Sibelius was no mean hand at the violin. To be a violinist was his aspiration until his early twenties, at which point he turned toward composition (happily for the concert-going public). It appears that nerves worked against him as an instrumentalist, particularly when he auditioned for the Vienna Philharmonic—a curious image for those familiar with the rock-like and sagacious calm so familiar in photos of the elderly Sibelius. Nonetheless, he remained a fine chamber player and showed a thorough understanding of the instrument which stood him in good stead as a composer. His knowledge even proved lucrative—during the difficult World War I years in Finland, Sibelius was able to produce playable, marketable works suitable for home performance. Among these were the four Op. 78 pieces for violin and piano.

Well within the performing scope of a reasonably competent amateur, these four pieces impress the listener through pure musicality rather than technique. The first in the set, "Impromptu," is striking, containing the ruggedness and originality associated with Sibelius' mature compositions. An insistent ostinato of open fifths in the piano is complemented by a piquant double-stopped melody in the violin, alternately serpentine and skittish and coming to a surprisingly abrupt end. If this work is much in step with its grave time, no greater contrast could be imagined than the following piece, the well-known "Romance in F." This virtual "pops" classic is lovely, almost fragrant, and looks back to a period then not at all long gone; the nostalgia is all the more poignant for the nearness of the past golden age. The third in the set, "Religioso," is dedicated to the composer's brother and fellow chamber player Christian, who was recovering at the time from a serious illness. Despite the piece's title, only a certain ceremonial tread suggests religiosity; the overall mood is one of brooding, perhaps on the fragility of existence. In the closing bars, the violin slips into its lowest register and perhaps evokes the cello, Christian's instrument. Further contrast brings the set to a lively close with "Rigaudon," a Kreisler-like piece which goads the amateur violinist to "stretch out." The title denotes an eighteenth-century French dance in 2/4, somewhat like a gavotte at polka tempo. Rapid arpeggios and pizzicato predominate, with a figure alternating jeté and the pizzicato on the violin bringing this brief agile study to a close.

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