Pictured life

In my article on Mendelssohn’s symphonies 3 and 4, I touched upon the impact a conductor’s interpretation can have. Well, it’s either mainly the conductor, if a dominating one, or a collaboration of the conductor and the orchestra.

However, it may be, it’s a curious thing. In general, we are talking about world class musicians, the best in the world, when we’re referring to the top classical orchestras. And the conductors working with these orchestras are, in turn, among the most sought after in the world. That is, the version really shouldn’t matter. But it does, at least if you start to care beyond a point about the nuances.

What I am saying is if I did get to attend a performance by some such renowned orchestra, it’s very unlikely that I wouldn’t enjoy it. In fact, I watched Beethoven’s Symphony 9 performed by the Symphony Orchestra of India and absolutely enjoyed it. Granted that was many years ago when I was much less nitpicky but even so, I don’t think live in the flesh, it would matter.

But when it’s a recording – there are good recordings, there are great recordings and then there are the ones that seem to have been made just for you. At least that’s my admittedly ignorant take on it. I did learn to read musical notation and while it’s been a very long time since I attempted to read and would therefore need to jog my memory, I could do it again. But that’s basically not how I listen to music. So I am not approaching these great compositions from an educated perspective but from an instinctive and emotional one. So I could be completely wrong in getting that attached to specific recordings of these compositions. But hey ho, that’s how I roll and I am enjoying it! Yes, I do have favourite versions of great symphonies, versions I love so much I find it difficult to be able to listen to other versions, for all that they are well nigh unimpeachable in their own right.

So here goes.

I first heard Tchaikovsky’s Manfred Symphony through Vladimir Jurowski’s recording of it with the London Symphony Orchestra:

The video of him conducting the same orchestra for the 2012 Proms is pretty much just as good. With his long haired intensity, he almost evokes what a Romantic era artist would have looked like! The loud climax at approximately the 6 minute mark is gloriously excessive! No vibrato-less bland performances of mid and late 19th century symphonies for me please!

However, I did not like his take on Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony nearly as much as Ferenc Fricsay’s:

Now both of these recordings are frequently mentioned by classical music fans as among the best ones of the respective compositions.

But Georg Solti’s take on Tchaikovsky’s Fourth is not necessarily that high up the pecking order. But…I like it! I like how at approximately 17 minutes, he first takes the strings slow, builds up the tempo and then goes much faster on the second iteration.

With Brahms, my choices are more conventional.

Klemperer for the Third:

Carlos Kleiber for the Fourth. The 70s recording with the Vienna Philharmonic is the one highly recommended but this 90s live video with the Bavarian State Orchestra is also superb:

I would venture to suggest that I have found Tchaikovsky and Brahms’ symphonies a little more ‘conductor sensitive’ for different reasons. With Brahms because you need the conductor and the orchestra to together find the flow behind the math. It isn’t supposed to sound mechanical and wooden IMO. There are performances of Brahms’ Fourth that come across that way to me but not Kleiber’s – he coaxes out the tragedy and the drama deeply embedded in the composition. With Tchaikovsky, I like conductors who give full vent to the glorious pomp but also the menace and the madness in his music. The ‘jump scare’ at approx. 11:24 in the Sixth Symphony performance above – it really is meant to be a jump scare. Performances that take it politely and smooth it out don’t work – for me. That moment has to startle, should make you spill your cup of tea the first time you’re listening to it!

One conductor who was likewise unrelenting in bringing out the full madness of Mahler was, of course, Leonard Bernstein and I love his take on the Mahler Sixth.

With the Beethoven symphonies, though, the exact conductor-orchestra combination may not matter so much. What may is whether the interpretation follows what is called Historically Informed Performance (HIP). I am not going to open that can of worms. Instead, I am going to put up one such along with one in the pre/non-HIP approach and let you choose your preference.

HIP:

Non HIP:

My own favourite is the highly recommended Fricsay version:

Herbert Von Karajan’s take on this most glorious of symphonies is supposed to be the last word, but isn’t the one I return to.

And what of Bruckner, you ask? Well…lash out at my self-confessed ignorance to your heart’s content when I say this, but I am not too sure yet what to make of his symphonies as they have, to my ears, all the elegance of an elephant trying to dance. I am sorry! Lord knows I have tried. And I am not saying I won’t give it another go maybe a year later. But for now, I give up.

But…I did study the subject, so to speak, enough to be able to say that Jochum’s recordings are highly recommended.

So…what did you make of it, dear reader? Do you already like any of these? Did you end up enjoying any after discovering them through this article? And what are your favourite versions, if different ones, of these symphonies? Pl do share!

