|  The timing of writing one’s first symphony has been crucial 
        in the lives of many a composer, and generally those who left it as late 
        as possible have fared better with their first essay in the genre; at 
        least as a rule of thumb they have often reached their so-called mature 
        style by the time they write it. Nor is it only a matter of age. Brahms, 
        Mahler and Sibelius come to mind as examples of their first and last symphonies 
        not being a million miles apart; Beethoven, Schubert and Bruckner where 
        they certainly are not. Charles Ives, Schoenberg, Webern and Stravinsky 
        all have early works stylistically a vast distance from what they then 
        wrote immediately thereafter, and Carl Nielsen is a bit like them. His 
        first symphony is very Brahmsian. He even took the opportunity to show 
        it to the master when in Vienna in the mid-1890s and received a very encouraging 
        response. Nielsen was 27 when his symphony appeared, no longer a student 
        but an experienced orchestral player, significantly under the composer/conductor 
        Johan Svendsen, whose two symphonies have also just appeared on the Teldec 
        Apex label (0927 40621 2) with the same performers (see my current review). 
        The Norwegian Svendsen was in Copenhagen at the time in charge of the 
        Royal Chapel Orchestra, and it was he who conducted the premiere of the 
        first symphony in March 1894 with its composer playing among the second 
        violins.  
        
         By the time he came to write his Violin Concerto in 
          1911, his style had considerably matured (it was at the time of the 
          third of his six symphonies). His place in Danish music had been established 
          by now, much as Grieg’s had been in Norway and Sibelius’s in Finland, 
          but his reputation was also beginning to spread abroad. Nielsen wrote 
          three concertos, the others being one for the flute in 1926 and for 
          the clarinet in 1928. Nielsen’s indebtedness to Grieg, who had just 
          died in 1907, was underlined when he visited Nina Grieg, the composer’s 
          widow at Troldhaugen in Bergen and began writing the violin concerto 
          in the cabin where her husband produced his music. It was first played 
          by Peder Möller but later taken up by the Hungarian Emil Telmányi, 
          whose greater reputation did much for the work. Nielsen was less taken 
          with producing a note-spinning work of virtuosity, ‘I am not terribly 
          interested in vacuous scale passages’, nor a highly dramatic one as 
          Sibelius had done (both men were players of the instrument), but rather 
          one of a more laid-back, pastoral character.
         
         Ari Rasilainen, conducting the Norwegian Radio Orchestra 
          gives the symphony not only a good sense of pace but also draws out 
          the kaleidoscopic moods of the first movement, to which Nielsen gives 
          the curious tempo indication Allegro orgoglioso, not as one might 
          at first sight assume to be an ‘orgiastic Allegro’ but a ‘proud’ one. 
          Actually it is the second movement Andante which seems to be 
          more inclined to such a mood with its dignified beauty, especially in 
          the finely taken horn solo after the climax. The third movement is gentler 
          than an expected scherzo (he could have learned a thing or two from 
          Svendsen in this regard), while the finale has plenty of dramatic fire 
          which Rasilainen exploits fully from his responsive orchestra.
         
         The Violin Concerto shows just how much Nielsen’s harmonic 
          language had advanced in the twenty years separating it from the first 
          symphony, the opening slow Prelude is hardly recognisable as the same 
          composer. Henrik Hannisdal’s playing is sweet-toned especially in the 
          higher positions on the E string, bringing a Bruch like quality to the 
          music, and in the more virtuosic passages rather surprisingly evokes 
          Mediterranean tone colours. Just before the Allegro cavalleresco 
          breaks out (another quirky tempo indication meaning ‘knightly’ or 
          ‘noble’), there is a repetitive motif rhythmically reminiscent of Elgar’s 
          Enigma theme - now there’s a thought. Hannisdal always plays 
          within himself, but there are some moments of suspect intonation in 
          the tricky cadenza. He’s at his best in the charming finale.
         
        
         Christopher Fifield
         
          
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