liszt cleverly refuses to give Meph his own theme, instead you hear mere distortions of
the Faust and Gretchen themes. The whole symphony comes to a rousing choral climax after almost an
hour and a half. (Get the Bernstein recording to hear it at its best!) Until the time of Mahler this was the
longest and largest symphonic work ever written, as far as I am aware.
As already mentioned, Liszt also wrote a considerable number of Symphonic Poems, and these
must be taken into account in the development of the symphony as a whole as they are the first attempts
at redefining the symphony in purely romantic terms. Gone is the four-movement structure, to be
replaced with a single movement that develops organically from the start. There is much more of an
attempt to make the music “tell a story” rather than remaining purely abstract. Other composers will take
up the challenge of the symphonic poem in later years, notably Tchaikovsky and Sibelius.
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Over in France at this time, the symphonic baton is taken up by Gounod and Saint-Saëns.
Gounod’s symphonies are nothing to shout about, and to be honest, neither are Saint-Saëns’s at this
point. S-S was a child prodigy like Mozart, but unlike Mozart he lived a long life yet produced relatively
little of note during his 86 years on the planet. (Shame on him! Mind you, to be fair he had a hard life.
Read his biography, it’s a real tear-jerker.) In 1853 he wrote his first symphony at the age of 18, and
although quite nice and distinctly French, it remains rather lightweight. S-S wrote five symphonies in
all, but the only one that really stands up is the one known as the 3rd (although it was actually his 5th),
the so-called Organ Symphony. More on that later.
So now we have, in the German corner, Franz List and his symphonic poems, with Wagner
turning his Teutonic nose up at the whole symphonic business, and in the French corner a handful of
Gallic composers flexing their muscles on the original Beethovenian model, but still apparently unsure
as to what to do with it. Is there nobody else on the planet in the mid-1800’s willing to have a go? The
English have been curiously silent (musically speaking) for a couple of centuries at this point, earning
the title The Land Without Music, and for good reason. Probably too busy building an empire. Yes, that
must be it. The Americans have domestic problems of their own, and the Eastern world is still a
mystery. This precise point in time is probably the Symphony’s darkest decade. The world of Music is
being usurped by Richard Wagner and his colossal operas, and legions of younger composers are falling
under his spell. Still, it’s not all doom and gloom. Just around the corner are the saviours of the art form,
in the form of Anton Bruckner (albeit one of the aforementioned Wagnerite legion) and the rise and
rise of the Russian School starting with Borodin along with Czech contributions from Dvořák. But for
the next 12 years or thereabouts, you’ll just have to whistle the theme from the Valkyries, until Bruckner
and Dvořák are ready with their respective firsts in 1865.
From this point on I’ll continue in a more chronological style, rather than talking about a single
composer at a time. Musical styles start changing and developing at an exponential rate from here on,
and it would make more sense to see what’s happening in the musical world on a year-by-year basis. So,
starting in 1865 we have the two composers I just mentioned about to cut their teeth on a symphony.
Also, as the Romantic era progresses we find that interpretation becomes more and more crucial.
Wherever possible, try to hear at least two or three different recordings of each of these works, and
you’ll see what I mean. By the time we get to Mahler, interpretation is everything. A good conductor
and orchestra can really make the work sing; a bad one can destroy it completely. But often there can be
more than one interpretation of a piece. This is not necessarily a bad thing either, Mahler himself said
that music should grow and adapt, not be stuck forever as flat symbols on a page. Anyway, enough of
Mahler (I do keep bringing him up, don’t I?), in 1865 he’s still only a toddler…
The Czech composer Antonín Dvořák starts out on a symphonic career in that year with The
Bells of Zlonice – a work which was lost for decades and which Dvořák himself completely forgot about
in later years. Apparently he insisted upon his death bed that he had written eight symphonies, and even
when shown the manuscript of the one we now call his 1st, he couldn’t remember writing it. So what’s it
like? I would say it’s about average for him, and hardly a world-shaker. It does have a distinctive “new”
sound though; the first true symphony from a Czech writer. Dvořák also refused to use proper bell
sounds in the piece, which might strike you (sorry!) as odd given the title. I have often wondered what
his reasoning was – it would have been easy to use tubular bells in the opening theme instead of
mimicking them on other instruments as he did. Listen to it and decide for yourself.
So, back to Bruckner; let’s see if he’s ready. No – not quite. To be honest, by 1865 he’s already
written two symphonies, but he refers to them as “study” symphonies, and he absolutely refuses to show
them to anybody. They’re known today as no.0 and no.00 (or even minus one if you can believe that.)
But are they any good? Actually, yes. In fact I’d go so far as to say they’re better than some of his
regular symphonies. Poor Bruckner was plagued by self-doubt, never sure of his own music and always
altering it to try to accommodate advice from friends; in his earlier works he tended to leave things
alone, and they are better for it. That’s not to say however that Bruckner’s “study” symphonies are great
music; they are to my ears pleasant, but ultimately unfulfilling.
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In 1867 we have what is possibly the first Russian symphony: that of Alexander Borodin.
Nothing remarkable, but it does have a distinct Russian flavour. From this point on, the Russians take
the symphony in a new direction and make it wholly their own, and plenty of masterpieces will flow
from this point on the globe in the future. For now though, Borodin is a pioneer, and makes a competent
start in this musical idiom. Only one more completed symphony springs from his pen, with a third left
unfinished, but he has made his mark.
1872, and we see another Russian take the stage, and this time he’s going to make a permanent
impact upon it, to the point (to stretch a simile) of gouging out a colossal crater. Undoubtedly the best
known of all Russian composers, and one of the best-known of ALL composers is Pytor Ilych
Tchaikovsky, certainly by virtue of general public knowledge of his works. Anyone in the Western
World who does not know at least one Tchaikovsky tune must be by definition, stone deaf. Even if you
never listen to any Classical music, you will have heard the theme from Swan Lake, or Romeo & Juliet,
or the Sugar Plum Fairy from the Nutcracker, or any one of hundreds of other beautiful melodies he
seemed to produce effortlessly. In the modern world it is impossible to avoid his music as it can be heard
in TV adverts, elevators, mobile phone ring tones, ice-cream vans etc. etc. And yet the man himself was
extremely insecure about himself and his music. In the year 1872 he was already 32, and a rapidly rising
star when he penned his first symphony, known to us as no.2, the Little Russian, or at least the original
version of it. He rewrote it extensively 7 years later, and I own recording of both versions.
The Little Russian opens with a bang. Right from the start, you know this is not a typical
Germanic style work. The first movement was (apart from the opening theme) completely changed in
the revision, but in the original version we hear, in place of taut Teutonic development, a much more
lyrical stance deployed with melodious themes interweaving throughout. This is Tchaikovsky’s way of
doing things, and ultimately the Russian way, possibly through his example. There are plenty of socalled music “experts” who say that Tchaikovsky’s symphonies sound like ballets, and that he couldn’t
really write “true” symphonies. What they mean by that is that he didn’t follow the German way of
doing things, but then why should he? He wasn’t German! What he did do (along with RimskyKorsakov and Borodin, to give them their due) was to forge a symphonic style that was truly Russian.
Every nation strives to find its own voice in its music, and little by little we will see other great nations
take part in this global symphonic debate. But Tchaik didn’t just write Russian sounding symphonies, he
wrote GOOD ones, and what’s more he wrote in HIS style. When you hear a Tchaikovsky symphony,
you KNOW it’s Tchaikovsky. There is no mistaking his musical fingerprint, right from the start. This
can be said of earlier composers, but none more so than Pytor Ilych at this point in time. Some early
Beethoven works can be mistaken for Haydn, as Haydn can be for Mozart etc. But Tchaikovsky, never.
Beethoven placed himself at the centre of his music; but Tchaikovsky made his music do all the talking
for him. Another forward step has been taken in the development of music, and it’s distinctively
HECCRQB.
The next few years see Bruckner, Dvořák and Tchaikovsky write more symphonies, and in each
case getting bolder and moving further down their respective chosen paths. Bruckner dedicates his 3rd, in
1873, to Wagner, and to me it sounds overblown, pompous and ultimately hollow. It sounds like he’s
trying too hard; there’s no substance behind the grandiloquent gestures. His 2nd is slightly less decadent,
but still tends to drag on a bit at roughly an hour in length. Equally, Dvořák’s 2nd and 3rd are forgettable
floss. But then along comes Tchaikovsky’s “Winter Dreams” (now designated no.1) in 1874. It seems
the Russians now have the upper hand. This is a lovely work and deserves to be heard more often,
especially the icy but somehow warm 2nd movement. I have never been to St. Petersburg (Tchaikovsky’s
home) but this piece allows me to imagine it on a frosty morning, as all mornings there undoubtedly are.
Chalk up another triumph for Pytor Ilych.
Dvořák’s 4th appeared in the same year, and here we see a marked improvement in his technique.
It is still decidedly Czech, and recognisably Dvořákian, but it is a symphony with “muscle”. It seems to
carve its way forward with pure intellectual will, and leaves the listener feeling that some kind of
musical struggle has been won.
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(I should mention here that Antonín Dvořák was quite fastidious concerning the correct spelling
of his name and use of all the accents therein. I believe it is important to ensure people’s names are
spelled exactly the way they themselves wanted, and so I will honour his request here. Similarly with
Schoenberg, who preferred that spelling over the original spelling of “Schönberg”. As you wish, sir.
Tchaikovsky on the other hand poses a bit of a problem as the Russian spelling of his name is
XFQRJDCRQB, which should really translate as “Chai-kov-skyi”, but we’ll stick with the accepted
Western spelling for conformity’s sake.)
Tchaikovsky counters in the following year with his Polish symphony, which he based on
Schumann’s Rhenish with its five movement structure. Then Dvořák strikes back with his 5th, which
unfortunately misses the mark. Sounds to me like he’s twiddling his thumbs.
In the same year we also hear from the Irish when Charles Villiers Stanford presents his first
symphony. Mostly harmless.
So where are the Germans? What’s happened to them? Well… It seems the Germans were
keeping their biggest symphonic talent under wraps in the 1870’s, probably due to the overbearing
influence of Wagner. Anyway, by 1876, and already at the advanced age of 43, into the ring weighing in
at some 200 pounds steps the heavyweight composer Johannes Brahms.
Brahms, it appears, hesitated to produce a symphony for years for some reason. He had written a
great deal of excellent music by then, including his awesome concertos for piano and violin, but a
Brahms symphony seemed to be one step too far into Beethoven territory for Brahms’s liking at first. He
was already being compared (favourably) with the great Maestro, so naturally thought, “As soon as I
write a symphony people will call it Beethoven’s 10th, no matter what I do.” (In fact, Beethoven HAD
started a 10th symphony, but only got as far as the 1st movement and a few sketches for a scherzo.)
Anyway, eventually Brahms bit the bullet in 1876 and published his first symphony – and
straight away it was hailed as Beethoven’s 10th. Doh! Well, to be fair, Brahms had introduced a theme in
the finale that was quite similar to the “Ode to Joy” theme, so he only had himself to blame. However,
there were no choruses, choirs or vocal soloists in his offering, just 50 or so minutes of pure orchestral
music, and good solid German music at that. Vorsprung Durch Musik, as they might say.
Now he’d taken the plunge, it wasn’t long before another Brahms all-terrain four wheel drive
model came roaring off the production line. No.2 debuted in 1877 and was very much the equal of the
1st, if not superior. Now he was on a roll; another, smaller but perfectly formed 3rd arrived just 6 years
later – but I’m getting ahead of myself. Wind back to 1878, and hear a sneak preview of Tchaikovsky’s
answer to Beethoven’s 5th – his explosive 4th.
In Beethoven’s wild opus, it is said that Fate comes knocking on the door. Well, in
Tchaikovsky’s 4th he literally kicks if off its hinges. A trumpet call opens the proceedings, announcing
the arrival of the unwelcome guest. All doom and gloom, interspersed with wild cries of injustice
dominate the massive first movement. Why me? Leave me alone! It’s all too much! The mood is stormy
and oppressive throughout, ending with a menacing flourish that leaves the listener thoroughly
exhausted but somehow unsatisfied. You have been weighed in the balance, and found wanting. But this
is only the beginning of this stormy symphony. It all works out right in the end, trust me. Tchaikovsky is
taking us on a journey into the dark recesses of his tortured soul. That may sound pretentious, but it does
sum up the mood quite succinctly. The second movement is a sorrowful lament that offers no hope, and
eventually breaks up into different keys played on successive woodwind instruments, till it dies away
altogether. Then in the next movement, a beautiful surprise! The scherzo movement is played on
pizzicato (plucked) strings alone, picking out an uplifting tune that, though not quite joyous is certainly
positive, providing a much needed light at the end of the tunnel. The trio section is played on woodwind
with a jaunty little piccolo solo, and then the strings (still plucked) join in with the woodwind and have a
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little chuckle together, as if surreptitiously sharing a dirty joke. Things are brightening up, like the longterm prisoner doing a little dance in his cell on the final day of his incarceration.
Then suddenly (and I do mean suddenly – the scherzo barely gets a chance to finish) the finale
blasts out with a crash of cymbals and a brash confident tune that would put a smile on the face of a high
court judge. It’s a massive celebration complete with jugglers and dancing elephants in the brilliant
sunshine. It leaps and bounds over all and sundry like a loopy labrador trying to lick the face of
everyone in the room. Then, just as it seems nothing could ever spoil this outburst of pure joy… Bam!
Fate appears like Banquo’s Ghost, standing right in front of the procession signalling: STOP. The
orchestra comes to a screeching halt as the Fate motif blares out like a police siren at the scene of a
grotesque accident. Everything goes deathly quiet… the strings descend into the basement of their range
and sulk… then suddenly change direction in one of those scene-setting moments Tchaikovsky was so
good at, just like in the 1812 Overture. In fact at this point I almost expect to hear the Marseillaise
played by muted horns, but no… we’re back on track for the Big Finale, which blows all doubt away
with fanatical exuberance. Nevertheless, that musical moment is a pure heart-stopper, like seeing a pile
of bricks fall off the lorry in front of you on the motorway!
After that, the carnival checks itself for any damage and then tentatively resumes its festivities,
building up speed and courage again until it is even more delirious than before; leaping up in quantum
semitones with sheer dizzy recklessness, and the symphony ends in a tumultuous shout of sheer
unadulterated joy that borders on hysteria.
(Think I’m exaggerating? Go and see a live performance, played by a good orchestra. It’ll knock
your socks off!)
Winding on to 1882, and we finally come to an English symphony! The man responsible was
Charles Hubert Parry. Again, mostly harmless. We are going to have to wait another 26 years before
we get to a true English work of this genre, and we all know whom that’s going to be from. (To be fair,
there was an earlier English symphonist called Potter, but he’s even less well known than Parry. If I find
out anything about him I’ll let you know. Neither of them had the first name of Harry by the way.)
Now let’s move on to 1884, pausing briefly to give a passing nod at Bruckner’s 4th, 5th, 6th and
7th symphonies, and Dvořák’s 6th and 7th. They are mounting up, aren’t they? It has been said (rather
unkindly) of Bruckner that he wrote the same symphony nine times, and I’m inclined to agree with that.
To me they are quite listenable, but I always get the feeling that I could be spending my time listening to
something more interesting. You know exactly where you are with Bruckner, and you know where the
music is going at all times, and it never goes anywhere really exciting, despite all the bombast and
bluster it conjures up. Ah well. Then there’s Dvořák – less predictable, more entertaining, but still
lacking something in most cases. The 6th I can take or leave. His 7th however is a marked improvement.
It is definitely brown in colour. The Brown symphony, that’s how I think of it. A golden brown, like a
nicely brewed cup of tea. Whereas the Tchaik 4 that I have just meticulously examined would be a deep,
deep starless black up until the final movement, when it bursts into glorious Technicolor fireworks.
Speaking of musical colours, we now get to the first symphonic stirrings of a man afflicted (or
should that be blessed?) with synasthaesia; a condition which merges sound and colour, and sometimes
other senses in the brain so that they actually do “see” music as colour. There have been several
composers with this condition, notably Scriabin and Arthur Bliss, but the man we’re concerned with
here is Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov, who in 1884 published his first symphony. Now, RK’s three
symphonies are not too well known, and to my ears they are competent but not 1st class material. And
this is odd, since RK is known to have been a 1st class composer. I believe that in actual fact,
symphonies were not really his “thing” and he just didn’t try hard enough in the genre. His other great
works are truly great; consider his symphonic opus Scheherazade which could almost be considered a
symphony in its own right (Or is it a violin concerto? More on this amazing piece later), and the
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magnificent Capriccio Espagnol (said to be the best Spanish music ever composed that was NOT written
by a Frenchman! Work that one out!) Never mind, I will mention his 1st symphony anyway. There, I’ve
mentioned it. Next.
