- Erkki-Sven Tüür
Solastalgia (2016)
(for Solo Piccolo and Orchestra)- Henry Litolff’s Verlag GmbH & Co. KG (World)
- pic + 1+afl+bfl.2+ca.2+bcl.2+cbn/4.3.3.1/timp.3perc/pf/str
- Piccolo
- 19 min
Programme Note
Solastalgia ( /sɒləˈstældʒə/) is a neologism that describes a form of psychic or existential distress caused by environmental change, such as mining or climate change. Coined by philosopher Glenn Albrecht in 2003, it was formed from a combination of the Latin word sōlācium (comfort) and the Greek root -algia (pain). The first article published on this concept appeared in 2005.
As opposed to nostalgia – the – the melancholia or distress experienced by individuals when separated from a loved home (or homesickness)—“solastalgia” is the distress that is produced by environmental change impacting on people while they are directly connected to their home environment.
I mostly live in Hiiumaa (an island in the Baltic Sea), in a farm on Kõpu peninsula. When the wind happens to blow from the north, I can hear the waves break on the other side of the forest. There are no other houses in sight. From the windows of my studio, I can often spot deer, foxes and cranes. It takes about ten minutes to walk through the protected forest down to the beach. And I feel how every day my life in this miraculous place grows increasingly rare and somehow unreal. Like some sort of an illusion.
Where I live, the impact of global climate change manifests itself in that winters are no longer winters and summers no longer summers. In my childhood it was ordinary for cars to drive to mainland on a 25 km ice bridge in the winter. There was a lot of snow. And summers were so warm that swimming in the sea was the most natural thing in the world. Today’s reality is that the difference between winter and summer equinoxes is often only 4-5 degrees. There is no place to hide from the ubiquitous environmental change caused by human activity.
An inexplicable anguish creeps into my soul when I see the vast areas of chopped down forests; the onslaught of oil palm plantations when I travel in Southeast Asia; when I read about gigantic ice blocks breaking off the mainland in Antarctica; the fields of garbage floating around in the ocean, etc. Why am I writing about this here? Do I have any solutions to offer? No, I don’t. And this composition won’t make the world a better place either. At best, it’s a lone voice in the wilderness – something that echoes the most burning conflicts of contemporary reality. The above was just to explain that I didn’t choose the title on a whim or due to the word’s peculiar sound.
The piccolo in this score is the catalyst of great processes in the orchestra. Its effect and essence are perhaps the most similar to the “butterfly” pattern adopted by the American mathematician and meteorologist Edward Lorenz. Initially, the piccolo phrases are replied to by a “same-gender” sound: the flute, alto flute and bass flute. The introduction of more melodious motifs is accompanied by the entire woodwind section and, gradually, by the whole orchestra. It is remarkable how the orchestral waves inspired by the piccolo grow more intense and then slowly emancipate. Everything flows in the direction of increasing rhythmical activity and expanding tessitura, spirally developing in waves that accumulate more and more energy.
The harmonic plan evolves according to the consistent alteration of the horizontal or vertical organisation principle. Resembling repeatedly converging and diverging rays, the structure of musical lines on the horizontal level is connected to the structure of huge chord pillars on the vertical level. A sequence of certain key intervals spurs infinite derivatives, which, though growing and diminishing, are nevertheless tied to the original DNA. I have called my composition method “vectorial”, as I develop my musical material according to factors such as “the angle of ascent or descent”, “curve characteristics”, the direction of energy accumulation and eruption, etc. I want to emphasise that although this sounds extremely artificial, the decisions I make when composing are still largely based on intuition. Moreover, in my imagination the inner energy and dramatic development becomes an abstract visual chart that very naturally guides me to use these vectorial methods in shaping the musical details. And when I listen to my music, the most important thing is whether its developmental arc sounds natural or not. Like a tree that grows from a small seed – when it’s just a tiny sprout shooting from the earth, we haven’t the slightest idea of what form it would take in decades. Having achieved its final shape, however, it’s the sole fundamentally intrinsic outcome it could have reached.
Erkki-Sven Tüür
Translation: Pirjo Püvi
Media
Scores
Reviews
Vincent Cortvrint (piccolo). Estonian National Symphony Orchestra. cond. Olari Elts. 4 October 2019
Solastalgia is one of several works responding to climate-change drama (one couldn't help feeling that the hyper-tempestuous and exhausting Sow the wind... was akin to the storms-beyond-measure we've been experiencing in recent years). Living and composing on the Estonian island of Hiiumaa, Tüür both values this special retreat and worries about the seasonal changes apparent even there, not least a mild winter when the sea can’t be guaranteed to freeze over.
