Harald Sæverud Fan Club (1897-1992)

[Symphonic Addict]

I've enjoyed some of his works, among them the string quartets and some symphonies (namely 3, 6, 7 and 9). Like you, I also perceive a sense of bitter quirkiness from his pen that gives distinctiveness to his style, but unlike you, I didn't find his Peer Gynt Suites particularly enthralling. I should revisit them.

BTW, he has his own thread:

Harald Saeverud

[Dukas’Sidekick]

Love what I've heard of Saeverud's music so far. I did a deep dive into another Norwegian Master, Johan Halvorsen, who also studied in Liepzig & was the Conductor of The National Theater in Oslo for 30 yrs. Halvorsen married Grieg's neice - close colleague & friend. Halvorsen's works are all charming & exquisitely orchestrated.
To Saeverud, now, I found him when sites recommend other composers of said country... I'd heard of him for his "Kjempeviseatten,"  "Battle of Revolt," Sevaerud's brother was an officer in the Norwegian Resistance to Germany's Occupation of Norway during WW2. It's a great piece. So is his "Siljuslatten" (Dances from the town he first lived in after his marriage. But I especially LOVE his two "Peer Gynt" Suites. I love the First Suite best, and from The Second, mvmts 1-5. This is his quirkiest, most original work I've heard... The Great Norwegian Tale "Peer Gynt," (Ibsen) had something like 140 scenes, & of course, Grieg spent a year + composing music some 50 years earlier for 30+ scenes he thought best for musical depictions. Sæverud & a few other composers also wrote for "Gynt," but most chose other mvmts, for the most part, than Grieg. That's what Sæverud did, w the exception of "Anitra's Dance" & "Solveig's Song." But the other 11 mvmts are wonderfully modern, jaunty (Devil's 5-Hop) & The Threatener. Listen to the works I mentioned, but w Saeverud, you might need 3-5 listening to realize how amazing it is.
Sæverud liked to say his birth home was on an ancient graveyard, so he thinks that's why he's always had a mystical, sometimes dark but humorous view of the world & his composition. His music sounds like no others.'
Love "Val Mors" & the Symphonies I've listened to so far. And his "Gjaetelvise Variations" is cool, as is his "Leyte Stryker" is charming beyond belief. Maybe start with this one first 👍🎵😎

[Brian]

I don't know why I keep starting new listening projects instead of finishing the last ones.  But the only Saeverud I've heard is the "Minnesota" Symphony, and he is occasionally mentioned favorably in the Listening thread, so here goes.

The Peer Gynt suites take up almost 40 minutes, and they're exactly as promised in this thread: full of puckish humor, comical dissonances, stomping peasant dances, tuba solos, and hymns. One movement, "Mixed Company," has quotes of Le Marseillaise and Yankee Doodle. There's also a movement called "Peer-ludium" (though it is not as silly as it sounds). The selection arranged by BIS for this performance ends on two softer, quieter melodies - kind of like how many presentations of the Grieg version end on a gentle song.

The Symphony No. 6, Sinfonia Dolorosa, is just 12 short minutes, and a concise, taut, well-orchestrated exploration of the title mood. Climaxes have a way of sneaking up on you, and Saeverud is incredible at the transitional moments (like tempo changes) where some composers struggle to be creative. The final climax is eye-popping and maybe even awe-inspiring. It actually sounds like Philip Glass for a minute! I would love to see this piece live at the beginning of a concert.

Program idea:

Saeverud | Symphony No. 6
Shostakovich | Violin Concerto No. 1
Piston | Symphony No. 2

The Symphony was written during World War II and dedicated in memory of a friend who was killed while fighting for the Resistance. This CD ends with two lighter works that were also written during the War. Galdreslatten and Kjempevise-Slatten are both based in folk music, expressions of Norwegian character in defiance of the occupying regime. The latter especially became a Resistance anthem. Both are folksy, but orchestrated with modern sophistication, and somewhat repetitive as different instruments take up the main tunes.

I enjoyed every minute of this and the Symphony in particular is a miniature masterpiece that would fit well on a mixed-rep CD of composers' responses to WWII. (This, Martinu's Memorial, Honegger's Third, Metamorphosen?)



