John Robertson: Symphony No.1
Navona Records

It would appear that an ever-dwindling number of contemporary composers are writing symphonies, preferring instead to affix titles to their works burdened with less historical weight. In his “What is a Symphony?” article (published in the recent June issue of Gramophone), for example, Richard Bratby observed that John Adams didn't call Harmonielehre a symphony, even though he could have, given its multi-part structure and its dramatically contrasting, three-movement structure; as Bratby notes,“Few musical terms carry such baggage.” Certainly anyone composing a first symphony in 2018 can't help but be aware of the intimidatingly large shadows cast by Beethoven, Mahler, et al. One seemingly notable exception to that rule is John Robertson, whose creative spirit doesn't appear to have been in any way cowed by such legacies; certainly his own first symphony holds up very well next to those that preceded it.

Born in 1943, Robertson is described as a New Zealand composer though he's long resided in Canada and now calls Kingston, Ontario home. Despite being interested in music from a young age, he worked in the insurance business after leaving school. Still, his composing aspirations never died: during the ‘70s, he spent three years in private study at Toronto's Royal Conservatory of Music and in 1987 witnessed the first major public performance of his work after entering a composers' competition in Nepean, Ontario (the piece presented was the Variations for Small Orchestra, included on the new album). In 2014 the Rusé Philharmonic Orchestra, Bulgaria, gave two concerts of his works and commissioned from him an opera, the result of which, Orpheus—a masque, premiered in 2015. The three works on the Navona release were recorded during October 2016 by the Janàcek Philharmonic Orchestra with Anthony Armoré conducting.

Robertson's written not one but three symphonies, the second of which appeared in 2017 on his first Navona album Vallarta Suite and thus earlier than the first. The composer himself avers that he conceived the second symphony, in his view the less gritty and more relaxed of the two, as a contrast to the first. Formally speaking, the second, while rigorously worked out, doesn't adhere to a system; instead, like many another twentieth-century symphony it unfolds according to its own internal logic. Themes emerge and melodic sequences organically develop, and the rich timbral resources afforded by the different orchestra sections are exploited fully. Stylistically speaking, it sits comfortably alongside comparable works by Prokofiev and Shostakovich, and in its central movement, Robertson's material is characterized by outpourings that are almost Bruckner-like; in fact, there's one sequence during the slow movement that's so expressive I couldn't help but hear some connection, however tangential, between Robertson's material and Mascagni's well-known “Intermezzo.” Despite being a creation of high technical and musical sophistication, Robertson's is, to its credit, never less than accessible.

The album's major work is, of course, the symphony, a three-movement opus solidly grounded in the traditions of harmony and tonality one associates with twentieth-century composing. Thirty-four minutes in length, the work's flow is strengthened by clarinet and violin cadenzas that establish respective linkages between its classic fast-slow-fast movements. In the opening part, staccato horn blasts alternate with double bass figures and woodwind flourishes, after which a rather Shostakovich-like episode ensues as the music grows agitated. The pace slows for the central movement, the music growing lyrical and stately as themes are voiced in turn by oboe, strings, and clarinet, until an achingly beautiful violin cadenza draws us into a finale whose initial free-spirited tone, which lends it the character of a scherzo, turns brooding during a largely ponderous coda. Fluidity characterizes the symphony's development, despite the presence of multiple contrasting episodes.

If the symphony represents the composer at his most ‘serious,' the other works expose a lighter side. The twenty-five-minute Suite for Orchestra, which premiered in its complete form in July 2010, presents four parts that contrast in the extreme. Whereas the brass-centered “Fanfare” is exultant and the graceful “Waltz” sprightly, impish even, the stirring “Elegy” is as moving as one would expect and the “March” marked by lively horn phrases that suggest the call of a fox hunt or the ceremonial opening of a pageant. The concluding Variations for Small Orchestra makes good on its title by first presenting a theme and then multiple variations that range from breezy and elegant to stately and melancholy, the delicate “Variation IV” the most touching of the four parts. It's fitting, however, that the album's titled as it is; as satisfying as the other two works are, it's the symphony that's clearly the key piece of the three. The work is so strong, in fact, it wouldn't sound out of place next to any number of better-known classics in a leading orchestra's concert programme.

July 2018