John Storgårds Modern Impressionism - Rachmaninov, Shostakovich, Tarkiainen

John Storgårds and the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, Prom 22, with Rachmaninov, Shostakovich and Outi Tarkiainen's Midnight Sun Variations. Storgårds kept up standards at the BBC PO during a  fallow period under Juanjo Mena, so it was a bit of a surprise to see he didn't get get named Chief Conductor. Fortunately, Omer Meir Wellber is pretty good, as his Haydn Creation Prom last week demonstated - I loved its flair ! Storgårds remains Chief Guest at the BBC PO. The orchestra was sounding very polished and alert.  

A good Rachmaninov Isle of the Dead. Though this piece is often described as "romantic" it's more Romantic, in the sense that it connects to concepts of Romanticism - symbolism, the unconscious, alternative reality.  Rachmaninov knew the series of illustrations by Arnold  Böcklin, made in the 1880's , depicting an island rising from the sea. Its cliffs are so steep that nothing quite like this can exist in nature : Landscape painting, this is not, by any means.  This is the Island of the Dead, perhaps on the river of Lethe, as in ancient myth, through which the dead are rowed b y a mystery boatman.  The island is uninhabited : the white shrouded figure is en route to the Underworld.  Böcklin’s image was inspired by a dream. Any Freudian will note : images of death, and rebirth together, and a sense of inescapable doom. Storgårds's approach emphasized the mood of strange foreboding.  In the quiet rhythms, one might imagine oars, steadily making their way through the waters,  and in the sudden swell of the strings, the cliffs looming above, the descending figures a reminder that life is fragile.  Though the surfaces in the rock like, Storgårds focussed on the shifting textures rather than the architecture, creating the piece as an almost-impressionistic wash of colours and strange harmonies. It's worth remembering that Rachmaninov was a contemporary of Claude Debussy and of Stravinsky. 

In the context of this particular Prom, though, the connections included Sibelius, particularly his Symphony no 4, with its brooding darkness. After the previous night's all-Sibelius Prom (please read more here) Storgårds conducted the London premiere of Outi Tarkiainen's Midnight Sun Variations. The publishers Edition Wilhelm Hansen Copenhagen quotes the composer that the work is "about the light in the arctic summer night, when the northern sky above the Arctic Circle reflects a rich spectrum of infinitely-nuanced hues that, as autumn draws near, are once again veiled in darkness; when Europe’s biggest and most unpolluted wildernesses, the tundra and dense coniferous forests mystified by Jean Sibelius in his last large-scale work, Tapiola (1926), are bathed in countless shades of light. The work begins with a sparkling ray of sunshine: the orchestra radiates and rises, playfully traces its round and goes back to the beginning again. Solitary wind solos soar above the orchestra, softly proclaiming the peace of the summer night to answering sighs from a horn. A new beginning finally emerges in the strings: a chord beating with rugged primitive force that fills the whole space with its warmth. This sets off a pulse of constantly remixing chords that ultimately fires the whole orchestra into action, until the strings break away, ascend to the heights and impart maybe the most important message of all". 

Although it's inspired by landscape, this is as much inner landscape as external. I liked this piece because it works as music on its own terms, from within, rather than created from preconceived concepts.  Undulating swathes of sound, evoking spatial distance, layers of detail, providing texture and colour.  I thought  of Kaija Saariaho, but Tarkiainen's palette is closer to the natural colours of Lapland, than to Paris.  Life there must be simpler and more down to earth.  The swathes of sound swirl, evoking perhaps a sense of parallel reality, where past and present, seen and unseen might co-exist.  At eleven minutes Midnight Sun Variations does not outstay its welcome, a mistake some composers make when they're trying too hard. I like this spareness,like the fragility of life in a tough climate. A surprisingly good companion for Rachmaninov  Isle of the Dead ! 

Shostakovich's Symphony No 11 in G minor 'The Year 1905' is a public piece, which won Shostakovich the Lenin Prize. The subject matter
is unashamedly patriotic, commemorating the December Revolution which was suppressed but entered the political mythology of that Soviet State. There's nothing in principle wrong with propaganda music, but much of the appeal of this symphony lies in the way it plays on emotions to whip up excitement,  and the avoidance of doubt.  With its vivid images, it feels like the soundtrack for a movie.  on closer listening, though, it's as much atmospheric as belligerent. Storgårds approaches it as a tone poem, emphasizes the subtler aspects. Muffled drums, long, flowing lines that could be anything - gunsmoke, the earth,  the Russian "soul", whatever, but effective on purely musical terms. Impressionism on a grand scale . A perceptive approach, different from the technicolor extremes some still associate with Shostakovich, but ultimately more rewarding. 

Armas Järnefelt : Song of the Scarlet Flower

Armas Järnefelt : Song of the Scarlet Flower, (Sängen om den eldröda blomman) from Ondine, marks the centenary of the filmn of the same name, and serves as a reminder of the importance of Nordic countries in the history of cinema. It is also a chance to hear the music of Armas Järnefelt , the long-term conductor of the Royal Swedish Opera, and a member of the Järnefelt family who played an important role in the development of Finnish nationalism. Järnefelt's father was General August Järnefelt,  who promoted the Finnish langauge. His brother Eero was a painter, and his sister Aino  married Jean Sibelius.

