Hartmann - Symphony nr. 4

I'm still travelling more or less close orbits around the work of Bartok with whom I haven't finished yet. I'm halfway the Petrassi Concertos now. And one of the branches that is luring me temporarily away from the Italian leads to K.A. Hartmann. It's particularly the connection between Petrassi's Quarto Concerto and Hartmann's Fourth Symphony - both for string orchestra only, both premiered by Hans Rosbaud - that has kept me involved with the Hartmann symphony over the last week or so. I've now listened to it 7 or 8 times, casually initially and increasingly concentrated as I grew more familiar with this new idiom. It's heartening that after 30 years of intense listening one is still able to discover completely uncharted territories in the classical repertoire. On the other hand, what does it mean when a major 20th century symphonist is living such an ephemeral existence in the record catalogues and in concert life? What else are we missing? Why are contemporary conductors spending lavish care on second rate composers such as Rautavaara, Vasks, and, say, Corigliano? Meanwhile, major figures such as Petrassi and Hartmann are falling by the wayside. The same could be said for Schnittke. I'm also thinking of some of the great Brits, such as Rubbra and Simpson, who have not exactly been overrecorded. In all of these cases we have to rely on having just one complete cycle (almost two in the case of Schnittke, on BIS and Chandos respectively; in the latter the Ninth is missing). In case of Hartmann, we have to thank EMI and Ingo Metzmacher for taking the risk and doing the diligent effort to keep this music alive. Truth be told, there is also a cycle available on Wergo. These are radio recordings with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra conducted for the best part by Kubelik, with some of the gaps filled in by Leitner, Macal and Rieger. Both sets have received favourable reviews throughout. Here is a review of the Metzmacher cycle and here and here are reviews of the Wergo set. I have had the EMI discs in my collection for a long time but had postponed an audition. Further, I have another Metzmacher CD shared by music of Dallapiccola and Hartmann (the Canti di Liberazione and the Gesangszene and Miserae respectively). And then recently I was able to lay hands on an LP with the Fourth and Eight symphonies by Kubelik, also with the Bavarian RSO (but altogether different recordings than featured in the Wergo box).

Anyway, the Hartmann cycle took shape under extraordinay circumstances. Born in 1905 he was already a mature composer when the Nazis seized power. Hartmann went into 'innere Emigration', destroyed a lot of his works and after the war recreated his whole symphonic oeuvre from scratch based on material he wrote before and during the war. Despite the fact that these eight symphonies all emerged at a point where we might suppose an already quite settled creative outlook, they seem to harbour surprising diversity in form and language.

Hartmann seems to be described often as an eclectic composer. And this Fourth symphony seems to corroborate that assessment. In this work one hears echos from pretty much everything that mattered in early 20th century music: early Second Viennese School chromaticism (Verklärte Nacht, Lyric Suite), a Bartokian colour palette, Stravinskian rhythms, Hindemith's neo-classicist perkiness, Reger's dense counterpoint and formal historicism, late Mahler's bare bones orchestration and transfigured romanticism, Shostakovich's earthy humanism. And so on. One reviewer made an association with Tippett and even Nicholas Maw. Well possible as particularly in the Fourth I find there are distinctive echoes of Rubbra (roughly Hartmann's contemporary). Anyway, all these possible influences do not automatically imply the music is derivative. I have pretty much the same feeling when listening to Petrassi, by the way. And Hartmann's Fourth is certainly a piece that rewards repeated listening.

The Fourth consists of three movements, two slow movements enclosing an Allegro di molto, risoluto. I find the actual tempo differences less stark than those suggested by the score (lento - allegro - adagio). The introductory Lento is a long and complex movement, almost 15 minutes, and unfolds a musical process that varies considerably in tempo. I find it contains the best music of the whole piece. The beginning is startlingly beautiful. It opens with a very distinctive theme, noble and not without even a Copland-like sense of optimistic pathos, but moves very quickly into an anguished, expressionistic climax which pushes the strings into their highest registers. The climax dies down and soon (around 2'14") we are in a very different territory: a deeply melancholy theme over shimmering strings of Mediterranean warmth and opulence. This is a magical episode, oceanic in its suggestion of space, touching in its evocation of transience. The atmosphere remains dignified and somber throughout the ensuing episode. There is a fair amount of middle period Shostakovich here. From 6'40" onwards the music becomes much more animated and restless. It seems to me this latter part of the movement is also based on different, more strident and chromatically denser thematic material. The noble Shostakovich theme crops up again but is swept aside by the strident theme. Towards the end of the movement we are in for another surprise: a violin solo tries to hold its ground. Is this a quote from RVW's Lark Ascending? One would almost say so! The movement ends serenely with the solo violin reaching aloft above dusky strings. Describing it as I do emphasises the weirdness of this music. But despite the stylistic eclecticism and formal idiosyncracy this movement really does work.

The Allegro is a lively, masculine movement with a Toccata character. Difficult not to think about Bartok, Shostakovich and Mahler when listening to this music. But it's truly a great piece. I wonder whether it wouldn't have been better to have ended the symphony here, with a two movement layout. Apparently, that was also where Hartmann started from as the Fourth is a reworking of a two-part concerto for soprano and orchestra he wrote in 1938. Indeed, after this impressive allegro it seems difficult to adjust back to the doleful atmosphere of the Adagio appassionato. Or maybe it isn't and I need to spend more time with it.

This certainly is serious music that requires a certain commitment from the listener. As Rubbra, Simpson, Petrassi it is not really 'difficult'. We are essentially listening to quasi-tonal music embedded in idiosyncratic forms, albeit with recognisable links to tradition. And yet, these kinds of compositions reveal their secrets only slowly. I look forward to further exploring this ostensibly very interesting body of work.