The mature Classical period
Symphonic composition during the mature Classical period (roughly the late 18th to the early 19th century) was overwhelmingly dominated by Joseph Haydn, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and Ludwig van Beethoven. Especially through the cumulative work of these three figures, the symphony became more unified, with each movement calculated to complement the others—thematically, structurally, and in terms of overall character. The symphonies also grew longer throughout the period.
Joseph Haydn, despite his isolation from urban musical centres for much of his life, was revered throughout Europe, beloved by Mozart and Beethoven, and widely published and copied—so much so that the authenticity of many works attributed to him remains in question. One hundred and eight symphonies are thought to have been written by him; one of these is lost. Few composers show such remarkable growth as Haydn; from his insignificant youthful pieces, entirely dominated by the style of his pre-Classical elders, to the towering achievement of his last works, his symphonies display an evolution in form and content that had tremendous effect on his followers.
Viennese in style, some of his early symphonies display originality in the use of nonstandard phrase lengths and in their monothematic tendencies. Haydn’s first and second symphonies are in three movements, lacking a minuet. These works require a continuo (the slow movement in Symphony No. 2 consists only of a bass and treble part), and horns and oboes are as yet not independent. Symphony No. 3 and others incorporate contrapuntal movements. The sonata recapitulations are subtly altered, but, unlike Stamitz’s, they are generally complete. Melodically, Haydn drew on folk music for inspiration, especially in minuets but also in galant and operatic styles. His work reveals a gradual growth in appreciation of the idiomatic qualities of wind instruments, especially in trios of minuets (e.g., in Symphony No. 22 and Symphony No. 40); in Symphony No. 5 he included winds in the slow movement, unusual at that time, and in his sixth, seventh, and eighth symphonies he wrote independent wind solos, recalling the instrumental dialogue found in the Baroqueconcerto grosso. Symphony No. 6 and Symphony No. 11 begin with slow introductions, a characteristic that became common in Haydn’s symphonies after Symphony No. 84.
With his appointment to the service of Prince Pál Antal Esterházy in 1761, Haydn’s individuality began to emerge, partly because of his opportunity to experiment with the Esterházy orchestra. The bulk of his symphonic production dates from these years before 1771. Although humour and good nature pervade these works, stronger emotions and tension also begin to appear, as in the minor-keySymphony No. 26, Symphony No. 39, and Symphony No. 49. The Symphony No. 45 (Farewell), with its adagio (slow) coda, displays Haydn’s wit and is one of the best of his symphonies from the decade before 1780. This transitional period shows him striking out into more remote keys, introducing new themes in development sections, and growing more confident in formal craftsmanship and orchestration. Powerful and concentrated, the symphonies of the so-called Sturm und Drang period recall the Empfindsamkeit of Carl Phillipp Emanuel Bach. By turns rigorously contrapuntal and lucidly witty, the vitality evident in the forms reflects Haydn’s overflowing adventurousness. Contredanse (country dance) melodies may have inspired some of his themes, for example in the finale of Symphony No. 88.
The late Paris Symphonies (1785–86) and London Symphonies (1791–95) reflect the influence of Mozart and show Haydn at the height of his power. No two movements are alike; the “mosaic” of theme elements pervades even transition sections and codas; each instrument shares in the melodic development; minuets grow in fire or dignity while finales exploit varieties of rondo form (see below). His slow movements, often straightforward sets of variations, engage in artful modulations prefiguring the romantic aspect of Beethoven. Symphony No. 103 is especially thematically economical, and its movements are related by thematic resemblances, foreshadowing the cyclic nature of many 19th-century symphonies.
Haydn, though by no means the “father of the symphony,” contributed enormously to a definition of the harmonic basis of Classical form, the dramatic role of key relationships, and the expressive capabilities of the winds. Major–minor contrasts, wide-ranging modulations, and reconciliation between counterpoint and homophony underlie his unambiguous moods, so different from those of Mozart. An eclectic architect, he amalgamated all the styles of his time in uniquely free and expressive shapes.
