Symphony No. 1 (1951-)

Up until very recently, the Symphony No. 1 was one of the great mysteries of this amazing composer. Pettersson left the score incomplete at his death but was apparently tinkering with it throughout his lifetime. He forbade performance of the sketches during his lifetime, but did not disown the work like other composers who reject their early efforts. His next symphony was a bona fide Symphony No. 2, thus suggesting that Pettersson found enough merit in these sketches to leave them as his Symphony No. 1. 

Pettersson began work on the Symphony No. 1 in 1951, which puts it the in the period of his Seven Sonatas, Concerto No. 1 for String Orchestra, and his studies in Paris with Leibowitz. A number of theories have been put forth as to why Pettersson never completed the work: it may be possible that at the time Pettersson’s compositional abilities were not quite at the level to fully realize the ideas he had, or he just wanted to get around to his Symphony No. 2, which the Swedish Radio commissioned from him in 1952. You can learn more about this from the excellent liner notes and, even better, the DVD documentary which is included in the BIS recording. 

Throughout this survey I have always tried to make my opinions clear on each work in question, but as with every unfinished work, personal opinions in such a context must be taken with a grain of salt. We have no idea how close or far Pettersson was in achieving his final thoughts, and there is certainly a degree of wandering, of fragmentedness, to this work. When listening, we know pretty much right away that this is a Pettersson work; the obsessive usage of just a handful of ideas, the neurotic and twisted images which are found in the Symphony No. 2, the brief glimpses of sunshine through a dark sky.  We hear him doing things which foreshadow much later works, as well as things which he seems to do only once in this symphony and never again. 

For about the first 60% of this symphony, it really does feel like it is part of a finished work. In my opinion there is a clear sense of direction and purpose, ideas flow into each other “logically,” if not jarringly (by early Pettersson standards, of course). I would even make the argument that Pettersson sounds confident here, if not as a symphonic composer certainly as an orchestrator. 

At around 17 minutes (the sketches last around 30 minutes) Pettersson quotes his Barefoot Song, Min Längtan (My Longing), a tragic oasis of calm. From this point onwards, the work starts to lose direction, and the degree of completion clearly begins to thin out. You can hear Pettersson struggling with what to do next and how to tie it together. 

Nevertheless, a huge thanks to Christian Lindberg and his assistants (watch the DVD!) for putting together a performing version from Pettersson’s sketches. While this is definitely not the final product, what we do have is certainly compelling and quite effective, sometimes emotionally devastating, and another (albeit incomplete) piece to the Pettersson puzzle. Let’s get to the music then.

Similar to his mature efforts, almost immediately Pettersson gives us most, if not all of the material he will work with. A slow half-step fall (F-E) from lower strings sets up a chamber music trio between bassoon, flute, and oboe. The bassoon enters on E-G, the flute F-Ab. Immediately, a tension is established with minor seconds and the ambiguity of major-minor, which was already explored in the Barefoot Songs. Our woodwind guides lead us briefly through a meandering forest, before the entrance of violins, climbing tentatively and chromatically upwards.

Bassoon, oboe, and flute return, accompanying a viola solo. Violins return and the music becomes agitated. A percussion-led build-up, foreshadowing the Symphony No. 7, doesn’t quite reach a climax, but gives way to an oboe solo. A sense of expectancy comes over, suggesting that the first build-up was just a glimpse of what to come. Another percussion buildup, a slackening of tempo, leads to an arrival point, revealing bassoon, oboe, and flute, reminding us of the chamber music heard at the beginning.

A bridging passage sets up a rather nervous section marked by stabbing strings, somewhat sardonic oboes, and snare drum. Careening downward string glissandi, pushing the music forward in section which sounds like it is getting frustrated with itself (listen to the obsessive C-Eb in the lower register), lead to a brief but truly eruptive climax. However, the sense of expectation continues; soon we hear another eruptive, brass-lead climax, featuring sounds which I don’t think Pettersson ever really gives us again in the rest of his career. 

