1. Minä laulan sun iltasi tähtihin 1:37
2. Onnelliset 3:29
3. Akselin ja Elinan häävalssi 3:24
4. Sulle kauneimmat lauluni laulan 4:03
5. Äideistä parhain 2:51
6. Ständchen 4:29

Tre sånger om kärleken
7. Spanande kretsar (1:35)
8. Tillbedjan (1:02)
9. Så skall vår kärlek dröja (2:02)
4:39

10. Uudelleen jos luokses tulla voisin 3:33
11. Mikset mua huomaa 2:06
12. Aamun satama 5:10
13. Sinua, sinua rakastan 3:29
14. Armi 4:14
15. Ramona 3:45
16. Tunturisatu 3:28
17. Jos vielä oot vapaa 3:45

[ 55:11 ]

Sulle kauneimmat lauluni laulan

Ylioppilaskunnan Laulajat
YL Male Voice Choir
Matti Hyökki, johtaja • conductor
Matti Salminen, basso • bass (4, 10)
Tuomas Katajala, tenori • tenor & Kristian Attila, piano (6)
Jouni Kannisto, tenori • tenor (14)

Kvartetti • Quartet Tom Lindqvist, Jussi Salovaara, Timo Mannonen, Tuukka Haapaniemi (11)
Lauluyhtye • Vocal Ensemble Talla (12)
Christoffer Sundqvist, klarinetti • clarinet (2)
Riitta Paakki Trio (4, 14, 17)

SEVILLA TIMO KORHONEN

Includes work(s) by various composers. Ensemble: Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra. Conductor: John Storgårds. Soloist: Soile Isokoski.

1. O helga natt / Cantique de Noël 3:56
2. Rauhaa, vain rauhaa/Peace, Perfect Peace 2:13
3. En etsi valtaa, loistoa/We Ask for Nothing Rich or Rare 3:56
4. Jo joutuu ilta/O'er Hill and Dale 2:06
5. Dies est laetitae/Herraa kaikki kiittäkää 2:05
6. Hiljaa, hiljaa helkkyellen/Softly, Softly Ringing 2:31
7. Sylvian joululaulu/Sylvia's Carol 3:50
8. Hiljainen joululaulu/The Peace of Christmas 3:51
9. Maa on niin kaunis/Schönter Herr Jesu 2:43
10. Jouluyö, juhlayö/Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht 4:13
11. On hanget korkeat nietokset/The Shining Snows are Driven High 3:07
12. Arkihuolesi kaikki heitä/Cast Off All Care 2:05
13. Enkelien joululaulu/The Angel's Carol 2:12
14. Mökit nukkuu lumiset/The Snowbound Cabins Sleep 3:27
15. Kun joulu valkeneepi/Now Christmas Is Come 1:37
16. Puer natus in Bethlehem/Synnytti piltin Beetlehem 1:02
17. Panis Angelicus/Leivästä enkelten 3:39
18. O, Jesulein süß/Oi, Jeesus, lapsi armainen 2:09
19. Santa Lucia/Pyhä Lucia 3:43
20. O Tannenbaum/Oi kuusipuu 2:32
21. White Christmas/Valkea joulu 3:45

Ritva-Liisa Korhonen, soprano
Eeva-Liisa Saarinen, mezzo soprano
Raimo Sirkiä, tenor
Jorma Silvasti, tenor
Peter Lindroos, tenor
Jorma Hynninen, baritone
Esa Ruuttunen, baritone
Matti Salminen, bass
Tampere Philharmonic Orchestra
Savonlinna Opera Festival Chorus

Kyösti Haatanen, conductor

There are many great Finnish baritones, but Jorma Hynninen stands out as one who’s made a speciality of song and Lieder. He commands the field in Sibelius even now, when there are so many new artists exploring the material : He “made” Kullervo, for example, his powerful interpretations setting standards for all who take on the part. Naturally he has few peers in Finnish and Swedish repertoire. But Schubert occupies central ground in Lieder, and Hynninen has performed most of Schubert’s songs for baritone. Indeed, it was a legendary, stunning performance of Winterreise at the Ravinia Festival in the early 1980s that brought him to prominence in the United States, where he continues to have a huge following. This particular performance was made in 1988, in Finland, with Hynninen’s long-term pianist, Ralf Gothóni, another extremely prominent Finnish musician and specialist in song.

With something like 300 recordings of Winterreise available, why would anyone choose this particular one? I’m delighted with it because I don’t believe any Winterreise collection – or any song collection, for that matter – can afford to be without Hynninen. He has a distinctive style that suits this cycle very well. If Hynninen is good, so is Ralf Gothóni, an equally prominent Finnish musician and another song specialist. Indeed, it’s the interplay between them that makes this particular recording so worthwhile. If anything, Gothóni has a slight edge, which is no bad thing, as the piano part in Winterreise is sometimes overshadowed by spectacular singing. This is a very well-balanced performance, very natural sounding and unforced.