Rondo form (in which a recurrent theme alternates with other material, as A B A C A) had been found especially in Italian opera and French instrumental music before about 1770; in the 1770s and ’80s it became second only to sonata form in symphonic importance. Exploited already by C.P.E. Bach, Stamitz, and others, rondos became a favourite last-movement form with Haydn and Mozart after about 1773. Haydn wrote a number of slow movements as rondos (notably, in his Symphony No. 73, Symphony No. 74, and Symphony No. 76) and employed rondos 12 times in his last 17 symphonies. Mozart avoided the rondo in his last symphonies, perhaps because of the light nature of the form. Its vogue seems to have been brought about by the public’s demand for structural simplicity and repetitive tunefulness. In the hands of Haydn and Mozart, however, the rondo increased in complexity, demonstrating in the so-called sonata-rondo the characteristics of sonata form, such as developments of earlier-stated material by means of fragmentation and modulation.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart raised the symphony to heights that in many respects remain unsurpassed. Of his 50-odd symphonies, produced between 1764 and 1788, the earliest ones are conventional but precocious, reflecting influences of Johann Christian Bach, Giovanni Battista Sammartini, and Joseph Haydn. An invigorating first movement predominates, followed by a light cantabile movement and a fast finale or minuet (minuets in his symphonies date mostly after 1767). The Symphony in B-flat Major, K 22 (1765; “K” or “Köchel” numbers—named for Ludwig, Ritter (knight) von Köchel, the scholar who catalogued Mozart’s musical corpus—are the standard way of identifying Mozart’s works) contains a lovely chromatic slow movement in the key of G minor.
Mozart’s exposure to Europe’s main musical currents led him to synthesize the playful Italian homophonic and operatic style with serious German polyphony. This is evident in the agitated Symphony in G Minor, K 183 (1773)—a Sturm und Drang work and his first minor-key symphony—and in the cheerful Symphony in A Major, K 201 (1774). In these works the balance of interest shifts to the last movement. The addition of codas, which extend the closing sections and reaffirm the tonic, the increased length and scope of slow movements and minuets, and a growing orchestral sensitivity all point toward maturity. In contrast with those of Haydn, Mozart’s slow movements lean toward the sonata form with their inherent drama.
Mozart, unlike Haydn, was not a formal experimenter; he reused successful structural formulations in later works. It was his treatment of melody that set him apart. He preferred to ignore monothematic structure; and his first and second themes, neither folklike nor mosaic-like, contrast strongly. His harmonic range is narrow compared with Haydn’s, but within his range he constantly transformed thematic material. Development sections expand with the introduction of new thematic material and modulations over a wider tonal field. His recapitulations tend to be straightforward. In this mature period, Mozart’s symphonies became unified thematically and expressively, using fuller imitation, more singing figuration, and freer instrumentation (the Symphony in D Major, K 297 [Paris], introduces clarinets). Mozart rejected Mannheim gesture in favour of better-integrated dynamics.
Mozart’s last 10 years saw him further exposed to Haydn’s influence and very aware of J.S. Bach’s music. The monumental last six symphonies reflect his experience as an opera and chamber music composer. The Symphony in C Major, K 425, has a rare, slow chromatic introduction, while Symphony in D Major, K 504 (Prague), dispenses with the minuet, has all three movements in sonata form, and uses canonic development (development by means of exact imitation). The last three symphonies (K 543, in E-flat major; K 550, in G minor; K 551, in C major [Jupiter]), summits of the Classical genre, are bold in their harmonies and counterpoint; the serious minuet of K 550 foreshadows the scherzo of Beethoven’s Fifth. (The scherzo is a rapid, rhythmic, minuet-derived form.)
Mozart was no revolutionary. Receptive to the influence of others, he rejected more than he assimilated, transforming all into a uniquely personal idiom. Several of his symphonies were used as opera overtures, but the best ones are so complete in themselves as to make their use as incidental music unthinkable to modern taste. Mozart’s and Haydn’s mature symphonies are comprehensive in mood and design. The various movements balance one another so well that those who are accustomed to hearing them would find it difficult to accept the substitution of other movements. This tendency toward intimate relation among the standard four movements reflects the urge of these composers to seek unity on the highest hierarchic level—a trend foreign to most of their lesser contemporaries but a basic factor in the symphony’s evolution throughout the next two centuries.
With Ludwig van Beethoven the symphony became no longer entertainment music but an expression of monumental intellect and innermost feeling, as in Haydn’s and Mozart’s late works. The Symphony No. 1 in C Major (completed 1800) is Haydnesque, particularly in the opening theme of the finale (comparable to the finale of Haydn’s Symphony No. 88), but full of originality. Its four classically structured movements reflect Beethoven’s concern with expressive woodwind writing and dynamics. The third movement (“Menuetto”) is prophetic of Beethoven’s later whirling scherzos. The slow introduction to the first movement is remarkable for its avoidance of the tonic, a technique used often in later works to arouse tension.
