Had my father, as a boy during World War II, not stumbled upon the overture Coriolanus by L. van Beethoven on the radio, I probably would not have become a composer at all. Apparently, this experience astonished him utterly and completely ­– he had never known that this kind of music could even exist. From that moment he consciously started searching for information about who this Beethoven really was and what else he had composed. This search led him to gradually discover the entire heritage of classical music; by the time I was born, he had a very impressive record collection for his time. And this is how I grew up – in a world of sound created by the compositions my father constantly listened to.

Before I started composing Phantasma I heard from conductor Olari Elts – who is an important catalyst for composing this piece – that many orchestras have inquired whether I could somehow create a “link with Beethoven”. And considering the above, this link was born in a very natural way: as an opportunity to repay a debt of gratitude and as an homage to L van B.

A specific motif from Coriolanus appears as stealthily as a ghost and disperses as mysteriously as it appeared. As it originates from the supporting structure, a listener who does not know the composition inside out might not even recognize it. However, it is not a goal in itself.
At first, the dramaturgy of music is born from the relations among separate chords, their gradual fusion, the onset of movement and the constant growth of its rhythmical intensity. Another hint – by the time the micro-interval clusters appear in the wind section, the phantom (Phantasma) has arrived. And this presence will be highlighted by certain punctuated rhythmic patterns that I normally do not use.

Erkki-Sven Tüür

translation: Pirjo Jonas

Estonian National Symphony Orchestra, cond. Olari Elts   Estonia Concert Hall, Tallinn  4 October 2019

(---) these three works had elements of the same Tüür thumbprints - woodwind chord clusters, "bending" notes especially awe-inspiring in the brass, a state of becoming that moves in waves, slow or faster according to context, something of an arch form with a quiet coda. At the same time, the gestural ideas that emerge - the essential "hooks" that stop this all just being the familiar contemporary "process" - are distinctive to each. Apparoaching Phantasma, first on the programme, without trying to glean the sense of the (Estonian) note, I sensed something familiar but not quite recognisable. As it turned out, this is partly Tüür's homage to his father, whose hearing Beethoven's Coriolan Overture on the radio as a child turned him into a classical music lover and record collector, and thus by association his son into choosing to become a composer, and partly due to Olari Elts's suggestion that he might write a work with a link to Beethoven. It's reassuring to learn that the composer regards the quotation as subliminal. (---)

David Nice    theartsdesk.com   19 December 2019

Sow the Wind...

For they sow the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind. Hosea 8-7

Climatic changes, the massive migration of people, the surge of various extremist movements and several other irreversible processes that increasingly weigh upon our minds are, in many ways, consequences of reckless human activity. In other words, the wind has been sown despite the potential repercussions, and consequently the whirlwind is often reaped by the following generations.

I created my composition with these thoughts in mind; however, this is by no means a musical narrative of the above events, i.e. a “programmatic symphonic poem“. The development of musical ideas simply follows a slightly similar pattern; small, relatively neutral details start evolving and producing unpredictable twists of events. Their character also transforms as it intensifies, the initial “gusts of wind” growing into veritable “whirlwinds”.

The underlying material for the composition stems from a sequence of intervals, performed at the very beginning by the clarinets as a repetitive but constantly varying mantra. A thematic chain emerges from this, first performed by the English horn and oboe, and later by the strings. Mutating constantly, this thematic chain shapes the entire following musical architecture. The organically evolving form was also one of my key composition principles in this piece. In contrapuntal motion and harmonic development, I have resorted to the general vectorial guidelines I elaborated already over a decade ago.

Erkki-Sven Tüür

translation: Pirjo Püvi

Estonian Festival Orchestra, Paavo Järvi

July 27th 2019 Pärnu Concert Hall, Estonia / Pärnu Music Festival

(---) Environmental concerns lay behind Tüür's work, which was premiered by Järvi with the Orchestre de Paris in 2015. Although there is no explicit attempt at programmatic music to depict the biblical quotation “For they sow the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind”, Tüür does develop small details – ululating clarinets, glockenspiel flecks, a dialogue between violins – and hurls back an apocalyptic storm of orchestral power that tested the hall's limits. It was a particularly great workout for the EFO's busy percussionists, bowed cymbal, cowbells and gongs to the fore. (---)

bachtrack.com  five stars   Mark Pullinger

Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich, Paavo Järvi

October 30, 31, November 1 2019 Tonhalle Maag, Zürich

Wer Wind sät, wird Sturm ernten – so weiss es bereits das Alte Testament. Und so tat es Paavo Järvi, der soeben erfolgreich bestallte Musikdirektor des Tonhalle-Orchesters Zürich: Er säte Wind und öffnete auch gleich noch die imaginären Fenster des Konzertsaals, um die frische Luft einer neuen Zeit hereinwehen zu lassen in die der Durchlüftung und Erfrischung überaus bedürftige Tonhalle Maag.

Järvi tat es am Mittwoch wortwörtlich: mit dem 2015 von ihm in Paris uraufgeführten Stück «Sow the Wind . . .» seines estnischen Landsmannes Erkki-Sven Tüür, der während der Konzertsaison 2019/20 den «Creative Chair» der Tonhalle innehat. Knapp zwanzig Minuten lang entfacht Tüürs Tongemälde aus anfänglichem Säuseln und Wehen einen veritablen Höllensturm: Da bläst und tost es, dass der Saalboden vibriert; dazwischen aber vernimmt man das Summen von riesigen Bienenschwärmen, ein Glucksen von wilden Bächen, ein Oszillieren des Lichts in zerzausten Baumkronen, wie man es aus den besten Naturmusiken der Romantik kennt. Und prompt ist danach die Atmosphäre im Raum wie ausgewechselt. Hört doch, scheint Järvi dem verdutzten Publikum zuzurufen: So aufregend, so beredt kann zeitgenössische Musik klingen! (---)

Neue Zürcher Zeitung, Christian Wildhagen. 30.10.19

Tüür’s works may not be cerebrally challenging, but they have a wide appeal and are easy on the ear for audience and orchestra alike. This multi-layered noisy 18-minute long piece rather outstays its welcome but keeps the orchestra engaged by having most of the huge forces required playing for most of the time. Several rows of the stalls had to be sacrificed for the work. It was commissioned by the Orchestre de Paris (whilst under Paavo Järvi’s command) and the Vienna Symphony Orchestra back in 2015. Tüür develops a fragment of breezy notes into an apocalyptic storm (he was born and still lives on a tiny island in the Baltic Sea). Percussion is high profile, especially the rock band set of drums. Many influences could be heard, from Sibelius, through Messaien to Charles Ives. Orchestral pianist Peter Solomon gave a splendid bravura contribution. Järvi had his work cut out keeping time, the percussionists in particular counting the bars and following his clear downbeats.  The piece was well received. Tüür is the orchestra’s ‘creative chair’, also known as ‘composer-in-residence’. Zurich is going to hear a lot more Tüür before the season is out, including a concerto for accordion in March.

Seen and Heard International, John Rhodes   01.11.19

Wiener Symphoniker, Paavo Järvi

April 22nd 2016 Konzerthaus Wien

(---) In ihrem achten Saisonkonzert im Wiener Konzerthaus brachten die Wiener Symphoniker ein Programm, in dem Werke und Interpreten so ideal zusammenpaßten, daß man von einem veritablen Glücksfall sprechen kann. Am Beginn stand ein Auftragswerk des estnischen Komponisten Erkki-Sven Tüür, "Sow the Wind...", entstanden 2015. Komponiert nach der von ihm entwickelten "Vektoriellen Methode" entstand hier ein Klanggemälde, das im Spiel mit Klangfarben und -möglichkeiten zur Auseinandersetzung auffordert; der Zuhörer wird nicht einfach entlassen und zum nächsten Stück weitergereicht. Das ist es letztlich, worum es in der Kunst geht, und Tüür hat den Punkt ganz genau getroffen.(---)

For season 2014/2015, the Belgian National Orchestra commissioned new works from many European composers whose homelands had been dragged into World War I. This served to commemorate the passing of a hundred years from a massacre of unprecedented scale in history. I also received an invitation from Brussels to participate in this concert series. I thought about how something completely unbelievable happened to Estonia during these war years – the birth of our national independence. I composed this musical epitaph to commemorate those who fell in the Estonian War of Independence as well as in World War I in general. Thinking about all the countless young men among the multitudes who lost their lives – they died in the trenches without starting work in the professions they dreamt about, without ever seeing their children or grandchildren – should make us feel a compelling obligation to solve our problems by peaceful political means and avoid cruelty and violence. Unfortunately, the reality today is as alarmingly menacing as ever. And a sad question arises again: is mankind able to learn anything from history? We need to feel the burden which the millions of unlived lives lay on us. And not only the ones from a century ago. If we do not care, if we do not feel this burden or dwell on it from time to time, all these sacrifices have been in vain. These thoughts are expressed by the title Le poids des vies non vécues (The Burden of Unlived Life) and the music was born from the unutterable words behind these thoughts.

