Dalia Stasevska Prom : Weinberg Cello Concerto

Dalia Stasevka (photo Jarmo Katila, Harrison Parrott)

Prom 25 for Dalia Stasevska and for Mieczysław Weinberg's Concerto for cello and orchestra op 43 (1948, revised 1956), with soloist Sol Gabetta.  Weinberg's Cello Concerto is fairly well known, performed very early on by Gennadi Rozhdestvensky and  Mstislav Rostropovich.  That it's new to the Proms is in itself no big deal. Weinberg's music is almost culty these days, but has often recieved performances that are more worthy than worthwhile, but this performance was good. More below and pleasee read my piece on the outstanding Weinberg Symphony no 21 "Kaddish" with Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla, the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, and Gidon Kremer and the Kremerata Baltica HERE.  

Dalia Stasevska was recently appointed the next Principal Guest Conductor of the BBC Symphony Orchestra, her first appearances with them at the Barbican Hall in October this year and in April 2020.  That's a very high profile appointment indeed, and a leap upwards from what she's done to date, so a lot was hanging on this Proms debut.  Given that Jean Sibelius Karelia Suite op 11 (1893) is so stirring that it should be a surefire success, I was probably expecting too much. This was a little too  routine, the Alla Marcia a little tentative. Perhaps the best of Stasevska is yet to come. 

On to Weinberg's Cello Concerto . I'm not sure why Stasevska (at least in the broadcast interview) needs to justify this by saying "it's not at all avant gardist". It wasn't meant to be, and what's wrong with liking the piece on its own terms ?  The long first movement is ruminative, its pace funereal, with a steady tread.  Above this background, Gabetta's cello weaves a plaintive line that seems to stretch into space before descending into darker undercurrents. The orchestra picks up the "searching" expansive theme, but the cello continues, as if determined to do its own thing. In the moderato, the tension between cello and orchestra was more marked, though again the cello distances itself from the mass : Gabetta's instrument has character ! The first allegro is marked by angularities in the orchestral part which grow increasingly dominant, but from which the cello  remains defiant - rapid fire lines that spring ahead, until, towards the end, it takes precedence again, with an almost lyrical melody, possibly tinged with melancholy : Gabetta's bowing in the final moment is richly resonant, increasiungly refined and ultimately transcedant.  As in so much Weinberg, lyricism is more than lyricism: context is never far away.

Tchaikovsky's Symphony No 6 in B minor, 'Pathétique' is, like Sibelius Karelia Suite, another certain crowd pleaser.  If anything, we've heard it so often that  it would be more than unusual if this performance had been a revelation, but this was pleasant enough for a Proms outing. 

All Sibelius Prom, but different - Pekka Kuusisto, Dausgaard

A very different Prom 20 featuring Jean Sibelius with Pekka Kuusisto, Thomas Dausgaard and the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra.  Not the famous Sibelius Symphony no 5 op 82, but the first version, from 1915, in four movements. The first performance was a success, but Sibelius, ever his own sternest critic, wasn't satisfied and continued to revise it until 1919. During the 1980's and 90's, research into Sibelius's original source materials made it possible to reconstruct a performing version of this early score, based on orchestral parts and notes from the period. The premiere recording was made in 1995 with Osmo Vänskä and the Lahti Symphony Orchestra. Over the years, this version has come to be appreciated for its own sake, not just as a novelty, but for its originality. Thomas Dausgaard's approach was convincing, bringing out the exploratory character of the piece, acknowledging that, for Sibelius, the work had a long genesis. Moreover, Dausgaard framed this performance in context, pairing the symphony with the Violin Concerto, and rather more unusually with Finnish folk music and orchestrated versions of folk tunes.   The Prom sold out fast on the strength of the symphony's popularity, (and Kuusisto's charisma) but in many ways it's more interesting to hear how the composer's
creative processes develop.

The first moments of Sibelius' Violin Concerto in D minor op 47 emerged, organically,  from the folk songs that went before  (kantele, harmonium and three voices), Kuusisto's violin singing, as if were the embodiment of some ancient spiritual force. How plaintive it sounded, almost on its own, defining theme with great assurance, as if in defiance of the orchestra until the strings enter en masse.  The many variations of tempo and direction test the soloist, but Kuusisto's fluency showed how well the piece flows The reiterations towards the end of the allegro moderato were so vibrant that the orchestra seemed carried along with its energy. A particularly  moving second movement enhanced the third. Yet again,  Kuusisto managed to balance poise with flamboyance : his feel for Sibelius is deeply intuitive, bringing out the quirky originality which made his music so distinctive.  Kuusisto could not do boring, even if he tried.  A pity that on the broadcast, the announcer broke into hysterics, shouting loudly before the music really ended. Completely destructive. Send this one to cover football.

A set of orchestrated songs based on themes by Sibelius provided a prologue to Sibelius Symphony no 5.  Not "traditional" but tradition adapting modern art music.  In this 1915 version of the symphony, the "stepping impulse" and "rocking impulse" described by Eric Tawaststjerna give thrust to the first movement, this character being retained in the final version, though the details are less defined, the second movemnt, a scherzo, not yet integrated.  On the other hand, this emphasizes the experimental nature of this version, still germinating in the composer's imagination.  The "stepping impulse" makes emotionalas well as musical sense : tiptoes into the unknown, so to speak.  The strong chords that follow all the more expansive and alluring.  When I was a kid, I visualized a tiny figure creeping into strange, dark territory, getting bolder and braver.  Thus is achieved the final movement, the Allegro commodo section sublime "with the wind in its sails", as I used to think. Another flurry of "stepping impulse", Sibelius in full flow, rushing forwards. The Largamente molto section in this version is slightly more tentative but Dausgaard kept the overall thrust, so when its destination is acheived, it felt natural.   