Next up: 1885, and Tchaikovsky’s evocative Manfred symphony. Tchaik didn’t give this one a
number, but it comes between nos. 4 & 5, so consider it no. 4½. After writing the 4th Tchaikovsky
moved away from symphonies for a good ten years, and concentrated on other forms of music.
However, this one seems to have leaked out of his pen in the meantime and does tend to get overlooked,
simply because of the fact that it doesn’t have a number. It is basically a “programme” symphony in the
same vein as Berlioz’s Harold in Italy, in that it tries to tell the story of Byron’s hero Manfred. Now I
have never read Byron’s Manfred (or Harold In Italy for that matter) but I shouldn’t have to know who
Manfred is to enjoy the symphony. And enjoy it I do. It is Tchaikovsky’s longest symphony, lasting
nearly an hour, and includes an organ in the final movement at a crucial point in the musical story which
really gives it some oomph.
In the same year, Brahms published his 4th and final symphony, and it’s another chunky 50
minutes of serious Teutonic musical discourse. It’s no better or worse than the preceding three, and the
collection as a whole makes up a fearsome four course symphonic banquet – if you can manage all four
in one sitting that is. Brahms apparently admitted he couldn’t write “light” music, and he was right.
The following year (1886) heralds a masterpiece from France, and about time! Charles Camille
Saint-Saëns wheels out his impressive Organ symphony (known as no.3 although it is actually his 5th.)
It’s big, it’s noisy, it’s pretentious through and through – and I love it! Only a Frenchman could write
music like this, and get away with it. My only problem with it is that it doesn’t really use the organ
enough.
1886 also sees the 2nd offering from Rimsky-Korsakov. It’s actually the one we now know as
no.3 in C, and it is interesting for one specific reason. The scherzo movement is in a rapid 5/4 time – the
first time a 5/4 beat has ever been used in Western music, as far as I know. Tchaikovsky liked the idea
so much he used it in his own 6th symphony, but in a slower “broken waltz” fashion. Personally, I think
Rimsky used it to much better effect here though. The symphony as a whole is the best of Rimsky’s
three and quite satisfying.
Another two years fly by, and we now hear a symphony from a Belgian. (It’s actually debatable
whether he was Belgian or French, but does that really matter? It’s the music that’s important.) It’s as
introspective as Saint-Saëns’ offering was “extrospective” (is that a word?), and it is the single
symphony – indeed almost the only major work – from Cesar Franck. Written when Franck was well
into his 60’s (which must be a record age for a 1st symphony), dark and brooding almost throughout, it
takes a while to grow on you. Franck uses a motto theme of his own, and in this case it’s a three-note
motif, which sounds like it’s asking a question: “Must it be?” or “Is this it?” There are similarities with
some of Dvorak’s “brown” symphonies here. There are only three movements, and by the time we get to
the finale “Must it be?” has changed to “Yes, it must be. Deal with it.” No specific change of mood
though, just a stern resignation and indifferent acceptance; So that’s the way it is then. Ho hum. OK,
fine. Sorry I asked.
In the same year as Franck’s moody masterpiece, Tchaikovsky gives us his 5th, and this is a
world away from either his 4th or the Manfred. Intensely romantic and tinged with sadness, it’s one of
my all-time favourites. Fate is knocking again, but this time he’s a bit more polite about it. Maybe this
time he’s just selling home insurance. Tchaikovsky himself had serious doubts about the whole
symphony almost as soon as he had finished it, but he had no real cause to; it’s a sublime work. The
“Fate” theme re-occurs in each of the four movements; in the first mildly threatening, in the 2nd it is
more of a lament, in the 3rd it becomes a slow waltz, and only in the finale does it really bare its teeth,
but turns eventually into a majestic triumphant march. The main theme of the 2nd movement is one of
the best Tchaikovsky ever wrote; it’s searingly beautiful and stays with you long after the whole work
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has come to a resounding close. I remember my grandfather (who was a mean pianist in his time)
playing along to his LP of this movement, and when the record finished he continued improvising on the
theme for a further half an hour. I only wish I could have recorded it; the theme is now forever
associated with him in my mind.
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THE LATE ROMANTICS – BRUCKNER, MAHLER, RACHMANINOV
In passing it is also worth pointing out that in this symphony the ancient Minuet has undergone
another transformation; in Haydn’s hands it became a Minuet with Trio, then Beethoven altered it to a
“Scherzo” (still in triple time but faster and less “aristocratic”), now in Tchaik’s hands it has become a
fully fledged laid-back waltz. Oh well, these Russians, they love to change things… A-one two three,
one two three…
Moving on just one more year; we are now in 1889, and a new voice is about to be heard. The
owner of this “new sound” is still only 29 at this point, and so far has published little of note – at least,
nothing that made any big impression at the time. All this is about to change however, with the first of
his attempts. The symphony is called Titan, and the composer’s name is Gustav Mahler (finally!).
During his lifetime Mahler was much better known as a conductor, but not because his music
was inferior in any way. In fact if he had never composed a note of music, he would still be known to us
as one of the greatest conductors of all time. But the music that he did write has cast a long shadow over
practically all music that has followed it, and if you think I’m exaggerating consider this: In his book on
C20th music Norman Lebrecht says that “Of the major composers of the 20th Century, only Stravinsky
and Debussy could claim to be wholly immune to Mahlerian innovations” – and I agree wholeheartedly
with this appraisal. Leonard Bernstein famously said of him; “The C20th is the century of Death, and
Mahler was its musical prophet”. I don’t entirely agree with this however, but I understand why
Bernstein would think so. Bernstein was Jewish, and so was Mahler. Bernstein rescued Mahler’s music
from the dustbin of history where it had been thrown by the Nazis, then he polished it and held it up for
the world to see. Mahler said “My time will come”, and Bernstein fulfilled his prophecy with honours.
Anyway, enough of the heavy philosophy; what of his first Symphony? It would not be much of
an exaggeration to claim that Mahler’s 1st symphony was to the C20th as Beethoven’s Eroica was to the
19th – except for the fact that it didn’t make as much of an impression at first. But in hindsight, we can
see that it is the case. If you have been following the development of the symphony with me here, and
playing the pieces in turn, you should now be putting your CD of Mahler’s 1st into your CD player and
pressing “Play”. If you haven’t, imagine doing it anyway. You wait for the first bars to begin thundering
out of your speakers like most C19th symphonies start… but they don’t. Is it playing? You can’t hear
anything. Then you hear it – a thin high string sound, like a cold sunrise with high stratospheric clouds
in a pale blue sky. This isn’t how symphonies are supposed to start! It barely sounds like an orchestra at
all. There is no theme, nothing to hold on to, just this thin wispy sound like Nature breathing. Then
come the bird-calls. But this isn’t Beethoven’s warm cosy Pastoral music, it’s cold and earthy, but at the
same time eerily beautiful. Primeval dawn; a sound from a hundred million years ago. There is a
wonderful sense that something amazing is about to happen – and sure enough, it does! The music
gradually, so gradually starts to form as you listen, coalescing into more familiar shapes, till eventually
it takes the shape of a melody – and what a melody! No three or four-note motif that you might expect
from a Viennese composer (as Mahler was), but a lilting, soaring tune that takes your breath away. It
breathes life into everything it touches like some magical musical fairy, and soon the whole orchestra is
dancing and laughing along with it. And who said Mahler’s music is depressing?
But there is more… much, much more in this symphony that lasts nearly a whole hour. I could
write a complete chapter on this one work alone, but I’ll leave it for now. Go to section 8 for more
details on this incredible, awe-inspiring masterpiece. As I said in my introduction, if this was his first,
what on earth are the other 8 like? (not forgetting the unfinished 10th, which I’ll come to eventually.)
Well, all in good time. Remember – it’s still only 1889. The musical world at that time simply wasn’t
ready for Mahler, and it can be argued convincingly that it still wasn’t ready until the 1960’s – 50 years
after his death. To quote Lebrecht again on Mahler; “More than just a musician, he was a monumental
force in the 20th Century, comparable to Einstein, Freud and Lenin.” Quite.
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So what else was happening in the musical world in 1889? Well, our old friend Dvořák is up to
his 8th now (although he personally thinks of it as his 7th, and it will for a long time after his death be
known as the 4th – confusing isn’t it?), and it’s another major improvement on his previous work. A light
sunny piece with some gorgeous tunes, its only failing is that it’s all over just when you are really
getting into it – half an hour flies by in minutes when I hear this one. Dvořák achieves what Brahms
never managed to do; smile!
I should also mention here that the late 1880’s are important for another reason associated with
music, and not simply a new piece or new method of writing. No, the Man of the Moment isn’t even a
musician, but an inventor – and what he has just invented will change music forever. Of course, Thomas
Alva Edison doesn’t even realise himself what the implications of his “Graphophone” will be, but has to
be informed by someone who can imagine all too clearly. One of the very first recordings ever made on
Edison’s invention is that of Sir Arthur Sullivan (of Gilbert & Sullivan fame) speaking into a primitive
cylinder player in 1888. He says quite clearly; “I am astonished and somewhat terrified. Astonished at
the wonderful power you have developed; and terrified at the thought that so much hideous, bad music
may be put on record forever.” Indeed. However, every invention is a double-edged sword, and sound
recording is no exception. Consider that thanks to Edison you can now hear more music in a week than
Mozart could have heard in his whole life! Most composers before the 1950’s never heard the majority
of their own music in their lifetimes, and yet we can now casually ingest any music from any time in
history going back a thousand years, and from any culture in the world. I can carry hundreds of hours of
music in my pocket, and my entire collection of tens of thousands of hours’ worth on a computer hard
drive. Using the Internet I can find just about any piece of music in minutes, download and listen to it
quicker than it was recorded, which negates the need of building up a collection in the first place.
Unfortunately, Sullivan was quite right, we also have to endure a colossal amount of trash, and most
people seem to accept what is thrown at them by the music industry without question. It is up to us to
sort the wheat from the chaff, and use some sort of judgement as to what merits our attention. Think
about it.
So now we jump ahead a few years to 1892. Bruckner has finally finished tinkering with the
finer details of his 8th symphony (trying to accommodate all his friends’ suggestions as usual), and is
starting on his 9th, which he will unfortunately not live to complete. The 8th is a colossal work, and not
for the impatient amongst us. It is probably his best work, and representative of his entire output. In fact,
you can junk all his other symphonies, and just keep this one; it says it all really. Bruckner was a devout
Catholic, and this work is his dedication to God. I wonder what God thought of it? “Nice work Ant, but a
bit long-winded. Did you really mean to have the poor cymbal player wait for over an hour just to play his one big
“crash”? The poor guy’s a nervous wreck now- he missed his cue and came in half a beat too late! ”
In this year we also hear a fine work by a Dane - one Carl Nielsen. His first is a highly
competent, rugged work of the type you might expect from a Scandinavian composer. But he will do
much better in later years. Keep an eye on him.
1892 also sees the first performance of Mahler’s “sequel” to his Titanic Titan, and this one’s a
real Monster with a capital M. I could go so far as to claim it is the Greatest Symphony Ever Written,
and maybe even the Greatest piece of music ever written. Others might say it is the biggest, fattest, most
pretentious load of claptrap ever conceived, but then everybody’s entitled to their opinion. Pretentious it
may be, but only if you have totally missed the point Mahler was attempting to make here. I am of
course referring to his Resurrection Symphony.
Most of Mahler’s music is timeless. Fashions come and go, but Mahler’s music will always be
popular, I believe. However, the Resurrection could only have been written in the late C19th. It is a
huge, stormy, heavily Romantic work that successfully sums up and closes the book on the entire
Romantic Period of music. This is the Sistine Chapel of Music. Mahler’s canvas is gigantic; he is
attempting here to portray nothing less than the Apocalypse and the Second Coming of Christ. Gosh.
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If you go to see a performance of this incredible musical experience live, and it doesn’t touch
your soul, then you have no business reading this book. The millionaire businessman Gilbert Kaplan
was taken to see it one night by his friends. At the time he knew very little about music, but after hearing
the Resurrection he was so overwhelmed by it that he took to studying it in detail with the ultimate aim
to conduct it himself. And he did – what’s more his recording of the symphony is now widely
recognised as the “definitive” version. Kaplan took the Resurrection to his heart and made it his own.
Because of this one work, he became an internationally recognised conductor – and the only piece he
conducts is Mahler’s Resurrection. Now there’s a fan! Can any other piece of music inspire anyone to
that extent? I don’t know of any.
I won’t go into details on it just yet. However I’ll say this much: it lasts 80-90 minutes, and in
that hour and a half expect to hear – and experience – sorrow, pain, grief, anger, humility, rejection,
acceptance and finally unbridled joy and passion. It will drag you into the pit of Hell, then lift you
joyously to Heaven. If you’re not moved by this music, you’re either deaf or dead. If you can, get a
recording by Leonard Bernstein or Simon Rattle, or of course Gilbert Kaplan. AVOID the Sinopoli
recording at all costs! This music deserves the best interpretation and the best quality recording, and
don’t be mean with the volume. Give the neighbours advance warning, and crank the volume up! The
music goes from deathly quiet to raucously noisy, but it’s MEANT to. Mahler knows what he’s doing,
so listen to it in the manner he intended. Failing all that, go to a live concert. Oh – and avoid Classic FM
too - they “squash” the sound and take all the dynamics out of it, which to me is a horrendous musical
crime. What’s the point of having an orchestra which can play any volume from fff to ppp (or pppppp
according to Tchaikovsky) – when Classic FM play absolutely everything mf (mezzoforte)? Mahler
shows us in this work what dynamic range really means; there are two chords in the 1st movement that
are said to be the loudest in all orchestral music – and in the finale there is a muted off-stage horn which
is possibly the quietest. Compressing all this into a “normalised” medium volume is a big no-no. Shame
on you, CFM!
Now we come to 1893, and a couple of highly regarded symphonies from respectively,
Tchaikovsky and Dvořák. Both are their last offerings in the genre, and for Tchaikovsky it is his last
major work. Within a week of the first performance of his Pathetique or 6th symphony, he is dead. Some
say he wrote his own epitaph in the finale, and it certainly is unusual having the slow movement last. In
fact I believe it was only ever done once before, and that was 120 years ago in Haydn’s “Farewell”. But
Haydn did it for a joke. Tchaikovsky was deadly serious. The story is well known, that he was
“persuaded” by his friends to poison himself to avoid a scandal involving himself and a member of the
Russian aristocracy. Some friends, eh? Tchaikovsky was only 53. He might have lived 20 or 30 more
years and given us many more unimaginable gifts of his wonderful music. He might have lived long
enough to meet Stravinsky and Debussy, but he wasn’t allowed to. We are all the losers in this pathetic
crime. No matter, what we have from him is priceless as it is. Tchaikovsky is dead; long live
Tchaikovsky!
Some other interesting points to make about his final symphony; as I mentioned earlier, there is
indeed a passage in the 1st mvt marked pppppp – the cor anglais solo just before the fff interjection from
the brass, which puts Haydn’s Surprise in the shade. Haydn probably made a few old ladies jump;
Tchaikovsky means to give us all cardiac arrest! (Mahler did something similar in his 1 st symphony –
the opening of the final movement still jolts me out of my seat and I’m expecting it.) The 5/4 waltz in
the 2nd mvt I’ve already mentioned – followed by a rousing march which for me is the best part of the
whole work. Then we are left with the tragic finale, with its sad descending theme played on the strings.
But hold on – listen to those strings a bit more closely. They are divided into two sections, and if you
listen to each section individually (which can be done on some CDs if the string sections have been
separated stereophonically), you will hear not the expected descending phrase, but two totally different
disjointed themes! It’s only when the two are combined that we “hear” that famous tune. It’s a kind of
aural illusion which is completely missed by 99% of listeners to the piece. Take a look at the sheet
music for the piece or ask a string player who knows it if you don’t believe me.
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In fact, when listening to the Tchaik 6 it strikes me that this particular symphony disregards
nearly all of the standard symphonic “rules” – true it has four movements, but the order is highly
unconventional. There is no triple-time movement, no development of themes, no “big” finale. At the
time of writing it must have been quite an innovative work.
As for Dvořák (complete with accents!), in the year of Tchaik’s demise he presented us with his
New World, possibly one of the best known symphonies ever written. Dv was to live another 11 years
afterwards, but his symphonic catalogue ends here with a magnificent work.
