Leonardo Leo - Six Cello Concertos

"'It is indeed wholly impossible that a composer nowadays could write like Palestrina, Leo, and later Handel and others - That time, when Christianity still shone excellently in all its glory, would seem to have disappeared forever from the earth, and with it that sacred solemnity of artists.'

"Thus claimed the Romantic poet and composer Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffman with gentle resignation in 1814 on the subject of 'the sacred art of composition'. For that advocate of contemporary music Charles Burney, too, telling of his travels through Europe, Leonardo Leo was one of the unchallenged protagonists of the golden 'Augustan age of music' which, in his view, was the first half of the eighteenth century. And in 1761 the eponymous nephew in Denis Diderot's 'Le Neveu de Rameau' says in admiration: 'When nature created Leo, Vinci, Pergolese and Duni, it was smiling.'

"Who was this man, who is now consigned almost exclusively to music history books but who was venerated by his contemporaries and well into the nineteenth century as one of the greatest Italian masters (his pupil Niccolò Piccinni even called him the great Italian master of all)?

"Leo was a composer, conductor, organist and teacher who worked mostly in Naples; born in 1694, he stood at the border between two epochs - one foot in the Baroque, the other in early Classicism. The ambivalence of the era of transition, which has unjustly affected his long-term reputation, gives enigmatic facets to his profile as a composer. As a practical and theoretical innovator in the area of 'strict counterpoint', he became a figurehead of conservative church musicians; as an opera composer, whose praises Burney never tired of singing, he dominated the Neapolitan musical scene in the 1720s and 1730s; and as an instrumental musician he stood at the cradle of the symphony: 'The high standard that could be attained by Italian symphonies is shown by the oratorio introductions by Leonardo Leo [...] They represent great, noble mourning in music that is immortal and a model for all times' (Hermann Kretzschmar).

"Alongside his sacred music (which includes a famous eight-part 'Miserere' that was highly regarded by both Verdi and Wagner), his numerous operas (more than thirty 'opere serie' and more than twenty 'commedie musicali') and various oratorios, Leo's purely instrumental works are admittedly few in number. They consist principally of keyboard music, trios, a concerto for four violins (!) and, above all, the six concertos for cello, strings and basso continuo that wrote in 1737/38 for the exclusive use of Domenico Marzio Caraffa, Duke of Maddaloni ('per solo servizio di Sua Eccellenza il Signore Duca di Madalone', as Leo noted on the title page of the manuscript). Caraffa, who also employed Giovanni Battista Pergolesi, was a patron of Leo's and an amateur cellist, and it is thus tempting to presume that these six masterpieces were composed in response to a commission from the Duke.

"And masterpieces they are. Leo was one of the first composers to liberate the cello from the figurative bustle of thankless basso continuo past (as late as 1752, Johann Joachim Quantz wrote: 'The provision of a good accompaniment is the foremost duty demanded of this instrument') and to take its full, rich tone into account with songful, expressive melodies in quantities that have no equal in the cello concerto repertoire before Leo. Only perhaps Pergolesi, who was sixteen years younger than Leo, achieved similar results in his 'Sinfonia' for cello and basso continuo, which was probably also written for the Duke of Maddaloni. The aloof, arhacic intellectualism, however, of which Leo's sacred music was occasionally accused, and which was responsible for drawing him into one of the popular and, of course, unjustified 'querelles' (a circle of 'Leisti' formed around Leo, whilst on the other side the 'Durantisti' paid homage to a more emotional ideal that was embodied by Francesco Durante), is here as good as 'struck out'. At any rate, movement headings and performance indications such as 'Andante grazioso' and 'Amoroso' are external indications of an inner proximity to New Simplicity, which comes to the for sometimes also with the opera-derived marking 'mezza voce' (toned down, but not with mutes), but also affects the faster movements in the manner of 'singing 'Allegros'' and can contribute an abundance of 'modern', gallant ornamentation to an 'Andante grazioso' such as that found in the D minor concerto.

"In formal terms, too, Leo is far more than just a figure of nostalgic conversation, however much he followed the four-movement, slow-fast-slow sequence of the traditional 'Sonata da chiese' (although this is very rarely found in solo concertos). In the first movements he emphatically tackled the question of sonata form (highly unusual in Naples at that time), combining it with the baroque concerto principle to form a 'concertante' drama that would be refined by Mozart and Haydn into 'classicism'. Hardly at all, however, does Leo's sonata form explore the concept of 'development' that was later to prove so significant; instead, it concentrates essentially on the contrast of themes (powerful - lyrical) and tonal situations (tonic - dominant/minor parallels), which are connected at various level with the dualistic disposition of the concerto (solo - tutti).

"The stylistic dualism that here becomes evident within a single type of movement also characterizes the form at a more general level. Two of the movements, for example, are fugues (the fourth movement of the 'Concerto in D major' and the second movement of the 'Sinfonia concertata' in C minor); there are numerous brilliant fugatos or imitations (for example, at the beginning of the magical minor-key 'Larghetto' of the first 'Concerto in A major') and, naturally, Leo's writing is characterized throughout by the skilful use of polyphony - strikingly, also in the solo passages, which otherwise often tend towards uninterrupted monody, a feature which may indeed be in the nature of solo concertos.

"Leo paid faithful attention to another primary characterisitc of the solo concerto, namely the display of virtuosity. To judge from the demands made by the solo part, the Duke must have been a 'dilettante' in the best sense of the word, an excellent advocate of his instrument, which is here required to be played not only with technical virtuosity but also with very sophisticated and expressive creative power - a small step in the history of the solo concerto, perhaps, but a giant leap for the cello." (Horst A. Scholz, 2000. From the liner notes.)