In the first decades of cinema, Scandinavian and Finnish film makers were in the vanguard, paving the way for masters like Viktor Sjöström, Carl Th. Dreyer and later Ingmar Bergman. Song of the Scarlet Flower, directed by Maurice Stiller (1883-1928) was a milestone in Nordic cinema history. Released in April 1919, it was an instant sensation, a box office success that was screened in 40 countries.   It was an ambitious project, the first full-length Swedish film to have music written specially for it.   Though Järnefelt was primarily a conductor, he had trained with Busoni and Massenet and composed, especially in the early years of his career.  Ondine has a set of Järnefelt songs in its catalogue, and  BIS has recorded some of his orchestral works, conducted by Jaakko Kuusisto, who conducts this new recording with the Gävle Symphony Orchestra, who made the seminal recording of Järnefelt's music in 1996, which includes two sections from The Song of the Scarlet Flower.  The score used here is reconstructed from what remains of Järnefelt's original score, discovered in 1988, augmented by Jaakko Kuusisto and Jani Kyllönen.
Järnefelt's experience as a conductor of opera gave him insight into the role of music in drama, but writing for film is very different from writing music as music.  "I had to build it up metre by metre, bit by bit" he said, "I received a list of the principaql scenes of the film and their durations, but that information proved to be quite wrong, as the film was screened at a much faster pace,and I was horrified to discover how poorly music and image went together.  I was obliged to shorten the score. Never in my life had I had to write music in such a way that I was forced to conform to the tempo of events - I, who am used to setting the tempo myself.  In the end, it all worked out". The film has been restored and was screened in 2017 but is not yet on DVD.

Based on a novel by Johannes Linnankoski, Song of the Scarlet Flower follows the adventures of a young man, Olof, a rebel  who joins a band of loggers, travelling the river from forests to mills.  He chases women, ruining one who becomes a prostitute in the city , but mends his ways and marries well.  The screenplay is set out in seven acts, as was common at the time. The first section "The First Flush of Spring" suggests youth and promise.  Expansive themes (shimmering strings) alternate with lively woodwinds. A vigorous leitmotiv emerges: possibly the young man heading into the world, folkloric references (violin imitating fiddle) evoking the countryside.  In "The Mother's Glance" a jolly mood gives way to a plaintive song for solo violin,  darker notes introduced by woodwinds, over repetitive angular rhythms.  The leitmotiv introduces "Learning Life", develops into cheeky dance and returns again with even more force.  This chapter apparently illlustrates a scene where   Oluf shoots the rapids. The central movement "A Young Man's Daring-do" is brief, but pensive, violin and woodwinds in duet.

With "Kyllikki" folkloric charm meets the "Olof" leitmotiv. Olof and Kyllikki want to marry but her father objects. Thus the brisk conclusion, with outbursts of timpani, the violins reiterating the leitmotif.  "In The Town" is a nocturne, pizzicato suggesting the ticking of a clock.  He's still chasing women as the waltz reference suggests.  But Olof meets his past, in the person of Gazelle, whom he seduced and abandoned. A chill descends. The pizzicato becomes so quiet that it feels haunted.  Suddenly the orchestra bursts forth - angular, discordant figures suggest Olof's horror and guilt.  Rumbling figures suggest Gazelle's suicide. When the Olof motif returns, it's quieter, chastened.  "The Pilgrimage" is introduced by high-pitched winds suggesting horn calls, and a hymn theme (chamber organ) suggests the churchyard where Olof's parents lie dead.   The hymn expands into a serene but affirmative section which may represent values Olof lost when he ran away.  It now shows him a way forward.  Bells ring out !  Having inherited his parents' wealth, Olof claims Kyllikki, and they marry.

Plenty more on this site about early film and music in film. Please explore and also see :
Victor Sjöström's Körkarlen (The Phantom Carriage)
Rasmus Breistein's Brudeferden  i Hardanger,  (Bride oif Hardanger)
Carl Th Dreyer Vampyr
Feminist Finnish Jenůfa, Anna-Liisa 1922
and of course German, French, Chinese and other early film and experimental movies. Plus composers like Hanns Eisler

Ekho and Narcissist

It takes courage to pair Sibelius Luonnotar and Aare Merikanto's Ekho, as Sakari Oramo did with the BBC SO at the Barbican on 7/1/18.  Both pieces present fearsome technical challenges but Oramo and the BBCSO had a secret weapon in Anu Komsi, who can handle extremes of range and timbre, while also infusing her singing with warmth and meaning. Though Komsi sings with such assurance that she made the pieces flow with natural grace, they aren't at all easy; she's been singing them for a long time.  Experience shows ! This performance of Merikanto's Ekho was wonderful, much better than Komsi's recording with  Petri Sakari and the Turku Philharmonic. The BBCSO are a much more sophisticated orchestra, with a richer sound. And of course Sakari Oramo knows the singer and orchestra pretty well.   Since I've written about Luonnotar so many times over the years (Please read HERE) this is a good time to think about Ekho. 

