Symphony in D Minor

From moodily expectant minor-key mysticism, César Franck’s one and only symphony eventually bursts into life with a barnstorming assertiveness and earworm tunes that explain why it became so popular during the early 20th century—classically recorded by conductors like Furtwängler, Munch and Monteux—even though it doesn’t feature in performance quite so often now. First heard in 1889 in Paris, it was a product of the composer’s late-flowering creative peak (which hardly flowered at all until he reached his fifties), and audiences were initially disturbed by the way it tackled a German phenomenon, the symphony, from a French perspective. French composers tended not to write symphonies at all—and if they did, it was usually with some kind of twist, like the narrative of Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique or the solo instrument in Saint-Saens’ "Organ" Symphony. Here was Franck (born Belgian but adopted into France) handling symphonic structure on more or less straight terms—although they come with just three movements as against the standard four, alongside his idiomatic fondness for rapidly shifting harmonies and recurring themes. The massive opening movement has an upfront motif that will return again in the third, transformed from lugubriousness into upbeat joy. The second movement has a haunting melody for cor anglais above a harp and string accompaniment. And the finale pulls together themes already heard into a blaze of dazzling D major: a decisive ending to a piece that started so uncertainly.