And so 1896 rolls around, and political correctness obliges me to mention a symphony by a
woman – Amy Beach by name. Her Gaelic symphony appeared in this year, and sounds quite
competant if not world-shattering. Female composers are still rare in the 21st century so far, but gaining
ground. In the 19th though they were unheard of. Composition has simply never been thought of as a
woman’s vocation, and unfortunately the attitude is still with us today.
In the same year we are introduced to Bruckner’s final opus – his famous incomplete 9th. If he
hadn’t spent so much time altering his earlier works he might have managed to finish this piece – but
then maybe it’s fine as it is. The three movements that make it up still add up to roughly an hour of
colossal Brucknerian sound, and personally I like the way it ends with the slow movement. No more
needed to be said. Adieu, Anton.
The following year brings us a new symphony and a new composer on the scene – the fiercely
Russian Sergei Rachmaninov. His 1st is a rough-hewn brick of a piece with a sturdy slavic sound, but it
would be unwise to judge his merit on it – his style changed drastically after the century flipped over
and he himself “flipped” into a new, more relaxed but still highly expressive style that followed a
nervous breakdown and a few sessions on a psychiatrist’s couch. This work is a perfect example of
C19th Rachmaninov, heavily influenced as he was by Tchaikovsky at the time. (He had actually written
an earlier symphony, nowadays called the “Youth” symphony. Only about 10-12 minutes in length and
comprising just a single movement, it sounds even more like second-hand Tchaikovsky, to the extent of
plagiarising whole passages of Tchaik’s 4th and rearranging them out of context. Well, Rachmaninov
was young at the time and had a lot to learn – which he did. He more than made up for this poor teenage
attempt in his later masterpieces.)
1898 brings us another new champion of the symphony, and again he is a composer who hasn’t
quite found his feet yet. This one though is an American. A 19th Century American symphony? Surely
you cannot be serious? Charles Ives was – at least he was at this time. I’m not sure whether later on in
his career he was pulling our collective legs a bit – wait till you hear his 4th…
But what’s our old friend Mahler doing at this time? Certainly not resting on his laurels – in this
year he trundles out a real pantechnicon of a symphony, with all the extras – organ, choir, soloists, bells,
whistles – well okay, not whistles, but it did inspire a contemporary cartoonist to point out that he had
left out the car horn! His 3rd is generally thought to be the longest symphony ever written, lasting a
whopping hour and a half at the very least, and comprising six movements; the first alone weighing in at
around 35 minutes. So what is it about, and more importantly, is it any good? I’ll go over it in detail
later, but for now I’ll just say that it’s not my favourite of his works, and it takes a good orchestra and
conductor to get the best out of it, but it is still certainly worth a listen if you can sit still that long.
Makes you wonder what he’s going to do to top that…
The following year introduces us to another new symphonic heavyweight – the 20th Century is
just around the corner and things are gearing up for a real musical battle, and in the Blue corner we now
have the Finnish composer Jean Johann Julius Sibelius. Sibelius saw himself as the total antithesis to
Mahler’s “overblown” romantic notion of music, as revealed in their own words; Mahler: “A symphony
must contain the whole world” vs. Sibelius: “At my concerts I serve pure cold water.” Sibelius’s 1st
certainly offers a cool refreshing alternative, but is it possible to enjoy both? Of course it is! That’s what
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music is all about to me; contrasts and moods, different styles and sounds. A banquet wouldn’t be very
appetising if all the food tasted the same. So feast on a Mahlerian dish piled high with spices, then wash
it down with a long cool scandanavian drink of icy Sibelian water. Lovely!
So now we hit 1900, and things in the music world are changing rapidly. Most of the old
“Romantic” composers are now dead (Tchaikovsky, Brahms, Bruckner) or inactive/retired (Dvořák, who
left this world in 1904, and Rimsky who held out until 1908) and a new coterie of composers is flexing
its musical muscles to ascertain what the C20th Sound will be. At this point, nobody is really sure – the
old Western harmonic scale seems to have been taken apart and put together in every possible way.
Harmonies have been stretched and pulled so far that in some pieces they are at breaking point, and tax
the patience of some audiences. What else can be done with just 12 notes of the traditional Western
scale? We shall see.
At the turn of the century, Mahler was probably the man who it could be argued was best placed
to judge the scene, and responded with his dainty 4th, a drastic pull back from the excesses of his
previous work. Still roughly an hour in length, but much more delicately scored with a lighter feel to the
sound, including a mock-Viennese waltz for a 2nd mvt involving a devilish sounding violin solo, and a
highly unusual finale which introduced a female soloist who is instructed to sing “like a child describing
the joys of Heaven”. There is also no big heavy rousing conclusion; the music drops away unexpectedly
and finishes with a solo harp playing a repeating low, almost inaudible note. Audiences at the time
didn’t know what to make of this, and weren’t even sure the piece had ended. All the same, it is a
wonderful work, and one of my all-time favourites. If there is any one piece that states quite boldly,
“This is a new Century”, then this is it. Music has taken another Giant Leap comparable to Beethoven’s
Eroica, and there can be no going back.
Another notable symphony at the turn of the century was the first offering by the Russian
composer Alexander Scriabin. The world of classical composers has its fair share of whackos and
weirdos, and Scriabin was one of the more outlandish in some ways. Claims abound that he “overdosed
on theosophy” and was “rightly regarded as a crackpot” can be found in various textbooks; also the
claim that he considered himself divine and all his works as the be-all and end-all of artistic expression.
Yes, really. Well, to be fair, a lot of his music is of very good to excellent quality, but like all composers
before and after him he was a product of his time and must be judged on that basis. Sure, his music is
good, but it is firmly rooted in the late C19th Romantic phase. Even Scriabin, for all his self-assumed
divinity, could not foresee the path that music and art would take in the following decades. Scriabin was
simply caught up in the artistic, literary and scientific mood prevalent at the time; characterised most
effectively by Richard Strauss in his tone-poem Also Sprach Zarathustra. At least Strauss saw the way
the wind was blowing and made good artistic use of it without being sucked in; Scriabin wasn’t quite so
astute – he convinced himself that he was Zarathustra (the Übermensch; the Superior Being postulated
by Nietzsche). It did propel him to write some damn good music though, and this symphony is a solid
first step on his personal ladder of greatness. (This type of thinking was relatively harmless in the late
C19th, but of course developed over the following 40-50 years into the horrors of Nazism and the
despicable crimes of World War II. This is a book about music so I won’t dwell on it, but the point must
be made all the same. Once you believe that there exist such concepts as Supermen, then the inevitable
conclusion is that some people will be labelled as sub-human. This is where it all started.)
So we have now reached the end of the 19th Century, and a great deal has happened over the
preceding 100 years. The beginning of the century saw goodbye to Haydn and Mozart and the whole
“Classical” era, and welcomed in Beethoven’s sprightly but non-world-shaking 1st symphony, then at
the end of the same century audiences were having to come to terms with the decadence of rampant
Romanticism via the colossal outpourings of emotion from Mahler and the first icy offerings from
Sibelius. Along the way we have lost practically every major Romantic composer, including some that
should by rights have continued writing well into the C20th – notably Tchaikovsky and Brahms who
died in 1893 and 1897 respectively. Verdi was on his death-bed and would finally sheath his pen in
1901. Dvořák, Grieg and Rimsky were all but written out by this time and were not to last much longer
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either. Music – ALL music - was going through a crisis period at this point. It seemed that there was
nowhere else to go, no new modulation to make. It had all been done, hadn’t it? You would be forgiven
for thinking so at this time. But wait…
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Summing up the C19th symphonically then, I would list these works as the cream of the crop:
Beethoven: No.3 Eroica, no.6 Pastoral and no.9 Choral
Berlioz: the Symphonie Fantastique and Romeo & Juliet
Schubert: No.8, the “Unfinished”
Mendelssohn: nos. 1 to 4 inclusive
Bizet – No.1
Brahms: all four
Tchaikovsky: Nos 1, 4 and 5 and Manfred (I’m not all that keen on no.6 surprisingly)
Dvořák: Nos 7, 8 and 9
Saint-Saëns – No.3, the “Organ” symphony
Mahler, Nos 1, 2 and 4
Also worth a mention but not at the top of my list would be:
Beethoven: Nos 2, 5, 7
Schubert: Nos 1, 2 & 5
Mendelssohn: No.5
Liszt: Faust and Dante symphonies
Tchaikovsky: Nos 2, 3, 6
Dvorak: Nos.1 & 4
Bruckner: No.9
Mahler: No.3
Scriabin: No.1
Some outstanding orchestral works that are NOT officially symphonies:
Berlioz – Harold In Italy
Rimsky-Korsakov – Scheherazade
Richard Strauss – Also Sprach Zarathustra (Thus Spake Zarathustra)
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THE 20TH CENTURY SYMPHONY
In this section I will discuss the giants of C20th symphonic form from Mahler to Henze, paying
special attention to Elgar, Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Sibelius, Nielsen, Walton, Vaughan Williams,
Havergal Brian, Tippett and the like, and even throw in some oddities such as Joe Jackson’s Jazz
symphony, Schweizer’s Historical Symphony, Glenn Branca’s electric guitar extravaganzas, possibly
even Paul McCartney’s Standing Stone, and prove that the form is by no means dead but it has evolved
somewhat and is arguably still evolving in the C21st.
Before we rush headlong into the C20th though, let’s just stop for a moment and ask the same
question that was posed at the start – what exactly is a symphony? Are we any closer to an answer now?
By 1900 there had been a great many symphonies written, and plenty more superb ones were to come;
all different and separate from one another – and I think this is where we can draw a line. Personally I
think Mahler came nearest to the mark with his observation that “A symphony must embrace (or
contain) the world”. If I can just re-interpret Mahler’s words a little here, I would like to change that to
“A symphony must contain its own world” – in other words, it seems to me that a well-written
symphony is a complete self-contained musical universe. It exists independently of anything else; once
you are invited in you are engulfed in its own particular soundscape, which may be totally incompatible
with anything else outside of it, but within the walls of the music everything all hangs together and
integrates beautifully. This description can, I believe, be applied to any well-written symphony from the
time of Haydn right up to the present day, including Sibelius’s “cold water” showers. They are just
landscapes painted with a different brush, if I can hammer the point home and totally mix my
metaphors. So anyway…
The 20th Century started off with most music-lovers scratching their heads and wondering, as
Bernstein eloquently put it in his 1970’s lectures; “Whither music?” Where do we go from here? Music
itself seemed to be dying; running out of steam. All the well-known Romantic composers were turning
their attention to daisies, as in pushing them up. (No jokes about composers “decomposing” please –
apart from that one!) Surely things can only get worse from now on? It’s all been done, hasn’t it? How
wrong they were. The C20th has seen an explosion in musical creativity the like of which is totally
unprecedented. Also, music could now be recorded using Edison’s amazing invention, and that in itself
inspired new kinds of music making, leading to Jazz, then popular or “Pop” music, Rock etc. The
recording studio became part of the process of composition, as demonstrated by the likes of Stockhausen
and more significantly The Beatles. But I am getting way ahead of myself now, so let’s get back to the
early 1900’s and the continuing development of the Symphony.
Up to now I have attempted to cover every symphonic composer and almost every symphony
written in the C19th, but from now on that will be impossible – there are simply too many to tackle each
of them in turn. I am going to have to be more selective. So here goes…
As in the mid-1800’s, the symphony went briefly out of fashion again in the first part of the
C20th, with composers such as Richard Strauss, Debussy, Delius, Schoenberg et al, having nothing to do
with them on the whole – but there are still plenty to be discovered. And the first significant one we run
into is the 2nd offering by the American Charles Ives, in the year…
1901
Charles Ives was a strange composer – a lot of composers are weird to some extent but Ives was
weirder than most. His father George was a cornet player, band director, theatre orchestra leader, choir
director, and teacher, and would often encourage his son to try to play the piano in one key while
singing in a different one – to “stretch his ears” apparently. It worked. Ives’s music typically challenges
the listener with different instruments often playing wildly different things simultaneously.
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His second symphony is arguably his best known work (apart from the 4th which we’ll come to
soon). There are numerous quotes from well-known American tunes peppered throughout the work,
including (as I read from the sleeve notes of my CD) America the Beautiful, Turkey in the Straw,
Columbia the Gem of the Ocean, and even Camptown Races of all things, plus various hymn tunes,
marches, and even bits from works by other composers such as Bach, Beethoven and Dvořák.
Amazingly, though it was completed in 1901, it had to wait 50 years for its first performance.
1902
Sibelius unveils his own 2nd, another long icy drink similar to his 1st but maybe not as cold this
time. This (together with his 1st) herald the arrival of the Scandanavian Sound. Rugged and often bleak,
but never boring.
The Sibelius/Mahler rivalry was in full spat at this time, and Mahler responded with his colossal
5 . (Okay, it wasn’t a real argument but I couldn’t resist the pun! Both composers were perfect
gentlemen towards each other from all accounts; they just had different approaches to composition.)
From the opening fanfare to the final triumphant chord nearly 80 minutes later, this is a stupendous work
of pure orchestral genius. The music reigns supreme; with typical Mahlerian passion he defines his own
universal space and then colours it in right up to the edges with sparkling tune-filled galaxies bursting
with passion and emotion like only he can. I love it!
th
In the same year we hear from Nielsen again in the form of his 2nd symphony, subtitled “The
Four Temperaments”. A thoroughly well-written work if not quite a world-shaker; the movements are
labelled Choleric, Phlegmatic, Melancholic and Sanguine, and each conveys the appropriate mood in the
music.
Scriabin’s 2nd also appears in this year, and is more or less a clone of the 1st. Can be safely
ignored.
1903 and 1904 pass by without much in the way of anything new symphonically (apart from
Glazunov who is now up to his 7th. I haven’t mentioned Glazunov up to now since his symphonies are
quite lightweight and way behind the times.) Ives produces his 3rd subtitled The Camp Meeting but that
too is forgettable. Give him a chance though, he’ll be back with a vengeance later.
(To be continued…)
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UNFINISHED & RECONSTRUCTED SYMPHONIES
Beethoven’s 10th (Barry Cooper)
Schubert’s 7th & 8th (Felix Weingartner)
Tchaikovsky’s 7th (Semyon Bogatyrev)
Bruckner’s 9th (Thomas Carragan)
Mahler’s 10th (Deryck Cooke)
Ives’s 5th (Larry Austin)
Elgar’s 3rd (Andrew Payne)
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SYMPHONIES IN ALL BUT NAME
Berlioz - Harold in Italy
Strauss - Also Sprach Zarathustra
Rimsky-Korsakoff - Scheherazade
Mahler - Song of the Earth (Das Lied von der Erde)
Holst - Planets Suite
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2. THE CONCERTO
3. ORCHESTRAL MUSIC – SUITES, OVERTURES ETC.
4. CHAMBER MUSIC
5. BALLET MUSIC
6. SOLO INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC
7. ANYTHING ELSE I’VE MISSED? (NOT COUNTING OPERA)
These sections to be completed later
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8. DETAILED ANALYSES OF MY FAVOURITE WORKS
In this section I will examine some of my favourite works in more detail, while listening to a recording
of the piece and referring to factual details, but without delving too deeply into musical theory. I will
also provide hyperlinks where possible for further information. However I will try to keep it simple,
limiting myself mainly to describing the effect the music has on me, and any imagery it may suggest. I
have my poetic licence to hand if anybody wants to examine it.
HAYDN, FRANZ JOSEPH (1732-1809)
Symphony no.39 in g minor (1770)
Playing time approx. 18 mins. 4 regular movements (age 38)
One of my favourite C18th symphonies as I’ve already mentioned, there is a wonderful
performance available on CD by the Esterhazy Orchestra conducted by David Blum. Esterhazy was the
home of Haydn’s original employer the Prince Esterhazy, so this recording has some authenticity even
though I think I’m safe in assuming that the original orchestra members will be long dead by now!
The 1st mvt starts with a moderately brisk theme on strings, which suddenly stops after just four
bars, followed by a bar of silence. Then another four bars followed by another bar of silence. The mood
is tinged with a hint of sadness even though things seem to progress relatively rapidly. It’s those
unnerving silences, which make the music sound insecure, unsure of where to go next. The movement
follows a standard sonata form pattern and shows no sign of stress, but those intriguing silences keep
popping up like worn patches on a beautifully woven carpet. It eventually dances to an abrupt
conclusion after six minutes; a beautifully crafted miniature ornament.
The 2nd mvt is a beautiful delicate waltz in 3/4 time, like French lace. Everything is understated;
if it is a dance then the dancers are tiptoeing around the dance floor. Short silences still pervade the
piece; every instrument can be heard clearly, staccato-like but never abrupt. Only in the final few bars
do the strings play legato (smoothly), winding up the movement concisely.
