27.04
Monday / 19:00
2026
27.04.2026
Monday / 19:00

Marek Janowski & Sinfonia Varsovia

Witold Lutosławski Concert Studio of Polish Radio, ul. Modzelewskiego 59, Warsaw
Orchestral concertsoff-premises

Concert is sold out

Performers

Sinfonia Varsovia
Marek Janowski conductor

Programme [120']

Richard Wagner Overture and Bacchanale Venusberg Music from the act I of the opera Tannhäuser (Paris version 1861) [22’]

 

intermission

 

Anton Bruckner Symphony No. 7 in E major WAB 107 (ver. 1885, publ. 1954) [64’]
I. Allegro moderato
II. Adagio: Sehr feierlich und sehr langsam
III. Scherzo: Sehr schnell
IV. Finale: Bewegt, doch nicht schnell

“I still owe the world Tannhäuser,” Richard Wagner is believed to have remarked just three weeks before his death. These words were recorded in Cosima’s – the composer’s wife – diary on January 23, 1883. At the end of his eventful life, the aged master may have felt a certain sense of dissatisfaction regarding his fifth completed opera. After all, he had worked on it for a long time. Taking into account all the revisions and edits of the work – which existed in two “basic” versions (the Dresden and Paris ones) – Tannhäuser kept him occupied for over 30 years. First came the original libretto (a prose draft – July 1842, a verse version – April 1843), followed by the music (completed on April 13, 1845). Later, he returned to it periodically, constantly polishing and refining the score, which still did not satisfy him.

Wagner had pinned his hopes on this work to win the hearts of the Parisian public – but unfortunately, in 1861, he had to swallow the bitter pill of misunderstanding and rejection. Tannhäuser – transformed from its original version (premiere: Dresden, October 19, 1845) – was withdrawn from the Paris Opera after only three performances (March 13, 18, and 24, 1861) amidst rows, boos, and whistles from members of the Jockey Club de Paris. Paradoxically, this premiere was preceded by long weeks of preparation – at least 164 rehearsals. Who was to blame? The composer with his innovative ideas? Rather, it was an unfortunate coincidence and socio-political antagonisms that contributed to this. Emperor Napoleon III had himself extended an invitation to Wagner to stage Tannhäuser, but the source of the failure lied in the project’s intermediary, Princess Pauline Metternich, wife of the Austrian ambassador. Her social unpopularity contributed to the work’s disgrace.

Wagner tried to cater to the tastes of the French audience, which adored ballet in opera. Thus, he expanded the scene in Venus’s grotto that follows the overture, adding a fantastical, orgiastic Bacchanale. From a dramatic standpoint, the idea made perfect sense. So what – the members of the Jockey Club were not in the habit of coming to the first act, after all. The ballet should be in the second act. Though difficult to understand today, this uproar went down in the annals of music history.

Tannhäuser, drawing on medieval legends about a Frankish crusader-minnesinger and a singing tournament at Wartburg Castle, is a parable about two realms of love: the sensual (symbolized by Venus) and the spiritual (personified by Elisabeth), a message of redemption through love. This theme fascinated Wagner throughout his life; most of his works’ message revolves around it. The music of the “pagan” Bacchanale on Mount Venus sparkles with innovation, clearly leans toward structural freedom, and exudes sonic sophistication and orchestral virtuosity. It unfolds in E major key, set against the sonic austerity – but also the sublimity of Christianity and its spirituality, expressed in the contrasting key of E-flat major. It is almost a foreshadowing of the sophistication of Tristan, which would arrive a dozen or so years later.

One of the greatest paradoxes in the history of 19th-century music is the fact that Wagner’s work was cherished by a composer whose own artistic approach stands in stark contrast to it. After all, the oeuvre of the Ring Cycle author is the embodiment of a Romantic synthesis of the arts, in which the word (the poetic text) plays an extremely important role. Anton Bruckner, on the other hand, was a representative of pure, absolute, autonomous music, one that does without text and programmatic references. A shy provincial from Ansfelden, an excellent organist (in the 1850s he held this position in his hometown, then for two years at the cathedral in Linz), he received a haphazard musical education. He did not begin serious studies in harmony and counterpoint until well into his thirties; his artistic maturity came very late. In 1863 in Linz – when he was 39 years old – he heard Tannhäuser for the first time. This served as a catalyst – from then on, he worshipped Wagner enthusiastically and unreservedly. From the harmonic and orchestral innovations of the Bayreuth master, he drew his own artistic conclusions and successfully applied them in his powerful symphonies. They are unrivaled in terms of the musical language originality, although – in their general structure – they adhere to the classical four-movement form. Bruckner did not receive recognition during his lifetime; the reception of his works brought him more bitterness than satisfaction, with one exception: Symphony No. 7 in E major. Composed between 1881 and 1883 (revised in 1885) and dedicated to King Ludwig II of Bavaria, it proved to be his greatest and long-awaited success. It was first performed in Leipzig on December 30, 1884, with the Gewandhaus Orchestra conducted by Arthur Nikisch.

This four-movement monumental work is steeped in an extraordinary, intense melodicism. Bruckner ensured the work’s thematic coherence. The symphony opens with a theme intoned by the French horns and cellos against a backdrop of a delicate murmur from the violins. Before the development unfolds, he adds two more significant thematic ideas. Four Wagnerian tubas, making their debut here in the symphonic repertoire, set the solemn mood of the Adagio. Legend has it that Bruckner was working on this section of the Seventh when news of Wagner’s death reached him. The mood of a mournful rhapsody intertwines here with a luminous, comforting theme, imbued with Wagnerian “sensuality.” Bruckner weaves a contrapuntal fabric all the way to the grand climax, in which he uses the clash cymbals just once. The almost rustic scherzo in the third movement contrasts with a touch of humor, and the whole is summed up by the finale, which refers back to the main theme from the beginning of the symphony. This expressive frame is reinforced by the return of this motif in the cadential fanfares, a dense orchestral tutti.

– Marcin Majchrowski (Polish Radio)