A timpani swell leads to a nervous, neurotic passage for woodwinds, featuring large leaps. Low brass enter, along with grinding minor seconds from the violins. The music fades away, led by a confused horn solo, but is roused immediately with a timpani roll. More chamber music for woodwinds follows. Violins and snare drum enter, trying to agitate the music. Brief trumpet calls punctuate the landscape. 

The music arrives at a strained eb minor, but D and C naturals in the violins quickly destabilize the tonality. Some very jagged violin writing highlight Pettersson’s major/minor ambiguity. A nocturnal passage follows, woodwinds guiding, with shuddering sounds from muted brass. A brief burst of activity, then the music moves into another direction.

Angular writing and downward slithering string glissandi are featured prominently in the following section. The music builds to a brief climax, with timpani foreshadowing the opening storm heard in the Symphony No. 14. Pettersson builds up to what seems to be another climax, but backs off before going over the edge. The third time’s a charm here; pounding timpani and fluttering brass, sliding downward, make up the climax here. However, Pettersson moves right on, a trombone glissando leads to the next section. 

Fragments from of the opening are heard, briefly led by solo viola, but Pettersson cuts it off with rude muted brass chords. Pettersson hints back to the opening woodwind chamber music, but there is a clear sense of expectation in the background. Trumpet and snare drum along with downward string glissandi, the slightest shudder from ponticello strings, transition to a twisted, writhing dance, led by violas. 

As the dance music disappears into the shadows, solo strings take up the reigns to guide us through the next section. More woodwind chamber music follows, leading to a transitional solo horn passage. Tremolo strings accompanying solo horn and trombone sets up a strained eb minor cadence, but Pettersson throws in major/minor ambiguity with the solo clarinet which follows.

A virtuosic solo violin, accompanied by viola, transition to high woodwinds. Glassandi string pizzicati lead to the next passage, featuring a solo clarinet and flute lightly accompanied by violin pizzicati. Suddenly a demented circus appears: snarling, muted brass accompany an unhinged, piercing clarinet solo. The circus disappears in a sea of ponticello strings. 

The clouds break as the music calms down. Lower strings suggest c minor tonality, but as the upper strings make their shimmering, tiered entrances, the tonality shifts to major. However, the lower strings bring in Db and Eb, and a stabbing entrance from violins on B/Cb push the tonality to eb minor. A beautiful clarinet solo follows, but a G natural keeps the major/minor ambiguity in place. 

We have now reached the tragic oasis of this work. Accompanied only by a solo cello, playing held open strings, a solo horn quotes the Barefoot Song, Min Längtan. From this point on, the music begins to sound increasingly fragmented and incomplete.

Leaving this oasis the music sounds as if it is slowing waking up, but this being Pettersson some rude-sounding muted brass help the process along. We move into a forest of some pretty busy contrapuntal writing featuring largely strings and woodwinds. A brief downward run from a solo violin, answered by  a solo trumpet introduces a quasi-fugal section for strings which sounds like it could have been a lost fragment from one of the string concertos. Virtuosic passages abound for solo violin and viola are found throughout, sometimes in dialogue with each other. 

Quasi bell-like woodwinds accompany a brief line for violas. By now the music has clearly thinned out in texture, and one gets the clear feeling that here Pettersson had only sketched a fraction of the lines he intended to have in the finished product. Some very busy contrapuntal writing is introduced by cellos, which is then spread to other sections of the orchestra. Listen to the solo trumpet buried in the texture. 

The busy contrapuntal writing for cellos returns, leading to bass pizzacati. Horns and woodwinds enter, but this seems more like an accompanimental figure for something else Pettersson planned on putting in. More busywork for cellos (and basses) serves as a bridging passage to the next section, where the tritone and fifth are key intervals.  We’re down to fragments now: a solo oboe, then arpeggios in violins. Contrapuntal violins accompany a solo bassoon, with punctuations from oboes. A short progression by horns and the piece (or at least the sketches) come to an end.

