Force of Nature Theremin Concerto - Kalevi Aho

Carolina Eyck, theremin

On the centenary of the discovery of the theremin by Léon Theremin (1896-1993) Kalevi Aho's Acht Jahreszeiten, (Eight Seasons)  Concerto for Theremin and Chamber Orchestra (2011), with dedicatee Carolina Eyck and John Storgårds conducting the Lapland Chamber Orchestra.  Nothing movie-music spooky here ! Aho brings out the full musical potential of the instrument, and its unique "singing" qualities.  With a range of seven octaves it can reach beyond human capacity : Aho's Concerto combines the theremin with wordless vocalise, the soloist projecting into the air which the players maniulates and shapes with her hands to create patterns of sound.  The result is a fascinating blend of human and non-human, an important consideration given that the piece connects to the shamanistic beliefs of the Sami people of the Arctic circle. That's also relevant since the theremin is not played by touch, but shaped by moving the flow of air. Pitch is determined by the distance and movement of hands, and is extremely difficult to control. Thus the use of sliding glissando, and sudden silences, created by hands held close to the right frequency antenna.  Carolina Eyck, ,like her mentor, Clara Rockmore, developed new fingering techniques which help find the right starting pitch, allowing wider leaps between intervals and "trembling" vibrato.  "My Theremin Concerto", writes Aho, "always contains clear pitches or tonal anchor points  that the player can rely on".    

The subtitle "the Eight Seasons" refers to the seasons as experienced in the arctic circle, where winters are long and harsh. People living in close harmony with Nature are much more sensitive to subtle changes, if only for survival, and are much more alert to the elemental forces around them. Thus "Harvest", still warmth but growing cold, to "Autumn Colours", to "Black Snow, to "Christmas Darkness", to the storms of "Winter Frost","Crushed Snow", and "Eisschelmeze", the Melting of Ice in very early Spring,  and the brief magic of the "Midnight Sun".  At times, the theremin makes swooping sounds that might suggest the migration of birds, or turbulence in the upper atmosphere, images as invisible as the air with which the instrument operates. Sometimes violin answer, sometimes hushed winds, reinforcing the idea of human response to the forces of nature. Eyck's wordless vocalise adds mystery, especially in "Christmas Darkness" with its sense of wonderous contemplation.  In "Winter Frost" a storm blows up the theremin in its element, wailing and switching directions with wild exuberance, then grardually subsiding.  In harsh climates the first signs of spring are heard before they can be seen,often in the cracking of ice and the flow of streams beneath the snow. Thus the magical personality of "The melting of the ice",the theremein singing gaily.  In "The Midnight Sun", the piece ends in E flat,  just as the cycle began with in "Harvest", reinforcing the concept of seasons as part of a cycle of Nature which lasts eternally.

The same disc also contains Kalevi Aho's Concerto for Horn and Chamber Orchestra (2011) with soloist Annu Salminen.  Here the soloist moves to different points in the performance space, creating a sense of spatial openness.  It' very good, but Aho's Theremin Concerto steals the show with its sheer beauty and originality !

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. 

George Antheil re-assessed : John Storgårds

To dismiss the music of George Antheil, without understanding its context, is unfair. John Storgårds makes a good case for Antheil with this recording, the second in his series for Chandos, with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra.  Antheil (1900-1969) moved to Paris in 1922, when it was the centre of the avant garde.  Everyone who could flocked to Paris, and its explosion of creative innovation, in art, literature, music, dance, cinema and social change. Antheil's Ballet mécanique remains an icon, its principles influencing the rest of his career.  Antheil's score, built around 16 synchronized player pianos, with sirens and aeroplane propellers for special effects, reflects in music concepts of modernity inspired by Futurism and mechanical activity.  Multiple processes happen independently, yet move together, as in a machine. Just as in the paintings of Ferdinand Léger, with whom Antheil worked, the passage of time is fragmented, frozen in motion, springing suddenly to life. Man Ray's cinematography operated like a kaleidoscope, fractured images forming and reforming in new patterns. It caused a sensation in Paris, but new York wasn't ready for it. After the rise of Hitler,  Antheil returned to the United States, where like so many other modernist exiles, he had to make a living writing for the movies. 

It's against this background that Antheil's music needs to be heard.  His symphonies no 3 "American" and no 6 "After Delacroix" are true symphonies, not film music, but show the influence of techniques used in Ballet mécanique and in cinema.  Antheil's Symphony no 3 "American" is a travelogue, a collage of impressions inspired by Antheil's travels across America.  The first movement opens with an expansive fanfare. If it is a portrait of New York City, its energy might reflect the buzz of urban life, brief snatches of melody rising beneath its vigorous zig zag patterns. The andante movement apparently describes New Orleans : quieter, and more nostalgic, with darker undercurrents and a subtle suggestion of brass bands, culminating in a Marcia for high winds.  The heart of the symphony, though, lies in the third movement, a scherzo with the title "The Golden Spike". This comes from a score for a film about the Union Pacific Railway which Antheil was working on for  Cecil B De Mille, but the producer, alarmed about the strong nature of Antheil's music, re-assigned the work to the studio music department.  After this, Antheil worked mainly for independents, like  Ben Hecht, and smaller companies where he could write what he wanted, and cult classics like Dementia also known as Daughter of Horror (please read my review of that here) "I've saved a few flops in my time", he said, with more than a trace of irony.  