The Symphony No. 2 in D Major (1802) is transitional and, like the Symphony No. 1, somewhat diffuse. A long introduction announces a work of grand dimensions. The lyric slow movement is rich in themes that are organically unified. A dynamic scherzo, only slightly dancelike, and an expanded sonata finale (with an enormous coda introducing a new theme) point toward the revolutionary length and structure of the Symphony No. 3 in E-flat Major (completed 1804; Eroica), a work that many consider to herald the dawn of musical Romanticism. The Eroica (Beethoven’s title) no longer aims at an elite audience. Its first movement employs a multitude of themes, again drawn together into a cohesive organism and developed in a context of great harmonic tension. The tonic, E♭, is avoided near the beginning for 14 measures. A pathetic funeral march, replacing the ordinary slow movement, is followed by a vigorous scherzo; this leads to a variation finale, based on a theme from his Creatures of Prometheusballet and full of contrapuntal development. The symphony marked a new fusion of old formal structures with Beethoven’s dynamic outlook.
The cheerful Symphony No. 4 in B-flat Major (1806) and fateful Symphony No. 5 in C Minor (1808), so different in character, were composed side by side. The Fifth, like the Eroica, a visionary work, is unified by the famous four-note motive that permeates all four movements in one form or another. The scherzo and finale are joined, and an explosion of C major in the last movement is celebrated with three trombones (possibly their first use in a symphony), piccolo, and contrabassoon. This grandiose edifice is constructed with relentless logic and rhythmic drive, hallmarks of Beethoven’s mature style.
The Symphony No. 6 in F Major (1808; Pastoral, is in five movements, the first two and last in sonata form, each, according to Beethoven, expressing an aspect of rustic life. The whole has a unity of character that reflects a deeper rhythmic unity. A descriptive “Storm” movement links the scherzo (“Merrymaking of the Peasants”) with a calm “Thanksgiving after the Storm” finale, which, incidentally, incorporates a Swiss yodel tune. The relaxed human and poetic qualities of the Pastoral set it apart from the Fifth and from the demoniac Symphony No. 7 in A Major (1812), with its expanded scherzo and trio, blazing finale, and spirited first movement preceded by a long modulatory introduction. The small scale of the first three movements of the Symphony No. 8 in F Major (1812) leaves one unprepared for its breathtaking finale. Its minuet is a subtle parody of the Classical minuet of Mozart and Haydn.
The Symphony No. 9 in D Minor (Choral) found Beethoven deaf at its first performance in 1824. It marked a turning point in music history, not only for its novel inclusion of chorus and vocal soloists in the last movement and the extraordinarily variegated sonata form of that movement—incorporating a Turkish march, double exposition, double fugues, strophic (stanzaic) variations—but for the scope of the whole, a summary of Beethoven’s ethical and symphonic achievements.
In his development of motives and variation of entire themes Beethoven went unchallenged. He expanded the limits of Classical form, particularly in his finales, and increased the length of the symphonic process to more than four times the 15 or so minutes required for a pre-Classical symphony. Further, his orchestral sensitivity allowed all instruments a structural role while simultaneously making new demands on player and listener alike. Besides widening the scope of the orchestra with extra winds and percussion, he made it more than ever a cohesive single instrument, bequeathing to the 19th century a standard against which composers measured the effectiveness of their own orchestrations. Finally, through the immense concentration of his symphonies, he made it impossible for his followers to equal the sheer quantity of production of the Classical composers; far too much effort went into creating a symphony to allow pouring them out by dozens.
Other composers of the mature Classical period
So overwhelming was the impact of Beethoven’s symphonies, along with that of Mozart’s and Haydn’s mature ones, on later generations that they utterly obscure the productions of many other worthy symphonists. François Joseph Gossec, an early French symphonist (born in Vergnies, now in Belgium), and the Flemish composer Pierre van Maldere came to grips successfully with the dominating German-Italian idiom; both were influenced by Stamitz and his school. Van Maldere was eulogized for his imaginative thematic structures as well as for the unusually serious nature of his compositions, which strongly contrasted with the more lighthearted style characteristic of the Mannheimers.
An English composer, William Boyce, eclipsed by Johann Christian Bach, wrote eight sinfonias that betray in design the strong influence of theatre music. Basically merely overtures in French or Italian styles, they show none of the modern characteristics being formulated at the time in Germany; England, in general, was not quick to adopt the new symphonic style.
Eastern Europe produced revolutionary composers of whom little was known until the mid-20th century. Stamitz, Bohemian by birth, overshadowed such competent composers as Jiří Benda. Benda’s symphonies, dating mostly between 1750 and 1765, are generally brief, in three movements, and close to the Italian overture in form and feeling. The sonata form is not exploited, although characteristics such as contrasting themes and contrast within a single theme (a technique used also by Mozart) suggest a Mannheim influence or at least a revolt against Baroque conventions.