Sibelius Kullervo revitalized : Thomas Dausgaard, BBC SSO, Juntunen, Appl, Lund Chorus

Why did Jean Sibelius suppress Kullervo (Op7, 1892) ?  There are many theories why he didn't allow it to be heard after its initial performances, though he referred to it fondly in private. This new recording, from Hyperion with Thomas Dausgaard conducting the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra, soloists Helena Juntunen and Benjamin Appl and the Lund Male Chorus,  is a good new addition to the ever-growing awareness of Kullervo, on recording and in live performance.
Kullervo is a musical act of defiance, written as it was at a time when Finland was  resisting efforts by Russia to curb its freedoms. This adds context to the figure of Kullervo himself, a child born into suffering. One can appreciate Kullervo without knowing the Kalevala, but it does enhance meaning. Runes XXXI to XXXVI give Kullervo's background. He's cruelly mistreated by an uncle who stole his patrimony. He's tortured and sold into slavery. When he meets the maiden, he rapes her because he wants what she represents, yet, raised in cruelty, he doesn't have what we might call "social skills". Dreams of his long-lost mother have kept him going , so when he discovers that the woman he has violated is his sister, he suffers such guilt that he must offer his own life in appeasement.  I've often wondered if Sibelius himself realized how daring Kullervo was and, being a worrier, pulled back, as he might have pulled back from the enormity of his conception for the Eighth? Once, Sibelius performance practice presented the composer in sub-Tchaikovsky terms, which really doesn't do the work justice.  Kullervo resets the balance so we can think ahead to the inventiveness of later Sibelius.

The first modern recording took place in 1970, shortly after the rediscovery of the manuscript, with Paavo Berglund and the Bournemouth Symphony.  For fifteen years, there was no other recording until Berglund's second version, with the Helsinki Philharmonic, a darker re-evaluation.  Over the years, the work has been critically re-edited, (Glenda Dawn Goss for Breitkopf & Härtel), and performance practice greatly enhanced.  Dausgaard's approach with the BBC Scottish Orchestra captures the audacity in the piece. From a hushed opening, the Allegro Moderato grows with ever increasing impatience, as if it were an Overture to an opera, for a quasi-opera this is. One cannot overestimate the impact of Wagner and his"forest murmurs", though even at this early stage in his career, Sibelius was seeking a new sound world. Kullervo comes alive with the rhythms of the Kalevala, with its strange, primitive pulse and shamanistic repetitions. Hence the short, sharp intervals in the brass and winds, and the driving pizzicato in the strings, creating a sense of tense, ritualized movement. Even to our ears accustomed to Stravinsky, Bartók and Janáček, Kullervo still sounds primeval. Yet it was written twenty-one years before The Rite of Spring.   

Dausgaard also emphasizes the sophistication that lies beneath the ostensible rawness. This is not simply folk tale for grand orchestra but an imaginative approach to dynamics. The contrast between emotional extremes and the tight, staccato-like figures creates abstract narrative tension.  It's as if we're hearing Kullervo's nervous heartbeat, pulsating with frustration.  In the second movement "Kullervo's Youth",  the pulse flows strongly, dotted rhythms suggesting forward thrust.  Forceful chords suggest alarm, but the pulse returns, quietly but purposefully.  

The heart of Sibelius Kullervo lies in the long central movement "Kullervo and his Sister".  A magnificent introduction, where Dausgaard and the orchestra make the string lines shiver : given what is to come this is no minor detail.  The Lund Male Chorus enter with sharply focussed attack, their lines intoned with menacing portent : this is incantation as much as song.  "Kullervo, Karlevon poika !" The pulse in the orchestra surges even more powerfully, evoking at once the speed of the sledge and the implacable force of fate.  Quieter moments intensify contrast.  Kullervo (Benjamin Appl) and his sister (Helena Juntunen)  confront each other. Juntunen's lines tremble with palpable frisson, yet her every syllable is clearly defined.  Her soliloquy "En ole sukua suurta, Enkä suurta, enkä pientä" is a tour de force.  Her timbre is at once sensual and tragic, creating the complexity in the character.  Woodwinds suggest the calls of birds, or hunting horns, for the prey here is human. Thrusting staccato surrounds Kullervo - testosterone in  music - yet his lines curl tentatively : beneath his brutishness, Kullervo is also a victim of forces beyond control. Appl's delivery is a bit too heroic, since Kullervo is no hero but a very fractured personality.  Though he sings well, his need to channel Fischer-Dieskau, with whom he worked for a very brief period, increasingly works against interpretation   Voice is not enough : a singer needs to be himself.  
A particularly dramatic "Kullervo goes to Battle",  string lines flying, winds shrill and piercing.  In this movement, one can hear the driving sense of propulsion that Sibelius would later use so effectively.  Again, passages of tenderness, lit by scintillating winds, add a poignant touch : once, Kullervo was meant for better things.  A rousing, exhilarating finale - by seeking death he will at last overcomes shame and find redemption. Thus the return of Chorus in the final movement, intoning solemnly, accompanied by mournful brass. The steady pulse returns, too, though now funereal and hushed.  The movement reaches its final, valedictory climax, the orchestra in full flow, the chorus singing with powerful force. "Loppu ainaki urosta, Koulema kovaosaista." Heard live this can blast you out of your seat.  Dausgaard and the BBC SSO demonstrate what a remarkable work Kullervo can be.

Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla : Peer Gynt and other choral stars

Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt a choral blockbuster ?  Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla conducted Grieg's full incidental music to Ibsen's play with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, showing how the choral sections make a difference to the way the drama is received.  Peer Gynt is so well-known through extracts that the original context is lost.  Not a fjord in sight, except in a metaphorical sense. Peer Gynt isn't a hero. Ibsen's original as a Leseopera, an opera to be read and meditated upon, not "just" entertainment. He satirized aspects of Norwegian mentality in the period when the country was a colony of Denmark.  Peer's adventures are fraught with danger, supernatural as well as physical, The innate tension between moments of beauty and wildness creates a dynamic which is fundamental to interpretation.

Gražinytė-Tyla's approach brought out the power that lies beneath the surface : a vivid reading, bristling with energy.  Not for nothing does Grieg's wedding procession end with ferocious chords. Peer disrupts proceedings and gets kicked out for fighting.  Thus the first chorus with its almost primitive savagery : the subconscious being released.  Congratulations to the CBSO chorus (chorus master Julian Wilkins) showing their metttle. Indeed, this whole programme focusssed on choral music though no doubt the media will think in more simplistic nationalist terms. Thius does matter, since Gražinytė-Tyla has a choral background and is in an ideal position to build on CBSO's reputation for choral music of all kinds.

Having established the drama, Gražinytė-Tyla could focus on the interplay between expansive lyricism and more unusual forms, from the "barbarism" of the Hall of the Troll King to the exoticism of the Arabian dances.  In the Abduction of the Bride, the chorus led into Ingrid's Lament with soloist Klara Ek, and the Death of Åse prepared the way for Solveig's Song : both expressions of love and loss.  In Peer's Homecoming, the CBSO played with strong definition so the obvious imagery (a ship on the sea) seemed enhanced by forces beyond Nature. The Whitsun hymn, sung right afterwards, indicates that this conflation of inner and outer worlds is no accident, but central to meaning. Peer lives in the world of the imagination, feckless until he comes to appreciate true values.  Thus the finale, when Klara Ek, the soloist, the chorus and orchestra come together in glorious balance.

The programme began with neither conductor nor orchestra but with the City of Birmingham Youth Chorus in Esa-Pekka Salonen's Dona Nobis Pacem (2010) a five minute a capella miniature. Salonen plays with chords and textures, the three words of the text repeated in undulating cadence, the last notes held until they dissolve in silence.  Because it's so minimal, careful modulation like this is of the essence.  The freshness of these young voices connected well to Einojuhani Rautavaara's Cantus Arcticus: Concerto for Birds and Orchestra, where recorded bird song replaces chorus.  The orchestra reacts and responds, gradually coming into its own : long, searching lines, suggesting distance, flutes singing together as if they were birds.  A cello sings, its melody enhanced by the cries of birds.  For a moment, the orchestra falls silent, "listening" to birdsong before embarking on long, surging lines that expand, flutes in full flight, low voiced winds adding depth, until the music disappears beyond audibility.  These two pieces combine extremely well.  In both cases the performers must be listeners, sensitive to the subtlest nuance.

Back to more conventionally choral chorus with Jean Sibelius's Rakastava (The Lover), op 14 (1912).  More thoughtful programming from Gražinytė-Tyla, the minimal accompaniment reflecting the delicacy in Salonen and Rautavaara. The men's voices dominate at first - the cycle was originally scored for unaccompanied male voice -  but the women's voices enter with brighter, brisker figures until both reach parity.  Yet again the value of sensitive singing, hushed but precise.  Sibelius En Saga op 9  (1892) was also played well, (great solo moments !), Gražinytė-Tyla conducting with the clarity that brings out structure and detail. 

Rattle LSO Barbican - Janáček Szymanowski Sibelius

Sir Simon Rattle and the London Symphony Orchestra at the Barbican Hall with Janáček’s Sinfonietta, Sibelius Symphony no 5 and Szymanowkski 's Violin Concerto with Janine Jansen, following on from Sunday’s season opener where Rattle and the LSO did Birtwistle, Holst, Turnage and Benjamin Britten.  Please read more about that first concert in my review HERE which was a wonderful experience.  As always, with Rattle, intelligent, thoughtful programming.  Just as the thread in the first concert was "New Music Britain" linking Holst, Birtwistle, Britten and Turnage, the thread in this second concert might have been "Britain and New Music in Europe".  Janáček and Sibelius had huge followings in Britain from very early on, and Szymanowski became a Szymanowski hot spot more than 30 years ago, almost entirely thanks to Rattle's early championship.
Janáček, Szymanowski and Sibelius - three Rattle specilaities upon whom much of his reputation is based.

How I wish that I'd been able to get to both conecrts, since the LSO live broadcast omitted Syzmanowski, which I'd been looking forward to.  Rattle, who learned his Szymanowski from Witold Lutoslawski, made Britain a Szymanowski hot spot more than 30 years ago, when the Communists still controlled Poland, and weren't giving the composer the recognition he enjoys today.  Rattle's recordings are still the leaders in the field : you need to know them to fully appreciate the composer. So my regret at not hearing Jansen in the Violin Concerto is tempered by knowing there are alternatives.  She's done the piece many times, including with Rattle and with the LSO.  

Rosa Newmarch, a great musicologist, was aware of Janáček amost before he found his own instinctive voice as a composer late in life, promoting him passionately in Britain,sponsoring his visit to London in 1926.  In return, Janáček rededicated the Sinfonietta in her honour.  A precedent was established. Only ten years later Vítězslava Kaprálová, aged only 22, was invited to London to conduct her own Military Sinfonietta with the BBC Symphony Orchestra, a work which pays direct homage to Janáček, at a time when Czechoslovakia was being threatened by the Nazi regime.  Later Rafael Kubelík was to revive interest in Janáček at the Royal Opera House.  Rosa Newmarch was an extraordinarily influential person, working tirelessly for what she cared about and she  herself deserves to be given greater acknowkedgement.  Please try and get to the Oxford Lieder Festival on 16th October to hear Philip Ross Bullock speak about Newmarch, Janáček and the music of Bohemia, Moravia and Slovakia. It's followed by a recital of Janáček's seminally important Diary of One who Disappeared, with Toby Spence and Julius Drake. Please read more here.

