Program Notes

Jan Sibelius

Symphony No. 5 in E flat Major, Op. 82 (1915, rev. 1916-19)

Scored for pairs of flutes, oboes, clarinets and bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, timpani and strings  

“From everything I notice how my inner being has changed since the period of the Fourth Symphony. And these new symphonies of mine are more confessions of faith than are my other works.”

Taking Jean Sibelius at his word, the contrast between the Fourth and Fifth Symphonies is telling. The fourth was a dark, dissonant essay. It was described as “a protest against the prevalent musical style, above all in Germany.” The fifth, in complete opposition, is boldly confident and supremely beautiful. Despite the fact that it was written during one of the most turbulent times in history, it leaves us with a feeling of exhilaration and hope for the future.

The Fifth Symphony turned out to be more challenging than the composer had expected. He had promised the work’s premiere at a concert in celebration of his fiftieth birthday, which would be celebrated as a national holiday. In spite of the fact that the war had cut him off from his source of royalties, he continued to work on it, along with some smaller pieces to help him make a living in the interim. The work was finished in time for the birthday celebrations and was performed for the first time on December 8, 1915. But Sibelius wasn’t happy.

In October of 1916, the composer undertook serious revisions on the piece. These revisions were markedly substantial, and this version was performed a year later than the first version. But, once again, Sibelius knew in his heart that it would just not do. Through the horrors of World War I and the dangers and fears of the Finnish civil war he continued to re-work the symphony. He had already condensed the four-movement structure of his original conception into three, and now worked to seamlessly integrate his themes and ideas into a more coherent statement. He had been wrestling with the concept of symphonic form and had regularly questioned the relationship within and between movements and how such a huge structure could achieve a true unity. As he toiled over the next three years, he would, through uncanny intuition and confident, innovative skill create a work which was truly original. The final version was performed in November, 1919 with the composer conducting.

As the first movement was originally two, there is an obvious change of character between the first and last parts, but they are integrated with such skill and imagination that they seem completely natural together. The first section of the movement presents us with a wealth of musical material. A stirring horn call is answered by flutes and oboes. The serenity of this opening passage is almost startling. The peace is interrupted as the music becomes darker, but the darkness lasts for only a moment and as the intensity builds, it is music of a heroic nature that emerges. As the movement continues, there is ebb and flow, a contrast between the dark and light. Sibelius calls for a repeat of the exposition. Then an agitated figure in the strings is revealed to be accompaniment for a brooding bassoon. The strings take up the lament, slowly building the tension until the music explodes into a bold, confident restatement of the opening theme. The tempo broadens, and suddenly emerging from the midst of this gigantic statement, some of the music we heard earlier is transformed into the jaunty, delightful dance theme that begins the scherzo portion of the movement. As the movement goes on, the tempo is gradually accelerated. As it nears its end, a swirling, constantly repeated phrase in the strings serves as background for a dizzying recapitulation of themes until the brass shout out the final chords.

The second movement is a set of free variations introduced by the flutes and accompanied by pizzicato strings. It is everything that can be expected of music in the genre with variations of quiet beauty, deep introspection, soaring majesty, intense drama and joyful exuberance. At one point, the basses are heard to clearly sound out a swinging, bell-like motive which will become an important element in the finale.

The last movement begins with perpetual motion and builds almost to chaos. At the height of this turmoil the horns take control playing the bell-like theme first heard in the second movement. Their dominance seems to magically unify the orchestra, and as order is restored, the music winds down. But the oboes, obviously not ready to settle down, begin the perpetual motion again. This starts a chain reaction which makes its way to the strings, a faction of which attempts several times to re-establish the bell-like theme, but are denied a foothold. Just as the consolidating theme seems defeated, it suddenly becomes the motto of the perpetual motion in the strings. The winds take up a gentle melody above, before the whole loses its momentum and settles in to music of intense beauty. Although the themes played during this rhapsodic passage remain the same, their focus has changed. The agitation is almost gone and an intense drama is sustained by pure passion. Sibelius now begins his long, dramatic trek toward the symphony’s final bars. The swinging bell theme is once more heard in the brass, the strings soaring above them. The brass continues the familiar motto, but now the whole is engulfed in a dissonant, modulating surge which tempts chaos in the full orchestra again. But this time the seeming chaos is in perfect unity with a single-minded drive toward the final statement. What Sibelius does at the end is the last thing you would expect.