Luigi Boccherini, Giovanni Giuseppi Cambini, Michael Haydn (Joseph’s brother), Leopold Mozart (father of Wolfgang), and many other important chamber music composers contributed numerous symphonies well worth performance. Later composers included the conservative Swede Franz Berwald and a brilliant but short-lived Spaniard, Juan Crisóstomo Arriaga, influential mostly in their own countries; and Muzio Clementi, Luigi Cherubini, Louis Spohr, and Carl Maria von Weber, who, although better known for work in other genres, were nevertheless popular symphonists. Spohr wrote a number of highly pictorial programmatic symphonies, going well beyond Beethoven’s Pastoral.
The Romantic era
Among 19th-century symphonists several trends can be distinguished. Concerned to some extent with self-conscious emotional expression, they often tended to use looser forms and slower paces than the Classical composers. Sometimes this led to lax discipline but not in the case of the finest composers, among them Robert Schumann, Johannes Brahms, and Antonín Dvořák, who were all very conscious of their debt to Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn. With later composers, such as Anton Bruckner, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, and Gustav Mahler, the normal balance of form was sometimes upset in favour of Romantic license, but they too derived their basic goals from the Classical composers, with a more or less heavy admixture of the influence of Richard Wagner.
Franz Schubert is known primarily as a songwriter. His nine symphonies stand in the shadow of Beethoven’s but are revolutionary and Romantic in a way utterly different from Beethoven’s. Whereas Beethoven wrestled with melodic problems, Schubert was a born melodist and consequently concerned himself more with the harmonic basis of form. He was likewise the more sensitive orchestrator, and in the last three symphonies he greatly expanded the role of the brasses.
His Symphony No. 1 in D Major (1813) and Symphony No. 2 in B-flat Major (1815) illustrate Schubert’s departure from Classical models. Although the first movements are in sonata form, their pace is slower than the ordinary Classical allegro and is supported by long nonthematic passages that expand the harmonic arch. In the youthful sonata-form movements the second theme group is often set in an unexpected key before the music turns to the dominant at the end of the exposition. In recapitulations too Schubert shies away from harmonic simplicity and Classical expectation; his phrasing also is often irregular. Schubert’s slow movements, scherzos, and minuets are not as strikingly original. Clear references to movements and themes of Beethoven occur in these early works, and in key scheme and major–minor contrast Schubert often betrayed his indebtedness to Beethoven. He was unembarrassed to borrow melodic material, which he transformed in an utterly personal way. This is particularly the case in the Symphony No. 4 in C Minor (1816; Tragic). The Symphony No. 5 in B-flat Major (1816), scored for a smaller orchestra, more strongly recalls Mozart and Haydn. The highly emotional No. 6 in C Major (1818) is of larger scale, based as usual more on rhythmic and harmonic impetus than melodic development. The incomplete draft of the Symphony in E Minor-Major (1821) has inspired attempts at completion. But it is the last two (the Symphony in B Minor [1822; Unfinished] and Symphony in C Major [1828; Great]) that raise Schubert to high rank among symphonists. Composed for large orchestras, they nevertheless reflect Schubert’s experience in writing for voice and piano.
The Unfinished consists of two complete movements in 3/4 and 3/8 time and a sketch for a scherzo. The complete movements form a convincing unity; masterful in harmonic organization and orchestration, they are expressive without being diffuse, a criticism often levelled against passages in Schubert’s earlier works. The Great is of Beethovenian scale, partly because of extensive repetition. The scherzo and related slow movement, no longer simply rustic pieces, are both in sonata form. Irregular phrases, modulatory schemes, and rhythmic force give evidence of Schubert’s concern with form based on slowed-down and far-reaching harmonic motion. His rhythmic manipulation was un-Classical, his themes personal and of more than Classical significance.
Berlioz and Liszt
With the first group of symphonists born in the 19th century the Romantic style was fully fledged. The French composer Hector Berlioz and the Hungarian Franz Liszt contributed large symphonic works that to some extent departed in form from the Classical sonata-centred model. The literary program to Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique: épisode de la vie d’un artiste (1830) was not written until the music was well along toward completion. The symphony was thoroughly planned out thematically and formally and stands as a musical unity without regard to the program, which Berlioz himself eventually withdrew. A very personal expression nevertheless, the Symphonie fantastique introduces a structural idée fixe, a theme (representing his mistress?) recurring throughout the five movements in various rhythmic forms, serving to unite the “scenes” musically as well as dramatically.
