Programme presentation: the world within us

Published 18.3.2022 | Updated 18.3.2022

• Sibelius Academy Symphony Orchestra
• Aliisa Neige Barrière, conductor
• Antti Tikkanen, violin 

• Samuel Barber: Violin Concerto Op. 14
• Louise Farrenc: Symphony No. 2 Op. 35
• Jean Sibelius: Pohjola’s Daughter Op. 49

Programming a final diploma is a chance to reflect upon a chapter that is coming toits end, to think on the journey life has taken. I have been so fortunate that my studies have given me the chance to travel: I started my studies in Paris, where I grew up, before heading to New York for four years. From there, I moved to Oslo, where I spent four more years before moving to Helsinki. Each step changed me, enriched me – as a musician, as a person. Moving to a new place teaches you a lot about empathy. You observe a new culture, how people live, and learn to fit in without losing a sense of who you are. Ultimately who you are is deeply influenced by the sum of many things; your
upbringing, your education if you are so lucky to get one. Your surroundings always teach you something new, which is why it is a privilege to get to travel. Today’s program is an ode to all of these places I now call home, but also all the people that I met along this long journey. Those who have contributed to my life, who have made me the person and musician I am today. The range of emotions depicted in all these pieces is exceptionally rich. The way all three composers exploit colors through their orchestration is highly personal and combined, they beautifully demonstrate the different possibilities of a symphony orchestra. The peaks of all three pieces present a fairly romanticized, grand vision of the orchestra – yet all three composers explore the other side of the spectrum, and seek for intimacy and vulnerability in the orchestra, which I am also interested in bringing out.

All the pieces on this program are near and dear to my heart, and are associated with different chapters of my life. The arch was conceived with harmonic transitions in mind and perhaps some wishful thinking reexamining the meaning of the classical concert ritual –which is an additional challenge in the middle of a pandemic and
ongoing restrictions. The current climate has brought out the importance of recognizing our world’s
diversity. Now is the moment to celebrate how much the people around us contribute to our lives. And what a perfect metaphor it is to have such an international orchestra, joined together around one task: bringing music to life, together.

samuel barber – concerto for violin and orchestra

I first encountered Barber’s violin concerto as a teenager in Paris. I quickly fell in love with this singular piece. For a violin concerto to display both (typical) elements of heroism but also pure vulnerability was completely novel to me. Something about the very broad spectrum of emotions spoke to the heart of a young teenager discovering life. Nothing here is black and white, the emotions that transpire are complex, each smile comes with a dark cloud in hiding, yet hope and willpower are always present.

The orchestration of the piece I also find incredibly clever; often in (violin) concertos the orchestra is limited to an accompanying role, providing harmony to support the soloist, while orchestral interludes grant them a well deserved rest. In this work however, there are a lot of chamber musical moments – a real dialogue exists
between the violin and the orchestra. The orchestra is also used as a tool to amplify the violin when it needs more strength, or to support it by creating an artificial resonance.

Samuel Barber (1910-1981) is perhaps the most internationally celebrated 20th century American composer, although very few of his pieces have entered the ‘standard’ repertoire. While many of his colleagues were edging towards modernism, Barber developed his own sound through lush harmonies. Still, he appropriated them into a very personal writing style, before giving way to slightly more modernistic writing
himself.

He wrote his violin concerto in 1939, specifically the period when his writing started to change – that can clearly be heard in the piece. The two first movements were written in Switzerland, where Barber had taken up residence to work the piece. In August, he was advised to promptly leave the country, as World War II flared up throughout Europe. Some months later, safely back in America, he finally finished the work.

Listening to the piece, it seems evident that this pacing in time, and the specific events that interrupted his work – the outbreak of a war he had to flee – had a great influence on the nature of the music Barber wrote. In the present context of the Ukrainian war, I find this piece sadly contemporary. The first movement starts with a wonderful opening; the soloist starts the concerto with no introduction by the orchestra. The violin is supported by a warm and inviting chord which blossoms into a theme which seems to seek something, though always remains hopeful. This movement is often quite nostalgic, as this never-ending search takes us from hope, to playfulness, to tortured episodes… but these attempts all seem to lead to heroic heights. A looming threat is clearly present throughout, but
the movement ends on a warm, positive note.