Of the five symphonies Felix Mendelssohn composed, two were based on a region each – Symphony no.3 popularly called the Scottish and Symphony no.4 called the Italian. While Mendelssohn did refer to no.4 as the Italian in his writings about it, he did not designate no.3 as Scottish. However, the regional trappings of both symphonies are very evident and so the names have stuck.

It was through the Scottish that I entered Mendelssohn-world. Like with most of the initial lot of symphonies I heard (except the Mahlers or the Tchaikovsky 6th), I was introduced to this one too through a performance by the Frankfurt Radio Orchestra conducted by Andres Orozco Estrada:

I moved on from it and currently prefer the version conducted by Peter Maag:

Solti’s take on it is splendid too but Maag handles the Adagio with greater care IMO and also marries the climax with the rest of the fourth movement better than in other versions I have heard:

The reason I am mentioning this is to bring out how different conductors can indeed evoke different shades in the same composition. If you believed the conductor doesn’t have a whole lot to do, you have likely not heard recordings by the ones (particularly of 80s and prior) who were able to bend an orchestra to their will. The Frankfurt Orchestra recordings have utility – their relatively ‘plain’ performances let you appreciate the composition as it is or would be without a strong interpretation of it. And you can then check out the older maestros like Solti, Maag or Bernstein to get an idea of how a strong willed conductor can fashion an interpretation and leave their imprint on the composition.

However, to get an even better appreciation of just what all Mendelssohn achieved with the Scottish, I had to listen to the Italian. I am sorry that it sounds like a left handed compliment to the Italian. But it really does shine a light on the Scottish, by not doing many of the things the latter composition does.

The Italian begins at a gallop. There’s no setting the scene. The curtains go up and voila! You’re in a sunny bright Italian summer. The fourth movement is likewise a super-fast affair. It’s almost too much so. It gets hard to really take in the music at that pace, as enjoyable as the tempo is. The middle, slow movements fare better. Mendelssohn’s legendary mastery of melody comes through in both these movements.

However, the slow movements too develop very quickly. You can feel yourself as being in an Italian world but what is your story in this Italian world going to be? That is harder to glean from this music that is decidedly more Classical than Romantic. Mind you, the Italian was first published in 1833, a full 9 years after Beethoven’s Ninth. It feels and is smaller than even Beethoven’s Fifth, let alone the Ninth. Why, it’s barely as long as Mozart’s 41st.

Yes, if you would like to get acquainted to Mendelssohn the traditionalist who believed music didn’t need to progress from Mozart or Beethoven and instead their approach ought to be preserved, the Italian is a great place to start.

Which is why the Scottish surprises you in contrast to the Italian. For here, Mendelssohn is unmistakably Romantic in all the ways he isn’t in the Italian.

Right from the aching, contemplative adagio that leads into the allegro in the first movement. Here, Mendelssohn takes the time to set the scene. You are now not just seeing Scotland, you are feeling what he thought Scotland was when he visited it. You experience Scotland as an emotion and not a picture postcard.

The adagio smoothly leads into a beautiful first subject (of the allegro) which then gives way to an even more gorgeous second subject. The development is so fluent you will wonder where 11 minutes passed by as the coda bows out.

Only to be immediately roused back into fifth gear by the super-fun Scherzo, evoking a steam loco-hauled train. This one is, appropriately, the shortest of the movements.

For it has to give way to the Adagio of the third movement. The one with that funeral horn march that, more than anything else in an already Scotland-drenched symphony, very strongly evokes Scotland. Here too, Mendelssohn takes the time to set the scene and the development is likewise splendid. This is music that keeps moving forward all the time even while lingering long enough to register and to haunt you.

The fourth is a battle royale which has a false climax (or rather an anti-climax – the music peters out) that is not triumphant. Which then gives way to a triumphant coda. 20th conductors were not completely convinced by the coda and some sought to remove it altogether (Otto Klemperer removed it and wrote an ending of his own instead). But this is not done in any of the three performances I have put up in the article and so, by listening to them, you will get an undiluted glimpse into Mendelssohn’s original vision. I like how Maag does it best – not too fast or bombastic, instead a bit slower and majestic.

The Scottish does not have grand themes like Beethoven’s fate theme for the Fifth, civilizational downfall in Brahms’ Fourth or the epic tragedy of Mahler’s Sixth. The Scottish is just Scotland as Mendelssohn experienced it. And it works brilliantly all the same because, again, it presents Scotland as an emotion (or a set of emotions, really). And you can drown yourself in these emotions and let 40 minutes pass you by in a trifle.

