Bohuslav Martinu Symphony No. 1

Summary

Sticky Notes: The Classical Music Podcast
Host: Joshua Weilerstein
Episode: Bohuslav Martinů Symphony No. 1 (August 6, 2026)

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Episode Overview

In this rich, exploratory episode, conductor Joshua Weilerstein takes listeners on an in-depth guided tour of Bohuslav Martinů’s Symphony No. 1. Weilerstein, a passionate advocate for Martinů’s underappreciated genius, offers an engaging mix of biography, historical context, and musical analysis. With vivid audio examples and memorable turns of phrase, he helps demystify Martinů's unique style, drawing connections to broader musical trends and sharing why this composer’s “all over the place energy” resonates so deeply. This episode is especially valuable for both newcomers and seasoned classical fans curious about this exhilarating, inventive 20th-century symphony.

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Key Discussion Points and Insights

Introduction and Context ([00:07]–[04:20])

• Virgil Thomson’s Praise: Weilerstein opens by citing influential critic Virgil Thomson, who called Martinů’s first symphony “a beaut. It is wholly lovely and doesn’t sound like anything else.” ([02:00])
• Personal Affinity: “Martinu is one of my favorite of the underrated composers.”
• Martinu’s Move to the U.S.: Refugee in 1941, wrote his first symphony at age 51 after a commission from Serge Koussevitzky of the Boston Symphony.

Martinů’s Life and Musical Development ([04:20]–[12:17])

• Roots and Influences:
  • Born 1890 in modern Czechia, prodigy violinist.
  • Studied under Josef Suk, encouraged in the romantic tradition.
  • 1923: Moves to Paris, absorbs jazz, atonality, Stravinsky-esque rhythms, and avant-garde innovations.
  • “The Roaring Twenties—an explosion of artistic development and innovation.”
• Emergence of Style:
  • Initial experimental output evolves into neoclassicism: “A way for composers to innovate without having to grapple with atonality.”
  • Noted for blending “piquant dissonances with almost hypertonal music…creating contrast and life.”
• War and Exile:
  • Double Concerto reflects despair at Nazi occupation; banned by Nazis.
  • Escapes to the U.S. with help from conductor Charles Munch.

The First Symphony in Historical and Musical Context ([12:17]–[22:24])

• Symphonic Tradition: Martinu “wasn’t previously interested in symphonies,” unlike Brahms—his venture was spurred more by circumstance than self-doubt.
• Artistic Approach:
  • “The result of this first symphony is a piece of remarkable contrast, energy, light, boisterousness, and hope, considering the situation in his homeland.”
  • Martinů writes four symphonies in four years after emigrating to America.
• Musical Language & Structure:
  • Characteristic use of chromatic scales to blur tonality (“resolving chaos”); early first movement likened to the ending of the Beatles' “A Day in the Life.” ([10:00])

Quote:

“There’s a kind of attempt to resolve chaos in this opening through those constantly searching chromatic scales. But once the tension resolves, we get a melodic line…absolutely typical Martinu, with its embrace of tonality, syncopation, and off balance rhythms that suggest dance…” ([10:20])

• Technical Insights:
  • Martinu’s music is difficult for orchestras: “The syncopations and the melodies require a lot of concentration, and the rhythmic density always have the potential to trip an orchestra up.” ([12:17])
  • Ingenious orchestration: combining winds, harp, and piano creates clarity and brilliance. ([13:04])

First Movement: Themes, Tension, and Homages ([13:04]–[22:24])

• Theme Treatments:
  • First theme—typical Martinu: tonality, dance-like syncopation, constant development.
  • Second theme—fragmented, darker, “Prokofiev acidity with harmonies constantly changing between minor and major keys.”
  • Noted for enigmatic, ambiguous moods (“not threatening, but not really cheerful either”).
• Development Section:
  • References to Smetana’s Moldau (“Like a slightly distorted version…as viewed by a homesick composer 4,000 miles away.” [19:12])
  • Contrast is constant: cold, syncopated clarinets vs. dark, rich strings.
• Recap and Coda:
  • Martinu blends recapitulation and coda—ending ambiguously in B major, “not heroic, a bit enigmatic.”
• Memorable Moment:

  “It’s a perfect ending to this beautiful, somewhat joyful, but certainly enigmatic movement…” ([22:24])

Second Movement (Scherzo): Rhythmic Games and Excitement ([22:24]–[33:14])

• Complex Rhythms:
  • “It’s hard to describe just how tricky this movement is for the orchestra…Martinu keeps displacing where the beat is.”
  • Possible homage to the Czech “furiant” dance—constantly shifting between feeling like it’s in two or three.
  • “From time to time, Martinu resets the rhythm…only to jump away again.”
• Oboe Theme and Pastoral Middle Section (Trio):
  • Wistful, nostalgic oboe melody emerges; gives way to “warm, comforting, even sweet” string harmonies.
  • Playful scherzo music, bright and cheerful.
  • Layers of sound: “The piano plays a kind of lilting rhythm…accompanied by strange, mysterious, shimmering orchestral color.”
  • Trio combines major motivic material from earlier movements; rhythmic layering (“theme in 6/8 against accompaniment in 3/4”).
  • “This begins a long, massive crescendo…one of the most thrilling moments of the piece.” ([30:15])
• Repeat of Scherzo Section:
  • “Allows us to revel in the rhythms that might have passed us by in a whirlwind the first time around.”

Third Movement: Profound Lament and Transformations ([33:14]–[46:51])

• Contrast and Mood:
  • Begins “extremely slowly and quietly…a chromatically inflected line that might remind you of Shostakovich.” ([33:14])
  • Repeatedly shifts between major and minor, creating “little points of light amid the very dark shading.”
  • Suggests funeral march, unspoken wartime despair.
  • “This is deeply personal music, and it stands out from the rest of the piece.” ([43:00])
• Orchestration and Texture:
  • Increasing density: up to 12 orchestral lines beneath a single melody.
  • Harp, piano, pizzicato strings, and English horn create “brittle fragility.”
  • “A passionate, almost desperate kind of prayer.”
• Climactic Moments:
  • Strings divided into 12 lines for harmonic intensity; bass drum and percussion underscore a “passionate cry of pain.” ([45:07])
  • Ends paralleling opening movement, but in “lamenting E minor,” giving the sense of “two versions of the same story.”

Quote:

“Martinu specifically brings back this color for his ending, almost like he’s presenting two versions of the same story. One that ends in B major, one that ends in E minor. It’s a brilliant touch…” ([46:51])

Fourth Movement: Synthesis and Celebration ([46:51]–[60:04])

• Return of Motifs and Themes:
  • Begins ominously, referencing flute lines from the third movement.
  • Cheerful, jaunty theme (oboe, then strings) emerges; described as “classic Martinu.”
  • Second theme: playful, folk-like, syncopated.
  • “Martinu is already starting to tie the whole piece together. Right at the beginning of this movement…” ([47:00])
• Musical Development:
  • Warm “chorale-like” B section: “my favorite kind of Martinu flavor…richly scored for winds with lush harmonies.”
  • Chromatic scales create momentum “like rushing water…to something massive and powerful.”
  • Wild development, dramatic brass and percussion, culminating in “the most exciting moment of the movement.” ([52:45])
• Valedictory Calm and Sudden Dread:
  • The music calms, processes earlier material, when suddenly a “shocking minor chord and a shiver in the strings…gives this music a quietly terrifying character.” ([54:53])
  • Coda brings everything together: “It’s the chromatic scales, the buildups…all of it can be solved with the chromatic scales which drive us over the edge into a wild celebration.” ([57:00])
  • Symphony ends with “life affirming energy…one of the most thrilling endings to any 20th century symphony.” ([60:04])

Final Reflections and Quotes ([60:04]–[61:42])

• Martinu’s Unique Appeal:
  • “To love Martinu’s music, you have to revel a bit in its chaos—the jump cuts, the emotional contrast, the harmonic language, the energy itself.”
  • Weilerstein notes that to some, the music might seem “all over the place,” but for him, “that all over the place energy is exactly what I love about Martinu.” ([60:04])
• Commitment to Further Exploration:
  • “You and I will definitely be exploring more Martinu in episodes to come.”