The second movement immediately takes us to a darker world, which is rendered ambiguous by the entrance of the solo oboe with a lyrical melody, oscillating between hope and resignation. The violin’s entrance offers a momentary sunny and hopeful respite, before leading us into a tortured tutti. A wistful duet with the trumpet (in my opinion the heart of this piece) seems to tell us all hope is lost, until an improvisation-like fragment from the violin finds its support from the bassoon, like an echo, or chamber of resonance. The violin hopelessly descends lower and
lower as to try and find the right note to get the needed impulse which will give it the strength to continue. Finally, the strings provide this strength, and the oboe’s opening melody is reprised as a collective anthem. The ending of this movement comes as a question mark: the fate of our main protagonist is unclear, although the
horizon is gloomy.

The third movement then comes as a shock. While stylistically speaking, the first and second movements have many common attributes, the finale truly stands out. Suddenly, it is a battle between the whirlwind that is the violin part and the orchestra trying to destabilize it. The virtuosity of the solo material is such that the music oscillates between stubborn resolution and a playful nagging. In this very short movement specifically, we also clearly hear sprouts of modernistic writing, in the woodwinds especially – perhaps some Stravinskyan echoes, loaded with irony. The orchestra is momentarily overturned as the strings reprise the violin’s virtuosic opening before some martial elements – brass fanfares announce the end of the piece is near, and the violin emerges victorious from this fight.
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louise farrenc – symphony nr 2

When I started more seriously considering conducting studies, I was naturally drawn to expand my knowledge of symphonic music. It very rapidly dawned on me how little symphonic music I knew that was written by
women – practically none. I quickly stumbled onto the music of Louise Farrenc and was left absolutely
speechless. WHY hadn’t I heard this music before? Why was she never mentioned in any of my music history books, especially having studied in France? In addition to numerous piano pieces and chamber music, she wrote three symphonies and two orchestral overtures, all wonderful music that is only being rediscovered now.

Louise Farrenc, née Dumont (1804-1875) was born into an artistic family in Paris. The Dumont line had long served as sculptors and painters for the French court. Her family actively encouraged the young woman’s musical studies, and her desire to play piano and compose. Even more unusually for that time, she married a flutist, Aristide Farrenc, who was very supportive of her composition and started a publishing house, Éditions Farrenc, to edit and distribute her music.

Her piano etudes traveled the world and found their way into the hands of the hands of names such as Robert Schumann, Hector Berlioz, Joseph Joachim, Johann Nepomuk Hummel, and her composition professor Anton Reicha… who all admired and commended her talent. In 1842, she became the first woman to get a permanent position as piano professor at the Paris Conservatory, a position she held for over thirty years, almost
until her death. Archives reveal that as a composer, her music was played and celebrated in France and around Europe. She gradually stopped composing, however, when her daughter, pianist and composer Victorine Farrenc, died. Although at her death, her name appeared in the French dictionary with the titles “composer and piano professor”, 8 years later, the title of ‘composer’ was mysteriously scrapped. Why?

Listening to her music, and playing it, I still wonder. This music is filled with life, with colors, with drama. For early romantic music, it is quite classical in form, yet its motivic elements and harmony are surprising and fresh. Hearing these pieces for the first time, I vowed to myself I would have them played the moment I got the chance. I am absolutely thrilled to see her music being played more today, for it is a voice of the past that has been erased from our history for no other reason than conservatism, and it deserves to be heard. We do not know much of the circumstances of the premiere, but archives indicate that Louise Farrenc’s second symphony was premiered in 1845 at the Paris conservatoire in a concert organized by the Farrenc family. Symphonies were not exactly in trend in mid-nineteenth century France, where opera was the leading genre. As such, writing symphonies was perhaps considered slightly conservative, but this work received a warm reception.