But here’s an even bigger reason to listen to the Scottish and the Italian both today. The Romantic era is associated with the rise of nationalism in Europe and hence why for a long time, the period was looked upon with regret for giving way to forces that consumed the continent in two destructive world wars. Hence, it would appear logical to look upon epithets like Scottish or Italian with suspicion. But, Mendelssohn was not Scottish nor Italian; he was, of course, German! But he found inspiration on his visits to two foreign countries to write a symphony each for both of them, both symphonies being a part of the standard repertoire today. And in these times when globalization is looked upon with suspicion, reflecting on what Mendelssohn did should give us pause to not throw the baby out with the bathwater. While we renegotiate the terms of globalization, let us remember the impulse to travel is ages-old and has benefits too – like two splendid symphonies.

According to Alma Mahler, one time wife of the legendary late 19th century composer Gustav Mahler, his sixth symphony was the one which came straight from his heart.

How reliable or not Alma’s recollections were is the subject of controversy, but it’s an interesting statement nevertheless – because Mahler’s sixth symphony is also the one that most conforms to conventions about the classical symphony. It has a proper Andante and Scherzo in – eventually – that order. The first movement is in a sonata form discernible enough that a neophyte like me can make out the sections. It even has an exposition repeat!

So how do we square this? How did ostensibly Mahler’s most heartfelt symphony happen to also inhabit conventional form – to the extent that, having originally written and published the piece with the Scherzo preceding the Andante (Beethoven had already done this with the Ninth, mind!), Mahler had changed his mind by the time of the premiere and swapped the positions of the inner movements (his confusion is mirrored in conductor practice being split down the middle with some preferring Scherzo-Andante and others deciding that honouring Mahler’s final word on the matter is the only worthwhile consideration). It is also his most conventionally melodic symphony, largely avoiding the proto-modernist experiments where he pushed melody to breaking point. Basically, how then would it be Mahler in such a comfortingly conventional ‘housing’?

The answer lies, at least partly, in the title of my write-up. Mahler may have used traditional form for this symphony but he did so with an intensity rarely, if ever, eclipsed among symphonies for how ferocious and unrelenting it is.

And he wastes no time in letting us know this. Right out of the gate, with the intro (@ 1:10)! What sounds like a menacing buzzsaw knocking rhythmically on your door gives away to a strings…riff (1:14) that sounds like metal!

Listen also to the ‘galloping’ riff at 57:28 and tell me it doesn’t remind you of metal!

But moving away from facetious comparisons to metal, the point is the music contained in the bookending first and fourth movements of this symphony can feel as intense as a EF4 tornado. Listen for the 20 seconds or so from the 1.50 mark and at the point of the cymbal crash, the intensity reaches levels frightening to behold even in 2025. One wonders what it must have blown over like in its 1906 premiere! Not surprising then that it received a mixed reaction though younger colleagues and later Second Viennese School iconoclasts Berg and Webern loved it (or maybe, it is telling that they loved it!). Mahler’s close associate Bruno Walter was taken aback by what he perceived as the work’s nihilism and unrelenting tragedy and never conducted it!

Coming then to the tragedy. The work is often subtitled as ‘Tragic’. Mahler never gave it that subtitle but Walter said Mahler referred to this work as his Tragic Symphony.

That it is tragic is not in doubt. This is one of the few Romantic-era symphonies that does not have a triumphant or positive conclusion in its final movement. Two landmark symphonies preceding it in this regard are Brahms’ Fourth Symphony and Tchaikovsky’s Sixth Symphony. But there is still a difference in the degree and scale of tragedy being depicted. The last movement of the aforementioned Tchaikovsky composition is like a long sob session (and I mean that in a good way). It’s slow and plaintive, offering you resigned acceptance of the tragedy at hand. Brahms’ Fourth somewhat anticipates Mahler’s approach, beginning with a foreboding motif which returns as the full scale of the tragedy now unfolds, with an interlude of false optimism in between. But Brahms’ finely calculated and polished attack makes the tragedy more ‘absolute’. It’s embedded deeply in the music and you have to seek it out – there’s many who don’t and take it to be soothing music by a traditionalist.

There are no such hiding places with the climax of the Mahler 6. It’s an ultimate monument to Romantic Expression in how it seeks to portray the tragedy – in the most epic terms possible. If it weren’t for Mahler’s incredible orchestrating skills, you might be tempted to laugh at the sheer directness of the approach as it’s almost comical in its grandeur.

