BBCSSO, 17/05/2018
Sibelius : Kullervo
Helena Juntunen, soprano
Benjamin Appl, baritone
Lunds Studentsångare
BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra
Thomas Dausgaard
This, like last Sunday's concert, was another "Roots" concert from the BBCSSO, an exploration of a composer in the context of the music of his childhood and homeland. It was not a marathon affair like Sunday, on the other hand, the exposure to the "roots" commenced the moment you walked into the concert hall. The composer was Sibelius, the context was Finnish folk-music, and there was a female vocalist in the entrance, a male vocalist in the first-floor foyer, a keyboard player in the meeting room at one end of the foyer, and a kantele player and vocalist in the bar at the other end.
There was only one work on the programme, Sibelius's epic choral symphony, Kullervo. This was his first major composition, pre-dating all of the symphonies, and although its success at the time was mitigated, its importance, both in Sibelius's output, and in the musical history of Finland, is considerable. Kullervo is perhaps the first truly important, identifiably Finnish orchestral score; not German (which was where most Finnish music students received at least part of their musical education), not Swedish (the former occupying power, and whose language was spoken by a good proportion of the population, including Sibelius's own family) and not Russian (the present masters of the territory), but clearly and recognisably Finnish. The point of tonight's presentation was to demonstrate that it was not merely the setting, in Finnish, of the great national saga, the Kalevala, but that Sibelius was drawing directly from authentic Finnish folk-music for his musical material. The evening therefore commenced with an ingeniously arranged conflation of Finnish folk-music, performed by the four musicians previously seen scattered around the venue before the concert, with extracts from Sibelius's symphony, which quite clearly showed their kinship. From this, Dausgaard and the orchestra progressed straight into the full performance of Kullervo.
It's an extraordinary piece. It was written in 1892; this is the same year (give or take a little) as Mahler's 4th, Bruckner's 2nd, Tchaikovsky's 6th, or Dvorák's 9th, just to put it in context. Quite frankly, it comes from a different planet altogether. It was a student work, and you do hear the influences that might be expected in very early Sibelius. The first movement more or less conforms to the standard sonata form, and there's a certain Germanic influence there. The second has touches of Tchaikovsky, something that is certainly to be found in Sibelius's 1st Symphony. After a fashion, the first time you hear something that is immediately, unmistakably identifiable as Sibelius is in the fourth movement. The orchestral writing is rough, raw - and immensely powerful. It has a kind of irresistible force that is at times reminiscent of The Rite of Spring in its impact, as if it's drawing on something primeval, and that too is something that is very characteristic of all Sibelius's orchestral music, though his manner of expressing it would acquire considerably more subtlety over the years.
Kullervo is the only tragic hero of the Kalevala. His story is actually a kind of cautionary tale of the dangers of bringing up a child neglectfully or abusively. He is born gifted, brave, handsome and intelligent, with magical powers, but because of the way he is treated as a child, his nature is distorted and cursed, and he commits terrible crimes. He seduces a young woman by kidnapping her and then dangling riches before her eyes - the degree of consent is more than a little dubious - only to discover the morning after that she is his long-lost sister. Horror-struck, she commits suicide, an act which will haunt him the rest of his life. He goes on to slaughter the clan which brought him up - and which had been responsible for the extinction of his birth clan - until finally, although victorious in battle, his thirst for revenge has cost him everything else in his life, and weary of suffering, he too commits suicide.
The five movements of the symphony depict five stages of his trajectory. The first broadly sets the scene, without particular reference to specific events. The second, which is as close as the symphony ever gets to a slow movement, represents Kullervo's childhood, initially without shadow, but growing darker and more intense as he is shunned by his adopted family for his growing magical abilities, and then, out of fear, sold into slavery. He grows up wild and angry, and this is reflected in the increasing turmoil of the music. The third movement brings in the chorus and soloists, for the meeting between Kullervo and his sister. The chorus, all male, and largely singing in unison, acts as narrator, the Lund University Male Voice Choir coolly dispassionate, and all the more compelling for it. Helena Juntunen, singing from memory, snarled and spat the first part of her role, and then delivered the Sister's lament in solemn wretchedness. Benjamin Appl delivered Kullervo's curse upon himself with fierce intensity melting into misery, with a golden baritone voice.
The fourth movement is Kullervo's battles, as mentioned, the most obviously Sibelian of the movements. For what is meant to be a revengeful blood-bath, it begins rather jauntily, but like all of the movements, there's a violence at the core of it that does not take long to emerge. Here as elsewhere, the orchestral playing was compelling, rich and detailed, but the best was yet to come, in the mysterious and evocative final movement, the Death of Kullervo. The chorus returns in this movement, again narrating how Kullervo, returning from battle, finds himself at the place where his sister committed suicide. Nature itself still grieves for her, nothing grows in this spot, and Kullervo, despairing, asks his sword if it would consent to take his life. When it agrees, he falls upon it. The chorus sings in harmony up to the moment of the dialogue with the sword, when it narrows into unison, to chilling effect, almost shouting out the sword's coldly impartial assessment - it has taken so many lives, innocent and guilty alike, what is one more to it? The chorus's brief farewell to the unfortunate Kullervo is laconically unsentimental, while the orchestra blazes to its conclusion.
This was an excellent performance, visceral and exciting, from all parties, and exactly how one wants to discover a rarely heard, but very significant work.