The fanfare with which Janáček’s Sinfonietta begins was bracingly bright, the row of trumpeters aligned at the back of the orchestra a blazing sight. Though the piece was initially written to celebrate Czechoslovakia's military, it is as much about freedom and free spirits as about the military.  The sharpness of Rattle's attack heralded the transition to woodwind melodies, reminiscent of the pipes in a military band, but also reminscent of the sounds of the countryside.  Rattle's approach on this occasion (he's conducted it many times) was vivacious, very open-air.  I specially liked the way the fanfare resurfaced, with warmth and vigour rather than brass for the sake of brass.  Long string lines floated over resolute foundations, describing the buildings that loom over the city, making a nice contrast with the fourth movement where the trumpets lead a merry march, horns in accord.  At last we reach " The Town Hall, Brno" as the last movement is titled.  The kings, queens and church no longer reign, though their heritage informs the new Republic.  Those cheerfully awry rhythms might suggest the jubilation of the people. The return of the fanfare chorale thus created a sense of unity: past and future linked together with heady optimism.
Britain fell in love with Sibelius very early on. Indeed, the composer's popularity in the west contributed towards international support for the independence of Finland, an example of art influencing life.  Again, Rosa Newmarch was in on Sibelius fairly early on. Finlandia was heard twice at the 1906 Proms. Rattle's Sibelius continues a long British tradition forged by Beecham, Boult,  Barbirolli, Berglund and others.  Most British audiences grow up with Sibelius implanted into their listening DNA, and Rattle has been a part of that.  Rattle's Sibelius most certainly is to be reckoned with, not brutalist like Karajan, but more sympathetic to the other forces in the music.  Rattle in 2018 with the LSO is of course very different from Rattle with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra twenty years ago, but this was a very good performance.  Much of the stylishness of the Berliner Philharmoniker may have rubbed off on Rattle, and the LSO are sounding more inspired and classier than ever.  A "warm" Sibelius 5, with grandeur and magnificence, but also human and humane : Sibelius with a soul, so to speak, and all the better for that.  Livestream here for 30 days

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. 

Oramo and Komsi - Sibelius 2, 7 and Luonnotar Barbican

Perhaps the most intriguing programme in the whole Sibelius series with Sakari Oramo and the BBC SO at the Barbican, London. Three stylistic breakthroughs - Sibelius Symphony no 2 and Symphony no 7  and Luonnotar, with coloratura assoluta Anu Komsi, whose range and vocal flexibility is well suited to the piece. Luonnotar is always a tour de force,  but Komsi topped it off with Aare Merikanto's Ekho, yet another vocal challenge. Pairing Luonnotar with Ekho was daring indeed. Though the two pieces complement each other well, they are tricky to programme together, given the technical difficulties in the voice parts. But this conductor, orchestra and soloist have worked together so often in this repertoire that they can pull the feat off, and well, too.  They have been busy in recent weeks, with the Sibelius series (see below for links to my reviews of other concerts), with  Soumi 100 and with the Esa-Pekka Salonen Total Immersion at the Barbican which coincided with Finnish Independence week, in which the Komsi twins sang Salonen's Wing to Wing.  A lot to take on board at one time! Luckily, the Salonen Total Immersion is being broadcast on BBC Radio 3 this week.  More about Salonen to come.

So hearing Oramo conduct the BBC SO  in early Sibelius (Symphony no 2), early middle Sibelius (Luonnotar) and late Sibelius (Symphony no 7) brings out the connections between them and throws into higher focus the overall traverse of Sibelius output.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.  Luonnotar also marks a rebirth of a kind for Sibelius after the difficult period from which came the dark Symphony no 4. Mahler's works form a huge, coherent whole, but so too do the works of Sibelius when presented with the intelligence that Oramo has brought to this series. 

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.

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 at 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 fulfillment. 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, you can hear echoes of the great blocks of sound and movement in the equally concise seventh symphony. 

In each concert in this Oramo/BBCSO Barbican series, other composers have been included for comparison and contrast.  Now, at the end of the run we're looking ahead to the future. Aare Merikanto (1893-1956) was the son of  Oscar Merikanto (1868-1924), also a composer and a contemporary of Sibelius.  Please read more HERE about mid 20th century Finnish music (Susanna Mälkki/Helsinki Philharmonic in December).  Oramo conducted Aare Merikanto's Ekho (1922), and Komsi sang.  But enough for now, I'm knackered.  I'll write about that tommorow .when I have more time. And here is my bit on Merikanto's Ekho, as promised !

Other concerts in the Oramo Sibelius series with the BBC SO at the Barbican:

Finland Awakes ! Finnish centenary celebration

Sibelius 4 and 6, Anders Hillborg

Sibelius 3 Ravel Franck and Schmitt

"I am not pleased!" says Sibelius re the Guardian

"I am NOT pleased!" growls  Janne Sibelius

The Guardian questioned whether Sibelius was Finnish.  Rejoinder: does the Guardian do journalism, or clickbait?  For the past three months, London has enjoyed two superlative series - Sakari Oramo's Sibelius plus series with the BBC SO at the Barbican, and Esa-Pekka Salonen's Nordic Days with the Philharmonia (and others) at the South Bank.   At a stroke the Guardian has destroyed the goodwill generated by these concert series.  So much goodwill  (and knowledge) built up. Then, at a stroke, the Guardian messes up. The article's become an international incident, picked up in the Scandinavian press.  Thank goodness they don't think all Brits are as stupid as our newspapers.  The Guardian later changed the headline and the writer apparently apologized. But if the Guardian was serious about journalism they'd look into what gets written in the first place.