After swimming in primeval oceans for 700 years (think amniotic fluid) Luonnotar called out, in agony to the god Ukko, who answered by sending a bird whose egg Luonnotar nurtured, from which the universe was born.  Ekho was a nymph, blessed with beauty of form and of voice.  But when she called out to Narcissus, he didn't care about anything but himself.  Although Merikanto's music seems lush - lots of glossy strings - it is also very much of its time.  Writing in 1922, Merikanto was well aware of the trends in European music around him. Ekho doesn't even pretend to be folkloric - it’s "modern" music, almost neo-classical, reflecting the clear sighted vision of a new world emerging from war.   Think of the clean lines of 1920's visual arts, and the gracious stylization of form that engendered.  The poem by Viekko Antero  Koskenniemi  (1885-1962) comes from the collection Elegioja.  In that context, Ekho is almost a New Woman, talented and emancipated   Lots of those in the 1920's, in Finland and everywhere else. Like many smart women, Ekho thinks she can reach out. But men like Narcissus could not care less.   

The sound of hunting horns and  ominous rumblings - Ekho is a nymph of the forest, but what,is her mission ?  Suddenly the line leaps upward "Narkissos, Narkissos — hu-huu, hu-huu! "  Almost a war cry. The orchestra rears up. Turbulence, then clearing away to quieter sounds, a pattern of call and non-response that repeats in different forms. Ekho calls again: "Narkissos, ma huudan, hu-huu, hu-huu!", the last word projected into the voice. Ekho is listening, but Narcissus isn't. Summer's ending (ie the end of fertility).  Komsi's voice lowers seductively , halo'd by strings, harp and melancholy violin, then rises again in a long, soaring arc. Near silence - you count the bars, listening and gradually, sounds return, shimmering like sound waves.  "Se mun kuoltuanikin soi ja soi" (It's my ringing and playing).  Liike an echo, the first line repeats, in muted form. "Koko yön minä yksin tanssinut oon ja kutsunut armasta karkeloon"  (all night, I danced alone). Dark sustained chords breaks.  Then silence.  Sibelius Luonnotar is grander, and more dramatic.  Merikanto's Ekho is compact, but just as tightly structured and haunting.  

I don't know who created the image above, but it's brilliant !  We do live in an age where reality doesn't penetrate the minds of folks like Narcissus. 

Finland Awakes ! Sibelius and Oramo : Finnish Centenary Celebrations

Finland Awakes ! Sakari Oramo celebrated the 100th anniversary of the Declaration of Finnish Independence with the BBC Symphony Orchestra at the Barbican Hall, London . What a sense of occasion !  A remarkable performance even by their usual high standards, so powerful and passionate that it will long be remembered.   Sibelius symbolizes Finland to the west. The popularity of his music, especially in Britain, ensured public support for Finland in its long struggle for freedom from Russia.  When the Soviet Union occupied Eastern Europe after 1945, that legacy kept Finland safe. Music as cultural, identity, shaping politics and history.

Sibelius's Press Celebrations Music was veiled protest. Ostensibly written as a fundraiser for press pensions, it struck a raw nerve at a point when the Russians were attempting to tighten control over Finland and its press. The painting at right, by Edvard (Eetu) Isto, is Hyökkäys (The Attack). (1899)  The girl represents Finlandia.  She's holding a book which contains the laws of Finland, The book wields off an attack by a two-headed eagle - the symbol of Russia.  Isto, born the same year as Sibelius,  was an artist who made paintings of nature and folkoric allegory, as did Sibelius's brother-in-law, Eero Järnefelt, and their friend, Akseli Gallen-Kallela. From paintings to music : Sibelius created the music as a series of "tableaux" depicting key events in Finnish history.  
The first tableau is Väinämöinen's Song, its mysteries evoking the primeval world of the Kalevala.  In the second tableau, the Finnish people are converted to Christianity, significantly western Christianity, not the Russian Orthodox Church. This is further affirmed by the third tableau, Duke John in the Castle at Turku. Horns and pipes connect medieval Finland to Sweden and a time of prosperity, which would be shattered in the Thirty Years War, the first true "world war" when Finland was occupied by Russia in the"Years of Hate" (1714-21). The painting below is Burnt Village (1879) by Albert Edelfeldt. The woman is trying to protect what's left of her family- their village is burning in the background.   The Great Hate tableau is disturbingly dramatic, and connects well with Finlandia, though Finlandia with its heartfelt optimism will always be more popular. 

Sibelius himself conducted the premiere in Helsinki on 4th November 1899. Over the years the work underwent numerous changes, the seventh movement "Finlandia Awakes!" becoming the now famous stand alone Finlandia op 26, which also exists in several versions.  The full score was restored, edited and recorded only in 1999, so this UK premiere wasn't as long overdue as might be supposed. This new performance with Oramo and the BBC SO was so vivid that it completely eclipsed the first recording : Oramo/BBCSO is the new benchmark.
Two Pieces op 77, (1914))  Cantique and Devotion in the version for cello and orchestra followed, featuring soloist Guy Johnston, The cello is more mournful, deeper than a violin.  In the context of Oramo's programme this was appropriate because these are fairly private works, as opposed to the public persona of the Music for Press Celebrations.  But the spirit of 1899 prevailed once again, with Sibelius's Symphony no 1 op 39 (1899-1900). Hearing the symphony after the tableaux highlights the stylistic breakthrough. It's as if Sibelius's soul was being liberated. The violin part - Sibelius's own instrument - flies free, then invigorates the orchestra with its exuberance. Here, the andante sounded particularly moving, reminding me of the "hands on heart" theme in Finlandia. . Individual figures  in the wind and strings were particularly beautiful, lighting the way for the grand surges  in larger ensemble.  Tempi speed up into whirlwind, then retreat, and the heartfelt motif returned, warm and confident.  The scherzo moved briskly, opening out to a clearing where individual instruments again took centre place.  A romp, wild but purposeful: An exhilarating way to celebrate a hundred years of nationhood and artistic progress.