(Translation Pirjo Jonas)

De Profundis is like a silent prayer that gathers strength as it grows gradually, becomes increasingly intense and, having reached its culmination, evaporates into resplendent heights.

The source code that forms the musical material is 1.3.2 (minor second – minor third – major second). Over the course of the piece this code inspires the most versatile derivatives.

Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra, cond. Olari Elts

Nov. 1st 2013 Helsinki Music Center

A prayer rising out of silence

The new orchestral work De Profundis by Estonian Erkki-Sven Tüür is a prayer that slowly rises out of a deep and gloomy silence towards ever brighter heights.

De Profundis is from Psalm 129 [sic] in the Bible: “Out of the depths I cry to You, O Lord.” This Latin prayer is recited at services commemorating the dead. De Profundis can mean a final farewell, but it is not necessarily hopeless: the road lies open to transcendence.

From the HPO strings at the premiere of the neo-Romantic De Profundis, Olari Elts conjured slow, darkly, mournfully singing undercurrents. The impression was of a deep watery element symbolising the realm of the dead, mystery, and at the same time the vital energy that renews.

Out of the undercurrents there began to well forth woodwind eddies heading for the surface of the timbral sea, and air. Their sadness notwithstanding, the strings’ surging sighs had an ecstatic quality akin to that in the heavy anguished swell of the prelude to act three of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde.

Tüür’s beautiful new work may be regarded as a sort of slowed-down minimalism. A broad entity growing and transforming out of a concise basic code.

If Tüür’s De profundis radiates light at the end, Mahler’s sixth symphony offers no final consolation whatsoever: cruel reality crushes any faith in life. Elts and the HPO had sufficient charged current for the whole broad span of the 80-minute work.

Helsingin Sanomat, Nov. 4. 2013  Hannu-Ilari Lampila

In Latin, ÆRIS means brass, which is also the name of a certain instrument group in the symphony orchestra. However, AERIS means ‘air’ and without this essential element, not a sound would come out of brass instruments. Thus, the title of my tenth symphony focuses mainly on the brass sound that carries the weight of this composition.

The symphony begins by exhibiting this sound, which seems to be arriving from beyond the horizon. The illusion of an “upward stretching” axis pitch formed by quarter tones is the first sign of a mysterious group of guests who will soon start playing a decisive role in the entire development process.

The increasingly dense layer formed mainly by the woodwinds presents a contrasting material to the slowly stretching sound axis of the French horns. In turn, this contrasting material later forms the basis for the theme of the French horn quartet.

The symphony is divided into four movements that transition without clear separation. Every movement expresses a different development between the ensemble of soloists and the orchestra. Sometimes their motifs spread into the orchestra like memes that start changing and gradually take on lives of their own; sometimes they enter a debate without reaching common ground; sometimes there is a dialogue between the soloists and the ensembles within the orchestra, creating the impression of shared development principles...

The French horn quartet may be regarded as messengers, bringing prophecies of imminent irreversible changes. Will their message be understood? What will be the reaction and how will it impact communication? Where did they come from anyway? What did they want to tell us? Let every member of the audience deal with these questions according to their social compass and imagination. It is not up to me to paraphrase my music and I won’t bother anyone with my composition techniques or creative methods – that is a topic for special seminars. What I wish is for the audience to take this journey with an open mind.   

I am extremely grateful to the French horn quartet German Hornsound who came to me with the idea of composing such a piece.

Translation: Pirjo Jonas

Erkki Sven Tüür’s Symphony No 9 was commissioned for the 100th anniversary of the Republic of Estonia. The importance of this aspect for an instrumental drama that represents the very essence of music might be non-existent, had the composer himself not titled it “Mythos” – myth. This, and also the number of the symphony, which since Beethoven has come to mean the most comprehensive expression – if not a summary – of an artist’s creed, packs the symphony with semantic connotations even before listening to it.
Tüür’s Symphony No 9 is a story of creation par excellence. This is hinted at by the fifths we hear already at the beginning of the symphony – intervals the composer has never before used as such an essential structural element of his compositions. The fifth, as we know, is the most consonant interval that can occur between two different pitches. In that sense, the unison, i.e. the prime and/or octave are not intervals – they do not occur between two different pitch classes. Therefore, the fifth may semantically be regarded also as the most ancient phenomenon – something that occurs in the initial process of a single sound “breaking into” a harmony. 
Because of this feature, in Western music the fifth – without any additions so far – often denotes something neutral, undefined, a primordial chaos, from which the individual and the defined must spring from. The usage of this “pre-thematic” material enables us to link Tüür’s composition to Beethoven’s 9th Symphony as well as to Mahler’s 1st Symphony. Similarly to Beethoven and Mahler, an individual consciousness arises from this “primordial chaos” in the beginning of Tüür’s composition. However, unlike Beethoven’s imperative or Mahler’s vigorous main theme, Tüür observes the world from a pure and angelic standpoint – as if through an innocent child’s eyes, with anticipation and wonder. Similarly to Beethoven, the “main theme” of Tüür’s symphony is also made up of fifths and fourths, i.e. intervals that started the entire musical process. On the one hand, it says that man is made of the same material as nature. However, as the material expressing individual consciousness can be heard in a high register, it also defines man’s “place” as primordially “high”, i.e. as spiritual or as an “ascended” form of nature. 
One may say that the formation of individual consciousness in the symphony is the moment when “one” becomes “two”, i.e. where the initially inseparable whole breaks down into the witness and the witnessed, the subject and the object, etc. This division automatically entails multiplicity: since this moment the “primordial chaos” is replaced by many clearly identifiable melodies with gradually increasing individuality. This metamorphosis concludes the exposition that describes existence before falling into sin. Such a comparison is justified by the beginning of the symphony’s main part, where the already familiar “main theme” that represents consciousness has been transferred to a low register. By bringing together the extreme opposites of the theme, the music seems to say that although man was made in heaven, he equally belongs to the abyss from which he must struggle out again. In a way, this is also emphasised by the tuba that performs the “main theme” – as a “tangible” and “clumsy” instrument it contradicts the free and effortless movement of the high strings that performed the “main theme” before. Also, the “main theme” is now restrained by the resistance of matter: the tuba’s every effort to conquer new heights is accompanied by the descending cascades of woodwinds, seemingly erasing these efforts. Meanwhile, these descending cascades are not external powers, but largely the result of the musical inertia brought about by the ascending passages of the tuba.
The development of the music transforms something that was initially expressed as individual into something societal: at one point, the tuba soloist loses its importance as an initiator of new musical developments, handing the role over to the brass section and later to other sections. The mentioned counter-effect also amplifies, expressed in the extremely slow and glidingly descending layer of the French horn and later also of other brass instruments. The more intensely the strings are pursuing heights, the more fatal if not diabolical is the contradicting layer of descending sounds, portraying the fall into sin (or the downfall of the Occident?) as a true catastrophe of cosmic proportions.
Typically of Tüür, in this piece the initially antagonistic structural layers switch places: at the end of the described development, the (high) strings start descending and the brasses ascending. The ascent of the latter seems to be obstructed by an invisible glass ceiling. The frustration born from this “obstruction” is expressed in the growth of rhythmical intensity, which, in its fragmentation, threatens to transform into the initial “primordial chaos”. But only for moment, as after a brief deceleration, the development of the composition tears away from the amorphous musical mass and enters a new round of development – the “finale” of the symphony, which might not be perceived as such due to the smooth transition. In a way, we have now entered the modern society. The components of musical structure become extremely exact, but at the same time, the hierarchy of the musical events that characterised the previous sections seems to have disappeared. The hierarchical flatness and equality of all musical events cause even greater fragmentation, but also a temporal compactness: the processes that took a long time to develop in the previous sections of the symphony, now occur within a moment. This is now a completely “human” world, with the sacral completely erased from it. As such, the “finale” does not represent an expected positive solution but rather a final phase in the development/downfall of mankind. At one point, this “crazy vehicle” crashes into the wall. This is followed by a frozen stillness that revives the memory of the ascending fifths, i.e. the innocence with which the individual consciousness used to view the world.
Here, one has to agree with Joonas Hellerma  who says that Tüür’s musical narratives could be described as stories akin to the Old Testament – stories where absolution is at best replaced with the possibility of it. The 9th Symphony is no exception: it may be viewed as a paraphrase of Beethoven’s 9th insofar that it springs from the same foundations. In every other sense, it moves in the opposite direction, serving as a warning of the potential collapse that awaits man rather than as a message of joy. Mainly, though, the symphony seems to pose a question about responsibility, which in the context of this composition means an unwillingness to admit our own “celestial” origin and act according to it: every developmental phase that follows draws away from the initial material, the “primordial chaos” and the “main theme” that grew from it. This is accompanied by the increasing external individualisation and internal emptiness of the deforming material. Therefore, the symphony may also be viewed in the context of the collective or national “guilt”, if by the latter we mean forsaking the responsibilities mentioned above.