Performers: Orchestra 'Van Wasenaer', Makoto Akatsu, Hidemi Suzuki

1. Cello Concerto No. 4 In A Major: I. Andante Piacevole

2. Cello Concerto No. 4 In A Major: II. Allegro

3. Cello Concerto No. 4 In A Major: III. Larghetto E Gustoso

4. Cello Concerto No. 4 In A Major: IV. Allegro

5. Cello Concerto No. 5 In F Minor: I. Andante Grazioso

6. Cello Concerto No. 5 In F Minor: II. Allegro

7. Cello Concerto No. 5 In F Minor: III. Segue Il Cantabile - Largo E Gustoso

8. Cello Concerto No. 5 In F Minor: IV. Allegro

9. Cello Concerto No. 1 In A Major: I. Andantino Grazioso

10. Cello Concerto No. 1 In A Major: II. Allegro

11. Cello Concerto No. 1 In A Major: III. Larghetto A Mezza Voce

12. Cello Concerto No. 1 In A Major: IV. (Allegro)

13. Cello Concerto No. 3 In D Minor: I. Andante Grazioso

14. Cello Concerto No. 3 In D Minor: II. (Con Spirito)

15. Cello Concerto No. 3 In D Minor: III. Amoroso - Mezza Voce

16. Cello Concerto No. 3 In D Minor: IV. Allegro

17. Cello Concerto No. 2 In D Major: I. Andante Grazioso

18. Cello Concerto No. 2 In D Major: II. Con Bravura

19. Cello Concerto No. 2 In D Major: III. Larghetto, Con Poco Moto

20. Cello Concerto No. 2 In D Major: IV. Fuga

21. Cello Concerto No. 2 In D Major: V. (Allegro Di Molto)

22. Cello Concerto No. 6 In C Minor 'Sinfonia Concertata': I. Andante Grazioso

23. Cello Concerto No. 6 In C Minor 'Sinfonia Concertata': II. Presto

24. Cello Concerto No. 6 In C Minor 'Sinfonia Concertata': III. Larghetto

25. Cello Concerto No. 6 In C Minor 'Sinfonia Concertata': IV. Allegro

flac/16-bit

Wilhelm Stenhammar - String Quartets Nos. 3 & 4

"Wilhelm Stenhammar was one of the most versatile Swedish composers of his generation. In addition to writing two operas, two symphonies and two piano concertos, he produced a large number of songs, piano music and a violin sonata. The string quartet genre is a central one in his œuvre. An important precondition for this was his long-standing collaboration with violinist Tor Aulin and his string quartet, the Aulin Quartet, with which Stenhammar worked closely as a pianist. 'The Aulins' concerts in Stockholm', Stenhammar wrote during the winter of 1896, 'are an undertaking that is closer to my heart than any other of this kind, and it is no exaggeration if I say that I long for each new concert, and that it is a real sacrifice for me if I am forced to miss one of them. I don't know if you understand this, but I believe that you will grasp my feelings when I say that for me that the Aulin Quartet is, and with every passing day becomes all the more, the incarnation of everything exalted that I know in the world of music - not ideal, I grant - but, perhaps even because of its imperfections, all the more cherishable. With every day, every hours that passes I feel more strongly that I would not voluntarily give this up, that it would be the last thing that I would abstain from. It has educated me, it has turned me into a musician, I need it and love it.'

"Between 1894 and 1916 Stenhammar composed a total of seven string quartets, of which one (F minor, 1897) was withdrawn immediately after its first performance. In Scandinavian music of its time, this series of quartets is unique both in its consistency and in its musical aspirations.

"'String Quartet No. 3 in F major', Op. 18 (1897-1900): Stenhammar composed the first movement of his Third String Quartet in an intensive creative period in 1897, but did not add the remaining movements until 1900. In the meantime, following the première of his opera 'Tirfing', Op. 15, he had gone through a phase of deep depression. Although audience reactions to 'Tirfing' had been positive, with hindsight the opera did not measure up to Stenhammar's own standards. Around 1900 Stenhammar was grappling in depth with his compositional ideas, and developed a self-critical attitude that would leave its mark on his future works. At the same time there was a more matieral - and indeed pecuniary - background to the crisis. In 1894 he had promised his published (Henrik Hennings in Copenhagen) to deliver a fixed number of compositions per year. After 'Tirfing' it became increasingly clear to him that this contract was depriving him of his freedom to compose. As he wrote to Hennings, Stenhammar no longer had any desire to be a 'worker at a composition factory'. In August 1899 he terminated the contract; after that, he had to earn a living from his appearances as a pianist and conductor, which significantly curtailed the time that he could devote to composition.

"The F major Quartet, Op. 18, was the first major instrumental work that Stenhammar completed and published after the crisis. It clearly documents his high aspirations as a composer, and explicitly names the benchmark: Ludwig van Beethoven. Stenhammar's contemporaries already observed that the first movement's principal motif alludes to the beginning of Beethoven's first 'Razumovsky' Quartet, Op. 59 No. 1. The context in which Stenhammar places this motif is, however, remarkable: soloistically from the viola, with short, fragmentary comments from the other three instruments. This technique was also based on tradition, and can be traced back to late Beethoven, as used for instance in the German composer's final string quartet, Op. 135, which is also in F major. In a nutshell: here Stenhammar views mid-period Beethoven from the perspective of late Beethoven. What is the function of these allusions? By no means should they be seen as involuntary reminisces, or as an attempt to imitate the style. Instead, during the course of the movement, Stenhammar emphasizes not the proximity to his role model, Beethoven, but rather the distance that he has managed to travel from that style. This is all the more apparent in the finale. The prelude ('Presto motlo agitato') toys with motivic fragments from the scherzo, in the manner of a free eighteenth-century fantasy. The ensuing fugue once again takes an allusion to Beethoven as its point of departure: the theme of the fugal opening movement of his Op. 131 Quartet. It is fascinating to follow how, throughout the movement, Stenhammar makes the distance from his model more clearly heard. In the first, contrapuntally strict fugal section this is initially achieved through a variet of sophisticated harmonic modulations. Later, the strict ricercare fugue is carried away by the irresistable pull of the motivic writing, which ultimately leads to a thematic outburst (no longer even slightly fugal in style) and a capricious stretto. With a further motivic transformation the movement ends unexpectedly, returning to the dream-like atmosphere of the first movement's coda. The middle movements, too, do not try to conceal that they were composed around 1900. The 'Perpetuum mobile', with its abrupt beginning, was perceived by contemporary reviewers as 'a depiction of the nervous bustling and anxiety of our age'. The third movement, a set of variations in B-flat minor, initially seems to be self-contained, although its coda once more alludes to Beethoven, this time the coda of the Ninth Symphony's first movement. Even the quartet's calmest and most lyrical section thus participates in the interaction with tradition.

"'String Quartet No. 4 in A minor', Op. 25 (1904-09): The Fourth String Quartet, too, comes from a period of change in Stenhammar's life. He sketched the overall scheme of the first movement as early as 1904, but did not flesh it out until the winter of 1906-07, which he and his entire family spent in Florence. Stenhammar had earned his long-awaited trip to Florence - which was intended to give him time to compose undisturbed - with a heavy schedule of concerts as a pianist during the preceding season. In addition, Henrik Hennings had held out the prospect of a private grant from Danish music-lovers. But Hennings had promised more than he could deliver. When it became apparent that he could not raise the sum involved, the relationship between composer and publisher was irretrievable soured. In the strained circumstances, Stenhammar received a prestigious offer from Gothenburg: to be the conductor of the city's newly formed symphony orchestra. He accepted, and in the period from 1907 until 1922 turned the orchestra into one of the finest in Scandinavia. His free time for composing, however, was thereby permanently restricted to the summer months. Completion of the remaining movements of the String Quartet in A minor was thus delayed until the summer of 1909.

"The extended genesis of the work is not, however, discernible from listening to the piece; in fact the Fourth String Quartet sounds as if it had been written in a single burst. This is the most important of Stenhammar's string quartets and, more than almost any other work, proves his abilities as a composer: a supreme command of a wide range of traditions and models, harmonic sophistication pushing the very limits of functional tonality, artistry in the transformation of motifs and an interconnectedness that spans the entire work.

"Stenhammar's own conviction that he had done justice to his highest aspirations in his Fourth String Quartet is clearly shown by the fact that he dedicated this work to his friend and colleague Jean Sibelius. Sibelius, in return, dedicated his Sixth Symphony to Stenhammar - a fact that is little-known today, as the dedication was written on an extra page before the score itself, and later editions have no included it.

"In the A minor Quartet, Stenhammar continued along the same path that he had followed in its F major predecessor, but once again significantly increased the range of contrasts that he seeks to convey. This is shown in an exemplary manner by the themes of the first movement. It begins with a semiquaver run from the first violin above a diminished chord from the other instruments: this is a direct reference to Beethoven - a terse figure that alludes to the beginning of his A minor Quartet, Op. 132. This is immediately followed by a wan, archaic melody, set like a choral, briefly undermined by unexpected harmonies. Melodically this passage refers to the cadential formulae of Swedish folk songs, but harmonically it reflects the then contemporary procedures of chromatically altered harmony. From these very different points of departure, Stenhammar proceeds so logically that, by the end of the movement, he can reveal that all of the thematic elements share a common nucleus. He also avoid any kind of formal stereotypes. The expressive subsidiary theme, supported by a dense accompanimental texture, does not start out in the C major that would be expected in traditional sonata form, but rather in the remote key of D-flat major, far away in the circle of fifths. The development and recapitulation, too, are not easily separated but overlap in an unconventional manner.

