EXPLORING MUSIC: Sibelius' Symphonies

Sibelius' particular genius, most writers tell us, lies in the fact that he took the tonal language of western music, as established a century earlier, and made it do things that no one else had made it do. This was, no doubt, the reason that he was greeted with hosannas in some (more conservative?) quartets as a provider of an alternative to rigid system or whirling chaos.

In this respect, what Sibelius chiefly did was to reject creeping chromaticism, which in such composers as Wagner pretty clearly pointed toward atonality, and to reassert the reference points of tonal centers. But he was also a formalist. The first six of his seven symphonies begin with a sonata-allegro movement, a form that he often recurs to elsewhere in them, alternating it with variations, scherzi, and three-part song-form. Moreover, his natural inclination seems to be toward what most of us recognize as melody. But therein lies his individuality.

In his Grove article, Robert Layton remarks that "Each of the symphonies show a fresh approach to the symphonic challenge; there is no archetypal Sibelius symphony from which one can distill a set of rules or a formula that applies to all. Moreover, Sibelius' development from one work to the next was less predictable than that of any other 19th- or early 20th-century symphonist." (And all this in a mere 26 years!)

But one must start somewhere, and the consensus is that Sibelius started with Tchaikovsky, rather than with the full-blown Viennese tradition which he perhaps saw as in danger of atrophy Preston Stedman, In The Symphony ( Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1979), sees the symphonies as falling into four periods, the first ('Finnish") including the two here under consideration. Here, says Stedman, the influences came from "Russian music, Finnish folk legends (especially the Kalevala), and Robert Kajanus' symphonic poem Aina." Besides Tchaikovsky, one commentator hears Borodin.

I don't doubt the impact of the rising patriotic spirit and of Finnish folklore and the oft-cited "nature," but I am not sure how such things may be transmuted to music, however evocative of forests, lakes, and heroic deeds Sibelius' may be. Of Aino I know only that on hearing it, Sibelius went home and wrote his "presymphony" Kullervo. But the first two symphonies are the ones likeliest to pose the fewest problems to those nurtured on the popular symphonic repertoire, of which they seem to be, alas!, no longer a part.

Since I talked about the Second Symphony at some length when another version was issued here several months or weeks back, I'd like to say a few words incited by these performances and related matters. On listening to the performances, I was immensely impressed. Jarvi's "chamber-music" approach and the luminous recording allow one to hear what is going on within those massive texture. Moreover I found his reading of no. 2 much more taut and urgent than Alexander Gibson's.

I checked Roger Dettmer's Fanfare review (VI 6) Dettmer had a fit because his review copy was scratched, but when he finally got to the contents he found an "Ideal separation and spread, front-to-back as well as laterally, sound that is clear, robust, neither too close nor too recessed, and never harsh." The orchestra (on a par with our National Symphony and the San Francisco Symphony) he found to have "a poised tonally steady oboe, excellent brass inclusively, a seasoned and responsive ensemble overall, and muscle to spare."

Sibelius' particular genius, most writers tell us, lies in the fact that he took the tonal language of western music, as established a century earlier, and made it do things that no one else had made it do. This was, no doubt, the reason that he was greeted with hosannas in some (more conservative?) quartets as a provider of an alternative to rigid system or whirling chaos.

In this respect, what Sibelius chiefly did was to reject creeping chromaticism, which in such composers as Wagner pretty clearly pointed toward atonality, and to reassert the reference points of tonal centers. But he was also a formalist. The first six of his seven symphonies begin with a sonata-allegro movement, a form that he often recurs to elsewhere in them, alternating it with variations, scherzi, and three-part song-form. Moreover, his natural inclination seems to be toward what most of us recognize as melody. But therein lies his individuality.

In his Grove article, Robert Layton remarks that "Each of the symphonies show a fresh approach to the symphonic challenge; there is no archetypal Sibelius symphony from which one can distill a set of rules or a formula that applies to all. Moreover, Sibelius' development from one work to the next was less predictable than that of any other 19th- or early 20th-century symphonist." (And all this in a mere 26 years!)

But one must start somewhere, and the consensus is that Sibelius started with Tchaikovsky, rather than with the full-blown Viennese tradition which he perhaps saw as in danger of atrophy Preston Stedman, In The Symphony ( Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1979), sees the symphonies as falling into four periods, the first ('Finnish") including the two here under consideration. Here, says Stedman, the influences came from "Russian music, Finnish folk legends (especially the Kalevala), and Robert Kajanus' symphonic poem Aina." Besides Tchaikovsky, one commentator hears Borodin.

I don't doubt the impact of the rising patriotic spirit and of Finnish folklore and the oft-cited "nature," but I am not sure how such things may be transmuted to music, however evocative of forests, lakes, and heroic deeds Sibelius' may be. Of Aino I know only that on hearing it, Sibelius went home and wrote his "presymphony" Kullervo. But the first two symphonies are the ones likeliest to pose the fewest problems to those nurtured on the popular symphonic repertoire, of which they seem to be, alas!, no longer a part.

Since I talked about the Second Symphony at some length when another version was issued here several months or weeks back, I'd like to say a few words incited by these performances and related matters. On listening to the performances, I was immensely impressed. Jarvi's "chamber-music" approach and the luminous recording allow one to hear what is going on within those massive texture. Moreover I found his reading of no. 2 much more taut and urgent than Alexander Gibson's.

I checked Roger Dettmer's Fanfare review (VI 6) Dettmer had a fit because his review copy was scratched, but when he finally got to the contents he found an "Ideal separation and spread, front-to-back as well as laterally, sound that is clear, robust, neither too close nor too recessed, and never harsh." The orchestra (on a par with our National Symphony and the San Francisco Symphony) he found to have "a poised tonally steady oboe, excellent brass inclusively, a seasoned and responsive ensemble overall, and muscle to spare."