Fighting Finn
Michael Kennedy Where does Sibelius stand today? Twenty years ago, the answer would have been not very high. Today, 50 years after his death, I think it would be 'on the up' again, especially as we now know not just the symphonies and tone-poems but also the wonderful songs in performances by Karita Mattila, Soile Isokoski, Anne Sofie von Otter and Jorma Hynninen In Britain during the first half of the 20th century Sibelius was regarded as the symphonic heir to Beethoven. There was no mention of Mahler and Bruckner in those days, except in very restricted circles. It almost seemed as if Sibelius was an honorary Englishman. The composer had first visited England late in 1905 to conduct in Liverpool. (On arrival at Dover he was fined on the spot by Customs for bringing an illegal quantity of cigars into the country.) His music was championed by the composer and conductor Granville Bantock, to whom the Third Symphony was dedicated, and of course by Henry Wood. Between the wars Hamilton Harty, Leslie Heward (in Birmingham), Ian Whyte (in Scotland), Thomas Beecham and John Barbirolli were all fully paid-up Sibelians.
Sibelius famously remarked that, whereas other composers were concocting strange and outlandish cocktails, he offered pure cold water. One bar of Sibelius is enough to identify him The First Symphony is often said to be Russian in style, but it could be by no one except Sibelius. His imprint is on it from the very beginning with that long brooding clarinet melody. The Second, still perhaps the most popular, began as an 'orchestral fantasy', a cycle of four pieces which were revolutionary in formal treatment as well as traversing a wide emotional range from strife to idyllic calm and a final blaze of triumph which Finnish audiences immediately identified with their national aspirations. The Third was not at first fully appreciated (perhaps is still not) as the first truly great symphony he had composed, radical in form with its combined scherzo and finale already looking ahead to the four-movements-in-one of the Seventh.
The Fourth (1912) is the most avantgarde of the set, stretching tonality to the limit. It was booed in Finland even, at first, and the Vienna Philharmonic refused to play it. Sibelius conducted the first English performance at the Birmingham Festival in 1912. The critic Ernest Newman sensed that his neighbour at the final rehearsal had been baffled by the symphony and explained that the composer came from Helsinki Ah, well, that'll be it,' was the reply. 'I coom from 'Alifax.' Of the Fifth Symphony, more in a moment. The Sixth is the most classical and restrained, enigmatic in mood, while the Seventh distils the essence of the previous six into one concentrated movement beyond which Sibelius was to find he could not go.
As one discovered these masterpieces in one's youth, one visualised the man himself as shown in famous photographs, bald, stern, granite-faced, forbidding. It was a surprise later to see photographs of him roaring with laughter and brandishing a Churchillian cigar, even more of a surprise to see the young Sibelius with a head of thick hair and a moustache of Elgarian proportions. The principal impression one drew from the music was of its certainty, the feeling that it had always existed somewhere and we were only now hearing it. Every note seemed inevitable and logical. What a false impression, we now know.
Sibelius was anything but self-confident. He wanted to be a virtuoso violinist but stage fright foiled his ambition. He began to make a name in Finland but then went to study in Berlin in 1889, when he was 24. There he realised how provincial Helsinki was and that he knew very little about the great classical composers. He was depressed by hearing Strauss's Don Juan and realised that he could write nothing like it although he was only a year younger than Strauss. What he did learn was how to enjoy good food, cigars, visits to the opera and, most of all, how to drink copiously. Alcohol and a chronic inability to deal with financial affairs were to rule his life. On his return to Finland he became engaged to the beautiful Aino Jarnefelt and then went to Vienna, where he resumed his bohemian ways, contracted a venereal disease and was known in his circle as `the worst skirtchaser of us all'. But he had lessons in composition from Karl Goldmark and, on Hans Richter's suggestion, enrolled in the composition classes of Robert Fuchs, who also taught Mahler and Hugo Wolf. It was a Richter performance of Beethoven's Ninth that inspired Sibelius to begin a symphony which would also employ solo voices and a chorus. The outcome was Kullervo, based on a Finnish myth. The 70-minute work was acclaimed at its premiere and Sibelius found himself regarded as the musical voice of Finland, albeit his creditors were at his door. He married Aino, who was to suffer extremely from her husband's drinking but never left him, though tempted, because she believed he was so important to Finland.
Kullervo was to set a pattern in Sibelius's attitude to his own works. After three performances he was dissatisfied with it and withdrew it. He allowed one movement to be played in 1935, but the full score was not heard again until after his death. Several other works were withdrawn and rewritten, the most drastic examples being the Violin Concerto and the Fifth Symphony. He would vanish for days to Helsinki bars.
He told his anxious brother, 'When I am standing in front of a grand orchestra and have drunk half a bottle of champagne, then I conduct like a young god. Otherwise I am nervous and tremble, feel unsure of myself and then everything is lost.'
In 1927 came the tone-poem Tapiola and incidental music for The Tempest. It was at this time that he wrote in his diary: 'Isolation and loneliness driving me to despair. Not even my wife is talking to me. In order to survive I have to have alcohol. Impossible to work. If only there were a way out. Must make the best use of the time I have left.' But he didn't. What the world wanted was the Eighth Symphony. He worked on it, promised it to various conductors and even sent part to a copyist. But one day Aino reported, 'We have had a bonfire here.'
He died on 20 September 1957 at the age of 91. Aino survived him by 12 years, until she was 97. Soon his musical reputation took a dive. If the adulation of him in England and America had sometimes been excessive, so now was the denigration. But the symphonies were still regular repertory in England and America (where he had enjoyed personal triumphs), even if Germany had deserted him and never returned to the fold. It is said that Sir Simon Rattle has trouble persuading the Berlin Philharmonic that Sibelius is worth playing, even though Karaj an was a believer. However, with conductors like Sir Colin Davis, Mark Elder and Osmo Vanska around, we need not fear that this anniversary will pass unnoticed — and there are still neglected works to explore. His music is the triumph of will over alcoholism. His legacy is Finland today, with its eruption of musical talent — conductors, composers, singers and designers who adorn the concert halls and opera houses of the world.
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