Niels Viggo Bentzon
Symphony No. 5, Op. 61 Ellipser (1950) [36:19]
Symphony No.
7, Op. 83 Tre Versioner (1952) [28:54]
Aarhus Symphony Orchestra / Ole Schmidt
Recorded live at Kongreshuset Aarhus: Symphony No. 7 (5 April 1980), Symphony No.
5 (4 March 1982)
DACAPO 8.224111 [65:13]
Bentzon’s symphonies—particularly these mid-century works—offer a bracing plunge into a world where metamorphosis isn’t just a compositional conceit but an elemental, almost geological force. The Fifth Symphony, Ellipser, unfolds in five movements, each one a carefully chiseled segment of a broader architectural mass. There’s a palpable tension here, a feeling of being drawn into a vortex that never quite lets go—a sensation underscored from the very start in the Moderato’s restless under-pulse.
The Aarhus SO, under Ole Schmidt’s baton, render this kinetic energy with an immediacy that’s rare in performances of Bentzon, whose music can sometimes feel like a puzzle with missing pieces. The first movement is especially notable for its solo violin lines—aching, chant-like, recalling the otherworldly strains; of Hovhaness, yet set against a plangent, Tippett-esque string backdrop that lends a kind of ancient solemnity. This strange blend—icy yet fervent—creates a sonic tableau that’s both enigmatic and viscerally human.
And then, the "Allegro" follows with a bracing urgency. The rhythms here are jagged, almost pugnacious, evoking those crystalline caverns Bentzon metaphorically sketches in the score. You can almost see the facets catching and fracturing light, the brass descending in ragged, Panufnikian fashion, carving out space with jagged edges.
The "Adagio" functions as a great edifice of strings—cold, yes, but intermittently warmed by furnace-like bursts of passion. I find this movement particularly gripping: it’s a study in contrasts, pulling you between detachment and raw emotion, a kind of measured grief. The second "Allegro"’s kaleidoscopic shifts remind one of Shostakovich’s inexorable tension-building, and yet Bentzon’s orchestration here veers into dreamier realms—a high, almost supernatural string warble hovering above the texture like some fragile apparition.
The final resolution descends gently, woodwinds holding sustained notes that dissolve into a classical-era repose, a moment of hard-won peace after the storm. Symphony No. 7, Tre Versioner, is less sprawling but no less intense.
Here, Bentzon compresses his ideas into a single-movement structure, which feels like a collision of Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra and the more sardonic, shadow-haunted Shostakovich of the 1940s. The Aarhus players meet this with fierce energy—warlike skirls and terse — clipped rhythmic cells that communicate a primal urgency. There’s a fascinating dialogue between violence and restraint, much like in Robert Simpson’s symphonies 4 and 5, where Bentzon’s influence is unmistakable.
Midway through, at around 16:34, a slightly different color emerges—shades of Nielsen’s Fourth and Sixth symphonies—where the music lingers in a kind of troubled, restless peace. The conclusion is all the more affecting for this ambiguity: a peace that’s uneasy, as if shaken by recent experience and haunted by lingering fears. Here, the ensemble’s dynamic control, particularly in the brass and woodwind sections, is crucial—and Schmidt’s leadership reveals an acute sensitivity to these shifting emotional landscapes.
To be frank, this release is not without its imperfections—occasional balances feel a shade uneven,; and the live acoustics at Kongreshuset lack the lushness one might desire in such woven textures. But these very limitations also lend a certain rawness that suits Bentzon’s idiom: a music that resists facile prettiness, demanding engagement rather than passive listening. In sum, these performances by the Aarhus SO under Ole Schmidt convey Bentzon’s metamorphic symphonies with a rare blend of vigor and insight.
This is music that demands attention: not always immediately gratifying but deeply rewarding for those willing to immerse themselves in its complex, often contradictory moods. The Fifth and Seventh symphonies stand as testament to Bentzon’s unique voice—a voice that, though sometimes overlooked, resonates with a modernist intensity and a profound humanism. If you’ve not ventured into Bentzon’s orchestral world before, this DACAPO release is an essential, if imperfect, gateway.
It challenges and compels, refusing to let its secrets remain hidden—and that, in the end, is the mark of music truly worth hearing.
