Sibelius: Symphony No. 6 in D Minor, Op. 104

Symphony No. 6 in D Minor, Op. 104

Jean Sibelius
(1865-1957)

The reputation and achievement of Jean Sibelius has always been subject to wildly divergent interpretations. As the most celebrated creative artist to emerge from his native land, Sibelius became known world-wide as a symbol of the spirit of Finnish independence during the turmoil of the 20^th century, early winning a unique position of honour in his homeland. But the best-known musical embodiment of that spirit, the tone poem FINLANDIA, is hardly representative of his best work. And although a very prolific composer, little of Sibelius’ varied output is commonly heard apart from the several of the symphonies, the tone poems, violin concerto, and a handful of songs. As for the composer’s reputation, younger music lovers would find it incredible that between the world wars Sibelius’ symphonies attained a popularity in the English-speaking world second only to BEETHOVEN! (Sibelius won popularity in Germany early in the century, which evaporated after the First World War. The attitude in other countries was probably summed up by Nadia Boulanger’s famous comment, “Sibelius? Alas, a sad case.” Her pupil, Virgil Thomson, writing in 1940s declared that “twenty years’ residence on the European continent has largely spared me Sibelius…. [who] I find to be vulgar, self-indulgent and provincial…” The “sad” aspect of Sibelius’ life might be the fact that he stopped composing by the age of sixty, although rumours of a withheld Eighth Symphony persisted until his death. He became a Living Legend, honoured by the whole world on his ninetieth birthday (Winston Churchill sent a box of cigars), but increasingly neglected in the concert world. Younger musicians in English-speaking countries even blamed the exaggerated popularity of Sibelius for the reluctance of their musical elders to come to terms with the more challenging works of Stravinsky and Schoenberg.

But we live in an age of reassessment----witness the position now occupied by Bruckner, Mahler, even Richard Strauss. Sibelius is being given renewed attention, with conductors leading the way. Herbert von Karajan recorded the complete symphonies twice over, joined by such conductors as Lorin Maazel, Simon Rattle, Leonard Bernstein and Colin Davis. As adventurous a composer as Peter Maxwell Davies speaks of finding inspiration in the orchestral works of Sibelius. A more rounded picture of the composer has begun to take shape, in part through greater understanding of the later symphonies, as well as some of the more imaginative works which have been ignored over the years.

The Sixth is probably the least-known of Sibelius’ seven symphonies, wonderfully fresh and inventive, a work of remarkable transparency, stillness and simplicity. Composed between 1918-23, the energy and rhetorical sweep of the Fifth Symphony here gives way to a clarity of expression and trimming away of surface detail. Of all the symphonies this seems most evocative of the Finnish landscape---it has been said that Sibelius himself remarked that “while other composers offered exotic cocktails, he offered pure cold spring water.”

The symphony opens with a seamless flow of clear, unhurried melody in layers: first two lines in the violins, joined by violas, adding two more strands in the violins. As if hovering in midair, these contrapuntal threads are joined by flutes and clarinets, then dipping down into the celli, horns, more winds, swelling into a rich full tapestry of sound, enriched by brass and timpani----then released into the forward motion which characterises the symphony as a whole. This fresh and original opening is laid out in a cool Dorian mode, and with a relaxed flow of counterpoint that is testimony to Sibelius’ admiration for masters of Renaissance counterpoint such as Palestrina and Lassus, yet without a trace of “archaism.” Sixty bars with but a single accidental leads compellingly into a harmonic world which swings easily between a richly chromatic language and the cool modal colouring of the opening page. Although actually a rather lively composition, the opening provides the framework for the underlying stillness of the symphony, the haunting tranquillity of this opening foretelling the plaintive return to silence which concludes the work.