Suomi 100 !

Toivo Kuula - Finland Awakes !

Finnish composer Toivo Kuula (1883-1918) above, on his deathbed, dying from a bullet which hit him in the last days of the First War of Finnish Independence.  He was close to the battle front, but the shot hit him by accident as he was celebrating in a restaurant when a fight broke out nearby. The brightest hope of new Finnish music was silenced, long before his time.  Kuula was a close friend of Leevi Madetoja (1887-1947), and mixed in Finland's avant garde artistic circles, a younger and more radical set than hung out with Sibeliius and his mates. When Madetoja first set eyes on Kuula, he was impressed by his "air of self-confidence, of triumph about him that obviously reflected a fast-flowing emotional undercurrent - everything about him seemed to say: here is a man who knows what he wants and who has confidence in his own powers!"

Kuula’s views on music were liberal and unconventional, and he impressed the leading musicians of his time – Jean Sibelius took him on as one of his few pupils.

The early years of the twentieth century were a quantum leap of creativity in Finland.  The popularity of  Sibelius in the west earned Finland valuable support in the decades of war with Russia. Quite literally, Sibelius was the saviour of his country, his music a symbol of national identity.  While Sibelius and his contemporaries blazed the trail, others followed, responding to the same ideas that were galvanizing music, art and literature elsewhere in Europe.  Please see Suomen itsenäisyyden satavuotisjuhla, Finland's 100th Birthday Concert HERE and listen to the concert itself.

Kuula and his friends, like Madetoja could access a deep vein of nostalgia for a lost past, while writing music that reflected cosmopolitan European trends elsewhere : the influence of Debussy, Stravinsky, Ravel and Scriabin, for example. Their music continues the Fennoman love of Finnish identity and of the the natural world which nurtured it. Their music deals with the passing of time, of things eternal and of change.They set the poems of contemporary poets, not just those of the past, and many of these, too, wrote in the European
mainstream of the time. For example, Eino Leino (1887-1926), a free thinker
and believer in free love, who lived a bohemian life in Rome with another
equally wild spirit, the poetess L. Onerva – who was later to marry Leevi Madetoja. Kuula wrote a lot of chamber music and, memorably music for choir, a great Finnish phenomenon,and was   particularly drawn to song during his marriage to the soprano Alma Silvantionen, with whom he toured Europe, playing as her accompanist.  Please also see my other pieces on early 20th century Finnish culture, including the film Anna-Liisa 1922. HERE

This fascinating conjunction of nostalgia and forward-thinking provides us with some beautifully evocative mood music. Syystunnelma (Autumn Moods), pictures the coming of winter – long and hard in Finland – and is based on a Leino poem. The poet spies a small flower by the roadside, which he protects by burying it under snow, like the memory of a lost love which must not wither.  Tuijotin tulehen kauan (Long gazed I into the Fire) was an early student work. The composer Armas Järnefelt, Sibelius’s brother-in-law, and Head of the Music Academy, was seen playing it admiringly. "This Kuula", he said "is some fellow!" How beautifully the piano evokes the dying embers of a fire and the poets increasing anxiety as he "sees" a maiden in the flames. The title alone of Kesäyö kirkomaalla (Summer Night in the churchyard) to a poem by another contemporary, Vieko Koskanniemi, evokes the romantic mystery in the song. The same poet’s text, set by Kuula as Epilogi refers to life sleeping hidden "in the womb of night" – the delicatepiano setting expresses implicitly more than the poem alone can say. Jääkukkia (Ice Flowers), another Koskanniemi poem, is a challenge for a good soprano – its exoticism is so highly perfumed that "the flower without any fragrance" is created by music alone. Purjein kuutamolla (Sailing in the Moonlight") exquisitely evokes twinkling stars, and the rippling of waters lit by moonbeams – and then the voice comes in with rhythm, and voice and piano continue together in a surprisingly impressionist manner that makes one wonder what Kuula might have achieved had fate not intervened.

Finland 100th Birthday Gala Helsinki Suomen itsenäisyyden satavuotisjuhla

Suomen itsenäisyyden satavuotisjuhla - 100 years of Finnish Independence, celebrated in a grand gala with the Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra (Helsingen kaupunginorkestri) conducted by Susanna Mälkki.The actual Independence Day is Wednesday, 6th December, but presumably all Finland will be partying then, with many events! So the big concert was Friday, now available for all online HERE. Wonderful programme - 100 years of Finnish music and literature. 