Harold en Italie (1834; after Lord Byron’s poem), like the Symphonie fantastique, makes use of preexistent material and is unified not only by a program but by a recurrent theme, a viola solo representing Harold. This theme is not subject to the kind of variation given the idée fixe in the Symphonie fantastique, yet from it springs much of the melodic inspiration of the whole work. Berlioz’s third symphonic work, Roméo et Juliette (1839), rarely heard in its entirety, incorporates chorus and vocal soloists into its five large sections, which are programmatically derived from episodes of Shakespeare’s drama. Not coincidentally, Berlioz was a great admirer of Beethoven. Beethoven’s unity of moods, thematic development, and dramatic orchestration were models for Berlioz to extend, although he did so outside the formal confines of the sonata and with even more explicit passion.
Liszt owed much to Berlioz, both in his handling of enlarged orchestral forces and in thematic transformation (as opposed to development). The three movements of his Faust Symphony (1854) bear the names of Goethe’s characters—Faust, Gretchen, and Mephistopheles—and the final movement parodies themes of the first two in a satisfyingly diabolical manner. Characters aside, the music is highly effective and balanced; Liszt revised the score over several decades. The score is dedicated to Berlioz.
Liszt’s other symphonic work, the Symphony to Dante’s Divina Commedia (1856), depicts the three major sections of The Divine Comedy—Inferno, Purgatory, and Paradise. Liszt, at times a devout Catholic, portrayed Dante’s scenes with great imagination and passion, cleverly suiting his melody—sometimes simple and tranquil, sometimes chromatic and writhing—and harmony to the special characters of the three levels. The symphony is dedicated to Wagner, who suggested the third-movement setting of the Magnificat for female chorus and orchestra. As do many operas of Wagner, Liszt’s work uses the leitmotif, an extension of Berlioz’s idée fixe.
If Berlioz and Liszt represented a trend toward freedom and extramusical content in symphonic writing, Schumann and Mendelssohn were more conservative though not strictly comparable. All four were deeply concerned with formal discipline, but Schumann and Mendelssohn departed less widely from Classical norms and made less point of extramusical associations.
Felix Mendelssohn wrote 16 symphonies and a symphony-cantata. Twelve of the symphonies are immature works, but the remainder fairly exemplify his style: facile, full of light melody and brilliant orchestration, occasionally oversentimental, according to some critics. He is best known for his Symphony No. 3 (Scottish) and Symphony No. 4 (Italian), both in A major–minor. The Scottish (also called Scotch), completed in 1842, although not programmatic, is expressive of Mendelssohn’s poetic nature. Its beginning was sketched during a visit to Scotland in 1829. In structure the work consists of four movements played without pause, with a slow introduction. Its fairylike scherzo, which incorporates part of a Scottish folk song, exemplifies the delicate moods that Mendelssohn excelled in creating. The other movements are well developed, the many contrasting themes integratedcontrapuntally and extended with interesting modulations. But although it is full of good music, the Scottish is less powerful than its companion, the Italian (finished 1833). This happy work, inspired by visits to Rome and Naples, is particularly colourfully orchestrated. It ends with a dance movement incorporating three themes; the minor tonality does not detract from its vivacity. The first movement too has three themes, the third introduced in the development section. The second movement, recalling a religious procession, and the third, a quasi-minuet and trio, are picturesque without being descriptive and represent Mendelssohn at his finest—uncomplicated, lush, and vigorous.
Robert Schumann, like Mendelssohn and Mozart, wrote his symphonies at an age when most longer-lived composers, are just beginning to mature and wrote only a few truly great ones. Like many first-generation Romantic composers Schumann was essentially a miniaturist, most at home in songs and short piano works. His orchestral style reflects these qualities; rhythmically restless, often repetitive, not sensitively scored, they have been praised more for their harmonic subtleties and wonderful lyric melodies than for development of these ideas.
The Symphony No. 1 in B-flat Major (1841; Spring), based on a poem by Adolph Böttger, originally had titles given each movement; these were soon rejected by Schumann and indeed are irrelevant to the music. The first movement, opening with a slow introduction (a tradition since the days of Haydn), incorporates three contrasting themes (the third introduced toward the conclusion of the movement) as well as the opening dramatic figure of the introduction. The slow movement and unusual scherzo (it has two different trios, rather than one) are linked thematically and played without a pause between them. The impulsive progress of the finale is interrupted before the recapitulation by slower passages for flute and hunting horns, perhaps intended by Schumann to be descriptive.
The Symphony No. 2 in C Major (1846) is tightly organized and owes something in design to Beethoven. It has been overshadowed by more frequent performances of Symphony No. 3 in E-flat Major (1850; Rhenish) and Symphony No. 4 in D Minor (1841, rev. 1851). The five-movement Rhenish is less “classical” than the Symphony No. 2. Inspired by a ceremony at Cologne Cathedral as well as by the appearance of the cathedral itself, the polyphonic grandeur and harmonic richness, especially of the fourth movement, are tempered by the relaxed pace and rustic character of the scherzo and following short, quiet slow movement. The outer movements are related both thematically and in mood, and the last two movements also share material, forming a large cohesive structure.
