The orchestral concert 9.3 of the Cecilia Damström Festival got two so wonderful reviews I wanted to share the translated Englisg versions with you. One was by Mats Liljeroos in Hufvudstadsbladet and the other one was by emeritus professor Eero Tarasti in the web publication Amfion.
Cecilia Damström Unveils Her Inner World
In Cecilia Damström’s emotionally compelling music, the personal becomes public.
Cecilia Damström (b. 1988) is a born composer of program music. Very few, if any, of the works in her rapidly expanding catalogue—now approaching 100—are devoid of extra-musical narratives or, at the very least, extra-musical inspiration of some kind.
While pioneers of program music such as Liszt and Richard Strauss drew primarily from literary and historical sources, Damström’s work is profoundly shaped by contemporary issues. She is, in other words, a socially engaged composer who does not shy away from tackling the most difficult and weighty subjects. This, however, does not mean that her music is heavy or difficult to grasp.
This was strikingly evident over the past weekend when Uuden Musiikin Ensemble followed up their previous explorations of Magnus Lindberg, Uljas Pulkkis, and Sebastian Fagerlund by presenting a cross-section of Damström’s chamber and orchestral music. In honour of International Women’s Day, the program featured three powerful female quintet portraits, while Sunday’s concert offered five orchestral works and a vocal piece.
Rhythmic Fusillades
The themes of the evening ranged from mental health and greed to the refugee crisis, climate change, and the issue of textile waste, while the song cycle Dagbok is based on Damström’s own diary entries—deeply personal matters that often have far-reaching societal implications, brought to life with music that is as emotionally gripping as it is apt.
Like many of her contemporaries, Damström freely draws from a broad aesthetic palette, seamlessly blending modernist elements with more tonally influenced material. The result is an intensely personal and expressive sonic landscape. This was exemplified in Nixus (2020), dedicated to all those suffering from mental health struggles, where an array of musical impulses tumbled and clashed in a way that vividly evoked a chaotic state of mind.
In Lucrum (2018), it was the deadly sin of greed that demanded attention, expressed through a feverishly relentless musical drive that never seemed to tire of its own momentum. One can only hope for a follow-up in which all seven deadly sins are portrayed within a single orchestral work—an undeniably enticing prospect.
The opening of Tundo! (2016/2018), dedicated to the world’s refugees, struck the unsuspecting listener’s consciousness like a bullet with its sharp rhythmic bursts. The aggressive passages were interspersed with bare, vulnerably trembling sections, allowing each listener to form their own interpretation of the unfolding events and their underlying message.
Evocative Soundscapes
Damström composes with a striking sense of imagery, yet she never underestimates the listener’s intelligence. In the symphonic poem ICE (2021), one might hear the melting polar ice caps grinding against each other—or simply be absorbed by its evocative orchestral textures. In the postmodern collage Wasteland (2022), Damström cleverly integrates musical quotations to trace the journey of discarded clothing through the waste chain. I was particularly struck by the incinerator’s exuberant allusions to 1920s mechanics, reminiscent of Alexander Mosolov and George Antheil.
The five-movement Dagbok (2013) provided a welcome contrast to the orchestral fireworks, offering a more intimate listening experience. Hedvig Paulig delivered a profoundly sensitive interpretation, though unfortunately, much of the text was lost in the generous acoustics of the House of Nobility. This was, of course, a challenge throughout the concert—the space simply could not absorb the sheer volume of sound, resulting in a loss of finer nuances despite the grandeur of the performance.
This was by no means the fault of the excellent conductor Tapio von Boehm or his ensemble, who performed with an inspiring combination of youthful energy and impeccable precision. Their commitment to presenting composer portraits is invaluable, and it will be exciting to see who will be featured next. Lotta Wennäkoski and Matthew Whittall seem like strong candidates.
Cecilia Damström – A Voice Of Our Time
Cecilia Damström Festival
Sunday, March 9, 2025, at 17:00, House of Nobility
Hedvig Paulig, soprano; Uuden Ajan Ensemble; Tapio von Boehm, conductor
Or should one call it a proclamation, for this was truly a bold and declarative occasion? It brought to mind the work Les Bruits by French intellectual Jacques Attali, who proposed that musical shifts often precede and predict societal crises. Damström emphatically positions herself as a composer with a message—though this term is frequently associated with socialist realism. Yet she swiftly dispels any such notion in the humor-infused finale of the evening’s last piece, where the Soviet anthem O Great and Mighty Soviet Union is grotesquely distorted, its melodies transformed into a caricature of waste flowing into the sea—somewhat reminiscent of the warped idée fixe variations in the Witches’ Sabbath from Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique.
This festival was, let it be said outright, an event of immense significance in our musical landscape and in the realm of contemporary composition. It featured six works spanning 2011–2020, offering a comprehensive overview of the composer’s body of work to date. Before us emerged the portrait of a powerful, independent artist—a masterful orchestrator whose music carries profound substance. Richard Wagner once remarked to his wife Cosima that “a musician who does not comprehend the world of ideas is like a cow [with all due respect to animals!] … and would be better off doing something entirely different.”