Kerri Kotta

translation Pirjo Jonas

Estonian Festival Orchestra, cond. Paavo Järvi  World premiere

(---)All this reflects the broader fact that there’s a level of ambition and lyrical intensity demonstrated throughout the Ninth Symphony that go beyond what one usually encounters in Tüür’s music. The closing minutes, coming in the aftermath of such bewildering enormity, are exquisite. Glistening solo violins emerge and float, like an outbreak of refracted chamber music, and though the music is increasingly suspended and radiant, coloured with harp and tam-tam, energy persists – and makes its presence felt – even here. In keeping with all that went before, it’s not a piece where the end is obviously in sight.

To find your way through such a complicated, twisting approach to musical narrative as this is hugely stimulating and enjoyable. i’ve listened to the symphony numerous times and each time it’s been a very different experience, my disorientation being the only constant, leading to new discoveries and (re)appraisals of what’s going on. It’s a work that fully earns its name and its place as a symphony – especially a ninth symphony – as well as vividly capturing the essence of its subtitle ‘Mythos’, creating a potent musical parallel of the interpretation of complex phenomena which, once developed into shared local beliefs and stories, form the foundation of all societies, old and new. Societies that can become strong enough to fight oppression and reclaim their independence. Erkki-Sven Tüür’s Symphony No. 9 embodies both myth and history, natural and supernatural, tangible and ephemeral, but however it’s interpreted, above all conveys an elemental force of conviction that, though abstract, leaves no room for doubt.

Simon Cummings   5against4.com   10 February 2018

Full review: http://5against4.com/2018/02/10/estonia-in-focus-weekend-erkki-sven-tuur-symphony-no-9-mythos-world-premiere/

Estonian National Symphony Orchestra, cond. Olari Elts  Estonia Concert Hall 4 October 2019

(---) The prospect of the Tallinn concert was initially perplexing to many musical minds: wouldn't it have been better to celebrate a major birthday with a retrospective featuring works from across Tüür's creative life? In practice, it made complete sense and could hardly have had a more devastating impact. (---) It was right, all the same, to have the official symphony, No. 9 (daunting figure), titled "Mythos" and a homage to Estonia's 100th anniversary, as the last work on the programme, epic in feel though not in length. The blocks of descending strings and ascending brass (and vice-versa) at the heart of this terrifying incantation set the firmest possible seal on Tüür as successor to the symphonic mastery of Lepo Sumera, still underrated outside his native land, whose Fourth and Sixth Symphonies had the biggest impact on me of any works experienced for the first time in recent years. This concert immediately joined them - no small tribute to the stunning playing and firm purpose of the ERSO under the clear-sighted Elts, and the intense response of a packed concert hall. The nomination of Pärt's successor - though long live the king - is now official.

David Nice   theartsdesk.com   19 December 2019

I composed the Eighth symphony at the suggestion of my good friend Olari Elts; it was commissioned by the Scottish Chamber Orchestra. Considering the instrumentation of the orchestra (double woodwinds, 2 trumpets, two French horns, one percussionist and strings) it almost seems like a chamber symphony. Indeed, there are several chamber-like passages, but the intense tectonic shifts between sound masses are equally important. Thus, I simply added it to the list of my symphonies without granting it a separate “chamber symphony” status.

One of the ideas guiding the internal psychological development logic of this symphony might be the creation of structure and then bringing it to life. In other words, the initially dominating objective and detached observation gradually grows more subjective and, hopefully, involved and passionate.

As for musical form, the 8^th symphony is divided into three movements, all of them performed attacca.

The key motif (1-1-1) X, which forms the foundation for musical development throughout the composition, consists of three ascending minor second intervals with a “knocking” rhythm. This is followed by a micro-polyphonic “sound cloud”, Y based on the same intervals, which is interrupted by the next “knocking”. These two elements are similar in terms of intervals, but opposites in terms of character and rhythm, evolving into contrasting realms of sound. Everything that ensues is an alternation of focus between X and Y. The first movement, in turn, consists of three parts. The first part is fast, intense, and plays with shifts in various types of texture. The interval range gradually expands, introducing the major second, then the minor third, major third, etc. (1—2—3—4 etc). This so-called “expansion” also becomes a key principle for the development of linear processes throughout the whole symphony. The second part of the first movement is chamber-like music enriched with several intertwining solo passages. This zooms in on the world represented by Y. The third part returns to the motifs originating from X, but much more fiercely.

The 2^nd movement begins with a complete standstill, while taking the developments of Y under even greater scrutiny. Unlike the beginning of the 1^st movement, this section is dominated by descending elements. The initially frozen world begins to “warm up” slowly; at some point, the melodic line that evolves from yet another intervallic expansion starts to resemble archaic Estonian folk songs.

The 3^rd movement presents somewhat surreal (dance-like!) surprises that culminate into co-functionality between X and Y, whereas the three-note motifs performed by strings have undergone a tremendous expansion compared to their starting point.

The constant sense of “being on the road”, organic development and fluidity is crucial for this music. Taking note of the brief description above is optional, not obligatory. Trust your intuition, sharpen your attention and let the energy springing from the music speak to you. The best approach I can recommend is prejudice-free listening. Thus, everyone can create their very own unique story while listening to this music.

Erkki-Sven Tüür

(Translation from Estonian Pirjo Püvi)

Scottish Chamber Orchestra, cond. Olari Elts

April 30. 2010  City Halls, Glasgow

May 1. 2010    Queen's Hall, Edinburgh

(---)Estonian conductor Olari Elts had a clear affinity for the soundworld which dominated the premiere of Symphony No 8 by his friend and composer Erkki-Sven Tuur. For his latest work, Tuur drew on a colour palette as psychedelic as the Northern Lights, using a dazzling array of effects as well as an exotic line-up of percussion instruments to conjure up images of restless encounters with nature. (---)

The Scotsman, May 4. 2010  Susan Nickalls

(---) There was much to admire in the symphony. The woodwind writing was fantastic, especially of a critical element in the music which kept returning: a slithering motif that was like water running over a smooth rock. The crunchy rhythms and accents of the first movement had a knockout effect. The slow movement was deep down and atmospheric; and the elusive dance rhythms of the finale aspired to a surreal waltz. (---)

The Herald, May 3. 2010  Michael Tumelty

(---) The symphony, written in four continuous movements, juxtaposes bold blocks of orchestral colour, sonority seemingly taking precedence over musical development. Tüür's use of the orchestra is imaginative, but it wasn't clear that the piece had enough substance to justify its length. (---)

The Guardian. May 6. 2010  Rowena Smith

Münchener Kammerorchester, cond. Olari Elts

December 16. 2010  Prinzregententheater, München

A few years ago, Paavo Järvi proposed that I write a large-scale orchestral piece, which would also involve a choir. I agreed instantly – I had never tried the “choral symphony” genre before. Developing the general concept and architecture of form, however, was considerably more time-consuming. I wanted the orchestra to perform the intense developments and the choir to present isolated passages as if from “another reality”, remaining transparent, brief, aphoristic. I compiled the lyrics from quotes from different historical eras and cultural backgrounds authored by more or less famous persons and ranging from Buddha to Jimi Hendrix. And yet, when I read those lines as a uniform text corps, it seemed that they might well have been written by a single person. The unifying keywords are “compassion” and “love”. This also inspired the subtitle of the symphony, “Pietas”, which broadly means compassion in Latin. 