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Memorable Quotes

• “The Martinu Symphony is a beaut. It is wholly lovely and doesn’t sound like anything else.” (Virgil Thomson, cited at [02:00])
• “Martinu is one of my favorites of the underrated composers, so it’s a thrill to get to talk to you about him today.” ([05:40])
• “His music is really difficult to play… the rhythmic density of his accompaniments always have the potential to trip an orchestra up.” ([12:30])
• “There’s an enigmatic quality…perhaps it’s also the chromatic intervals that are constantly present in the accompaniment.” ([15:00])
• “It’s like a slightly distorted version of the Moldau, perhaps as viewed by a homesick composer 4,000 miles away.” ([19:12])
• “This is deeply personal music, and it stands out from the rest of the piece.” ([43:00])
• “To love Martinu’s music, you have to revel a bit in its chaos—the jump cuts, the emotional contrast, the harmonic language, the energy itself.” ([60:04])

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Timestamps for Important Segments

• Introduction, Martinu’s Background — [00:07]–[12:17]
• First Movement In-depth Analysis — [12:17]–[22:24]
• Second Movement (Scherzo, Trio, Repeat) — [22:24]–[33:14]
• Third Movement (Lament, Orchestration, Climax) — [33:14]–[46:51]
• Fourth Movement (Themes, Recap, Coda, Finale) — [46:51]–[60:04]
• Closing Thoughts, Martinu’s Legacy — [60:04]–[61:42]

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Episode Takeaways

• Joshua Weilerstein’s guided journey through Martinu’s Symphony No. 1 offers a compelling entry point into the work of a neglected 20th-century master.
• Listeners are invited to appreciate Martinu’s rhythmic inventiveness, orchestral color, emotional depth, and structural boldness.
• The episode underscores the personal and historical forces that shaped this vibrant symphony and makes a persuasive case for exploring Martinu’s unique musical universe.

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If you’re intrigued by rhythmic play, lush orchestration, and music that dances between hope and melancholy, Martinu’s first symphony—and this episode—offers an exciting and deeply rewarding listen.

Transcript

[A]

