Sibelius: Violin Concerto in D minor, Op.47 (1903- 5)
Allegro moderato – Allegro molto – Moderato assai – Allegro molto vivace
Adagio di molto
Allegro, ma non tanto
The years which separated the completion of the second symphony (1902) from that of the third (1907) were particularly significant for Sibelius, in that his whole attitude to musical expression was undergoing an internal metamorphosis: from the big Romantic/Nationalistic style, which had already made him famous, was to evolve a leaner, more compressed Classicism, through which his most personal utterances were later to find their most satisfying outlet. It was surely no coincidence too that during this time he chose to leave the bustling metropolis of Helsinki to make his home in the peace and solitude of the forests about twenty miles to the north, near the village of Järvenpää. Of course, this transitional period is endlessly fascinating for scholars, but it also gave rise to a number of compositions which have become particularly well-known, but which are less concerned with the rigours of the symphonic process. One such example is the popular Romance for Strings, another the sombre Valse Triste. Just how much Sibelius had been paring down his language can quickly be assessed by comparing the full-blooded finale of Symphony No.2 with the stark, uncompromising first movement of No.4 – and something of both finds its way into this most original of concertos for the violin which, chronologically, sits quite naturally between them.
A not altogether worthy series of shenanigans surrounded the genesis and eventual production of the concerto – which did not necessarily affect the music itself; except that, following a series of performances in 1904, Sibelius withdrew the work and set about a complete revision – as he also did with such significant compositions as En Saga, The Oceanides, and the fifth symphony. Following a Fitzwilliam Quartet concert in Turku in the early 1980s I was fortunate enough to be taken to see the manuscripts of some of these first drafts, along with a number of then unknown early chamber works – and told in no uncertain terms that the family would never countenance public performance of any of these pieces! They have since relented, and so we are now able to hear that, for example, the violin concerto was originally “more dramatic, more Beethovenian, and more virtuosic” (to quote Erkki Salmenhaara); in other words, even more alarmingly difficult to play than the version we know so well! He also tightened up the structure and its thematic organisation, making judicious cuts along the way.
There may be a number of reasons why he chose to take such radical steps: certainly, his later re-working of the Fifth is a striking improvement on his first attempt, parts of which even sound somewhat unworthy of its creator. Not so here: thus it could be said that we have two valid versions of the same work (as with about half of Bruckner’s symphonies). Yet the aforementioned chronology may also be significant, insofar as the gradual development in his musical language (referred to above) might already have induced dissatisfaction. Even so, it may be surprising to learn that some commentators – not least our leading British Sibelius authority, the late Robert Layton – have questioned the concerto’s place alongside his very greatest achievements. I have to confess to holding this view myself for many years….. However, given that the influence of Symphony 2 cannot have been far away, it was perhaps natural that Sibelius should have retained some of its more Late Romantic characteristics for a work featuring the very instrument with the most romantic of associations. And with what flair and ingenuity! From its still, somewhat icy opening (like the great quiescent lake you can see from Ainola – his house at Järvenpää), through the relative lushness of the Adagio (the movement Layton found particularly uncharacteristic), to the almost Zigeuner gutsiness of the finale – with its pounding, stamping rhythms – the manner in which he has adapted his own changing language to suit the solo instrument is truly masterful. Not least with regard to the orchestration, which is as skilfully managed as one would expect, based as it is on the darker, more sombre hues of horns, trombones, bassoons, lower strings; yet at times looking forward to the glistening translucence of the The Oceanides and Symphony 6. Given that Sibelius was himself an extremely fine violinist, in his youth even entertaining dreams of the virtuoso life (he would presumably have been capable of a reasonable attempt at his own solo part?), it is no longer so surprising that the whole enterprise is brought off with a resourcefulness some of us did not always give him credit for.
© Alan George