The Bassoon Concerto is personal to Saeverud because its tragic slow movement contains the melody he had intended for his "swan song" - a melody he originally planned to publish only after his death. But he came to feel that the bassoon was the most human of instruments, and also (curiously) the most festive one. A very gentle Nordic influence permeates the three movements, and the bassoon gets to play with a full orchestra that is smartly subdivided so that the soloist is never overpowered. There's a real mix of styles throughout the piece, and Saeverud's voice is very hard to compare to other composers. The very ending is a bit of a witty prank. Overall, this is probably the most I have enjoyed listening to any bassoon concerto except Sebastian Fagerlund's.

Next up is the incidental music to a modernist production of Shakespeare's Rape of Lucretia, written a dozen years before the Peer Gynt score. Saeverud's music is not super-modernist, though: it has more in common with the cool, calm, soberly realist music of someone like Wiren or maybe, maybe, the faintest, tiniest whisper of Nielsen's Aladdin. Definitely not as populist as that example, but very compelling.

Symphony No. 7 is a "Hymn Symphony" in one movement, but that arc is divided into an introduction and five parts: Hymns, Yuletide Variations, Stave Church Chimes, Fugue, and Glorification. The piece is based on spiritual material of the composer's own devising, not pre-existing hymns (I think; I don't know many hymns). The music unfolds as variations even outside of the straightforwardly sweet and pretty Yuletide set. This piece may be lower on drama until the fugue begins, but it is amazingly consistent in its tone and rigorous with its small amount of musical material. This is probably the most optimistic Saeverud yet, and you do need to enjoy the main theme since it appears more than once a minute. I did.

Seven works on these two discs, and seven hits. Saeverud might become one of my guys!

[foxandpeng]

I don't know why I keep starting new listening projects instead of finishing the last ones.  But the only Saeverud I've heard is the "Minnesota" Symphony, and he is occasionally mentioned favorably in the Listening thread, so here goes.

The Peer Gynt suites take up almost 40 minutes, and they're exactly as promised in this thread: full of puckish humor, comical dissonances, stomping peasant dances, tuba solos, and hymns. One movement, "Mixed Company," has quotes of Le Marseillaise and Yankee Doodle. There's also a movement called "Peer-ludium" (though it is not as silly as it sounds). The selection arranged by BIS for this performance ends on two softer, quieter melodies - kind of like how many presentations of the Grieg version end on a gentle song.

The Symphony No. 6, Sinfonia Dolorosa, is just 12 short minutes, and a concise, taut, well-orchestrated exploration of the title mood. Climaxes have a way of sneaking up on you, and Saeverud is incredible at the transitional moments (like tempo changes) where some composers struggle to be creative. The final climax is eye-popping and maybe even awe-inspiring. It actually sounds like Philip Glass for a minute! I would love to see this piece live at the beginning of a concert.

Program idea:

Saeverud | Symphony No. 6
Shostakovich | Violin Concerto No. 1
Piston | Symphony No. 2

The Symphony was written during World War II and dedicated in memory of a friend who was killed while fighting for the Resistance. This CD ends with two lighter works that were also written during the War. Galdreslatten and Kjempevise-Slatten are both based in folk music, expressions of Norwegian character in defiance of the occupying regime. The latter especially became a Resistance anthem. Both are folksy, but orchestrated with modern sophistication, and somewhat repetitive as different instruments take up the main tunes.

I enjoyed every minute of this and the Symphony in particular is a miniature masterpiece that would fit well on a mixed-rep CD of composers' responses to WWII. (This, Martinu's Memorial, Honegger's Third, Metamorphosen?)



The Bassoon Concerto is personal to Saeverud because its tragic slow movement contains the melody he had intended for his "swan song" - a melody he originally planned to publish only after his death. But he came to feel that the bassoon was the most human of instruments, and also (curiously) the most festive one. A very gentle Nordic influence permeates the three movements, and the bassoon gets to play with a full orchestra that is smartly subdivided so that the soloist is never overpowered. There's a real mix of styles throughout the piece, and Saeverud's voice is very hard to compare to other composers. The very ending is a bit of a witty prank. Overall, this is probably the most I have enjoyed listening to any bassoon concerto except Sebastian Fagerlund's.

