Magnard: Symphony nr. 4

A while ago I listened to Albéric Magnard's Symphony nr. 3, op. 11 (1896), which was for me a pleasant discovery of a composer who hides in the shadow of his more illustrous contemporaries Ravel and Debussy. Initially I found the work rather difficult to come to grips with but my intense listening sessions a few months ago have born fruit. Re-auditioning the work early this week I felt that I had a good grip on it and found the experience again very enjoyable.

Whilst the Third is a good, but rather uneven work, the Fourth (1913) is of a different calibre. This work strikes me, I am happy to say, as a very accomplished, and even truly great late-romantic symphony. It is more tightly composed than its predecessor and sweeps the listener along on a cogent, epic and colourful journey. Magnard's idiom is drenched in the stylistic conventions of early twentieth century, German-inspired music. Formally he orients himself to the cyclical procedures of the Franckian school. The first movement of this great symphony, with its spacious, densely orchestrated and richly harmonised main theme reminds me of Schoenberg's Pelléas und Melisande (1905), Szymanovski's 'Lied von der Nacht' (Symphony nr. 3, 1914-16) and Scriabin's Second (1901). The second movement, a scherzo, revolves around a rhythmically insistent theme that has a menacing will-o'-the-wisp quality à la Berlioz. This, however, alternates with a curious, rustic dance played on solo violin. The presence that suggests itself most forcefully here is that of Carl Nielsen. Already in Magnard's Third Symphony there were fleeting reminiscences of his Danish contemporary (in fact, it appears that Magnard and Nielsen were born on the very same day in 1865!). In the remainder of this work there will be plenty of rhythmic, melodic and harmonic fingerprints of the Dane. The Vif is followed by a beautiful and expansive slow movement (sans lenteur et nuancé) that captures something of the nobility of Elgar's First (premiered in 1908). I also recognised some typically Brucknerian figurations (also evident in the Third). The closing paragraphs of the slow movement are exquisite in their evocation of mournful grandeur. The finale (animé) is a powerful conclusion propelled forward by Nielsenian drive and counterpoint (it's really amazing how these stomping, fugato passages in the strings prefigure the Inextinguishable that would be composed a mere year or two later). But the music in this finale also evokes something of the elusive and uncompromising clarity of texture that I've always found so distinctive of Nielsen. The finale blossoms into a grand, heavenstorming conclusion that then movingly evanesces in a short coda.

The copious references to other composers perhaps suggest a terribly eclectic and derivative piece. If so, that was not the point because this work stands on its own as one of the early 20th century most compelling symphonic utterances. I would not hesitate to place it alongside Elgar's magnificent First, and that is high praise indeed. If Magnard composed it under the spell of deep depression, this is not at all obvious from the music as it presents itself with considerable vitality, led onward by a vigorous symphonic undercurrent. It's too bad that this music languishes at the fringes of the mainstream repertoire.

The performance by the BBC Scottish SO led by Jean-Yves Ossonce is very convincing. Technically the Hyperion recording doesn't shine. On my system it sounds too muffled and reverberant. Hence, I prefer to listen to it through my headphones. But qua intepretation there is absolutely nothing to fault. I also have a recording of this work on LP: an early digital EMI production (1983) featuring the Orchestre du Capitole de Toulouse and their chief conductor Michel Plasson. That too has a lot to offer. But I marginally prefer the more recent Hyperion recording because of Ossonce's brisker tempo in the scherzo and the overall cogency of his reading.