Sunday 13 March 2022
Sibelius Finlandia
Richard Strauss Oboe Concerto
Sibelius Symphony no. 2
Tonight’s programme is profoundly appropriate for the terrible times now engulfing Europe and threatening the world. Richard Strauss’ Oboe Concerto is a lyrical reflection by the old master surveying the ruination of the Second World War; and it is flanked by two works of Jean Sibelius that, from their very beginnings, have been beacons of Finnish nationhood and liberality in the face of Russian aggression and oppression. All three works speak clearly for anyone who cares to listen.
Jean Sibelius
(1865-1957)
Finlandia Op. 26
The predecessor of modern Finland was an autonomous Grand Duchy under Russian rule from 1809 to 1917. Nationalist sentiments stirred early in the 19th century, but a reasonably civilised co-existence between the indigenous Swedish/Finnish population and their Russian rulers prevailed. Late in life Sibelius recalled that in his home town of Tavastehus there was much music making to which the families of Russian officers made a valuable contribution, and that his best friend when he entered school was a boy named Kostya, whose father was a colonel in the Russian Army. Relations deteriorated dramatically after the coronation of the repressive Tsar Nicholas II in 1894 and, in particular, after the hardline General Nikolai Bobrikov was appointed Governor-General of Finland in 1898. Bobrikov introduced hardline and aggressive policies of “Russification” and destroyed the Finnish system of conscription in preparation for a planned absorption of the Finnish army into the Russian war machine. His acts were backed up by the Tsar’s February Manifesto of 1899, which curbed the already limited legislative powers of the Finnish parliament.
The 1890s had marked the emergence of Sibelius as a major force, both as a composer and as a talisman. Arnold Bax’s description years later was apt even for the young man: “an arresting, formidable-looking fellow, born of dark rock and northern forest.” Arguably the most important symbolic event for nascent Finnish nationalism had been the publication in 1835 of the national epic, the Kalavela, a collection of mythological folk tales. Sibelius was not the first composer to take the Kullervo story from the Kalavela as inspiration, but the premiere of his Kullervo Symphony on 28 April 1892 was “perhaps one of the most important national events in Helsinki before Finnish independence in 1917.” Press coverage was massive and Kullervo was immediately adopted as a defining national myth. One music critic reviewing the concert spoke for many Finnish nationalists: “We recognise those [tones] as ours, even if we have never heard them as such.” This ability to speak in a language that his countrymen instinctively recognised as theirs, was a precious gift that Sibelius never lost.
As Russia attempted to maintain its influence, increasingly against the will of the population, so music and its presentation at concerts became ever more potent set pieces for nationalistic protest. In 1899 celebrations were organised, the official purpose of which was to raise money for the pension funds of Finnish newspapers but which provided the opportunity to demonstrate against Russian censorship of the press. As one early biographer of Sibelius recorded: “it was chiefly free speech that experienced the displeasure of the authorities … One newpaper after another was forced to be silent. Suppression, either permanent or temporary, was the fate of most of the patriotic newspapers of the country, ... large or small.” The “celebrations” were to finish with a series of tableaux vivants, staged by the manager of the Finnish National Theatre, which were intended to represent the passage of Finnish history since 1809 with “the powers of darkness menacing Finland which nevertheless have not succeeded in their terrible threats. Finland Awakens.” Sibelius provided the music for the tableaux, and his music for the last - “Finland Awakes” - was what later became known as “Finlandia”. The first performance was directed by the composer on 4 November 1899.
It is possible to hear specific elements of the tableaux in the music: for instance, some have argued that one can hear a representation in Finlandia of a steam train that was portrayed in the “Finland Awakes” tableau. But there is a simple approach to the piece which explains why Finlandia became the most important evocation of the struggle for nationhood and independence from foreign aggression and oppression. Its sections move “from utter darkness to brilliant light, from instability to stability, from slow to fast, from minor to major, from the cruel clipped motive of the opening to the broadly unfurled melody of the hymn.”