Ideas are something Damström has in abundance. Each piece in the program was highly programmatic, with succinct summaries available in the concert booklet. However, in an effort to conserve paper, the longer texts were accessible via a QR code—a decision I appreciated, even though I read them only after the concert. They presented a staggering wealth of sobering facts, from mental health struggles affecting us all to the deadly sin of greed, the plight of refugees, climate catastrophe, and environmental destruction. Even as mere references, these themes created an evocative and, at times, harrowing context for experiencing the music. Yet, this approach allowed the music to speak for itself—music remains its own universe and moves the listener only through its own inherent power. There is, after all, no shortage of art that aspires to noble ethical goals but falls short as art. As political scientist Heikki Patomäki’s concept of contrafinality suggests: a goal may be lofty, but the outcome can be something entirely different. However, let there be no doubt—Damström’s music captivates the listener on its own merits, through its sheer musical quality. She is unquestionably one of Finland’s leading contemporary composers.
The concert was structured in two halves: before the intermission, three pieces explored the deeply existential and personal aspects of human life. After the break, three compositions addressed societal themes. This division, reminiscent of the Paris School’s concepts of psychosemiotics and sociosemiotics, led me to wonder whether it influenced the composer’s stylistic approach. Perhaps it did—if anything, the latter half was even more dramatic and emphatic than the first.
Damström adheres to Richard Strauss’s principle: when he first heard Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring, he advised that music should begin with an immediate and gripping force—no hesitation. This was precisely the case in Nixus (Op. 75, 2020), where the music conjured an image of catastrophe. The sound world was intentionally raw and cacophonous, with extensive use of repetition. Adorno might have interpreted this, much like The Rite, as a psychoanalytic representation of a catatonic state. The first section unfolded in this manner, but the second movement veered into the hallucinatory and surreal—Adorno’s phantasmagoria, if I may cite him once more. Yet, with the return of the timpani, we were drawn back into the world of shock and impact. At times, the music took on an effervescent, rain-like quality, reminiscent—if my memory serves—of the ending of Sibelius’s Tapiola. There were also ironic gestures, some mimicking laughter.
The second piece, Dagbok (2011–2013), was a song cycle featuring five poems, apparently written by the composer herself. Its overarching tone was melancholic and reflective: Stanna (Stay), Int’ ett ord (Not a Word), Kallare (Colder), Stigar (Paths), and Jag vill (I Want), all seemingly contemplating themes of loss and abandonment. The accompaniment shimmered with an ostinato-like pulse—rhythmically vibrant yet melodically delicate, with woodwinds tracing independent lines, almost like intertwining paths. At times, the texture was reminiscent of non-dissonant vocalises. Hedvig Paulig’s rich, dark-hued soprano proved a perfect fit, lending an expressive depth to the songs. The style fell somewhere along the lines of Sibelius – Richard Strauss – Alban Berg. The music may well have been serial in construction, yet the choice of pitch material avoided harsh, dissonant leaps, favoring consonant and smooth sonorities. This may, in fact, be the essence of Damström’s harmonic language—even in moments of great orchestral intensity, the sound remains aesthetically refined, never exceeding the listener’s threshold of discomfort.
Lucrum (Op. 57, 2018) was inspired by the sin of greed. It brought to mind La Bruyère’s Characters from the 17th century, with its portraits of various human types. The relentless, driving figures in the strings grew ever more insistent, much like the insatiable hunger for more. One is reminded of the German culinary principle: Lieber etwas gutes und dafür ein bisschen mehr (“Better something good, and then a little extra…”). A musicologist once suggested this applies well to Wagner’s melodies—one might say the same here.
During the intermission, lively discussions filled the hall. The audience was large, and predominantly younger—a testament to the festival’s appeal. The orchestra, resonant and full-bodied, played with impassioned courage, under the determined yet nuanced baton of Tapio von Boehm. A distinctive talent in his field, von Boehm has built an ensemble devoted to presenting an impressive array of works by young Finnish composers. The extensive list of their premieres was, fittingly, available via QR code. Among the musicians were both young professionals and seasoned players, such as Harri Forstén, former concertmaster of the Jyväskylä Symphony Orchestra, who continues an active career as a violinist.
The second half opened with Tundo! (Op. 49, 2016/2018), dedicated to all refugees—a topic of staggering urgency. War was depicted through siren-like alarm signals, much like Penderecki’s Fluorescences. Solos and tuttis alternated, while a walking motif symbolized the refugee’s journey, evoking Stravinsky’s Soldier’s Tale. The surprise came at the end: a sudden tonal shift—a rising third and a triadic resolution in the strings.
ICE (Op. 77, 2021) tackled climate change, portraying melting glaciers. How does one depict ice in music? Precedents are scarce—perhaps only Debussy’s Footsteps in the Snow comes to mind. Damström’s solution was mesmerizing: a harp and piano arpeggio of breathtaking beauty. I immediately thought, I must hear this again—and see the score. Fortunately, the motif returned at the end, its musical anaphora becoming a symbol of hope—that the ice may yet return.
The final piece, Wasteland (Op. 81, 2021–2022), brought an unexpected turn—humor. This work follows the journey of three garments through a recycling center to an incinerator, where 80% of our clothing ends up as toxic waste. The music was both ecologically engaged and postmodern, brimming with recognizable quotations: Jo joutui armas aika, Bizet’s Carmen, even echoes of Smetana’s Moldau. And then, as a final shock—the Soviet anthem, rendered with unmistakable, ironic mockery.
The concert was a resounding triumph—a dazzling display of Damström’s extraordinary talent and the potency of her message. These works will undoubtedly endure beyond this evening, and Uuden Ajan Ensemble’s dedicated work for contemporary music will continue to inspire.
– Eero Tarasti