By Barry Brenesal
Fanfare
01-Jul-2009
“Carl Nielsen rose to Olympus, but sent Kayser down here,” is how one influential critic reacted to the debut of the Symphony No. 1, by Leif Kayser (1919–2001). Premiered when the composer was not yet 20, the work presaged a brilliant career for the young musician, who was also a distinguished conductor, pianist, and organist. So it made quite a stir when Kayser abruptly terminated all his musical responsibilities in 1942 and flew to Rome, training for the priesthood. Although he resumed both composition and performance after returning to Copenhagen in 1949, the musical landscape had begun to shift dramatically. The serialists were gaining ascendance, even in conservative Denmark, and the musical establishment over the ensuing years began to be far less sympathetic and even openly hostile to Kayser’s new works. He in turn grew defensive, and in 1966—two years after leaving the priesthood—declared in an interview before the premiere of his Fourth Symphony, “You must not expect it to be like what you usually understand by the music of our time. I have been so old-fashioned as to use music paper, and the instruments are also allowed to play.” The critics of the day were not kind.
The First Symphony is in four continuous movements. It makes use of Nielsen’s “progressive tonality,” but is less dissonant overall. It is a work brimming with justified self-confidence, most especially in the Largo cantabile movement, a slowly unwinding hymn set as a series of variations in two and three-part counterpoint. One of the dramatic high points is the way this ethereal piece is suddenly displaced by the pompous, off-kilter mock-march that forms the Scherzo. Throughout, the orchestral writing is distinctive, and the thematic content richly memorable.
There is no question upon hearing Kayser’s Symphony No. 4 that it continues the language present in his earliest symphonic essay. Neither, however, is it a dry, academic attempt to recapture old forms. There is great vitality and imagination in this work, cast in four expansive movements, of which the third, a magnificent Lento lasting here over 20 minutes, is the centerpiece. Rising to an impressive climax, it displays his emotional immediacy, brilliant orchestration, and lightly dissonant harmonic language to excellent advantage. Elsewhere, there’s a measured introductory movement that demonstrates Kayser’s contrapuntal prowess and sharp rhetorical logic, a breathless, ingenious Scherzo, and a lengthy, conflicted finale that incorporates motifs from the other movements before going out in a blaze of optimistic glory.
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