The piece starts with the vicious snarl of the oppressors in the brass. The response from the woodwinds may represent the purity of the oppressed, and contains the first germs of the Finlandia hymn tune, taken up by the strings who labour under the yoke. Just as it seems that there can be no escape from this dismal existence, a change of tempo and the first sign of Finland awakening comes from repeated chords in the trombones and trumpets that appear to challenge the snarling oppressors. Conflict rages until, after a pause, the tempo increases again (this is where some hear the steam train in the basses) and the move to sunnier times starts to emerge. Heroic horn calls provide what will be the notes for the Finlandia hymn, now emerging in the woodwind and then taken up across the orchestra: a theme that is instantly recognisable as modern Finland even by those who have never heard it before. Brilliant light brings the piece to its conclusion.
In a gesture of laughable absurdity, the authorities would not tolerate the piece being played with the name “Finlandia”. For a number of years, therefore, it was played in Finland with the name “Impromptu”. No one was fooled, even if the authorities felt some comfort when listening to an impromptu that clearly wasn’t.
The message for those who wish to hear? That oppression and aggression will eventually have to give way to the will of an oppressed people, even if it takes decades or even longer to achieve.
Richard Strauss
(1864-1949)
Oboe Concerto in D Major
Soloist: Layla Baratto
Allegro Moderato; Andante; Vivace
Nationalism of a more virulent kind blighted the later life of Richard Strauss. This is not the place to balance the ambiguities and naivety of Germany’s foremost composer in accepting positions forcibly vacated by the Jewish Bruno Walter and others; or in allowing himself to be placed as the head of the Reich Music Chamber; or in continuing to collaborate with Stephan Zweig thereafter despite the dangerous opposition of the Gestapo; or in forcing the authorities to reinstate Zweig’s name on the posters for Die Schweigsame Frau; or even in daring to enter into blazing rows with Goebbels himself. These are all debated at length by others.
What cannot be doubted is that, by 1945, the 79-year old composer was clear about the wicked folly of National Socialism. He had seen his beloved Munich reduced to ash and, despite the attendant financial and physical difficulties, longed for war to end. There was nothing delicious about his languor when he wrote in a private memorandum:
“On 12 March the glorious Vienna Opera became one more victim of the bombs. But from 1 May onwards the most terrible period of human history came to an end, the twelve-year reign of bestiality, ignorance and anti-culture under the greatest criminals, during which Germany’s 2000 years of cultural evolution met its doom and irreplaceable monuments of architecture and works of art were destroyed by a criminal soldiery. Accursed be technology!”
On 30 April 1945 American Jeeps had drawn up outside Strauss’s villa in Garmisch. When a soldier finally knocked on the door he was greeted by the old man and the words: “I am Richard Strauss, the composer of Rosenkavalier and Salome. Go away.” Fortunately, they did not; for one of his visitors was John de Lancie, who in peacetime had been an oboe player in the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. To his surprise he was welcomed into the villa and stayed for an extended masterclass, during which he asked Strauss if he had ever considered writing an oboe concerto. The idea appeared to have dropped on infertile ground, but it had not. When Strauss moved to exile in Switzerland, one of the first fruits of an astonishing late period of creativity was tonight’s concerto, completed in October 1945.
In style it is closest in spirit to Mozart, which is perhaps not surprising as Strauss returned to his deepest musical influences. It sometimes seems as though there is an unbroken silver strand of melody that permeates the three movements. In the first, the oboe frequently intertwines with the flute and clarinet, giving an almost chamber-music intimacy to the proceedings. The second movement Andante has at its heart a melody of exquisite tenderness from the same sound world as Capriccio, the Second Horn Concerto and the Four Last Songs. Then the final Vivace makes light of eighty years and dances with the natural delicacy of youth. The movement ends with a lilting section in 6/8 time. Perhaps this was an old man’s reference back to the great violin concertos of Beethoven and Brahms; but it stands on its own as lyricism that looks over its shoulder at devastating destruction while promising a better world to those who are prepared to learn.
