The call of the wild

Jean Sibelius was an epic figure: an orignal who never strove for originality. Not for him the frippery of a Stravinsky (‘with his stillborn affectations’) or the artificial contrivances of Arnold Schönberg. Sibelius was his own man, and a deeply human one, moved and moulded by the harsh Finnish landscape. This gave his music a rugged and austere quality, prompting the composer to reflect, ‘My orchestration is better than Beethoven’s and I have better themes than his. But he was born in a wine country — I in a land where surmjölk [curdled milk] is in charge.’

Sibelius was not an arrogant man. As Andrew Barnett reveals in this fine biography, he was full of contradictions and self-doubt. It was this that presumably fuelled his lifelong struggle with alcohol, described by the broadcaster and music critic Stephen Johnson as ‘his emotional crutch’. Even a visit to his bank manager required a sharpener, not to mention the podium, where he felt ‘like a God’ conducting under the influence of champagne, but otherwise a nervous wreck.