PAUL ALCAZAR – IS THE SYMPHONY DEAD?

The symphony is dead. Not only is it dead, but it also died long before the start of the 21st century. Some attribute this to Wagner’s dismissal of the form, while others blame Mahler, who pushed the symphony to its limits. After his Ninth Symphony – or charitably, his unfinished Tenth – what more could be said? Or perhaps the symphony truly died with Beethoven’s Ninth, a monumental proclamation of divine joy and love for mankind. Could such a message ever be surpassed? Was that the end of the symphony?

These are daunting, existential questions. The idea that the symphony ended is frightening, so much so that it may deter composers from writing new ones. How can a modern symphony compete with Beethoven’s towering achievements? The answer, perhaps, is that it cannot. But who is actually making this argument, that the symphony never escaped the early Romantic period? Few, at least explicitly. Yet, given the state of the modern repertoire, one might conclude that society is largely indifferent to new symphonies. Many prominent critics insist on this point, and minimal investigation into their claims proves quite damning.

A disquieting silence has settled over the 21st century: where are the new symphonies? Conductor and composer Leonard Bernstein made a similar observation in his address to the American Symphony Orchestra League: «For the last thirty years we have had no real symphonic history». He pointed to the 1950s as the last gasp of symphonists like Sibelius, Vaughan Williams, Britten, and Ives. Given that Bernstein himself wrote his last symphony in 1963, thirteen years after this supposed beginning-of-the-end, his remarks carry weight. «Where does that leave the symphony orchestra now? Obsolete? A doomed dinosaur?» he asked. «If the symphony orchestra grew hand-in-glove with the symphonic form itself, has it not declined correspondingly?». And if so, when did it happen? Two hundred years ago, in 1824?

Originally serving as overtures for operas and ballets, symphonies came into their own by the end of the Classical era, owing much to Haydn. For a time, the symphony became the cornerstone of orchestral music, a medium for formal and masterful expression. Composers like Schubert, Schumann, Mendelssohn, and Brahms carried Beethoven’s torch. Liszt blurred the lines between symphonies and tone poems, while Bruckner expanded sonata form into “cathedrals of sound,” paving the way for Mahler. By the early 1900s, Mahler had stretched the form to its breaking point. His death in 1911 marked the first serious debate about the symphony’s relevance, though Nielsen, Sibelius, Vaughan Williams, and Elgar kept the tradition alive for several more decades. According to Bernstein, however, by the 1950s, the symphony had fallen apart.

Yet, orchestras did not stagnate. Bernstein himself acknowledged that the years following the 1950s saw rapid musical innovation. Experimental works like Stockhausen’s Gruppen and Ligeti’s Atmosphères emerged, shifting the focus away from traditional symphonies. Despite this, Bernstein still viewed the symphony as something of a relic, bound for a metaphorical museum of sorts. If even he, a composer of three symphonies, saw them as antiquated, then perhaps our dedication to the form has come to an end.

If symphonies remain an inexhaustible well of creativity, why do orchestras primarily perform works by big names like Mozart, Beethoven, and Mendelssohn instead of embracing new symphonic composers? Is it nostalgia? Commercial viability? Or do conductors believe audiences will only stomach the tried-and-true masters? Even when orchestras attempt new symphonies, they rarely make headlines. No modern symphony – if performed at all – has had an impact comparable to those of the Romantic era. There is no Beethoven Nine being written today. Have modern composers simply given up?

Some argue that the symphony may have died even earlier. Could it have perished with Mozart, whose Jupiter Symphony was an exhilarating culmination of fugal counterpoint? Mozart refined Haydn’s foundational structures to perfection, expanded orchestration, and crafted some of the most ethereal music known to humanity. If no one – not even Beethoven – could surpass his genius, then perhaps the symphony ended in the 1790s. But this notion is absurd. Beethoven’s Ninth, widely regarded as the most influential symphonies ever composed, came three decades after Mozart’s death. Are the ten thousand Japanese who sing its choral finale every year worshipping obsolete music? Are the countless symphonies still being performed today past their expiration date?

The Austro-German tradition was not the only force driving symphonic development. Beethoven’s influence spanned generations and transcended borders. Russian composers like Tchaikovsky, Scriabin, and Rachmaninoff; the French, Berlioz and Saint-Saëns; the Nordic, Nielsen and Sibelius; the English, Vaughan Williams and Elgar; and the American, Copland, Barber, and Ives, all contributed to the symphony’s growth. If so many continued writing them, why do we seldom hear of new ones?

Music critic Norman Lebrecht, writing in Slipped Disk, claims the symphony’s demise came not in the 1950s but the 1970s: «Since the last gasp of Dmitri Shostakovich, not one symphony has changed the world or enlarged the concert repertoire» (Lebrecht 2024). Shostakovich, deeply influenced by Mahler, composed symphonies imbued with coded resistance against Stalinist oppression. His music resonated because of its raw struggle. Do modern symphonies convey the same sense of conflict? Or are they missing that same sense of adversity?

The public is not the sole determinant of which works are performed. Orchestras and their players gravitate toward established composers for straightforward reasons: Beethoven is intellectually demanding yet deeply rewarding; Mozart captivates with his elegance and charm; Mendelssohn’s music brims with buoyancy; and Shostakovich writes as if life itself hangs in the balance. Contemporary symphonists, by contrast, often seem preoccupied with creating special effects over compelling narratives. While innovation is essential to sustaining the symphonic tradition, Arnold Schoenberg’s assertion that orchestras would routinely perform his borderline-atonal works, such as Fünf Orchesterstücke, Op. 16, well into the 21st century has largely proven inaccurate. Though The Rite of Spring achieved enduring success, it remains one of the few experimental works to secure a lasting place in the concert repertoire.

Lebrecht suggests that the symphony is now more of a cultural obligation than a vital force. «The need for renewal is existential». However, some, like conductor Kenneth Woods, reject the premise altogether. «The symphony never went away», Woods argues in The Catholic Herald. «Even though opportunities to hear new symphonies have been extremely scarce, the last 50 years have seen major symphonic cycles». Woods believes that instead of repeating Mahler cycles, conductors should actively commission new symphonies. Audiences, he claims, respond enthusiastically to fresh works.

So, how do we ensure the symphony’s future? Woods suggests a simple solution: ask for more symphonies. «Go ahead, make the biggest statement you’ve ever made... produce something that will excite and challenge listeners today». If orchestras embrace new compositions, perhaps a new golden age will emerge, a symphonic renaissance.

Ultimately, the responsibility lies with composers. If the symphony is the greatest artistic expression ever devised, then those who believe in it must keep writing. As Robert Simpson put it, «People who write symphonies do it because they feel able to; a lot of those who don’t tell everyone else the symphony is dead» (Robert Simpson, Composer). The symphony will only die when composers stop writing them.