Concerto for Viola and Orchestra (1979)

Concerto for Viola and Orchestra

Malmö Symphony Orchestra

Nobuko Imai, viola

Lev Markiz, conductor

BIS-CD-480 

For those of you who are orchestral musicians you most likely know that the viola is the butt of countless jokes. If I may put forth my biased opinion, as much as I like the viola, when a viola player is incompetent it is more painful to listen to compared to an equally unqualified violinist or cellist.

Having said that, if I was not a cellist I probably would have become a violist. There is something about its tone, its understated presence, its rich and dark lower register, which I find appealing. In fact, one of the first compositions that I wrote which I am willing to show anybody was a piece for solo viola. 

Which brings me to what I thought would be the last work of this project, the Concerto for Viola and Orchestra. Now that there is a performing version of the Symphony No. 1, I will probably get around to that piece as well. Pettersson left behind many sketches and papers at his death, including sketches for what would have been the Symphony No. 17. The Pettersson scholar, composer and conductor Peter Ruzicka discovered the Concerto for Viola and Orchestra among these sketches; even the composer’s widow did not know of its existence. The premiere took place in fall 1988 (anyone have an exact date?) with Sergui Comissiona conducting the RSO-Berlin (is this correct?) with Yuri Bashmet as the soloist. 

I cannot remember where I read that this work has been deemed incomplete, because Pettersson wanted to add more percussion to the score. This makes perfect sense, as the percussion which is in the current version is extremely minimal; it almost seems like Pettersson was just getting started with the percussion writing and the percussion which he managed to write down simply served as placeholders for any future percussion. Although there are many densely scored sections, which do a good job of drowning out the soloist, the work feels skeletal overall; whether or not Pettersson had more in mind we will never know. 

There is a certain elusive poignancy to this work. Pettersson touches upon feelings of tragedy, loss, leave-taking, anguish, and maybe a bit of defiance, but to me none of these feelings are allowed to be fully expressed. It is as if Pettersson didn’t want to tempt fate and write down his final musical thoughts, because he was certainly hoping to write more.

The only introduction we get is a low held C. The soloist essentially enters the work immediately with a leap of three octaves, broken up into four pitches (C-C-C-Db). The material which Pettersson works with is very chromatic—the lines often feature neighbor pitches separated registrally, such as leaps of minor ninths or major sevenths. Pettersson soon introduces a repeated-note idea in the soloist; the orchestral accompaniment feels broad but also held back, straining. The violist seems to fit into the middle register of the orchestra, which tends to make the soloist fight to be heard. 

After some crazy angular bassoon writing the soloist plays a fantasia on the repeated note gesture. Variations on the opening orchestral bass line keep the music anchored. The orchestra backs off briefly, leaving the soloist accompanied by brass. The solo line now works its way upwards, more or less chromatically. A brief reprise of the opening viola lick is followed by triplet repeated notes from the brass. 

The music briefly becomes dance-like, pushing forward. The repeated triplets return. You may notice the viola intoning a theme filling the space between F and C# (or a major third). A definite sense of strained forward movement is heard, listen to the violins with their dropping octave ideas. Finally, the music pulls through to a series of three beautiful, ascending brass chords; a real sense of tragedy, like this is the end (listen to the abovementioned theme here). However, Pettersson just moves right on; no wallowing here. 

The music rebuilds in intensity, the repeated note motive is intoned forcefully, dissonantly by the brass. However, the music just stops, and the soloist begins again, reprising the opening material. The soloist becomes progressively drowned in the texture. Listen to the octave-drop motives in strings and woodwinds as we arrive again to the series of beautiful, ascending brass chords. Listen to the heartbreaking transition to a minor and the beautiful contribution from the clarinet. 

A calmer section follows; the viola sounding tentative and exploring. Repeated notes in the strings accompany the soloist. A falling, sighing gesture soon takes over the landscape. The music reaches a brass-led climax of sorts which is aborted. Galloping strings now accompany the soloist, as the music continues on its somewhat uncertain path. The snare drum makes its only entrance in the score; a minimal contribution by Pettersson standards. A new rhythmic gesture takes over the orchestra. The viola line sort of fades away to a low C, leaving behind a solo flute. 