Sibelius, of course : Finlandia will no doubt be heard everywhere !  But here, his op 96B Autrefois for orchestra, |(1919) elegant and lyrical, evoking an idealized past. Since I don't speak Finnish, I didn't know what the speaker reciting passages from Finnish literature was saying, but he sounded passionate.  Then, three key figures in early Finnish modernism.  Ernest Pingoud (died 1942)  Profeeta, a dramatic tone poem which shares some Sibelian cragginess but is not easy to place, stylistically.  Rather better known, Väinö Raitio Fantasia estatica op 21 (1921) even more of a theatrical showpiece. Raitio (1890-1945) was even more of a modernist, clearly aware of Stravinsky and Scriabin - listen out for the plaintive bassoon and violin before the diaphanous ending, lit by harp and celeste.  Aare Merikanto's Intrada is a rousing piece, not as interesting in itself as Raitio's Fantasia, but worth hearing, given Merikanto's significance in modern Finnish repertoire. His father, Oskar Merikanto was a major figure too. After Kuningas Lear overture, Uuno Klami's colourful op 33 (1945)  came Aare Merikanto's Olympiafanfaari (Olympic Fanfare) (1939) a grand piece for a grand occasion. 
 In the second half of the concert, post-war Finnish masters, like Aukis Sallinen  Variations for Orchestra op, 8, (1963) an early work which already shows some characteristics of Sallinen's style.  Monumental forms, brightened by well defined detail, bubbling rhythms, angular shapes, a very"organic" feel.  Two readings from poets  Arto Melleri and Paavo Haavikko followed , so intriguing that it was maddening not to understand the language.  Then, Joonas Kokkonen Il paesaggio (1987)  brooding and mysterious.  In contrast, Jouni Kaipainen's Millennium Fanfare, big on brass and percussion, vivid shapes. strong forward thrust and energy.  The high point, Esa-Pekka Salonen's Helix (2005) : woodwinds, and contrabassoon rising above grumbling timpani, then brass and strings. A steady pulse, throbbing purposefully.  Double themes, wrapping around each other on different levels with many variations.   A lot is happening here, but with increasing liveliness.  the structure is disciplined. The pace speeds up and figures seem to reach outwards and upwards. Eventually the shapes shatter into multiple lines of inventiveness, faster and faster : the glory of life ! 

Magnus Lindberg Accused Anu Komsi Hannu Lintu

Finnish Independence Day last week was commemorated in a concert by the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Hannu Lintu, with Anu Komsi as soloist in Magnus Lindberg's Accused, which premiered in London in 2015. The broadcast, now available on arte.tv, is an opportunity to reassess Lindberg's unusual work.  Accused (2014) is a series of scena based on factual documents, with extracts from an interrogation of people accused of political crimes. Mademoiselle Théroigne de Méricourt an aristocrat at the time of the French revolution, someone with a West German magazine in the Stasi controlled DDR,  and transcripts of the trial of Bradley (Chelsea) Manning  Factual documents (more or less) whose purpose is to prosecute. The voices of the accused are submerged.  By the very nature of these documents, personal human drama is subsumed in cold bureaucracy.  In Accused, we hear the process of justice or non-justice roll relentlessly. Happy endings and "stories" might be more entertaining, but there is a lot more to art than entertainment.

Magnus Lindberg (b 1958) has a formidable body of work, almost entirely orchestral, chamber or instrumental, so Accused, for large orchestra and soprano, is something of a departure. It doesn't follow vocal writing conventions, but works, for me, anyway, more like a concerto, where impersonal forces are pitted against a single voice, always in opposition.  Lindberg writes in blocks of sound - it's not every day we hear a phalanx of piccolos and flutes, small, individual voices acting en masse.  No chance of concertante. That's not the nature of political suppression.  The vocal line isn't easy, it twists and contorts, trying to resist. Anu Komsi isn't an ordinary soprano, even by the standards of contemporary music. Her defiant coloratura scales extremes. Her lines are written to torment and torture.  Yet, if you listen carefully, the outbursts are underpinned by underlying technical control. There are staccato passages so tightly focused, that, for a moment, the orchestra pulls back, then attempts staccato of its own without the commitment of the singer.  After another vocal crescendo, the orchestra makes a strategic retreat into dark rumbling basses.  The innate beauty of Komsi's voice asserts itself in longer lines, reminding us that the person accused is far more complex than her accusers.  These little glimpses of the personality within shine out, despite the swirling tutti around her.  Komsi's voice drops to quiet, low keening, then into fragile, broken fragments, before surging fiercely yet again. Sotto voce mumbles suddenly switch to clear, bright cries. Perhaps because we're familiar with Bradley/Chelsea Manning, we can pick up on the contradictions in the character of Komsi's portrayal. For example the soaring lines that turn back on themselves even if the words being sung suggest the dominance of the orchestra (the military).  Komsi's fermininity matters, as it matters to Manning.  This final scena ends with an oddly beautiful fragility, Komsi's voice  defying physical limitations. A celeste, strings and harp suggest that Manning might draw a measure of  solace, knowing  that the world is looking on.

