If nothing else, the arrival in London of her new opera Innocence reminded British audiences that Kaija Saariaho is a major composer of our time. A month on from that, the Barbican and BBC have welcomed the Finn to the exclusive pantheon of the order of “Total Immersion” – a full day devoted to the music of a single living composer.
At Milton Court, the BBC Singers set recent travails aside and gave stunning performances of three substantial pieces, with accompaniment in two of them by Dominic Worsley (double bass) and the one-woman theatre of percussionist Beth Higham-Edwards. Reconnaissance (2020, rev. 2022) was packed with vocal and percussive effects and offered a compelling aural experience. Set to verses by the composer’s son, Aleksi Barrière, the space-and-sci-fi subject matter inevitably evoked Ligeti and the moods of 2001: A Space Odyssey, yet Saariaho’s own voice dominated and her dissonances cut through to us with sweetness.
The conductor, Krista Audere, added a bracing sense of clean, airy space in the nocturnal sounds of Nuits, adieux (1991), while Tag des Jahrs (2001) to lines by Hölderlin – a poet to whom Britten also once turned – was characterised by serene harmonies attacked by shards of sound, as though a contemplative mind were being spooked by noises off. The use of electronics in such an introspective piece felt intrusive and it was odd to hear textures carry the day over substance.
The day's climactic concert was given in the Barbican Hall by a brimming BBC Symphony Orchestra under its principal conductor (and compatriot of the composer), Sakari Oramo. The phalanx was at its fattest for Du cristal (1989) which included among its many instruments a synthesizer, not to add radiophonic effects but to be woven into the orchestral fabric. After a crashing initial tutti, the 18-minute piece slowly settled to evoke a hushed world of abstract mystery. The vast forces brilliantly conveyed a panoply of patterns and dynamics, typically using the massed strings – now glistening with shimmering glissandi, now scything away like chainsaws – to make sweeping musical statements while four percussionists held a private street party at the rear.
For Notes on Light (2006-7) Oramo was joined by cellist Anssi Karttunen, the work’s dedicatee and a longtime collaborator of the composer, who played this elaborate concertante piece from memory. Each of its five movements is aptly titled: the first is marked Translucent, Secret and does what it says on the tin, although I’d be inclined to add “baleful” to that mix. On Fire is dance-like, the xylophone sputtering sparks above exultant music that even included moments of syncopation, most out of character for this composer. The lengthy central movement, Awakenings, made a less powerful impression owing to a disappointing adventure-movie sensibility (“Whatever you do, don’t look at the Ark of the Covenant!”) whereas the aptly named Eclipse saw the soloist begin a theme, only for the violas to nip in and steal it to share amongst their fellow string instruments. The finale, Heart of Light, was a spectral mirage in sound that dissipated into a dreamlike intimation of radiance.
The final two works were hamstrung by distractions. Saarikoski Songs (2013, orch. 2020) are a virtuoso sequence for high soprano and orchestra, but despite some staggering coloratura singing by Anu Komsi, who commissioned them, it was hard to wade through the printed texts by Finnish poet Pentti Saarikoski without becoming entangled in the inept verse translation. I attempted to imbibe lines about “an academy obliterated by barbarians” and “the interstitial time petrifies into mountains” but it had been a long day.
Worse was to come with Circle Map (2012), the Immersion’s big finish. This half-hour work is a synthesis of the composer’s signature styles, all flavoured by a percussive piano and a busy percussion section. The density of Saariaho’s themes and content for this dazzling creation demand close attention, but there was too much else going on to allow for it. I felt my resources progressively thwarted by the constant screening of videos showing the creation of Persian calligraphy – an act of beauty in itself but, for a brain that needed to concentrate on sound, total commotion.