(The term “pietas” has so many nuances that it would be difficult to provide a single translation, but its essence could be something like “pious duty towards fellow men” that would definitely include compassion and pain. This word encompassed a certain deep human tenderness in Antique Rome where it was used to designate the relationship between parents and children, the living and the dead, people and gods, as well as in Latin Christianity, where “pietas” involves the same associations, but is usually translated simply as “piety” or “devoutness”  (Marju Lepajõe, Faculty of Theology, Tartu University))

In broad terms the whole symphony comprises four “waves”, each one longer than the previous. The first wave is dominated by a cold and brilliant texture inspired by micro-polyphonic techniques, performed mainly by woodwind instruments, Glockenspiel and a vibraphone. The texture is imbued by “pillars of chords” that seemingly halt the flow of musical time. In addition to woodwind instruments, they are mainly played by strings; the next “pillars of chords” also include brass instruments. In a musical sense the entire ensuing development occurs as a result of the “friction” between these contrasting texture elements.

After the first choir lines (We are what we think...) begins the second, much more intense wave. The final line of the choir segment that follows the second wave (an eye for an eye...) inspired the character of the third wave and its slowly growing aggressiveness. With a slight simplification, I may say that it is a sort of psychological–musical portrait of a world without love and all that entails. It is unavoidable that once a text is used, even if only minimally, it starts to create meanings for an otherwise abstract musical material. In the traditional “symphonic-semantic” meaning the third wave is the Scherzo movement. 

The next, most extensive choir passage is introspective and smoothly develops into the fourth wave that then forms the final culmination.

I composed this music pursuant to the principles of the self-designed vectorial method, which I adopted since writing “Oxymoron” in 2003. In the seventh symphony the principle key code is 1-2-4-2-1.

The seventh symphony “Pietas” is dedicated to Tenzin Gyatso and his lifelong endeavours.

Erkki-Sven Tüür

(translation Pirjo Püvi)

Sarasota Symphony Orchestra, cond. Anu Tali. 2. - 5. 02. 2017. Van Wezel. Sarasota. Florida. USA

Twice in the past week, an exhilarating element has been inserted into Sarasota Orchestra programs: thought-provoking, mind-expanding new music. This weekend's concerts featuring the expansive Symphony No. 6, "Strata", by Erkki-Sven Tuur, follow a full-concert length conceptual composition, "Sinking of the Titanic" by Gavin Bryars. Both are sensational, pleasing many audience members, and, perhaps, annoying a few others. This is the standard response to new music in this community.

However, it is the imperative of any healthy orchestra to reach beyond the comfort zone of its musicians and its audience and Anu Tali is just now beginning to push all of us in to new territory. I love it, even if I feel I don't "understand" the music on first listen. The composer, Tuur, addressed the audience before the concert, encouraging us not to seek full understanding, but to "just be moved by the energy of the music." He said he wanted to "touch your creative energy" and hoped to "stimulate your creative actions."

Wise words given. I found that as long as I was listening with critical ears seeking to label, assess, and discern the structure, it was difficult to connect with what I was hearing. Well more than half of the composition consisted of a massive wall of sound, like a sheer face of granite. It was impossible to imagine this music in any other terms than geologic. Within the wall of shifting strings, dynamic swells, and percussive punctuations, appeared glittering flecks of color; the winds in the high ranges caught the ear like strands of mica in that granite wall. In this seemingly monochromatic facade were a dazzling variety of shades and constantly shifting textures.

Eventually the wall crumbled away to more pliable melodic material expressed by solo vibraphone, bowed as well, and cello. Conductor Tali, to whom the work was dedicated when premiered by her Nordic Symphony Orchestra in 2007, crafted the sound as if it was truly her own. The energetic denouement offered a quiet space for contemplation as the work concluded with a soft drum roll. Had it been on an LP, I would have dropped the needle at the beginning again (or hit the back arrow for digital replay.) (---)

Herald Tribune   Gayle Williams  03. 02. 2017

Sandwiching “Strata,” the Symphony Number 6 of contemporary Estonian composer, Erkki-Sven Tüür, between two of the most beloved and well-known works of 19th century Russian composer Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky was a stroke of magic on the part of the Sarasota Orchestra and Music Director Anu Tali. First of all, the Tüür added a freshness and difference that’s necessary in concert halls these days. It also showed us how much can happen musically in just over a century. And, believe me, it’s a lot. And it gave the Orchestra and Tali a chance to present the Symphony in its United States premiere.

Mr. Tüür was in attendance at the concert at the Van Wezel Sunday afternoon  and he spoke to us briefly and eloquently before any of the music began. He invited us to enter what he called his “sound world,” and to use our differences to interpret his world. A few days before the series of four concerts (all well attended or sold out), I had the opportunity to speak with the composer and one of the things he described was the landscape of his home and studio on the coast of Estonia. He described walking with the forest on one side and the ocean on the other so my imagination was already primed to hear “Strata” (Layers), as if I were walking with him.

“Strata” is, indeed a world of sounds: forest murmurs, crunching leaves, winds rustling bare, cold tree limbs, waves crashing against the shore, someone being chased through the woods. How does Tüür achieve these sounds? He uses a full orchestral contingent with heavy brass, strings playing ponticello (the bow is right on top of the bridge making an eerie, whistling sound) and a percussion section that runs the gamut from bongos and chimes to vibraphone and xylophone.

Music is unified, organized sound and “Strata” certainly is organized. It’s fascinating in that it held my attention and, at times, moved me. It has no program attached; no story. It’s up to us to add our own imaginations. The question is, well written as it is, is its intellect in overdrive, washing out what we think of as Music? I’ll leave that up to the listeners. For me, it was interesting but I was so glad my old friend, Tchaikovsky, was also in attendance.

www.yourobserver.com   June LeBell  05. 02. 2017

Magdeburgische Philharmonie, cond. Anu Tali. 28.01.2010. Opernhaus, Magdeburg.

(---) Im Sinfoniekonzert debütierte die Magdeburgische Philharmonie als erstes deutsches Orchester mit der eigens Anu Tali gewidmeten Sinfonie Nr. 6 " Strata " ihres Landsmannes Erkki-Sven Tüür. Ein mächtiges energetisches Werk, voller musikalischer Veränderungen und Instrumentationsgeheimnisse, auf die es lohnte, sich einzulassen. 

Bei verwischenden Rhythmen, wirbelndem Auf und Ab und interessant eingesetzter Instrumentationstechnik entdeckte man spannende Klangwelten zwischen ineinander kullernden Bläsern, Flageolettschleiftönen der Streicher, einem Duett von Harfe und Klavier, auch klaren Celli- und Bratschen-Themen, einem effektvoll flirrenden Tonbandeinspiel und den Möglichkeiten des Instrumentariums von fünf Schlagwerkern. Anu Tali entschied sich hier für ein hilfreiches geradliniges, fast schulmeisterliches Dirigat. (---)

Volksstimme.de   Ulrike Löhr

Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra, UMO, Nguyên Lê (el.guitar) Olari Elts (conductor)

Oct. 23. 2013 Helsinki Music Center

Monolith by Erkki-Sven Tüür combines a symphony orchestra, a big band and a rock-oriented electric guitar

I would even claim that the splendid fifth symphony by Erkki-Sven Tüür (b. 1959) is firm proof that philosophy of life, and why not religion, too, can and should be taught in the same classroom to representatives of all traditions. In his monolithic symphony, Tüür  combines a symphony orchestra, a big band and a rock-oriented electric guitar in such a way that not one of them forfeits its inherent identity and all contribute to the common goal. Musicians brought up in different traditions do not evolve an artificial Esperanto among themselves; they speak the same topic and themes in their own languages.

