Quite a few years ago, though within this century, I heard this concerto performed live. As I recall, I didn't have a strong reaction to it, which was disappointing, because I had expected, being a great lover of some of Sibelius's symphonies, to like it very much. And though I don't remember it well at all and I don't recall having listened to it since then, I assumed it would reasonably have a place in this tour of great Romantic violin concertos that I began a while back. First it was just the Germans: Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Bruch, and Brahms, in response to a remark by the famous 19th century violinist Joseph Joachim in which he compared them, calling the Mendelssohn "the heart's jewel." Those done, I included other Romantic concertos: Dvorak, Tchaikovsky, and now Sibelius.

Or what I thought to be Romantic concertos: the Sibelius, I discovered immediately, really doesn't belong with the others. "Post-Romantic" or even "early Modern" would be more accurate. This is a somewhat strange work. I listened to it once and, as with that long-ago concert performance, felt that I had heard quite a bit of music, most of which, apart from a few lovely melodies, had swept by leaving little impression.

Then I listened to it again, and it began to open up somewhat. Then once more, and I really enjoyed it. On a fourth hearing (all these over a period of two or three weeks) I was totally carried away, getting up out of my comfortable listening chair, walking around the room excitedly and muttering about how great it was. (I would have said "jumping up" out of my chair, but I'm not really capable of that anymore. In my mind I jumped.)

Compared to the others, this concerto is darker--brooding, uneasy, restless, often stormy. The first movement is intense, with shifts of tone, tempo, and mood that may be part of the reason why it seems different structurally, from the others--less conventionally ordered, though certainly not chaotic. The violin itself is often electrifying, especially in a sort of cadenza that occurs well before its usual place toward the end of a concerto. 

I listened, as I sometimes do, with a pad and pen handy for jotting down impressions for a future blog post, and among those jottings is the phrase "cry or scream." Some pop music fans may recognize that from the Dire Straits song "Sultans of Swing," which says of a chord-oriented jazz guitarist that "he doesn't care to make it cry or scream." Well, Sibelius, in the hands of David Oistrakh, very definitely makes it cry and scream (more about the recording in a moment).

The orchestra is prominent, often featuring very powerful brass. I was reminded of Mahler at several points. The movement ends in a way that I can only describe as "punchy." Instead of the drawn-out finale so typical of 19th century orchestral works, this one comes quickly: it's full-on until the very end, which comes abruptly in two loud chords. 

Mahler came to mind again in the second movement. Yes, it's an adagio, as usual, but most of it's not pretty and serene. I wrote "hesitant" and "questioning." And again the word "uneasy" comes to mind. But it does end peacefully.

During the third movement, I wrote only "totentanz" and "scary harmonics." If the concerto as a whole should be described as a bit strange, this movement is the decidedly strange part. "Totentanz," as you probably know, means "death-dance" in German, which I only know because it turns up in other 19th century contexts, though offhand I can't tell you where. (Liszt, maybe?) It certainly seems to be a sort of dance, and it struck me as a dark one. It's followed by sunnier passages. The ending is exhilarating, similar to that of the first movement, brief, pointed, and somehow joyful. 

As for the scary harmonics--I'm referring to what I think of as high notes with a sort of whistling sound, which I think are not natural tones but, if they're like harmonics on the guitar, made by touching a string but not pressing it down. At any rate, in the context of this movement, they sounded wild, almost deranged, breaking out in the midst of the death-dance as if trying to jack up the somewhat frenzied atmosphere.

I generally try not to read anything about an unfamiliar work before getting acquainted with it directly, without too many prejudices or expectations. So I avoided reading the liner notes on the LP until after that fourth hearing. I had wondered if I was making too much of, or even making up entirely, the dark quality of that third-movement dance. No, it's not just me:

It is undoubtedly an exciting dance, far showier than the other movements, but there is a curious unease beneath the wild prancing.... Sibelius himself referred to the movement as a danse macabre. 

The notes are credited to Bill Parker, whose name I don't recognize. 

Like much of Mahler's work, this concerto seems caught between the 19th and 20th centuries, as if looking over a wall separating them, with a view of the other side which is indistinct but which makes him uneasy. I was surprised to learn that it was written soon after the Second Symphony, which is very much in the Romantic tradition and, as far as I recall (haven't heard it for a while) pretty conventional.

This is the recording I have, and the only one I listened to:

This is not, however, the cover of my edition, which is ugly, featuring a very grim bust of Sibelius, with closed eyes, looking like a death mask. Back in the '60s Angel Records had some kind of distribution deal with Melodiya, the official Soviet recording company (if "company" is the right word). There were a lot of these joint-venture LPs around then. As best I can tell from Discogs, this performance was originally issued by Melodiya in 1965, with the Angel/Melodiya edition coming out in 1967. Somehow it made its way onto the budget label Quintessence in 1982, and that's the edition I have. In spite of the unattractive cover, it's a gem. The sound is fantastic and to my ears so are the orchestra and soloist. I don't recall having heard the conductor's name before. Even the liner notes are very good, which is unusual with budget labels. As with the Dvorak and Tchaikovsky concertos, I felt, and feel, no need to seek out another performance. 

The back cover, by the way, quotes a 1968 reviewer in High Fidelity as saying that Oistrakh's playing "risks, but always misses, technical disaster," and is a "virtuoso flirtation with danger." Doesn't sound that way to me.

I haven't listened to the two Humoresques that fill out the second side of the LP. When that third movement ends, I don't want to hear any more music for a while.