A personal response to Solastalgia, however, suggested the virtuoso piccolo role, played by the Royal Concertgebouw's phenomenal principal Vincent Cortvrint (who gave the 2017 world premiere in Amsterdam), might be Ariel riding or invoking another tempest. A concerto, then, in one sense, but the soloist's close involvement with the orchestra and especially lower flutes, down to the bass member of the family, kept his role concertante style and the essence of the piece, a more conspicuous arch with a bewitching conclusion, symphonic.
[...] The biggest impression was left by the two works performed in the UK for the first time. Erkki-Sven Tüür’s 2017 Solastalgia used a solo piccolo (the LPO’s own Stewart McIlwham) to spark off confrontational ideas in the orchestra in what becomes an increasingly angry protest against climate change. And Louis Andriessen’s latest score, Agamemnon, first performed by the New York Philharmonic last October, is a rare orchestral work from a composer who has avoided such things for most of his career. [...]
[...] A crystalline soundworld is also discernible in parts of Solastalgia by the Estonian composer Erkki-Sven Tüür (born 1959). A lament for the effects of environmental change, as witnessed by the composer on the island of Hiiumaa in the Baltic Sea where he lives, the work was commissioned by another consortium of orchestras including the Royal Concertgebouw who premiered it in Amsterdam in December 2017. This single-movement piece captured attention from the opening – an expansion of the piccolo into a world of multiple flutes – and never let go. The piccolo consistently initiates processes in the orchestra, rather than the conventional concerto relationships of accord or antagonism. A gradual thickening of textures peaks with a Zappa-like passage of big-band brass and drum kit, after which ethereally tumbling percussion leads us back to the multiple flutes of the beginning, and finally into inarticulacy: an outstanding work. Stewart McIlwham (principal piccolo, LPO) was the calmly authoritative soloist. Alsop had been giving short introductions (a model of their kind – witty and to the point) to each work together with their respective composers (only Andriessen was not present) but Tüür had evidently not received the memo and had to dash down to the stage from the audience. [...]
[...] Solastalgia by Erkki-Sven Tüür from Estonia is music rooted in his home on an island in the Baltic Sea. A dazzling solo piccolo, here Stewart McIlwham, embodied the brilliant light and nature’s restless energy. [...]
[...] Erkki-Sven Tüür built his Solastalgia around a musical version of the butterfly effect, with the solo piccolo sending waves through the orchestra. The brass section often sounded like the biggest of big bands, but after a roaring climax, the piece reached a natural stasis. [...]
The power of a small flute
[...] Tüür made it into a concerto, in which the piccolo mostly sounds like an orchestral instrument, but at important moments convincingly comes to the foreground as soloist: a very successful concept, in which the powers of this small but excelling flute could be displayed – and whichever way you look at it, its sound can be heard.
In Cortvrints hands the piccolo has a pure and honest sound. This musician commands a wide range of colors, which he loosely shared with his colleagues from the Concertgebouw Orchestra. At some moments they travelled together, at others Cortvrints notes diverted from the orchestral sound, all in a fluent motion. Tüürs works demands muscular music making, but also to whistle nostalgia into the hall, each possible nuance was delivered with intense sound.
[...] One can only hope that more piccolo players will embrace this work, because it deserves it. Tüür has a fine ear for combining notes in a well-sounding but nevertheless unusual way. In Solastalgia he not only explores the agility, but also the darker sides of Cortvrints miniature flute, and he melts the high tones with the orchestral sound, often so cunningly that new timbres spring into existence. At times the mixtures evoke the sound of the sheng, the overtone rich Chinese mouth organ.
Which doesn’t mean that the music sounds oriental. The harmony is dominated by rustling clusters and the lines are swift and capricious. The soloist combines shrill high notes with imaginative somersaulting melodies and dancing figures. One by one the orchestral sections enter, until the soloist merges into a scorching sea of sound.
Pulsating brass, whirling sounds of the piccolo and chanting strings bring a new eruption, which dwindles away in a long and static passage with softly plopping valves. That even the most vehement commotion remains distinctly clear, is of course also due to the excellent teamwork of the orchestra.