Hello and welcome to Sticky Notes, the classical music podcast. My name is Joshua Weilerstein, I'm a conductor and I'm the music director of the Orchestra national de l' Isle and the chief conductor of the Aalborg Symphony. This podcast is for anyone who loves classical music, works in the field, or is just getting ready to dive into this amazing world of incredible music. Before we get started, I want to thank all of my Patreon sponsors for making season 10 possible. If you'd like to support the show, please head over to patreon.com stickynotespodcast and if you are a fan of the show, please take a moment to give us a rating or review on Apple Podcasts or Spotify. It is greatly appreciated. I am currently in preparation for the new season. We are going to be starting in Lille with the Orchestra Nacional de Lille at the end of August with two wonderful programs in La Chaise Dieu, which is an incredible cathedral. I really encourage you to look it up in the south central part of France. Two different programs featuring some of the great romantic symphonies like Schumann's second and Brahms first. Really, really really excited for those two programs. For today's episode I've got another Patreon sponsored episode by Pere Cassand Bonet of Martin first Symphony and as I will mention in the show, Martinu is one of my favorite of the underrated composers and I also wanted to just make one more plug for my Patreon page because this episode as I said was sponsored on Patreon, which you can do if you sign [e-mail] thekinotespodcast where we are also doing a long running series now of 21 episodes on Schubert's unbelievable song cycle Die Schnemulleren. It has been a pleasure to be doing that cycle with everybody on the community there talking about recordings and everything like that. So I really do encourage you to check it out. And in the meantime, Martinu's first Symphony I really hope you enjoy. Took a lot to make the composer and critic Virgil Thompson happy. He was famous for singing savaging new works he didn't like. And the truth is he didn't really like very many new works at all. One exception was Boslav Martinu's very first symphony written in 1942. Thompson said this the Martinu Symphony is a beaut. It is wholly lovely and doesn't sound like anything else. The story of how this symphony came to be is as fascinating as the music itself and is also pretty perfectly in keeping with the relentless curiosity of Martinu as a composer. Martinu, a prolific composer who wrote nearly 400 works, had just arrived in the US in 1941 as a refugee from war torn Czechoslovakia. He was 51 years old and had never written a symphony before. This delay wasn't a case of crushing self doubt like in the case of Brahms. It was actually a seeming lack of interest in the symphonic genre, which was not unusual at the time. But in 1942, Martinu sent a letter to Serge Koussevitzky, the music director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra and a friend to the dozens of refugee composers who had arrived from Europe during the early days of World War II. Koussevitzky commissioned Martinu to write a large scale work and Martinu responded with his first symphony. A perfect welcome to his new home and to the grand adventure Martinu was setting off in in a new country that he found intimidating, exciting and and full of opportunity. The result of this first symphony is a piece of remarkable contrast, energy, light, boisterousness and hope, considering the situation in his homeland. As the sponsor of this episode, Pere Cassand Bonnet said, the symphony is a pool of energy that makes me feel optimistic even at my most lower points. We'll start today with a quick overview of Martinu's life and work since he might not be the most familiar composer to you. And then we'll talk our way through this incredible first symphony. Martinu has always been one of my favorites of the underrated composers, so it's a thrill to get to talk to you about him today. All this and more is coming right up on sticky notes. Martinu was born in 1890 in a church bell tower in modern day Czechia. He was a precocious talent with an apparent ability to memorize huge amounts of music with ease. He was a terrific violinist and was a full time member of the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra for a short period, which allowed him to meet conductors who could promote all of the music Martinu was writing. He also studied under one of the great Czech composers, Joseph Souk, who encouraged Martinu to write in a very romantic style. But in 1923, Martinu left Czechoslovakia for Paris where he encountered the roiling innovations of the avant garde. This was the Roaring Twenties, an explosion of artistic development and innovation that incorporated the new American invention of jazz, the startling newness of atonality, the angular and shocking rhythms of Stravinsky, whose Rite of spring from 1913 was still sending shockwaves through Europe, and the surrealist composers inspired by the wild experimentation in the art and theater world. It was A period of experimentation for so many composers, and Martineau was no exception, writing dozens of experimental works that particularly incorporated Stravinsky esque rhythms with lots of harmonies influenced by Jazz. In 1927, Martineau had one of these pieces, La Bagar, inspired by Charles Lindbergh's flight across the Atlantic, premiered by Serge Koussevitzky and the Boston Symphony, inaugurating the relationship that would lead to the First Symphony. By the 1930s, Martinu had found his style neoclassicism. This was a way for composers to innovate without having to grapple with atonality, which so many composers still found difficult to embrace. I mentioned Sibelius and Rachmaninoff 2 weeks ago in my episode about Sibelius. Tapiola and Martinu really falls into this category as well. Martinu's style would end up blending piquant dissonances with almost hypertonal music, creating contrast and life without embracing atonality. Martinu was building a successful career for himself, but by the late 1930s, the situation had changed. Perhaps one of the greatest works of this period, Martineau's Double Concerto for Two String Orchestras, Piano and Timpani, is an anguished peace that reflected Martinu's despair over the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia, the loss of his homeland and his fears for the future. This is an extraordinary piece and one that I will cover in the future. But continuing with our story, Martinu attempted to join the Czech resistance force, but was rejected due to his age. He instead devoted his time to helping Czech refugees escape and composing works that glorified Czech resistance. The Nazis noticed, banning his music and promising to arrest him. As the Nazis approached Paris, the conductor Charles Munch stepped in, sheltering the Martinu family and then helping them arrange transport to the United States, where the Martinues arrived in 1941. Life was not easy for Martinu at first in the us, but he soon embraced the country and its opportunities, and his prolific composing never slowed down. This brings us to the First Symphony. The symphony itself was the ultimate ambition for so many composers up through the Romantic era, unless they were Wagnerians who believed that the symphony was dead. 20th century composers split on this, with some embracing the old symphonic ideal, Sibelius and Rachmaninoff again, but also Shostakovich, Prokofiev and many others, and some embracing the smorgasbord of other options. This tended to be Martinu, but perhaps the grandness of his new home inspired something grand inside of Martinu, who wrote four symphonies in just four years in the us. Let's go into the First Symphony now, which incorporates many of the things we've been talking about in this introduction. The chords that Martinu uses for these blocks of harmonic changes aren't very complicated, mostly just minor and major chords, but the way he gets to them are through a series of chromatic scales which blur the edges of the chords and make them less obviously tonal. One commentary I read about the piece compared this moment at the beginning to the end of the Beatles song A Day in the Life, which I thought was a really nice comparison. There's a kind of attempt to resolve chaos in this opening through those constantly searching chromatic scales. But once the tension resolves, we get a melodic line and a first theme in this sonata form movement that is absolutely typical Martinu, with its embrace of tonality, syncopation and off balance rhythms that suggest dance without fully embracing it. Martin New instantly begins to develop this theme. And it's here where I can add one more aspect of Martinu's music to the picture. His music is really difficult to play. The syncopations and the melodies require a lot of concentration, and the rhythmic density of his accompaniments always have the potential to trip an orchestra up. Listen to this next section, a development of the first theme twice. First for the melody, but on the second time. Listen to the accompaniment and everything Martinu is doing.

