Download Franz Schubert Symphony in B Minor, Unfinished

Franz Schubert
(1797 –1828)
Symphony in B Minor, Unfinished
25”
Unfinished works of art, in any medium, often beguile listeners with uncertainty. Death,
scandal, or unexplained motivations will often shroud the ellipsis of these works with questions:
most notably “What if…?” Although Franz Schubert’s life itself was cut short far too early, and we
might ask that very question to his own potential output, the explanation of the Unfinished
Symphony’s incomplete state is equally beguiling. The two extant movements of this work, the eighth
in number of the composer’s nine published symphonies, were given as a gift to members of a
musical society in Graz which had honored the composer with a diploma. He did not write the music
specifically for the society (having begun it months before he received the honor), but sent along
these movements as a gesture of appreciation. Schubert had even begun to sketch out a third
scherzo movement, but left that incomplete, likewise contributing no finale.
It has been speculated that Schubert did not finish this work because he could not conceive
of anything that could match the brilliance of the two extant movements. It is not the only
composition, nor even the only symphony, that the composer left incomplete in his lifetime. However,
it is a special case in which he seems to have considered the finished portion valuable enough to
preserve in some capacity. We might imagine that recognized its ingenuity and revolutionary
qualities. This ingenuity is apparent even in its key of B Minor, of which there are only a handful of
major compositions in the repertoire.
The symphony’s first movement begins rather ominously, with a murmuring and sinuous line
in the low strings, and introduces a mournful opening theme presented in the oboe and clarinet, over
anxiously quivering violins. A note of fear is omnipresent as the music builds in tension. A solitary
sustained pitch in the horns – left alone following the climax of the first passage – serves as the
device with which Schubert transports us into another musical world entirely. In this elegant and
poised new section, the fears of before seem all but forgotten. A luxuriant secondary theme,
introduced first in the cellos, is among the most famous melodies in the repertoire, with a waltz-like
refinement. Not long after the arrival of this graceful melody, it is surprisingly abbreviated by another
punctuation of stormy musical material. This continuous fluctuation between ethereal grace and
turbulent tension is remarkably innovative and dramatic for a symphony of the early nineteenth
century, and Schubert builds a movement on unexpected musical turns: the ominous motive – not
longer than a few bars – which opened the movement in the low strings, later becomes a primary
theme. While before it had softly whispered in sinister fashion, it now confronts the listener with its
terrifying presence. Surprising recollections of musical material appear when we least expect them,
and Schubert keeps us on edge for the duration of the movement.
The second completed movement – and in this case, the symphony’s finale – is remarkably
similar to the preceding movement, and the pair complement each other very well. Both in triple
meter, this second movement seems to continue some of the musical ideas of the elegant ‘cello
theme’ from its predecessor. Not surprisingly, Schubert imbues this music with dramatic fervor,
though these moments are absorbed into the grace and elegance that dominates.
This brilliant symphony was never performed in the composer’s lifetime, as the manuscript
remained in the possession of its dedicatees until long after Schubert’s death. Only in 1865 did
Anselm Hüttenbrenner, to whom Schubert had gifted the manuscript, reveal its existence, and the
movements were at last performed. It was received as revolutionary and modern even in 1865, and
yet it was written over four decades prior. Perhaps we might recall the immortal words of Beethoven,
whom Schubert idolized, in calling this symphony an example of “music for a later age.”
Max Bruch
(1838 – 1920)
Violin Concerto No. 1 in G Minor, Op. 26
24”
For this beloved concerto we must be grateful not only to the composer Max Bruch, but also
to the violin virtuoso Joseph Joachim, whose artistry and influence shade not only this work, but
several compositions of Brahms, Schumann, and Dvořák. Bruch, whose efforts on this concerto were
strained, sought the advice of his friend Joachim, who helped considerably to refine the writing for
the solo part. The concerto is a product of a meeting of the minds: the melodic gifts of the composer
Bruch in collaboration with Joachim’s sensitivity to the subtleties of his instrument. It is no surprise
that it has become a favorite of audiences and performers alike, as it showcases the very best of the
violin’s technical and expressive capabilities.
The first two movements of the concerto flow continuously, and at one point Bruch conceived
of the work not in concerto form but rather as a Fantasia. The remnants of that conception remain
most strongly in the first movement, which he called a “Prelude.” As in most movements bearing this
title, a loosely constructed form is built upon flourishing melodies over sustained chords in the
orchestra. The “Prelude” dissolves into a lyrical Adagio, the melody of which floats delicately above
tranquil accompanying strings. The finale, a virtuosic showpiece for the solo instrument, is written in
the pseudo-Hungarian style which was all the rage in Bruch’s day, and which pays homage to the folk
traditions of Eastern European violin playing. The spirit of Joachim, himself a Hungarian-born
musician, can be felt here, and especially in the lively fireworks of the concluding passage, which
must have sounded effortless under his dextrous bow.
Antonin Dvořák
(1841-1904)
Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, Op. 95, ‘From the New World’
40”
The historic significance of Antonin Dvořák’s sojourn in America in the late nineteenth
century is unquestionable. The highly respected composer’s presence helped to lend much-needed
stimulation to a budding classical music establishment in New York City near the turn of the century,
the groundwork of which was being laid around that time. Perhaps more importantly, the composer –
whose own interest in the folk music of his native Bohemia gave him a pseudo-ethnomusicological
perspective on culture – helped to show Americans what a wealth of musical riches lay in their midst.
Although the symphony never directly quotes any authentic folk melodies of either Native
American or Black American denominations, Dvořák deliberately infused this symphony, which he
called “impressions and greetings from the New World,” with the spirit of this music. Of the Native
American inspirations in the first movement and most especially in the scherzo, drawn partially from
Longfellow’s Song of Hiawatha, the composer claimed to “have simply written original themes
embodying the peculiarities of Indian music.” The ubiquitous theme of the Largo movement, first
introduced in the English Horn, is infused with a melodic contour not uncommon to Negro Spirituals,
which the composer considered to be the most compelling source of American folk music traditions,
and upon which he opined that our national tradition should be built. The theme of the Largo
movement is so characteristic of the American folk tradition that it has a second life as the subject of
a folk song, “Goin’ Home,” written by a student of the composer. That song was notably performed,
accompanied by an accordion, in 1945 before the casket of Franklin Delano Roosevelt by griefstricken Chief Petty Officer Graham W. Jackson, a black soldier. Dvořák would surely have been
touched by the poignancy and connective meaning of this scene.
The symphony opens in a melancholy and longing mood. A lyrical theme in the low strings is
interrupted by a piercing horn call: a hint of the coming drama. The motive in the horns, menacing in
its first incarnation, is later transformed into a bucolic and joyous folk dance that recurs throughout
the first movement. This technique of motivic and thematic transformation is omnipresent
throughout the inventive symphony. In the folkish scherzo, inspired by the composer’s vague
impression Native American dances, Dvořák recalls the storminess of Beethoven, and almost directly
quotes another rather famous Ninth Symphony.
Though remarkable for its folk-inspired content, the symphony is equally notable for the
genius of its construction, employing recurring or cyclical techniques. Perhaps inspired by the use of
leitmotif and recurring thematic material encountered in Wagner’s music dramas, Dvořák recalls
preceding themes continuously throughout the work, and most particularly in its thunderous march
finale. The symphony, itself infused with nostalgic impressions of the “New World” possesses
nostalgia of its own: recollections of preceding musical material, like distant memories occurring, as
memories often will, at unexpected times.