In short, the looming tragedy returns, at first slowly slithering in like a vicious serpent. From there ensues a titanic struggle as the ‘hero’ fights to overcome the tragedy. Understand here that tragedy represents nothing but the ultimate and inexorable fate. In this telling, man is destined to face doom and to thus meet his Maker. But man, this Romantic Ubermensch version of man, resists knowing that this is a battle he cannot win. And, miraculously, he appears to triumph as the music turns positive and jubilant. And each time he starts to believe he’s seen it off, tragedy strikes in the form of, I kid you not, a hammer blow! Yes, Mahler actually employed a hammer and demanded a hammer be made specifically to be used in the orchestra. So this is another aspect in which Mahler’s enactment of a final act (movement) tragedy differs from Brahms or Tchaikovsky – rather than grief, he uses the device of horror/terror. It is a terrifying battle between man and fate and in that sense, actually doesn’t judge – until the last funereal notes – the events as ‘tragic’ in the very overt sense that the Brahms or Tchaikovsky compositions do.

From the fact that an actual hammer was employed, you can tell that this is Mahler’s most conventional symphony strictly by Mahler standards. It still sounds like no other symphony by his contemporaries or his Romantic predecessors. To wit, he further employs cowbells, glockenspiel and xylophone to further accentuate the sonic uniqueness of this symphony. At the first time of hearing the ‘happy’ second subject of the first movement (also called the Alma theme), you may do a double take, wondering if you really are hearing that sound in a symphony composed in the early 20th century. Yes you are!

Mahler also employed his largest purely instrumental force at a roughly 100 musicians. Strauss would later outdo him with the 120 musician force required for his Alpine Symphony. But this is a composition where you really feel the full force of the orchestra. And that’s because large swathes of the symphony – long as it is, clocking in at 80-90 minutes! – have almost the entire orchestra playing together. That’s why the power of the music feels like it could push you back a few steps!

Which doesn’t mean it’s all a wall of titanic sound. No, as you can probably tell just from the few timestamps I have mentioned, it’s a very dynamic composition, going through lots of gears. Even in its unrelenting tragedy, it manages to evoke Mahler’s dictum of “A symphony must be like the world, it must embrace everything”.

There’s a schizophrenic scherzo alternating between yet more horror movie music (yes, Mahler was writing horror movie music before horror movies were ever made!) and a more playful theme. For context, the playful theme represents children, possibly Mahler’s children playing on a beach. And the horror is the tragedy that is about to strike them! Not surprisingly, Alma was horrified that he would write such music at the same time as he was immensely enjoying the company of his children. It will remain a question forever if Mahler really knew…but whatever he feared came true. Within a couple of years of writing this symphony, Mahler had stepped down from his position as director of the Vienna Court Opera, lost one of his daughters Maria (the other, Anna, would live to the ripe young age of 83) and been diagnosed with a heart condition that didn’t give him long to live (he would pass away in 1911). You may have heard of art being influenced and inspired by a personal tragedy but how about art that foretells personal tragedy!

There is also, in the midst of this unrelenting nightmare, an oasis of hope or at least an ode to fervent belief and faith in oneself. It is difficult to know just how hopeful the Andante is supposed to be – towards the end, in particular, it appears to foreshadow the epic struggles of the final movement. What is clearer is it is an utterly gorgeous piece of music. As such, Mahler wrote some of the most beautiful Adagios/Adagiettos/Andantes of his time and perhaps of the Romantic Era. I find his Fifth Symphony fairly hard to crack (and as yet, haven’t succeeded in doing so) but it has a magnificent Adagietto. The second and third movements of his Ninth Symphony are rather difficult to get to grips with, with the music not particularly intended to endear itself to you, but the opening Adagio compels me to return periodically to the composition.

In short, when Mahler can make me keep symphonies saved on my phone just for the Adagio/slow movement, what to say of a magnificent slow movement at the heart of a symphony I already love!

I could write more, yet more, about this symphony. There’s just so much to cover. But in the interest of brevity and for the sake of those reading who have not heard this composition so that they may have some discoveries to make without me spoiling it for them, I am going to stop here. An epic masterwork, then, that takes you on a rollercoaster ride that’s thrilling as hell…even if you know the rollercoaster car is probably gonna tumble off the track from a great height for a gruesome end!

So…I gave Chat GPT a prompt. I actually asked for an audio file which it can’t generate but it gave me the detailed plan instead. Here’s everything!

. Prompt

Create an instrumental music track of 5 minutes length. It should have lead by piano with accompaniment consisting of electric guitar (without distortion but may involve riffs), bass guitar, and drums. It should be in verse-chorus format with an interlude performed on saxophone (with some interjections on piano and constant accompaniment on electric guitar, bass guitar, and drums). It should be in F Major scale, pivoting to Bb Major scale in the interlude and returning to F Major for the reprise of the verse-chorus. Drums should be similar to 70s rock music (no gated drums).

