As the influence of symphonic music grew throughout
The most immediately intriguing characteristic of the symphony is its
unusual nickname, “Det
Uudslukkelige” in the
original Danish. Nielsen assigned
the nickname himself, writing, “In using the title ‘The
Inextinguishable,’ [the composer] has attempted to suggest in a single
world what only the music itself has the power to express fully: the elemental
will to life.” Given that the
composer’s work on the piece coincided with events of World War I, it
seems likely that it was inspired by that global conflict, even though
Indeed, the power of the piece lies
in its abstraction. The symphony is
not about World War I, but about conflict.
It does not represent a clash between good and evil, but a competition
between larger forces, ones that transcend ethical considerations. It is not about the ultimate triumph of
the human spirit, but about the elemental energy that will always find a way
for life, in one form or another, to thrive. As much as Nielsen’s work seems to
be a product of his particular place and time, its themes reach beyond his era
and culture – or even his species and planet.
The symphony is usually thought of
as being in four movements, even though the music contains no breaks. It begins in a tremendous burst of
energy, with the winds and strings squaring off in a dialogue of jagged, impulsive
rhythms. After this initial onslaught
dies down, two clarinets present a serene, simple melody that is hardly more
than a descending major scale. This
is the “inextinguishable” theme, which will figure prominently
throughout the first movement and make a dramatic reappearance in the
finale. To the extent that the
“inextinguishable” represents life, it is telling that the theme
takes on so many different guises – as a boisterous dance in the full
orchestra, in naked fragments heard between chaotic interruptions of the
brass and strings, in a meandering quartet between two flutes and two
clarinets over a gently rippling string accompaniment, or as a cathartic
affirmation led by the trombones and low strings.
The second movement is a cheerful
intermezzo, featuring only woodwinds and plucked string accompaniment. Much simpler in character than the other
movements, it provides a period of calm and nostalgia, set off against the
general complexity of the rest of the piece. The bowed strings return to open the
third movement, with a long arching melody that is always moving forward, yet
fails to reach any destination.
This melody is stated first by the violins, then by the violas and
cellos; after it subsides, the woodwinds gradually return, with small
melodic fragments that suggest birdcalls. Gentle chorale-like writing is
interrupted by angry figures that assume the role of recitative, first in the
massed woodwinds and then in the strings.
The string statement leads to a magnificent passage in which the horns
and trombones, in different keys, fight to project their melodic material
through a wall of sound that becomes increasingly loud and dense. This leads to a great climax, after
which the music disintegrates into parts of phrases from earlier in the
movement. At last the scene is
reduced to a solo oboe, playing alone over a hushed, shimmering string
accompaniment.
The fourth movement begins as this
string accompaniment overwhelms the oboe and leads to a dramatic flurry of fast
scale passages. As happened at the
start of the first movement, an idea started by the violins is then taken up by
the lower strings. This time, the
brief transitional passage is brought to an abrupt close by the first entrance
of a second set of timpani, stationed on the opposite side of the stage from
the first set. The orchestra takes
an instant to catch its breath – the only moment of silence in the entire
symphony – and then plunges headfirst into the main theme of the
finale. The greatest drama in this
final movement, however, comes not from the melodic material, but from the
dueling sets of timpani. At the
first measure in which they play together, Nielsen wrote in the score,
“The timpani must, from here to the end, maintain a certain threatening
character, even when they play quietly.” Their wild rhythms and dissonant pitches
create an air of panic for the rest of the orchestra. They have two violent outbursts in rapid
succession, then are nearly silent while the rest of the orchestra, in a
beautifully mysterious section, is preoccupied with neutral melodic cells. Before long, however, the timpani
return, leading to the most frantic passage yet. The first few notes of the “inextinguishable”
melody are heard in the horns, and then taken up by other pairs of wind
instruments, but these notes are hardly recognizable. It is not until the full statement of
the theme arrives in the full wind section that the piece returns to its
beginning, completing its own life cycle.
Nielsen’s symphonies are
still infrequently performed, more than 70 years after his death. This negligence is partly due to the
technical difficulty of the music, which challenges even very good
professional orchestras. Another
factor that must be acknowledged, however, is that some audiences (and
performers, for that matter) find Nielsen’s music to be cold, impersonal,
or lacking in passion. This
assessment misses the point. What
Nielsen’s music really lacks is the composer’s preoccupation with
the sphere of his own existence.
“The Inextinguishable” instead recognizes that the
most important issues are resolved at a level that lies far beyond our personal
engagement. By reinforcing our
instinctive knowledge that these outcomes are destined to be positive, the
symphony makes a statement of profound optimism.