[B]

Sam.

[A]

The density of his writing has to be treated really carefully by conductors who have to constantly work on clarity in Martinu's music. But I don't mean to suggest that Martinu wasn't a skilled orchestrator. Far from it. Listen to this next passage, where the syncopated melody is played by an ingenious combination of the winds, the harp and the piano. It creates line clarity and brilliance all at once. The first theme area comes to a close with Martinu combining the chromatic scale idea with his syncopated melody. As the strings bring this section to rest, we end up on an oscillating chord that suggests breathing like we're a bit out of breath and now need a reset for the second theme.

[B]

SAM.

[A]

But the transition to the second theme is full of those chromatic scales again. And in contrast to many second themes, which are intentionally quite a bit lighter than first themes. This second theme continues the syncopated idea of the first theme, but in a much more fragmented way. It is also darker in harmony, subverting our expectations. There's a bit of Prokofiev acidity as this theme develops with music that should be light and cheerful, shot through, with harmonies that are constantly changing between minor and major keys. This is certainly not threatening music, but it's also not really cheerful either. There is an enigmatic quality to it that belies its lightness. Perhaps it's also the chromatic intervals that are constantly present in the accompaniment. This leads to an extraordinary passage of mystery where the syncopated ideas float over an accompaniment of trilling upper strings and most importantly, a soft snare drum roll. This exposition section has taken us on quite the journey, and we are really unsure of where Martinu wants to take us. The development section begins, like many development sections do, with a descent into the darker sides of Martinu's themes. The theme is placed in the low strings, while the violins continue their high trills, creating a huge gulf of register between them. Additionally, Martinu has the chromatic scale idea present in the winds, but the feeling here is uneasy and this sense of threat begins to increase little by little. As this section continues, it becomes clear to me that it is a bit of an homage to the Moldau movement from Smetna's Mavlast. Here's the Smetna. And here's Martinu.

[B]

It.

[A]

It's much more dense, much more threatening and much more pungent harmonically than the Moldau. But the sense of slithering lines, long moments of harmonic stasis, and the orchestration relying a lot on the flute reminds me unmistakably of the Smetna. It's like a slightly distorted version of the Moldau, perhaps as viewed by a homesick composer 4,000 miles away. And then we get another typical Martin new moment. The Moldau music fades away and the clarinets play a strangely cold, oscillating syncopation, which is responded to by the same rhythm, but in a richly dark harmony in the strings. This kind of contrast is so typical of Martinu and why I love his music so much. It's constantly keeping you on your toes.

[B]

Sam.

[A]

But now the static syncopations begin to rise in intensity and also to be inspired by that rich harmony in the strings. The music begins to take flight and each four bar phrase becomes richer and richer, more and more melodic, more and more tonal, and more and more Martinu. The breakthrough is delayed briefly by the strings, but when it comes, it is the most violent and dissonant music in the piece so far, which only serves to give us the real breakthrough through just a few moments later, as the trumpets come in like conquering heroes with sun kissed music that lifts the heart.