The 3rd mvt is the minuet proper, with a gorgeous tune that sways gently. The accompanying trio
brings the wind instruments into focus for the first time, playing a counter-melody to the strings, which
take a back seat for a minute or two. Then the repeat of the minuet closes the movement.
The finale follows hot on the heels of the minuet with a frantic rushing theme almost like a
chase. The orchestra used is quite small, possibly less than twenty players in all, but here they combine
very effectively to give a sense of extreme urgency. The movement is again in sonata form, with a repeat
of the short development section and recapitulation, which brings the total running time of the whole
work to less than 18 minutes, but it’s 18 minutes well spent listening to this charming work.
Symphony no.44 in e minor “Mourning” (“Trauer”) (1772)
Playing time approx. 20-25 mins. 4 regular movements (age 40)
One of Haydn’s best out of his 106+ symphonies, the Trauer or Mourning symphony is a shining
example of his Sturm und Drang (Storm & Stress) period. The music is restless and tinged with sadness,
but for all that it never drags its heels, and moves along at a rapid pace. There are four standard
movements in the classical 18th century style, with the first movement in regular sonata form, a minuet
& trio movement placed unusually second instead of third, then a slow movement that Haydn asked to
be played at his funeral; followed by a stormy finale. The best part of the whole symphony is
undoubtedly the slow movement, and it’s not hard to understand why Haydn wanted it as his funeral
piece. It is not necessarily sad, just wistful and contemplative.
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Symphony no.45 in f# minor “Farewell” (1772)
Playing time approx. 20-25 mins. 4 regular movements (with adagio finale) (age 40)
This symphony, again in the Sturm und Drang style, opens with scurrying strings that almost
sound like they are arguing. The first movement is again in more or less regular sonata form, with the
slow movement occupying the standard second place. Here though, the music seems to spread itself out
thinly, and switches between major and minor scales, creating a lost, yearning effect. Haydn’s agenda is
already making itself apparent. The story goes that the players in Prince Esterhazy’s orchestra hadn’t
had a holiday for a long time, and asked Haydn to do something about it; hence the title of this
symphony. Haydn’s masterstroke comes in the finale, which starts off regularly enough; fast and furious
– then after just a couple of minutes, it breaks off abruptly, then restarts with what is basically a 2nd slow
movement, during which the players are instructed to snuff out their candles one by one, and leave the
stage. Each performer also plays a little solo before leaving. The order of departure is: first oboe and
second horn (solos), bassoon (no solo), second oboe and first horn (solos), double bass (solo), cello (no
solo), orchestral violins (solos), viola (no solo). By the end of the symphony, only two violinists remain
to round the piece off, then they too walk off quietly. Apparently the Prince took the hint, and gave them
their holiday!
Symphony no.73 in D “La Chasse” (1783)
Playing time approx. 20 mins. 4 regular movements (age; 51)
A languid introduction kicks off this symphony, giving little away as to what’s to come. The 1 st
mvt proper contains a lilting tune with a hint of sadness. Little pauses again intensify the mood, just as
in no.39. The 2nd mvt continues the straight-faced mood in quick 12/8 time. The minuet is lighter in
mood with a pastoral sounding tune sounding something like a hoedown. It’s kept very short, and the
trio section continues the mood merging seamlessly with its predecessor. Then back to the minuet for a
brief recap. Then the hunt is on! The finale starts with a brief fanfare, and the orchestra ducks and dives
over hedges and streams in the spirit of the chase. It’s all kept quite very orderly and polite though, and
of course it’s back to the pavilion for tea at the end.
Symphony no.94 in G “Surprise” (1791)
Playing time approx. 25 mins. 4 regular movements (age; 59)
First performance: March 23, 1792 in London (Age; 60)
A real gem of a symphony, and a magnificent example of Haydn’s later style. After a short slow
introduction, the 1st mvt kicks off with a gloriously sunny tune which never appears to repeat itself but is
a constant flow of inspiration right through to the end of the exposition. This was something Haydn was
supremely good at, and seemed to do effortlessly. There follows the usual development and
recapitulation that comprised the standard Sonata Form of the time, but handled with supreme mastery
by Haydn, of course.
The 2nd mvt starts off with the famous soft tune that lulled audiences to sleep before waking
them all up with a loud chord. After that though there is a magnificent set of variations on that same
theme.
The 3rd mvt is a rumbustuous minuet which sounds like it should be danced with clogs on. There
are pre-echoes of Beethoven here, I reckon, except that B would have given the dancers more of a
swagger. The trio section is daintier and generally understated.
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The finale is bright and breezy, with more of that effortless melodic invention as in the 1 st mvt.
Music like this flowed from Haydn’s pen in an unending stream and makes one wonder how he did it.
He never showed any signs of running out of ideas, in fact he improved as he got older. There isn’t a
weak moment in this whole work.
Symphony no.101 in D “The Clock” (1794)
Playing time approx. 25 mins. 4 regular movements
First performance: March 3 1794 in London (age 62)
Clocks (and especially pocket watches) in the late C18th were hugely expensive luxury items and
a souce of fascination for anyone who owned one. The symphony gets its nickname from the ticking
effect in the 2nd mvt – quite deliberately done by Haydn. But let’s start at the beginning: The 1st mvt
(after a short slow introduction) is a wonderfully inventive typically Haydnesque melody which leaps
and bounds joyfully around the orchestra in quick 6/8 time, and is over all too soon. Then the famous
slow movement follows with its precise tick-tock beat and whistful carefree tune. Surprisingly Haydn
doesn’t use drums or percussion to form the clocklike rhythm, but a couple of bassoons! At one point
the music stops altogether – maybe it needs winding? Then just when you think the movement’s over, it
restarts in an unexpected minor key and then in triple time before making its way back to the major,
ending peacefully.
The minuet start with a curious off-beat tune which sounds odd at first. You have to count the
beats in your head to hear it right (ONE two three, ONE two three). Curious descending phrases tend to
keep putting you off the beat. Once the tune is established though, it works well enough. The trio is built
around a simple rising scale played on the flute. More short gaps in the music towards the end – Haydn
obviously liked to let his music breathe occasionally. Where Mozart might put a rest, Haydn puts a tea
break with chocolate biscuits and a quick scan of page 3 before continuing.
The finale has no truck with tea breaks though; the strings start by chattering a little tune to
themselves for a while before the rest of the orchestra joins in to flesh it out. From then on it’s plain
sailing through to the end.
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WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART (1756-1791)
Symphony no.36 in C, k425 “Linz” (1783)
Playing time approx. 25 mins. 4 regular movements
First perf.ormance: November 4, 1783 in Linz (age: 27)
“On Thursday, the Fourth of November, I am going to give a concert in the theater, and, as I
have not a single symphony by me, I am writing away over head and ears at a new one, which must be
ready by then.” So wrote Mozart to his father on visiting the city of Linz in 1783. Apparently he wrote
this whole symphony in just four days. Honestly, what a show-off! Still, however long it took to write, it
is still an excellent work.
The 1st mvt opens with a grand slow introduction (unusual for Mozart) which paves the way for
the exposition; a long flowing melody more reminiscent of Haydn. In fact, the whole symphony bears a
resemblance to Haydn’s style in overall structure, although with a confidence and colour that only
Mozart could pull off. There then follows the standard C18th sonata form style movement with a repeat
of the whole expo, then development and subsequent recapitulation. In all, a perfect example of the
form. Well, what else would you expect from “Amadeus”? No surprises, just good solid whistlable
music.
The 2nd is unusually in 6/8 time (One two three, TWO two three…), and is quite often played
much slower than M originally intended (apparently the marking was changed from Andante to Poco
adagio some time in the C19th). Played at its proper speed it almost sounds like a graceful waltz.
The Minuet & trio – also usually played much slower than it should be. Not much else to be said
about it really – it does the job.
The finale is an exciting chase with rushing strings, again reminiscent of Haydn (see his no.73
“La Chasse”). Again it has the standard Sonata form structure. The final bars (a bold “Dum-ti-dum”
phrase) seem to me to state “Don’t’cha know?”
Symphony no.37 – what’s the deal with this then?
There is no Mozart Symphony no.37, and that’s official. Of course he wrote more than 37
symphonies in total. The trouble is that the numbers of Mozart’s symphonies bear little relation to the
actual order of composition (except for the last handful), and no.37 came about because Mozart wrote an
introduction to a symphony by Michael Haydn - Joseph’s brother who was also a composer of some
note (sorry!) That entire work somehow came to be identified for a time as Mozart's Symphony No. 37
K. 444, and, although the matter of authorship was eventually put right, the numbering of Mozart's own
subsequent symphonies was never changed. So now you know.
Symphony no.38 in D, k504 “Prague” (1786)
Playing time approx. 30-35 mins. 3 movements (no minuet&trio)
First perf.ormance: December 6, 1786, in Vienna (age: 30)
My favourite Mozart symphony, and his longest even though it has no minuet movement. There
is a long ponderous introduction which by itself can take up to four minutes. When the main theme starts
though, it’s a real beauty, constantly surprising with many twists and turns. It’s almost like a travelogue
of places that Mozart visited during his youth, with all the sights, sounds and smells that go along with
the experiences of a seasoned traveller. All in all six themes are heard, but welded and melded into a
sumptuous whole. After a complete (and deserved) repeat, we head into the development, and once
again Mozart excels. Even the whole development section is often repeated, which goes some way to
explaining the length of the symphony in some performances. The recapitulation neatly wraps
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everything up into a neat and beautifully written movement that spans almost a quarter of an hour
providing it is not rushed – probably the longest symphonic movement written up to that time.
The 2nd movement is a laid-back three-quarter time melody and only really a “slow” movement
when contrasted with the other two. Although in the major key, it veers off into the minor occasionally
which tinges it with melancholy. It also follows strict Sonata form, unusual for a middle movement.
The finale neatly balances the preceding two movements and competently ends the symphony.
The tune was taken from Mozart’s own opera The Marriage of Figaro which theatre-goers at the time
would have known well due to the opera’s enormous popularity. The coda is often repeated too, which
can confuse an audience who think it’s ended into applauding too soon!
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BEETHOVEN, LUDWIG VAN (1770-1827)
Symphony no.1 in C major op.21 (1800)
Playing time approx 25 minutes. 4 regular movements.
First performance: April 2, 1800, Vienna (age: 29)
The first thing to notice in this symphony is the very first chord – a “leading” chord into the
home key – the musical equivalent of starting a sentence with a full stop. A very bold move for a (then)
relatively unknown composer. A slow Haydnesque introduction then follows, which paves the way for
the main theme of the 1st mvt – regular sonata form and nothing spectacular, but you can already hear
Beethoven’s “sound” in it. The 2nd mvt glides along pleasantly; the 3rd, although marked minuet is
really a scherzo in all but name. (B. would use the term Scherzo from this point on.) The 4th mvt is
reminiscent of Haydn but with a clever use of alternating pp and ff dynamics (quiet-loud-quiet-loud)
which give a sort of urgency to the music.
A review of the symphony at the time criticised some over-use of the woodwind, which to us
sounds quite natural, but to music lovers of the time brought up on Haydn and Mozart it must have
sounded a bit odd. It’s obvious to me though that B. was flexing his muscles with the orchestra, and
already breaking out of the mould that his predecessors had set.
It is interesting to note that at the age of 29 B was already noticing a deterioration in his hearing
at this point. None of this though is noticeable in his music – ever.
Symphony no.2 in D major op.36 (1802)
Playing time approx 30 minutes. 4 regular movements.
First performance: 1803, Theatre An Der Wein, Vienna (age: 32)
Dedicated to Prince Lichnowsky
Similar in style to the first, but utilising a wider perspective, this symphony starts with a much
longer slow introduction before the main theme gets underway. It’s quite obvious that although the work
is based on the C18th model, it is taking that model to its limits. B is painting his scene right to the edge
of the canvas. There is an interesting shift from the introduction in 6/8 to the main theme in 4/4, then
the movement swings into motion with an expansive theme that reminds me of Mozart’s Prague in
terms of scale – which up till then was the longest symphony written. It promises an interesting journey,
and then delivers it magnificently in textbook easy-to-follow sonata form. The 2nd mvt – marked
Larghetto but seems quite casual, and was quite popular at the time as a separate piece. The Scherzo is a
typical example of B’s jovial style and bounces along merrily. The finale increases the merriment with
an almost careless flippant tune, and brings the work to a smiling conclusion.
Symphony no.3 in Eb major op.55 “Eroica” (1804)
Playing time approx 45-50 minutes. 4 regular movements.
First performance: 4 Aug 1804, at the home of Prince Lobkowicz (B’s patron) (age: 33)
Dedicated to Napoleon (originally)
There are quite a few pieces of music in history, which can be said to be turning points in the
development of music as a whole, and this piece has a good claim to being possibly the most significant.
The first performance at Prince Lobkowicz’s home in 1804 was made into a BBC drama recently, and
for me was as good as actually being there. The look of shock and puzzlement on the faces of family,
guests and performers alike was a joy to behold, and made me almost believe I was watching a slice of
actual history. So what is so special about this work? To answer that you really do have to go back to
1804.
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First of all, Beethoven declares that his new symphony is “about Napoleon”. This immediately
puts the wind up everybody present. How can a piece of music – a piece of instrumental music – be
“about” anything at all? Napoleon’s name was on everyone’s lips at the time, and to the young
Beethoven he was a Hero – he would surely liberate the poor and bring stability and prosperity to
everyone. But to say the music was “about” him – that beggared belief. Music is abstract – isn’t it? But
then the music starts – raggedly at first; the orchestra have great difficulty with the abruptness and
fierceness of the scoring. They struggle on for a minute or two till B shouts “STOP!” Then when all the
huffing and cursing from the orchestra had died down, he told them, “Gentlemen, you are used to
making a beautiful sound. But here I don’t want a beautiful sound.” He instructs the orchestra to play
with more attack, more gusto than they are used to – and eventually they manage it, but not without a lot
of effort. Then the motive reveals itself. This is music that depicts a battle, a conflict, heroism, bravery.
It rises and falls, it breathes, it lives like no previous music has ever been heard to do. To this first
audience it must have been a colossal shock3. Remember, people really understood music then, or at
least the kind of music they were used to hearing. They knew the rules, and could follow the intricacies
of sonata form quite easily. Certainly the Prince could; he knew how the game was supposed to be
played, and now he was listening to something that seriously strained at all the recognised orthodoxies
of composition.
Then, something seems to go seriously wrong. The music reaches the end of the development
section when suddenly a horn plays the opening theme one bar “too early”. This was too much! Cries of
“Wrong!” “Idiot!” – and the concert lurches to a halt again. This was played out in the BBC drama and
I’m pleased to say they got it exactly right, according to the history books. It wasn’t wrong at all –
Beethoven deliberately wrote it like that. Nowadays we simply don’t notice such a horrendous
transgression, but in 1804 and a musically savvy audience it was analagous to cursing in the middle of a
hymn. Needless to say the show got back underway once the “error” had been explained, but after a few
minutes there were more dark mutterings – it’s going on too long! The 1st movement should have
finished by now. He’s mucked about with the whole structure of the thing. Sure enough, Beethoven
added a second “development” and extended coda AFTER the recapitulation section and what sounded
like the end of the movement – an extra 140 bars before the final two chords signal the end of the
movement. And there are still three more movements to go!
The 2nd movement is a total change of pace – a funeral march, of all things. So who’s died? The
music doesn’t say, but the image of weeping spectators watching a procession draped in black is hard to
keep from the mind. The music really does weep; at the end it almost breaks up into fragments. This also
was unprecedented. Music had never before been capable of displaying such strong emotions; even now
this movement is regulary played at funerals all over the world.
Then everything jumps back into life in the Scherzo, with a skittish tune that starts off muttering
to itself before leaping into action with gusto. The presence of such cheerful music straight after a
funeral march is puzzling, and all sorts of theories have been put forward to explain why Beethoven
wrote it the way he did, but he couldn’t really have done anything else. The solemn tone of the funeral
march had to be dispersed sooner or later, and the Scherzo written as it is gets the whole symphony
moving along again at a cracking pace. The general mood seems to be “The King is dead; long live the
King” as one reviewer put it. Berlioz said of it that it sounded like “Funeral games around the tomb of
the warrior” as depicted in Homer’s Iliad. Whatever. The horns in the Trio section sound a note of
remembrance all the same, just before the repeat of the Scherzo.