"Similar tendencies can be found in the slow movement as well. Stenhammar confronts the dream, opulent 'Adagio' theme with a violin figure that can with justification be described as atonal. The harmonically advanced repetition of the theme, which emerges from this confrontation, demands the utmost concentration from the players in the richly figured accompanimental structure. In the five-part scherzo, nervous tension is created by the skilful use of fugato techniques that conflict with the underlying metre; not until we reach the extensive coda is this dynamic energy reined back. As a finale there is a slow variation movement based on the Swedish folk song 'Och riddaren han talte till unga Hillevi' ('And the Knight Spoke to Young Hillevi'). The eleven variations, some of which are quite far removed from the theme itself, are linked together at an underlying level, both harmonically and motivically. At the end of the movement, when finally the solo run from the beginning of the work grows out of the exuberant figurations, the music has come full circle: late Beethoven, the folks style and chromatically altered harmony - all of these grow out of a single point of departure and everything ultimately leads back to the same place. The game could begin all over again.

"'Elegy and Intermezzo from the incidental music to Hjalmar Bergman's play 'Lodolezzi sjunger' ('Lodolezzi Sings')', Op. 39 (1919): These two movements not only come from a different creative period in Stenhammar's career than the Third and Fourth String Quartets, but also have an entirely different purpose. They were composed in 1919 as part of the incidental music for a production put on by Per Lindberg, a young theatre director from Gothenburg. The Elegy served as an overture, whilst the Intermezzo was heard between Act II and Act III. The drama 'Lodolezzi Sings' by Hjalmar Bergman, which the playwright - not without irony - described as a 'romantic comedy', is about an aging opera singer Renée Lodolezzi who, after years away from the limelight and after numerous psychological complications, finally dares to take the stage again. The play ends with her triumphant performance (invisible to the theatre audience). Stenhammar chose a string quartet to perform the incidental music; in the Elegy a flute makes two brief appearances as well, heard from afar (on this recording its part is played by the second violin). As befits its function as an overture, the Elegy sets the emotional tone of the drama. The singer's extrovert tendencies and her fundamentally depressive mood are reflected in the melodic entries, which do possess potential for pathos, but also remain harmonically unstable, dissolving back into nothingness. Whereas the Elegy can be understood as a psychological profile of the main character, the Intermezzo represents the world to which Renée Lodolezzi is venturing to return: the great European nineteenth-century operas, including the last role she sang, from Ambroise Thomas's 'Mignon'. The Intermezzo has the form of a two-part opera scena, with a recitative and aria as the first part, followed by a more extensive second part which Stenhammar wryly marks 'Andante molto italiano'. The first violin and cello sing a veritable love duet, and the Italiante character is made evidence by means of 'portamenti' and second violin's mandolin-like 'pizzicati'. At the same time, Stenhammar mockingly shatters this image with metrical irregularities and contrapuntal complications. Here the composer uses techniques that he had already tried out in his last two string quartets - No. 5 in C major 'Serenade', Op. 29 (1910) and No. 6 in D minor, Op. 35 (1916)." (Signe Rotter-Broman, 2013. From the liner notes.)

Performers: Stenhammar Quartet

1. String Quartet In A Minor, Op. 25: I. Allegro Ma Non Troppo

2. String Quartet In A Minor, Op. 25: II. Adagio

3. String Quartet In A Minor, Op. 25: III. Scherzo. Allegro

4. String Quartet In A Minor, Op. 25: IV. Aria Variata. Andante Semplice

5. Lodolezzi Sjunger, Op. 39: Elegi. Lento

6. Lodolezzi Sjunger, Op. 39: Intermezzo. Allegro Agitato

7. String Quartet No. 3 In F Major, Op. 18: I. Quasi Andante

8. String Quartet No. 3 In F Major, Op. 18: II. Presto Molto Agitato

9. String Quartet No. 3 In F Major, Op. 18: III. Lento Sostenuto

10. String Quartet No. 3 In F Major, Op. 18: IV. Presto Molto Agitato - Molto Moderato

flac/16-bit

Carl Nielsen - Symphonies Nos. 4 & 5

"Despite being born in the same year, Nielsen and Sibelius, the twin peaks of Nordic symphonism, pursued wholly independent paths. Where Sibelius's First Symphony (1899, rev. 1900) took Borodin and Tchaikovsky as its starting point, Nielsen's (1891-94) paid homage to Berlioz, Grieg and Svendsen. And while Sibelius gradually stripped away elements of Romanticism and went ever deeper into elemental representations of Nature and movement, Nielsen accumulated, explored ever wider horizones, and rather than moving away from his roots made symphonic dramas from confronting them with new, often inimical forces.

"The Dane's Third Symphony (1911) celebrated a conglomeration of positive values - freedom, creative energy, oneness with Nature, and, in the finale, what Nielsen himself dubbed the 'healthy morale' of the ordinary working man - all under the umbrella title of 'Sinfonia espansiva'. At its core, his next symphony, 'The Inextinguishable' (1914-16) is a defence of those same values against elements that threaten their very existence. By the time of its composition, Europe was being torn apart by a war in which Denmark remained neutral but which caused Nielsen to question the 'national feeling' he had previously regarded as wholesome and which he now likened to a 'kind of spiritual syphilis'. There were conflicts, too, in his personal life. His marriage, to the prominent sculptress Ann-Marie Brodersen, was entireing a period of turmoil, brought about by the revelation of his infidelities; and on 30th May 1914 he resigned his position as assistant conductor at the Royal Opera in Copenhagen, thereby becoming a freelance musician for more or less the first time in over twenty years. For all these reasons Nielsen felt compelled to re-examine his values as a composer and human being, and in this respect 'The Inextinguishable' is a classic mid-life-crisis piece.

"On 3rd May 1914, Carl Nielsen wrote in a state of high agitation to his wife: 'I have an idea for a new work, which has no programme but which is meant to express what we understand by the life-urge or life-manifestation; that's to say: everything that moves, that craves life, that can be called neither good nor evil, neither high nor low, neither great nor small, but simply: 'That which is life' or 'That which craves life' - I mean, no definite idea about anything 'grandiose' or 'fine and delicate' or about warm or cold (powerful maybe) but simply Life and Movement, but varied, very varied, but holding together, and as though always flowing in one large movement, in a single stream. I need a word or a short title to say it all.'

"The word he was looking for was 'Inextinguishable'. But he was not to find it until he had completed the symphony nearly two years after that semi-coherent outburst of enthusiasm. His thoughts crystallised in a short preface to the score: 'With the title 'The Inextinguishable' the composer has sought to indicate in one word what only music has the power to express in full: 'The Elemental Will of Life'. Music -is- Life and, like it, inextinguishable.' And in 1920 Nielsen sent his Dutch composer-conductor friend Julius Röntgen an explanatory note that further clarified his intentions: 'If the whole world was destroyed, Nature would once again begin to beget new life and push forward with the strong and fine forces that are to be found in the very stuff of existence... These 'inextinguishable' forces are what I have tried to represent.'

