Sibelius gave us seven symphonies. There's not a dud in the bunch. Each is a world unto itself, each unmistakably the work of the same composer, but each unique in its approach to the genre, to the orchestra, to music itself. If music means anything at all to you, all seven are indispensable, essential, and irreplacable. Forget about Virgil Thomson's bitchy slap ("provincial beyond belief") and René Leibowitz's sour grapes ("the worst composer in the world.") Maybe there was a time when Sibelius was valued primarily by Finns and Anglophones, but those unenlightened days are long gone. Sibelius has taken his rightful place amongst the major symphonists, far too vital and important a composer to be pigeonholed as a mere nationalist. The Sibelius symphonies are mainstream musical lit, first-class stuff, masterpieces of the symphonic genre that transcend national boundaries or subtly demeaning labels.
In coming to grips with the cycle it might help to envision the symphonies in two broad groups. Symphonies 2–4 traverse an emotional landscape beginning with the heroic (#2), through the neo-classical (#3), then culminating in an enigmatic but pristine vision of absolute music (#4). Symphonies 5–6 then recapitulate the same journey, but now in more autumnal tones—#5 heroic, #6 neo-classical, #7 enigmatic. My little theory leaves Symphony No. 1 as odd man out, which I think suits the situation just fine; the Sibelius First is a jim-dandy symphony that yet wears an unmistakable Tchaikovskian garb.
Thus we have paired symphonies: 2 and 5, 3 and 6, 4 and 7. Their emotional temperatures suggest a strategy of starting with the most approachable of the bunch, which would be No. 2 in D Major and No. 5 in E-flat Major. As it turns out, Nos. 2 and 5 are typically most people's introductions to the Sibelius symphonies. In my case it was Symphony No. 2, brought to shimmering life by the luxuriant opulence of the Berlin Philharmonic, led by the then-young Finnish conductor Okko Kamu. I'm not 100% positive about this, but I'm pretty sure that I was bowled over by No. 5 next.
It took me a while to get around to the remaining symphonies. The Sixth was a happy discovery; it might not appeal to all listeners on first hearing, but few symphonies improve so dramatically with repeated encounters. Like a shy person who seems initially uninteresting but gradually reveals a sparkling and endearing personality, the Sibelius Sixth can easily wind up occupying a central place in one's heart, as well as providing the mind with endless occupation thanks to its elegant compression. The slender and graceful Third in C Major is often a latecomer for many listeners, perhaps encountered only at the end of one's Sibelian explorations. But I know of any number of musicians for whom the Sibelius Third is the most precious jewel of the cycle, no matter how infrequent its performances.
Now, then: about Symphony No. 4. Definitely not your first Sibelius symphony unless you're made of far sterner stuff than I. When Sibelius spoke of providing his listeners with cold, clear water, he was referring to this, the most starkly elemental and appallingly beautiful of his orchestral works. The Fourth is indisputably adult fare; there's nothing sugar-coated here, no mollifying gestures. Yet the work is far from glacial and hoar-frosted. An underlying vitality propels it along, even in those long hushed stillnesses, such as the cello solo in the first movement, that always seem to hover on the tipping point between water and ice. Even No. 7—which Sibelius called a fantasia instead of symphony until right before the premiere—is an easier nut to crack than No. 4. Yet neither symphony is inscrutable; each will reveal its glories with time and continued application.
I counsel against starting your Sibelian journey with Symphony No. 1 in E Minor. That's not to imply anything wrong, per se, with the work; to the contrary, it's filled with magic and makes a phenomenal impression. But it's probably heard best in hindsight as a precursor to the mature Sibelius of, say, the 5th or 3rd symphonies. If you're starting a Sibelius exploration from scratch, this might make for a worthwhile listening order: No. 5, No. 3, No. 2, No. 1, No. 6, No. 7, No. 4.
Be prepared to devoted some solid quality time to the journey. Nobody would presume to think that a single hearing of a Brahms symphony suffices to unwrap the work; ditto Sibelius. These are symphonies to be savored, to be heard and re-heard, to be thought about and mulled over and played through and talked about. Give yourself time.