Jean Sibelius
(1865-1957)
Symphony No. 2 in D Major Op. 43
Allegretto; Andante ma rubato; Vivacissimo – Allegro moderato
By early 1901 Sibelius had achieved a degree of financial security. He took his wife and young family to Rapallo, on the Italian Riviera, arriving
in February to driving rain, cold and wind which he found “anything but agreeable.” But the weather and his state of mind improved and during his stay he sketched what would become his second symphony. He was fully aware that any major work he wrote would now be regarded as a political statement; yet he had by now turned his back on writing programme music as such. In a private letter sent on
6 March 1902 he wrote:
“Now I am again completely a man of imagination. Nothing disturbs me. I could initiate you, my comprehending friend, into my work, but I do not do it from principle. To my mind it is the same with compositions as with butterflies: once you touch them, their essence is gone – they can fly, it is true, but are no longer so fair.”
Much of the material from his Italian sketch books that ended up in the symphony started with a view to writing music for Dante’s Divine Comedy. But by the end of the year they had been reworked and lost their association with Dante; and the symphony was ready. It was given its premiere with Sibelius at the helm for a concert of his works on 8 March 1902. It was a triumph and the symphony has remained triumphantly in the repertoire ever since. Together with Kullerva and Finlandia it may be seen as one of the three pillars on which the new school of Finnish music was founded.
In the second symphony Sibelius found his mature voice, language and logic. Each is quite different from anything that had gone before; and each is utterly distinctive. This makes the music extraordinarily difficult to describe in words. For example, in the first minutes of the first movement are to be found the seeds of the whole work. First, pulsating string chords rise up three notes, appearing to emerge from nowhere.
Then chattering woodwind present the next seed: a sequence of three falling notes with a little turn at the end. Then the horns come into focus, emerging from the texture of what has already been given, with their own little turn imitating that of the woodwind. This is repeated as the woodwind appear to try to break free. The music peters out. Then it attempts to restart, only to come across twiddling flutes. Then the violins provide a form of recitative or narrative, punctuated by pauses for thought. By now, some two minutes into the movement, it is impossible to know where Sibelius is going. It is as if he is gathering garlands or snatches of thematic material while he may. Of course, Sibelius knows exactly where he is going; and he starts to fuse them together. Almost unnoticed he introduces in the strings the idea of a long held note followed by quavers and a drop down of a fifth. As this idea too seems to run out of steam, the oboe takes it up as if in the middle distance, with a gruff commentary from the bassoons and other hangers on. Out of darkness come shafts of light but still the music has a tendency to pause as if to gird up its loins for the next attempt at creating order out of the relative chaos. At last it happens, and the strings present a long exposition that brings all the previous seeds into one coherent whole. With trumpets and heavy brass coming to lend their weight, a sense of order settles and even the chattering woodwind’s reintroduction of their first theme now seems different in the light of what has occurred during the movement. Pizzicato cellos and basses ramp up the tempo and the movement moves towards its resolution and close. The rising string chords return to round things off to silence.
The second movement is extraordinary. It starts with pizzicato musings (or is it a chant?) from the bottom of the strings, that some have said hark back to Tristan (the chord can be heard later) and Sir Thomas Beecham described as “coiling through the bowels of the orchestra like a tapeworm”. Robert Kajanus, a lifelong champion of Sibelius, famously described the movement in terms of “a broken-hearted protest”. Eventually the bassoons sing as if from the depth of the forests, with horn calls echoing in reply. The pace quickens and the mood intensifies until an almost chaotic effusion of dramatic tension takes over. Once again, Sibelius uses the device of prolonged chords separated by plangent pauses as if time is required to meditate before the next breath. When it comes, it is in the strings in a remote key that appears to symbolise peace in the face of adversity. Again the bassoons try to make their mark from below; but the strings will have none of it. What have been described as “heavenly powers” are in conflict, with massive brass chords conducting the argument. At last the basses return to their pizzicato opening, and now it underpins the resolution: once again Sibelius fuses together elements that have been there throughout the movement until it collapses, exhausted.