"In Danish 'Det Uudslukkelige' is a neuter noun, non an adjectival description. So we should think of this not as a hubristic Inextinguishable Symphony, but rather as one whose subject matter is That which is Inextinguishable. Nielsen might almost as well have named it the Life Force, as Bernard Shaw put it, or 'élan vital', in a formulation popularised around the time of its composition by the philosopher Henri Bergson.

"The turbulence of the opening bars immediately suggests how much is at stake, as the strings and woodwin view with one another and brass and timpani strive to maintain law and order. When this tumult subsides, a long-drawn clarinet theme in winding Sibelian thirds seems to come from another world ('not quite like me', as once Nielsen remarked). Rather than remaining merely a haven for escapist reverie, this theme will prove highly adaptable, marking out its Darwinian fitness for eventual survival.

"In the pastoral-idyllic slow movement the woodwind behave as an idealised village band, charmingly not quite sure whether they should be playing two or three beats to the bar. Here, one senses, are the values of simplicity and openness the symphony needs to defend. The tensely dramatic third movement then begins with a passionate accompanied recitative for the violins, soaring over timpani and lower strings, 'like an eagle on the wind' according to the composer; succeeding contrasts between passionate declamation and hymn-like serenity are eventually swallowed up in a radiant climax. In the finale, launched by a torrent of string scales in the manner of Beethoven's third 'Leonora' Overture, the element of antagonism resurfaces. Two sets of timpani, spatially separated, battle it out with the rest of the orchestra, before the triumphant return of the first movement's Sibelian clarinet theme, no blazened across the entire orchestra in searing affirmation.

"After its enthusiastically received première on 1st February 1916, 'The Inextinguishable' rapidly established itself as a milestone in the Nordic symphonic repertoire, one that was frequently called upon to conduct. During these years he was living an itinerant life, hoping to re-cement his marriage but for the time being excluded from the family home in Copenhagen. In between major symphonic projects, much of his energy was devoted to a lavish staging of 'Aladdin', which demanded some 90 minutes of incidental music, and his representation of its polarities of Good and Evil, as well as its oriental setting, gave him new impetus for symphonic explorations (witness the music for 'The Market at Ispahan', which he composed for four discrete mini-orchestras in four different keys).

"For the 'Fifth Symphony' we have no preliminary statements of the kind Nielsen wrestly with apropos 'The Inextinguishable'. But he did reflect with hindsight on its content. Interviews for a Copenhagen newspaper just before the première on 24th January 1922, he was asked about the meaning of his new work. Using terms echoed by composers down the ages, he responded cagily: 'Long explanations and indications as to what music 'represents' are just evil; they distract the listener.' Pressed as to whether the Great War had affected his composition, he again deflected the question, replying that although he was not conscious of any such influence, 'One thing is certain: not one of us is the same as we were before the war. So maybe so!'

"As so many composers have discovered, these evasive tactics left the Fifth Symphony defenceless against critics eager to supply their own interpretations. Some related the extraordinarily vivid drama of the piece to his music for 'Aladdin', hearing pastoral dream-world and Arabian marches in the first movement of the symphony. And one of Nielsen's staunchest supporters found himself thoroughly repelled, calling the work a 'Sinfonie filmatique', this dirty trenches-music [...] this clenched first in the face of a defenceless, novelty snobbish, titillation-sick public [...] who lovingly lick the hand stained with the blood of their own noses!' Two years later in Stockholm, a large section of the audience walked out, in protest at the cacophony of the first movement, while a proportion of the remainder tried to hiss down the performance.

"Few among those early listeners could have guessed that Nielsen's Fifth Symphony would one day mark his posthumous international breakthrough - which can be dated quite precisely to the 1950 Edinburgh Festival - and go on to be hailed as one of the greatest symphonies of the twentieth century (not least by the celebrated Mahler scholar and broadcaster Deryck Cooke).

"Nielsen did in fact leave a few more sporadic clues as to his preoccupations while composing the work. These all have to do with primordial oppositions. At the end of his pencil draft score he wrote the motto: 'Dark, resting forces - Awakened forces', which could apply equally well to the contrast between the two main sections of the first movement and to that between the two movements themselves. He told a confidant that it was 'something very primitive I wanted to express: the division of dark and light, the battle between evil and good. A title such as 'Dreams and Deeds' could maybe sum up the inner picture I had in front of my eyes when composing.' And to his newspaper interviewer he explained that the symphony was ultimately concerned with the same elemental opposition as in his previous three, namely 'resting forces in contrast to active ones'.

"If 'The Inextinguishable' enshrined a conflict between Nielsen's essentially positive outlook on life and fearsome odds stacked against it, the Fifth Symphony revisits this arena with an even more comprehensive symphonic mastery.

"The first movement falls into two large sections. Nielsen's 'resting forces' express themselves initially as a kind of wandering indifference. He once described this state as 'Vegetative Nature', and the title 'Vegetative' actually stands at the head of his pencil draft score. Pairs of bassoons, and later horns, flutes and clarinets, drift aimlessly around an oscillating viola line that waits at first passively, then more anxiously, for something to happen. That line reacts to shivers on the cymbal as the wandering melody transfers to strings. An increasing sense of foreboding is registered by harsh accents in the cellos, and a kind of paralysis gradually steals over the music. The stage is set for the entrance of the side drum. From this point the struggle between conflicting forces ebbs and flows, eventually reaching stalemate and dying away under stabbing repeated notes on violins and celesta.

"As if waking from a bad dream, a warm G major tune breaks in on violas and cellos, supported by bassoons and horns. This unfolds in two glorious waves of increasingly contrapuntal activity, reaching an ecstatic climax. However, what promises to be a similarly positive third wave is soon clutched by fearful reminisces, and a mounting sense of alarm takes over. Woodwind and strings hurl what Nielsen called the 'evil motif' - a transformation of the violas' wave line - at one another, and at the high point the side drum returns at an unrelated faster tempo, with the instruction to disturb the orchestra at all costs. Pandemonium ensues, until a tidal wave of G major engulfs all the combatants and a battle-scarred tranquility concludes the first movement.

"The second movement begins with what the pioneering Nielsen scholar Robert Simpson aptly called 'a fount of regenerative energy'. At first this music seems to be irresistable in its onward sweep, but eventually it too succumbs to a terrifying loss of energy. That this has happened without the presence of the first movement's obvious tokens of ill-will - such as the percussion, the skirling clarinet and the dinning side drum - is all the more disheartening. The implication is that an even greater effort of will-power than in the first movement will be needed in order to regain a positive frame of mind.

"Nielsen's strategy is first of all to let evil forces rip, which he does in a fugue from hell that starts quietly on the violins but soon develops a nightmarish momentum and eventually blows itself to smithereens. The air having finally been cleared, another fugue begins, again on the violins but this time slowly and calmly transofrming the opening theme of the second movement and thinking its way through to enlightenment. It only remains for the 'fount of energy' to return and to find a way to avoid its previous path to ruin. This having been achieved, along with the revelation of the key of E flat major (also the key of the magnificent conclusion to the recent Fifth Symphony by Nielsen's Finnish neighbour, Sibelius) the final pages hold the banner of the Life Force triumphantly aloft. (David Fanning, 2013. From the liner notes.)