The Estonian composer has created a minor miracle.

The late-20th-century pluralists constructed polyphonic tours de force (Berio) or pieced together collages open to interpretation (Zimmermann), but Erkki-Sven Tüür achieves singular organic growth out of multi-rooted material. The at times aggressive gestures of the symphony orchestra brass call forth, in an imperceptible transition, the rhythmic gestures and improvisational comments characteristic of the UMO big band. The unwavering HPO strings comp a backing for even the most edgy solos of charismatic Nguyên Lê. Tüür has a rare way of carrying his baton from the post-serialist world to the clubs and taverns.

The ever energetic Olari Elts and HPO performed Igor Stravinsky’s Symphony in Three Movements as a warm-up act.

Helsingin Sanomat 25.10. 2013  Lauri Otonkoski

Kennedy Center Concert Hall, Washington DC  10. 06. 2010

The National Symphony Orchestra, cond. Kristjan Järvi

The National Symphony Orchestra has two more serious programs this month before surrendering completely to the pops concerts of summer. On one of those programs Thursday night, Estonian talent was on full display.

Guest conductor Kristjan Järvi led a concert anchored on the complex fourth symphony of Erkki-Sven Tüür, who also hails from Järvi's native Estonia.

The work, completed in 2002, began as a concerto commission for Scottish percussion virtuosa Evelyn Glennie but evolved into a one-movement symphonic work with solo percussionist. Glennie, who has been profoundly deaf since age 12, performs in these concerts at the Kennedy Center as part of the 2010 International VSA Festival, sponsored by the International Organization on Arts and Disability.

The opening theme evoked the symphony's subtitle, "Magma," as glissandi spewed through the orchestra over an eructating pedal tone in the contrabassoon. Glowing clusters formed in smears, with embers floating in high woodwind short notes and metallic percussion sparks.

Glennie moved from one set of instruments to the next spread out like an irresistible candy store of whiz-pops, doodads and noisemakers on the apron of the stage, marked off by three large musical sections. Her gyrations at a large drum kit in the second section recalled Tüür's youthful participation in the progressive "chamber rock" band In Spe, complete with a Buddy Rich-style apoplectic solo as a cadenza.

In the third section, the magma flows returned, only for the score to take a detour through a Caribbean-inflected dance, with Glennie on conga drums, culminating in a finale in which she returned to many of the previous instruments.

Järvi had a relaxed manner, preferring playful gestures, broad body movements and humorous looks to a strictly clear beat. (---)

The Washington Post  June 11, 2010. Charles Downey

Performing Arts Center, Newark   USA premiere 10. 10. 2008

New Jersey Symphony Orchestra, cond. Neeme Järvi


NJSO comes through with flying colors

It's always heartening to see difficult things done just the right way, as the New Jersey Symphony Orchestra did in Newark and New Brunswick this weekend. The NJSO presented new music -- typically a challenge in the classical realm -- not dutifully or dryly, but with pizzazz and a sense of occasion.

Of course, it helped that the music itself -- Erkki-Sven Tuur's Symphony No. 4 "Magma" -- was intriguing and outgoing, both minimalist and maximalist in the Estonian composer's rock- and jazz-influenced way. And it was the Scottish Evelyn Glennie, the world's top classical percussionist, playing the work's concerto-like solo role. Neeme Järvi was back as conductor, too, starting his final season as NJSO music director by continuing to promote the music of his native country. But there were other touches that framed the music ideally, such as the atmospheric lighting.

In such a visual age, it's odd that this isn't done more often, but the NJSO put the house lights down, the players' music stands lit by lamps. Glennie's exotic battery of instruments -- from vibraphone and marimba to trap drums and gongs, even a big metal spring -- was arrayed in four stations in front of the orchestra and illuminated from below with red and purple lights. As rock bands discovered ages ago, the effect made for a fuller, more concentrated sensory experience.
Tuur, who turns 49 this week, didn't just fly in to take a bow at the NJSO's North American premiere of his work. He was in the state for the week, sitting in on rehearsals and giving seminars for young composers and percussionists. Tuur and Glennie, 43, also engaged with the audience at post-concert chats. The New Jersey Performing Arts Center was less than half full on Friday, mystifyingly; it was encouraging, though, that dozens of listeners stayed to ask about the soloist's instruments and the composer's inspiration.

Glennie, made a dame commander of the British empire last year, is a natural communicator, charming the crowd with her Scottish burr as she talked about the ergonomics of beating on things for a living (she avoids practicing too much). The bookish Tuur praised the sound of the orchestra and the way "the panorama of colors" mixed in the hall. He also explained how he searched car-repair shops to find just the right spring for the aural effect he envisioned, finding that those from "Opels sound best."

All about flow and color, "Magma" is also a kind of instrumental theater (and so it came across better in the flesh than it did on the recording released last year featuring Glennie and Järvi's eldest conducting son, Paavo). Watching Glennie play -- even striking a woodblock or fingering a chime as she walked from one percussion station to another -- is fascinating in and of itself, as well as inspiring. Famously, she is deaf, playing barefoot to better feel the vibrations of the orchestra and having to keep a close eye simultaneously on the conductor, the score and her instruments.

Tuur's percussion writing is never square or clattering, the rock and jazz influences not too blatant. Glennie showed her incredible sense of time and texture as the sounds moved from the metallic to the woody and back again, including a backbeat-driven solo cadenza on the drum kit. A highlight of the piece was the beautiful passage for five-octave marimba, mellifluous over dark glissandi and long sustained notes in the strings. The end was striking, as a flourish on vibraphone rang out as if charged by electricity, eventually falling away under a last stroke of the chimes. (---)

The Star-Ledger  October 12, 2008, Bradley Bambarger

Alte Oper, Frankfurt. 06. 09.  2007. hr-Sinfonieorchester, Evelyn Glennie, Paavo Järvi.

(---) Tüürs Musik zeigt unter anderem, warum die Endlosdebatte um Programm- und absolute Musik zu Ende ist: Die Themenstellungen haben sich verschoben. "Magma" kann einerseits als Programmmusik aufgefasst werden, in der das Fließen von Energieströmen (inklusive einiger Eruptions- und Versteinerungs-Effekte) mehrschichtig dargestellt ist, andererseits als eine Erprobung der Tragfähigkeit und Bruchsicherheit der sinfonischen Form.

Die Position der Solistin
Vor allem für den letzteren Test ist Evelyn Glennie zuständig, die Solistin am Schlagwerk. Sie ist, wie bei einem Solokonzert, vor dem Orchester positioniert, andererseits ist ihr Part viel stärker als integrierter Teil des orchestralen Gesamtklangs konzipiert, als die solistische Position vermuten ließe.

Tüür hat seiner Sinfonie ein traditionsbewusst vierteiliges Formschema zugrunde gelegt. Allerdings sind die vier Sätze nicht mit Generalpausen abgesetzt, sondern gehen ineinander über. Nur die Solistin ist verantwortlich für die Markierung der Umschaltpunkte. Der erste Satz ist durch einen metallischen Instrumentenpark charakterisiert; im zweiten Satz sitzt sie an einem klassischen Drumset, wie man ihn in der Rockmusik verwendet (wobei wenig Tomtoms und Bassdrum kaum eingesetzt werden); der dritte (langsame) Satz gehört dem Holz (Marimbaphon, Woodblocks), der vierte wird von Congas bestimmt und bekommt eine entsprechend tänzerische Anmutung.