Next up is the incidental music to a modernist production of Shakespeare's Rape of Lucretia, written a dozen years before the Peer Gynt score. Saeverud's music is not super-modernist, though: it has more in common with the cool, calm, soberly realist music of someone like Wiren or maybe, maybe, the faintest, tiniest whisper of Nielsen's Aladdin. Definitely not as populist as that example, but very compelling.

Symphony No. 7 is a "Hymn Symphony" in one movement, but that arc is divided into an introduction and five parts: Hymns, Yuletide Variations, Stave Church Chimes, Fugue, and Glorification. The piece is based on spiritual material of the composer's own devising, not pre-existing hymns (I think; I don't know many hymns). The music unfolds as variations even outside of the straightforwardly sweet and pretty Yuletide set. This piece may be lower on drama until the fugue begins, but it is amazingly consistent in its tone and rigorous with its small amount of musical material. This is probably the most optimistic Saeverud yet, and you do need to enjoy the main theme since it appears more than once a minute. I did.

Seven works on these two discs, and seven hits. Saeverud might become one of my guys!

I like what I've heard by Saeverud. Thank you for the reminder to return to him!

[Alex Bozman]

You've listened and commented on a couple of my favourite Saeverud symphonies, Brian. The sombre intense 6th, which manages to pack a lot into  12 minutes and the post war 7th Salme, with it's use of the composers own material sounding like hymn tunes. I've enjoyed all of the orchestral works heard, the Peer Gynt suites being the best known, but have found it hard to get a handle on any of the concertos. Given your positive take on the Bassoon Concerto, will dig the cd out for another listen.

[Brian]

Alex, it is exactly as you say. The 34-minute Violin Concerto is the first time I've really struggled to get hold of a Saeverud piece at first listen. It is a work that he described as conservative, conventional in form, and intent on beauty at every turn, but I am finding it hard to find something memorable to catch onto. It offers neither particularly compelling beauty nor a cogent drama. Instead it's just sort of...a lot of sounds happening for 34 minutes. I also wonder if the performance is partly responsible, because the composer is quoted in the booklet as saying the finale is "very fast," but it is not especially so in this recording. The finale is the most interesting part, since it has quite a bit of percussion and folk color, but it is also somewhat repetitive, and doesn't have a memorable ending.

The soloist is his grandson, so I suppose we have to accept this as definitive.

Symphony No. 3 is one of the composer's first really major works. He was so confident in it that he mailed a copy straight to Pierre Monteux - and then, after a few performances, he withdrew it. It's a 45-minute three-movement epic in B flat minor. It starts slowly and moodily with a processional of sorts that starts quietly and takes on almost funereal intensity. When the main allegro finally launches more than 5 minutes in, it does so with a gentle, rustic burble of woodwinds. The rest of the movement is dominated by winds, and though it takes on a melancholic character at times as it fades back down to a slower ending, it's not tragic by any means.

The slow movement is structured in the opposite fashion. For much of its length, it doesn't seem to be about very much. But then the material starts building, compounding, speeding up, leading to a rather lengthy, impassioned, pained climax. (The booklet suggests it is crass.) The finale is relentless, with furious energy. Woodwinds are still prominent but they must often do battle with brass fanfares and motor-like string rhythms. The ending is very warlike.

This symphony will probably appeal most to the GMGers who like big, shaggy, post-romantic symphonies by people like Bax. At times it sounds strikingly contemporary. It's a little too sprawling for me, but it has my respect.



Fanfare and Hymn, a short work written for Bergen's anniversary festivities, is not nearly enthusiastic major-key celebration you'd expect. Instead, the fanfare is foreboding and the hymn in minor key - inspired, according to the booklet notes, by Saeverud's irritation at how much tax he paid! The ending is a little more ambiguously mixed. Overall, it's a real firecracker of a piece. I suspect if it was called Tax Day it would be a pops concert hit. Shows you the importance of a fitting title!