The third movement, marked vivacissimo, hurtles along except when twice interrupted by a slow moving chorale-like episode of sustained chords over which the oboe sings a plaintive melody that harks back to the beginning of the symphony. Halfway through the second such episode, the strings signal a change of direction. The transition to the finale is underway. When the finale comes, three rising notes are followed by three more a step lower. Trumpets and horns engage in conversation and the thematic material is finally put in place by the strings. This astoundingly simple motif and material forms the basis for the movement. Then, over a string ostinato, Sibelius introduces his final theme, on which he then works with the original rising note motif. An organic increase in power lasts until, after one false summit, it reaches its final apotheosis, magnificently settled in the confidence of D major – at last.
Sibelius rejected an article in which Kajanus suggested that the symphony was a representation of the current political struggles facing Finland. But his countrymen took it to their hearts as a promise of future triumph. In the reasonably short term, independence was achieved in 1917; but after that, Finland had to negotiate the 20th century, vulnerably placed between the power blocks of the USSR and Germany and, later, the USSR/Russian Federation and the European Union. None of that was straightforward and much of it was infused with tragedy; but Sibelius remained central to Finnish identity and aspirations throughout, as he does to this day.
TONIGHT'S SOLOIST
LAYLA BARATTO
Born in Brazil, oboist and ABRSM scholar, Layla Köhler Baratto won her first award at the age of 11 in the Municipal Music School of São Paulo Young Soloists Competition. She has also won the São Paulo Symphony Young Soloists 2017 in first place, the Ernani de Almeida Machado Prize and the Eleazar de Carvalho Prize, the most prestigious prize of Brazil. In London, she won the Grimaldi Cor Anglais Competition in first place, and the Royal College of Music Concerto Competition in third place, performing the Richard Strauss oboe concerto.
Winning the São Paulo Symphony Young Soloists gave her the opportunity to perform three concerts accompanied by the São Paulo Symphony Orchestra as a guest soloist in the 2018 season. With the same orchestra she has taken part in a CD recording in their Villa-Lobos series. Layla currently studies at the Royal College of Music in London holding a full ABRSM scholarship and is under the tuition of Olivier Stankiewicz and Fabien Thouand. In 2021 she had her Erasmus+ mobility at the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique de Paris under Jacques Tys. Before coming to the UK Layla studied at the São Paulo Symphony for 2 years with professor Joel Gisiger.
Layla has participated in masterclasses with Heinz Holliger, Albrecht Mayer, Christian Wetzel, Jacques Tys, Washington Barella and Cristina Gòmez. She has played in several youth orchestras in Brazil and toured to many countries including Germany, Switzerland, USA, France, Netherlands and Italy with soloists such as Martha Argerich and Maria João Pires. Layla had the opportunity of being conducted by Marin Alsop, Giancarlo Guerrero, Neil Thompson, Robert Trevino, and Alexander Liebreich. She has performed at some of the most important concert halls such as Philharmonie de Paris, Konzerthaus Berlin, Victoria Hall, Barbican Centre, John F. Kennedy Center for Performing Arts, Alice Tully Hall, and Sala São Paulo.
KENSINGTON PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA
The KPO, founded in 1965, is one of London’s leading amateur orchestras. It provides opportunities for advanced players of all ages to perform works from the classical and modern repertoire, Including pieces that are rarely heard in the concert hall. It also provides a platform for well-established soloists, as well as exciting younger players. Soloists over the years have included Iona Brown, Hugh Bean, Jack Brymer, Melina Mandozzi and Thomas Carroll and “younger generation” performers such as Milos Karadaglic and Fenella Humphries.
The KPO welcomes advanced players, particularly strings. Rehearsals are held on Monday evenings in the hall at St Peter’s Church, Eaton Square, SW1W 9AL from 7.00pm—9.30pm (nearest tube Victoria Station).