Symphony of the Week XIII

Giovanni Sgambati (1841- 1914)

Symphony no. 2 in Eb major (1885)

There are exceptions to every rule, even the rule that Nineteenth Century Italians didn't write symphonies. Arrigo Boito (best known as Verdi's late-period librettist) composed a single work in the form of which there appears to be no recording, and two unexceptional efforts by Giuseppe Martucci (1856 - 1909) were inexplicably championed by Toscanini. Unfortunately, the great conductor was backing the wrong horse; the three symphonies of Giovanni Sgambati are infinitely more rewarding.

A protege of Liszt and champion of Wagner, Sgambati was a pianist of stature and a conductor who worked hard to preserve a tradition of instrumental performance in Italy, giving belated local Beethoven premieres and introducing much new music from beyond the Alps. It seems he struggled to devote sustained time to composition and his output (devoid of opera) is curiously bitty, though it does include a couple of string quartets, two piano quartets, keyboard pieces and songs, a piano concerto and an ambitious Requiem conceived on a scale to rival Verdi's. During his lifetime he enjoyed a certain international reputation, especially in Britain (he had English ancestry on his mother's side) and lately there has been a modest revival of interest in his music, leading to several new recordings. Actually, the concerto has never quite disappeared from the fringes of the recorded repertoire, the best version being that made in the 1970s by the Cuban-American virtuoso Jorge Bolet - not currently in the catalogue, but easily retrievable online and making about as good a case for the piece's rather diffuse virtues as it is possible to imagine. If Schnabel was correct when he defined great music as "music better than it can be performed", then Bolet's bravura pianism provides spectacular testimony to Sgambati's non-greatness, if also to his craftsmanship, integrity and charm.

The same qualities - agreeable and ever so slightly disappointing - mark the three symphonies. (The Sinfonia "Cola di Renzi" sometimes listed alongside them is actually a single-movement overture-like work, as are the sinfonias of Donizetti and Bellini). In all of them, Sgambati assays a big canvass with unfailing taste and refinement, but seldom to my ears with real concentration and fire. (Perhaps, one starts to think, he was wise to steer clear of the stage.) Nonetheless, his music always holds the attention and is sporadically enlivened by moments of quirky imagination.

Standing somewhat apart from the two earlier works is the Third Symphony (Sinfonia Epitalamio ), privately premiered in Turin in 1888, as part of the wedding celebrations of the former King of Spain and evidently languishing in unperformed obscurity until happily reanimated by the recent Naxos recording. It is well worth having back in circulation, as Sgambati fulfilled his commission handsomely, with just under 40 minutes of graceful music, moving appropriately from liturgical solemnity to courtly splendour by way of lyrical interludes and dances. Formally, it is mildly eccentric, its five movements being grouped into three parts. The first of these, depicting the church service, consists of a single prelude-like movement culminating in a rather touchingly hushed hymn. The second, depicting popular festivities, consists of a reflective Nocturne and a Mendelsohnian "Children's Dance", both prefaced by the same brief foot-stomping Allegro. Completing the suite-like design, the third part's grand processional Finale - to Sgambati's considerable credit, largely eschewing bombast - is preceded by a grave Minuet, substantial enough to stand as a separate movement. It is all done with polished conviction and glowingly scored.

Yet somehow the whole doesn't quite escape the aura of a distinguished museum exhibit. (And I don't think this is just because of the way it unapologetically reifies the distinction between palace and populace.) Possibly there is a problem with Sgambati's melodic inspiration. Not that he suffers from the dire melodic constipation that afflicted contemporaries such as Draeseke - not at all - but that somehow his themes tend to come across as just a little generic. They are engaging enough whilst listening, but I find they don't stick in the memory at all. Perhaps, as I have already implied, there is something slightly bland and leisurely about the expansiveness of his music, for all its incidental felicities. Whatever, I honestly don't think that anything like as strong a case can be made for this Royal Wedding Symphony as can be for Goldmark's rustic equivalent (which may well have served as a model). Everywhere, the Hungarian composer is just that bit more spontaneous, vivid and concise.

Entirely abstract, the First and Second Symphonies are also works of considerable scale and share many of the virtues of the Third, whilst being a shade more dramatic. Both show their composer's distinctly Germanic orientation. Mendelsohn appears to be a key influence in many convincing passages of gossamer dialogue between wind and strings, and there are several moments - both melodic and harmonic - that testify to a strong admiration for Wagner. The orchestration is rich, varied and idiomatic. At times, the obsessive repetition of accompanimental figures and the tendency of the music to break up into large paragraphs separated by silence, not to mention a partiality for landler-like scherzos, makes him sound almost like an Italian Bruckner.

Laid out, like the Third, in five movements, with two Andante's flanking a central Presto, the First in D major, is is marginally the more distinctive of the two and the more darkly coloured. Nonetheless, it is the Second I present to you here. This is partly because of its wonderful scherzo movement (placed second out of four), with its serpentine string unisons set off by chirping woodwind and pizzicato coda. Though Sgambati doesn't go in for auxiliary percussion, he does write imaginatively for timpani and harps. Nowhere more so than here, where in a handful of delicious bars he uses these instruments in striking combination. Before that, the First Movement grows out of its slow introduction into a characteristically ambitious sonata-allegro by way of crepuscular chromatic string scales that sound as though they may have bubbled up from the depths of the Rhine and arrives at some boldly syncopated brass climaxes. The slow Third Movement features Sgambati's personal brand of reflective lyricism, with noble, slightly antiquated-sounding melodies, here contrasted with solemn brass fanfares. I can understand those (like Dave Hurwitz) who find the symphony's march-Finale rather unconvincing, but I don't mind it at all. Indeed, I welcome Sgambati's relative lack of inhibition here, in a movement full of rhythmic energy that, despite its considerable length, never topples over into bathos, decently earning the triumphant piccolo scales and timpani flourish of its final bars.

Sgambati is a composer of some integrity, the admirable qualities of whose music - unforced lyricism, ease in large forms, orchestral confidence, harmonic and rhythmic inventiveness, refined taste - it is easy to enumerate. It is harder, however, to be precise about what exactly it is that seems (at least to me) oddly stiff and limited about his music. I should perhaps end by saying that all three of his symphonies have grown on me with repeated listening and may continue to do so until I overcome my nagging feelings of reservation. If you don't already know them, I would urge you to check them out. Start with this one, and let me know what you think.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtU4EAFsUgs