Keineswegs ist es der Parameter Rhythmus, der den Gang der Dinge in Tüürs Sinfonie dominiert, das Schlagwerk wird eher zur Erzeugung, Verstärkung oder Überhöhung von Klangfarben eingesetzt; die rhythmische Erscheinungsweise ist eher unvermeidliches Begleitphänomen; über längere Passagen haben die Geigen mindestens genau so profiliert ihren Anteil an den rhythmischen Aufgaben wie das Schlagwerk.

Evelyn Glennie ist eine raumgreifende Feinmotorikerin: unwiderstehlich und omnipräsent, ohne brachial zu wirken; expressiv, ohne Präzision vermissen zu lassen; dynamisch von traumsicherer Differenziertheit und bei aller Bühnenpräsenz immer fugenlos ins Gesamtbild integriert. Man kann sich sehr gut vorstellen, dass es ihre individuelle Spielweise war, die Tüür angeregt hat, ihr diese Schlagwerksinfonie geradezu auf den Leib zu schreiben. (---)

Frankfurter Rundschau.  08. 09. 2007  Hans-Jürgen Linke

Paavo Järvi dirigiert Erkki-Sven Tüürs "Magma" FRANKFURT. Der Begriff "Magma" könnte auch auf Programm-Musik verweisen. Doch er scheint ein treffend gewählter Titel für die vierte Sinfonie des estnischen Komponisten Erkki-Sven Tüür. Denn das 2002 konzipierte, bei einem Beitrag des hr-Sinfonieorchesters unterder Leitung seines Chefdirigenten Paavo Järvi zum "Auftakt"-Festival der Alten Oper gespielte Werk ist dadurch charakterisiert, dassTüürs Gespür für spannungsreiche Kontraste, ein Kennzeichen seinesPersonalstils, in ein Klangfluss-Kontinuum eingebunden wird, das ungeachtet zahlreicher Perkussionselemente den Eindruck von Flächigkeit hinterlässt. Tüürs Sinfonie ist eine Musik für umfangreichesSolo-Schlagzeug und Orchester und wurde der vorzüglichen Musikerin Evelyn Glennie sozusagen auf den Leib geschrieben. Die Solistin zeichnet sich durcheine zuweilen atemberaubende Behendigkeit spielerischer Aktionen, aber auchdurch eine differenzierte Geschmeidigkeit ihrer Technik aus. Beides steht in Tüürs Opus immer wieder im Mittelpunkt. Dennoch ist es keinSchlagzeugkonzert mit Orchesterbegleitung geworden. Die Solistin scheintvielmehr eingebunden in einen Prozess der Verflüssigung, Erstarrung, Verschmelzung, Verzweigung. Die pausenlos gespielten vier Abschnitte einer sinfonischen Form sind akustisch deutlich auszumachen,optisch zudem nicht minder eindeutig, weil Evelyn Glennie in jedem Abschnitt die Position für ihr jeweils unterschiedliches Instrumentariumwechseln muss. Dass der Komponist in jungen Jahren eine Rockgruppegeleitet hat, scheint in einem scherzoartigen Formteil seiner Sinfonie durch. Die Solistin traktiert hier ein "normales" Drumset aufabenteuerlich virtuose Weise. Sobald sie über die Bühne zur Marimbaschreitet, beginnt der vorletzte Abschnitt. Hier kommt die Musik erstmals zur Ruhe. Am Ende wird thematisch ein Bogen zum Beginn geschlagen. Das Werkklingt unspektakulär aus, ist aber dennoch ein facettenreiches,emotional packendes, in mancher Hinsicht polystilistisches und doch eigenständiges Musikstück. Nicht nur Evelyn Glennie erhielt für ihreexorbitante Leistung überaus herzlichen Beifall, auch der anwesendeKomponist wurde freudig begrüßt. (---)

Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung   Harald Budweg

(---) In Frankfurts Konzerthaus ist Tüür aber schon längst kein Unbekannter mehr. 1999 wurde vom hr-Sinfonieorchester unter Hugh Wolffs Leitung Tüürs Violinkonzert uraufgeführt, im November 2006 dirigierte Järvi die Uraufführung seines Klavierkonzerts, dem die Affinität des Komponisten zum Schlagwerk ebenfalls anzuhören ist.
Erkki-Sven Tüürs 4. Sinfonie "Magma" nun ist eigentlich ein Schlagzeug-Konzert mit sinfonischem Anspruch, ein sinfonisches Konzert. Die Schlagzeugerin Evelyn Glennie hat es angeregt und ist auch, wie berichtet, auf der aktuellen EMI-Einspielung mit dem Nationalen Sinfonieorchester Estlands unter Paavo Järvis Leitung zu hören. Im Live-Erlebnis wird noch deutlicher, dass diese Schlagzeugerin eine wahre Schlagzauberin ist: Am einigermaßen magisch illuminierten Riesen-Schlagzeug, das vor dem Orchester positioniert ist, wandelt sie von Instrumentengruppe zu Instrumentengruppe. Jedem der vier Abschnitte von Tüürs 4. Sinfonie ist nämlich ein dominanter Klangcharakter zugeordnet, und Evelyn Glennie beschwört metallischen und hölzernen Sound mit traumwandlerischer Sicherheit und choreografischer Anmut. Im Werk selbst sind spannungsvolle Kontraste zwischen gewaltiger Eruption und Passagen kammermusikalischer Auflichtung konstitutiv. Die Rettung des Zeitgenössischen aus dem Geist von Rock und Pop, die man da hören mag, klingt manchmal (etwa im Dialog mit der süßlichen Solovioline) so entwaffnend schlicht, dass man seinen Ohren kaum traut. Die magmatischen, beunruhigenden Klangströme im Orchester sind aber stärker als tonale Idyllen. Der vierte Abschnitt, den die Congas einleiten, müsste in seiner lustvollen Rhythmik fabelhaft zu vertanzen sein.
Wagners "Meistersinger"-Ouvertüre hatte das Konzert in straffer Klangprachtentfaltung eröffnet - und bildete mit der 1. Sinfonie c-Moll von Johannes Brahms und ihrem apotheotischen, glänzend gespielten Finale eine festliche-üppige Rahmung, einen Goldrahmen für Tüürs Opus. Järvi und Evelyn Glennie signierten nach dem Konzert ihre neue Tüür-CD. Das Gedränge am Verkaufstisch ließ darauf schließen, dass das Werk in Frankfurt einige neue Freunde findet.

Wiesbadener Kurier  08.09. 2007   Volker Milch

Avery Fisher Hall, Lincoln Center, New York. Febr.24, 25, 26. March 1. 2011

New York Philharmonic Orchestra, Paavo Järvi

(---)Mr. Jarvi opened his program with Erkki-Sven Tuur’s short, evocative “Aditus” (2000; revised 2002) an essay in opaque, brass-heavy, sustained chords that gradually melt into rhythmically varied, invitingly wiggly themes. The Philharmonic played it with muscle and gracefulness, as the work’s shifting sensibilities demanded.

The New York Times, Febr. 25, 2011. Allan Kozinn

(---)Yet the nine minutes of Erkki-Sven Tüür’s Aditus (a word meaning, in the composer’s words, “approach, access, entrance, beginning, chance”) showed a daring and exciting craftsmanship in a stunningly colorful exercise. (---)It was in memory of Professor Sumera that he wrote Aditus, and I would love to have space to explain Tüür’s exegesis on “vectorial…meta-language” music. This involves “a source code…a gene which, as it mutates and grows, connects the dots in the fabric of the whole work.”

His subsequent words are more specific, but Aditus, on first hearing, is a tense volcanic series of scales running up and down the orchestra (mainly in the brass). Those scales start in the first measure, become louder and louder, but never slow down or cease their tension. This, after all, was supposed to be a celebration of Tüür’s mentor, and the waves of sounds were as joyous as they were weaving on the cusp of hysteria.
Only in the final measures did the orchestra hush down to a softness, to a recognition, perhaps, that the man had died.
Even without the composer’s musical explanation, Aditus was a dazzling introduction to his music, and Mr. Järvi got the Philharmonic to pump up their own excitement, making the “meta-language” meteoric.