Recordings: fortunately, there are plenty of superb ones out there. Even better, some of the very best come in complete sets. I don't pretend to know all of the available fare—but I have definitely put in my time and then some. Thus my thoughts on some of the big-league sets.
Osmo Vanska, Lahti Symphony Orchestra (BIS)
Captured in pristine audio by Swedish label BIS, these remarkable performances from Finland's number-two orchestra are widely available in singles, in a box set, or as part of the immense complete Sibelius project. Light-footed, clear, precise, played and conducted with absolute commitment, they bound from strength to strength. Maybe the Lahtians don't have the string effulgence of the Berliners, the luminosity of the San Franciscans, or the Bostonians' sure technique. But they have a magic all their own and an inner vitality second to none. I should mention that Vanska appears to be recording a new Sibelius cycle, this time with the Minnesota Orchestra. Judging from the first volume (symphonies 2 and 5), it's going to be another hole-in-one, home-run, touchdown, [your choice of worn-out sports metaphor here.]
Leif Segerstam, Helsinki Philharmonic (Ondine)
Finland's number-one orchestra, led by a fine composer and sterling product of the world's finest state-supported music education system, and recorded by a gold-class label, this is a set that simply could not fail to please. Everything about it breathes class, refinement, and intelligence—all critical attributes for Sibelian success. The Seventh is particularly fine, but everything in this patrician set is worthy of attention. To add to the festivities, the box set also includes a superlative performance of Sibelius's early and beloved violin concerto.
Herbert Blomstedt, San Francisco Symphony (Decca)
Blomstedt's decade in San Francisco produced a glorious series of Decca recordings, none more compelling than his complete Sibelius cycle. If you still need convincing that Sibelius has slipped free of the nationalist ghetto, be advised that this is a Swedish-American conductor leading not only an American orchestra, but a West Coast one, and a relatively young one at that. There's nothing remotely secondhand here, no sense of a performance in translation. Blomstedt's sure command of his tonal forces and the orchestra's elegant virtuosity carry the day in what could well be the finest Sibelius cycle of them all. Fortunately, Decca has allowed this one to stay continuously in print—which is more than you can say for the bulk of the Blomstedt/SFS recordings, many of which are now best acquired via ArkivMusic's "ArkivCD" reprint program.
Colin Davis, Boston Symphony Orchestra (Decca/Philips)
Recorded in rich analog audio by Philips, this is a near-legendary set amongst audiophiles and Sibelians alike. The mighty BSO might have slipped a bit of late, but that wasn't the case in the mid-1970s when Sir Colin—who has these symphonies in his DNA—captured them at their Olympian best. Davis has recorded the Sibelius cycle at other times and in other places, but this is the one to get. Fortunately it has become easily available in a handy-dandy Decca/Philips "Collectors Edition" re-issue. Not to be missed.
Okko Kamu and Herbert von Karajan, Berlin Philharmonic and the Helsinki Radio Symphony (Deutsche Grammophon)
Karajan was a Sibelian second to none with the greatest orchestra of them all at his disposal. You've got Gerd Seifert et al soaring to heaven in the "swan theme" in the finale of the Fifth, you've got string playing beyond belief in the Fourth, you've got a bleakly introverted Seventh that must have struck a deeply responsive chord in the surprisingly private Herbert von Karajan. But best of all is the Sixth. It's obvious that Karajan utterly cherished it. Each one of his three recordings—with the Philharmonia Orchestra in 1955, then in Berlin in 1967 and 1980—is a precious jewel, but I give overall pride of place to the 1967 traversal, my all-time favorite performance of one of my all-time favorite symphonies. Karajan protegé Okko Kamu got his chance to steer the Berliners through the radiantly romantic Symphony No. 2 in D Major. It was my first performance of my first Sibelius symphony, so I'm hard-pressed to approach it objectively. I'll just say that it rocks and leave it at that. For symphonies 1 & 3 Kamu helmed the Helsinki Radio Symphony—and they made a fine job of it, too. I'll allow that they're not the Berlin Philharmonic. But what the hell: sometimes even the Berlin Philharmonic isn't the Berlin Philharmonic, if you get my drift.