The first movement of the symphony, quite typically for late Classical, EarlyRomantic symphonies, starts with a grand, slow opening. The style of the symphony has strong echoes of the Classical Sturm und Drang (‘storm and stress’) movement. The stormy opening indeed, brings us to an agitated Allegro. Two themes alternate:
first the incisive primary theme, which develops into a heroic motive, then the secondary theme, softer and singing, which is tainted with pastoral undertones before eventually returning us to the initial heroic theme. These two themes are developed throughout the movement, and bent harmonically with surprising elements of dynamic and different phrase structure, challenging our expectations. The second movement starts in a very surprising manner, with the timpani alone. Often used to emphasize the two harmonic pillars – the tonic and dominant
degrees – this opening gives it a surprising melodic role. Farrenc’s use of the timpani is in fact very dramatic and a unique part of her orchestration. She doesn’t only use it in the aforementioned traditional way, but also as a color, which makes its interventions very exciting and precursory of the French Impressionist movement.
This movement is a theme and variations, and Farrenc takes us through a dramatic journey, modulating a fairly simple theme into a playful motif for the violins to play around, a martial statement, which can dramatically change color from being played in major or in minor, or yet a delicate wind chorale. The third movement, in accordance with tradition, is a scherzo – a playful movement. The main section presents a mischievous theme, which leads to a grand yet joyful main theme. Some intermittent searching occurs, but we always return to the primary theme. The secondary section, or trio, presents a pastoral theme, with some mischief always present. When I first heard this section, it immediately reminded me of Sibelius’ Pelleas et Melisande. It seemed to me like meeting a
halfway point between the ‘Pastorale’ and ‘Entr’acte’. After a brief return to the scherzo, the trio returns in a more energetic character to rush us through the end of this movement.

Quickly, the strings present a playful theme, as to invite the whole orchestra into this jubilant finale. Pure joy,
bucolic sounds and playfulness animate this movement towards a fugue. The storminess of the opening movement returns, only to reach a breaking point and disintegrates into a chamber musical wind passage, where the clarinets, bassoon and flute embroider a tender version of the main theme given by the oboe. This is interrupted by a fiery rendition of the opening theme, which yet again contorts in the different characters of the beginning. A hesitant clarinet duo brings us, almost by accident, to the surprise grand ending of this symphony

jean sibelius – pohjola’s daughter

As a violinist, Sibelius’ violin concerto was always one of those pieces I looked up to and hoped to play one day. I subsequently discovered his fantastic violin and piano pieces, which are too seldom played. But it was only late that I truly dug into his symphonic music. I was 16 and auditioning in New York, when I stumbled onto Paavo Berglund’s recording of all the Sibelius symphonies with the Chamber Orchestra of Europe. The first symphony I listened to, and incidentally, perhaps the best entry point into Sibelius’ orchestral music, was the 2nd symphony. I was
completely hypnotized and entranced by the music. The arrival to the finale is a moment of music that just takes you with it. It was the start of a journey of (re)discovering a part of myself.

This segway, although perhaps seemingly unnecessary, is interesting to note, since the second symphony, violin concerto and Pelleas and Mélisande mentioned earlier are all pieces Sibelius wrote right before Pohjola’s daughter. Although these were my first loves, it took me shamefully even longer to get acquainted with all of the tone poems. And it was only last Spring, while I was preparing this piece for an assisting job, that I discovered Pohjola’s Daughter.

I immediately fell in love, as I felt it had everything. Sibelian melancholy, but also action with brilliant themes, brilliantly orchestrated… So much happens in the 12 minutes of this so aptly subtitled ‘symphonic fantasy’.
In this symphonic poem from 1906, Väinämöinen is returning home, riding his sled, when he looks up to the sky and sees one of the daughters of Pohjola, sitting on the edge of a rainbow, spinning her wheel, shining in the night. He is hypnotized by her beauty, and asks for her hand. She responds that if he completes a series of challenges, she will be his. After successfully completing the two first tasks, he fails at the last trial: making a boat out of her spinning wheel. Defeated, he walks away. The piece starts at night, depicted by a sustained chord in the lower register. A solo cello wanders around this harmony: old Väinämöinen is about to start his journey home. The music gradually gains in speed and instruments join in one by one as the hero has now confidently begun his journey. His heroic depiction is interrupted by the harp that marks the magical apparition of the daughter of Pohjola. Repeated, insisting figures with increased intensity depict Väinämöinen begging her to come down as she laughs to his face in a shrill tone aptly set to music with a combination of the flute, oboe and clarinet, before telling him he will have to complete the challenges. Thinking he has won her hand, Väinämöinen announces his successful completion of her tasks, to the accompaniment of an increasingly busy score. She laughs again however, this time even louder, as she tells him there is still one more task ahead. Väinämöinen then starts working again and as he is heroically completing the task with the support of a busy string section and brass calls already announcing his victory, the music slows down almost as if for him to savor his win. What has in fact happened, as we know, is that the hero has failed. After a last passionate plea from the higher strings, he is forced to give up. The orchestration thins out as he walks away, and we return to the dark night.