Then we finally arrive at the last movement, which continues the proud upbeat tone of the whole
work. After a short introductory flourish a simple tune is revealed; almost like a nursery rhyme, based
on three notes. It is similar to the theme of the first movement, but at first sounds quite naïve. There then
follows a lengthy set of magnificent variations on that simple theme which Beethoven takes to
extraordinary lengths, finally bringing the whole symphony to a joyous conclusion.
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So is this a groundbreaking work as it is made out to be? I certainly think so. In terms of scale,
emotive power, grandeur, technique and sheer musical punch it surpasses everything that went before it,
and then some. Haydn observed that “after this, music will never be the same again”, and it wasn’t.
One more thing about the Eroica before we leave it – Beethoven initially inscribed Napoleon’s
name on the front page of the manuscript, but when he heard that the Great Man had declared himself
Emperor, he famously lost his cool and scribbled out the name with such force that he tore a hole in the
paper. “So he too is just an ordinary man. Now he will trample on the rights of mankind and indulge
only in his own ambition” is what he is reputed to have said. I think he probably put it a bit stronger than
that, but I wasn’t there and I only have the dead voice of history to inform me. Shame, I’d love to have
seen it. Judging by the damage he made to the manuscript, I imagine his outburst was probably more
along the lines of “That b*&$%# Napoleon, who the f&#*% does he think he is?”
Symphony no.5 in C minor op.67 “Fate” (1806)
Playing time approx 30-35 minutes. 4 regular movements (3rd & 4th combined)
First performance: 22 Dec 1808 Theatre An Der Wein (age 38)
Not one of my favourite Beethoven works, it’s a bit too martial and clamorous for me but it has
its admirers nonetheless. It was first performed at the famous 4-hour concert in Vienna along with the
Pastoral, the 4th piano concerto, the Choral Fantasia and various other Beethoven works which must
have taxed the most music-loving of audiences at the time, especially when you consider the conditions
– by all accounts the theatre was freezing cold with no heating or ventilation.
The famous “da-da-da-dum” opening phrase is one of the most well known in all music, and
undoubtedly increased the popularity of the symphony during the Second World War when it was used
as the symbol for Victory. (In Morse Code, the letter V is dot-dot-dot-dash.) However it is what B.
manages to do with this simple tune that is so astonishing. Not a single note is wasted in this concisely
argued movement as the theme is put through its paces, trimmed to three notes, then two, then just one!
A brief pause elicits a solo oboe cadenza before the coda ties everything up neatly.
The 2nd mvt is a more serene exploration of a laid-back tune, put through a series of variations,
which consist mostly of halving the note lengths, which in turn prompts the tune to weave an ever-finer
web. This is one of B.’s favourite tricks; he does the same in the 6th, 8th and 9th symphonies, and
probably in the others somewhere too. Towards the end of the movement the music takes on a more
martial tone again, reminiscent of the opening “da-da-da-dum”. There is apparently no escaping it.
In the 3rd mvt we get three ideas one after the other with barely a pause for reflection; first a
brooding foggy scene is painted, then into this boldly marches another variation on the “fate” theme
stabbed out on horns and striding strings. This is repeated with an unexpected temporary key change.
Then in comes the Trio section with muttering low strings, which sound like circus midgets doing
pratfalls. The scene repeats but now it is a shadow of its former self. The mist encompasses everything
and we are left in a musical limbo for a while. The timpani beats out a soft muffled tread, marking time
until the finale bursts through in C major. Victorious, but not necessarily overjoyed about it. There is
still a certain restraint about the celebrations. Nonetheless, the music celebrates its victory over the
darkness and revels in its conquest – but wait; is that the Scherzo theme again, casting a shadow on the
parade? It is quickly dealt with however, and the music marches on to a conclusion hammered
insistently home by multiple repetitions of a brash C major chord, as if to say, “This is the end. It is. It
really is. It is. It’s the end. That’s all. Now. Done. Over. And out.”
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Symphony no.6 in F major op.68 “Pastoral” (1808)
Playing time approx 40-45 minutes. 5 movements (3rd, 4th & 5th continuous)
First performance: 22 Dec 1808 Theatre An Der Wein (age 38)
Immediately the Pastoral starts, you are magically transported into the heart of the countryside.
There is no question about it; whatever your mood, whatever the weather; even if you live in the heart of
a smog-laden city, play this music and the sky instantly turns blue and the sun pokes through the clouds
and shines down lazily on green fields and pastures. It’s pure magic woven by Beethoven right from bar
one. Amazing to think that its first performance in 1808 was in a freezing cold theatre during a harsh
Viennese winter in the middle of a 4-hour all-Beethoven concert! The only thing to keep the audience
warm must have been this glowing music.
The 1st mvt was described by B. himself as “Awakening of happy feelings upon arrival in the
countryside”, and the music magically transports you straight there so quickly it’s a scramble to grab
your sun hat and lotion and check you’ve turned the gas off before you are literally whisked away. There
is no other piece I know that paints a scene so thoroughly that you can feel the sun on your back and
hear the birds chirping high in the trees. The music is bright and happy throughout – except for one
small cloud that passes over the sun briefly (a sudden brief change to a minor key) then even that is gone
and there is nothing else to do but kick your shoes off and revel in the scene.
The 2nd mvt is labelled “Scene by the brook” and is if anything, even more beautiful. There is a
rippling effect throughout the movement, which presumably denotes the brook itself, and the music
floats lazily by without a care in the world. Towards the end there is a delightful coda comprising three
woodwind instruments in a kind of triple birdcall (supposedly the nightingale, quail and cuckoo) before
the movement literally dozes off with the sun still shining. A wonderful touch.
The 3rd mvt, B. tells us, is the “Peasants’ Merrymaking”, and he does a wonderful job of
imitating a small gathering of amateur musicians playing a sort of hoedown. Listen carefully to the oboe
as he “misses his cue” every time, and the bassoon playing just three simple notes over and over again –
occasionally adding one as if by mistake! Then the beat changes from 6/8 to a fast 2/4 – take your
partners please! The whole thing is repeated, and round they go again, oblivious of the approaching
storm. Another repeat is attempted, but the revelry is suddenly halted as the rain starts pitter-pattering on
the ground. Then all of a sudden the heavens open and the dance party is deluged by a terrific storm
complete with lightning and thunder! This is a superb depiction of a storm the like of which had never
been heard before. The storm quickly passes though, and we now find ourselves in the final movement,
the “Shepherd’s hymn after the storm”. A simple tune surfaces which goes through several simple
permutations (basically halving the note lengths on each repeat – one of B’s favourite compositional
devices) bringing the whole work to a peaceful and radiant close.
Symphony no.7 in A major op.92 (1812)
Playing time approx 30-35 minutes. 4 regular movements
First performance: 8 Dec 1813 Great Hall of Vienna University (age 43)
Dedicated to Count von Fries
Famously described by Wagner as “The Apotheosis of the Dance”, and also said by some that B
must have been drunk when he wrote it, this is nonetheless a fine work, which seems to tell a story.
However, although many have tried to fit a story to it, as with most orchestral music it stands on its own.
The 1st mvt announces itself with a bang, then a slow introduction follows with a rising “endless
staircase” theme. This eventually dissolves into a single repeated note, which metamorphoses gradually
into the energetic main theme. A regular and satisfying sonata form movement in a fast 6/8 time then
follows.
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The 2nd mvt is well known in its own right; a languid allegretto which is usually played far
slower than B intended. The beat of the whole movement is persistent (dum ti ti dum dum) and could
almost have been copyrighted by B. as it is almost impossible to use that same beat in anything else
without being reminded of this piece.
The 3rd mvt opens with a scramble akin to the start of a three-legged race, but once it gets going
it lollops along with breakneck speed, sounding as if it’s going to fall flat on its face any second. It is
interspersed with a chorale-like Trio, which to me gets a bit too repetitious, especially if the conductor
insists on performing every optional repeat.
Then the finale springs into life after a couple of false starts – and immediately conjures up a
riotous drunken Bacchanalian orgy. Now we see what Wagner and the others were on about. The music
sways and totters and crashes into the furniture with gay abandon, spilling its pint all over you then
looking you in the eye and daring you to say anything. (If you listen to the beat of this movement
carefully you might spot a resemblance to the 2nd mvt of the Choral symphony with its timpani
interjections.) The movement ends with a rousing coda and two short flourishes (basically the two false
starts in reverse) which seem to say “That’s all” - in fact the whole movement sounds like it was put “in
quotes”. (Has anybody noticed this before me? Somebody must have!)
Note also that despite all this orchestral colour, the orchestra used is quite small; there are no
parts for either piccolo or trombone in the whole work.
Symphony no.9 in D minor op.125 “Choral” (1824)
Playing time approx 65-70 minutes. 4 regular movements (Scherzo 2 nd, Choral finale)
First performance: 7 May 1824 at the Kärntnertortheater in Vienna (age 53)
Dedicated to King Friedrich Wilhelm III of Prussia
I have covered this symphony already in the main text, but I’d like to add some more notes here.
A great deal is always made of the choral finale to this work, but the three preceding movements in my
opinion are much more interesting musically. Once the choral climax is reached, I find my attention
wandering for the last 10 minutes or so - up to that point I am riveted on the musical panorama this
symphony rolls out before me, but the ending lets the whole thing down for me. Apparently I’m not
alone in my opinions; even the great Guiseppe Verdi (Joe Green to you) lamented that the grand finale
was “badly set.” But of course criticising the Choral is like complaining about Mozart – it simply isn’t
done. Except by me though – this book is based on my opinions, and if I dare to go against the grain of
popular opinion then that is my choice. I love this symphony – I really do – but I think B. should have
trimmed the final movement a bit and cut out some of the vocal gymnastics that he puts the four soloists
through. It sounds too much like showing off, and doesn’t work for me.
Having got that off my chest, let’s go over several other interesting facts concerning the Choral:
when CDs were first developed, it was suggested that the maximum running time should be sufficient to
encompass an entire recording of the Choral on one disc, and so when the first pre-recorded CDs arrived
in the shops they had a maximum playing time of 74 minutes. (Nowadays they usually go up to 80
minutes, and some can go to 90) Also, after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 Leonard Bernstein
conducted a performance where he changed the word “Freude” (Joy) to “Freiheit” (Freedom) with the
excuse that Schiller actually wrote it that way himself at one point. I can live with that, it didn’t change
the mood of the symphony and worked quite well on the day. Also his “Freiheit” version timed in at
nearly 80 minutes, but didn’t sound particularly slow.
Another great story concerning the Choral is the one about Beethoven himself on the night of the
first performance. Of course by this time he was totally deaf, but he stood alongside the actual conductor
(Michael Umlauf) and “conducted” according to his inner ear, as it were. The orchestra had already been
instructed to ignore B.’s flailing and concentrate on Umlauf, but by the time the symphony reached its
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conclusion B. was still windmilling away, totally unaware that the performance had ended and the
audience behind him were on their feet hooting and cheering for all they were worth. Umlauf had to
physically coax B. around 180 degrees so he could at least see the rapturous applause that was all for his
benefit. Amazing to think that the Great Maestro never heard a single note of this wonderful music that
he had written.
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SCHUBERT, FRANZ (1797-1828)
Symphony no.8 in b minor op.125 “Unfinished” (1822)
Playing time approx 25-30 minutes. 2 movements
First performance: 17 December 1865 (posthumously)
First of all, let’s put aside the various stories and speculations on the reason why this amazing
symphony was never completed, and concentrate on the music for now. This symphony is totally unlike
any of Schubert’s other symphonies, and totally unlike anything else written at that time. It sounds like it
should belong in the world of Brahms and Bruckner, yet it was written in 1822. It is definitely
Schubert’s work – there can be no mistake. It is written in his handwriting and has his autograph on the
front page of the manuscript. There are only two movements; a monumental brooding first movement
followed by a placid yet still slightly disturbing second. That’s it. This music sounds to me like a tour
through a haunted house – you’re never quite sure what’s around the corner! There is an air of sadness
and slight menace throughout; especially in the 1st mvt.
It starts with a slow cello theme that has absolutely no intention of rushing – in fact the whole
symphony is quite leisurely paced. But that theme is seemingly just an introduction; the “main theme”
follows afterwards on cor anglais, with shimmering string accompaniment and quietly plucked bass. The
music swells up to an odd climax with a syncopated fanfare, then a change of key brings in a third
theme played by the strings. So which one of these is the main theme? It’s hard to tell at this stage. This
certainly isn’t a typical sonata form movement. This house isn’t merely haunted, it’s crooked! This third
theme sounds at first like it’s settling down for a good run, accompanied by that same odd syncopation,
then it suddenly stops in its tracks, literally as if it’s seen a ghost. Another scary fanfare rises up through
the orchestra for all the world like someone with a sheet over his head going “Boo!” There is a brief
development of this musical material with themes bouncing or echoing menacingly across the orchestra,
then after a final “Boo”, the strings tiptoe back downstairs and we are back at the “front door” opening
theme, to take another ride through the whole process.
After a complete repeat of all this material we go around again, but now (in the development
section) the cellos & basses take us by a shivering hand right down into the cellar of this funhouse. Now
it really gets creepy. It’s almost like the music is saying, “Think that was bad? Take a look at THIS!…
and THIS!…” The music won’t let you go, it demands that you look at its grisly wonders. Now you hear
that opening theme thrown in your face with increasing firmness. IT is the main theme after all. Listen to
it carefully - you can practically hear it saying, “I was the main theme. Now look at me! And it’s ALL
YOUR FAULT.” Eventually this accusatory theme dissolves away like a bad case of indigestion, and
you are allowed to retreat slowly back into the daylight – well, twilight anyway. After this rather fierce
development there is a recapitulation involving the secondary themes from the exposition, then a coda
which consists more or less entirely of the “haunted” theme; it manifests itself once more and insists on
reminding you of its tortured soul, which by sheer repetition is finally exorcised. Four final chords slam
the creaky door in your face. Gulp.
The 2nd mvt has for the most part a much more positive sound, although still quite leisurely. It is
obviously a thematic “cousin” to the 1st, but we are no longer in that dreaded house. Maybe we are
exploring the surrounding countryside, or a nearby graveyard. The music does sound as if it is “walking”
around, with a definite ambling stride to it. Ever now and then it stops to think back on its earlier
adventure, and when it does so the sky clouds over again and the memories come flooding back. We are
still in the same world, just a bit more detached from it. Towards the end the strings climb higher and
higher and time seems to stop – as if pondering over the entire experience and coming to an agreeable
conclusion. Then there is a sudden unexpected key change into a sunnier, warmer key. The fog has lifted
at last. There is a final sense of relief as the music comes to a peaceful close. All is forgiven.
After listening to this piece again, I am convinced that Schubert did intend to finish it, but
probably just hadn’t come up with a good way to do so – and to be fair to him, simply couldn’t. These
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two movements are quite radical for the time, and needed something equally radical to round them off
into a four-movement symphony. He did leave some sketches for a scherzo, but what scraps have been
left to us certainly don’t match up to these two finished movements – at least not to my ear. Schubert
was straining to grasp what only Mahler probably achieved ninety years later, with his own 9th
symphony. I can imagine following this first spooky movement and second wistful one with an earthy
ambiguous scherzo and a tortured emotional finale the like of which was simply unknown in 1822. The
music he had already written was stretching forward and straining at the early Romantic form which had
not then evolved sufficiently to encompass what it really required to become a whole self-contained
LATE-Romantic work. Full marks to Schubert for trying – it’s such a pity he left it. But then again, we
should be infinitely grateful for having what we do have. Think about this; if Mozart had lived into his
60’s then theoretically he could have lived to hear it. What would HE have made of it?
However, Schubert died in 1728 aged just 31, with the entire world completely oblivious to the
existence of this unique but incomplete masterpiece. It lay buried, like hidden treasure, in
Hüttenbrenner’s cluttered study for over 30 years. Schubert was in awe of Beethoven and his masterly
use of the symphonic form, but too shy to actually approach the Great Man and ask his opinion. Maybe
he knew he had something potentially great, but put it aside until he had gathered up sufficient courage
to do just that. “Herr Beethoven, I am a great admirer of yours, and I would be extremely grateful if you
could spend a few minutes of your time in looking over a little doodle I’ve written. Do you think you
could find time to glance at it…?” (Of course he would not have been able to speak to him; he would
have had to write this down in Beethoven’s notebook, which B carried around with him for this purpose.
I suppose that would make the prospect even more daunting to such a shy man as Schubert!)
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FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY (1809-1847)
Symphony no.1 in C (1824)
Playing time approx. 25-30 mins. 4 regular movements
First performance: London 1829 – conductor Mendelssohn (age: 15)
Mendelssohn originally labelled this his 13th string symphony, which explains why the strings dominate
throughout. A thoroughly masterful and adult work for such a young composer.