Performers: Kungliga Filharmonikerna, Sakari Oramo

1. Symphony No. 4, Op. 29, FS 76 'Det Uudslukkelige': I. Allegro –

2. Symphony No. 4, Op. 29, FS 76 'Det Uudslukkelige': II. Poco Allegretto –

3. Symphony No. 4, Op. 29, FS 76 'Det Uudslukkelige': III. Poco Adagio Quasi Andante –

4. Symphony No. 4, Op. 29, FS 76 'Det Uudslukkelige': IV. Allegro

5. Symphony No. 5, Op. 50 FS 97: I. Tempo Giusto –

6. Symphony No. 5, Op. 50 FS 97: II. Allegro – Presto – Andante Un Poco Tranquillo – Allegro

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Carl Nielsen - Symphonies Nos. 2 & 6

"Nielsen was one of life's people watchers. From the time of his rustic upbringing on the island of Funen he was a talented mimic (a gift he seems to have inherited from his father), and he became known as a marvellous conversationalist and raconteur. His compulsive interest in all that was robust and healthy in human nature, no matter if that meant rough edges or strongly differing views from his own, also inspired him to some of his finest music.

"No single work exemplifies Nielsen's gift for musical empathy morte thrillingly than his 'Second Symphony'. It dates from 1902-02, a time when he was earning his living mainly as a somewhat frustrated second violinist in the orchestra of the Royal Opera in Copenhagen. The origins of the work, as he explained in a programme note near the end of his life, were in an allegorical picture he came across in a country inn, illustrating the Four Temperaments - the moods determined by the mixture of fluids in the body, at least according to medical theory with roots in the Ancient Greeks and Romans and still commonly believed up to the early 1800s. Imbalance between these fluids could supposedly create a disposition towards anger (choler), apathy (phlegm), sadness (melancholy) or carefree abandon (sanguinity). The comically exaggerated visual images of those characteristics apparently stayed with Nielsen and he soon saw their potential to map on the four movements of the traditional symphony.

"In the painting the Choleric temperament was apparently shown as a swash-buckling horse-rider: 'his eyes were bulging out of his head, his hair streamed wildly around his face, so distorted with rage and diabolical hatred that I could not help bursting out laughing'. Nielsen's symphonic equivalent is no laughing matter, however. A fiery Berliozian 'allegro', marked from the outset by slashing off-beat accents and rushing scale passages, its lyrical contrasts are like episodes in which the main character regrets his wildness without being able to prevent its return. Something close to this scenario would serve Nielsen again a quarter of a century later as the basis for his Clarinet Concerto.

"In complete contrast, the second movement, the Phlegmatic, is so easy-paced that it nearly falls asleep: 'I visualized a young fellow whose real inclination was to lie where the birds sing, where the fish glide noiselessly through the water, where the sun warms and the wind strokes mildly round one's curls.' Anyone who knows Nielsen's genial autobiography, 'My Childhood on Funen', will realise how close such an image was to his own nature, or at least to one part of it. In this movement, especially in the lazy undulating triads of the middle section, is contained the seed for the kind of inertia that would eventually take on a very different aspect: as a life-threatening - indeed life-on-earth-threatening - force in Nielsen's later symphonies.

"Next comes the Melancholic temperament, which like the Phlegmatic has little by way of contrast in its personality, other than a gravely beautiful, resigned episode in the middle. Again like its Phlegmatic counterpart, the movement becomes increasingly static, until, in the composer's words 'the parts intertwine like the threads of a net'. Even so, Nielsen was incapable of drawing anything other than a rounded character-portrait, and he give his 'heavy, melancholy man' a mitigating quality of stoical nobility from the outset. Eventually the music find its way to a calm and touching self-knowledge.

"Psychological progress of some such kind also underpins the Sanguine finale. This begins as the sketch of a man who 'storms thoughtlessly on in the belief that the whole world belongs to him, and that roast pigeons will fly into his mouth without work or bother'. However, 'Just once it seems that he has encountered something really serious; at least he meditates over something that is alien to his own nature, and it seems to affect him, so that while the final march may be happy and bright, it is still more dignified and not as silly and smug as some his previous bursts of activity.' In musical terms this is where Nielsen's famous 'progressive tonality' kicks in, as the movement - and indeed the entire symphony - ends in a brighter key than the one in which it began, as if to symbolise that adventure and self-transformation may be even higher values than empathy.

"In the post-Great War era, Nielsen's Fourth and Fifth Symphonies brought him the greatest measure of professional recognition he ever enjoyed in his lifetime. Critics in Scandinavia who had been troubled by what they saw as a veil of wilful experimentation in his earlier works were now, paradoxically, bowled over by these far more challenging masterpieces. Perhaps they got the point - and perhaps Nielsen himself made it easier for them to get the point - that what they had been bothered about was actually a deliberate negative polarity in an abstract human drama, rather than any kind of weakness or 'Schadenfreude'. Music of tough-minded, recalcitrant, even rebarbative kind was simply Nielsen's way of enshrining the struggles he perceived to be at the core of existence. Given what the First World War had done for the moral climate in Europe, that message was no hard to mistake.

"However, for the composer himself, the edge was taken off his creative triumphs by the realisation that he was not making the international headway he felt he deserved. He found little to admire in the European musical scene in the 1920s, with its extremes of hedonism and self-abnegation. And to make matters worse, his health was being undermined by heart problems that first manifested themselves seriously after his intense work on the Fifth Symphony. In any case, his abiding instinct for adventure dictated that his next symphony would have to move to a different arena. But where to, precisely, given that he had so recently scaled such mighty peaks?

"His first thought was, in effect, to take his cue from the work he had been doing for more than a decade in the area of folk-popular song. Accordingly, as he wrote to one of his daughters in August 1924, he envisaged a work that would be 'quite idyllic in character, beyond all time-bound taste and fashion... like the old 'a cappella' musicians'. But Nielsen was never one for planning out the precise route in advance, and this time his journey took him to regions far removed from the opening bars, with their tinkling glockenspiel, genial woodwind scales and childlike violins over tick-tock oboes and bassoons.

"In an intervew published two days before the first performance on 11th December 1925, he was asked about the title of the symphony. 'I've named it 'Sinfonia semplice',' he replied, 'because the main character is in a lighter vein than my other symphonies - there are merry things in it.' The interviewer pressed him further, no doubt because the composer had been in the news that year: at the time of the national celebrations for his 60th birthday, he had made unexpectedly cynical pronouncements on the career of a composer. Nielsen was adamant: 'The symphony has nothing whatsoever to do with my states of mind. What I experience in life never directly affects my music.' But he went on to give what may be an important clue to the tone of the symphony: 'It's natural for us to long for what we don't have.' In other words, the 'Sinfonia semplice' is not so much a simple symphony - far from it - but rather one that longs for a state of simplicity, more particularly for a return to the state of its opening bars.

"The symphony's final movement is, in fact, one of Nielsen's most tragic and full-worked out musical dramas, for all that it is expressed in a twelve-minute time-span and in highly economical texture. Each of its half-dozen main ideas is beguilingly innocent on initial presentation, but each is brutalised in the central phase of the movement, culminating in a full-scale panic attack and an agonisingly prolonged dissonance on horns and woodwin. This is, in effect, as anti-heroic a symphonic movement as anything in Shostakovich - who was composing his First Symphony at precisely the same time, but who almost certainly did not know Nielsen's music until much later in life.

