The Swiss-born composer Joachim Raff (1822–82) saw himself as a man with a historical mission: to fuse the music of the past with that of the present and future, traditional contrapuntal and sonata techniques with the new romantic programme music of Berlioz and Raff's one-time employer, Liszt. The upshot was a succession of symphonies rooted in classical procedures but based on a (usually vague) programme, with titles such as Im Walde and In den Alpen. His Lenore Symphony of 1873, which was something of a repertoire piece until the First World War, takes its inspiration from a lurid ballad by the eighteenth-century ''Sturm und Drang'' poet, Gottfried Burger. Lenore grieves for her lover, Wilhelm, whom she fears lost in battle. One night she hears the sound of horses's hooves and her lover's voice bidding her ride off with him. Galloping through the darkness, the pair come to a graveyard glistening eerily in the moonlight. Then, in a gruesome denoument, Wilhelm's uniform rots away and his body turns into a skeleton, leaving Lenore in an open grave as spirits pray for mercy on her soul.
Burger's unrelievedly macabre tale hardly suggests a four-movement symphony based on classical forms. And in fact Raff draws directly on the poem only in the finale. The first two movements, jointly headed Liebesgluck (''Love's Bliss'') portray each of the lovers in turn: the sonata-form opening Allegro, with its ardent, Mendelssohnian main theme and confident, assertive energy, is an image of Wilhelm, while the Andante, sensitively orchestrated and rising to a fine impassioned climax, is a touching evocation of Lenore's devotion. After this a rather banal march, partly redeemed by its colourful scoring, depicts the approach of the army bound for war; the trio, with its eloquent duet between violins and cellos, portrays the lovers' anguish at parting. (This movement, with its simple pictorialism, was often encored in Raff's day.) The finale, headed Wiedervereinigung im Tode (''Reunification in Death''), moves from an atmospheric introduction, with shadowy reminiscences of earlier themes, through a moto perpetuo depiction of the nocturnal ride (some imaginative instrumental effects here) to a sort of Tod und Verklarung coda.
If Mendelssohn and, to a lesser extent, Schumann, are the dominant influences on Raff's melodic idiom, there are solemn obeisances to Wagner (notably in the finale) and, in the slow movement and the trio of the march, an intriguing foretaste of Tchaikovsky. Raff is sometimes over-optimistic about the staying-power of his material; but this fluent, carefully crafted and expertly orchestrated work will appeal to anyone with a taste for romantic curiosities. The performance, if not flawless in ensemble and tuning, is vigorous and cogent, with some fine red-blooded string playing. And though the 1970 recording is slightly synthetic, with a liberal use of artificial spotlighting, the overall sound is pleasantly full and clear.'