As many have said, three languages are spoken in Finland - Finnish, Swedish and Russian, and huge parts of Karelia are now under Russian rule.  National identity is never simple or rigidly fixed, except maybe to Brexiteers.  A basic knowledge of European history would not go astray. Dare we ask that anyone writing about Sibelius might know who he was and what he did?   Sibelius's music found a ready audience in Britain very early on. His popularity helped shape western opinion, creating international sympathy for a Finland even when Britain and Russia were linked.  In the past, Finland was too small to have had strategic value to the west, so popular international support made a lot of difference.   Effectively, Sibelius was the father of his nation, a symbol of Finnishness to the whole world.  Sibelius was Finalnd's secret weapon ! Doesn't that matter?

Salonen Sibelius Finnish independence Lemminkäinen Suite

Lemminkäinen and the Swan of Tuonela

 Celebrating Finnish Independence (and Jean Sibelius's birthday) at the South Bank, London, with Esa-Pekka Salonen, Vilde Frang and the Philharmonia Orchestra.  A very inspired performance, Salonen and the players no doubt responding to the sense of occasion.  The Royal Festival Hall  was illuminated in blue and white - the national colours of Finland - enhanced with gold, adding to the party atmosphere. The powerful brass motifs of Finlandia op 26 seemed to loom out of nowhere, at once ferocious and challenging, followed by timpani rolling like thunder. The woodwind theme with its heartfelt sincerity seemed at first fragile, but fragile things can grow strong : that's part of what Finlandia stands for.  Like a prayer, like an act of faith, the theme grew firmer until the brasses herald it with joy, and the percussion crashed round it. Though Finlandia is so well known as a stand alone,  it needs to be understood in the context of its origins in the Music for Press Celebrations op 25/26 which we heard yesterday. Please read more here.

Vilde Frang was the soloist in Sibelius Violin Concerto in D minor op 47. This is another perennial, played by eminent masters. Frang is fragile looking, but her technique is strong. the freshness of her style brought out the sensitivity in the piece. The spirit of the hymn theme from Finlandia ! The freshness of Frang's style . Very moving.

But the highlight of this concert was an exceptionally vivid Sibelius Lemminkäinen Suite op.22.  This is an early work, from the period of Finlandia and shows the young Sibelius finding his voice, drawing on the past in order to move forward.  Given that Wagner drew on Norse/Icelandic legend for Der Ring des Niebelungen, it would have seemed logical to create a saga based on the Kalevala.  Like Kullervo op,7 1892, and indeed the Music for Press Celebrations, the Lemminkäinen Suite is a series of scena, effectively four tone poems on the adventures of Lemminkäinen, a figure in the Kalevala.  In the first section, Lemminkäinen.and the Maidens of .Saari, the hero is youthful. Sweeping themes suggest open horizons. Salonen emphasized the underlying rhythmic pulse, for the young Lemminkäinen represents physical vitality. That's why he seduces all the maidens on the island.  Brief, more cautious figures, like an animal stalking prey, give way to exuberant rhythms : the thrill of the chase. Good contrast between "male" thrusting motifs and "female" dances and a very well executed denouement.  

Most impressively, though, Salonen  understood Lemminkäinen. as "abstract" music - layers of movement, shifting textures, swift changes of pace. There's a whole lot more to  Lemminkäinen than folklore. Salonen's approach is more sophisticated, musically, and puts more emphasis on Sibelius as a composer who understood structure, form and orchestration.  In the two movements in Tuonela, these multi levels  create density : shimmering sounds of great richness,  broken by sharp contrasts. The music tells the story. The swan glides gracefully. The "arrow" flies. The cor anglais melody indicated that something survives, but huge blocks of sound suggested overwhelming forces, looming upwards then crashing down.  In death Lemminkäinen's body parts are scattered, but he's restored to life by his mother, who makes him whole again.   Thus Salonen brought out the way Sibelius's music mirrors the narrative. In Lemminkäinen's Return , the line is once again vigorous,  the many layers united.

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 !

Sakari Oramo Sibelius 3 Ravel Franck Schmitt

Sakari Oramo's saga through Sibelius with the BBC Symphony Orchestra at the Barbican London  got into stride with Sibelius Symphony no 3 op 52 (1907).  Sibelius symphonies we can hear any time, and Oramo's very, very good, so the challenge lies in programming. How do the combinations work to enhance Sibelius? In the first concert in this series, the answers were obvious - the perennial Sibelius 5 with Richard Strauss and Alban Berg.  In this second concert we heard Sibelius  with César Franck's Symphonic Variations, Ravel's Piano Concerto for the Left Hand (soloist Jean-Efflam Bavouzet)  and Florent
Schmitt's Symphony no 2 op 1957. Ostensibly a curious choice, but on reflection, rather interesting.
Sibelius Symphony no 3 isn't as omnipresent as Sibelius 5 and 7, both so remarkable that they are frequently recorded together, though less often performed together live :  an experience too overwhelming for either audience or orchestra.  Sibelius's Third, like his Sixth, is more rarified, almost more "Finlandia" than Finlandia (1899).  Its impulse is distinctively"Finnish"   But it was written long before Finland was free from Russia.  Thus the political and artistic need for a uniquely Finnish identity. The revival of interest in the Kalevala and in the heartlands of Karelia shaped Sibelius's artistic imagination.  In this third symphony, Sibelius engages with an aesthetic that seems inspired by open horizons, clean air and fresh springs flowing from melting ice, water, a landscape where people live close to Nature, uncorrupted by the excess of "civilization".  Hence the picture at left of Lake Keitele, by Sibelius's close friend Akseli Gallen-Kalleja, painted in 1905, and his painting Clouds above a Lake, above, from the same period.  Notice the almost abstraction, capturing essence with free spirited spontaneity. The complete opposite of 19th century over-elaborate excess. A similar aesthetic informed the Secession first in Munich, then Vienna, and influenced the Impressionists and Art Nouveau in France.