There are lots of ways to do Winterreise well, and this surprisingly tender approach is certainly a good one. Indeed, while listening to this, instead of hearing the protagonist’s anguish full blast, I kept thinking of what the singer was witnessing – frozen raindrops, the crow circling in a pale sky, the village cemetery. This is actually more important than is often realized, because for a big part of the Romantic ethos poets like Wilhelm Müller subscribed to the idea of landscape as a symbol of human feeling. Without the terminology of modern psychology, landscape provided a means to express complex emotion. Thus Schubert makes so much of the “visual” elements in the narrative. We are supposed to hear the raindrops, the rushing stream and the wind tearing through the trees. They are far more critical than is often appreciated. The cemetery, for example, is on the outskirts of the village: as he passes it, the protagonist is taking leave not just of the village but of the remains of its life and peace. Similarly, the crow may be the man’s only companion, but it is a carrion bird, whose apparent friendship the poet knows is sinister. Müller and Schubert lived in times when people spent much more of their time out and about, directly experiencing nature. We are spared that intensity, with our heated homes, tarmaced roads, protective clothes and electricity. Perhaps we’ve even lost some ability to experience Winterreise as Müller and Schubert did. For them, crossing a frozen stream by foot was a normal occurrence. The references to paths made by wild animals would have stirred clear memories.

How often do we now find ourselves alone in a vast deserted expanse, so cold it chills to the bone, and “hear the silence”? Early nineteenth century middle European winters were such that the entire landscape was shrouded so deeply in snow that all sounds were muffled and understated. That is another reason I like this performance. It captures a sense of profound stillness that allows the impact of the music to linger in the subconscious. Tempi here are restrained, contemplative rather than slow. Hynninen does pile on the histrionics, but sings with quiet understated grace. It’s as if he were savouring the scene before him, appreciating how the specific physical experience of the landscape is affecting the protagonist. We can almost see the eerily intense light reflected off the snow. The three suns in Die Nebensonnen are easy to imagine in this surreally intense light. And, above all, all sharpness and shrillness is absorbed in the blanket of snow. Thus Hynninen’s surprisingly gentle tenderness. It’s as if he understands the power of the landscape and its impact on the protagonist. Like the crow, offering false comfort, the snow may look peaceful but if the man stops, he’ll die. Thus the position of the final song. The man has already decided not to stay in the cemetery but to keep moving. When he sees the wandering beggar, bullied by village dogs, yet still, stubbornly winding his hurdy-gurdy, he decides to follow. Is the Leiermann a symbol of death and madness as if sometimes suggested? Or is he something more positive, perhaps a symbol of the power of music, or of self reliance? That is why Winterreise continues to fascinate me, no matter how often I’ve heard it. Hynninen’s protagonist, acutely observing the world around him, doesn’t seem crazed or deluded, even if he is on the point of death. Indeed, the tenderness of Hynninen’s approach brings out the human quality of the protagonist, making it easier to identify with him as Everyman rather than a maddened wreck. And Gothóni’s exquisite evocation of natural surroundings make it even more clear that this protagonist exists in a real setting, not just in his mind. The Nebensonnen are verified scientific phenomena, even if the protagonist doesn’t know. Müller possibly did, for, like many thinkers of his time, he dabbled in scientific curiosities.

A few years ago, there was a proposal to write an Excel programme about Winterreise, as if somehow inputting a lot of data could produce some kind of golden mean. That approach was just plain insane. Music can’t be mixed into some kind of soup and standardised. Each performance is an individual experience, an artistic whole, both for performers and for listeners. Until such time as good music is replaced by mechanical processed pap, listening will involve understanding and engagement. Until then, thank goodness for music like Winterreise, eternally stimulating and challenging, and for performances like this.

-- Anne Ozorio, MusicWeb International

Far from the traditional image of Russian music as a stately exercise in pomp comes this excellent recording of RUSSIAN ADAGIOS. Like its name implies, this disc contains slow movements of Russian composers, from the theatrical as well as symphonic repertoire. Under Russian conductor Yevgeny Svetlanov, these pieces shine with depth and lyricism. Particularly beautiful and sublime are the "Petit Adagio" from Alexander Glazunov's ballet 'The Seasons' which connects with emotions that bridge style periods, and the Adagio from Prokofiev's 'Cinderella' which highlights the brilliance of Russian 20th-century composition which broke from the official mold. Finally, there is the "Pas D'Action" from'Sleeping Beauty' of Tchaikovsky which never fails in its melodic wonder. This is a recording that gets at the heart of Russian music, which is worth the exploration.

...the conservative musical language rather brings Verdi to mind, and in a very real sense this cycle is a twentieth century equivalent to the latter’s Requiem: both are symphonic in construction and operatic in idiom, composed from spiritual rather than religious standpoints...

Listening to these two works by Aulis Sallinen is a bit like looking at two different photographs of the composer: the face is undeniably the same but not the perspective. Songs of Life and Death (1993-4) arose, rather by mischance, from a failed effort to compose a Requiem on verses by Lassi Nummi. Although title and outward form suggest Mahlerian associations, the conservative musical language rather brings Verdi to mind, and in a very real sense this cycle is a twentieth century equivalent to the latter’s Requiem: both are symphonic in construction and operatic in idiom, composed from spiritual rather than religious standpoints, and make use of secular elements. There are differences of course, not the least in scale and conception, which serve to underline a similarity of purpose and stature relative to their epochs. And while Sallinen's songs are very much songs of life, death is not here perceived as a grim or tragic end, and this imparts to the whole a peculiarly late twentieth-century aspect. Here at last is the choral-and-orchestral masterpiece Sibelius should have written, Finnish to the core yet international in appeal. It is, I believe, one of the very finest compositions Sallinen has yet produced...Very strongly recommended.

