Czech Philharmonic • Dalia Stasevska

When Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart wrote his Piano Concerto No. 25 in C major, K 503, did he realise that listeners were unprepared for his conception of the concerto genre and that the work would spend a full 147 years on its journey back to the concert stage? The composer performed the concerto in Vienna on 5 December 1786, a day after its completion, then the following year he repeated his performance and also played the concerto in Leipzig. After that, it was not heard again at a concert until 1934, when Artur Schnabel played the solo part with the Vienna Philharmonic led by George Szell. It took another ten years for the work to solidify its place in the piano repertoire, and it has come to be viewed entirely differently—we now regard it as one of Mozart’s most magnificent works, paving the way in the genre not only for Beethoven, but also for the whole 19th century. The Czech Philharmonic recorded this concerto in 1974 on the Supraphon label with the legendary Mozart interpreter Ivan Moravec under the baton of Josef Vlach.

Mozart began devoting himself to the piano concerto genre at around age 20, modelling works after known examples by Georg Christoph Wagenseil (1715–1777), who was active in Vienna, and Johann Christian Bach (the “London Bach”, 1735–1782). During his years of success from 1784 to 1786, when he wrote 12 piano concertos numbered among his masterpieces, he engaged in polemics with his predecessors on the pages of his scores, advancing the genre beyond merely entertaining, pleasingly predictable pieces for high society. He often composed with himself in mind as the performer, he took more notice of the colours of the instrumental sections, and his content reached surprising depths, where even complex counterpoint flows along in the currents.

In his Piano Concerto No. 25, Mozart truly broke new ground, and for the purpose he chose the heroically triumphant key of C major to avail himself of the brilliance of trumpets and timpani (whilst foregoing his beloved clarinets). The work exhibits perfect unity in diversity and is unusually symphonic and polyphonic for its day, especially in the opening Allegro maestoso, where we witness many contrasts of expression. In the middle section, the composer seems to have a premonition of the melody of the Marseillaise, which was not written until 1792, nearly six years after the concerto was finished. The slow movement that follows is an echo of the lovely tenderness of Mozart’s operatic duets, with the piano engaging in a heartfelt dialogue mainly with the wind instruments. The concluding rondo Allegretto begins with a dance theme from the composer’s opera Idomeneo. Although serious ideas are concealed beneath the typically exciting Mozartian energy, the concerto proceeds optimistically. The concerto’s exceptional craftsmanship is worthy of comparison to Mozart’s very last symphonic work, the Symphony No. 41 in C major “Jupiter”, K 551 (1788). 

Jean Sibelius, given the name Johan Julius Christian by his parents and known as Janne, was born in Hämeenlinna, a city in southern Finland. In those days, the country belonged to the Russian Empire as a more-or-less autonomous grand duchy. After a long coexistence in a single administrative state with the Kingdom of Sweden, by the 19th century the Finnish people were distancing themselves both from persisting Swedish influence and—later on—from Russification, and the country experienced its national awakening. Culture, language, mythology, and heroic historical events all played an important role. Sibelius himself grew up in a Swedish-speaking environment, and he had to find his way to the Finnish language. He was helped in doing so by the Karelian-Finnish epic poem Kalevala, compiled on the basis of the oral traditions of the Karelians and Finns and published in its definitive version in 1849. The young Sibelius was captivated by the Kalevala, and while not Finland’s first composer, he became the most important. He completed his musical studies at the conservatoire in Helsinki in 1889, then he left for further studies in Berlin and Vienna. Upon his return home (1892), he married Aino Järnefelt from an important family with a “pro-Finnish” orientation.

Stories from the Kalevala and their atmosphere continually found their way into Sibelius’s works, whether his symphonic poems Kullervo, Op. 7, Lemminkäinen, Op. 22 (a cycle of four legends associated with the character Lemminkäinen), or Tapiola, Op. 112 (1924). Sibelius also had a very sensitive awareness of the natural beauty of the north, something to which he always enjoyed returning. In the title of the symphonic poem Finlandia, Op. 26, it is as if his sources of inspiration—the ancient world of bardic singers, the nation’s struggle for freedom, and the grandeur of nature—had merged together, although the work’s genesis is remarkable for a different reason. The music had originally been composed in 1899 as an accompaniment to tableaux vivants that were staged in early November in Helsinki as a protest against press censorship imposed by the Russians. The sixth part (Finland Awakens) and the fifth part (The Great Hostility) provided the musical material for the final version of Finlandia (1900). Understandably, the work’s title also crystalised with the search for politically acceptable variants like Happy Feelings at the Awakening of Spring, A Scandinavian Choral March, La Patrie, or Impromptu, until Axel Carpelan proposed the final title. Finlandia begins with a sorrowful two-note motif, and the whole opening passage (Andante sostenuto) exhibits a spirit of grave pathos. It ends with a rhythmically forceful call to arms (Allegro moderato) that is defiant but not tragic. It is the hymnlike part, however, that gained the greatest popularity; its melody, supplied with a text, has lived a life of its own and even had a chance to become Finland’s national anthem.

The oldest professional orchestra in Helsinki, founded in 1882 by the conductor and composer Robert Kajanus, devoted itself systematically to performing Sibelius’s compositions. A surprising number of Czech musicians, especially wind players, were seated in the orchestra. In 1900, the large orchestra toured Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Germany, the Netherlands, and Belgium on its way to the Exposition Universelle in Paris, where it gave two concerts presenting a selection of works by Finnish composers including Sibelius, who took part in the tour as the second conductor. Besides Finlandia, the programme also included Sibelius’s Symphony No. 1 and the Lemminkäinen legends. The tour was meant to showcase the high level of culture of a country that was facing increased pressure from Russia at the beginning of the new century.

Jean Sibelius’s personality was characterised by a certain restlessness that compelled him to travel and to cling passionately to his many vices. Sometimes this made life for his large family difficult (the last of his six daughters, Heidi, was born in 1911) and led to the incurring of debt. Then on the other hand he was afflicted by periods of loneliness and gloom. He was perceived as the founder of the Finnish nation’s music and also as a composer of serious symphonic works of worldwide importance. With a bit of a stretch, one can even find the magical number of nine symphonies if one includes Kullervo (his first unnumbered symphony) and the Eighth, on which Sibelius was still working in the 1930s without finishing it or even leaving behind substantial sketches. The Symphony No. 5 in E flat major, Op. 82, is one of his most famous works. Written during the First World War, the first version was premiered in 1915 in connection with celebrations of Sibelius’s 50th birthday, a second version was played a year later, and the final version was premiered in 1919. In each case, the composer conducted. Work on the symphony thus lasted beyond the dramatic wartime period and other historic events—the creation of the independent Finnish state (1917) and the civil war. After the dark Fourth Symphony (1911), Sibelius was taking inspiration mainly from nature, as shown by often quoted entries in his diary: uplifting nature (“One of my greatest experiences! Lord God, that beauty!”), but also the coarser side of nature (“I’ve got a beautiful theme for an Adagio – earth, worms and misery, fortissimo and mutes, a lot of mutes! And godlike notes!!! I rejoice and tremble with excitement as my soul is singing.”). The work exhibits Sibelius’s masterful orchestration, his attitude towards musical developments represented, for example, by the Impressionists or Schoenberg, and also his critical approach to his own music, shown in part by his recasting of the symphony from the original four movements into three. Whatever part of the work may speak to us, we shall probably not forget how it ends: six chords separated by silence, opening up an infinity of space.