Religion has much to answer for, not least in the range of musical inspiration it has delivered over the ages. In the 1960s people were drawn to southern Mexico to witness the trance-like states attained by a local shaman and mystic, Maria Sabina. A century earlier much of Europe had been gripped by a series of Marian apparitions, from Lourdes in France, Marpingen in Germany to Knock in Ireland. In her quest for empowerment and the ultimate truth, Sabina claimed the help of what she called her “holy children”, which became known in time as “magic mushrooms”. This kind of enhanced spirituality must have resonated strongly with Kaija Saariaho, whose premature death in 2023 robbed the world of a striking musical voice, notably in the field of contemporary opera. One of the stories about her which has always intrigued me was her insistent demand that her mother should turn off the music at night. As a child she constantly heard sounds that bordered on music, believing that these also came directly to her from the pillow which her head rested on. Saariaho’s contact with the wider cosmos derived from such experiences during her childhood, later amplified by the influence of French spectralism and electro-acoustic experimentation at the Parisian IRCAM.
Her double concerto for soprano, cello and orchestra, Mirage (2007), being given its first performance at the Proms, is a challenging piece for the listener. With its gentle whistling, murmuring and rumbling at the start, it was like watching and hearing a squeaky door slowly opening into a world beyond. The two Finnish soloists, the soprano Silja Aalto and the cellist Anssi Karttunen, have appeared together in this work many times since its premiere, and were ably supported here by the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Sakari Oramo. Aalto was a commanding presence on stage, her pale-blue gown studded with sequins which matched the shimmering effects of the composer’s inspiration. Hers is a big powerful voice, easily negotiating the wide leaps in the tessitura and gliding effortlessly upwards in the microtonality which is one of Saariaho’s hallmarks. The incantatory elements, evident in the much-repeated “I am” phrases of Sabina’s poem, form an important structure in what is essentially a short psycho-drama, beseeching, imploring, pleading to be set free from all earthly constraint. Whether this amounts, in the words of the BBC publicity machine, to a “hypnotic snapshot of womanhood”, is debatable, but the mesmerising qualities of the piece are palpable. Equally effective were the many whispered moments which travelled very effectively across the Royal Albert Hall as well as the churning of the lower strings that provided a counterpoint to Aalto’s floating of her solo line. The only real disappointment came with Karttunen’s cello, its role being something of an intermediary between soprano and orchestra. His contributions were often lost in the large performing space, only slightly redeemed by a mournful concluding solo before the work itself disappeared gently into the wider cosmos.
The young South Korean pianist Seong-Jin Cho was the soloist in Mozart’s Jeunehomme concerto, an early masterpiece in the set of twenty-seven. It has indubitably chamber-like proportions, with only a pair each of oboes and horns to provide contrasts with the strings. Cho brought to the piece some of the qualities which have marked him out as a stylish interpreter of Chopin and much of the French repertory, highlighted in his ravishing encore, the “Mouvement de Menuet” from Ravel’s Sonatine. There was a strong legato line throughout with even placement of both hands, clean articulation, superb trills and a luminosity which impressed in the dark-hued and velvet-robed slow movement. Here, Cho’s hushed tones in the many aria-like sequences brought the work close to transcendence. Altogether much Apollonian poise, which once prompted Mendelssohn to describe the concerto as “too eloquent for words”. Yet unruffled Mozart needs more variation in order to sustain interest. What I missed in the opening movement was a little more assertiveness, and in the Finale, which features a theme similar to Monostatos’s air “Alles fühlt” from The Magic Flute, a spiritedness which captures Mozart’s own playfulness and joie de vivre.
Richard Strauss was certainly aiming high in his Tondichtung or symphonic poem An Alpine Symphony. He had spent the early part of his career writing a stream of such works, only to turn after his Sinfonia Domestica to focus on writing for the operatic stage. Following on from his masterpieces Salome, Elektra and Der Rosenkavalier, the influence of opera must have been constantly coursing through his veins. Showing his debt to Wagner’s Das Rheingold, Strauss’s very last symphonic poem opens with a B flat minor chord that gradually unfolds across the entire string section, boosted in this performance, as the composer himself specified, by extra desks of strings. At this stage of his life Strauss was obsessed with the idea of elevation, which he believed could be attained by liberation from Christianity. Originally the piece bore the sub-title Der Antichrist (later discarded): it aimed at a moral purification through one’s own strength, and worship of what he called “eternal, magnificent nature”.
Stripping away all the philosophical appurtenances still leaves a powerful aural experience. It is hardly surprising that since the start of the new millennium there have been well over fifty new recordings of the work and in any live performance there are many moments of sonic grandeur. Oramo’s strengths lay more in shaping the lyrical flow, aided by supple if not always super-lush strings and some fine instrumental solos, not least from Tom Blomfield’s oboe. Softer details made more of an impression than the ferocious climaxes: the sixteen offstage brass players, positioned high up in the gallery, created music of the spheres; the two harps contributed celestial magic; the woodwind replicated bird-calls and the sounds of nature; the splendid organ added majesty. Finally, after the depiction of eleven hours climbing on an Alpine mountain, from daybreak to the following nightfall, there remained in the memory the hymn-like peroration, with strings yearning and straining for that higher state of being, underpinned by pedal notes from the organ, calling to mind the words of Psalm 121: “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.”
Alexander Hall
Kaija Saariaho – Mirage; Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – Piano Concerto No 9 in E flat major K271 (Jeunehomme); Richard Strauss – An Alpine Symphony
Silja Aalto – soprano; Anssi Karttunen – cello; Seong-Jin Cho – piano; BBC Symphony Orchestra; Sakari Oramo – conductor
Royal Albert Hall, London, 9 August 2024
Top image: The BBC Symphony Orchestra conducted by Sakari Oramo wih Silja Aalto: soprano, Anssi Karttunen: cello and Seong-Jin Cho: piano
All photos by Mark Allan