2. Form Overview (≈5 minutes)

3. Detailed Musical Content

1. Intro (0:00–0:20) — F Major

• Piano:
  Arpeggiated progression:
  | F | Dm | Bb | C |
  Right hand: Simple melodic pickup using A–C–F motifs.
  Left hand: Broken root-5th-octave arpeggios.
• Electric Guitar:
  Clean tone, light picking. Use simple triads.
  Pattern: Root → 5th → 3rd broken chords.
• Bass:
  Whole-note roots: F–D–Bb–C.
• Drums:
  Classic 70s rock groove (closed hi-hat eighth notes, kick on 1 & 3, snare on 2 & 4). Simple and steady to set the mood.

2. Verse 1 (0:20–1:00) — F Major

• Progression:
  | F | Dm | Gm | C |
  | F | Bb | Gm | C |
• Piano (Lead):
  Melody focused on the F Major triad:
  A–C–F, D–F–A. Use occasional passing tones like E→F, A→Bb.
• Electric Guitar:
  Clean riffs on off-beats, adding suspended chord embellishments (Csus2, Bbadd9).
• Bass:
  Walking bass, playing 8th notes on the root of each chord:
  F–A–C–A | D–F–A–F | G–Bb–D–Bb | C–E–G–E
• Drums:
  Classic rock groove. Keep the hi-hat steady, snare on 2 & 4, kick on 1 & 3.

3. Chorus 1 (1:00–1:40) — F Major

• Progression:
  | Bb | C | Dm | F |
  | Bb | C | F | C |
• Piano (Lead):
  Strong melodic hook based on C–D–F–A, with occasional dynamics swelling and falling.
• Electric Guitar:
  Light, rhythmic strumming with occasional 2-note fills. Think of the guitar as a supportive, harmonic element here.
• Bass:
  Simple root-5th and octave movements. Keep it grounded:
  Bb–F–C–G | C–G–C–E | F–A–F–A | C–E–C–G
• Drums:
  Steady backbeat, with hi-hat on the 8ths. Add fills on toms into the last bar of the chorus.

4. Verse 2 (1:40–2:20) — F Major

• Same as Verse 1, but:
  • Add piano doubling in octaves to provide more texture.
  • Guitar: More harmonics and light fills.
  • Bass: Chromatic connecting tones to increase interest.
  • Drums: More subtle snare rolls and cymbal crashes for added energy.

5. Chorus 2 (2:20–3:00) — F Major

• Same as Chorus 1, but with more intensity:
  • Drums: Open hi-hat every 4th beat, more tom fills.
  • Electric Guitar: Add light counter-melodies between piano phrases.
  • Piano: Increase the volume for a bigger sound, add octave doublings.

6. Interlude (Saxophone Solo) (3:00–3:50) — Bb Major

• Key Change: F → Bb Major (pivot via C to F#)
• Progression (Bb Major):
  | Bb | Gm | Eb | F |
  | Bb | Cm | Eb | F |
• Saxophone (Lead):
  Melodic line built on F#–G–Bb as a main motif, with occasional bends into D# and F.
  Main idea:
  F#–G–Bb–C–D# ascending, with bluesy bends into the higher range.
• Piano (Interjections):
  Interject with occasional Eadd9 and F#sus4 chords, 2–3 note flourishes answering the sax.
• Electric Guitar:
  Light arpeggios, a simple harmonic progression under the sax. Keep the tone clean and calm.
• Bass:
  Moving with 8th-notes, emphasize Bb→F to keep the forward motion.
• Drums:
  Slightly busier but still restrained. Use open hi-hat and floor tom accents to bring out a fusion-style groove.

7. Reprise Chorus (3:50–4:30) — F Major

• Progression (F Major):
  Same as Chorus 1, with more dynamics.
• Piano (Lead):
  Return to the original chorus melody, but doubling in octaves for a larger sound.
• Electric Guitar:
  Adds short, melodic fills between piano phrases. Strumming is more rhythmic.
• Bass:
  Root-5th foundation with octave jumps. Play with more drive.
• Drums:
  Big fills between sections. Use open hi-hat and cymbals to bring more energy into the chorus.

8. Outro (4:30–5:00) — F Major

• Progression (F Major):
  | Bb | C | F | F |
• Piano (Lead):
  Return to intro arpeggios, slow down for the final 2 bars. End with F–A–C–F rolled chord.
• Electric Guitar:
  Sustained upper harmonics, gently fading out.
• Bass:
  Whole notes, steady on Bb, C, and F.
• Drums:
  Fade with soft hi-hat taps, final cymbal crash.

Dave Hurwitz likes to wear a tie for whenever he talks about Beethoven’s Ninth symphony on his channel, in honour of the reverence the work is held in.

