Symphony No.5 in B flat major, Op.100

Prokofiev’s two most popular symphonies, the First and the Fifth, were both written in war time. They have little else in common. The First, which he completed in 1917 and called his “Classical” Symphony, is a sophisticated and entertaining but frankly superficial exercise in the neo-classical style. The Fifth, written twenty-seven years later, is not only three times as long but also infinitely more serious. It was conceived, according to the composer, “as a symphony to the greatness of the human soul.” If that statement seems a rather too pious echo of the party-line ideology of the time, it should be remembered that the work was written at a point when the Soviet Union had come through the worst of the Second World War and events were at last turning in that country’s favour. When Prokofiev conducted its first performance in Moscow in January 1945 - in a programme including also the “Classical” Symphony and “Peter and the Wolf” - the start was dramatically delayed by the sound of Soviet cannon signalling the Red Army’s advance across the Vistula.

The Fifth is by no means a militaristic symphony, however. It is remarkable above all for the breadth of both its construction and its thinking and for its general air of confidence. The first movement is an expansive Andante beginning with a lyrical melody - introduced by flute and bassoon in octaves and then reshaped and recoloured by strings and brass - that has a far-reaching influence on the rest of the work. Although the similarly expressive second subject enters on flute and oboe at a rather quicker tempo and brings with it an animatedly chattering motif on woodwind and strings, the measured pace of the opening remains fundamental to the movement. The development section presents a passionate but still unhurried review of all the main ideas, not least the chattering motif, and the recapitulation enhances the impression of unshakably firm progress by its declamatory rather than lyrical treatment of the opening theme. The impression is confirmed by the inexorable tread of that same theme, accentuated by massive crashes on percussion and piano, as it passes through a long and impressive coda.

The Allegro marcato is contrastingly fleet of foot. Based on dance music at one time intended for the Romeo and Juliet ballet, it is an energetic scherzo that sustains its physical exhilaration from the beginning to the end. The middle section is introduced by a slower passage featuring a melodious oboe and clarinet but, when it gets going, it is quicker even than the outer sections and proceeds to develop an almost Broadway-style exuberance. Oboe and clarinet return to reduce the pace again, this time to introduce a slower version of the first theme which, however, in spite of the best efforts of the three trumpets, cannot long be restrained from accelerating into its original Allegro marcato tempo.

Never willing to waste good material, Prokofiev turned for his slow movement to a score he had written eight years earlier for an unfinished film version of Pushkin’s Queen of Spades. Although the melody introduced by clarinet and bass clarinet over gentle arpeggios on violins would have been associated in the film with its innocent heroine Lisa, it fits in here by virtue of its generously lyrical outline. The romantic mood it induces does not last long, since it is displaced by a sinister and violently protesting middle section, but it is restored and most gracefully extended in a sensitively varied reprise.

Having digressed from the subject matter of the first movement, if not from its emotional implications, Prokofiev presents a timely reminder of its main theme at the beginning of the finale - first in a witty allusion on oboe and bassoon and then in a sonorously harmonised chorale version on cellos in four parts. The Allegro giocoso itself is an ebullient rondo dominated by the cheerful tune introduced by clarinet over repeated quavers on the horns and a chattering motif (not unlike that of the first movement) on violins. There is room, however, for contrasting material, including another allusion to the opening theme and a comparatively serious contrapuntal episode, before the work runs through an unstoppable, ostinato-driven coda to its effervescent conclusion.