Woven into the opening melody is a “motive” which is to be found throughout the work: a simple descending three-note figure with which the music begins. The “pure cold spring water” of the first pages BLURS into a new tonality---Sibelius often “modulates” by simply overlapping old harmonies with new, then moving ahead into new tonal regions. Here we find ourselves in a rather unsettled C Major, suddenly lively in character, with winds in thirds (a Sibelius trademark), making use of the three-note motive. In the first movement, which is a sonataform by “suggestion,” without explicit structural features, this restless scherzando element serves as a sort of “second” subject, but almost immediately takes on a questing, “developmental” character. The patter of strings moving in rustling eight-notes (at first scale-wise), set against figures in the winds (mostly in thirds), moves forward into more darkly coloured harmonic territory, with a smooth arc of melody in the celli leading the way back to the “white key” Dorian tonality of the opening. Suddenly the music veers into a moment of lush texture in F Major, almost as if a belated "official Second Subject," in the approved textbook manner. No, it is a further exploration of the pattering eighths and pairs of winds in thirds, with a settling back into a mere echo of the opening theme---which is as much “recapitulation” as the composer allows. A brief shuddering TREMOLO passage, a trace of the scale-wise eighths from the C Major episode, and the movement ends with a laconic settling down upon a concluding minor third in the home key of D Minor.

Although marked ALLEGRETTO MODERATO, the second movement creates the sensation of a slow movement. Mysterious in its tonal ambiguity (eventually it will come to rest in G Minor), it is laid out as a disguised variations structure, with three distinct elements heard in succession, and often combined. Pairs of flutes and bassoons in open fifths and sixths take the lead, in a hesitating sequence of chords, pausing to take on a shimmer of colour with oboes, clarinets and harp. Then a lilting melody shared between the violins begins to hint of an underlying tonality of G Minor, only to slide into a string of chromatic scales curling upward. These elements circle around a second time, more richly scored, with triplets woven into the musical fabric, the scale passages overlapping with the wind chords, bringing the music around to a trobbing, rhythmic variant of the violin melody. Now the scale passage brings about an abrupt shift in mood. Almost as if a shadow had passed over the musical landscape, a hushed, jittery rustling in the strings extends nearly to the end of the movement, with the winds darting in and out, followed by the scale patterns, and a marching figure in harp and basses. A final scale, then three hymn-like chords bring the movement to a close.

Marked POCO VIVACE, the SCHERZO has a brisk, march-like character, opening with a rhyhmically pointed variant of the opening theme of the first movement, followed by figures in thirds in the winds, and a billowing string passage in the strings. This settles into a lightly textured SCHERZANDO, with the woodwind tune now played by the flutes in thirds over a pattering background.

The springy rhythmic opening figure returns, taking on an oddly mechanical, “toy soldier” character, with a folk-like melody added in the flutes, joined by the harp in canon. The billowing figure is heard again, and soon there is a recapitulation of the woodwind melody in thirds, bringing in its wake the mechanical rhythmic passage, the canonic tune now presented in richer orchestral colours. A final swirl in the strings swings the movement to a no-nonsense conclusion.

The final movement, ALLEGRO MOLTO, drawing upon melodic elements from the opening movement, sets out an introduction in A Minor: sonorous harmonic phrases are passed between a choir of winds and upper strings, and the darker colours of the lower strings, a pattern repeated four times. A brief reminiscence of the woodwind pairings from the second movement leads in the principal theme of the movement, which springs into action with an urgent rhythmic figure in the strings, decisively moving from C Major to the home key of D Minor. This primary element is repeated three times, always moving from C Major to D minor---indeed, this final movement, not only mono-thematic in design, comes close to being quite “mono-tonal” in its harmonic shaping. However, the third statement ventures into more chromatic harmonic territory, reaching a climactic unison on B natural. Quite abruptly the introductory figure returns, this time on F, soon inching its way eventually to the home key. Moving into an expansive coda, the introductory material is heard in diminution, surging to a full sonority in the strings before settling back into a spacious, expressive version of the theme which opened the symphony. There is a last expansive phrase with the strings in their intense higher register, in dialogue with the flutes and bassoons, with echoes of the second movement. Then the reflective calm which opened the symphony returns in a handful of notes in the strings, trailing away into silence.