A heartfelt cry for the climate on piccolo
[...] Tüür knows the feeling, because on his distant Estonian island he day by day witnesses the effects of the changing climate. Solastalgia is a heartfelt cry. But is the piccolo the right vehicle for this?
For a long time this didn’t seem the case. Cortvrint played excellent, that wasn’t the problem, and the concept of the work proved intriguing. More than a solo instrument the piccolo played the role of forerunner or catalyst, lighting little fires in the orchestra like a tinder-box. This lead to beautiful iridizing tapestries of sound, in which every now and then a collective bell was sounded.
Cortvrint proved with gusto that the piccolo is capable of more than warbling high and loud, but the solo part remained rather conventional in its musical contents. The work got stuck in seemingly dramatic orchestral whirls without much direction or purpose. This was the downside of Tüürs anti-soloist treatment, because the piccolo could do little once the fire was blazing.
Until, after an exuberant climax, all fell silent and the piccolo returned to the feeling of the opening. A serene cadenza proved to be the start to a marvelous coda, slowly swelling, with tingling interplay between the soloist and tuned percussion, which placed everything that went before in a different light. Now the orchestra sounded like a gigantic melting ice palace, and suddenly, amongst this sublime force of nature, the little brave piccolo became very touching.
Concertgebouw, Amsterdam. Vincent Cortvrint, piccolo. Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, cond. Stéphane Denève. Dec. 6th 2017
Tüür gives voice to climate change
[...] Solastalgia, a contraction of solacium (comfort) and algia (pain), means something like not feeling well in your own environment, which has strongly changed. Tüür takes this literally. At home in his farm on Hiiumaa, in the Baltic Sea, he personally witnesses the climate change and that doesn’t please him at all. Therefore one is tempted to listen to Solastalgia as an ecological warning, which makes you worry how this world will come to an end.
Tüür has written an imaginative and accessible work, full of tonal references, which will be gladly welcomed by all piccolo-players in the world, and won’t frighten the average listener.
Cortvrint leads the conversation from the beginning, at first with a percussionist, who accentuates each highest note of the piccolo with cymbals antiques. Remarkable too are the passages full of trills in the woodwinds, which strongly suggest the later works of Boulez, and which introduce a process of Stimmungssteigerung, culminating in seething and stringent orchestral agitation. Cortvrint excellently performed his part as cataclyst and his colleagues showed their best playing.
[...] What instantly appeals to me within the context of this piece is the fact it is almost an anti-Romantic concerto; namely it isn't a heroic victory, it isn't even necessarily salvation, but a lone figure disappearing out of significance. Its also intriguingly anti-Romantic in the way many Romantic/Nationalistic figures tended to celebrate nature or the wilderness; whereas this is fear for the environment itself.
The work starts from a rather beautiful shimmering place. Our soloist singing unashamedly enjoying itself within its wonderful home. However, as time progresses elements and ideas get more and more evocative and challenging; changing and mutating. The once content creature now struggles to survive, getting more animated and fractious at the loss of its familiar home. The energy and sheer strength of the orchestra becomes increasingly powerful, but the soloist keeps singing. The sheer expanse of the orchestration is exquisite and intensive. The driving rhythmic force really pushes the orchestral backdrop to a point of complete dominance where the soloist has only brief glimpses of respite. These moments of 'calm' never feel peaceful or like a resolution but more a point of complete desolation. The finale is eerie. The fog is clearing and almost nothing remains. Is this a prophecy or epiphany? Has the desolation of this 'home' happened or is it going to happen? Its hard to say the exact intent at this point, but all we know either way, the composer is desperate to voice his fear for the future and for the rural world in general.
The premiere was astounding. I was blown away by what I was hearing. Erkki-Sven Tuur is definitely a new period of his compositional life, and a part that I am truly excited to see where it heads. The Royal Amsterdam Concertgebouw Orchestra were on particularly brilliant form and really bought the work to life. I can only imagine how wonderful it would have been to write for Vincent Cortvrint (piccolo), his mastery of the instrument and sheer tenacity in the premiere was glorious. What a wonderful performance, what a glorious piece; I can only congratulate everybody involved. [...]
Discography
Horizon 9
- LabelKoninklijk Concertgebouworkest
- ConductorStéphane Denève
- EnsembleRoyal Concertgebouw Orchestra
- SoloistVincent Cortvrint (piccolo)
- Released1st February 2019