The Piano Concerto was written in 1950 for Robert Riefling, and toured around the world by Andor Foldes. It begins with a "herald" motif, then proceeds as a theme and variations, with the "herald" popping in at important points in the movement. There are some dead spots but the last few variations are quite exciting and excitingly orchestrated, too. The slow movement is mostly placid, the finale mostly vivacious in a way that reminds me of Bartok concertos. (Maybe Foldes felt the same way.) There is a more pensive episode in the middle, but the concerto ends with a wild, raucous flourish. So much energy, in fact, that BIS programs in a 25-second pause before the next work on the CD.

Symphony No. 9 is the toughest, brawniest Saeverud I have heard yet. It starts with a 12-tone melody, and then develops it into a tonal framework. In ways this movement feels Russian: the paranoia or totalitarian violence of Shostakovich comes to mind in many of the first movement's climaxes. The orchestration is also just muscular in a really exciting way, with lots of forceful brass and pitched percussion.

After seven minutes of this onslaught, we get two shortish slow movements. The first is a strange sort of dance, like a sarcastic waltz or a timid minuet. Though it is not very emotionally expressive, it is certainly colorful, especially toward the end, when the waltz motif is smashed out by bass and snare drums and cuckoos start calling. The next inner movement is more funereal, with a steadily tapping timpani behind a wistful melody first played by trumpet, then violins. The more tender central melody, played by oboe, is a major-key consolation.

The finale is an eight-minute evocation of "Bells in the Mountains," with the bells evoked by strings, piano, and xylophone in different places. Slowly, the music builds to the kind of turbulent climax that characterized the first movement, but then (real) bells begin ringing and a thrilling tension between major and minor key leads to a mysterious loud ending.

For an autobiographical symphony, one that self-consciously summarizes the composer's achievement, this is a surprisingly tough nut to crack. It's not enigmatic like Shostakovich, but enigmatic in a much different way. It reminds me of Edward Said's comments about "late style" and how artists find rewards in inscrutability or ambiguity in their final years. Confusingly, the BIS booklet note writer mixes up the order of the two inner movements of Symphony No. 9.

[foxandpeng]

Alex, it is exactly as you say. The 34-minute Violin Concerto is the first time I've really struggled to get hold of a Saeverud piece at first listen. It is a work that he described as conservative, conventional in form, and intent on beauty at every turn, but I am finding it hard to find something memorable to catch onto. It offers neither particularly compelling beauty nor a cogent drama. Instead it's just sort of...a lot of sounds happening for 34 minutes. I also wonder if the performance is partly responsible, because the composer is quoted in the booklet as saying the finale is "very fast," but it is not especially so in this recording. The finale is the most interesting part, since it has quite a bit of percussion and folk color, but it is also somewhat repetitive, and doesn't have a memorable ending.

The soloist is his grandson, so I suppose we have to accept this as definitive.

Symphony No. 3 is one of the composer's first really major works. He was so confident in it that he mailed a copy straight to Pierre Monteux - and then, after a few performances, he withdrew it. It's a 45-minute three-movement epic in B flat minor. It starts slowly and moodily with a processional of sorts that starts quietly and takes on almost funereal intensity. When the main allegro finally launches more than 5 minutes in, it does so with a gentle, rustic burble of woodwinds. The rest of the movement is dominated by winds, and though it takes on a melancholic character at times as it fades back down to a slower ending, it's not tragic by any means.

The slow movement is structured in the opposite fashion. For much of its length, it doesn't seem to be about very much. But then the material starts building, compounding, speeding up, leading to a rather lengthy, impassioned, pained climax. (The booklet suggests it is crass.) The finale is relentless, with furious energy. Woodwinds are still prominent but they must often do battle with brass fanfares and motor-like string rhythms. The ending is very warlike.

This symphony will probably appeal most to the GMGers who like big, shaggy, post-romantic symphonies by people like Bax. At times it sounds strikingly contemporary. It's a little too sprawling for me, but it has my respect.



Fanfare and Hymn, a short work written for Bergen's anniversary festivities, is not nearly enthusiastic major-key celebration you'd expect. Instead, the fanfare is foreboding and the hymn in minor key - inspired, according to the booklet notes, by Saeverud's irritation at how much tax he paid! The ending is a little more ambiguously mixed. Overall, it's a real firecracker of a piece. I suspect if it was called Tax Day it would be a pops concert hit. Shows you the importance of a fitting title!