"If this first movement is disturbing, what follows is even more so. A self-styled Humoresque, the second movement's prevailing tone is sardonic, yet not so obviously so that Nielsen felt it could speak for itself. In one and the same interview, two days before the premier in December 1925, he stressed that the symphony protrayed 'purely musical problems', yet then immediately contradicted himself, describing the percussion waking up the other instrumnts, which proceed to play 'modern music', arousing their distaste and later the contempt of the trombone, which plays yawning glissandi, as if to say 'Baa, baby food!', before the all fall peacefully asleep again. What is alarming about this satirical picture is a sense that the composer's own voice is virtually absent, having been so integral to the drama of the first movement.

"Then it seems that the slow movement may redress the balance. Nielsen's 'serious proposition' is an intense Bartókian fugue in the strings - the opening repeated notes harking right back to the first bar of the symphony. This is the sort of writing he had deployed so inspiringly in the second movement of the Fifth Symphony, to absorb negativity and to prepare the ground for a final burst of life-affirmation. This time, however, everything collapses and the music becomes entangled in a mesh of its own fevered anxiety - like the Melancholic Temperament but at a higher, existential level. The best it can hope for is a pale reconciliation to the status quo, blearily expressed in the closing bars.

"Before composing the finale Nielsen declared it would be a 'a variations work, a cosmic chasos, who atoms [...] clarify and unite to form a globe'. Yet again, however, the concept darkened as he worked on it. The variations are certainly there, and in the middle of the movement something very much like cosmic chaos indeed comes across the music. But the envisaged gathering into wholeness encounters obstacles that for once in his symphonic career prove insuperable. As the composer confided to a friend, the bizarre variation with tuba and percussion represents 'death knocking at the door', and the concluding fanfares therefore cannot be other than a death-defying gesture. Finally the two bassoons are left honking out their lowest note with all their might. Thus the greatest life-affirmer in the 20th-century symphonic tradition ends his last symphony by symbolically giving death the finger." (David Fanning, 2014. From the liner notes.) 

Performers: Kungliga Filharmonikerna, Sakari Oramo

1. Symphony No. 2, Op. 16, FS 29 'De Fire Temperamenter': I. Allegro Colleric

2. Symphony No. 2, Op. 16, FS 29 'De Fire Temperamenter': II. Allegro Comodo E Flemmatico

3. Symphony No. 2, Op. 16, FS 29 'De Fire Temperamenter': III. Andante Malincolico

4. Symphony No. 2, Op. 16, FS 29 'De Fire Temperamenter': IV. Allegro Sanguineo

5. Symphony No. 6, FS 116 'Sinfonia Semplice': I. Tempo Giusto

6. Symphony No. 6, FS 116 'Sinfonia Semplice': II. Humoresque. Allegretto

7. Symphony No. 6, FS 116 'Sinfonia Semplice': III. Proposta Seria. Adagio

8. Symphony No. 6, FS 116 'Sinfonia Semplice': IV. Theme And Variations. Allegro

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Carl Nielsen - Symphonies Nos. 1 & 3

"Nielsen's childhood, so eloquently evoked in the memoirs he published after his 60th birthday, played a formative role in his musical personality on many levels. It gave him enduring respect for the values of ordinary country folk, delight in the endless variety of nature and relish for the inner strength of his early musical loves, Bach and Mozart. Later, his training at the Royal Conservatoire in Copenhagen, principally as a violinist, nurtured his early compositional efforts, especially in the fields of chamber music and song.

"But so far as larger forms such as the symphony are concerned, it was his employment in the Royal Opera Orchestra from 1889 that gave him the material basis and his scholarship-funded travels in Europe from 1890-91 that provided the decisive inspiration. In the course of that study-trip he began to sense the kind of orchestral music he wanted to write (emulating the likes of Beethoven and Brahms) and also the kind he didn't (essentially anything that smacked of self-indulgence of gratuitous effect).

"Two 'upbeats' preceded the symphony he finally set to work on in the summer of 1891. One was a complete symphonic first movement, composed in 1888 and named (not by Nielsen himself, it seems) 'Symphonic Rhapsody', for its delayed first performance. Despite its athletic, swinging triple-time motion, which was to become a hallmark of several of his mature symphonies, he agreed with some of the critics that this piece was not strong enough to stand alone, and he made no more than a concept - but an ambitious one - for a symphony with the programme 'From earth you have come; to earth you shall return'.

"Nielsen's definitive 'First Symphony', which took shape over a period of two and a half years, is far removed from such grandiose ambitions, or indeed from any kind of programme (he was highly amused when a well-meaning lady interpreted his idiosyncratic designation for the first movement, 'orgoglioso' - 'proudly' - as meaning 'organ-like'). Thoroughly classical in its proportions and discipline, the work owes much to the benchmark of Schumann, widely adopted by symphonists all over Europe at the time. At the same time it displays affinities with the fieriness of Berlioz - the very opening bars are a close cousin to the 'Orgy of the Brigands' from the Frenchman's 'Harold in Italy' Symphony, also with the lyrical tone of Grieg, and with the rhythmic vitality of Grieg's fellow-Norwegian Johan Svendsen, who conducted the première on 14th March 1894.

"In his review of that performance, Charles Kjerulf, the most influential Danish critic of the time, summed up the symphony's character as 'a child playing with dynamite'. The dynamite is perhaps most clearly to be found in the compact, propulsive rhythmical units of the first movement, which carry something close to a Beethovian generative force. In fact Nielsen had recently been so impressed with Beethoven's Fifth that he had set himself the task of writing out its first movement from memory, in full score. The childlike quality surfaces especially at movements when the pace slackens and pastoral relaxation takes over, as it does most obviously in the second movement - a deeply felt 'Andante', but one that conveys a sense of wonder at the beauty of the world, rather than projecting individualistic soul-states.

"Next comes a scherzo-substitute, somewhat Brahmsian in its initially easy-going character, though as it proceeds the tone darkens. In fact, this third movement functions as a kind of crucible, in which the symphony's musical constituents are as it were melted down and reshaped, with implications not only for the dramatic contrasts in the middle of the movement but also for the ultimate destination of the finale.

"Nominally in G minor, the symphony might have concluded quite conventionally in G major, or even placed the entire last movement entirely in that key. In fact Nielsen's finale works round to a coda in C major, making this possibly the first ever symphony to end in a key other than its home tonic. This phenomenon generally known as 'progressive tonality', is not something Nielsen worked out with scientific precision - though with hindsight the destination tonality reflects harmonic relationships subtly implanted earlier in the work, all the way back to its opening chord. Rather, it is the technical manifestation of a sense of adventure and a refusal to be tied down that are there for all to hear and that would lead Nielsen into all sort of mould-breaking advnetures in his later symphonies.

"In 1906, at the halfway point between his Second and Third Symphonies, Nielsen scored a national triumph with his comic opera 'Maskarade' - an immensely tuneful and heart-warming score that soon came to be recognized as the Danish national opera 'par excellence'. Then in December the following year his song 'Jens vejmand' ('Jens the Road-mender') suddenly became a smash hit after its first public performance. Nielsen had already resigned his post as second violinist in the Royal Opera Orchestra, and early in 1908 he was appointed assistant conductor, a post he would hold until June 1914.

"He was clearly coming into his prime as composer, performer and national icon, and his growing recognition brought with it increasingly regular commissions for incidental music and cantatas. There was even a measure of international success. In the autumn of 1906 the Chicago Symphony Orchestra udner Frederick Stock successfully performed his First Symphony. Interest in neighbouring Sweden and Norway was on the ride, and Nielsen gained an influential Czech supporter in the shape of the author Max Brod, who sang his praises in the German musical press and who perceptively noted an affinity - entirely coincidental - with his compatriot and friend Leoš Janáček.