Sibelius Symphony no 3 is relatively short, three movements in which ideas are compressed with a clarity which even harks back to Classical Antiquity as defined by 18th century idealism.  The symphony begins with a theme which will later become almost a Sibelius signature - rushing, angular rhythms for strings, celli and basses lit by single calls from brass, leading passages of exquisite simplicity where individual, woodwinds sing.

Oramo defined the pace with vivid energy, so details shine. The suggestion of bells (on a cart?) , spiralling figures that fly like objects blown in a breeze.  Strong chords, before the music subsides into chorale-like serenity. The mood in the second movement is quieter and more mysterious. Single notes plucked with deliberate clarity, shimmering, dark hued strings, lit by single instrument figures dancing elusively. The flowing rhythms returned, more muted, but persistent.  Wonderful symmetry between the first two movements, elegantly  executed, which are in turn reflected in the final movement.  Edgy rushing rhythms resolve into firm blocks of sound then to a glorious coda which shone with positive affirmation.  Clarity over chaos,  multiple life forms operating in cohesion. Like Nature itself.

Thus the wisdom of pairing Sibelius 3 with César Franck's Symphonic Variations, where themes differ and vary yet hold together, supported by coherent logic.  Flowing energy in the performance too. In each concert in this series, a concertante piece, so this time one for piano, in Ravel's Piano Concerto for the Left Hand . Jean-Efflam Bavouzet is relatively new to the piece but played with great depth of feeling, which I appreciated, since the piece was written in response to tragedy. Paul Wittgenstein lost his right hand in war. His career would have ended were it not for friends like Ravel. (On the BBC rebroadcast, it was mentioned that Bavouzet's mother, who loved the piece, died a short while ago). It's a virtuoso piece which requires superb technique, proving that a good player can do more with one hand than some can do with two. Florent Schmitt's Symphony no 2 op 134 (1957).  received an infinitely better performance than it got from Leif Segestam. Oramo has clearly thought about the piece, analysing its merits, and the BBCSO is grande luxe compared to some of the orchestras who've done Schmitt.  (read my piece on Antony and Cleopatra here)  Schmitt's best works are those where florid colours conjure images of exotic luxury but the Symphony is lower key. It's by no means "old fashioned", since it reflects a lot of music from the 1930's to 50's and later. Glitter rather than 24K.  It's pleasant but without the inventive flair of Stravinsky or the panache of Korngold.  At the age of 87, Schmitt might have been enjoying a retrospective of his own, which is fair enough.

Coming up in the BBC SO Sibelius series :

29/11 Sibelius 6 & 4 with Anders Hillborg Violin Concerto

6/12 Sibelius 1, Press Celebrations and works for cello

6/1/18 Sibelius 2 & 7. Luonnotar (Anu Komsi) and Aare Merikanto Ekho

Nordic Innovation : Philharmonia Salonen Kuusisto

An adventurous start to the Philharmonia Orchestra's 2017-2018 season with an imaginative mini-festival "Nordic Music  Days" curated in part by Esa-Pekka Salonen.  For this opening concert, darkness fell on the Royal Festival Hall, and from the gloom the Arctic Lights of the Aurora Borealis glowed in vivid colours  above the orchestra.  A wonderful introduction to a very creative programme.  Salonen conducted Sibelius Symphonies no 6 and 7, and two works new to London audiences, Anna Thorvaldsdottir's Aeriality and Daniel Bjarnason 's Violin Concerto commissioned for the soloist Pekka Kuusisto.  
Every Finnish musician has Sibelius embedded into their psyche.  Father figures are wonderful things, but you need to become yourself, just as they did in their own time.  Thus when Salonen returned to conducting Sibelius in his late 30's, he could approach the master with fresh perspectives.  Salonen's Sibelius can be bracing, as original and as uncompromising as Sibelius was himself in his own time.  Salonen's Sibelius series at the Barbican, many years ago, was a shock to some, but like clear, pure Arctic air, it was extremely invigorating.  
Sibelius famously compared his Sixth symphony to "pure, cold water" as opposed to the fancy cocktails popular in the 1920's. It springs, as if from some deep  source of primal inspiration.  Here, it flowed freely, the Philharmonia capturing its unique modal harmonies. Thorvaldsdottir’s Aeriality (2011) might also connect to Nature. Figures bubbled up from depths, breaking into sparkling outbursts.  My partner commented "Jón Leifs", the Icelandic Sibelius, who turned landscape into music.
Pekka Kuusisto is one of Nature's originals, too. His love for music is so intense that he communicates enthusiasm not only through his playing but through his personality.  The first time I heard him, he looked like Puck, and his personality  radiated musicality.  He introduced Rautavaara's The Fiddlers with great insight, explaining the role of fiddlers in Finnish culture, and demonstrated techniques. Kuusisto is what music education should be. One Kuusisto is worth a thousand pretentious suits dumbing things down.  Kuusisto genuinely loves what he does and that's what shines through.  
Bjarnason's Violin Concerto is also quite unlike the average violin concerto.  Kuusisto bows odd angles as if settling into some kind of symbiotic bond with his instrument. A pattern gradually emerges, but what are we hearing?  Wailing sounds, whistling, like the exhalation of a wind instrument connected to strings and bow. The woodwinds were playing, but Kuusisto was singing along !  In his black jacket, not unlike the costumes medieval fiddlers used to wear, it seemed as though an ancient figure had materialized on the RFH platform.  The piece seems to move in stages, almost like a ritual, the violin taking on different identities.  At times, Kuusisto played oddly grotesque sounds which defy description, from which snatches of melody start to coalesce.   Sculpting music from rough wood, I thought. Very organic! Using different techniques, Kuusisto seemed to transform his instrument into other, more esoteric instruments.  Sometimes, perhaps we heard a  lute, sometimes a kantele.  I swear I heard an erhu at the end. Overall, the piece flowed extremely well, as if a world of stringed folk instruments were playing together in strange unity.  