The Piano Concerto was written in 1950 for Robert Riefling, and toured around the world by Andor Foldes. It begins with a "herald" motif, then proceeds as a theme and variations, with the "herald" popping in at important points in the movement. There are some dead spots but the last few variations are quite exciting and excitingly orchestrated, too. The slow movement is mostly placid, the finale mostly vivacious in a way that reminds me of Bartok concertos. (Maybe Foldes felt the same way.) There is a more pensive episode in the middle, but the concerto ends with a wild, raucous flourish. So much energy, in fact, that BIS programs in a 25-second pause before the next work on the CD.

Symphony No. 9 is the toughest, brawniest Saeverud I have heard yet. It starts with a 12-tone melody, and then develops it into a tonal framework. In ways this movement feels Russian: the paranoia or totalitarian violence of Shostakovich comes to mind in many of the first movement's climaxes. The orchestration is also just muscular in a really exciting way, with lots of forceful brass and pitched percussion.

After seven minutes of this onslaught, we get two shortish slow movements. The first is a strange sort of dance, like a sarcastic waltz or a timid minuet. Though it is not very emotionally expressive, it is certainly colorful, especially toward the end, when the waltz motif is smashed out by bass and snare drums and cuckoos start calling. The next inner movement is more funereal, with a steadily tapping timpani behind a wistful melody first played by trumpet, then violins. The more tender central melody, played by oboe, is a major-key consolation.

The finale is an eight-minute evocation of "Bells in the Mountains," with the bells evoked by strings, piano, and xylophone in different places. Slowly, the music builds to the kind of turbulent climax that characterized the first movement, but then (real) bells begin ringing and a thrilling tension between major and minor key leads to a mysterious loud ending.

For an autobiographical symphony, one that self-consciously summarizes the composer's achievement, this is a surprisingly tough nut to crack. It's not enigmatic like Shostakovich, but enigmatic in a much different way. It reminds me of Edward Said's comments about "late style" and how artists find rewards in inscrutability or ambiguity in their final years. Confusingly, the BIS booklet note writer mixes up the order of the two inner movements of Symphony No. 9.

Great post 👌

[Brian]

The Cello Concerto is an early work (1930ish, just after Symphony No. 3) in which Saeverud experimented with jazzy rhythms, strict Hindemith-like polyphony, and serious harmonic daredevilry. It's a heady and intriguing mixture. Saeverud was dissatisfied with the piece, started revising, but gave up in frustration, leaving only a written note that he wished to thin out the orchestra. Robert Ronnes (the bassoonist who had collaborated with him on a new edition of the Bassoon Concerto) followed those instructions after Saeverud died, compressing the orchestra to 8 woodwind/trumpet players and a string section. Ronnes wrote a few new lines to replace old ones the composer had crossed out.

The small, nimble orchestra makes an impression, and it also forces the cellist to be almost continuously active. The concerto starts with a bright, jazzy motif, but this is a bit of a feint for a first movement that is mainly a tonally adventurous work of continuous development, with a rhythmic limp.

I forgot to take any notes in the slow movement, though it never made me either especially delighted or (in the slightest) annoyed. The finale is pretty tough sledding, with a lot of cello work while the tiny orchestra motors along on its perplexing path. There's quite an extensive "random notes" oboe solo. The ending is a nice light surprise and sticks in the memory for minutes afterwards.

The Symphony No. 8 is Saeverud's biggest and most ambitious. It is also somewhat of a stylistic departure, with a mythic-epic tone that places him somewhat closer to a middle Holmboe symphony, or maybe the good Rubbra symphonies. There's a five-minute slow introduction, "Once upon a time..." before the main action begins. Muted strings in fast passages, abstract-style melodies that are kind of cubist but tonal: a lot of different choices contribute to the mythological feel. The slow movement is wonderful and has quite a collection of solos; the scherzo, a pastorale, has the first really fast music of the symphony.

After the calming inner movements, it's really fun to get a "Man and the machine" finale full of brass, rambunctious percussion, ostinato rhythms, and colorful hubbub. The ending has a whole lot of motoric bass drum action too.