Even more cohesive is the plan of the Mendelssohn’s fourth—and last—symphony, in which all four movements are played, as in his Scottish Symphony, without pause. A single theme recurs in various guises in all four movements; this thematic transformation is a hallmark of Schumann’s style, as of Berlioz’s and Liszt’s. The last movement introduces new material but without destroying the cyclic nature of the whole work. Cyclic structure, which relates separate movements by means of reuse of thematic material, is a feature of much symphonic writing after Beethoven. As composers gradually departed from repetitive forms, cyclic construction became a chief mode of achieving unity over a large time span and greatly enlarged harmonic vocabulary. An advanced form of cyclic construction may be seen in the Belgian composer César Franck’s influential single Symphony in D Minor (1888).
Bruckner and Brahms
Although Johannes Brahms’s four symphonies are popularly considered to be no less important than the greatest earlier symphonies, the contribution of his contemporary Anton Bruckner is controversial. Bruckner, a devout Catholic whose church music is among the finest of his generation, is noteworthy not only for the excessive length and heavy orchestration of many late movements but for his Wagnerian harmonies, large-scale repetitions, and (at its best) monumental conceptions of form. Bruckner gathered much from studying late Beethoven and Schubert. Yet his style evolved little in the course of nine symphonies (he was over 40 when he wrote his first symphonies; two other unnumbered early ones are never heard, and his last was incomplete at his death). Entirely personal in expression, his symphonies underwent frequent revision. They are in four movements and are basically unprogrammatic, even conservative. Despite his devotion to Wagner and Beethoven, Bruckner remained provincial; his technique was grounded on traditional studies, and his movement types seem to follow a set of typical formulas that derived from Classical patterns, especially the sonata. Within these formal types he develops themes powerful in their simplicity and monolithic in harmonic expanse. Chords reminiscent of German chorale (hymn melody harmonizations) and tremolo or pizzicato (plucked) accompaniments occur along with organlike counterpoint and pedal points (sustained notes against changing harmonies). Hardly imbued with youthful vigour, some scherzos still have roots in the fertile Austrian popular music that nourished Haydn and Beethoven. These movements, however, are not sufficient to lighten the overall impression of density. Unlike those of Brahms, Bruckner’s symphonies are not immediately rewarding, yet connoisseurs, including Mahler, respect Bruckner’s heroic finales, in which themes from earlier movements are sometimes combined. Symphony No. 4 in E-flat Major (1874, first performance of revision, 1881), with a Beethovenian andante and scherzo recalling the hunt, is noteworthy for the use of four themes in the first movement. Symphony No. 7 in E Major (1881–83, rev. 1885), well received at first hearing, is Wagnerian in orchestration (Wagner tubas play in the adagio) and makes use of contrapuntal techniques developed in the Renaissance. In the last two symphonies the adagio movements occur after the scherzos rather than before.
The symphonies of Brahms, each highly individual, appealing on first hearing, and rewarding to rehear, could hardly be more different from Bruckner’s. Yet Brahms, his technique grounded on thorough study of Classical and Baroque works, was no less essentially conservative. He retained the four-movement format and familiar methods of thematic development and rigorous contrapuntal craftsmanship, avoided programmatic content, and was always concerned with aural effect. These concerns are reflected in his orchestration, which is never merely flashy, never astonishing. His entire remarkable skill and attention to detail served the lyrical, spontaneous flow of his melody. His tunes, Romantic as Schubert’s, are developed with consistency, refinement, and a harmonic interest foreign to many lesser contemporaries (especially those seduced by Berlioz and Liszt but without understanding their talent). Brahms is a master of understatement. Finished in 1876, 20 years after it was begun, his Symphony No. 1 in C Minor was the fruit of a mature man’s experience. It carried on where Beethoven left off, drawing inspiration especially from Beethoven’s Fifth. The triumph of major over minor, epitomized in the finale, underlies the whole. The key scheme of the movements is cyclic, based on a succession of rising major thirds: C minor, E major, A♭ (= G♯) major, C minor–major. The third movement, formally a scherzo with trio, slackens tension as though to prepare for the marvelously developed finale, which is preceded by a broad introduction (as is the first movement) that sets harmonic and thematic goals for the remainder.