ConcertoNet.com   Harry Rolnick

Barbican Hall, London. February 24, 2005

BBC Symphony Orchestra, Paavo Järvi  

This concert began with the London premiere of Erkki-Sven Tüür's nine-minute masterpiece Aditus (2000, rev. 2002). The title Aditus ('approach, entrance, access') alludes to the work's conflicting forces and contrasting sensations that collide and retreat in rising, sinking, swirling movements striving for survival and escaping burial. The work is dedicated to the composer's friend and teacher Lepo Sumera (who died in 2000) "as a celebration of a great man."

Listening to Aditus for the first time I was struck by its originality of voice: Tüür is arguably one the finest composers alive today and yet does not come across as sounding 'contemporary' in the conventional sense of that term. Tüür's Aditus sounded archaically classical yet thoroughly modern at the same time, but without sounding ever like post-modern pastiche (---)  Tüür is a master of composition, a genius of autonomy, sounding unique yet also magnificently assimilative, coming to grips with the anxiety of influence with great aplomb, with traces of Schoenberg's Pelleas & Melisande and Strauss's Death & Transfiguration seeping through. The shimmering score of Aditus is rich, lush, voluptuous and violent, bursting at the seams - as if wanting to escape its angst-ridden self. Tüür is a brilliant orchestral virtuoso the likes of which we have not seen since Wagner and Strauss. The composer was there to share the enthusiastic applause with conductor and orchestra, who performed his complex masterpiece with great verve and virtuosity. 

http://www.musicweb-international.com/SandH/2005/Jan-Jun05/j%E4rvi2402.htm

Alex Russell 

CONFIDENCE and command, exultation at music’s power: you felt these at almost every turn in this concert. They were there in every sweep of Paavo Järvi’s baton and left arm; in each department of the BBC Symphony Orchestra, in the sombre beauty of Truls Mørk’s cello. And don’t forget the composers’ richness of thought and design, especially with Nielsen and the contemporary Estonian Erkki-Sven Tüür encountered on top form. Tüür’s Aditus gave us nine meaty minutes of brilliantly individual, chiselled sounds, marked by contrary motions, motifs and textures, and steps climbing to Heaven or descending to the grave — destinations fitting for a piece dedicated to the composer’s late teacher, Lepo Sumera. Finished in 2000, revised two years later, this fizzing account was its London premiere; considering its marvels, not a day too late.  

The Times. February 26, 2005

Geoff Brown 

Cincinnati Music Hall. Oct. 21, 2004.

Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, cond. Paavo Järvi 

Some people surf waves breaking onto the shore. Thursday night's Cincinnati Symphony audience got to do that at Music Hall. Via Estonian composer Erkki-Sven Tüür's "Aditus," that is. The thunder in Tüür's seven-minute work, given its CSO premiere by music director Paavo Järvi, does suggest the elemental force of the sea ("as if you were being swallowed up by a huge wave," says Järvi). So do its frequent scale-wise passages and piling up of notes. Four percussionists on tubular bells, tam-tam, bass drum, suspended cymbal, wood blocks, tom-toms and vibraphone joined a huge CSO in a mix of swirls and eddies that furthered the analogy.

Other images came to mind, too, such as combat and "bombs bursting in air." However one hears it, with its grumbling winds, hissing cymbal, trombone and string glissandi and at one point, a vast rumbling low C, it's a powerful work. Thursday's audience seemed caught in the undertow. It should be a potent offering on the CSO's tour of Europe.

The program included two other works to be heard on the tour, Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 4 with pianist Helene Grimaud and Dvorak's Symphony No. 7. (---) 

Cincinnati Post. Oct. 22, 2004.

Mary Ellyn Hutton

Symphony Hall, Birmingham. 26. 10. 1999  City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra
cond. Paavo Järvi.  World Premiere


(---) Tuur is one of a number of distinctive new voices to have emerged from the Baltic states since perestroika, though until now his orchestral music has been best known here through recordings. Largely self-taught, he ran a rock band in Estonia in his 20s, while also studying composition at the Tallinn Academy, and his music seems the product of a mind not over bothered by the dogmas of style and language. It's dense, highly wrought stuff, which nevertheless carries quite a big emotional charge, and the Birmingham audience (a surprisingly small one, given that the second half of the programme was Mahler's Sixth Symphony) responded very positively to the superbly executed premiere.
Each life, taken separately, is an exodus, Tuur says, and his piece is "a composer's subjective sound image of a force that can defeat the undeniable". With or without that extra-musical background, it is still a hugely impressive achievement, packing a great deal into its 17-minute span, which maintains a constant pulsing until the very last few moments. But Exodus isn't at all a minimalist score - the busy figuration is constantly cross-cut with other rhythms and melodic profiles picked out against it, gradually accumulating momentum and tension, until it all explodes in a massive climax to which a drum-kit adds an anarchic edge. After that the textures thin, the motion calms down and only melodic fragments remain; a lonely Shostakovich-like melody wanders aimlessly for a few moments, and the piece evaporates in a haze of string chords.
The plotting of this trajectory is very confident, and there's something almost physical about the way in which Tuur moves and shapes the sound masses that his textures generate, so that the music offers a variety of perspectives - on one level the intricate construction offers constantly changing patterns and arrays, on another the sheer weight of sound is sculpted into large-scale gestures, so that the ear switches from one to the other. Intriguing stuff: Exodus certainly deserves some more performances.

Guardian. Oct. 28. 1999    Andrew Clements


(---) Järvi did, on the other hand, deliver an impressive first performance of Tüür's Exodus. Perhaps because of his background as a rock musician, Tüür sets out with a not too distant or obscure objective and devotes immense energy to getting there. The scoring of Exodus is brilliant throughout and its combination of high-speed stamina and repetitive figuration so relentless that it finds its way out - into an ethereal texture of comparatively sustained high-lying string sounds - only just in time.

The Times  Oct. 28 1999    Gerald Larner

Lincoln Theatre, Miami USA  09. 02. 2002
New World Symphony Orchestra, cond. Paavo Järvi

Any short list of the next generation's leading baton-wielders should include Paavo Järvi, who led the New World Symphony in a program of Scandinavian music Saturday night at the Lincoln Theatre. Son of noted conductor Neeme Järvi, head of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra, the 39-year-old conductor is making big musical waves in his own right in his inaugural season as music director of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra.
Saturday night in Miami Beach, Järvi showed just what all the buzz is about. The Estonian-born conductor elicited performances of remarkable refinement and gleaming clarity, demonstrating an impressive ability for nuance and balancing textures. Yet nothing was fussy or self-regarding about his direction, and the playing had tremendous sweep and vitality.
The opening work, Exodus by Erkki-Sven Tüür, demonstrated Järvi's ability to make a convincing case for a new and unfamiliar piece of music. Reflecting its title, Exodus is a journey reflecting "humanity's insatiable urge to escape constraints," says the Estonian composer. Like Järvi, Tüür, 42, played in a rock band as a youth, a populist inspiration that has clearly influenced his classical writing.
Scored for a large orchestra, Exodus is crafted with impressive confidence and stylistic flair. Unlike many works where the rock influence seems diluted or awkwardly grafted on to a symphonic canvas, Tüür's piece succeeds in fusing the raw energy of rock to orchestral forces. Exodus opens with untrammeled fury, with a rocklike riff for unison double-basses and vociferous brass chords cutting through. Eventually, the driving rhythms subside and the music softens to end on a peaceful note.
Järvi proved a committed advocate of his compatriot's music, eliciting playing of exhilarating virtuosity from the New World members, who were clearly as enthusiastic about this combustible music as the conductor.