Overall, a strange picaresque tale, more like a series of tone poems than a formal symphony, but quite entertaining. This was the only Saeverud I had ehard before embarking on this month's quest, and now it's probably not my favorite anymore, but worth repeated hearing.

[foxandpeng]

The Cello Concerto is an early work (1930ish, just after Symphony No. 3) in which Saeverud experimented with jazzy rhythms, strict Hindemith-like polyphony, and serious harmonic daredevilry. It's a heady and intriguing mixture. Saeverud was dissatisfied with the piece, started revising, but gave up in frustration, leaving only a written note that he wished to thin out the orchestra. Robert Ronnes (the bassoonist who had collaborated with him on a new edition of the Bassoon Concerto) followed those instructions after Saeverud died, compressing the orchestra to 8 woodwind/trumpet players and a string section. Ronnes wrote a few new lines to replace old ones the composer had crossed out.

The small, nimble orchestra makes an impression, and it also forces the cellist to be almost continuously active. The concerto starts with a bright, jazzy motif, but this is a bit of a feint for a first movement that is mainly a tonally adventurous work of continuous development, with a rhythmic limp.

I forgot to take any notes in the slow movement, though it never made me either especially delighted or (in the slightest) annoyed. The finale is pretty tough sledding, with a lot of cello work while the tiny orchestra motors along on its perplexing path. There's quite an extensive "random notes" oboe solo. The ending is a nice light surprise and sticks in the memory for minutes afterwards.

The Symphony No. 8 is Saeverud's biggest and most ambitious. It is also somewhat of a stylistic departure, with a mythic-epic tone that places him somewhat closer to a middle Holmboe symphony, or maybe the good Rubbra symphonies. There's a five-minute slow introduction, "Once upon a time..." before the main action begins. Muted strings in fast passages, abstract-style melodies that are kind of cubist but tonal: a lot of different choices contribute to the mythological feel. The slow movement is wonderful and has quite a collection of solos; the scherzo, a pastorale, has the first really fast music of the symphony.

After the calming inner movements, it's really fun to get a "Man and the machine" finale full of brass, rambunctious percussion, ostinato rhythms, and colorful hubbub. The ending has a whole lot of motoric bass drum action too.

Overall, a strange picaresque tale, more like a series of tone poems than a formal symphony, but quite entertaining. This was the only Saeverud I had ehard before embarking on this month's quest, and now it's probably not my favorite anymore, but worth repeated hearing.

I look forward to hearing this with your comments alongside. Cheers.

[Brian]

Symphony No. 5 was initially titled "Quasi una fantasia" at its 1940-41 genesis, but after World War II, Saeverud revealed that its real name is the Resistance Symphony. It is essentially one giant 25-minute accelerando/crescendo, from a tentative beginning through a series of variations that eventually develop, metastasize, enlarge the orchestra, and become more and more defiant. It may not be easy to love - it doesn't have any moment of tenderness, for example - but it is extraordinarily powerful and could only be written by one man. This is definitely one I'll return to a lot, and it's one that should be near the beginning of anyone's journey with this composer (along with No. 6, No. 7, and Peer Gynt - of the things I've heard so far).

Oboe concertos should not be too long or grandly scored, and this 18-minute example follows that advice. It starts with a folksy clarinet solo and the oboe enters after just 20 seconds. The most substantial movement is the finale, which has some jazzy rhythms (including timpani) and some nice exchanges between solo oboe, clarinet, trumpet, and others. A nice light diversion of a concerto, not as memorable as the Martinu oboe concerto maybe but something you could put on the shelf next to Vaughan Williams' contribution.

The CD ends with two short works: a five-minute Entrata Regale - yes, written for the King of Norway - and a ten-minute Sonata Giubilata, written to celebrate "the joy of composing" and in sonata form, the form Saeverud felt best expressed that joy. The Entrata is not a splashy Walton-like imperial march but rather a taut, exciting concert opener that ends on a glittering upwards chase through a tumult of percussion towards glowing E major. Sonata Giubilata starts unexpectedly with a calm clarinet solo, before the woodwinds and trumpets together begin unfurling the main theme. The secondary tune sounds unexpectedly American, like something from Copland, and there is again a folksy-jazziness to it. Rhythmically, the last few minutes of the piece are rather stubborn, as if Saeverud is trying to kick the orchestra into an even higher gear but cannot do so. But it's still entertaining.