"Curiously, Nielsen had very little contact with his symphonic opposite number and exact contemporary in Finland, Jean Sibelius. Nevertheless, not least among many significant musical impressions in these years was Sibelius's Second Symphony, whose influence may well be reflected in the long pedal-points and intense high string writing in the second movement of the 'Sinfonia espansiva'. Such ideas are one obvious aspect of 'expansiveness'. But Nielsen's idea with his unusual title is embodied above all in the character of the first movement.

"In later life Nielsen wrote three programme notes for the piece. The nearest he came to explaining his concept of the 'expansive' was in March 1931, seven months before his death: 'The first movement was meant as a burst of energy and life-affirmation thrown out into the wide world, which we humans not only desire to know in all its multifarious effects, but which we want to conquer and make our own.' To express that urge, Nielsen hit on a vigorous, muscular triple-time pulse that ultimately goes back to the first movement of Beethoven's 'Eroica', from where it passed down to him through Schumann's 'Rhenish' Symphony and Brahms's Third. Nielsen himself had adumbrated it in his 'Symphonic Rhapsody'. This kind of writing, with its highly arched thematic contours, its thrusting rhythms and propulsive harmony, gives the sensation of being composed as if in the future tense - always urgently looking forward. A significant operatic counterpart is the opening scene of Nielsen's biblical opera 'Saul and David', where exactly this musical character depicts the Israelites anxiously awaiting the delayed arrival of the prophet Samuel.

"In complete contrast to the phenomenal energy of the 'Allegro espansivo', the pastoral slow movement evokes the rolling countryside of Nielsen's native island of Funen. Here, in the concluding stages, vocalises for solo soprano and baritone are added to heighten the sense of lyrical ecstasy, expressed in a fragment of text found in Nielsen's draft score: 'All thoughts have vanished: I am lying beneath the heavens.' As he put it in one of his programme notes, the presence of the voices is 'only to highlight the peaceful atmosphere you might imagine in Paradise before the Fall'.

"In the third movement the opposed forces so far encountered are held in an uneasy balance, the moods being poised 'between dream and wakefulness', as a pupil of Nielsen put it in an analysis that came out - with the composer's approval - soon after the first published score. As so often with Nielsen, this stage of the symphony is something of a melting-pot, in which difficult issues are worked out - here notably in some convulsive fugal writing - that will enable the finale to consolidate, rather than having to fight all its battles from scratch.

"Originally headed 'pomposo' - which in Nielsen's understanding stood for grandeur but not self-aggrandisement - this finale is in fact a remarkable non-conflictual affair, at least by comparison with its counterparts in the Fourth and Fifth Symphonies. The music strides out, in the composer's words, as 'a hymn to work and the healthy enjoyment of daily life', in which the 'the orchestra sings its introductory theme in so commonplace a fashion that you might well call it 'healthy-popular''. The conclusion comes 'like a man who, uninterestingly [in the sense of undermonstratively], but healthily and at his ease, reaches the goal of his travels'.

"The première of the 'Sinfonia espansiva' took place in Copenhagen on 28th February 1912, in a concert that also included Nielsen's new Violin Concerto. The event was a triumph, not only delighting his uspporters but also winning over those Danish critics who had previously been sceptical of his abilities, and the symphony went on to enjoy many performances in different countries, often under the composer's own baton. Two months after the première, Nielsen conducted it in Amsterdam. During the most restful parts of the finale, he asked the famous Concertgebouw Orchestra to play as 'boringly' as possible, and he stretched lazily to make his point. The musicians immediately imitated his gesture, and everyone burst out laughing. 'Bravo, gentlemen,' said Nielsen. 'I see we understand eachother.' And the laughter resumed. (David Fanning, 2014. From the liner notes.)

Performers: Kungliga Filharmonikerna, Sakari Oramo

1. Symphony No. 1 In G Minor, Op. 7, FS 16: I. Allegro Orgoglioso

2. Symphony No. 1 In G minor, Op. 7, FS 16: II. Andante

3. Symphony No. 1 In G minor, Op. 7, FS 16: III. Allegro Comodo - Andante Sostenuto - Tempo I

4. Symphony No. 1 In G minor, Op. 7, FS 16: IV. Finale: Allegro Con Fuoco

5. Symphony No. 3, Op. 27, FS 60 'Sinfonia Espansiva': I. Allegro Espansivo

6. Symphony No. 3, Op. 27, FS 60 'Sinfonia Espansiva': II. Andante Pastorale

7. Symphony No. 3, Op. 27, FS 60 'Sinfonia Espansiva': III. Allegretto Un Poco

8. Symphony No. 3, Op. 27, FS 60 'Sinfonia Espansiva': IV. Finale: Allegro

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Ottorino Respighi - Metamorphoseon; Ballata delle Gnomidi; Belkis, Regina di Saba

"This recording presents three orchestral works by Respighi [...] [that] they testify to a talent for orchestration that rivalled that of Strauss and to his sense of colour, to his musical invention and to the artistry with which he managed to integrate the various musical influences.

"'Metamorphoseon' was written in 1930 in response to a commission from Serge Koussevitzky for the fiftieth anniversary of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, which Respighi himself had conducted three years earlier. These anniversary celebrations also gave rise to Stravinsky's 'Symphony of Psalms', Roussel's 'Third Symphony' and Prokofiev’s Fourth.

"Respighi’s work is in fact a concerto for orchestra in thirteen continuous sections and is 'pure music' in the sense that it contains no visual or literary references. A theme heard at the outset is followed by twelve 'modes', which correspond to twelve variations. We should not see the term 'mode' as a suggestion of the scales commonly used in the Middle Ages but rather as an allusion to the different ways in which the music can be transformed by allowing various instruments – or groups of instruments – to shine. For his ostensibly classical 'theme and variations', Respighi presents two themes: the first is heard in the very first bar, announced by the strings doubled by bassoons and contrabassoon, whilst the second emerges from the 'counter-melody' heard in bar 9. The first theme is deliberately archaic in style and thus bears witness to Respighi's interest in ancient music, specifically in Gregorian chant.

"[...] The symphonic poem 'Ballata delle gnomidi' ('The Ballad of the Gnomes') was composed in 1920 – chronologically between 'The Fountains of Rome' and 'The Pines of Rome', just when Respighi’s powers were at their zenith. The piece was inspired by a poem published in 1899 by Carlo Clausetti, director of the Milan and Naples offices of Respighi’s publisher, Ricordi. Described as 'a typical product of the golden age of Neapolitan nobility at the turn of the century', Clausetti – who was also a composer and theatre director – numbered not only Respighi but also Puccini and many other Italian composers among his friends. Clausetti’s poem, which is printed in the score, takes its theme from Greek, Roman and Nordic mythology: innocent men are sacrificed by unscrupulous women. The story, told in metaphorical language, is as follows: a poor male victim (a gnome) is abducted by two gnome-women who drag him to a dark chamber and make him perform sexual services in a sort of satanic ritual. Meanwhile, other gnomes wait outside. A cry is heard (here represented by the small E-flat clarinet) followed by silence ('And, in the dark night, a shrill cry rang out, so full of woe, as to chase out the darkness. And then profound silence'). At dawn, the gnome-women take the bloody corpse to the edge of a precipice ('In a flash, the beastly husband was thrown down; thus did the rite conclude'). They hurl the body into the depths, while uttering prayers that resemble curses. The story ends with the wild dancing of the two murderers, like a witches' round dance ('One of them shrieks, another one sneers, one bites, one laughs scornfully; all are seized by a furious mania, like at a sabbath').

