Joachim Raff: Symphony No. 1 in D major, Op. 96, “To the Fatherland”
Rheinische Philharmonie/Samuel Friedmann
Naxos 8.555411 [65:00]
Joachim Raff—now there’s a name to conjure with, if you’re old enough to remember when his Cavatina turned up on violin recitals and the odd FM broadcast devoted to salon music.
The rest has vanished into that peculiar limbo reserved for composers who wrote too much, lived too long in greater men’s shadows, and committed the unpardonable sin of being popular in their own time. But this First Symphony, completed in 1861 and dedicated “To the Fatherland” with all the earnest nationalism that phrase implies, suggests we’ve been missing something. Not a masterpiece, mind you—let’s not get carried away.
Yet there’s considerable craft here, and moments of genuine inspiration that make one wonder why Raff’s eleven symphonies (yes, eleven) have languished while we’ve subjected ourselves to yet another production of the Brahms cycle. The opening Allegro announces its Wagnerian sympathies immediately—those brass chords could have wandered in from Lohengrin—before settling into a more Mendelssohnian idiom of rushing strings and civilized counterpoint. Raff clearly studied his Schumann as well; the thematic working is sophisticated without being labored, and there’s a structural confidence that belies the music’s extramusical program (German characteristics, from optimism to endurance, if you believe the annotations).
The Rheinische Philharmonie under Samuel Friedmann plays with crisp articulation, though I’d have welcomed more warmth in the string tone. The ensemble sounds slightly undernourished—not quite chamber-sized, but lacking the heft that would give these tuttis their proper weight. The "Scherzo" is where things get interesting.
A hunting scene, complete with horn calls that echo through an imaginary forest—nothing we haven’t heard before, you might say, and—well—you’d be right. But then Raff shifts gears into what sounds like genuine folksong (whether authentic or invented, I couldn’t say), and suddenly we’re in the meadows with the country folk. The rhythmic vitality here is genuine, not manufactured, and Friedmann catches the music’s essential good humor.
When the hunt returns—horns blazing, strings scurrying—there’s a satisfying sense of design. This isn’t mere scene-painting; it’s architecture. The Larghetto purports to depict family life and domestic stability, which might explain why it’s the least interesting movement.
Raff clearly felt obliged to slow down and get serious, but the contrapuntal development feels dutiful rather than inspired. The Rheinische strings produce a lovely sound in the lyrical passages, I’ll grant them that—a kind of burnished glow in the violins that almost compensates for the movement’s essential stodginess. Then comes the Allegro drammatico, and we’re plunged into rousing patriotism built around “Was ist des deutschen Vaterland,” Ernst Moritz Arndt’s anthem for German unity.
Wagner would have approved the sentiment, if not necessarily the execution. The orchestration here—and this is where one wishes Raff had learned less from his time with Liszt—tends toward the efficient rather than the inspired. Those swirling strings, that song-march treatment . . .
It’s all very well done, but there’s a whiff of the assembly line about it. Still, Friedmann keeps the momentum going, and the brass play with commendable enthusiasm if not always perfect unanimity. The "finale"—another Larghetto, sostenuto this time—extends to eighteen minutes and depicts, we’re told, the sorrows of a divided Germany.
Pulsating drum rolls, minor-key solemnity, war-weary trudging that eventually gives way to dreams of better times. It’s ambitious in scope and—well—surprisingly effective in execution, though I kept thinking how much Mahler would learn from this kind of trajectory (the march transformed by memory and longing). The Rheinische players sustain the long lines with admirable concentration, and Friedmann shapes the gradual transformation from darkness to light with real sensitivity.
A curious footnote: the annotator suggests a connection between Raff’s melodic material and Sullivan’s Yeomen of the Guard overture. Having now heard this symphony twice, I’m inclined to agree—there’s something in the rhythmic profile and orchestral texture that sounds uncannily familiar. Sullivan studied at Leipzig; Raff’s music was published there.
It’s not implausible. The recorded sound is warm and well-balanced, if slightly lacking in transparency during the denser passages. You can hear everything, but the hall acoustic (unspecified in the documentation I received) adds a pleasant bloom that occasionally obscures inner detail.
Should you acquire this disc? If you’re curious about the byways of nineteenth-century German Romanticism, absolutely. If you want to understand what Richard Strauss heard in his youth, certainly.
If you’re looking for undiscovered genius—well, lower your expectations a notch or two. Raff was a highly accomplished composer who wrote fluently in forms both traditional and progressive, who orchestrated with skill if not always with imagination, and who had something to say even if he sometimes took too long saying it. The real revelation here isn’t Raff—it’s Naxos, whose systematic exploration of forgotten repertoire continues to shame the major labels.
How many more symphonies like this are gathering dust because DG and Sony can’t be bothered to look beyond the standard repertoire? One dreads to think.