[B]

Sam.

[A]

But drama is never far away in this movement. It's a bit like the Joyful music can't quite believe in itself. Perhaps thanks to the time that this symphony was written and Martinu's personal situation, this drama leads us back to a recapitulation of those mysterious opening chromatic scales. This sounds like a traditional recapitulation, but the truth is the movement is almost over. Martinu has bowed to symphonic tradition in one element, having two themes in his exposition and a clear development section. But he's combined the coda and the recapitulation together, making this a bit more of a symphonic poem movement rather than a typical sonata form movement. I stopped it right there for a reason. That B major chord was the result of the first set of these chromatic explorations in the introduction of the movement. But this time, Martinu doesn't sit on that B major chord right to the end. Instead, for one measure, he explores sadness before ending the movement on a slightly enigmatic B major rather than a heroic one. It's a perfect ending to this beautiful, somewhat joyful, but certainly enigmatic movement, and it sets us up for the rest of the piece. The second movement is a scherzo, and it is a movement of dizzying complexity and excitement. In terms of rhythm, him, it's very hard to tell where the downbeat is in this music, or even where the next attack will come from. But this is all par for the course for Martinu, who revels in these rhythmic displacements to create a movement that dances throughout with ever growing excitement. It's hard to describe just how tricky this movement is for the orchestra, because Martinou keeps displacing where the beat is. In fact, he might be doing a bit of an homage to the Furion, the dance I talked about in my Dvorak Piano Quintet episode. A dance which is in three, but can easily feel like it's in two. You might have actually thought that the introduction was in 2, but it is in 3, 4, making it a nightmare for orchestral musicians to count. From time to time, though, Martinu resets the rhythm so we feel a strong downbeat, only to jump away again to the furiant like rhythm. A massive buildup leads to a fanfare like motive from the trumpets, the first sustained moment where we feel like we've got a clear sense of the beat. Naturally, Martinu uses that moment as a transition to his second theme, music that couldn't be any more contrasting. An oboe emerges with a wistful and nostalgic theme over the top of this furiant rhythm. As Martinou develops this, he gives the theme to the first violins but in a harmonic language that is warm, comforting, and even sweet. This leads to playful scherzo music that is as bright and cheerful as it comes comes. We are a far cry from the rhythmic and harmonic complexity of the first section of the movement. But nothing stays the same for very long in this movement. As Martinou picks up the tempo, he takes us to the coda of this big A section with another brilliant orchestration. Martinu was a big proponent of using the piano in orchestral scores, something that was not all that common. The piano plays a kind of lilting rhythm that is accompanied by some of that strange, mysterious, shimmering kind of orchestral color that we heard in the first movement. This begins a long, massive crescendo. Listen to how Martinu adds to the orchestra in layers. First a quiet cymbal crash, then the brass. This is one of the most thrilling moments of the piece, and it feels like it never stops, stops growing. At the peak, we hear that three against two rhythm in all its glory, taking us to the end of the A section and setting us up for the middle section, called the trio. The beginning of the trio brings together a few elements that we have already heard in the piece. The oboe leads the orchestra in a beautiful pastoral melodic line that is nevertheless highly syncopated, reminding us of the first movement. And the responses from the orchestra to the beautiful melody are those same mysterious chromatic scales that started and ended the first movement. And remember that the oboe led the second theme of the scherzo. So in this pastoral moment of country calm, Martinu is subtly bringing everything together. Now Martinu starts some rhythmic games, playing a theme in 6, 8, 1 and 2, and against an accompaniment in 3, 4. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. This brings us back to some of the excitement of the scherzo, while retaining the pastoral character of the movement. Perhaps a country dance is starting to up. After a Spanish music inflected outburst, the trills and chromatic scales return again, almost another homage to the Moldau idea. These motivic ideas are once again used as transitionary material, as Martinu slowly winds them down until only the piano remains. Then the percussion quickly strike up the band, and we return right back to where we started.

[B]

Sa.