It was also the first symphony I ever heard in full, years and years back, in 2009. That’s apt in more ways than one, when I think about it now. In 2009, having acquired my qualification as a Chartered Accountant and completed apprenticeship, I was stepping into the corporate world full of optimism. Nowadays, I talk about having ‘F U money’, just in case. In 2009, Obama’s election to the highest office in the USA and, by implication, the world, inspired optimism that many, including yours truly, would argue proved misplaced. In 2025…hoo boy! Yeah…emotionally, right now, I am much more simpatico with Brahms’ Fourth Symphony, which I wrote about here.

That doesn’t mean listening to the Ninth (as it is often referred, as if none of the other ninth symphonies count!) only brings to mind wistful regret that I’d like to get away from. Hardly, because from the thunderous entrance of the first movement, I am entranced and it doesn’t matter how often I have heard it (why, I just happened to hear it again today!).

Whether because Wendy Carlos employed it in the score of A Clockwork Orange or because it is one of the great scherzos of classical music, much of the attention that the Ninth gets is directed towards the 2nd movement. Or, towards the 4th movement for its vocal parts (the first time vocal parts were incorporated in a symphony).

But the 1st movement is, all by itself, a marvel, a wonder of creation. I am posting here this terrific analysis of the movement.

A 38 min long analysis for a movement that typically lasts 16-18 minutes! But that’s the amount of unpacking to be done in this masterwork.

There’s many a legendary 1st movement in the annals of the Romantic symphony (to say nothing of the mountain of symphonies Mozart and Haydn wrote between them – like the 1st movement of Mozart’s 38th symphony). There’s the emotional upheavals of the 1st movement of Tchaikovsky’s 6th symphony. The violent paroxysms of Schubert’s 8th. The machine gun intensity of Mahler’s 6th. The masterful see-sawing of calm and turbulence in Mahler’s 9th. The incredible harmonic cell development of Brahms’ 4th. Or of Beethoven’s own 5th, which could be said to be the prototype for the aforesaid Brahms work.

And yet…it’s very hard to top the first movement of Beethoven’s Ninth if we’re talking first movements. Or even just individual movements, generally.

Right from the way it begins. So much has been written about the entrance, which sounds like violins tuning up. You could either interpret it as the calm before the storm or as Beethoven saying, “Have several seats” because he knows you’re going to stay glued to the chair once you start listening.

The fantastic analysis posted above makes anything more I have to say redundant. But I must say that this was one movement where I could follow what was going on right from the get go but still needed to listen again and again just to get all the linkages and to figure out the structure. I was flabbergasted when I read that it is in strict sonata form because somehow, the manner in which Beethoven brings back motifs and modulates them makes it sound like it’s not. I would routinely start expecting the end of the movement at roughly the 9 minute mark when the thunderous opening returns, only to find the music going on for several more minutes. But what it is is simply that the first and the second subject are both so long that the recapitulation itself lasts nearly 5 minutes!

How he makes it not tediously repetitive with such a long recapitulation is where the sheer brilliance of the construction of the movement comes in. There are variations at just the right time and in the right amount to keep you guessing what’s next rather than going ho hum. An example of this unpredictability is that as the coda ends, at first Beethoven appears to be conjuring up an exclamation mark only for the music to carry on for a bit more and then end somewhat abruptly, refusing to offer the expected closure. It has a bit of a slamming the door shut on you feeling.

And then, the 2nd movement. If writing one of the greatest first movements in symphony wasn’t already enough, Beethoven writes a second movement that would be one of the greatest second movements. Once again, the structure outwardly conforms to norms (though not the daring placement of a scherzo as the second movement instead of the third as was the case before this here composition!) but the beauty lies in the sheer quality of the material itself.

If I were to just describe the first iteration of the first subject. The violins pick up one thread over a prancing horse-like beat, with another set of violins restlessly harmonizing with this theme. Rather than the theme developing melodically, Beethoven keeps it on pedal as brass joins in and through this repetition, the intensity builds up furiously.

In contrast to the furious stomping power of this and so much else of the movement, there are sections where the music goes so soft and the tempo slows. Tricks that Beethoven’s successors in the Romantic era would employ in myriad forms to build drama but he showed the way here.

That’s right. Consider that the 9th was the last in a line of symphonies by Beethoven, several of which had been deeply influential to the development of the form. If the 3rd symphony (Eroica) represented the first major departure from the Classical symphony, the 5th (Fate) with its deceptively simple motif snowballing into an entire movement offered a new model of symphonic development. The 6th (Pastoral) introduced the concept of program music within a symphony. The 7th had a mournful Allegretto as its 2nd movement. Beethoven hailed the 7th as one of his best works when he wrote it.