South Florida Sun-Sentinel.  February 12. 2002     Lawrence A. Johnson

Carnegie Hall, New York USA  31. 02. 2003
Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, cond. Paavo Järvi

(---) Mr. Jarvi began with the New York premiere of "Exodus" (1999) by Erkki-Sven Tuur, an Estonian composer who lists Frank Zappa and the British art-rock band
King Crimson among his influences. The first half of his piece uses kaleidoscopic juxtapositions, with layers of swirling strings and combative brass bursts enveloping
everything from a Beethovenesque gallop to a brief string of jazz-tinged pitched percussion. This chaotic writing unfolds into a tranquil, texturally transparent closing
section. There were moments in the work's densest writing when the orchestra's strings seemed to flag, but mostly the musicians projected the level of energy that Mr. Tuur
demanded. (---)

New York Times  April 4. 2003   Allan Kozinn

Hoddinott Hall, Cardiff. UK  11. 01. 2012

BBC National Orchestra of Wales, cond. Olari Elts

(---) Fiery percussion was also a characteristic feature of Exodus, by Erkki-Sven Tüür, a symphonic poem dating from 1999. The title refers to Tüür's perception of humanity's insatiable urge to escape constraints. The music had a elemental quality, gradually gathering momentum and moving towards a cataclysmic outburst of sound. Yet everything about this score is tightly controlled, and the aftermath of this explosion of energy was equally intense, with Tüür's instinct for instrumental colour realising a glistening texture, every detail poised. Elts showed immense sympathy for his Estonian compatriot's vision. This was the high point of the concert. (---)

The Guardian Jan. 13. 2012  Rian Evans

In writing Zeitraum, I was attracted by the relations between two quite diverse conceptions of musical time. One extreme is to focus on only one almost imperceptibly changing sound or sound mass (with a harmonic texture at times brighter, at time dimmer). This is the “fixed,” unlinear time as opposed to the time that “flies”—quick, kaleidoscopic movement inserted in or using the “motionless” time as a background. I was interested in the tension between these to time conceptions, and in the third entity born of their relationship. 

Tallinn Chamber Orchestra, Tõnu Kaljuste. Stockholm, Berwaldhallen. Sweden. Baltic Sea Festival.

29. 08. 2024

(---) Between these pieces, TKO delivers another highlight, Tüür's "Deep dark shine",which oscillates between hard string pressures, rumbling double basses and microtonal dissonance of the most beautiful kind.

Magnus Bunnskog, Svenska Dagbladet. 30. 08. 2024

Flamma (a blazing fire, blaze, flame in Latin)

I am delighted to say that this is already the second composition I have created for one of the world’s leading chamber orchestras, the magnificent ACO.

Flamma begins with a brief and extremely intense introduction. The double bass and cellos perform furious ascending passages that reach higher and higher in mutating chains. On this, the violins and violas form constantly shifting “sound clouds” that consist of up to 15-tone chords; at some point the introduction is led to its culmination by the violas with a melodic line that emerges from the contact of the sound clouds and ascending passages.

The extraordinariness of the culmination chord lies in the fact that the “low” instruments are playing in their highest and the “high” instruments in their lowest register.

The composition then starts unravelling through solos alternating with instrument groups. Ensembles are formed within the orchestra to contradict the full sound of the orchestra. The principal thematic development takes place slowly – this is achieved alternately by the first and second violins through constantly evolving repetitions. The same material is then presented in its so-called “frozen state”, like a chorale with homophonic texture played by the whole orchestra – at first it intersects the composition in fragments and only later appears in its entirety. We enter the summarising section of the piece in a position resembling the mirror effect: the first violins are playing ascending passages, supported by the static multi-tone chords “below”.

Fire is both a destructive and purifying force – indigenous Australians have understood it well and have tapped the idea extensively in their traditions. Hence the title, rich in allusions. Flamma is dedicated to the Australian Chamber Orchestra and Richard Tognetti.

Translated by Pirjo Püvi

Nov. 5. 2011

Canberra, Llewellin Hall. Australian CHamber Orchestra, leader Richard Tognetti.

World Premiere

From out of the fire and into romanticism

At face value, the ACO's last touring program for this year looks like an odd grab-bag of goodies. In performance it reveals Richard Tognetti's nearly unerring ability to draw together strands that connect and enlighten each other.

Through Barbara Blackman, that patron saint of new music (Tognetti's description), the ACO has commissioned a second new work from the Estonian composer, Erkki-Sven Tuur.

Flamma is a 17-minute series of pictorial evocations of the role of fire in our environment and psyche. Like some of our leading painters, Tuur's exhilarating music expands and contracts, settles and flares up again. He also refers obliquely to indigenous culture, particularly its chants, which tumble down an octave and renew themselves.

Yet for all its pictorial connotations, Flamma is a series of conjoined ideas about musical processes. Tuur ignites ideas that roar into ferocious intensity, fuelled by driving rhythms and stabbing chords, yielding desolate horizons of harmonics.

A Baltic composer can barely imagine the alarm of the citizens of Australia's towns and cities when fire sweeps down on them.

Tuur paints a vivid, at times terrifying picture of a force that can purify and destroy.

Quite accidentally, he has managed to do what few Australian composers have done: tapped into the psyche of those of us who face a long, hot summer. (---)

Vincent Plush, The Australian. Nov. 7. 2011

Nov. 9. 2011

Perth Concert Hall

(---) As curtain-raiser, we heard Estonian composer Erkki-Sven Tuur's Flamma for strings, a work which enabled the ACO to demonstrate the skill which has earned it international plaudits. In Tuur's cleverly imaginative exploitation of the sonic potential of the strings section, we heard magnificently refulgent chords, grainy-toned passagework and moods which oscillated from the sombre to the joyful. (---)

Neville Cohn, The West Australian. Nov. 11. 2011

Nov. 16. 2011

City Recital Hall, Angel Place. Sydney

(---) The concert started in a darker, more contorted mood with the premiere of Flamma by Estonian composer Erkki-Sven Tuur. Flamma began with rough galumphing sounds on the lower strings set off against icy high notes, building to a climax that broke off to initiate a series of improvisatory solos based on arpeggiation of chords across strings. The work came across as an essay in mass and weight, building towards large chordal passages that wound down, flittered and rose again. (---)

Peter McCallum, Sydney Morning Herald. Nov. 18. 2011

Britten Sinfonia, cond. Pekka Kuusisto

Nov. 24. 2013 Milton Court, London

(---) Outstanding in its exploitation of multifarious shades of orchestral colour and density,

the Estonian Erkki-Sven Tüür's Lighthouse was given a performance as full of vitality as the work itself. (---)

The Guardian, Nov. 26. 2013. George Hall

(---) Even though all the pieces might have lead to Britten's Serenade, the musical highlight of the evening

was much earlier, with an exhilarating performance of Erkki-Sven Tüür's Lighthouse.

Even a generic performance of this piece would be an adventure, as the music is extraordinary in itself,

but Britten Sinfonia provided the piece with such intensity and controlled chaos that it transcended itself. (---)

onestoparts.com  Nov. 28. 2013 Renée Reitsma

Die Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen

cond. Paavo Järvi

Dec. 9, 10, 11. 2018 Die Glocke. Bremen

Eingangs erklangen die flächigen Streicherintensitäten von Järvis Landsmann Erkki-Sven Tüür mit dem für die Bach-Wochen in Ansbach geschriebenen „Lighthouse“ (1997). Eine gut gespielte, grell leuchtende Explosion mit komplexen aufpeitschenden und sich überlagernden rhythmischen Impulsen. Immer wieder bestach die Mischung aus eindringlicher Melodie und betörenden Klangflächen.

www.kreiszeitung.de 12.12. 2016

ACO Collective Australian tour, leader Pekka Kuusisto. Febr. 2016

In a radical approach to the programming of the first half, Kuusisto interwove separate movements of Erkki-Sven Tuur's Action-Passion-Illusion between the short works of three other composers. The device focused the mind on the ensemble, led a merry dance by their director, darting backwards and forwards through time and aesthetic sensitivities. Nico Muhly's Drones and Violin Part 1 – Material in E flat established the strongly textured character of the bracket. Kuusisto's playing has an effortless improvisatory feel in the way he approaches solos, and this freedom inspires a reflected confidence in the ensemble. I love the way that the piece commemorates the background sounds in our lives – the vacuum cleaners and refrigerator motor drones we pitch the activity of our lives against. The way in which Tuur harnesses diverse emotions in energetic, translated into rhythmic string composition is masterful. The cellos and basses become a rolling mass of sound in his imagination, snapping, stabbing syncopation and chording are his punctuation in the stories he tells.

The Canberra Times Febr. 8 2016