- Gramophone, 12/1995

Peteris Vasks makes an important point that every listener to his music should know: every one of his compositions is about Latvia, in some way tells the story of his homeland. Another thing you should know is that he believes that music—especially choral music—and poetry have been a major unifying factor in his country’s long fight for cultural survival and national identity against severe oppression, particularly under the Soviet regime. These points are especially important here, because this new recording features works—with one exception—set to texts by Latvian poets.

There’s not really any agenda here; rather, these 11 pieces touch on various aspects of Latvian experience: tradition (Our Mother’s Names), landscape (Plainscapes), events and symbols (Birth), seasons (Summer), folklore (The Tomtit’s Message), and sadness and hope (Silent Songs). As they were written over a period of more than 30 years—the earliest is from 1977, the most recent from 2008—the works exhibit some obvious stylistic differences; yet there’s an underlying consistency to the treatment of and respect for the texts. Whether the music ventures more into flights of dissonance, extremes of dynamics and texture, and unconventional vocal “effects” (The Tomtit’s Message; Our Mother’s Names; Birth) or stays pretty close to more traditional harmonic and textural structures, owing not a little to jazz and perhaps to Poulenc and Messiaen (Silent Songs; Summer), there’s a strong sense of linguistic resonance—no matter that we don’t speak the language at hand. And in many of these pieces Vasks has managed to capture a combined sense of melancholy—a knowing of what has been suffered and lost—with an ever-present optimism that infuses the Latvian spirit, that has kept the people and the culture alive through very hard times.

The title work doesn’t even have a text—the choral part is a vocalise—but it’s perhaps the most “Latvian” of all the pieces on the program. Accompanied by violin and cello, this 16-minute masterpiece is like a film without need for a video component, a survey of a landscape without requiring the observer’s physical presence. Vasks’ aim here was a meditation on “the landscapes of Zemgale, where the lowlands are endless.” We close our eyes and we are lulled into a kind of floating journey across fields and hills, “resounding in silence and eternity”; birds singing, the sun rising. It’s neither gimmicky special effects nor gratuitous sound-painting; but we know where we are.

And ultimately, in a purely musical sense, the Latvian connection falls away (as with all great music, its original premise or context at some point becomes less significant) and we appreciate the music for its sheer invention and unique stylistic character. Vasks is nothing if not honest and unwavering in his view of music and his place in its grander scheme. And he’s fortunate to have the world-class Latvian Radio Choir as an advocate for his work. Wow. This choir could sing anything, and in this case they’ve chosen some pretty exceptional yet difficult music and made it come alive interpretively, but also in terms of its clear, articulate, vibrant sound. Of course there are many types of choral music fans, and among them are those that prefer to remain in the distant past; but if you really care to know what’s happening here, today, you owe it to yourself to hear this.

-- David Vernier, ClassicsToday.com

Selections recorded February and March, 1993.

Ukrainian composer Valentin Silvestrov (b. 1937) is an important contemporary voice in vocal music, a fact highlighted by this new release of recent, spiritual, hauntingly beautiful vocal works, sung by the Latvian Radio Choir under their director Sigvards Kļava. During his artistic career Silvestrov has explored a number of musical styles and techniques; the demise of the Soviet Union, however, enabled Silvestrov to openly compose works of religious import, inspired and influenced by his love of the Russian Orthodox Church and imbued with his own unique sound.

SCHUBERT: PIANO SONATA IN A, W

Grieg, E.: String Quartet in G Minor / Schubert, F.: String

This release continues a series of recordings of Erikki-Sven Tuur's works. Tuur has written symphonies, concertos as well as commissions by various well-known orchestras. This album contains two concertos featuring the rising Finnish clarinetist Christoffer Sundqvist and star violinist Pekka Kuusisto together with Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Hannu Lintu. Clarinet Concerto Peregrinus Ecstaticus was written to a commission by the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra and premiered together with the soloist Sundqvist and Lintu in 2013. The Latin title of this concerto suggest a pilgrimage. Tuur gave the following description of the work "Imagine a pilgrim's quest, full of obstacles and hazards, towards his desired goal - his perseverance and vigor alternating with exhaustion and fatigue - conquering actual physical obstacles combined with spiritual struggles...However, this composition is not an attempt to describe such a journey. On the most abstract level, this is the very hourney. I came up with this story and the title of the piece after I had already finished the score. Thus, this is not a program music. I would be delighted if this piece inspired listeners to create their own 'stories', in the hope that the music touches the creative core of the audience."

SCHUBERT, F.: Duo Sonata in A major / Violin Sonatas (Sonati

Selections recorded October-November, 1991.