New Dimensions: Borealis

Scottish Chamber Orchestra

Andrew Manze conductor, Lawrence Power viola

City Halls, Glasgow; 1/11/24

On the (thankfully) not-at-all “Baltic” night of 1st November, the Scottish Chamber Orchestra returned to Glasgow’s City Halls for the second of two performances of an eclectic Nordic/Scottish programme, ‘Borealis’, as part of the ‘Nordic Music Days’ festival (hosted this year, for only the third time ever in its 136-year history, in Glasgow), and the ‘New Dimensions’ exploration of novel soundscapes.  Andrew Manze, in-role since September as the new Principal Guest Conductor of the orchestra, conducted and the concert was recorded by the BBC for broadcast in ‘Radio 3 in Concert’ on 6th November.  Two works by Swedish composers received their Scottish premieres before and after the interval: Anders Hillborg’s 2021 Viola Concerto with its dedicatee Lawrence Power as soloist, and Madeleine Isaksson’s ‘Flow’s (Tornio)’ of the same year, the middle movement of a 3-movement jubilee commission marking the 400th anniversary of the founding of 3 towns, of which Tornio is one.  The concert opened and closed with works by Scottish composers, current SCO Associate Composer Jay Capperauld’s grisly 2021 ‘Death in a Nutshell’ and former SCO Associate Composer Sir James MacMillan’s 1999 Symphony No.2.  Andrew Manze introduced the programme, commenting on the pleasure of performing the music of living composers and the great boon of being able to ask them directly when needing guidance with performance.  Three of the four composers on the programme were present in the auditorium, he revealed, though I for one was surprised to hear that the absentee was Sir James MacMillan.  He added that, as the Symphony dated technically from the last millennium, it counted as old established repertoire, which raised a chuckle from the Glasgow audience.  The hall was far from full, but there was quite a festive buzz for a programme rich in Hallowe’en-inspired, spooky, atmospheric music.

In 2024, we have enjoyed a few Jay Capperauld goodies with the SCO, including a surprise witty, clever setting of ‘Happy Birthday’ at the end of the ‘SCO 50th Birthday’ concert in January and his movingly dreamy, tender setting of Niall Campbell’s poem, ‘The Night Watch’, from the SCO Chorus in Stirling Castle in June.  ‘Death in a Nutshell’ is a 6-movement work, each painting a musical picture of a dolls’ house-sized highly-detailed diorama of a real possible murder crime scene, as one of the 20 ‘Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death’ created by the forensic scientist Frances Glessner Lee.  The music was often disturbing but always spellbinding, full of unusual instrumentation and evocative timbres.  The first movement was dramatic, rhythmic and syncopated, the two percussionists kept busy with violent interruptions, which continued over a hymnlike passage and a fugal interlude, right up to a final blow.  The second movement was more spookily pastoral with cowbells, vibraphone and string glissandi and lots of unusual timbral effects, notably brush sticks drawn across the horizontal bass drum.  An improvisational urban jazz feel permeated the third movement, with some exquisite saxophone playing from Lewis Banks, pizzicato double basses and wah-wah muting of the trumpets.  The very short fourth movement featured spooky swooping high harmonics on the violins while the two percussionists were kept busy again.  Melancholy music on strings, clarinet, flute and bass clarinet frames angrier, more violent music that builds to a huge climax in the fifth movement.  In the final part, the eerie rustling of paper cuts across the homely Copland-like domestic scene-painting with its lovely writing for oboe and horns, before the music comes to a sudden stop.  Another immensely satisfying piece from Jay Capperauld, given a convincing and persuasive outing by the SCO.  Andrew Manze’s realisation skilfully drew us into the macabre scenes.  Very enjoyable, and very well received by the Glasgow audience applauding the composer as he came to the platform.