The symphony starts with a bit of a rush – no time to get settled in your seat, the music floods
out at you like a torrent, and makes you feel like you’ve just entered a room where a heated argument is
in full swing. This musical argument is taut and serious and plays out almost entirely with strings alone
(no drums or percussion to speak of), but after a short while the mood softens a little, although
maintaining its straight face throughout the first movement.
In the 2nd mvt the frenetic pace is replaced with stolid contemplation worthy of Brahms 60 years
in the future, but always with Mendelssohn’s keen ear for a beautiful melody. The string section still
dominates, with interjections from the woodwind to keep the debate going.
The scherzo brings us back to the argument table with some fresh ideas and a hint of optimism
for the first time. The woodwind seem to say “What about this idea… ?” and the strings argue it out like
some old professor being forced to listen to a know-it-all upstart who dares to take him on. The trio is
quite definitely the tea break in this musical spat – an oasis of calm and serenity. But all too soon it’s
back to the negotiating table for the resumption of the scherzo to pick up where it left off.
The finale still maintains the grim but determined mood, now with some brass to back up the
strings, almost thumping the table now in their determination to end this impasse. Then suddenly the
strings tiptoe away pizzicato style, while a solo flute offers a compromise. Yes – this might work. Still
no glorious sunny revelation, but a string fugue weighs everything up and leads us to revised repeat of
the beginning of the finale and on to a satisfactory conclusion of the symphony. So who won the
argument? I have no idea, but it made fascinating listening!
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SCHUMANN, ROBERT (1810-1856)
Symphony no.1 in B op.38 “Spring” (1841)
Playing time approx 25-30 minutes. 4 regular movements
First performance: 31 March 1841 at Leipzig Gewandhaus, Mendelssohn conducting (age 31)
Schumann’s Spring symphony is a pleasant slice of music to keep you occupied for half an hour
or so. Apparently written in four days, so equalling Mozart’s record for his Linz and proving that
Schumann was a musical genius in his own right. (However, he then took four weeks tidying up the
orchetration!) It was also revised slightly in 1853, and the revised version is the one normally heard
nowadays. Schumann wanted to evoke the natural life-affirming feeling of the approaching season in his
music, and from a pre-Wagnerian perspective, succeeded. Odd then that he actually composed it in the
bleak winter months between 1840 and 1841. The 1st movement was originally titled Awakening of
Spring and abounds with joyous expressions and feelings, albeit with a totally different perspective from
the one Beethoven took with the Pastoral. The rest of the work is pleasant enough although nothing
lingers in memory for very long.
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BIZET, GEORGES (1838-1875)
Symphony no.1 in C (1855)
Playing time approx 30 minutes. 4 regular movements
First performance: 1935 Basle – Felix Weingartner conducting (posthumous)
Bizet’s first (and only completed) symphony, was written as a student assignment when he was
just 17, and modelled closely on Gounod's first symphony. It seems that Bizet then completely forgot
about it, and was destined never to hear it in his lifetime. Many years after his death his widow gave the
manuscript to the composer Reynaldo Hahn. Then in 1933 Hahn presented it to the Paris Conservatoire.
Two years after that, Felix Weingartner conducted the symphony's first performance in Basle, belatedly
launching the career of what was immediately hailed as a junior masterwork (and rightly so in my
opinion). A delightful work - and a prodigious one, from such a young composer, the symphony bears a
stylistic resemblance to the music of Franz Schubert, whose symphonies were also virtually unknown in
Paris at that time.
The 1st mvt bounces along merrily with lots of “chattering” strings running up and down octaves
like mischievous elves playing on a staircase. It follows standard sonata form with an easily
recognisable exposition, development and recapitulation, and always gets me whistling along with it. It’s
one of those unforgettable tunes that – along with Tchaikovsky – Bizet could conjure up effortlessly.
The 2nd mvt is softer and slightly melancholy; the cor anglais taking centre stage singing a
wistful song. Then the strings come in with a second melody that soars to an absolutely beautiful
crescendo that sounds like it should be in a grand opera. Again Tchaikovsky springs to mind – but this
was written before T had written a note (and wouldn’t be heard until both composers were long dead.)
Then comes a dainty but sure-footed string fugue which has its say before giving way to the cor anglais
again to finish the movement with its woeful tale, while the other instruments (pizzicato strings
included) tiptoe around it.
The 3rd mvt then strides in the door with an almost Beethovenian swagger. More climbing up and
down stairs by the strings, similar to the 1st mvt. A full repeat of the scherzo ensues before we get to the
trio, which sounds almost Scottish to me, even down to simulation bagpipes with the low drone from the
cellos and the woodwind accompanying the slow violin theme with a jaunty mock-highland effect. Then
it’s back to the scherzo theme to finish the movement off.
The finale is a kind of perpetuum mobile with the strings now running around instead of
climbing stairs. The woodwind come in next, gambolling in the sunshine. The movement is full of
gorgeous melodies and never puts a foot wrong. Bizet shows us what a master he is; even at the tender
age of 17 he knew exactly what he was doing. Again the movement follows sonata form quite closely;
the development section playing around a bit with changing keys. The movement – and the whole
symphony – comes to a satisfying conclusion and leaves you wanting more.
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TCHAIKOVSKY, PYTOR ILYCH (1840-1897), Russian
Symphony no.1 In G "Winter Dreams" op.13 (1874)
Playing time approx 40 minutes. 4 regular movements
First performance: original version Feb 1868 (age 28); final version December 1883 (age 43)
Unjustly neglected in my opinion, this first symphonic effort by Tchaikovsky needs to be played
more often. (Actually it was his 2nd, having been written two years after the original version of the
“Little Russian”. However this one was also extensively rewritten, having been started as early as 1866.)
The 1st mvt is confident and cheerful, despite its subtitle Dreams of a Winter Journey, and already we
can hear T’s mastery of everything melodic. The 2nd mvt however is where he really starts to shine. T
provided a subtitle for this also; the evocative title Land of Desolation, Land of Mists. Misty perhaps,
desolate; hardly. It is certainly evocative and chilly, but somehow still warm emotionally. At the heart of
the movement a cor anglais laments to us and gives us a tale of a frosty Russian winter. The tune is
taken up by the cellos and given life and colour, like an exotic bird that has been found frozen in the
snow and nursed back to health. Eventually it flies back up into the sky, but before it leaves it tells us
stories of distant lands it has seen. Towards the end after a passionate climax on the strings, we hear a
duet of clarinets playing very low tones (in fact almost the lowest notes they can physically play) in a
haunting moment of solitude, then a brief but solemn conclusion.
The 3rd mvt is a light dance in ¾ time which makes me think of the first snow of winter; fluffy
and fun but not in the least threatening. Kids running out into the cold sunshine to discover the white
stuff from the sky, throwing the first snowballs of the season. The trio is more like mature ice skaters
contentedly gliding around the frozen lakes in pairs. T paints a wonderfully delicate snowy scene here,
even though this movement has no subtitle (he never used subtitles again after this).
The finale tends to sound slightly forced, and is a bit of a disappointment after the first three
movements. It is still a satisfying conclusion to the symphony however. It does have a distinctly Russian
sound and foreshadows some of the more emotional outbursts of T’s later works. It mainly comprises
two solid themes which compliment each other and take turns to showcase themselves. One of these
starts to dominate to the point of megalomania towards the end, which makes me feel it sounds a bit
“forced”. Endings are always difficult to write without sounding clichéd, and this one proves that point
perfectly. Still, on the whole T managed it and did a marvellous job.
Symphony no.2 In G "Little Russian" op.17 (1872)
Playing time approx 40 mins (original version) 30 mins (final). 4 regular movements
First performance: original version Moscow Feb 7, 1873, (age 33); final version St. Petersberg Feb 12, 1881 (age 41)
On listening to the two completely different versions of the 1st mvt. I can’t help but wonder why
T decided to rewrite it. The original one is a masterpiece of symphonic argument which develops out of
the initial horn theme. In the 1881 version, that horn theme is discarded after the first hearing never to be
heard again, and instead a new shorter movement is developed out of a completely different tune. They
are both excellent works, but in my opinion the first one is more suited to the symphony as a whole. I’m
not alone on this by any means; the whole issue has been debated vigorously over the 100 years since
T’s death. Still, it was T’s work, and his decision must be honoured. I’m just glad that with modern CD
recordings, both versions can now be enjoyed. The original version is also longer and adds 5 to 10
minutes to the running time of the whole symphony. The version differences in the other three
movements are minor in comparison. (The nickname Little Russian by the way comes from the fact that
T used a lot of Ukranian folk tunes for this work. Ukraine is sometimes referred to as “Little Russia”.)
The 2nd mvt in complete contrast to the 1st (either version) is a gentle tip-toeing march with a
lovely accompanying string tune. It is the only real oasis of calm in the whole turbulent symphony, and
as such is a much needed pause for breath. Similarities can be heard with T’s ballet music, which
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probably led to someone commenting that his symphonies sound too much like ballets. Well, so what if
they do? This movement could easily be slotted into The Nutcracker for example, forming an exquisite
dance piece. Here though it provides a useful break between two stormy movements.
The Scherzo is a whirlwind of a piece in a perpetuum mobile style. Not necessarily menacing,
just a bit “blowy”. The accompanying trio, originally in fast and difficult to play triplets (di ti-di ti-di)
was altered in the final version to make the musician’s lives easier (No, I disagree. Make them suffer!)
The finale opens with a bold fanfare stating an old Ukranian folk tune called The Crane, which is
then pummelled to death by sheer repetition in a succession of instrumental variations. Thank God T
decided to trim this movement for the final version, as in the original it does tend to make your ears
numb after a while! Every now and then the tedium is relieved with a second more lyrical theme on the
strings, then The Crane pokes it head up again for another round of variations (and again, and again in
the original), until finally the Crane admits defeat and the symphony concludes on a rousing climax.
Tchaikovsky 1: Crane 0 by three falls and a final submission.
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MAHLER, GUSTAV (1860-1911), Austrian
Symphony no.1 in d minor “Titan” (1888)
Playing time approx 50-55 minutes. 4 mvts, originally 5 (Mahler dropped the “Blumine” mvt and “Titan” label after fp)
First performance: 1893 Hamburg
One of my all-time favourite symphonies, this is a masterpiece by anyone’s standards. Right
from the start, Mahler was determined to stamp his personality on his work, and take the idea of the
romantic symphony to its ultimate conclusion. Since his death in 1911, no composer has managed to
pour as much emotion and sheer humanity into any musical work (although of course hundreds have
tried.) A journey through Mahler’s epic symphonic output is a journey of love, hate, pride, humility,
joy, despair, life, death – and even beyond. Mahler pulls no punches in explaining in musical terms what
being human is all about.
We start this journey with the opening of his first symphony: a high thin sound in the
stratosphere of the orchestra paints a panorama of a cold deserted lifeless world. This is pure scenesetting. Distant fanfares and curious bird calls punctuate the soundscape and merely serve to make it
sound even more bleak and lifeless. The mists swirl and threaten. The cellos start a slow climbing tune
like some huge mindless creature just visible in the distance attempting to crawl out of the mud. This is
absolutely prehistoric music. The bircalls repeat, and then suddenly turn into a recognisable tune. And
what an amazing tune! It flows like a silver river of light through this misbegotten landscape and blows
the mists away with its sheer life affirming glow. It builds up to a somewhat premature climax before
dying away again, but it has made a crucial difference. The mists develop again, but now there is a
disctinct air of expectancy. The world has just experienced its first breath of life, and trembles with
uncertainty. Do we want this? Is this a good thing? The climbing tune reappears, mulling over the
possibilities. I don’t know about this… The world shudders, then seems to say, ok, I’m up for it. We’ll
give this Life thing a try.
Now the “Life” tune reappears, but it’s not the same as before. It’s more cautious. It sneaks up
more slowly this time. It never repeats itself; it metamorphoses and slides about, testing itself as it were.
It looks around and examines the scenery. Then it makes its stand. Fanfares again, and a defiant build up
of power from the whole orchestra. The world seems to hesitate, then suddenly the mist is banished for
good as Life finally takes hold and declares itself as the dominant force. A blast on the horns, a massive
thump from the timpani and strident fanfares herald in the New Age. The original life theme is now
supremely confident, and sweeps the whole orchestra up into its infectious happiness. It states boldly;
You made the right choice, this is going to be GOOD!
In its original form, the symphony had five movements, and the extra movement, Blumine came
second. A languid serene piece, it is a marvellous work in its own right, but doesn’t really fit into the
overall structure of the symphony, and I think Mahler was right in leaving it out. Besides, it tends to
destroy the momentum built up during the 1st mvt as we shall see.
The “official” 2nd mvt (originally the 3rd) is a scherzo-like piece, and stomps about happily with
the infectious enthusiasm carried over from the end of the 1st, which is the reason why I believe it’s
better to leave the Blumine movement out. In this way the inertia of the symphony is not lost. This
sounds to me like this bold new idea of Life is still flexing its new found muscles, and revelling in the
possibilities of its own existence, and the wonders to come. (Did Mahler know, when he wrote this, that
he would actually play out all those possibilities in his later symphonies? I think he did. The whole set of
ten numbered symphonies has all the hallmarks of a Grand Plan. It’s all there, from these first stirrings
of life to the ultimate enigma of death and the afterlife portrayed in the 10th, his final work. I think he
was trying to outdo Wagner’s huge opera cycle, and as far as I’m concerned, he did. Honourably and
magnificently.)
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Now we come to the 3rd mvt: a highly controversial piece. A great deal has been written about
this movement, and plenty of information on it is easily available. The melancholy “Frere Jacques”
theme played as a funeral march, the painting on which it was based of the huntsman’s coffin being
carried by the animals he hunted. The funeral march suddenly turning into a sarcastic waltz. But what is
Mahler telling us here? That Life isn’t all sweetness and light? That Life and Death walk hand in hand in
this world? Possibly. Irony was never far away in Mahler’s music, and here it’s right in your face. It’s as
if he’s now saying, You’ve sold your soul to it, now you’re stuck with it. You want Life, well you’ve got it
– along with all the pain, the misery, the torment, the uncertainty, and the unanswerable question of its
ending that will haunt you throughout. And this now becomes the focus of the remainder of the
symphony. The naïve joy of the first movement has now been tempered with suspicion, fear, anger, but
above all, uncertainty. Was it the right choice after all?
The 3rd mvt ends with a whimper as the mocking funeral tread vanishes into the distance. Then a
colossal cymbal crash - loud enough to wake the dead - announces the beginning of the finale.
Following right on its heels is a breathtaking whirlwind of music the like of which had never been heard
before in the 19th Century. Mahler now grabs us firmly by the hand and shows us what we’ve let
ourselves in for; he literally shows us the opening of the Pit of Hell. Drum rolls and cymbal crashes
punctuate the maelstrom like flashes of thunder and lightning; he really lays it on with a trowel. The
storm subsides with a lot of thumping and growling, but this is no Pastoral Symphony a la Beethoven.
There will be no shepherds celebrating the storm here. Instead there is an air of almost religious
contemplation. My God, what have we done? You can’t have the positive without opening the door to
the negative too. We have been betrayed. That offer of Life came with a heavy price, and we all know
what it is. The music gradually returns to the opening mists and the clumsy climbing theme, but now the
air is heavy with sadness and grief. Again the storm returns to torment us further. The distant fanfares
give us a glimpse of hope; come on, try to stay positive. An argument ensues. Life is not a simple thing
at all; it is hugely complex. There is a forced climax which attempts to put an end to the debate (and the
symphony) but it’s not over yet. Any other composer prior to Mahler would have wrapped the
symphony up at this point, but Mahler is by no means done yet. There is still much to be debated here.
Now an attempt is made to go right back to the beginning; to reclaim that lost innocence at the dawn of
time. Birdcalls return. Even the mist tries to make a comeback. But it won’t work, it’s too late for that.
Now the atmosphere is heavy and cloying, like acrid smoke drifting menacingly over a battlefield. What
can be done about this? Another huge orchestral swell, but it’s almost like a shrug of the shoulders. This
can’t be fixed. There’s no way back; we must go through with it. We are committed now, we must see it
through to the bitter end. The music fights with itself, forcing a smile as it soldiers on to the end.
Eventually the finish line is in sight, and the music manages to summon up the strength to march
resolutely up to it. The symphony ends affirmatively if not positively, with a huge climax wrenched
from the earth and held aloft with a defiant pose and gritted teeth. The message of the symphony? Life?
Don’t talk to ME about Life!