So…on the back of a singularly influential streak of symphonies, he set out to write the Ninth (and by now, he was completely deaf) and found a way to still raise the game up a notch. For lucidity and for overall balance between the movements (a point I will touch upon), some may prefer the 5th or the 7th symphony of Beethoven to the 9th. But in terms of their construction, the first two movements of the Ninth represent such a step-up it is stunning. In so doing, Beethoven raised the bar for those to come. Anyone writing a Ninth symphony now needed to perform a veritable miracle for it to pass muster. And they’d better not write any more of them – a superstition developed around the Ninth symphony as Beethoven died before he could write any more symphonies and so did others like Schubert and Dvorak. Since then, multiple composers vaulted over that barrier and lived long and well.

But what about the third and the fourth movements and why am I not going to write about them? I can offer a variety of reasons. I don’t dig operatic vocals, which makes listening through the fourth movement a chore for me. I also like Beethoven’s other slow movements (namely, the 2nd movement of the 3rd, 6th and 7th) more than the 3rd movement.

It’s not that either of these movements are bad or just meh. That’s not remotely the case – they are both splendid too. It’s just that after two just incredibly great movements, whatever follows has an impossible bar, a bar neither movement – 3rd or 4th- can get over imo.

But that’s alright. The first and the second movement taken together go past the 25 minute mark. That is, as long as the average Haydn/Mozart symphony and also nearly 3 movements through the 5th. The magic Beethoven unleashes in just these two movements is sumptuous enough. In fact, too sumptuous but that’s a great problem to have!

It was not unusual in the 19^th century for there to be a long gap between the date of completion or publication of a symphony and its premiere (first in-concert performance).  Gustav Mahler’s 3^rd symphony was published in 1898 and premiered only in 1902.  Bruckner had completed his 6^th symphony by 1881 but it would not be performed until 1883.  It also used to be difficult back then (before the advent of recordings of symphonies for mass circulation) for the audience to find a way to listen to a performance because there were not many of them  – this is why composers used to write in repeats to afford the audience the opportunity to digest the composition. The audience would therefore have to wait for the opportunity to listen to a symphony and years could pass before a particular audience member got their chance.

I mention this because Ilayaraja has somehow conspired to re-create the phenomenon of waiting for the symphony…in the 21^st century!

There have thus far been three ways to listen to Ilayaraja’s symphony Valiant.  First, at its premiere in London in March.  Second, by buying a limited edition vinyl (only made available in September with just 500 copies).  Third, most recently, at the performance last Saturday in Dubai. Let’s review, then – you would have to be one of the few thousands who were able to attend either the London or Dubai performances or one of the five hundred to have bought the vinyl.  And that’s without accounting for overlap between these three subsets on the Venn Diagram of ‘people who have listened to Valiant’!

A decent enough audience, then, for a symphony in the 19^th century but barely a drop in the ocean today!

As the wait gets longer, the mind seems to play tricks with me, making me behave like, perhaps, a jilted lover.  I jest…but not entirely!

Like other fans, I have known of the mysterious Raja symphony that was premiered in London in 1993 but which was never released in the recorded form and never performed again.  Naturally, then, I was super excited when the news broke that Raja was premiering a new symphony called Valiant this year. 

As I came to know that he intended to perform it in different venues and wasn’t in any hurry to put it up for mass dissemination, I began to use the time to listen to the ‘OG’ symphonies (had knocked off a few sporadically in years past – some of Beethoven’s symphonies plus Symphonie Fantastique and a Shostakovich symphony, but never pursued that thread seriously before) – the works of the great Romantic masters (with only, thus far, a smattering of the works of Haydn and Mozart). 

And the more I listened to 19^th century symphonies, the more my excitement began to morph into trepidation.

You see, I have previously never had a ‘benchmark’ against which to compare Raja.  He was and is primarily a film music composer who dominated the scene in his 80s prime.  Ergo, the question of comparing him with somebody else didn’t really arise.  I know there are those who like to compare composers across eras but it never made sense to me to compare, say, RD Burman with Naushad.  They worked in different eras and fashioned as well as catered to different sensibilities.  Likewise, comparing Raja with Rahman or MSV, not in the sense of weighing up their respective achievements, but by way of directly comparing their songs with each other, didn’t and doesn’t make sense to me.  I like their songs for different reasons, they fulfil different needs for me.

When it comes to fusion, it is my view, considered or not, that Raja is well nigh peerless.  Nobody else has done such extensive and complex fusion as he has in compositions like Chamber Welcomes Thiagaraja or Mozart I Love You.  I don’t need to compare his non film fusion albums with anybody else’s because he stands quite apart in his approach. 

