A recent Beats by Dre campaign video for its wireless headphones features LeBron James playing a game of backyard basketball with his teenage son, LeBron Jnr. They trade shots back and forth: what the 6ft 9in Snr has over his son in height, Jnr makes up for in swaggy cockiness. The music of the advert swaps between the different tracks playing in their ears.

Why is this important? Because LeBron Snr is listening to Winter from Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons. The man who is considered one of the greatest basketball players in history and reported to be worth a billion dollars chooses Vivaldi as his hype music. Between making hoops, he air-conducts the icy swirls of violinist Adrian Chandler and La Serenissima. It’s marketing 101: classical music represents the older generation – ‘The legacy continues,’ reads the advert’s slogan; and the music of American rapper SoFaygo signifies youthful precociousness. But as the advert develops, the sense of competition between father and son dissolves. The slam dunks enter a flow of play: in the graceful spins of mighty muscle, the music follows suit, and the result is a mix in which Vivaldi played on gut strings does not sound a million miles away from SoFaygo’s rap; indeed, they fuse. It’s an advert where the ‘old’ comes out sounding as fresh and relevant as ever.

To be specific, it’s 300 years old – or thereabouts. Vivaldi’s Le quattro stagioni appeared as part of the Op 8 collection Il cimento dell’armonia e dell’inventione (1725), published by the Amsterdam workshop of Michel-Charles Le Cène. The year 1723 has been claimed as a likely date of composition, but Vivaldi expert Michael Talbot is not quite sure why. ‘Certainly, it’s the right area,’ he tells me, ‘but I wouldn’t swear to it being 1723 rather than 1724 or 1722. This is within the period of sending compositions to Václav Morzin.’ Since none of the autograph manuscripts bear a date, 1725 remains the terminus ante quem for their composition. It’s an excellent reminder that The Four Seasons only makes up the first four of the 12 concertos of Op 8 – concertos ‘were sold like eggs, in dozens and half dozens’, says Talbot. The concept of ‘The Four Seasons’ as an entity in itself was something born after Vivaldi released them into the world.

From Amsterdam to Azerbaijan, The Four Seasons has attained a global reach. There are historical traces of its early popularity beyond Italy (the clear motivation behind Vivaldi moving to an Amsterdam printer for his Op 3 after two publications with local Venetian houses; that and the far superior engraving methods). The Four Seasons was particularly popular in France. In December 1730, Mercure de France documented a concert: ‘The King [Louis XV] then asked for Vivaldi’s Spring, which is an excellent symphony piece, and as the King’s musicians were not present at this concert, the Prince of Dombes, the Count d’Èu, and several other Lords of the court, agreed to play along with Mr Guignon, not to deny S.M. of hearing this beautiful piece of symphony that was beautifully performed.’ Even without his musicians present, the king just had to hear Vivaldi’s Spring – ostensibly, even a scratch band of non-professionals could not blemish his enjoyment.

But the set’s popularity was not always the case. By the latter part of the 18th century, Vivaldi’s music fell into virtual oblivion. It was only through the efforts of Bach scholars during the 19th century that Vivaldi and his contemporaries became of interest. The discovery of Bach’s solo keyboard transcription of at least five of the concertos from Vivaldi’s Op 3 L’estro armonico was one such catalyst for seeing what else the Italian had to offer other than inspiration to the German master.

Contrast that near oblivion with the explosion of recognition at the end of the 20th century. Nigel Kennedy’s The Four Seasons was released on EMI in September 1989 on LP, cassette and CD (11/89). The form of the four concertos – each with three movements, most of which come in at under four minutes – found itself perfectly at home in commercial radio. The recording’s success was unprecedented: selling more than three million copies, it earned a place in The Guinness Book of Records as the best-selling classical work of all time, and the album remained in the top 100 of the UK classical charts for around 18 months.

Nigel Kennedy, who in 1989 revived interest in Vivaldi’s now ubiquitous work (photo: Goddard Archive/Alamy Stock Photo)

Kennedy’s recording unleashed what might be described as an unceasing torrent. The release not only threw a single artist and recording into the limelight, but also cast an aura on The Four Seasons – that is, as a musical work rather than a specific recorded object. Chandler and La Serenissima’s 2015 recording (Avie, 10/15) is potentially the most streamed interpretation ever. The third movement from Summer, last time I checked, has been streamed more than 43 million times on Spotify.