Clear goal orientation also characterizes the Symphony No. 2 in D Major (1877). Unlike the first symphony in mood, it is pervaded in all movements by optimistic calm. The first and last share a three-note motive that is joined by other serene themes in the first movement, which includes a long horn solo near the end. The second movement begins in B major, a third lower than the first, and the fast third movement begins a lower third still, in G major; the finale returns to D. This third-based tonal scheme, like that of the Symphony No. 1, marks Brahms as a true Romantic, as do the tempo changes within movements, the sensuous modulations that circumscribe harmonic goals, and the intense major–minor conflicts.
Modal tension—major versus minor—characterizes the cyclic Symphony No. 3 in F Major (1883), the movements of which are related by material derived from Brahms’s “motto” motive, FAF, frei aber froh (“free but joyful”). Winds are prominently featured, particularly clarinet and horn, as elsewhere in these symphonies. Brahms retained Classical outlines as usual, but, as in his first symphony, the scherzo with trio serves to throw the vigorous, stormy finale into relief. The first movement plunges to the heart of things from the opening chords, harmonizing the motto; there is no introduction, no coyness in exposing the main themes. Chromatic harmony and contrapuntal development are fully exploited.
Brahms’s architectural skill is nowhere more in evidence than in the finale of the Symphony No. 4 in E Minor (1884–85), an extended chaconne, or set of variations over an (eight-bar) repeated bass melody. This movement is almost Baroque; and elsewhere in the work Brahms employs Baroque contrapuntal techniques, chromatic labyrinths, and modal melody that hovers between major and minor but is neither. In this work particularly, but throughout the symphonies, Brahms epitomized the tendency of the later Romantics to seek a balance between the expressive forms of the early 19th century and older traditional technique, to apply to the wealth of available harmonic and orchestral colour constructive methods consciously founded upon study of Beethoven (particularly his fourth, seventh, and eighth symphonies), Handel, and other models. These disciplined composers (including Schumann and Mendelssohn) reacted partly against what they felt to be the extramusical emphasis and compositional excesses of Berlioz, Liszt, and lesser figures, who took as their point of departure Beethoven’s less conventional fifth, sixth, and ninth symphonies.
Dvořák and Tchaikovsky
Both trends found reflection in the symphonies of Antonín Dvořák and Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, composers who were products of growing nationalistic tendencies in music. Dvořák continued a distinguished line of Bohemian symphonists stretching back to Johann Stamitz. Conscious of his musical heritage, Dvořák infused his music with folk-derived elements, particularly dances; his last symphony, Symphony No. 9 in E Minor: From the New World (1893; also called the New World Symphony), even incorporates American tunes, but these are almost incidental to the strong Slavonic character of the work. An early devotee of Wagnerian sonorities, Dvořák in his later symphonies returned to the more conservative models and orchestrations of Beethoven and Brahms. It is these later works, through which Dvořák is known today, that have led detractors to call him a “second-rate Brahms.” In fact, Dvořák’s melodicinvention, often based on irregular folklike scale forms, and his captivating irregularity of phrase length, surprising variety of orchestration, and impetuousrhythms are entirely personal.
Tchaikovsky, on the other hand, was not comfortable working with preestablished formal models but was at his best in ballets and symphonic poems in which his somewhat extravagant nature found fuller scope for expression. Of his eight symphonies, only Symphony No. 4 in F Minor (1877), Symphony No. 5 in E Minor (1888), and Symphony No. 6 in B minor (1893; Pathétique), actually fourth, sixth, and eighth in order of composition, are well known. These are controversial works, partly because their novel structures are not easily analyzed (or heard) in standard formal ways. Some feel that Tchaikovsky’s freedom and tendency to musical autobiography were inimical to purely abstract musical expression and that understanding of his music depends on knowledge of his state of mind at various times or upon some extramusical imagery or program. This attitude conflicts with an essential determinant of symphonic idiom, which is that the establishment and working-out of tensions in the piece are primarily occasioned by purely musical, formal means and that extramusical data, interesting though they may be, are not directly relevant to apprehension and appreciation of the symphonic process. If Tchaikovsky’s symphonies are to be considered successful as symphonies, they must make purely musical sense—and the three mentioned fulfill this condition.
Tchaikovsky’s kind of musical logic, however, is quite different from that exemplified by the mainline German symphonists. Isolated in his formative years from the influence of Brahms and Wagner, he learned instead by hearing Mozart and Italian opera, characteristics of which he fused with elements of non-European melody, harmony, rhythm, and colour; in this he followed Aleksandr Borodin and other Russians. He strongly favoured the minor mode, no doubt partly because of its inherent instability. This unique confluence of stylistic sources produced a new model for later symphonists, particularly in regard to orchestration and a reevaluation of sonata form based on a fresh conception of tonal harmony.