Symphony no.2 in c minor ‘Resurrection’ (1898)
Playing time approx 80-90 minutes. 5 movements
First full performance: 13 December 1895
I think it’s safe to go with the notion that Mahler tried to answer some of the questions he posed
in the 1st symphony concerning life and death in this one. The previous work posed the questions; Is Life
worth it? Can it justify all the anguish and suffering? Is there a meaning to it all that makes sense of all
the pain? The answer, as finally revealed in the last few moments of the Resurrection is a resounding
YES. But to get to that answer you have to literally trawl through all the miseries in Hell. You have to
take the journey to discover the truth. There is no other way. So, if you’re up for it, let’s begin. If you
don’t go on the journey, if you don’t even attempt to discover the truth, then your life has no meaning.
That’s what Mahler seems to be saying anyway.
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I’ve put off writing this for a very long time. To be honest, I don’t really know how to go about
writing how I feel about this symphony, simply because it is so overwhelming. I don’t want to dissect
the work unemotionally as others have done; to do so is to completely miss Mahler’s point. That would
be like explaining the meanings of all the words Shakespeare used, and totally missing the point of the
plot. This music is 100% emotion from beginning to end. I will go as far as saying that it is the single
most emotive musical work ever written. It cries, it roars, it sobs, it hopes, and finally it rejoices. And
how. But how does one go about explaining it? And should any explanation be necessary? You simply
have to play it, listen to it, let it tell its own story. But I will still try to point out some aspects of the
music which appeal to me. Here goes:
The 1st symphony seems to encompass all life; the very spirit of life itself. The 2 nd, in contrast,
sounds more like it’s examining the life of a single person, and starts off with a colossal outburst of
anguish. The 1st mvt was originally written as a stand-alone tone poem, and a version of it still exists as
the piece Todtenfeier which is basically identical but for some minor alterations halfway through.
Todtenfeier means “Ceremony in honour of the dead”, but this doesn’t sound like a ceremony to me;
more like a huge shout of injustice. Anger and denial; Mahler shaking his fist at Death, demanding it
explain itself. Maher was only 35 at the time of writing this; what had he to fear of Death at this stage in
his life? But of course, anyone who has read anything at all about Mahler will understand that he was an
extremely complex character, and fascinated with the whole life/death struggle. It was “in the air” at the
time too, with the fascination with Theosophy etc. coming to the fore and various philosophers jumping
on the bandwagon, trying to explain the mystery of consciousness and the location of the soul etc.
Science seemed to be making great strides in explaining the world, but it still could not explain human
consciousness and mortality (and still can’t). Mahler took all the philosophical baggage around at the
time and basically summed it all up in this work. This 1st mvt confronts it head-on, asking: why? Why
do I live, why do I have to die? It all seems so pointless at this stage.
After the colossal outpouring of emotion at the end of the 1st mvt, Mahler asks for a 5 minute
pause before launching into the 2nd, and I agree with him. Going straight into the next mvt without a
break is too much of a jolt. The audience needs time for the emotion to sink in and settle. Then we get
treated to a beautiful stately waltz with one of those exotic tunes that only Mahler can write. There is no
rejoicing though, not even a smile. After the tune is stated just once, doubt creeps in again. There seems
to be a nostalgic flavour to the proceedings. Things get a bit jittery, then hesitant. Then the waltz theme
returns with a lovely counterpoint melody. Still no trace of any positive feeling though; the dancers are
simply going through the motions. Then more doubts, more grumbling, as if to say, Is that all I did with
my life? Was I too just one of the herd, blindly following the beat? No, that can’t be true! Again, the
grumbling subsides, and now we are left with a skeleton of the waltz played on pizzicato strings.
Delicate as fine lace, and just as meaningful. The dancers return, and the music is more beautiful than
ever, but is it just a bit too choreographed? Is there no room for independent thought and feeling? The
movement ends with no answer forthcoming.
The 3rd mvt is announced sharply with a couple of echoing thumps from the timpani. Then
follows a remarkable perpetuum mobile based on Mahler’s own Wunderhorn song which described St.
Anthony preaching to the fish. Is Mahler trying to find the answers he is desperately looking for in
religion? Is he describing his attempts to find solace in the Testaments? Perhaps. (We know that at about
this time in his life Mahler converted from Judaism to Christianity, primarily in order to get a
conducting job.) But if that is the case, then his quest was ultimately futile, as this movement too ends
with no satisfying answer. After all the blustering, sermonising and preaching, and even a remarkable
episode with an almost heavenly brass chorale, the mvt ends in utter disappointment. St. Anthony’s
sermon had a similar effect on the fish, although understandably the fish weren’t bothered one way or
the other. Mahler however wants an answer, and this apparently isn’t it.
Now we get to the heart of the whole symphony. The 4th mvt comes in without a break, and
introduces the human voice for the first time. A solo contralto sings just three words; “O Red Rose!” ,
followed by a quiet brass chorale. The effect is stunning. The singer continues (translated):
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Mankind lies in deepest need,
Mankind lies in deepest pain.
Yes, I would rather be in Heaven!
I came upon a broad pathway:
An angel came and wanted to send me away.
And no! I would not be sent away!
I am from God and I will return to God.
The dear God will give me a light.
Will light me to eternal blessed life!
Then what follows can only be described as an overwhelming torrent of music, like a fire hose of sound
turned on right in your face. “No, NO! I can’t accept that either! There must be another answer!” This
violent outburst gradually trickles away into utter silence. Then a solitary distant (actually off-stage)
horn calls out, marking the onset of what I regard as the most passionate, emotive music ever written in
a single movement that lasts over half an hour. Mahler’s orchestra now takes on the whole debate purely
orchestrally. A horn cries out a plaintive wordless song. After some passionate soul-searching, there
follows a huge shout of anguish, followed by a strident marching theme overlaid with trumpet calls and
bells. The atmosphere is bleak and heavy, tempting some people to see analogies with marching Nazi
boots – but this is still only 1895. Then suddenly it all cuts off, and we are back to the pleading song
again. The marching can still be heard in the background, courtesy of an offstage band that keeps cutting
across the lamentations. Then suddenly all Hell breaks loose again with a huge upsurge in the entire
orchestra. We are being bombarded with images, emotions, questions, cheek by jowl, like a committee
of devils arguing over this individual’s fate. Eventually all goes quiet again – too quiet in fact. Like the
aftermath of an almighty battle, we are left surveying the lifeless bloodied battleground. Over a muted
drum roll, the final post sounds. This is unsettlingly eerie – the drum roll stops, and we hear a distant
fanfare that might as well be signalling Judgement Day. It’s as if the whole world has stopped dead in its
orbit, and we are all being called to account. Then the choir comes in, quiet as a mouse. (Mahler
expressly stated that the choir must not announce their presence by standing up – I have seen this rule
flouted in many concerts, and it gives the game away every time. They must be seated in darkness, and
they should sing sitting down. The effect is electrifying, when done properly.) So seemingly out of
nowhere, the words drift across the unearthly landscape:
Rise again, yes, you will rise again
My dust, after a short rest!
Immortal life! Immortal life!
He who called you will grant you.
To bloom again you are sown!
The Lord of the Harvest gows
And gathers in, like sheaves,
Us who died.
A solo soprano breaks off from the chorus and flies away like a beautiful songbird. Then the wordless
song returns, but now we hear the words, sung by an alto, then the soprano again:
O believe! You were not born in vain.
You have not lived in vain; suffered in vain!
The chorus return softly, then stridently and confidently:
What has come into being must perish.
What has perished must rise again.
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Cease from trembling – prepare yourself to live!
Then the orchestra dive in to back up the soloists who sing a beautiful duet:
O pain, piercer of all things: from you I have been wrested!
O Death, master of all things: now you are mastered!
With wings which I have won me
In Love’s fierce striving I will soar upwards
To the light to which no eye has soared.
The final tumultuous chorus is as bright and optimistic as can be imagined, with pealing bells and huge
chords belted out by the whole orchestra plus organ in an overwhelmingly satisfying finale.
And what is the conclusion we can garner from this amazing musical experience? I’m still uncertain,
frankly. Mahler was himself wrestling with his faith at the time he wrote it. In this symphony he seems
to have answered his own questions to his own satisfaction (belief in bodily reincarnation, hence the
Resurrection of the title), but in his following works it is obvious that the jury is still out on the whole
subject. In fact it is not until his final 10th unfinished symphony that I believe he really came to terms
with his own mortality. In this symphony however, I feel that it provides comfort only; it does not really
answer anything. Maybe Mahler knew that, I don’t know.
Symphony no.5 (1902)
Playing time approx 70-75 minutes. 5 movements
First performance: October 18, 1904, Cologne (conducted by the composer)
Mahler’s 5th starts off with a “Funeral march” according to the composer, but it’s a strange
funeral to be sure. The opening fanfare was actually taken from M’s own 4th symphony; you can hear it
in the 1st mvt just before the big climax at the end. Here though, it’s on its own and heralds in one of the
strangest symphonic movements written up till this time. I mean, why start a symphony with a funeral
march in the first place? Early C20th audiences must have been totally baffled by this. But it’s all part of
Mahler’s plan – the music builds on this, and almost seems to be going backwards; retracing the events
in someone’s life from grave to cradle. Bear with me here.
Anyway - the main melody of the 1st mvt for some reason always reminds me of “All the nice
girls love a sailor” which spoils it a bit for me, but only slightly. Suddenly the mood changes from
sombre reflection to a giddy outpouring of emotion from the strings and brass. Mahler is playing his
usual trick of layering different emotions cheek by jowl so you never know quite what he is implying.
Back to the measured tread of the funeral, but now there’s a more reflective mood in the air. The
movement ends quietly with the same muted fanfare. But this is not the end, not by any means.
The 2nd mvt starts with a jeering swirling cacophany like something out of the 7th pit of Hell, or
possibly Purgatory. Is our Hero being judged? The mood abruptly switches again, into a nostalgic
melody of the kind that only Mahler could write. It seems to be saying; Give me a chance to prove
myself. Grumblings of dissent. The fiery fanfares return, then fade again. Low strings contemplate the
situation, accompanied by a background roll of drums. The pleading voice returns. There follows a
period of apparent conversation, consultation, approval perhaps. Then the music builds cautiously at
first, then rises into a huge joyful climax – but it’s too early for celebrations. This is a false triumph. The
evidence has to be weighed up first. The huge tower of confidence shatters and crumbles at the last
moment, and the movement ends in an agony of indecision, with a brief swirling of the flames again to
provide motivation. Prove yourself!
The 3rd mvt is a real mixed bag of emotions. It seems to celebrate a person’s whole life, albeit
through rosy spectacles. It is also the longest movement in this 5 mvt symphony. There is so much in
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this piece it’s difficult to know where to start. There is a sheer joy of living evident here, but not without
its moments of contemplation and introspection too. But every time it shows signs of getting bogged
down in too much thought, a bright fanfare jerks us out of it again and commands us to lighten up!
Come and play, the weather’s fine. And so it is, this is the eternal sunny day of youth. Then suddenly a
harsher, more ominous fanfare reminds us that this is all illusion; the spectre of Death is still hovering
overhead. Absolutely typical Mahler! The music tip-toes away from the shadow with pizzicato strings,
then gradually brightens up again to continue playing in the sun – or to reminisce about playing. But it’s
not quite the same now, there are dark clouds everywhere. The sun has gone. Introspection again - like a
child sobbing quietly in a corner, tormenting itself by imagining devils. No – enough of that – snap out
of it! Now the mood seems to get more agitated, before the bright fanfare eventually manages to restore
the original vision of happiness. But it’s a real struggle now. However, after a huge battle the music
seems to manage by sheer force of will to banish the shadows and emerge triumphant.
The 4th mvt is Mahler’s most famous piece, being used as the theme for Death in Venice. It is
said to have been written for his wife Alma, and is a beautiful love song, gentle and passionate to the
extreme. Nothing else to be said about it really, except that it shows Mahler’s gentler side and proves he
had an incredible lightness of touch to go with the bombast and power. An awesome combination that is
the distillation of Mahler’s unique talent.
The 5th and final mvt creeps in timidly, as if unwilling to break the spell of the previous section.
But gradually it thickens out and develops – and develops, and develops. This is sheer musical genius;
before our eyes (or ears) a rich tapestry is woven strand by strand until it fills the whole orchestra, and
still it keeps on going. This is the Mandelbrot Set of music; no matter how closely you examine it, it
keeps on surprising you. Eventually the whole orchestra swells up to repeat the failed orgasmic outburst
of the 2nd mvt, but this time it is peaks triumphantly. It states boldly; I HAVE proved myself! I AM
worthy! It justifies everything that was negative in the first half of the symphony; the funeral march, the
flames of Hell etc, and comes through unscathed, purified and cleansed. (Am I overdoing it? Play the
symphony yourself and make your own mind up!)
IVES, CHARLES EDWARD (1874-1954), American
Symphony no.2 (1902)
The 1st mvt starts off quite traditionally with a pleasant whistful melody, and is marked Andante
(leisurely). Throughout this symphony you might find yourself thinking “I know that tune from
somewhere…” but before you can pin it down Ives has moved on to something else. The languid first
movement moves straight into the faster second without a break; in fact the first two movements are
continuous. It sounds to me as if Ives was having enormous fun playing with the tunes, reworking them
and moulding them into a refreshing slice of music that flows effortlessly and genially to its thoroughly
satisfying conclusion. Nothing to get worked up about here! The image that remains is of a composer
who is thoroughly at home and creating music with ease; a master craftsman at work.
The 3rd mvt is the true slow movement, still under perfect control. Ives paints a twilight world,
but there are no monsters here. All is peaceful and tranquil. The fourth and fifth are also combined, and
here is where we come up against most of Ives “borrowed” tunes, some cheek by jowl, some overlaid on
others in an almost comical musical pile-up. Throughout the piece though, there is an air of joviality,
almost carnival-like. Ives must have been chuckling to himself as he wrote this, I imagine. You can’t
help but notice the horns suddenly intone the Camptown Races tune as if they’d just thought of it and
wanted the rest of the orchestra to pick up on it, or America the Beautiful suddenly race across the
strings like a banner suddenly being unfurled. You almost expect to hear the Stars & Stripes at some
point. Personally I believe Ives was basically trying to make the point that “American Music has
ARRIVED!” And so it had. The symphony ends with the trumpet sounding the Reveille, then a superb
grandstand march which culminates in a magnificent dischord like an orchestral raspberry instead of the
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almost expected neat cadence after such jolly music. No, that would be too easy - Ives had his tongue
firmly in his cheek throughout, until the end where he sticks it out at us!
SIBELIUS, JEAN JOHANN JULIUS (1865-1957), Finnish
Symphony no.1 in e minor, op.39 (1899)
After a lugubrious solo clarinet opening we are invited into a scene painted by the strings and
brass fanfares, then flutes and harp paint a tranquil scene that the rest of the wind section gambol in. The
mood is still not altogether sunny though – the mood changes continuously from skittish nervousness to
straight-faced narrative to strident statements from the brass. Nothing is permanent. Unlike Mahler,
Sibelius never lets his emotions run too freely – he always has them under strict control. Where Mahler
declares, Sibelius merely hints. Mahler is the tortured Artist. Sibelius is more the scientist – building and
analysing without getting too involved in his creation. And this symphony is the perfect example.
The 2nd mvt adds little to the preceding scenario but initially has a calmer feel to it – the
turbulence is gone, to be replaced by calm sincerity. The strings play a solid tune that stands like a range
of distant mountains – powerful but non-threatening. This gradually speeds up into something more akin
to waves on a beach – with the tide coming in. Still the brakes are kept on though – nothing ever gets too
violent. Finally the strings return to their initial mountainous statement – “we are still here”.
The 3rd mvt starts with an odd off-beat tune enhanced by little timpani mottos. All the other
instruments in turn join in to what becomes a playful little dance. Then things settle down for a brief
interlude, before starting up again in a repeat of the skittish dance, ending with a flourish.
The 4th mvt is immediately somewhat bleaker, and has a valedictory tone in its measured
statements, separated by brief silences as if someone is reading from a script. Then the turbulence
reappears, and a short but dramatic episode with a falling theme on the strings. Then a grand theme
swells through the whole orchestra. This is cut short with more skittishness which builds up into the first
real climax of the whole work. There is still doubt though – but eventually the “main” theme returns
again, and gradually swells to assert its authority, ultimately rounding off the symphony with complete
satisfaction in a typically C19th Romantic fashion – except perhaps for the unexpected pizzicato full
stop!