I asked Chandler about the Spotify success of his set, and the use of his recording for the Beats by Dre advert. He turns quieter: ‘It’s being used for some big adverts. There is a major perfume label that used it, and there was that French film …what was it called … that uses the whole of the last movement of Summer right at the end.’ That Chandler struggles to remember the name of Céline Sciamma’s award-winning Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) says it all, really. ‘It’s not me that I’m interested in – it’s the music. Occasionally, you get an amazing moment, and that’s great, but I don’t do it for the plaudits and kudos.’

Adrian Chandler (photo: Avie Records)

The Four Seasons is the classic example of how a musical work can seem to take on a life of its own, maintaining an aura and momentum while keeping a whole host of people largely invisible. As the musicologist Paul Everett argues, the success of the Seasons can only in part be attributed to the appeal of the music itself. Everett credits the Vivaldi phenomenon ‘to the media and the recording industry as [well as] to musicians, concert promoters and musicologists’. It is perhaps typical of a musicologist to downplay the music itself, and it comes as no surprise that the violinists I speak to have other things to emphasise.

‘There are some excellent tunes,’ Rachel Podger acknowledges. ‘Just to be very base about this, there are some really good tunes in it.’ She recalls performing Spring to a roomful of four-year-olds: ‘They were all completely amazed by the fast bit in the first movement – the lightning, the birds and all the trilling. And their response, I’ll never forget their response – their faces, the way they lit up! They were all singing along in the repeat – because it’s so easy! Repeated notes, then go up a fifth; I mean, it’s the easiest thing – it’s like a little nursery rhyme.’ Then, as if it needed proving, Podger starts to sing Spring at me in that brilliantly zany way her audiences have come to adore. And if it were not for the slight delay on Zoom, I would have joined in.

The violinist Tasmin Little riffs on a similar trope. ‘There’s a lot of repetition, and after a while we can just hum along.’ For Little, The Four Seasons has elements that for people who know not much about classical music are immediately accessible. ‘It’s got elements of a good pop song. You’ve got the chorus that everybody knows, and then something different happens – ooh, that’s interesting! – and then here we go again, the chorus …’ Like Podger, Little ends her sentences by singing Spring; it’s just that catchy.

Indeed, it’s so catchy that on some days it feels like the music is everywhere. I’ll call the bank, and I’ll be put on hold to Autumn. I’ll visit McDonald’s at midnight, and Winter will be plucking away. The Four Seasons possesses a ubiquity that you might expect to be dangerous for a piece of music, but it seems to shake off any sense of cliché. Podger recalls a concert of the Seasons with Rinaldo Alessandrini in Italy. ‘Right after the concert, he booked us a table at a pizza restaurant called Stagione. Everyone hopped into the place singing Spring. It’s crazy; they live and breathe it.’

Rachel Podger with the AAM (photo: Mark Allan)

Given its accessibility and crossover into mainstream appeal, the decision to record The Four Seasons has become a kind of declaration of intent. Recent moves have been bold. It was the choice for violinist Christian Li’s debut album with Decca (10/21). Aged 13, Li was the youngest violinist ever professionally to record the Seasons (and Decca’s youngest ever signing, too).

After his electric competition-winning performance of Summer at the Junior Finals of the Yehudi Menuhin International Competition 2018, perhaps Li’s choice was a no-brainer – but it is a rare move. Many violinists wait a significant period before they are ready to commit an interpretation to disc, viewing The Four Seasons as a marker of maturity. As Podger toyed with whether solo Bach was the right decision at the beginning of her recording career, her management offered up another option: ‘or you could do Vivaldi’s Seasons’. Podger waited until her 50th year to record them (Channel Classics, 5/18), two decades after her solo Bach. Chandler similarly waited until his ensemble La Serenissima was in its 21st year to release their interpretation.

For other violinists, particularly those separate from the world of period performance, recording The Four Seasons was never in the pipeline. Little first started learning the work in around 1983, but she only wanted to record it when and if she felt like she had something new to offer. This materialised as an encounter with the harpsichordist David Wright. ‘I had been getting increasingly bored of hearing just a few tinkles in the background to remind us that there was a harpsichord on stage.’ Wright’s luxurious approach to imitation and improvisational fills provided inspiration for Little’s new vision: ‘I suddenly realised this whole new potential to the Seasons: to have almost a double concerto, one for violin and harpsichord’ (Chandos, 12/16).