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The concert will end with a Norwegian folk tune, an Old Reinlander from Sønndala.
I was kindly given permission by the Danish String Quartet to use their arrangement
of this tune from their Woodworks-collection as a base for this orchestration.

Aliisa Neige Barrière, March 2022

Thank you

• Samuel Barber, Louise Farrenc and Jean Sibelius for writing such beautiful music for us to perform, and that I vow to dedicate my life to defending to the best of my ability
• The Danish String Quartet, for kindly giving me the permission to use their arrangement of the Old Reinlander from Sønndala as a basis for my orchestration
• To my colleagues playing on stage today for sharing this important moment with me
• Antti Tikkanen for jumping in on very short notice and saving us by bringing his positive, inspiring musicianship to this performance
• Thomas Kellner for sharing his talent with us as the mystical narrator of this program
• Aleksi Barrière for making this an organic experience by writing an engaging poem around this
• program
• Jean-Baptiste Barrière and Kaija Saariaho for bringing their expertise and inspiration when realizing the soundscapes I imagined for this program
• Milla Palovaara for her beautiful translations
• Sakari Oramo, first for allowing me into his class and then for providing guidance, inspiration, warmth and laughter throughout these strange years – I simply could not dream of a better mentor
• Arturo Alvarado, for being the warm, supportive pillar of our kapuluokka – our class, I’m sure, will unanimously agree that his presence and hard work is a gift to us all
• David Claudio and Jani Roppola for always being so kind and helpful, and for handling the chaos we constantly create in the orchestral library and onstage
• Anna Rombach, for keeping an open mind to my ideas when producing this concert, but mainly for putting up with my nonsense with great patience
• My classmates of the kapuluokka, for never have I been so fortunate to have such a warm, supportive class – I am proud to call all of them my colleagues and to have had the chance to study among these talented and generous people
• My family, for offering me such a strong safety net, and so much love and inspiration, I can never appreciate enough – miraculously (or maybe not so miraculously) it only seems to have gotten stronger from afar
• My friends, those who are here tonight, and the others, for their love and support through the tough, and less tough times
• Aku Sorensen, for so many things that his contributions make him confoundingly ineffable

Compostmodernism

The way life circulates is by breaking life down into smaller pieces
and making new life out of them.
Some call this death. Some call it digestion. It’s a matter of perspective.
Of whether you are the one eating, or the one being eaten.
My father and my mother, they only donated two cells to me,
but more importantly they taught me (I mean passed on to me) the art of digesting.
The very first thing I learned when I was just a-little-cell-mass-in-the womb
was how to secrete enzymes to break things down into nutrients I could absorb
and use as building blocks to grow into this person here.
As I walk in this forest, the forest is inside me.
Just like the enzymes in our digestive system
break down food into components that our body can use,
inside any ecosystem, chemicals dismantle life into pieces that other life feeds on.
In the soft ground cracking with dry leaves and branches under my feet,
bacteria, fungi, worms, and other invertebrates
make the forest digest and bloom, fueling the towering architecture of the trees.
They are called the decomposers.
You see, there are no composers on this floor.
These people who play and all of you listening,
together we are the de-composers.
This box in which we sit is an active compost.
Oh the heavy, fertile stench, you smell it too.
How warm it is, the effort, the sheer work,
hungry, loving, passionate,
of unmaking things so they may become part of us.
Creating chemical bonds through which we break the surface
of dead works to make them into life again.
And in us, as us, as the stuff that is us, they really are alive.
How green it is with shadows,
how full of scents of coal and rain,
the forest within us
that is the forest around us,
that we share, we the crowd of a thousand tongues,
the fruit of a thousand rounds of seasons,
rich with everything we have absorbed
each in the distinctive way that defines who we are.
We have roots and they are thirsty.
We the pirates, we the parasites.
We who study together how to decompose.

Aleksi Barriére