Carl Nielsen (1865-1931)
Helios, Op.17
Clarinet Concerto, Op.57 (1928)
Symphony No.5, Op.50
Alessandro Carbonare (clarinet), Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra / Edward Gardner
rec. June 2023 (Helios), June 2024 (other works), Grieghallen, Bergen, Norway
Chandos CHSA 5314 [70]

What a wondrous and strange composer Carl Nielsen was! Take the Clarinet Concerto, for instance. It was one of his final works; later he only completed a single organ piece. He composed the Concerto for Aage Oxenvaad, who gave the first performance in October 1928. A further performance in December of that year provoked one critic into signalling its ‘clucking, crowing, whistling, howling and grunting solo part’. I do not think he liked it,  but I do, for its beauty, its quirkiness and its astonishing variety of texture and mood.

The opening theme seems too jaunty a way of launching a major work. Yet when the soloist takes it up as early as bar 17, it is soon transformed into some quite other thing by means of added virtuoso figuration. The concerto is played without a break, but four major sections emerge, on separate tracks here. Each track is characterised by abrupt changes of mood and by strange, occasionally outlandish, features. About two-thirds of the way through, for instance, we hear a sudden, high-pitched scrubbing from the strings; it seems to come from nowhere and occurs only once. The solo part is fiendish, often high-flying, and the side-drum is a frequent companion, the only percussion intrusion in the scoring for two horns, two bassoons and strings. Alessandro Carbonare is a wonderful guide to this frequently disorientating piece. His virtuosity goes without saying, and his sound is smooth and mellifluous throughout the register. This is flexible, though: contrast the friendly, inviting sound at his bar 17 entry – warmly accompanied by the orchestra – and the transformation when the music requires something more forceful, occasionally even raucous.

I compared this performance with one by the Finnish clarinettist Christoffer Sundqvist on Alba (review). Sundqvist is more willing to force his tone where required, especially in the upper register. Carbonare takes a little more time, and is slightly more forgiving, in the slower, gentler passages. But both performances are superb, and alternate listening reveals different truths to be uncovered in this remarkable work.

Nielsen composed the concert overture Helios, a tribute to the sun god of Greek mythology, in six weeks in 1903 following a trip to Athens he undertook with his wife. Horns are an important sonority at various points throughout the work’s eleven minutes, notably at the beginning – an unmistakeable depiction of sunrise. As the day progresses, we are treated to noble, sonorous themes, a boisterous passage of fugal writing, and a gloriously affirmative passage, after which the sun, as the composer noted, ‘Quietly sinks into the sea’. The final sound we hear is a long, held unison C from the lower strings that swells twice before disappearing into silence. This is inspired: a lesser composer would have finished the work a minute or so before this. Edward Gardner and the superb Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra have the full measure of this wonderful curtain raiser.

Like the Clarinet Concerto, the Fifth Symphony is not a conventional work. There are only two movements, rare enough as a plan; it is Nielsen’s only symphony so constructed. Nor is it a simple question of a slow movement, say, followed by a fast finale. Each movement, the two making up a 35-minute span, contains a wide range of mood and thematic material, with not even a nod to the first and second subjects characteristic of traditional sonata form.

The first movement can be heard as a battle against evil forces. The extraordinary opening, a bassoon duet over undulating violas, sets a mood somewhere between emptiness and apprehension. (In passing, let us feel sorry for the poor violas condemned to maintain this kind of repetitive ostinato pattern for long periods throughout the movement.) A rapid woodwind skirl is the first element to disturb the uneasy calm, but a sinister march-like rhythm from the side-drum – that instrument again! – leaves us in no doubt, and that in spite of its pianissimo marking. A gentle G major passage seems likely to pull us out the abyss, especially when its sweetness is transformed into something brave, almost heroic. But this is not to be. After the malign woodwinds return, there follows the notorious passage in which the side-drum, first with out-of-step rhythms and then in free improvisation, seems to want to destroy the music’s noble aspirations, even to bring the performance to a halt. (This description apparently comes from the composer himself, though I have not been able to trace the source. There is no such specific instruction in the score.)

If the positive side prevails, a desolate solo from the clarinet nonetheless retains echoes of the evil woodwind figure and the side-drum is still present and menacing, though distant now – beautifully so here – as the movement draws to a close. Paul Griffiths’s excellent booklet note tells us that the composer ‘seems to have been unsure how to go on’ from this point. In the end, the music moves towards something like triumph, but not before it has passed through a bewildering series of ideas, some hopeful, some less so. I know from experience that this is not music that appeals to everybody, but I urge those who have not yet encountered it to put that situation right as soon as possible. This is surely one of the finest works in the symphonic repertoire.

Edward Gardner and the Bergen Symphony Orchestra, ably supported by the Chandos engineers, provide us with a superb experience. The fragile uncertainty of much of the first movement is superbly drawn, and we are not short-changed when conflict and violence are required. The orchestral playing is outstanding, with a particularly affecting solo from the first clarinet at the close of the first movement. The side-drummer’s contribution is varied, inventive and suitably fearsome. (Any player entrusted with this passage will, I fear, always be compared to Alfred Dukes, whose cadenza, manic and punctuated by startling rim-shots, is unforgettable. Jascha Horenstein conducted the New Philharmonia Orchestra on a Unicorn disc from 1969, now difficult to find.) The fugal writing in the finale is notable for its stunning unanimity, moments of reconciliation bring beguiling warmth, and the gloriously resolute closing pages are dazzling.

This is an enticing programme, and the performances are very fine indeed, so why hesitate? Those looking further afield may be interested in another highly recommendable performance on Chandos, by John Storgårds and the BBC Philharmonic, in a box containing all six symphonies (review). The widely praised performance by Fabio Luisi with the Danish National Symphony Orchestra can also be acquired as part of an integral set (review). One should also never overlook nor forget the pioneering set from Ole Schmidt and the London Symphony Orchestra from 1974 (review; now an unbeatable bargain on Alto ALC2505). A personal favourite is another performance by the Danish National Symphony Orchestra, this time with Michael Schønwandt (Naxos 8.570739, 1999). Schønwandt, in my view, finds a near-perfect amalgam of the wildly varied elements that make up this astonishing and wonderful symphony.

William Hedley

Other review: Leslie Wright (October 2025)

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