Having initially feared that Einojuhani Rautavaara’s Angel of Light might be yet another passenger on a rather tired celestial bandwagon (euphonious angels being very much the rage), I greatly enjoyed this latest addition to what is gradually becoming a notable symphonic canon. Looking back over its predecessors, I note an intensely voiced First Symphony that recalls Shostakovich and Prokofiev, a Second that flirts with Stravinskian aggression, a Third steeped in Brucknerian mystery (the first movement’s horn call recalls Bruckner’s Fourth), a fairly dissonant Fourth, a Fifth that restores harmony (and in that respect is a vivid precursor of this latest symphony), an innovative Sixth based on Rautavaara’s opera Vincent (with creative use of a synthesizer) and now this mostly serene Seventh, a compelling meditation ruffled midway by an angry Molto allegro. All are currently available on Ondine, the Fifth – with Cantus arcticus – also appearing under licence on Catalyst.
The Seventh Symphony’s opening Tranquillo evokes a calm though powerful atmosphere, with many Sibelian points of reference – most especially in terms of the flute writing at 5'45'' and, a little later, in recognizable echoes of the Largo fourth movement from Sibelius’s Fourth Symphony. The disruptive second movement leads to a Come un sogno third that suggests, at least initially, Cantus arcticus without the birds, whereas the closing Pesante-cantabile is more in line with the symphonic world of Alan Hovhaness, especially in its opening moments. The Angel idea originates in a series that already includes a number of other works (Angels and Visitations and Angel of Dusk, for instance), the reference being (as the composer himself explains) to “an archetype, one of mankind’s oldest traditions and perennial companions”. This Jungian axis is reflected in monolithic chords, ethereal harmonic computations (invariably broad and high-reaching) and an unselfconscious mode of musical development. Readers schooled in the more contemplative works of Gorecki, Part and Tavener will likely respond to this spatially generous essay, though Rautavaara’s language is more a celebration of nature and her works than of any specific religious ritual.
Comparisons with the 1976-7 Annunciations (for organ, brass quintet, wind orchestra and percussion) find the earlier work far harsher in tone, much more demanding technically (it calls for a formidable organ virtuoso) and more radical in its musical language. Here the style ranges from the primeval drone that opens the work through canon, ‘bird forest’ activity (a recurring strategy in Rautavaara’s music) and the novel effect of having the “notes of a dense chord weirdly circulating in the room” when the organ motor is switched off. Kari Jussila rises to the various challenges set for him with what sounds like genuine enthusiasm (his fast fingerwork is amazing) while Leif Segerstam and the Helsinki Philharmonic fully exploit the tonal drama of both works. The recordings are warm and spacious.'