A collaborative approach towards The Four Seasons is perhaps most palpable in the one-to-a-part forces of Brecon Baroque. ‘I partly decided to have a small band so that the reactions are more immediate,’ Podger describes. ‘I think it’s much, much easier to do all the falling down of the drunkards in Autumn. With a bigger band you can do it, but you’ve got to rehearse it a lot.’ With the small forces of Brecon Baroque, Podger describes how it’s possible to build an understanding of the ‘meaning of it’ – drunkenness, that is – rather than employing any strict metrical organisation.

Antonio Vivaldi (Tully Potter Collection)

Getting the drunk sequences right was important to Podger, for they form not just an opportunity for humour and characterisation, but also a chance to get close to the composer. ‘I can’t imagine that Vivaldi – as far as I know him, which is, obviously, only as far as one can go if you didn’t know him back in the day – would have considered that to be a complex or complicated idea. If you think about the time back then: Venice, the canals, people falling into them drunk, splash – all quite straightforward, really.’

Podger is referring to the peasants in the first movement of Autumn, who after a bountiful harvest, fired up on Bacchus’s liquor, are giddy on their feet as they dance in celebration (‘Celebra il Vilanel con balli e Canti / Del felice raccolto il bel piacere / E del liquor de Bacco accesi tanti / Finiscono col Sonno il lor godere’). Vivaldi published the four concertos with accompanying sonnets (it’s unknown whether these were penned by the composer himself). The sonnets elucidate the swift transitions between the different onomatopoeic effects and the density of external references.

But even with everything seemingly spelt out, The Four Seasons still has its secrets. For example, there’s the instruction ‘il cembalo arpeggiato’ in the slow movement of Autumn. ‘I have never found in any recording a solution that entirely pleases me,’ sighs Talbot. ‘What kind of arpeggiation did Vivaldi have in mind? Did he mean rippled block chords? Or an improvised-sounding effect with broken chords in a variety of configurations and note values? Or a formulaic, uniform background (rather like the opening prelude of the first book of Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier)? Did he want the arpeggios as a background or a foreground effect?’

For Little, the open-to-interpretation ambiguities of Vivaldi’s score provided a kitchen for experimentation. ‘This music, it’s like chicken. You can add any flavour to it that you like; you can make it spicy; you can keep it pretty easy-going, pan fried; you can add noodles to it – you can literally do nothing or everything to it and it will take it. So it’s an opportunity for us as performers just to really let our imaginations flow.’

If there’s anyone who’s had to extract more flavour from the Seasons, time and time again, it’s Fabio Biondi. It’s possible that he has played the solo part in concert more times than any other living violinist. And when I ask him about any plans to record it again – he’s recorded it twice with his ensemble Europa Galante, first in 1991 for Opus 111 (4/92), then in 2000 for Virgin (11/00) – there’s something of a quiet wink in his voice. ‘Why not?’ he retorts. ‘Why not? Because we change, change, change a lot. Especially in the last 10 years, I have studied a lot of documents from early 18th-century Italy, especially Venice – so there’s a lot of new information, new solutions in terms of articulation, technique of the bow, and other things. Still now we change our interpretations, and how we play The Four Seasons today – why not?’ Biondi’s only hesitation is that there is still ‘a lot of music to discover’, and he enjoys bringing unknown music and composers to audiences.

Fabio Biondi and Europa Galante (photo: Wojciech Grzedzinsk)

As Vivaldi and The Four Seasons certainly don’t qualify as unknown any more, the challenge is bigger. ‘You’re trying to get under the skin of what he’s after,’ Podger muses. ‘What does Vivaldi mean by “the shepherd is anxious that the storm might be brewing”? Anyone can understand that kind of anxiety, that impending doom. So what does that make you do? Well, it makes you tense, so that means the sound is going to be more tense; it’s going to be less free, like in the slow movement of Winter when you’re by the fireside and you’re feeling warm and smug because everyone else is being rained on … The Four Seasons is so full of life, and it’s got everything in it: anxiety and joy, disappointment and comfort, feeling happy, excited, awe at nature – it’s got everything that we enjoy in life still to this day.’ Podger struggles to pause in her free-flowing daydream. And that’s exactly the point: the Seasons allows the imagination to roam free in what it means to feel human.

‘I feel they are the four seasons of life, not of nature,’ Biondi tells me in complete sincerity. ‘You can find in this music all the human feelings that you have in your life. And, of course, your feelings change, because life changes – so it’s never boring.’ Biondi hits the nail on the head: The Four Seasons will become boring the moment musicians cease to wonder.

This article originally appeared in the August 2023 issue of Gramophone magazine. Never miss an issue – subscribe today