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Until the late 1970s it seemed far-fetched that anyone would surpass the 32 symphonies of Englishman Havergal Brian (1876-1972).
But as with Brian, it was Hovhaness's longevity which helped catapult his symphonic tally into the record books.
Hovhaness's surviving symphonic catalogue comprises a fearsomely prolific 67 numbered examples, although he actually wrote nearer 75 if we include suppressed early works.
The majority of them, over 40, were written after his 60th birthday.
As a percentage of his total surviving output of 500-odd works, Hovhaness did not specialise in writing 'symphonies' any more than other 20th century symphonists!
67 symphonies is around 13% of his surviving output; compare this with Roger Sessions's nine (27%) or Miaskovsky's twenty-seven (26%).
Nevertheless, infamy of some kind surely awaits any modern composer who dares to write symphonies by the dozen. Hovhaness was for a while the most prolific of 20th century symphonists,
but he too was eventually overtaken ... Finnish composer/conductor Leif Segerstam has at last count (April 2008) composed 200 symphonies, more than a hundred of which have received complete performances.
Prolific symphonists understandably have a rather bad press since, generally, quantity is rarely matched in equal measure by quality. At best, only the superior examples will enter the orchestral repertoire. This can be said of the comparatively modest symphonic canons of, for example, Roy Harris or even Shostakovich (how often does one hear performances of the latter's Nos. 2, 3, 9 or 12?).
Closer inspection reveals special 'problems' in the case of Hovhaness since, for the most part, these works cannot be viewed as part of any symphonic tradition as we know it. It's truer to say that Hovhaness wrote 68 works entitled symphony, than 68 symphonies - but that is to do the designation of many of them a disservice.
The Hovhaness style itself generally shunned sonata-like structures and thematic development in favour of Eastern rhapsodic incantation. As Henry Cowell observed: "Hovhaness has found new ways to use the archaic materials with which he starts … it is as though he had skipped the 18th and 19th centuries". Thus, although a few symphonies (e.g. Nos. 3 and 11) have material that is developed, recapitulated or goal-directed,
there is generally scant homage to the Austro-German tradition which nurtured the symphony over two centuries. (It should here be mentioned that other Hovhaness works in a symphonic vein actually escaped the designation of 'symphony', such as the masterly Concerto No.7 for Orchestra.) Perhaps more baffling is that many Hovhaness symphonies earned their designation somewhat arbitrarily, even as an afterthought several years later. Some 'symphonies' are clearly solo concertos or, at the very least, sinfonia concertantes. It is therefore reasonable to conclude that Hovhaness's choice of the term 'symphony' was often in the context of a large, probably multi-movement, orchestral piece - and we can best appreciate these works by jettisoning any expectations of symphonic architectonics.
The priority task when investigating a prolific symphonist is to 'separate the wheat from the chaff'. It was in the 1940s, 50s and 60s that Hovhaness was at his most fertile, ingeniously synthesizing ever new musical devices and sonorities into his seemingly inexhaustible compositional palette. But by the mid-1970s (from around Symphony No.30 onwards) the drama and inventiveness, if not the productivity, were tapering off somewhat. As a composer he had essentially ceased to evolve, but still had ample techniques from his past upon which to draw, plus the stamina - possibly sheer obsession - to keep on producing. Writing to this author in November 1983, he stated: "I write too much, far too much (55 symphonies). This is my insanity, and new music is not published". Later he adds: "I become more and more simple. I hate every dishonest note I may have written." This is borne out by the music - textures are sparser, melodies seemingly kitsch in their innocent simplicity, and fugal passages can sound almost like Baroque music. This late period of simplicity is not devoid of fine pieces, but essentially the music is less engrossing and lacks the wonderment of the previous decades.
The first 25-or-so symphonies enthral in their diversity, invention and subject matter. Several of these 'early' examples are appropriately sub-titled, and could more accurately be described as symphonic poems, such as the cosmically-themed No.19 (Vishnu) and two evocative mountain symphonies, No.7 (Nanga Parvat) and No.14 (Ararat).
Excluding discarded 'juvenilia', Hovhaness did not really embark on writing symphonies until the mid-50s, when he first received a steady flow of commissions from major orchestras. His symphonic cycle (using the term in its broadest sense) is probably unparalleled anywhere in its sheer variety - yet each work could only have been the creation of its author. The single thread linking all 67 symphonies is simply the designation 'symphony', for they vary markedly in style, structure, duration and forces employed. Spanning a period of some 60 years (including the two decades which elapsed between Nos. 1 and 2), each symphony inevitably bears the hallmarks of Hovhaness's musical preoccupations at the time of writing. For example, Nos. 8 and 10, written before No.2 but originally not conceived as symphonies, have the Armenian flavourings of the 1940s, whereas Nos. 16, 17 and 19, written in the mid-60s after studies in Japan, evoke elements of Gagaku court music. By the mid-1970s, overtly Eastern influences had run their course, and quasi-Western chromatic harmony emerges. The later, less exotic symphonies clearly favour the more abstract, multi-movement structures which betray the traditional Western symphonic mould.
Hovhaness symphonies consist of one or several movements (a record-breaking 24 short movements in the
case of Symphony No.9). Durations vary from around 11 minutes to almost an hour. Vocal writing with a
mystical or religious theme is not uncommon, nor is prominent concerto-like writing for solo instruments.
Hovhaness's visionary leanings mean that most symphonies have a descriptive sub-title, which, as with
Haydn's large symphonic canon, certainly aids in recalling a particular one!
The numbering of Hovhaness's earlier symphonies is chaotic and thus misleading. In the late 1950s
earlier Armenian-flavoured orchestral works were added to the symphonic canon with higher catalogue and
opus numbering. Hence the numbering should not be considered a guide to the stylistic evolution of Hovhaness
in the late 1950s. More details are given in the section discussing Symphonies 1-14.
Aside from early numbering issues, different versions of a few symphonies exist, but happily not to the
extent that they do with Bruckner. Some movements have been revised or later replaced. By Hovhaness's
own admission, he could be too weak to refuse requests from certain opportunistic conductors. An extreme
case in point being one-time New York Philharmonic conductor Andre Kostelantez, who willfully reordered,
cut out or simply recommissioned sections of Hovhaness's pieces. Possibly, the early years of neglect
made Hovhaness too accommodating towards certain establishment musicians. That said, his common practice
of writing to order for any occasion, and with fluency, is entirely consistent with those of his equally
adaptable, and prolific Baroque mentors.
Finally, no survey of Hovhaness's surviving symphonies can yet be comprehensive, as several remain
unpublished and most commercially unrecorded. There are 67 numbered symphonies, plus the unnumbered Mountains
and Rivers Without End 'chamber symphony' for 10 players. Most non-surviving symphonies, probably in a neo-Sibelian vein,
date from the 1930s. One recent lost symphony is the first version of Symphony No.40, whose manuscript was stolen along
with the composer's briefcase from a New York hotel room in 1979. Symphony No.45 (1954) was originally a concerto grosso-like
work with 2 prominent piano parts.
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