[Next : 26th May]
Helena Juntunen, soprano
Benjamin Appl, baritone
Lunds Studentsångare
BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra
Thomas Dausgaard
This, like last Sunday's concert, was another "Roots" concert from the BBCSSO, an exploration of a composer in the context of the music of his childhood and homeland. It was not a marathon affair like Sunday, on the other hand, the exposure to the "roots" commenced the moment you walked into the concert hall. The composer was Sibelius, the context was Finnish folk-music, and there was a female vocalist in the entrance, a male vocalist in the first-floor foyer, a keyboard player in the meeting room at one end of the foyer, and a kantele player and vocalist in the bar at the other end.
There was only one work on the programme, Sibelius's epic choral symphony, Kullervo. This was his first major composition, pre-dating all of the symphonies, and although its success at the time was mitigated, its importance, both in Sibelius's output, and in the musical history of Finland, is considerable. Kullervo is perhaps the first truly important, identifiably Finnish orchestral score; not German (which was where most Finnish music students received at least part of their musical education), not Swedish (the former occupying power, and whose language was spoken by a good proportion of the population, including Sibelius's own family) and not Russian (the present masters of the territory), but clearly and recognisably Finnish. The point of tonight's presentation was to demonstrate that it was not merely the setting, in Finnish, of the great national saga, the Kalevala, but that Sibelius was drawing directly from authentic Finnish folk-music for his musical material. The evening therefore commenced with an ingeniously arranged conflation of Finnish folk-music, performed by the four musicians previously seen scattered around the venue before the concert, with extracts from Sibelius's symphony, which quite clearly showed their kinship. From this, Dausgaard and the orchestra progressed straight into the full performance of Kullervo.
It's an extraordinary piece. It was written in 1892; this is the same year (give or take a little) as Mahler's 4th, Bruckner's 2nd, Tchaikovsky's 6th, or Dvorák's 9th, just to put it in context. Quite frankly, it comes from a different planet altogether. It was a student work, and you do hear the influences that might be expected in very early Sibelius. The first movement more or less conforms to the standard sonata form, and there's a certain Germanic influence there. The second has touches of Tchaikovsky, something that is certainly to be found in Sibelius's 1st Symphony. After a fashion, the first time you hear something that is immediately, unmistakably identifiable as Sibelius is in the fourth movement. The orchestral writing is rough, raw - and immensely powerful. It has a kind of irresistible force that is at times reminiscent of The Rite of Spring in its impact, as if it's drawing on something primeval, and that too is something that is very characteristic of all Sibelius's orchestral music, though his manner of expressing it would acquire considerably more subtlety over the years.
Kullervo is the only tragic hero of the Kalevala. His story is actually a kind of cautionary tale of the dangers of bringing up a child neglectfully or abusively. He is born gifted, brave, handsome and intelligent, with magical powers, but because of the way he is treated as a child, his nature is distorted and cursed, and he commits terrible crimes. He seduces a young woman by kidnapping her and then dangling riches before her eyes - the degree of consent is more than a little dubious - only to discover the morning after that she is his long-lost sister. Horror-struck, she commits suicide, an act which will haunt him the rest of his life. He goes on to slaughter the clan which brought him up - and which had been responsible for the extinction of his birth clan - until finally, although victorious in battle, his thirst for revenge has cost him everything else in his life, and weary of suffering, he too commits suicide.
The five movements of the symphony depict five stages of his trajectory. The first broadly sets the scene, without particular reference to specific events. The second, which is as close as the symphony ever gets to a slow movement, represents Kullervo's childhood, initially without shadow, but growing darker and more intense as he is shunned by his adopted family for his growing magical abilities, and then, out of fear, sold into slavery. He grows up wild and angry, and this is reflected in the increasing turmoil of the music. The third movement brings in the chorus and soloists, for the meeting between Kullervo and his sister. The chorus, all male, and largely singing in unison, acts as narrator, the Lund University Male Voice Choir coolly dispassionate, and all the more compelling for it. Helena Juntunen, singing from memory, snarled and spat the first part of her role, and then delivered the Sister's lament in solemn wretchedness. Benjamin Appl delivered Kullervo's curse upon himself with fierce intensity melting into misery, with a golden baritone voice.
The fourth movement is Kullervo's battles, as mentioned, the most obviously Sibelian of the movements. For what is meant to be a revengeful blood-bath, it begins rather jauntily, but like all of the movements, there's a violence at the core of it that does not take long to emerge. Here as elsewhere, the orchestral playing was compelling, rich and detailed, but the best was yet to come, in the mysterious and evocative final movement, the Death of Kullervo. The chorus returns in this movement, again narrating how Kullervo, returning from battle, finds himself at the place where his sister committed suicide. Nature itself still grieves for her, nothing grows in this spot, and Kullervo, despairing, asks his sword if it would consent to take his life. When it agrees, he falls upon it. The chorus sings in harmony up to the moment of the dialogue with the sword, when it narrows into unison, to chilling effect, almost shouting out the sword's coldly impartial assessment - it has taken so many lives, innocent and guilty alike, what is one more to it? The chorus's brief farewell to the unfortunate Kullervo is laconically unsentimental, while the orchestra blazes to its conclusion.
This was an excellent performance, visceral and exciting, from all parties, and exactly how one wants to discover a rarely heard, but very significant work.
[Next : 26th May]