Accused isn't easy listening, but it's a warning that political suppression should never be normalized In his austere way, Lindberg makes the point that somethings cannot, and should not, be romanticized.  Were it not for those who fought for Finland's freedom, who knows what might have happened to the nation under Stalin.  Large parts of  Karelia were occupied by the Soviets, the native population ethnically cleansed. Think about that when you listen to En Saga and Finlandia, which framed this programme.  If the performances were rather routine, the pieces have been done so often that Lintu and his orchestra may have spent rehearsal time on Lindberg and on Helvi Leiviskä  Symphony no 3.  Leiviskä (1902-82)'s symphony dates from 1971. Pleasant enough, but not much to distinguish it from many other works apart from the composer's gender, which doesn't of course reflect in her music. Fair enough. But given that there are so many Finnish composers and musicians with much more to say, the piece was interesting rather than edifying. 

Erkki Melartin : world premiere recordings

This recent release of works by Erkki Melartin  (1875-1937) from Ondine, with Soile Isokoski and Hannu Lintu conducting the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, will further enhance the revival of interest in Melartin's music which has been building up in the last twenty years.  Melartin's work has been extensively researched, revealing rarities like the three pieces on this disc: the tone poems Traumgesicht and Marjatta and the ballet The Blue Pearl. "Whereas his symphonies are firmly rooted in the Germanic tradition", to quote an article in the Finnish Music Quarterly, these works "show his orchestral writing in a more colourist and virtuoso light. It would appear that working with a freer form inspired him to bolder stylistic experiments in the 1910s in particular."

Melartin's Traumgesicht op 70, 1910, was performed seven times then lay forgotten for more than eighty years.  It's a compact piece, where ambitious ideas are condensed in tight focus, intensifying their impact.  This "Dream Vision" is a vividly painted tableau. The richly sweeping strings set the pace, building to expansive crescendi that might evoke a panorama of endless possibilities. But the crescendi crash into turbulence, cleared away by gentler, minor key melodies, led by woodwind.  Perhaps this dream takes place in a metaphorical dense forest, with clearings for reflection and changes of direction.  Large forces give way to a solo violin, leading the orchestra further. Washes of colour, lit by tiny, whip-like figures, reminicent of Sibelius and his evocations of snow and wind. 

Soile Isokoski has been singing Melartin for decade :  her Soumeni suloksi disc from 2000 remains one of the finest introductions to Finnish art song, and with all respect to Karita Mattila, Isokoski has probably done more for Finnish song since, perhaps, Aino Akté, for whom Melartin's Marjatta (op 79, 1914) was commissioned.   Marjatta is based on the final canto in the Kalevala, where  Väinämöinen orders Marjatta's new-born son (fathered by a lingonberry!) to be put to death, but is thwarted when an old man appears, baptising the child, declaring the child the new King of Karelia.  Väinämöinen's old ways are no more and he skulks away, vowing one day to return, but leaves a kantele "for the children of Suomi". The connection  between Marjatta and Sibelius Luonottar (1913), also commissioned for Aino Akté.  Luonottar describes the creation of the universe, Marjatta the end of the mythical saga. The connections are so obvious that it's more than likely that Melartin was positioning himself directly in relationship to Sibelius. Marjatta shimmers with the sounds of cuckoo song, emphasizing springtime and renewal.  Fluttering figures in the strings suggest winds, or new growth.  Flutes, violins and celesta combine, creating a delicate, fragile mood of hope. The warmth of Isokoski's singing suggests that this new Karelia will prosper.  At the end of Marjatta, Melartin gives the singer one grand climax heralded by trumpet calls.  But how one longs for the truly extraordinary genius of Luonottar and its ferociously imaginative challenges!  Musically, there's no comparison.  Perhaps Marjatta is a follow-on from Melartin's opera Aino (1912) which I remember from way back, though I haven't listened to it for a while.

More cuckoo songs in Melartin's The Blue Pearl, Sininen helmi,  op 160, premiered 1931. In the South Seas, a princess is captured by an octopus who wears a blue pearl in his crown.  Eventually, she's rescued by a prince, but not before we get blissfully lyrical music: sparkling piano passages, harps, flutes, and very high violin tessitura. On this recording, we have eight numbers from the first two acts of the three act original, which probably don't give a sense of narrative but work perfectly well as miniature tone poems, and display a lighter, more lucid Melartin than the early symphonies, or perhaps the existing editions/recordings thereof suggest.  

On hanget korkeat, neitosket

On hanget korkeat, neitosket ("How high the snowdrifts"}.  by Jean Sibelius, op 1/5 published as Viisi joululaulua, a collection of five songs in 1913, but originally written in 1901 for a Helsinki magazine's Christmas edition. The poet was  Willki Joukahainen (1879-1929)  a poet and journalist who would later become a minister of state when Finland became independent. The photo at right shows Ainola, Sibelius's family home, under heavy snow

Listen to the singing and use your imagination to figure out what the words might mean.  The purpose of the exercise is not to guess precise meaning but to respond emotionally to the effect the music has on you. That is all "listening to the music" means, not formal structural analysis or anything like that, but sensitivity to what is being communicated on a deeper level.  Useful life skill, too.