If most viola concerti explore the character of the instrument and its player as soulful, meditative, stoic philosopher, Hillborg’s Viola Concerto is most definitely atypical.  Structured as a single movement with 7 identifiable sections, there is nothing ‘pipe-and-slippers’ or ‘Morris Minor-ish’ about the solo part, as indeed nor is there about Lawrence Power.  Hectically rapid solo double-stopping in sets of four groups of triplets, marked ‘Rage’ is joined by the orchestral strings in the thrilling first section, with syncopated slap bass effects in the lower strings achieved with the violent application of bamboo tubes.  Winds, including soprano saxophone, in slightly slower groups of four join as the music winds down in the second section, marked ‘Fade’.  The third section, ‘Still’, is slower and quite dreamy and bluesy with some writing in the high register of the solo viola.  The fourth section features some really beautiful empathetic conversation between the soloist and the winds, at which the SCO players always excel and did again, before the soloist departs on an ornate cadenza somewhat recalling the ‘Rage’ of the opening.  The fifth section, ‘Odobenus Lachrymae’ (pedant alert – I think it should be ‘Odobeni’ if the intention is ‘Tears of The Walrus’ – there is certainly a quotation from the Beatles’ song) is spookily introspective and lyrically melancholy.  The penultimate section, ‘Ascension’ achieves the inverse of Bach’s trick in the Fantasia of the Fantasia & Fugue in G-minor: where Bach’s sleight of hand appears to descend indefinitely, Hillborg’s ascends.  Pretty cool.  This leads straight into the final reprise of the ‘Rage’, an intense crescendo bringing the work to a dramatic close.  Super piece, tailored to Lawrence Power’s virtuosity and charismatic musical personality, with conductor and orchestra onboard and giving it everything.  Composer, conductor and soloist, arm in arm, acknowledged the enthusiastic applause.

Both cold and fear prompt humans to shiver, and spooky music seems apt to the depiction of both, especially when weather conditions in the frozen north pose a threat to life and limb.  Madeleine Isaksson’s ‘Flow’s (Tornio)’ refers to the Torne river on the border between Sweden and Finland, passing from the far north through the Finnish border town of Tornio, and flowing into the north of the Gulf of Bothnia.  It is frozen in winter and transports ice in spring through early summer, with occasional blockages, releases and spectacular floods.  The music, in the character of a short symphonic poem not quite as stark as Sibelius’ ‘Tapiola’, is atmospheric with interesting eerie timbral effects, such as pedal timpani roll glissandi (like in Bartok’s ‘Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta’), fast figures on xylophone and semi-tuned percussion, bowed cymbal and a mournful lament on solo viola.  A diminuendo concludes with a final “ting” on glockenspiel.   Another super piece and another composer, this one diminutive and quite shy, took a bow on the platform.

We are never starved of MacMillan’s music in Scotland, but this was a first hearing for me of the Second Symphony.  It is in three movements, with the middle movement by far the longest and most involved (and quite enigmatic).  Despite a predominantly elegiac mood (with much tolling of a tubular bell), the symphony is dedicated to the living author and the composer’s fellow-Ayrshireman, Andrew O’Hagan.  Apart from the bell, twittering winds and scurrying rapid pizzicato strings carry the principal musical ideas of the introductory first movement.  Two contrasting sets of musical ideas vie for the direction and character of the middle movement, neither establishing primacy: spooky atmospheric elegiac music and militaristic marching music.  Vibraphone, harp, contrabassoon and bass clarinet are used skilfully to evoke spectral insubstantiality, while winds and brass chorale seem to evoke more corporeal grief and hope.  Side drum, bass drum and cymbal kickstart every militaristic episode, some ephemeral, two beefier ones later in the movement hint at quotes from the Star Wars Imperial March and even Dukas’ ‘Sorcerer’s Apprentice’.  The short valedictory finale, after growing out of growling double basses, bass drum roll and contrabassoon, revisits briefly the ideas of the first movement before a repeated enigmatic quotation from the ‘Liebestod’ at the end of ‘Tristan und Isolde’ leads to a winding down to a final toll of the bell.  A mesmerising symphonic work which keeps the listener guessing on ‘meaning’.  As with all MacMillan’s work, well worth another listen – it will broadcast on Wednesday and should be on BBC Sounds for a month after that.  Few performers, I would suggest, can afford it the same level of committed advocacy that the SCO under Manze bring.  Full marks from me.