The viola starts up again, with fragments from the opening gesture. A beautiful arrival point is reached, similar to what we have heard after the beautiful ascending brass chords. The soloist leads us to a beautiful major chord, followed by what could be a “lyrical island” in the work. As Pettersson moves the music away, we seem to enter into an anguished, chaotic climax, but Pettersson cuts this off quickly, leaving a solo flute. 

As brass increasingly dominate the following section, the soloist fights to be heard. When the music calms down, Pettersson gives us a minimal contribution from timpani; the music feels like it is building up to something. The music increases in intensity, but does not go over the edge. A decrease in intensity follows, until the orchestra arrives on a low Db, waiting to arrive back to C. 

The soloist plays the opening gesture again, almost a brief accompanied cadenza. The solo line becomes overtly virtuosic, that is, the virtuosity is not hidden by the orchestra. The music makes a clear upward push, but again Pettersson cuts us off, leaving a minor triads played by woodwinds. 

The viola plays on, somewhat mournfully, accompanied sparely by flutes and pizzicato strings. The soloist tries to push us to the light, leading to two beautiful, almost Brucknerian brass chords (FMaj7-EMaj) but Pettersson gives us no time to enjoy this. Strained, anguished string clusters follow, while woodwinds lead. We get one more Brucknerian chord, which wants to resolve, but does not.  

A short viola cadenza follows. The music seems to take on a sense of culmination, like a destination is finally in sight. Pettersson takes us to the edge, but does not go over. He takes us to the foot of another mountain and begins climbing again, but this time, we are not taken to the peak. Brucknerian heights are again hinted at, but left unfulfilled. Strings drift upwards, fading away.

The opening of the piece is recapitulated, sort of. Pettersson then takes us upwards, almost monophonically, up to a high C#, meandering through several pitches but not quite giving us a tone row. The final C# is ambiguous to me—not quite the blinding light of the next world like that found at the end of the Symphony No. 15, but not one of defiance either. Pettersson leaves us without a real resolution here.

  

As far as I know of there is no competition to the BIS recording, in fact, I would guess that the only times this work has been performed is this recording and the premiere performance(s). Like every installment in BIS’ Pettersson series, everyone involved here does a more than adequate job. Nobuko Imai is an able and committed soloist, and Lev Markiz sounds at home in Pettersson’s idiom. The Malmö SO seems to have no problems with the music.

Symphony No. 16 (1979)

For some reason I have always found that the saxophone really does not sit comfortably in the western classical orchestra. It just sort of seems like an oil and water combination to me. Despite this opinion, some of my favorite orchestral works feature the saxophone: Rachmaninoff’s Symphonic Dances and Vaughan Williams Symphony No. 9, for example. Ravel’s Bolero, Tubin’s Symphony No. 6, and Gershwin’s American in Paris also feature the saxophone, although it must be said that there is a clear jazz influence in these pieces, and the saxophone is completely at home in jazz music. 

This takes us to the present work, the Symphony No. 16, Pettersson’s final completed symphony, and his final completed work, if you consider the Concerto for Viola and Orchestra to be incomplete. Pettersson wrote this 24 minute piece at breakneck speed in May-August 1979 in response to a request from the American saxophonist Frederick L. Hemke, who asked the composer if he would be interested in writing a piece for the saxophone. Instead of a reply, the composer sent Hemke the score of this work. The symphony was premiered on 24 February 1983 (according to the Konserthuset website) by Hemke with the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra, under the direction of Yuri Ahronovitch. This work was even taken on an American tour in 1984 with these same forces, through cities big and small. 

The first time I listened to this work I tossed it into the “curious, but not entirely convincing” pile. After this latest reassessment I’m afraid to say that I feel pretty much the same way, perhaps partly because of my no-saxophone-in-orchestra bias. Maybe if Pettersson had taken the same material and wrote a symphony without a solo instrument it might have been more successful. Given the speed at which Pettersson wrote this work and his unfamiliarity with the saxophone (more on this one later), it might be possible that he just couldn’t put together a more emotionally and musically convincing package given these circumstances. 

