Classical music, and the return of old-fashioned 'culture'

Being a student in a city, my thirst for absorbing culture and the arts at large can only be satisfied by immense value for money. With this characteristic in mind, the bombardment of Facebook Ads for a £6 Scottish Symphony Orchestra (SSO) performance seemed to appeal to the appropriate quadrants of my brain. So I went, and compiled my thoughts on the event into the following paragraphs.

The focus of the concert was on Sibelius, a man most famed for giving Finland a sense of cultural independence in an era of Russification. Yet we the audience (made up almost exclusively of people with either spotty faces or grey hair) were also treated to other composers in what soon became a Sveccoman smorgasbord of music flying in the face of so many former lockdown limitations. 

The entree was a short brass rendition of Bach's 'Es ist genug' followed by Magnus Lindberg's 'Chorale', which took inspiration from the piece which preceded it. Both carried a world-weariness to them, a sense of resignation that baffled me somewhat as it's role as an opener to one of the SSO's first live public concerts in a very long time. They were by no means bad, but they were most aptly 'enough'.

Then came Sibelius' Violin Concerto, led by another Finn - Pekka Kuusisto. From the view of the Upper Circle, Kuusisto reminded me of The Fall's Mark E Smith, with his strange posture on stage, and the looseness in which he seemed to carry both himself and his violin when not playing. You would even suspect that had Covid restrictions allowed, he would have walked up and amongst the orchestra, either asserting himself, or releasing himself from the burdens of playing a concert. Dressed in tight trousers and a baggy, oversized t-shirt, he justified the maverick moniker afforded to him by the programme notes, bending his knees and slouching yet standing as he played.

This image was reinforced by the music itself, which for the first 2 parts of the concerto, seemed to consist of a duel between Kuusisto and his lengthy solos, and the SSO, animated by the Lisbon-born conductor Joana Carneiro. Carneiro's actions were in themselves captivating, moving her entire body around her lectern in coordination with the music, feeling as if Sibelius was conducting her, as much as she was conducting his work. Yet this duel was unsustainable, with the Interval and prospect of free water from a water cooler beckoning, so a truce was agreed and Kuusisto reunited with his peers, playing with such delicacy and crescendo to remind everyone in Usher Hall of what live music sounded like. Such was the harmonisation that, when Kuusisto and Carneiro brought the concerto to a conclusion, Kuusisto with an unexpected sideways leg kick, the applause was thunderous, justifying the purpose of these great venues once and for all. 

Such was the warm reception Kuusisto received, that he even returned for a pre-interval encore, playing a short Swedish piece 'made of glass'. Whilst it's folk-ish nature made it sound more Irish than Swedish, for those couple of minutes Kuusisto had the audience hypnotised by his talents, his bow moving so high up the strings that he found his left hand largely restricted to first and second position. The silence that followed his encore was testament to how he had captured our imagination, and gave him all the socially acceptable capital he needed to bow out, presumably so he could Hit the North or write Elastic Man.

Feeling suitably quenched by the interval, we returned to our stiflingly uncomfortable £6 seats for the second half where Carneiro was to not only conduct Sibelius' Symphony No. 7, but also Beethoven's Leonore Overture No. 3 before it, which for me was the concert's crowning glory.

In barely a quarter of an hour, I was captivated, listening to a piece, originally from an opera, with a purpose and ambition, music that knew where it wanted to go and lived up to it's own hopes and aspirations, aided by charming flute solos. Maybe, it's because it was written for an opera that it came to such a delightful conclusion, with a pre-written narrative arc to not just create an atmosphere but to tell a story. The audience weren't meant to applaud after it, but nothing could stop us. 

It's a pity therefore, that Sibelius' No. 7 couldn't follow on quite as successfully, though it's a little difficult to articulate why. My interest in classical music - unlike my music tastes in general - is largely mainstream, limited to famous pieces by famous people, which have inevitably aired on famous TV programmes or films. By having this context for all these pieces, I feel more able to appreciate my tastes. The more I read about Kraftwerk for instance, the more obsessed I became. But by the time Sibelius composed his Seventh Symphony, his purpose seemed to have been lost to history and alcohol. He had established a reputation early in his career, composing music for National Romantic poetry, going on to became something of a National Icon, a curator of soundscapes for a burgeoning nation that had been culturally repressed for centuries.

But by the time Sibelius came round to his Seventh, and eventually final Symphony in 1924, he sounds short of ideas. The work, composed of just a single movement, flutters between uplifting and ominous, never establishing a mood to linger in the mind after leaving the concert hall. This might reflect the burgeoning creative procrastination that would soon burden Sibelius' output for the last 30 years of his life. Or perhaps I'm trying to read far too much into a piece of work that couldn't quite match the earlier heights of the concert. Either way, even Carneiro appeared more static, unable to rally her whole body into movement in the same way that Beethoven or even Sibelius himself had done before.

But despite the mediocrity of Symphony No. 7, it shouldn't detract from what was an excellent event. The key to maintaining Classical Music's continuing relevance is to entice non-orchestral people like me (Grade 4 Violin not withstanding). Making concerts like today's widely accessible helps organisations like the SSO broaden their appeal and ultimately create a more sustainable model for the industry in general. As for the concert itself, there is something immensely powerful about music, the cacophonous transformative effect sounds can impose on people, especially in concert halls. It can evoke, stir, and emote from people in ways that everyday societal interactions can't. That the last 18 months have made these interactions even scarcer demonstrates the power of music even more acutely. Today demonstrated why the arts are so crucial to society, and why students should take note of them while they can. And finally, in the words of my orchestral friend who I went with, today demonstrated that 'culture is back', at least in its most traditional sense.