Uuno Klami is one of
those more obscure Finnish composers
who never quite made it from under Sibelius’s
shadow. Fortunately for us some of his
orchestral scores have now been recorded,
several of them on BIS. Unfortunately
Whirls, a ballet based on the
Finnish epic poem the Kalevala,
only survives in rehearsal scores for
Acts I and II, which were rediscovered
in 1985. The Finnish composer Kalevi
Aho orchestrated these two acts and
as Act III was never found wrote music
for that as well. When the projected
performance of the completed ballet
didn’t materialise Aho recast the music
he’d composed for the third act as his
Symphonic Dances (1988).
Klami was admitted
to the Helsinki Conservatory (now the
Sibelius Academy) at the tender age
of 15, and travelled to Paris in 1924-25
where he was much influenced by Ravel
and others. That said, he shared with
Sibelius a passionate belief in his
national identity, celebrated in his
popular Karelian Rhapsody (1927)
and later in the overture Suomenlinna.
Given that Aho’s Symphonic
Dances offers a thrillingly visceral
take on this epic (see Aho
survey) some may find his orchestration
of Act I a bit restrained by comparison.
Admittedly Act III probably has the
most dramatic potential but make no
mistake Act I has its moments as well.
Also, in terms of its sound world Whirls
strikes me as surprisingly suave and
sophisticated – the French influence,
perhaps – with an occasional nod towards
Prokofiev in its more insistent moments.
In the ballet Ilmarinen
the smith uses his furnace to try and
create a magical object known as the
Sampo. Aided and abetted by an army
of slaves and the power of the four
winds he finally achieves his goal in
Act III. The prelude and fanfare to
the first act steals in quietly, the
steady timp strokes and anvil sounds
setting the stage before the flames
awake in track 2. There is an underlying
rhythmic tread here, with orchestral
evocations of flickering flames and
some atmospheric swoops at 2:40.
In his liner-notes
Aho says Klami’s score ‘approaches free
atonality’ and it’s that ‘fingerprint’
he strives to preserve here. In any
event those familiar with Aho’s works
will recognise his economy of style
and the ‘hear through’ quality of his
orchestral writing. Given this epic
tale one would be forgiven for expecting
music on a similar scale, but that really
isn’t Aho’s way here. He certainly turns
up the heat in the first Dance of the
Flames but it’s the tautly sprung rhythms
and unusual colours that make the most
impact at this point.
Appropriately the War
Dance opens with a crisp little fanfare
for trumpet and snare drum before offering
up some striking rhythms and sonorities.
Just sample the beautifully articulated
solo passage that begins at 1:04. There’s
real swagger here and the Lahti percussion
– the bass drum in particular – are
splendid. The swirling figure that opens
the second Fire Dance may be rather
more conventional in its scene painting,
but the grateful acoustic and astonishing
level of instrumental detail make for
an aural treat.
The Dance of the Water
– Song of the Waves is vaguely Debussian
in character – that quiet, burbling
figure at the outset, repeated later,
is most evocative – and there is a growing
tension throughout. Once again the sonorities
are very individual, the rhythms more
sinewy than anything Debussy would have
written. That said there is a wonderful
cymbal-capped climax reminiscent of
La Mer, before the music fades
into enigmatic silence. The latter is
something of a trademark in Aho’s works
and dramatically it’s just as effective
here.
The third Fire Dance
is the most animated movement so far,
with some commendably crisp, alert playing
from the Lahti forces. As always one
marvels at the percussion section’s
playing and at Vänskā’s
ability to shape and build climaxes
so convincingly. This music could so
easily sound overheated but it never
does, even at the imposing start to
the Dance of the Slaves. No wild abandon
here, but the rhythms do become more
insistent and invigorating along
the way.
At seven minutes this
is one of the act’s longest movements
and occasionally, very occasionally,
I felt the music outstayed its welcome.
It’s still worth hearing, but if it’s
sheer drama and spectacle you’re after
Aho’s Symphonic Dances is hard
to beat. Sonically the latter is very
impressive too.
The first version of
Klami’s Violin Concerto dates
from 1940-43, but the score went missing
after the Stockholm premiere in 1944.
Klami revised the work in 1954 – the
version played here – three years before
the original eventually came to light
in the Swedish radio archives.
The first movement,
Allegro molto moderato, certainly has
the rough-hewn grandeur of Sibelius
– apparently Klami’s model for this
concerto – but Jennifer Koh brings a
compensating warmth and lyricism to
the proceedings. She is a talented fiddler
who favours more contemporary music,
so this concerto doesn’t pose too many
technical challenges for her. That said,
she shows good judgment in the extended
solo passages – from 2:26, for instance
– which could sound oversweet in other
hands. There is also a wonderful brooding
feel to this movement, not to mention
some unusual splashes of instrumental
colour.
In the more inward
sections the violin tone may be a little
anaemic but Koh makes up for it in the
weightier, more animated moments, as
well as the music’s more infectious
rhythms (6:29 onwards). There is plenty
of character in the latter and the Lahti
band are as polished as ever. Having
listened to Aho almost continuously
for the past few weeks I was struck
by how lean Klami’s concerto sounds,
especially towards the end of the first
movement, yet it retains just enough
late-Romantic bloom to ensure wide appeal.
That is certainly true
of the Adagio, which opens with a sense
of wistfulness, soon echoed by the soloist.
Koh seems at ease here, and again she
doesn’t allow the music’s melancholic
air to descend into mawkishness. Indeed,
for all its robustness elsewhere this
movement does come perilously close
to sentimentality. Still, who can resist
the heart-on-sleeve Romanticism of the
Adagio’s final pages when it’s played
as eloquently as this?
In his liner-notes
Aho mentions hints of Prokofiev and
Stravinsky here, but I’d say Klami’s
sound world is not quite as ascerbic
as that. The insistent rhythms of the
final movement are certainly spikier
than anything we’ve heard so far, although
there is a genial bounce to this music
as well. Indeed, this is probably Klami
at his wittiest, the violin melodies
flitting, Ariel-like, above the orchestra.
It all ends rather abruptly, leaving
one feeling a tad underwhelmed. It’s
clearly an enjoyable work but, as Aho
admits, it’s not a great one.
Klami’s Suomenlinna
overture takes its name from the
islands around Helsinki that were fortified
in the 18th century to protect
the city from invaders. No doubt this
has resonances for the composer, who
visited them in 1940. Unfortunately
the original score was lost in Germany,
so Klami rewrote the piece in 1944.
Apparently there was
some debate about whether this overture
was too warlike; in the event it comes
across as a suitably rousing piece,
with a marvellous main theme and Bolero-like
tread in the bass. Perhaps one could
call this Klami’s Finlandia –
it has the same weight and grandeur
at times, not to mention a palpable
tension that rises to a formidable climax.
In between there is music of some eloquence,
broadening into that martial theme at
5:48. Not surprisingly the dominance
of C major gives this overture a sense
of hope and affirmation, thrillingly
realised by the Lahti band’s incisive
brass. And, yes, that Bolero-like
theme returns at 9:55. A spine-tingler
that really ought to be better known.
Thanks to Robert von
Bahr and his team for shining a light
on the dustier recesses of Finnish music.
Klami may not be in the same league
as Sibelius and Aho, but what he lacks
in ultimate stature he makes up for
in passion and punch. Well worth investigating.
Now, back to that overture
....
Dan Morgan
*Jennifer Koh (violin) 