The symphony opens with a snare drum roll and a brief but emphatic horn call, somewhat reminiscent of the last movement of Shotakovich’s Cello Concerto No. 2. A brief echo from piccolo and upper woodwinds leads to slashing violin chords, over motoric lower strings. The saxophone now makes its first entrance. It soon becomes apparent that the idea of thirds, both major and minor, will play a key role in developing the work’s material. I’m also detecting this climbing gesture, heard for the first time as E-A#-D-G#. The first “movement” of the symphony feels like a fantasia on these ideas—while pretty exciting (featuring some truly diabolical saxophone writing), it feels a bit like a storm that doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Big difference when compared to the Symphony No. 10, with its very clear sense of purpose. 

A solo violin gently restates the saxophone’s opening theme, leading us to the beautiful slow “movement” of the symphony. While this music is unmistakably Pettersson, to my ears there is a slight whiff of Villa-Lobos in it, a certain melancholy which sounds more like the Brazilian master. The interval of the third is prominently featured in the saxophone line. Gentle forward movement appears in the violins; a string of quietly galloping triplets. With a change to 3/2 the music stays in the same tempo but broadens in feeling. A beautiful arrival on B major quickly morphs to minor. Gentle pizzacati in the lower strings and soaring woodwinds bring us back to Villa-Lobos land. The music briefly becomes agitated, but calms back down quickly. An accelerando brings increases the intensity, followed by an allargando, strained, leading back to Tempo I and the third “movement.”

This “movement” could roughly be divided into two parts. In the first part, Pettersson whips up quite a storm, featuring his typical contrapuntal density and repeated-note motives. Once the storm passes and the orchestral textures thin out, the music assumes an elegiac character again, reminding me of the lyrical passages of the Symphonic Movement. Pettersson takes us to what seems like a V-I cadence in a minor, but moves us away and continues in this lyrical vein. We are soon taken again to an E major chord, again suggesting V in a minor, serving as the transition to the final “movement.”

Violins introduce a noodling chromatic idea, two sets of eighth note triplets filling the space of just a major second. The orchestral texture thickens quickly and soon this idea dominates the landscape. The soloist, however, does not play this idea. A point of arrival is announced by the soloist, wailing away on the theme of the slow movement. The orchestra backs down (but remains very active) to allow the soloist to sing the same theme more gently. As the music becomes agitated the soloist now takes up the noodling chromatic idea. 

We reach the real apotheosis of the work: accented by percussion, low brass play four ascending, syncopated chords in unison rhythm. The soloist responds with wild sixteenth-note runs and repeated pitches. The theme from the slow movement is heard again, shouted out by the saxophone. Low brass play four syncopated chords in unison rhythm, again accented by percussion, but this time descending. The soloist tries one more time to bring the music into the frenzy, with a final recapitulation of the opening theme, but now the music has begun the process of fading away to the gentle conclusion. 

The final pages of this work are scored for saxophone and strings only. An elegiac character comes over the music, maybe even lullaby-like. I’m reminded again of the Symphonic Movement here. The music does pick up some forward movement here; listen to the sextuplets and triplets. A single group of eighth note triplets followed by three quarters becomes an insistent rhythmic idea, leading us to the end. The final bars oscillate between A minor and major. The soloist’s final note is a C natural, suggesting minor, but the final, gentle chord is A major. 

Although Pettersson still had more to say with the short time left of his life (the Concerto for Viola and Orchestra was for the most part completed, and he was working on his Symphony No. 17), the Symphony No. 15, seems like a much more satisfying and poignant conclusion to Pettersson’s compositional life. At least in terms of last symphonies of the 20^th century, there’s something beautiful and transcendent about the last symphonies of Shostakovich, Schnittke, Vaughan Williams, and of course, Sibelius and Mahler (if you count them as being 20^th century). At the end of the Symphony No. 15, Pettersson saw the light, blinding, but in the Symphony No. 16, I’m not sure what he was trying to say. 

I hear more of “the end” in the Concerto for Viola and Orchestra, but that is an entry for another time. Soon.