Sir Simon Rattle
Orchestra Academy of the Berliner Philharmoniker
Chamber Symphony (28:52)
Orchestra Academy of the Berliner Philharmoniker
Symphony No. 9 (01:04:48)
These two composers couldn’t be more different: Anton Bruckner and Franz Schreker. Bruckner committed his compositional genius to the symphony, which he considered to be the quintessential musical genre. Unrecognised for many years during his lifetime, he developed his own personal style, culminating in his unfinished Ninth Symphony that posthumously consolidated his position as one of the most important 19th century symphonists today. Schreker, on the other hand, advanced from 1912 to become one of the leading opera composers of his time with his psychological musical drama. At the time his visions of sound could only be realised inadequately with the existent instruments, as he claimed. Schreker’s chamber symphony counts as one of his works of ‘absolute’ music. The piece draws reference to some of his stage productions, which have since fallen into oblivion.
Music for God and the World
Symphonies by Anton Bruckner and Franz Schreker
This programme of two late Romantic Austrian orchestral masterpieces, both written in Vienna, only appears homogeneous. In fact, its creators were almost diametrically opposite artistic figures: the deeply pious, provincial Catholic symphonist Anton Bruckner and the cosmopolitan, hedonistic, Catholic-Jewish opera composer Franz Schreker.
Schreker, son of a travelling court photographer, grew up in impoverished circumstances, but his musical gifts were recognized and fostered early on. In 1892 a scholarship enabled him to study at the Vienna Conservatory. After first making his name as a conductor, in 1912, with the triumphant premiere of his opera Der ferne Klang, he began a rapid ascent. By 1918, with the no less sensational success of Die Gezeichneten, he had become, along with Richard Strauss, the most frequently performed opera composer in the German-speaking world. His career reached its summit in 1920 when he was appointed director of the Berlin Musikhochschule, but then began a precipitous descent. In the age of “New Objectivity” his music was suddenly criticized as outmoded for its sultry luxuriance, and his libretti, steeped in theories of psychoanalysis, were chided for their morbid decadence. His end was tragic. In 1933 the Nazis stripped him of his positions, but he delayed in emigrating. Franz Schreker was not yet 56 in March 1934 when he succumbed in Berlin to a stroke.
To say that Schreker’s Chamber Symphony for 23 instruments, his most important instrumental work, follows the model of an uninterrupted four-movement cycle says little about its internal dramatic character. That Lisztian formal scaffolding is discernible in the impressionistically shimmering slow introduction and quick main movement, the haunting Adagio, the cheeky scherzo and trio and the varied recapitulation that concludes with a D major epilogue. And yet, in the introduction and main movement there are, despite a wealth of related motivic material, no conventional themes. The slow movement, too, draws on seemingly random moments from the introduction to develop the work’s riotous climax. How different from another Viennese Chamber Symphony of the period – Schoenberg’s of 1906 – a difference well expressed by the musicologist Rudolf Stephan: “Music for Schreker was essentially sonority and not, as for Schoenberg, ideas. Sound is what Schreker cultivated; everything else in music for him was subordinate.”
There are few symphonies that exhibit such pathos and grandeur as Bruckner’s Ninth, which the composer, having dedicated his Eighth Symphony to Emperor Franz Joseph I, reportedly intended to offer to his “dear God”. Bruckner began the Ninth in 1887 and worked on it over his remaining nine years of life, interrupting composition to undertake ill-advised revisions of some of his earlier symphonies. He died before completing it and left behind a three-movement torso, ending with a sublime slow movement that only enhances the work’s valedictory qualities.
Clearly Bruckner was aware of the symbolic implication of composing his own Ninth in the key of Beethoven’s last symphony, also in D minor, and his feelings of awe and responsibility at the prospect of producing a symphonic testament can be sensed in certain novel formal details. Unlike the beginning of his previous symphonies, Bruckner here fills the void of a vibrating “primal state” with elemental building blocks rather than with a ready-made theme: the majestic unison falling-octave idea finally introduced by the whole orchestra in bar 63 is therefore the result of a musical process. This, as the German musicologist Wolfram Steinbeck points out, has consequences for the rest of the movement – in such unorthodox features as the veiled beginning of the recapitulation and the conclusion based on previously undeveloped material.
The Scherzo begins in daring harmonic ambiguity, drastically juxtaposing dancelike pizzicato with brutal stomping – the machinelike motor rhythms seem to anticipate Shostakovich. By stark contrast, the delicate F sharp major Trio rushes past like one of Mendelssohn’s elfin scherzos.
Finally the Adagio, Bruckner’s last completed movement: nearly half an hour of the most elevated music imaginable, encoded with sacred musical ciphers, quasi-self-quotations and autobiographical features. This is the profession of faith of a gravely ill artist who has already made his last will and testament, and yet it also contains its share of surprising compositional gestures, beginning with the bold leap of a ninth before functional harmony is established. A long development, an enormous dramatic intensification and a shattering climax, broken off abruptly, must still be endured before the music finally achieves the celestial woodwind radiance of E major. Even this was not Bruckner’s final word: he was still working on the Finale in the last days of his life.