And thus to Sibelius Symphony no 7, a work so audaciously original that Sibelius, always hard on himself, might have found difficult to surpass.  It is monumental: wild and craggy yet meticulously structured.  A good performance, spoiled as it reached its climax by mindless premature applause.  

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.     

Siren Call - Oramo, Sibelius Nielsen Glanert

Sinister mysteries of the sea and malevolence! Sakari Oramo and the BBC Symphony Orchestra in a superlative programme: Sibelius Lemminkäinen Suite, Op.22, with Carl Nielsen An Imaginary Journey to the Faroe Islands and Detlev Glanert's Megaris. inspired by ancient legend.  An atmospheric concert so rewarding that it deserves repeat listening - catch it HERE on BBC Radio 3.

This was the UK premiere of Glanert's Megaris: Seestück mit Klage der toten Sirene (2014-15)  It's a fascinating piece that takes as a starting point the legend that Partenope, the siren, washed up dead on the rocks at Megaris, once an island off the coast of Sicily, now part of the conurbation.  Sirens don't exist, except in myth, but are powerful symbols. They're also pagan. Yet Partenope's relics are supposedly buried in a church on the fortress of Castel dell'Ovo on rocks which jut onto the sea.  Contradictions! Thus layers of myth and meaning, which Glanert incorporates into the complex, shifting textures of his music. Megaris is elusive, but seductive, like the sirens whose songs drove mortals to their deaths. Partenope died because she failed in her mission:  Odysseus escaped by blocking his ears. Partenope's death is romantic and a lure for tourists. But bodies still wash up on shores all over the Mediterranean. Do we listen to their voices?   Far too often, audiences block out new music on principle, lest they be seduced and change, but Glanert's Megaris is compelling.  

From offstage, hidden singers  (the BBC Singers) intone strange harmonies. the lines long, keening, stretching out into space. The orchestra responds. Timpani are beaten in solemn progression, high winds cry plaintively, flying over massed strings and massed choral voices, singing a wordless chorus of vowel sounds.  The pace quickens and the orchestra breaks into a flurry of dissonances, the percussion adding menace, the strings whipped into frenzy. Yet the voices won't be silenced, singing short, sharp sounds, as if imitating the orchestral passage that went before. A strange stillness descends. the voices hum as do the strings: haunting, seamless abstract sound from which the voices materialize. led by the sopranos.  A subtle interplay of tonal colour. The voices then rise, singing short, urgent phrases and the orchestra flies back to life with complex cross-currents. O-A-O-E,, the voices sing, urgently. Another violent tutti, ending with a crash of cymbals before a mysterious stillness descends : silvery, circulating sounds lit by brass, the voices now whispering surreal chant.  The crash of a gong: then a solo soprano, calling wordlessly into the void.  Atmospheric, magical, beautiful, yet also unsettling.  Lots more on Glanert on this site, please explore. 

The four legends in Sibelius Lemminkäinen Suite describe the adventures of Lemminkäinen in the epic saga of the Kalevala. Oramo's approach was fresh and lively, suggesting the young hero's erotic vigour. The Kalevala isn't prissy!  This highlighted the contrast between the hero and the Swan of  Tuonela, the mysterious symbol of the Island of the Dead.  Unlike other birds, a swan does not sing until it dies, so killing the swan implies some mystical rite. Lemminkäinen, like Parsifal, thinks he can kill a swan, but in the process is killed himself and brought back to life. The Lemminkäinen Suite is much more than programme music.  The swan's "voice" is the cor anglais, solemn, mournful and seductive, perhaps not so different from a siren.  Beautiful playing from the BBC SO's soloist.  In the final section, Lemminkäinen's Return, Oramo brought out depth of meaning. The hero is restored, but he's strong because he's learned along the way. 

Oramo is emerging as a major interpreter of Carl Nielsen, having conducted a lot of Nielsen with the BBC SO in recent years. This performance of Nielsen's  An Imaginary Journey to the Faroe Islands (1927) was authoritative, and very individual.  The five sections in this piece form an arc, tone poem as miniature symphony, in a way. Oramo accentuated the contrast between movements which gives the piece such élan. The lugubrious undercurrents in the first section speed up as land approaches, quirky little flourishes from the winds suggesting sea birds on the coast.  This music has the feel of the seas, the orchestra surging as if propelled by powerful waves. Can we hear in the dances echoes of hardy Lutheran chorale? Nielsen had a wry sense of humour, as does Oramo. Perhaps that's why they suit each other so well.  Bracing stuff !

Spooky Sounds Prom 23 Widmann Schumann Sibelius Nielsen

Prom 23, with John Storgårds and the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, began with an extremely eclectic programme : Jörg Widmann's Armonica, with Robert Schumann's Violin Concerto in D minor, followed by the Overture to Sibelius The Tempest and Carl Nielsen's Symphony no 5.

