Violin Concerto

One of my reference sources has the following as a summary of Sibelius' music: "His achievement both in the symphonic poems and the seven symphonies lies principally in his remarkable mastery of form. It was in this capacity for organic growth that the secret of his genius lay." Now, in no way can one underrate the importance of these gifts but I am sure that you (like me, the NSO and our soloist) did not come to the concert today to contemplate the "organic growth" of Sibelius' music. As readers of my previous programme notes will know, I am an ardent fan of this composer. What my colleagues and I are attempting to pass on to you, as we play this wonderful piece, is the master's obvious awareness of the human psyche. If we can do this in some measure, then we should all benefit from contact with the genius of another human being who has the capacity to uplift and enrich us with the expressive power of his music.

When I was around London as a student, Sibelius' music was all the rage and his name was bandied around as the logical symphonic successor to the number one in the organic growth stakes, Beethoven. In fact we were all being swept along by the idea that this was the only way forward in music. I remember telling my piano teacher that Grieg's music was of little import as it lacked this essential ingredient. He adored Grieg and, quite rightly, tore to shreds the half-baked ideas of his immature student. There is absolutely no doubt of Sibelius' ability to work with germs of musical ideas and mould them into stunning structures. This is highly satisfying intellectually. However, like all great artists, he uses form as a means of conveying a message. What we hear, at the end of the day, has a richly rewarding emotional content. This is surely where the true genius of Sibelius lies.

Sibelius obviously thought long and hard before releasing the Violin Concerto to his publisher and the world at large. Written in 1903, it was not performed until November 1905 (in Berlin). The wait was worthwhile as the concerto now ranks among the select compositions which all self-respecting virtuosi have in their repertoires. Part of the fascination for the audience is the contrast between the horrendously difficult technical side of the music and the spirituality of the three beautifully balanced movements. The first, logically and satisfyingly laid out, magically ushers in the soloist on a bed of gently murmuring upper strings. The deeply felt central movement leads to a finale which admirably releases some of the tensions built up by the earlier music whilst keeping the soloist right on his toes.