[A]

Martinu repeats the entire Scherzo section now, which is great because it allows us to revel in the rhythms that might have passed us by in a whirlwind the first time around. I love this movement, particularly for this scintillating use of rhythm. So I'll play you now the entire repeat of that A section. Listen for the two against three furiant the orchestral color, the enigmatic oboe solo that is resolved by the strings, the playfulness and of course, the pure excitement of this music. The third movement is a profound contrast to the energy and brightness of the scherzo, but also to the gentle flowing energy of the first. It begins extremely slowly and quietly, with the low strings playing a chromatically inflected line that might remind you of Shostakovich's music. This is very quiet music, so I do recommend you turn your volume up a bit to hear it. The violins then join, along with deep bells tolling in the piano part. This theme is very dark and is more of a lament than anything else. One of the most important things about it is the constant shifting Martinu does between minor and major keys. It's like little points of light amid the very dark shading of this melody. Slowly, Martinu begins to build out his orchestration, adding more winds to this lament. It's impossible to avoid the year that this symphony was written, 1946, and the context of Martinu finding out what had happened to his homeland. There's no direct evidence that this was the goal of this movement, but I certainly hear an element of despair, an element of a funeral march in this music. Once again, as Martinu builds this music, that major minor coloring continues. We arrive on an E major chord for a moment before almost immediately falling off of it to E minor. All the while, the bells on the

[B]

piano continue to toll.

[A]

This builds to a huge climax, with the chromatic scales that have haunted the piece returning as an accompaniment. This is the emotional height of the piece so far, and it is overwhelmingly, entirely it. But just at the precipice, Martinu turns away without an arrival and takes us to a kind of mystical place. The orchestration here is incredibly dense, with 12 different accompanimental lines going on at the same time underneath a lonely melody. And yet, harmonically, the music turns us slightly towards a more hopeful feeling. But this hope was quite illusory. That slightly hopeful atmosphere dissipates as Martinu shows off yet another brilliant and innovative orchestration. Harp, piano and pizzicato strings create a feeling of brittle fragility underneath a mournful English horn solo that plays its theme in fragments. Fragments. The trumpet then takes over the melody from the opening, and that brief middle section comes to an end as Martinou goes back to his string heavy orchestration for a continuation of the lament chorale from the beginning of the movement. Listen to the different harmonic surprises here. To me, there must be a religious element to this music. It feels like a passionate, almost desperate kind of prayer, with each resolution giving us one moment of hope, followed by a move on to the next. Lament. This is deeply personal music, and it stands out from the rest of the piece. Two flutes mournfully signal the beginning of the coda of the movement, as Martinu once again begins to build. Perhaps this time we will reach the arrival we've been waiting for since that early climax. Martinou divides the string section into 12 individual lines, allowing him to create the maximum density to his harmony. As the rest of the orchestra joins, the rhythmic movement becomes more and more prominent. As this movement, which has been glacially slow so far, seems to get faster, even though Martinu doesn't change the tempo, it's as if this lamenting beast has been fully awakened. A bass drum hammers away. The rest of the orchestra starts to play Sign Gestures. And in a climax that reminds me, in a way, of the climax of the first movement of Tchaikovsky's Sixth Symphony, the lament culminates in a passionate cry of pain, punctuated by the percussion.

[B]

Sam.

[A]

But Martinu is full of surprises. As we move away from this climactic moment, he returns to the chromatic scales and those block harmonic changes. It's like this music is being transfigured before our eyes. And unlike in the first movement, which ended on that beautiful B major, we end this third movement in a lamenting E minor. But the parallels between the movement's endings are unavoidable. Martinu specifically brings back this color for his ending, almost like he's presenting two versions of the same story. One that ends in B major, one that ends in E minor. It's a brilliant touch that continues to draw together the symphony's journey.

[B]

Sam.

