Sibelius, Jean: Symphony No. 4 in A Minor, Op. 63;
Symphony No. 5 in E-Flat Major, Op. 82*
The Philadelphia Orchestra, Eugene Ormandy, Conductor.
Columbia
Masterworks ML-5045 (Mono).
Recorded 28 November 1954 and 19 December 1954.* Released 1955.
This LP of two of Sibelius' two most profound symphonies was issued in 1955 in commemoration of the composer's 90th birthday. Long since out of print, this record represents the most solid performances recorded by Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra of any of Sibelius' works. This album is packaged in a way which would probably have pleased Sibelius; its cover features artist Stanley Harris' simple etching in white, on a black background, of Sibelius' stern visage. The etching is powerful and straightforward: Focusing on the composer's prominent forehead, the steely pupil of his right eye and his tight-lipped, square-jawed, expression, this portrait conveys Sibelius' granite-like face and will, as a man who composed music his way, or not at all.
His Fourth Symphony, written in 1911, is the very essence of a bleak Finnish landscape. Most travelers tend to visit Scandinavia during summer solstice, when the sun stays out 24 hours a day. When I first visited Finland, in 1986, I visited during winter solstice, a time of endless nights, of a few fleeting hours of sunlight and grey skies. The Fourth is definitely Sibelius' "winter" symphony, written in shades of black and white, not much unlike the chilling portrait of Sibelius found on the album cover. Written during a period of personal crisis in the composer's life, this work comes across simultaneously as intensely introverted, yet also disturbingly aloof - as though Sibelius is maintaining a stoic front, not to let the listener hear the more gentle emotions that are at the roots of the stern, almost ruthless pathos of what musical critic Olin Downes characterised as "the soliloquy of a man alone with nature, bitter against fate, cursing the heavens."
Sibelius wrote this symphony as a protest against the neo-Romanticism of composers such as Richard Strauss and Alexander Scriabin, some of whose works he believed to be insincerely passionate. About the Fourth, Sibelius wrote "there is nothing, absolutely nothing, of the circus about it."
Ormandy and the Philadelphians give a performance that is directly commensurate with Sibelius' intentions for this piece. More than any other Sibelius composition, this story is told through strings. Yet, unlike the lush strings of the Second and Seventh - so full of vibrato and tremolo- or the lingering legato of his funereal Valse Triste, the Philadelphia strings are brutally dampened and monochromatic, nonetheless imparting a fascination which brings to mind the windswept hinterlands of a Scandinavian winter. Sibelius compared the neo-Romantic and modernist music of his time to "cocktails" of every flavour and colour, while he was the only composer offering up "pure, clear, cold water." In striking counterpoint to the strings, the thundering of the timpani hits the listener with ominous force and the tiny glockenspiel call to mind not a music box, but the tolling bells foreshadowing death.
The Fourth is certainly Sibelius' most enigmatic work, and requires repeated listenings for the uninitiated. The first time I heard the Second Symphony, when I was 12, I immediately incorporated it emotionally into my "inner" repertoire. Five years later, I first heard the Fourth, and found its strains distant and alienating. Yet, like sprites hiding in the forest, this piece has moments which jump out at you in their own inimitable way. This is one of those works which can only reach the emotions by way of the intellect, but 16 years after I first listened to it, the Fourth - particularly this version by Ormandy and the Philadelphia - has become one of those compositions I'd have to take with me to a desert island.
Sibelius Fifth Symphony was written while the horrors of the First World War were consuming Europe, yet this symphony represents a return by the composer to his unique brand of Romanticism. Now Sibelius was writing a symphony as a means of protest against the evils and violence of war. In September, 1915, he wrote in his journal: "In a deep dell again. But I begin already dimly to see the mountain that I shall certainly ascend....God opens His door for a moment and His orchestra plays the Fifth Symphony." To fully understand Sibelius, one must realise that this is no haughty arrogance on his part, but a deeply-held reverence for the Almighty, which he believed was manifested through the splendour of nature. (And what better vantage point from which to experience that nature than Sibelius' beloved country home in Järvenpää?) To Sibelius, musical composition was the greatest offering he could present to his God, and hence he maintained a serious reverence for his own work, in order that it be worthy of the Lord's name.
In this recording, one hears a Philadelphia Orchestra 180 degrees from the (same) one heard in the Fourth: Strings are now lush and vivacious; the brass is full and triumphantly ringing and the timpani - instead of thundering doom - are played as the percussion instruments they indeed are, in staccato, calling to mind the finale of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony. Eugene Ormandy exhibits his masterful facility and pacing in the first movement (of three), Tempo molto moderato. In a performance which calls to mind his 1960 recording of Rachmaninoff's Symphonic Dances, Ormandy beats a methodical tempo, which poco a poco builds to an ecstatic, rousing closure to the movement. His handling of the middle movement (Andante mosso, quasi allegretto) brings out the strings, beautifully, yet with a restraint which is apparent until it melts away in the wondrous, endearing valse of the finale (Allegro molto). The Romantic kept under wraps by the intractable stoicism in the Fourth now breaks through in an impassioned, triumphant finale not heard in any Sibelius symphony since the irrepressible patriotism of the Second. The Philadelphia's brass section performs this with gusto and an unabashed absence of restraint, which so often defines the Sibelian tonal language. Again echoing Beethoven, this symphony - especially as related by Ormandy and the Philadelphia - is an "Eroica." But, unlike the always dark Beethoven, Sibelius steps out into the sunlight, completely and openly, and lets the listener bask in it with him. Ormandy gives a reading which is the very essence of Romanticism: Heroic, powerful, moving and joyous. Unfortunately, this is the last time Sibelius would ever shed his darker side in his music; from here on out, his compositions - though full of colour and wonderment - lurk in the shadows.
As for the recording, it is very flat, because these two symphonies - each over a half an hour in length - are squeezed onto two sides of one LP record. Because of this, the grooves are extremely narrow in width, and constrict the dynamic range, because the stylus has less room through which to vibrate. Strangely, this method of mastering lends nicely to the "black-and-white" sound of the Fourth, as does the monaural recording, both of which communicate the symphony "two dimensionally." Unfortunately, this bodes ill for the Fifth, in which, during moments of release and triumph, the limited dynamic range and mono sound erect a barrier between the listener and the music. One hears the essence of the symphony, but only as a reflected quality, not one directly experienced. I would love to hear the master tapes of this symphony, without the confined sound of this LP.
Here's another recording which lies in the vaults of Sony (who bought out the CBS catalogue) and deserves to be introduced to a new audience, who do not understand what all of the bother of Ormandy and Sibelius is all about. Why not e-mail Sony Classical, and request that they re-issue this peerless performance? Please refer to Columbia Masterworks catalogue number ML-5045 when referencing.