With Gustav Mahler, the central path, if not the culmination, of Viennese symphony was regained. In importance, Mahler’s nine completed symphonies (a 10th was left unfinished at his death) stand equal to any corpus since Beethoven’s, but this was not recognized until the mid-20th century, when his music resonated so strongly with the mood of the time. Nowhere else in music was there found such explicit cynicism, such deliberate distortion of the familiar; by the same token, no symphonist exceeded him in desire for reconciliation. Mahler’s melodies and harmonies were strongly goal-oriented; that his goals were so frequently frustrated or beset with obstacles reflected a truly contemporary outlook for mid-20th-century audiences.
Mahler’s symphonies, like those of Tchaikovsky and Berlioz, suffer from being too often considered solely in the light of extramusical associations. Mahler himself suppressed the programs of his early symphonies and subjected their music to frequent revision. Structurally, the symphonies are entirely logical, even simple, beneath the multitude of themes and wealth of colouristic detail. Mahler was a fastidious and brilliant orchestrator. The seeming superfluity of orchestral resource he called for, especially in the later symphonies, is handled with restraint and sensitivity—Mahler was a conductor as well as a composer and knew well the capabilities of the instruments.
Enormous in timescale, Mahler’s symphonies contain sufficient variety and contrast to maintain interest. Underlying this stylistic multiplicity—including parodies of folk song, waltzes, fanfares, marches, text painting (four symphonies include voices), chorales, borrowings from other composers as well as his own songs—was a leaning toward cyclic structure, with themes or motives shared among movements, as in his song cycles and those of Schubert and Schumann. Mahler also experimented with tonal structure to the extent of combining movements in unrelated keys, so that the ear never tires of a single tonal area. Symphony No. 5, Symphony No. 6, and Symphony No. 7, themselves a huge cycle, show him coming to grips with Classicalsonata form, greatly expanded though it is. Unity on a lower level is achieved through extensive counterpoint. These later works show an economy of structure that is foreign to Bruckner, from whom Mahler nevertheless learned much.
As the time approached 3 p.m. on Sunday, the line at the Symphony Hall box office reached the end of the block — perhaps the result of late arrivals on a day snarled by Red Sox postseason traffic? The Handel and Haydn Society was out to knock a few out of the park, too, as Bach Collegium Japan maestro Masaaki Suzuki made his first appearance with the period-instrument ensemble, conducting the final symphonies by Haydn and Beethoven.
Suzuki’s sprightly, taut conducting vivified Haydn’s Symphony No. 104, “London.” Though the piece does not feature any of Haydn’s more obvious musical pranks, the composer’s playful spirit shined brightly. With concertmaster Aisslinn Nosky as guide, both the strings’ stage presence and their musicianship were infused with the kind of zest more often seen in quartets than large ensembles. Suzuki led the piece at a brisk tempo that peaked in the hurtling gallop of the final movement. Gleams of flute and oboe emerged exquisitely.
After intermission, Suzuki plunged into Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 with vigor. It was unsentimental and thrilling, Beethoven with bite. The speed unfortunately lent a heavy bluster to the main theme of the second movement scherzo, and the players seemed to fall out of tune with one another both in mind-set and in pitch. An intriguing sense of urgency arose in the sparser trio section, which faltered slightly when a natural horn, the notoriously finicky predecessor to the modern day horn, decided it wasn’t up to those top two notes. The chorus and soloists entered after the second movement, making for an unsatisfying break in the momentum, but the song-like Andante movement renewed that forward thrust, the melody neat and sweet. The piquant timbres of historically informed brass were a striking touch when in tune, but jarred when off pitch in loud chords.
When the final movement’s famous theme appeared, countermelodies in the winds and lower strings rose above it, accenting a rarely emphasized dimension. (Everyone knows that “Ode to Joy” melody anyway.) Bass-baritone Dashon Burton’s “O, Freunde!” was inviting and buoyant, in contrast to the table-pounding exhortation it often becomes. Suzuki’s blazing tempo did no favors to the soloists — Burton, soprano Joélle Harvey, mezzo-soprano Adriana Zabala, and tenor Tom Randle — who all seemed out of breath at points, and in busier sections sacrificed integrity of tone for speed.
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The 42-voice chorus, prepared by Suzuki, made a splendid sound. Its compact size allowed for a nuanced, shimmering mix of vocal colors. The celestial slow sections for chorus and soloists offered the only moments of luxuriance in the symphony before Suzuki led it roaring to the finish.
HANDEL AND HAYDN SOCIETY
At Symphony Hall, SundayZoë Madonna can be reached at email@example.com. Follow her on Twitter @knitandlisten. Madonna’s work is supported by the Rubin Institute for Music Criticism, San Francisco Conservatory of Music, and Ann and Gordon Getty Foundation.