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Symphonie enfantine, op.17
Hommage à Hændel, op.21 Suite for String Orchestra Suite for Small Orchestra, op.37
Tapiola Sinfonietta
This review is kindly sponsored by HMV Singapore. |
[62:01] full-price
by the Inkpot Sibelius Nutcasetm
Discs like this which offer a small collection of a composer's medium-scale output are almost always a little treasure chest of discovery and delight. More so for a relatively unknown like the Finnish composer Uuno Klami (1900-1961). So far, in my exploration of his music, he has shown nothing but originality and also a diverse palette of expression.
Modern as his years of life indicate, there are many moments of melodic appeal and musical substance. Considered by Finnish musicians as one of the best composers after Sibelius, Klami's ability for symphonic intellect is matched and balanced by his delicious melodies, in particular the genre of the "lullaby". The examples here include the Berceuse of the Symphonie enfantine and the Intermezzo of the Suite for Small Orchestra.
The 16-minute Symphonie enfantine ("children's symphony") was titled to prevent work from being thought of as a "genuine" symphony. It begins with a beautiful Poco agitato, though if it is "agitated" in anyway, it's very understated. There is beautifully luscious stringwork, with dashes of harp and woodwind pastorales. The colours of the work is French in character - hence the Berceuse could easily have been mistaken for a work by Fauré, or maybe even a combination of Ravel, Vaughan Williams and Sibelius (oddly, because Klami is well-known to have avoided the styles of his famous contemporary).
The tranquil and sighing Berceuse (from the French "bercer" - to rock to sleep), beginning and ending in E major, is made mysterious by its drifting woodwind solos in A minor. The last movement is a Molto vivo which parades a bewildering range of varying moods, from a Janácek-like militancy to French waltz.
It begins with a dark Adagio introduction, almost reticent. This gives way to a concentratedly slow meditation, ending with an enigmatic piano solo drifting away - mesmerising. The following Andante (Tempo di Gavotte) is a light dance movement, serenely content. It is slower than most orchestral gavottes one comes across in Baroque suites, and would make a lovely ballet piece. Listen for the nonchalantly subtle piano solo - the kind which tells one there is an intelligent composer at work here.
The ensuing Largo is sad, even pained, though from the middle it becomes more relaxed. Klami (above left) seems to favour these two-parter movements which do not recap the opening material. Finally, the essentially restrained mood is relieved in the concluding Allegro, sporting a delightful and sparkling piano part - the kind of work which makes you wonder if this composer wrote any piano concertos. The most appealing gem is arguably this, balancing excitement with formal elegance.
The Suite for String Orchestra (1937) is a little 12½-minute four-movement affair. The concentration of the Rubato, quasi recitativo is reflected in its title - more gesture than melody. The entire suite does in fact have a speaking quality, full of substance but conversing about it rather than singing it out. This gives way to a lyrical and tender Menuetto (Quasi lento) of the fin-de-siècle Viennese variety (think Kreisler). A short Tranquillo passes for another of Klami's sad bercueses. This leads to the final Allegro vivo, a polyrhythmic coda for the entire suite which for a few brief seconds almost bursts into a waltz. It is this sense of expectancy which Klami creates in his music which can be very tempting to the listener.
Finland's Tapiola Sinfonietta (above right - isn't that a cool photo?) under French conductor Jean-Jacques Kantorow (Russian roots) perform the pieces with admirable skill and confidence, everything captured cleanly by BIS's engineers. This is my first encounter with all the music - and it was a thoroughly enjoyable disc of discoveries!
The 19½-minute Hommage à Hændel (1931) is... before I say anything - let's get this straight - it is not an imitation of either Handel or Baroque music. In fact, the reference to Handel in the title makes it really weird - I must admit it sounds anything but Handelian. Apparently the name is a reference to the use of the Baroque sonata form in this work.
The 13-minute Suite for Small Orchestra is arguably the most interesting of the works on the disc. The opening Sérénade is a playfully varied piece, its pace shifting constantly. At times pastoral, at others almost aristocratic, this is like one of those "procession of fairy" pieces. The very peaceful and serene Intermezzo follows, full of the undulating colours of night. Like the berceuses above, it is a light and sad lullaby, but without doubt very beautiful. As Kalevi Aho points out in his notes, it is of the "(Pavane) for a Dead Infant" variety. All ends with the contrasting Marche militaire. Marked at "Allegro giocoso", it is more jolly than military, with a festive atmosphere that (again) just stops short of leaping into a merry gallop.
The Inkpot Sibelius Nutcase frequents the polar ice caps of his mind, playing cards with polar bears who do not drink soft drinks of any kind. (Hey that rhymes!)
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