[A]

The fourth movement picks up the tempo quite a bit, but seems to be staying in a dark mood. The winds play a theme that seem to be a warning of something ominous to come. Do you remember that strange moment with the flutes playing alone in the third movement? Well, here it is again, and it's used as a transition to the main theme in the movement. It was actually transitional material in the third movement, too, but it was in a slower tempo and more substantial there, so it feels completely different. But actually, Martinu is already starting to tie the whole piece together. Right at the beginning of this movement, A cheerful theme emerges out of this mysterious transition, led by the oboes and then taken over by the strings. This is jaunty and bouncy music that is nevertheless shot through with pungent harmonies and dissonances. In other words, classic Martinu. A second theme quickly arrives, which is also playful, slightly ironic, and full of syncopations. Unlike many Eastern European composers, Martinu was not a composer who dabbled a lot in folk music. But I definitely get a sense of a folk music influence in this second theme as it dances along. We return back to the main theme, which passes around the orchestra with dizzying speed. This first section comes to a close with a huge arrival that almost sounds like the end of the piece. But then the violas take us by the hand to lead us to the B section. The B section is another chorale like theme, and this is really my favorite kind of Martinu flavor. It's richly scored for the winds with lush harmonies which have this kind of hypertonal quality to them them. This is warm, naive music with some very playful memories of the first theme in the piano part. None of this is meant to be taken that seriously. It's simple music, like 20th century Dvorak. As this section develops, the chromatic scales return, marking their presence in all four movements. The orchestration, which had thinned out for the B section, now becomes more and more dense, and the chromatic scales passing around the orchestra give us a feeling like rushing water is taking us to somewhere absolutely massive and powerful. But Martinu suddenly moves away from the precipice to bring us back to the first them.

[B]

Sa.

[A]

We arrive at an almost development of sorts, with the theme being thrown around the orchestra and with a hugely dramatic character led by the brass, with lots of percussion interruption sections. The section culminates with a massive theme played by the whole string section, the first time this color has occurred in the whole piece. All while the winds in brass continue the dotted rhythm, the percussion hammer away. This is a wild and glorious moment, and it is the most exciting moment of the movement. The second theme returns, but despite all the syncopations, it feels much calmer than anything we've heard in this movement. There's that contrast again. There's a valedictory feeling to this music, like it's taking everything in it that we have experienced throughout and is processing it, synthesizing it, and accepting it. This is my favorite moment of the whole piece, and I really find it truly touching. The piccolo and flute play a kind of tag to this music, and we seem to be heading toward a calm end, until a shocking minor chord and a shiver in the strings suddenly gives this music a quietly terrifying character. What happened here? It's like a terrible memory suddenly intruded on our rumination. And now Martinu will have to deal with this as we enter the coda.

[B]

Sam.

[A]

This wandering music, still trying to come to terms with that minor chord, fades away until only a single flute is left.

[B]

Sam.

[A]

The coda begins here, like a car revving up, and Martinu decides to cast away all of that doubt and bring us back to the cheerful first theme. But we need some sort of breakthrough here, and Martinu knows just where to find it. Yes, it's the chromatic scales, the buildups in this movement, the diversions to more dramatic and stormy music. All of it can be solved with the chromatic scales which drive us over the edge into a wild celebration. All the themes of the piece return with joyful syncopations and we rush to the end of the piece, full of life affirming energy. It's one of the most thrilling endings to any 20th century symphony, and it caps off this symphony with the excitement it deserves.

[B]

Sam.

[A]

To me, Martinu is truly one of the most underrated composers of the 20th century. His language is unusual and totally unique and for some listeners it remains a bit impenetrable. I remember doing one of Martinu's pieces called the Rock and a friend of mine who I respect hugely said to me afterwards it's a bit all over the place, but to me that all over the place energy is exactly what I love about Martinu. To love Martinu's music, you have to revel a bit in its chaosthe jump cuts, the emotional contrast, the harmonic language, the energy itself. I hope that this episode has gone a bit of the way to demystifying that language for you. You and I will definitely be exploring more Martinu in episodes to come. This episode was mixed by Charlie Kozella, so a huge thank you to him. We'll have some more exciting stuff for you in a couple of weeks, so check Miss our next episode. If you like what you heard today, please feel free to rate and review the show on Apple Podcasts or Spotify. It really helps the show gain more visibility. Please send any questions to stickynotespodcastmail.com and if you'd like to support the podcast monetarily, just head over to patreon.com stickynotespodcast thanks and I'll talk to you again after a while.

[B]

Sam.