Finnish is a particularly expressive language because of the many vowel sounds which have to be spoken separately, not elided, creating a natural musical line. I don't know what the words in the song mean, but what I get from the music is the steady pace, like the natural rhythms of snowfall. The clear, high registers suggest, to me, the brightness of light on snow,, sunshine or moonlight. The quieter passages suggests to me the hush that envelops the countryside when snow muffles normal sound. This approach to music probably comes naturally to Lieder and orchestral audiences, but would also be useful to cultivate in opera, where music is part of meaning, not just soundtrack. Here is a link to the text, in Finnish, easily babel translated.

 Enjoy and have a peaceful moment!
 

Sibelius Luonnotar - creating the Universe

This is the most stunning Sibelius Luonnotar I've ever seen. The performance, by Karita Mattila, is exceptionally clear and forceful.  Just listen to the piercing legato, projected so the voice could carry over thousands of miles, across even time and space.  What makes this clip, too, is the video. Whoever made it knows what Luonnotar means and why she's the central figure in the Kalevala.

Luonnotar (Op. 70, 1913) must be one of the most distinctive pieces in the repertoire. It transcends both song and symphonic form. Fiendishly difficult to perform, this unique piece needs an appreciation of the very unusual mind that shaped it. Sibelius was at a crossroads. With his Fourth Symphony he was reaching towards new horizons but hadn’t quite come to terms with their implications. He was approaching uncharted waters and the prospect was daunting. As before, he turned to the ur-source of Finnish mythology for inspiration.

Luonnotar was the Spirit of Nature, Mother of the Seas, who existed before creation, floating alone in the universe before the worlds were made "in a solitude of ether". Descending to earth she swam in its primordial ocean for 700 years. Then a storm blows up and in torment, she calls to the god Ukko for help. Out of the Void, a duck flies, looking for a place to nest. Luonnotar takes pity and raises her knee above the waters so the duck can nest and lay her eggs. But when the eggs hatch they emit great heat and Luonnotar flinches. The eggs are flown upwards and shatter, but the fragments become the skies, the yolk sunlight, the egg white the moon, the mottled bits the stars. This was the creation myth of the Karelians who represented the ancient soul of the Finnish cultural identity.

The orchestra may play modern instruments and the soprano may wear an evening gown, but ideally they should convey the power of ancient, shamanistic incantation, as if by recreating by sound they are performing a ritual to release some kind of creative force. The Kalevala was sung in a unique metre, which shaped the runes and gave them character, so even if the words shifted from singer to singer, the impact would be similar. Sibelius does not replicate the metre though his phrases follow a peculiar, rhythmic phrasing that reflects runic chant. Instead we have Sibelius’s unique pulse. In my jogging days, I’d run listening to Night Ride and Sunrise, finding the swift, "driving" passages uncommonly close to heart and breathing rhythms. It felt very organic, as if the music sprang from deep within the body. This pulse underpins Luonnotar too, giving it a dynamism that propels it along. They contrast with the big swirling crescendos, walls of sonority, sometimes with glorious harp passages that evoke the swirling oceans.

But it is the voice part which is astounding. Technically this piece is a killer – there are leaps and drops of almost an octave within a single word. When Luonnotar calls out for help, her words are scored like strange, sudden swoops of unworldly sounds supposed to resound across the eternal emptiness. These hint of the wailing, keening style that Karelian singers used. This cannot be sung with any trace of conservatoire trained artifice: the sounds are supposed to spring from primeval forces. After the duck approaches in a quite delightful passage of dancing notes, the goddess expresses agony for its predicament. Those cries of "Ei! Ei!" – and their echo – sound avant-garde even by modern standards. The breath control required for this must be formidable. Singing over the cataclysmic orchestral climax that builds up from "Tuuli kaatavi, tuuli kaatavi!" must be quite some challenge. The sonorous wall of sound Sibelius creates is like the tsunami described in the text, and the soprano is riding on its crest.

Luonnotar is a complex creature, godlike and childlike at the same time, strong enough to survive eons of floating in ravaged seas, yet gentle enough to cradle a hapless duck. The singer needs to convey that raw primal energy, yet also somehow show the kindness and humour. The sheer physical stamina of singing this tour de force probably accounts for its relative rarity on the concert platform. Luonnotar swam underwater for centuries, so a soprano attempting this must pray for "swimmer's lungs".

The last passages in the piece are brooding, strangely shaped phrases which again seem to reflect runic chanting, as if the magical incantation is building up to fulfilment. And indeed, when the creation of the stars is revealed, the orchestra explodes in a burst of ecstasy. The singer recounts the wonder, with joy and amazement: "Tähiksi taivaale, ne tähiksi taivaale". ("They became the stars in the heavens!"). I can just imagine a singer eyes shining with excitement at this point - and with relief, too, that she’s survived! As Erik Tawaststjerna said, "the soprano line is built on the contrast between … the epic and narrative and the atmospheric and magical".