Symphony no.2 in D, op.43 (1902)
Starts off with a deceptively cheerful ditty which quickly develops into a plethora of intriguing
musical phrases which are then tossed around and developed throughout the movement. The mood is
cool, but pleasantly so. There is a strong sense of a genius at work here, the music is complex but never
dense – like a fine mesh of brilliant ideas, all interwoven in a rich tapestry.
The 2nd movement starts with a pizzicato bass which trots along on its own for a while before
being joined by woodwind instruments with a tune that develops into a statement on the strings that
reminds me somewhat of Tchaikovsky. This is stopped by a brass fanfare which is all Sibelius again. It
is a brief warning, nothing more. We are then back in a more tranquil setting – Sibelius is painting a
picture with his music. Another crisis looms; the music gets more and more agitated, building up to
another warning fanfare, this time more concerned. It almost seems to shout; Beware! Beware! After
this we tread more carefully for a while, but still with moderately good spirits. The music is calm and
measured; it’s in no hurry to get to its destination, wherever that is. The journey is all important. Just
admire the scenery!
The 3rd mvt is skittish and playful; the strings dominate, running and jumping happily while the
woodwind play nonchalant melodies. Then a sudden contrast; a plaintive but whistful melody on the
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oboe, accompanied by various other instruments. The peace is once again broken by the playful strings
who won’t have any truck with the oboe’s sad refrain. But it tries again, and this time seem to whip the
strings into a bit of a panic; this then develops into a majestic theme (the final movement, which merges
without a break), like reaching the top of a mountain and seeing the magnificent view all around. So is
this our destination? Not yet, but we can see it in the distance! The mood is now more assured; the
majestic theme reappears then sinks back to the slow trudge of the journey, with some doubt still
lingering. The final build up is like the actual conquering of the peak with the wind whipping up around
us, but the climb is ultimately successful. The final minute radiates sheer triumph. We’ve made it!
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9. MY FAVOURITE COMPOSERS
Some brief details on the cream of the crop; what they were all about in essence, and why they wrote
what they did.
BACH, JOHANN SEBASTIAN (1685-1750), German
Generally considered to be the father of all Western music, by nature of the fact that it was he
who set down the system of tuning that we use today. In Bach’s time instruments were tuned to a natural
scale, which sounded fine until you tried to play in a different key to the one that had been used as the
basis for tuning. Many people before him had tried to get around this problem, but it was Bach who
solved it with his system of “Equal Temperament”. He proved it by composing a series of keyboard
pieces – 24 of them, each in a different key (12 Major, 12 Minor). He then wrote 24 more just to
hammer the point home, and the whole set is generally referred to as Bach’s “48”, or “The WellTempered Clavier”. Using any other system of tuning other than Bach’s, the set of pieces would sound
out of tune when played on a single keyboard.
However there is a lot more that can be said of Bach than simply inventing the musical scale.
Bach’s works are legendary, profuse and profound, and it’s far beyond my literary scope to explain them
all here. I will mention some of the best and most popular works however; the Brandenburg Concertos
(of which the 5th is considered to be the first true “concerto” in the sense that it balances a single
instrument against the rest of the orchestra – well, in a way), the Italian Concerto, the orchestral Suites,
plus of course the magnificent Passions and the Magnificat itself. Then there’s the Art of Fugue, the
“48”, the violin concertos, the Goldberg Variations, plus it is said he wrote a cantata every WEEK for
about 10 years… How did he ever find the time to bring up 25 children?
HAYDN, FRANZ JOSEPH (1732-1809), Austrian
For most of his professional life, Haydn was an employee. The last prominent beneficiary of the
system of noble patronage that had nourished European musical composition since the Renaissance, he
was employed by Prince Esterhazy of Bavaria for the best part of 30 years. By the 1790’s however, his
fame had spread far and wide, and the Prince (who had always shown his court composer the greatest of
respect) finally let him go so he could tour throughout Europe in his remaining years. He visited London
twice, and each time composed a set of six symphonies to be performed there. As well as over 100
symphonies, he wrote the oratorios “The Creation” and “The Seasons”, as well as dozens of string
quartets and other pieces.
Haydn is considered to be the “Godfather” of the symphony and the inventor of the String
Quartet. Both musical forms matured considerably under his guidance. He outlived his pupil Mozart by
some 18 years, and lived long enough to hear Beethoven’s 3 rd and 5th symphonies. He had a younger
brother who was also a composer; Michael Haydn (1737-1806). Be careful not to mix the two. Michael
wrote some 20 symphonies himself, plus a great deal of other music.
BEETHOVEN, LUDWIG VAN (1770-1827), German
The archetypal moody, tortured composer as “artist”, Beethoven is of course legendary, and with
good reason. The wild unkempt hair, the violent mood swings, the grumpy look, the unfathomable
genius, the crippling deafness, it’s all true. It’s hard to believe sometimes that he really existed; he seems
such a ridiculous caricature. But his music speaks for itself; it is undoubtedly the work of a genius.
However, for all his bluster and bad tempers, he was also a man of intense passion and tenderness. His
love of the countryside shines through in his “Pastoral” symphony; his love of life in the 9th, his many
disastrous love affairs that churned him up inside and spurred him on to ever greater triumphs, and of
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course the crippling onset of his ever-worsening deafness which drove him to greater and greater heights
in his art but simultaneously plunged him into deeper and deeper pits of depression and self-pity.
MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY, FELIX (1809-1847), German
Mendelssohn was born into a rich Jewish family; his life was relatively easy compared to most
composers. His music also flows with exquisite gentleness and certainty; he never put a note out of
place.
BRAHMS, JOHANNES (1833-1897), German
TCHAIKOVSKY, PYTOR ILYCH (1840-1897), Russian
MAHLER, GUSTAV (1860-1911), Austrian
If Mahler had never written a note of music he would still be known to us today as Vienna’s
greatest conductor. His entire output of music however consists of nine completed (and huge)
symphonies, the choral work “Das Klagende Lied”, the song-symphony “Song of the Earth” and several
orchestrated collections of songs. That doesn’t sound much on the face of it, but Mahler’s music has
inspired practically every composer for the last hundred years since his death in 1911. Mahler knew his
orchestra inside out; he understood every aspect of it, and used that knowledge to devastating effect. He
was also the Last of the Great Romantics; he pushed the Romantic Symphonic form to its ultimate end,
wrenching every conceivable emotion out of what was essentially pure instrumental music for the most
part. His music tends to be dismissed by some as “gloomy” or “depressing”, but this is only by people
who haven’t listened or been touched by it. The stark truth is that Mahler’s music is just too much for
some people to take; it’s too probing, too emotional, too personal. But depressing? Not a bit of it. Of his
nine completed symphonies, only one ends in total unremitting gloom (the 6th). The 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 5th, 7th
and 8th all end in triumph or glory; the 4th in heavenly peace; the 9th in quiet resignation. Even the
unfinished 10th, in the wonderful “performing version” completed by Deryck Cooke in the 1960’s ends
with a supremely satisfying calmness and understanding that totally defies description. But of course in
most cases it’s not the ending that counts; it’s the journey, and in each of Mahler’s works he takes you
on a roller-coaster ride of conflicting emotions which leaves you gasping – or should do if it is played
properly. For that’s another point; Mahler’s music, being so complex and emotional, lends itself to a
multitude of interpretations, and some orchestras & conductors fare better than others at this game.
Some deliberately try to play down the emotional aspect (Sinopoli) while others bring out every nuance
and gesture and throw them in your face (Bernstein, Rattle). Mahler himself expected this, and even
encouraged it. Ultimately it is up to the listener to decide. Mahler’s music reveals stark truths about the
Human Condition, and it is occasionally unpleasant, but that’s the way it is. Leonard Bernstein famously
said, “The 20th Century is the Century of Death, and Mahler is its Musical Prophet.” He claimed that
Mahler effectively foresaw the World Wars, the concentration camps, the nuclear bombs, even though
he died before the First World War had even started. I’m not entirely convinced by this, but I can
understand what Bernstein was getting at; that we as a species are highly emotional, and we usually let
our emotions lead us, not always to the best conclusion. But emotional we are, and emotional Mahler’s
music certainly is. So should we become like Star Trek’s Mr. Spock, and purge our emotions to become
cold, logical beings? Absolutely not, says Mahler, we should revel in our feelings, and maybe try to
come to terms with them and understand them (and ourselves) better. If Mahler’s music makes you want
to cry (and it has made me cry, and still can), then let it out and cry along with him. But it can also make
you feel good, and even elated at the same time. This is Mahler’s colossal achievement; that through
pure music he can take you to places within yourself that you didn’t know were there. Listen to his
“Resurrection” symphony (with a reputable orchestra) and see if the finale doesn’t lift you up to Heaven
– whether you believe in God or not, you will feel your feet leave the ground!
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ELGAR, SIR EDWARD (1857-1934), English
SIBELIUS, JEAN JOHANN JULIUS (1865-1957), Finnish
RACHMANINOV, SERGEI (1873-1943), Russian
IVES, CHARLES EDWARD (1874-1954), American
HAVERGAL BRIAN (1876-1972), English
PROKOFIEV, SERGEI (1891-1953), Russian
WALTON, SIR WILLIAM (1902-1983), English
TIPPETT, SIR MICHAEL (1905-1998), English
SHOSTAKOVICH, DMITRI (1906,1975), Russian
HENZE, HANS WERNER
MARTINU, BOHUSLAV
DAVIES, SIR PETER MAXWELL
SCHNITTKE, ALFRED
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10. COMPOSERS NAMES AS ADJECTIVES
“Mozartian”, “Haydnesque”, “Beethovenian” – terms like these crop up again and again when
describing music and are generally unavoidable, but can sometimes backfire – how do you “adjectivise”
a name such as Saint-Saens or Scriabin? “Saint-Saensian”? “Scriabinian”? Or how about Falla, or
Grieg? Oh dear.
However, it does seem to be to a composer’s benefit to have a name that can be used as an adjective
when describing influences on another composer.
Let’s have a look at some adjectives used by musicians in this manner:
Beethoven - Beethovenian
Bruckner Brucknerian
Chopin Chopinesque
Delius Delian
Debussy Debussian
Elgar Elgarian
Haydn Haydnesque
Liszt Lisztian
Mahler Mahlerian (a hot favourite!)
Mozart Mozartian
Prokofiev - Prokofian? Prokofievian? Tricky one!
Rachmaninov - Rachmaninovian?
Saint-Saens - (forget it!)
Shostakovich - Shostakovian
Sibelius Sibelian
Strauss Straussian
Tchaikovsky - Tchaikovskian
Verdi Verdian
Wagner Wagnerian (another favourite!)
(Incidentally, my own music has been described as being “Elwoodian” – well, that’s much better than
“Herringian” isn’t it?)
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11. GLOSSARY
Sonata form: a standard method of musical composition used mostly in symphonic writing. It
comprises three basic sections called the Exposition, the Development and the Recapitulation. The
Exposition is where the main themes of the piece are stated, and this whole section is often repeated
verbatim. Then the Development section takes those themes and – well, develops them, using various
devices such as key changes, note lengthening or shortening, combining of two or more themes,
inversion (playing the theme “upside-down”) etc. Finally the Recapitulation restates the original themes,
but not as they were – the modifications made in the Development section have altered the themes
subtly, and the Recapitulation reflects that. Finally a “coda” or tailpiece is usually added to round off the
movement.
A perfect example of Sonata Form can be found in Mozart’s 40th symphony or Beethoven’s 1st. Once
heard and understood, it is relatively easy to follow in other pieces, at least in most C19th symphonies.
By the C20th though, things had become a bit more complex with the sections merging into each other,
extra themes being added into the mix at unexpected places, even extra development after the
recapitulation is supposed to have wrapped everything up (even Beethoven does this in the 1st mvt of the
Eroica. He added 5 minutes or so of music before the coda, which broke all the established “rules” and
severely challenged the audiences of the time. C18th music lovers knew about Sonata Form, and could
follow musical development as easily as we now follow a plot in a film. When something was amiss,
they noticed!)
Time signature: This is the “beat” or rhythm of the music. Up until the mid-C18th most composers
stuck with simple beats based on 2, 3 or 4 beats per bar. These would be written as 2/4, 3/4 or 4/4. (A 2beat rhythm generally sounds like a march; 3 beats is a waltz or minuet.) The first number denotes the
amount of beats in the bar; the second number is the length of each note, so 3/4 denotes 3 crotchets; 3/8
is 3 quavers and is generally faster. Composers such as Haydn and Mozart started introducing more
complex rhythms or “compound time” (as opposed to “simple time”), such as 6/8, which can be counted
in two different ways (ONE two three TWO two three… or ONE & TWO & THREE &…) From the
late C19th composers started experimenting with more exotic beats such as 5/4 or 7/8 etc. Tchaikovsky’s
6th symphony has a 2nd movement in 5/4 time and has been described as a “broken waltz”. In the C20th
all sorts of weird time signatures started appearing, especially from composers such as Stravinsky and
Prokofiev. Sometimes, as in Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring”, different groups of instruments are instructed
to count in different beats simultaneously, to startling effect. In some cases this approach even
necessitates the employment of more than one conductor to keep the whole thing together, as in
Stockhausen’s “Gruppen”. This raises the question; is it really necessary to write music this complex?
My answer to that is; it depends! Some composers can pull it off, but in a lot of cases it simply doesn’t
work; a great deal of modern composers can be accused of simply showing off their writing talent and
neglecting to focus on the art of making good music. Not every modern composer should aspire to be
the next Stravinsky, and thinning out their music a bit could help to get their music across more
effectively.
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12. REFERENCES & CREDITS
References:
Evolution of the symphony:
Schubert’s unfinished symphony:
The Complete Companion to 20th Century Music
The Symphony
Discovering Music
http://members.tripod.com/~dorakmt/music/symphony.html
http://www.bbc.co.uk/proms/aboutmusic/schubert_unfinished.shtml
Norman Lebrecht
Ralph Hill (ed) – 1961 edition
BBC Radio 3 series
NOTE:
I am writing this work almost entirely from my head without checking every single fact as I go; I am therefore bound to make
numerous small errors, especially in matters of instrumentation as in most cases I do not have the scores on hand.
Corrections to any errors found will be gratefully received, as will comments on any of the content of this work –
Email elwoodherring©blueyonder.co.uk (replace the © symbol with the @ symbol, of course)!
Additional notes and criticisms kindly supplied by Joshua B. Lily
1 "Beethoven gives us his new invention – the Scherzo". This was far from Beethoven's invention! I was looking for
information on scherzi, and even as I read this sentence, I had playing a recording of J.A. Benda's Harpsichord in G... the
third movement, in fact. The third movement, which is 'SCHERZO'! But there were many. The precise date on this concerto
of Benda's is not known, but what IS known, is that it predates 1780.
2 Stating Berlioz invented the idée fixee, or recurring theme, is not true. This notion was used in at least one symphony by,
for example, Dittersdorf, who died before Berlioz was even born (in 1799). Dittersdorf write a great many programme
symphonies, just like Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique, and in at least one of them, employed this very same idea. This is not
even getting into the use of such an idea in operas, where occasionally a brief theme or half-theme would be used to represent
a certain character; again, this is prior to Berlioz's birth.
3 "To this first audience it must have been a colossal shock." This is in reference to the premiere of Beethoven's 3rd
completed symphony, the 'Eroica'. I am repeatedly surprised by those who talk about Beethoven's works in this way with
regards to his audiences. His music was far from cutting-edge for that time, and definitely nothing he did would have been
found shocking to his audience. For example, Czech contemporaries of Beethoven were writing orchestral music that did
more adventurous stuff harmonically and in design than Beethoven. However, that leaves out Beethoven's real influence in
orchestral music, who were the French composers he so much admired, especially Grétry, Méhul (!), and Cherubini.
Cherubini was Italian by birth, but was Beethoven's favourite living composer, and thoroughly French by residence and
compositional style after a few years. Méhul's orchestral and operatic writing had a profound influence on Beethoven; indeed,
it's been said "Name one great French Symphonist!", with the reply: "Beethoven". Beethoven's symphonies sound like more
symphonies by his slightly older Méhul. You are not alone in this persistent claim that Beethoven's music would have been
found shocking for his audiences, but you're talking about stuff written way after Grétry's 1780s opera 'Richard cœur de
Lion', and I don't know of anything Beethoven did melodically, harmonically, or structurally that would have sounded
foreign or shocking to post-1800 ears. As I mentioned, some of the Czechs would have made him sound tame by comparison.
Any movie you watched showing actors portraying shock at the Eroica's debut was made by people unfamiliar with the music
of the period, to put it bluntly. Anyone who would have attended this performance would certainly have heard things that
were more "shocking" in some fashion, especially some of the weird experimental stuff by composers like Reicha.
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