George Antheil in Hollywood, 1946

The starting point for Antheil's Symphony no 6 "After Delacroix" is Delacroix's painting "Liberty Leading the People" which shows Liberty leading the revolution of 1830.  Marianne (the symbol of France) is bare breasted - exposed and in danger - but fearless.  Strong chords loom up,  followed by rushing rippling figures.  But Antheil isn't illustrating.  Explicit quotes from The Battle Cry of Freedom, indicate that his concerns were closer to home, while remembering his roots in the "revolution" of Paris in the 1920's.  The symphony was premiered by Pierre Monteux in 1949, but received with incomprehension.  It was mauled by critics for sounding like Shostakovich, a rather unpleasant slur in McCarthyite times, given that Antheil had been writing revolutionary music long before Shostakovich, who wasn't in any case a party apparatchik. Why do modern critics still repeat reactionary clichés without listening or knowing the composer ? The other two movements don't sound remotely like Shostakovich.   The larghetto is moody and opaque, a curving, almost penitential line gradually morphing into  waywardness then continuing at a steady pace.  The last movement moves swiftly, subtle shifts of tempo building up to a riotous finale that ends with an exuberant flourish. 

Antheil's "American" credentials are authentic. In Archipelago (1935) a rhumba, he experiments with Latin American forms, splicing them together in highly individual collage. In Hot-Time Dance (1948), he packs multiple changing moods into a four minute epigram.  Antheil's Spectre of the Rose Waltz comes from his music for the film Specter of the Rose, made by Ben Hecht.in 1946.  The movie is way too intellectual to have been a box office hit. It compresses Berlioz, Carl Maria von Weber, Stravinsky, Nijinsky and Diaghilev into a tightly scripted plot that blends expresssionist horror with scathing wit. (Please read more about it here)  Again, there is a subtext, in that Antheil knew Stravinsky in Paris and could poke fun, while respecting Stravinsky as a composer.  Antheil's Spectre of the Rose Waltz spins round like a waltz, romantic on the surface, but solidly structured.   Far less populist and popular than many composers around him, Antheil's reputation is undergoing reassessment.  He's much closer to Edgard Varèse, George Gershwin, Charles Ives and Elliott Carter than to Aaron Copland, and deserves being taken seriously.  Thanks to John Storgårds and other conductors like Ingo Metzmacher, who also has him in his repertoire, George Antheil's time is coming.  there's lots about Antheil (and about experimental cinema) on this site - please explore !

Lise Davidsen Luonnotar steals whole Prom ! Storgårds BBCPO

At the BBC Proms, Lise Davidsen stole the show with a spectacular Sibelius Luonnotar. op 17 (1913). Luonnotar is a life force exploding with such intensity that its spirit seemed to spring from the depths of Sibelius's soul, materializing in his score.  At the time it was written, 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 written for, and premiered by the great Finnish soprano Aino Ackté.  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. Schwarzkopf had guts: until then, most sopranos steered clear of this piece unless they were Finnish (a beautiful language, but tricky to sing) and weren't bothered about the strikingly modern savagery in the part.

Lise Davidsen's Luonnotar was mightily impressive.  Her voice is magnificent, floating the strange modulations in the line with well-judged poise, projecting the keening forward lines so they seek out the furthest corners of space.   Voice as tsunami ! Her Luonnotar is very, very strong, for Luonnotar is the mother of creation itself, forged from struggle.  Davidsen is only 30, so she still has a way to go, but she could well be one of the really great voices of our time, a worthy successor to Söderström, Isokoski and Mattila.  Recently she astonished audiences at Glyndebourne with her Ariadne : definitely a singer to watch.

Luonnotar is 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.

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's 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.

Prior to that stunning Luonnotar, John Storgårds conducted the BBC Philharmonic Orchestara in  the suite from Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt (of which I've written HERE) and HERE where Davidsen sang Solveig's Song.  Under Storgårds, the BBCPO sounds thrillingly alive. In Robert Schumann's Cello Concerto in A minor op 129, their support for soloist Alban Gerhardt was superb, almost palpable, as if in symbiosis.  To conclude, Paul Hindemith Symphony "Mathis der Maler".  A garagantuan programme, pretty hard to pull off by any standards. I could write volumes but I'm all wrung out.