In his minimalist text, Sibelius doesn’t tell us that  in the Kalevala, Luonnotar goes on to carve out the oceans, bays and inlets and create the earth as we know it, or tell us that she became pregnant by the storm and gave birth later to the first man. But understanding this piece helps to understand Sibelius’s work and personality. Like the goddess, he was struggling with creative challenges and beset by self-doubt and worry. Perhaps through exploring the ancient symbolism of the Kalevala, he was able in some way to work out some ideas: in Luonnotar, I can hear echoes of the great blocks of sound and movement in the equally concise and to the point Seventh Symphony. The year after Luonnotar, Sibelius was to explore ocean imagery again in The Oceanides, whose Finnish title is Aallottaret, or "Spirit of the Waves", just as Luonnotar was the Spirit of Nature, tossed by waves. The Oceanides, written for a lucrative commission from the United States, is a more popular work, and beautiful, but doesn’t have quite the unconventional intensity and uniqueness of Luonnotar. One of the things that fascinates me about Sibelius is the way he envisions remarkable new territory, yet pulls back as if overwhelmed by the force of what lies ahead. One day, maybe I'll writre about the Eighth Symphony and why he might havce withdrawn it at a late stage.

Luonnotar was written for, and premiered by the great Finnish soprano Aino Ackté. Given that she was a diva, I’m not sure what she would have made of the grittier aspects of the piece, but she was a Finnish nationalist after all, and knew its implications. Elisabeth Schwarzkopf was another early champion. When she sang it in Helsinki in 1955, she was moved to say that it was the "best thing she had ever done in her life". There is a clip of this performance but sound quality is poor, especially in comparison with Mattila. Schwarzkopf had guts: until then, most sopranos steered clear of this piece unless they were Finnish and weren't bothered about the savagery in the part. Later it almost became popular, though most of the early recordings until Söderström are unexceptional.


Soile Isokoski and Karita Mattila have both made it a keynote in their repertoires. Isokoski sang it dozens of times, but her best official recording (Neemi Jarvi NOT Paavo) isn't up to some of her live performances. I'm not quite sure which recording this Mattila version is but the orchestra is not in her league. I'd venture it must be CBSO with Sakari Oramo, who is a close personal friend of Mattila. Still, for that singing, one can compromise!

Täällä Pohjantähden alla

A bit more winter from Finland. Jorma Hynninen sings Täällä Pohjantähden alla (Under the North Star). Listen to the kantele!  Happy New Year!

Feminist Finnish Jenůfa, Anna-Liisa 1922

Even if you don 't know Finnish or Swedish, this 1922 movie Anna-Liisa, is so dramatic that you can follow the story without words. Anna-Liisa, a nice country girl is about to marry a wealthy hunk called Johannes, in an idyllic Finnish farm by a lake. But she has a secret! Three years ago she murdered her own baby. This is Jenůfa, except that she does the dirty work herself .

The film was based on a play by Minna Kanth (1844-1897) the first great Finnish playwright, a contemporary of Ibsen .She was a feminist, and interested in modern social issues. Follow the link above to find out more about her. Hers was a liberal, artistic and free-thinking milieu that produced artists, writers, musicians and poets who created the Finnish Republic. To really appreciate Sibelius in context, it helps to understand the "Finnish Renaissance".The film is subtitled both in Swedish, which most educated people spoke, and in Finnish, the language of national identity (which Sibelius, among others had to learn as a second language). English text HERE

Kanth wrote the play, Anna-Liisa, in 1895.  This film, by Teuvo Puro and Jussi Snellman, was made in 1922, but is very well shot for its time. They use the background as an essential part of the story. Look at the detail: life in a simple country farm as it was long ago : the fence built with diagonal logs, windows built of shutters to keep out the winter. When Anna-Liisa's kid sister wants to look into her room, she shifts a slat aside. Modern audiences will be wowed by the elaborate spinning wheel, used for making woolen thread. People didn't just make their own clothes, they made the thread. Look out, too, for the well, operated by an elaborate but obviously efficient mechanism. Horse drawn carts and actors who don't need to be taught how to move around them.  Even a wood sauna by the water, and a naked man strolling out. This pure, simple lifestyle represents Anna-Liisa's world. You can almost smell the clean, fresh air and trees.

Anna-Liisa is seduced by a farmhand called Mikko, who runs off to work in a logging camp. In the play, there's be no way of showing what logging involved. Here we see the mighty forests, and logs being floated down the river. Logging is a dangerous business, loggers jump into the river to shift the logs. Understanding this makes you appreciate how much Mikko has achieved by leaving the village, and why he assumes that Anna-Liisa should have to marry him whether she wants to or not..

Anyway, Anna-Liisa gets pregnant and the baby dies, but she keeps her secret from everyone. Yet guilt weighs heavily upon her. Her little sister has a dream (around 33 min) where we see the "dream" girl superimposed on the sleeping girl. In her nightdress the dream girl finds Anna-Liisa dead, by the lake and garlands her with wild flowers. This simple device sets the mood for the real drama. Anna-Liisa sits by the lake, distraught, and suddenly throws herself in, screaming "My Baby!" Along comes Mikko, who drags her out. On Sunday, Anna-Liisa has to marry, but whom? Mikko or Johannes? Marrying Mikko will hide her guilt, but she doesn't love him anymore. But Anna-Liisa's no wimp. In front of the parson and people, she reveals her secret and says she'll take the consequences. And she doesn't marry either man!