The glass harmonica (seen at right being played by soloist Christa  Schönfeldinger) is an instrument consisting  of 20 to 54 blown crystal or quartz bowls  fitted concentrically onto a rotating rod controlled by a pedal reminiscent of a treadle sewing machine. Sound is created by the player rubbing their wetted fingers on the edges of these. It can be tuned, but its distinctive wailing drone is so strange that it can be used to create sounds that suggest forces beyond the control of nature.  Mozart heard it performed by a blind musician, Marianne Davies, who specialized in its use, being introduced to her by her opera-singer sister whilst he was rehearsing Idomeneo. He went on to create the short solo work  Adagio K356/617a from which Widmann took his inspiration.  Thus Widmann instructs the soloist to sing into the sound waves produced by rubbing the instrument, so the singing voice itself distorts, much in the way a voice sounds strange when you blow into a bowl.  Widmann amplifies the effect of glass harmonica and voice with an accordion with Teodoro Anzellotti, the accordionist of choice these days. Like the glass harmonica, the accordion transform invisible airwaves into sound: both instruments "breathing" and singing like strange alien beings. Indeed, the glass harmonica  was believed by many to induce insanity and even demonic possession.  Donizetti employed it in Lucia di Lammermoor, where its surreal drone would have added an extra frisson of danger to early performances, enhancing dramatic impact. The full impact may be lost on modern audiences used to horror movies and the ondes martenot, but the glass harmonicas still serve to suggest alien forces and the breakdown of tonality. Thus it's not surprising that there are quite a few players around these days, and new repertoire for the instrument.

Widmann's Armonica makes the most of the instrument's ability to create long lines, wailing and probing space, buffeted by the wheeze of the accordion. Armonica is a well integrated piece you can enjoy as music regardless of instrumentation. It is more convincing than Michael Berkeley's Violin Concerto, heard earlier this week. Berkeley used tabla and other exotic instruments for a genuine purpose, in memory of his late wife, but I suspect the piece was somewhat ambitious.

Clara Schumann, Brahms and Joseph Joachim thought that Robert Schumann's Violin Concerto WoO23 (1853) should be suppressed for 100 years after the composer's death. .  Perhaps they were right, because its bizarre sonics and wailing timbre might have seemed disturbing at the time, especially given the fear of mental illness that prevailed before modern psychiatry.  Bizarrely, it was revived after Joachim's grand nieces were supposedly contacted by Schumann's ghost in a  seance in 1933.  In comparison the strangeness of the Violin Concerto might not be so mad after all. Certainly, nowadays we can better appreciate its quirky originality and mystical strangeness.   Thomas Zehetmair played it exquisitely, letting its legato flow with seductive - and dangerous -  langour.  It's a remarkable work, a tantalizing insight as to where Schumann might have headed creatively had time, and health, been on his side.

More eclectic music followed. Sibelius's The Tempest Op90 (1926) is, in its own way, every bit as singular as his Symphony no 7 and Tapiola.  It is music of such character that Eric Tawaststjerna has suggested that part of the reason Sibelius suppressed what might have been his Symphony no.8 was that his creative visions were raised so high that he couldn't be satisfied with anything but ultimate perfection.  The Overture, which we heard here, sets the stage so to speak for a play based on Shakespeare's The Tempest.  Large orchestral forces, describing the driving winds of the storm at sea which throws Prospero and Caliban together - a storm of supernatural, cosmic forces, strings swirling with demonic violence, rolling percussion, wailing brass, undercut by shafts of brightness, suggesting magic and caprice.  As the "storm" clears, shimmering strings suggest swathes of diaphanous light, rising heavenwards, floating as if propelled by invisible winds.  But the "storm" returns, even more savagely, trumpets and brass ablaze, timpani thundering, strings screaming fury.  John Storgårds conducted the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra with such clean definition that the colours shone, intensifying the dramatic contrasts inherent in the music. The adaptation of the play can't have lived up to its incidental music. For Storgårds, the BBC PO play better than they do for almost any other conductor, and this is his core repertoire. The only full recording of Sibelius The Tempest conducted by Osmo Vänskä,  doesn't even come close.  Until Storgårds or someone of his calibre does the full Tempest, we won't be hearing its full impact.

Storgårds is also a specialist in the works of Carl Nielsen, so his account of Nielsen's Symphony no 5 Op 50 1922 was something to look forward to after a somewhat pallid performance in 2012 (Vänskä and a somewhat better one in 2014. (Søndergård).  The first movement begins in relative peace soon interrupted with drumbeats and a march, interspersed with fragile  flickering figures which suggest tension.  Although Denmark was neutral in the First World War, Nielsen, despite his sunny disposition, had no illusions about the way the war had changed things. This movement ends with a chill, which hangs over the relatively more expansive passages that follow.  The flickering figures stll haunt the piece, and the hollow beating of drums.  Trumpets call, from a distance, the drums ricochet like machine gun fire.   The strings soar upwards and silence descends again heralded by a solemn oboe, singing a plaintive lament.   For a moment, we hold a breath, before the orchestra explodes with a wild scherzo which introduces the second movement. Tense, jagged angles flailing across the strings: as if fields were being mowed with a giant scythe,  the crop not wheat nor corn.  So much for the notion of Nielsen as pastoralist.  Crashing timpani, whizzing figure speed past with demented fury.   A new theme emerges, like a grotesque dance, squat and crude, mocking the angular driving measures.   Yet again, diminuendos descend. For a moment,  a kind of chill calm prevails, but the strings rise upwards again,  but there is no resolution.  The pounding percussion and angular chords return and the pace once again becomes manic.  I thought about the famous photo of Nielsen knitting, the repetitive rhythm soothing his nerves and slowing his heart rate. Astonishingly good performance - Storgårds is a tonic for the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. He raises the bar for them, and they respond.