"The suite 'Belkis, Regina di Saba' ('Belkis, Queen of Sheba') is derived from a ballet that tells the Biblical story of a visit to Jerusalem, around the tenth century B.C., by the Queen of Sheba – a woman whose sublime beauty was matched by her intelligence and wisdom – at the invitation of King Solomon. Found in 1 Kings, Chapter 10, this story has inspired numerous painters, writers, film directors and composers. Claudio Guastalla wrote an opera libretto on the basis of this historical tale, but no composer was willing to use it. At Respighi’s request, however, he modified the libretto for use as the basis of a ballet. The ballet in question was a full-length work, eighty minutes long, and requiring a massive orchestra including zithers, wind machine, choir, soloists and narrator as well as a brass ensemble behind the scenes. For the music Respighi, always keen to be authentic, started from the melodic contours of ancient Hebrew melodies and certain rhythmic elements from Arabian music. Several hundred performers took part in the first performance, at La Scala on 23rd January 1932, with choreography by Léonide Massine and sets by Nicola Benois, who designed more than six hundred costumes for the occasion. Elsa Respighi said that 'the score is dazzlingly rich and contains many new and beautiful ideas'. The audience received it with enthusiasm and the reviews were positive; a New York Times journalist who was present wrote: 'Respighi has achieved a technical tour-de-force: he strove mainly for colour and spectacle and has achieved his goal brilliantly, immersing his score in vivid oriental atmosphere from beginning to end.' Despite its success, the ballet was performed only eleven times, perhaps on account of its colossal demands. A complete recording of the ballet was not made until the 21st century. 

"Keen to ensure that the work would not fall into oblivion, Respighi planned to prepare two concert suites. Owing to his failing health, however, he only completed one of these, which was published in 1934. The suite omits the vocal parts and makes do without the exotic instruments, but still requires a large orchestra including a sizeable percussion section. In no other work by Respighi is the influence of Rimsky-Korsakov (his ballet 'Scheherazade') so clearly felt. We can also find echos of Borodin's 'Prince Igor', in particular of the Polovtsian Dances." (Jean-Pascal Vachon. From the liner notes.)

Performers: Orchestre Philharmonique Royal de Liège, John Neschling

1. Metamorphoseon: Tema. Andante Moderato
2. Metamorphoseon: Modus I. Moderato Non Troppo
3. Metamorphoseon: Modus II. Allegretto
4. Metamorphoseon: Modus III. Lento
5. Metamorphoseon: Modus IV. Lento Espressivo
6. Metamorphoseon: Modus V. Allegro Vivace
7. Metamorphoseon: Modus VI. Vivo
8. Metamorphoseon: Modus VII. Cadenze
9. Metamorphoseon: Modus VIII. Andantino Mosso
10. Metamorphoseon: Modus IX. Lento Non Troppo
11. Metamorphoseon: Modus X. Molto Allegro
12. Metamorphoseon: Modus XI. Molto Allegro
13. Metamorphoseon: Modus XII. Vivo Non Troppo
14. Ballata Delle Gnomidi
15. Belkis, Regina di Saba: I. Il Sogno Di Salomone. Lento Non Troppo
16. Belkis, Regina di Saba: II. La Danza Di Belkis All'aurora. Moderato
17. Belkis, Regina di Saba: III. Danza Guerresca. Pesante
18. Belkis, Regina di Saba: IV. Danza Orgiastica. Allegro Vivo

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Ottorino Respighi - Fontane di Roma; Pini di Roma; Feste Romane

"Ottorino Respighi was among the generation of early twentieth-century composers who received a 'European' education. This began in his native city of Bologna, where he was a pupil of Giuseppe Martucci, one of the first champions of Wagner’s music in Italy. Respighi subsequently went to St. Petersburg, where he studied under Rimsky-Korsakov from 1900 until 1902 (Respighi himself admitted that the lessons were few in number, but never the less referred to them as 'very important') and then, after a period of working as a violinist and violist, to Berlin where he took lessons from Max Bruch in 1908–09.

"Our knowledge of Italian music from the early twentieth century is often confined to opera, which indeed became immensely popular all over the world. There was also an affinity for symphonic music in Italy, however – represented notably by Malipiero and Casella – demonstrating that Rimsky-Korsakov, Debussy and Richard Strauss exerted an influence there as well. Respighi, who – despite composing nine operas – stood slightly apart from 'verismo', attempted to reconcile Italian musical traditions with the contemporary romantic, impressionist and neo-classical trends that were in fashion in other European countries.

"Today Respighi’s fame is based above all on the 'Roman trilogy' recorded here, even though he composed in every conceivable genre: opera, ballet (for in stance for Diaghilev's 'Ballets Russes'), concertos (including a 'Concerto Gregoriano' for violin and a 'Concerto in the Mixolydian Mode' for piano), chamber music, solo piano pieces and songs. Respighi also made numerous orchestral arrangements of music from the baroque period, including works by Bach, Monteverdi, Pergolesi and Frescobaldi. As an enthusiastic supporter of music from this period he also edited pieces by Vivaldi and Monteverdi.

"The three works in the 'Roman trilogy' – 'The Fountains of Rome', 'The Pines of Rome' and 'Roman Festivals' – might be termed symphonic poems, although we should not look for a literary programme or a musical representation of the kind found in the works of Richard Strauss, which were then very popular in Italy. In Respighi's case it is more a question of impressions and reflections associated with an event, a situation reminiscent of Claude Debussy in his 'Préludes' and 'Images'. Nonetheless the third part of the trilogy, 'Roman Festivals', abandons the evocatory aspect to some degree in favour of a portrayal that could be described as cinematographic in its immediacy. Indeed, the influence of Respighi can be felt in the music of composers who worked in Hollywood in the 1930s and 1940s.

"[...] With this work, Respighi wanted to conclude his production of orchestral music: 'With the present constitution of the orchestra it is impossible to achieve more, and I do not think I shall write any more scores of this kind. Now I am much more interested in small ensembles and the small orchestra.' He stood by his intention: in the remaining eight years of his life, his only orchestral scores were arrangements of works by baroque composers, including organ music by Bach." (Jean-Pascal Vachon. From the liner notes.)

Performers: Orquestra Sinfônica do Estado de São Paulo, John Neschling

1. Fontane Di Roma: I. La Fontana Di Valle Giulia All'alba
2. Fontane Di Roma: II. La Fontana Del Tritone Al Mattino
3. Fontane Di Roma: III. La Fontana Di Trevi Al Meriggio
4. Fontane Di Roma: IV. La Fontana Di Villa Medici Al Tramonto
5. Pini Di Roma: I. I Pini Di Villa Borghese
6. Pini Di Roma: II. Pini Presso Una Catacomba
7. Pini Di Roma: III. I Pini Del Gianicolo
8. Pini Di Roma: IV. I Pini Della Via Appia
9. Feste Romane: I. Circenses
10. Feste Romane: II. Il Giubileo
11. Feste Romane: III. L'Ottobrata
12. Feste Romane: IV. La Befana

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