It’s a very different ballgame, though, when it comes to a symphony.  He is now operating in a territory that’s not just been clearly demarcated centuries back but pretty much done to death by a galaxy of titans.  It’s not just Bach, Mozart and Beethoven as Indian listeners commonly think of – Bach (unless you mean CPE Bach or JC Bach, not JS Bach) didn’t have anything to do with the symphony anyway.  Bruckner (I am not a huge fan but he was a great symphonist alright) wrote 8 complete symphonies and 3 monumental movements of a 9^th.  Mahler wrote 9 complete symphonies with an incomplete 10^th.  Dvorak and Schubert wrote 9.  Shostakovich wrote 15.  Besides, it’s not just about numbers.  Tchaikovsky’s last numbered symphony (excluding the Manfred Symphony and Symphony in E-flat) was his 6^th but the 6^th is regarded as one of the all time great symphonies.  As is Brahms’s 4^th and last symphony or Mendelssohn’s 3^rd symphony (if to a somewhat lesser extent).

It would be hard, in general, not to compare Raja’s symphony with the works of these greats. Not in terms of style but in terms of that nebulous, hard-to-define characteristic called depth.  Unfortunately, Raja has also egged on such comparisons by mentioning in interviews about how, upon his sharing his score with a purportedly renowned but unnamed musicologist, the latter hailed it as something at the level of Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms.  Whilst this isn’t, on the face of it, self-praise, it does set expectations at a level almost impossible to match and puts anyone less than equally impressed on the defensive (if you don’t agree, are you as qualified to opine as this mystery musicologist, is the inference). And I am not used to being in the position of pitting my champion against other heavyweights.  It’s actually a bit like throwing a welterweight like Mayweather into the ring against a bygone heavyweight like Ali.

His fans haven’t been too far behind in hyperbole.  Navin Mozart has posted meticulous reviews and analysis of Valiant on his Facebook page but loses me towards the end when he says that Raja’s symphony is different from other symphonies because it is so melodious as to make you listen to it in its entirety.  That’s nice to hear except I have no problem listening to a number of symphonies from start to finish.  They don’t have to be far-out examples – Mendelssohn’s 3^rd is pretty accessible and also listenable for its entire length.  As are Schubert’s 9^th, Dvorak’s 9^th, Brahms’ 4^th among others. 

Violinvicky’s excellent video posted soon after he attended the London premiere was immensely helpful in at least familiarizing me with the main themes of each of the four movements.  But, again, towards the end, he declares that there is no other living composer today who could orchestrate such music for 75 or more musicians and I say, “John Williams for crying out loud!”  John Williams fanboys are not above hyperbole either but at least the man himself has always compensated with his winsome modesty in contrast to Raja’s ‘swag’.

If what I heard in Violinvicky’s video was edifying enough, perhaps I wouldn’t even mention the hyperbole!

Unfortunately, I am unable to say that that was the case, either of my impressions of his piano recreations of the themes, the 7 minute or so video Navin Mozart had posted (before it lost to the Attack of the Copyright Warriors) or the snippets still up. 

Let me use a snippet to illustrate my point.  The point at 1:28, where the music climbs up step-like to a brass crescendo.  Eh, each to their own, but I like such development done with more subtlety. 

https://www.facebook.com/WeDravidians2.0/videos/2-min-of-ilayarajas1st-symphony-valianta-drop-of-an-ocean-of-ilayarajas-1st-symp/1354503795986046

And, really, my ‘benchmark’ here isn’t the 19^th century symphonists but Raja’s own work on Nothing But Wind, particularly the track Mozart I Love You.  I couldn’t help come away with the impression that the latter was more refined than whatever I have heard so far of the symphony. 

Wait, you protest, you can’t get all that from just snippets. You say I need to listen to the entire composition to judge.  And I agree!

Indeed…and that’s where I find myself now.  A little underwhelmed by the bits I have got to hear so far of the symphony but that, if anything, has only helped lower my expectations (which has always served me well in art appreciation, be it music or movies). If my first time listening to the symphony in its entirety does indeed live up to the lofty praise coming from fanboys or from the mystery musicologist, I will be pretty much delirious with joy.  At this point, I will be happy with anything I am able to like more than Pyarelal’s or Ganesh B Kumar’s respective symphonies. 

Until then, I’ll be waiting.  Hoping against hope that the maestro will finally make it available at least as a digital download or CD even if he is understandably not comfortable putting it up on Spotify for it to earn a few pennies for a million views or something. And in the meantime, keep having my fill of symphonies and maybe even other classical compositions (depending on how long the wait turns out to be!).  After all, isn’t that what people did in the 19^th century – wait!