This may be the most consistent or at least the most outgoing CD so far in the series. A really intense potent symphony, and three pieces that are on the lighter side but very colorfully written. When I say "consistent," I mean that the moods are similar, vs. the volumes where you have playful and modernist Saeverud side-by-side.



Primarily earlier works on this album: Symphony No. 2 was one of his first breakthroughs, which he nevertheless heavily revised and published again as a nearly-new work. Symphony No. 4 was the first written in what he and scholars now consider to be his mature style, and it's also the first to be cast in a single movement. No. 2 has an interesting structure, too: a two-minute (!) first movement, a slow movement, and then a "sonata grande" finale, which Saeverud rather jokingly wrote to a friend that he hoped he would live long enough to complete. (He lived another 70 years.)

Symphony No. 2's "entrada" movement is not a fanfare but a gruff welcome from the violas, contrasted with woodwind solos. It feels like an ill omen of trouble to come, but the music slides directly into the slow movement, an intriguing blend of Euro melancholy and American blues (check out that clarinet tune!). The "sonata grande" finale is as dramatic and epic as its name suggests, though for the first time in this whole series I also sense the Stavanger Symphony string section tiring a little bit. The big, brassy, tragic ending with pounding chords is quite exciting. A curious piece, and a clear precursor to the more mature, concise Symphony No. 6.

No. 4 begins in a calm, almost pastoral manner, with the string section only declaiming a mild-mannered melody that, with its falling intervals, recalls Nielsen. As often happens in Saeverud, the arrival of woodwinds is timed with an increase in tempo; throughout this symphony, he develops those initial themes organically, apparently via a process where he went on walks in nature and let the music unfold in his head. The size of the orchestra is only made clear gradually (brass, including tuba, starts entering around 6').

Though the piece gets more complex (rhythmically, too) as it goes, this symphony is a miss for me. Its slow-fast-slow arc feels like something other composers had already done better and more memorably, and other composers would do better in the future, too. There are some really striking episodes, particularly at the brassy climaxes with a bass drum that BIS captures extremely well. But there's also a lot of not particularly enjoyable polyphony and busy work that sacrifices orchestral sound for rigor. Basically, it builds from calm Nielsen to chilly Hindemith without tunes. And then there's a surprise (quiet) happy ending with a rather unconvincing sparkle.

In between those two symphonies we have three orchestral miniatures: a Romanza with violin soloist, a Barcarolle, and a five-minute set of 50 Variations (!!) on a three-bar theme (!!). The Romanza is what you might call "romantic by Saeverud's standards," with lots of wind solos around the violinist and a memorable, mixed-emotion main theme that is rather catchy. There's also a light-hearted faster central section. The Barcarolle is a minute longer but substantively even slighter and with a chamber-sized orchestra. The 50 Variations are an absolute whirlwind; if you are unprepared, it may be several variations before you even realize they have started. The spiky, oddly-shaped theme is perfectly suited for this exercise, too, and the orchestra's colors are well-exploited. This is a real novelty but it is also a well-crafted delight.



(etc....the covers all look similar)

All but one of Saeverud's piano pieces take the form of miniatures. Many are collections of folk tunes and folk dances; some are 3-5 minute sonatinas; some are cycles like "Days of the Week"; the Peer Gynt suites are transcribed; and exactly one youthful piece is a full 20-minute Piano Sonata. These six generously filled CDs - all world premiere recordings - include at least two whole hours of "posthumous manuscripts." The discs have 37, 39, 37, 35, 31, and 36 tracks, which tells you something about how short most of Saeverud's forms are.

It's all utterly delightful. The Birdcall Variations on disc one are particularly interesting, and the first CD ends with a knockout of a catchy minor-key Nordic folk tune, the Ballad of Revolt. On disc two, the leaping dancing intervals of the Aeolian Harp Tune are memorable, as are the Albumblads. The Sonatinas are more abstract and sometimes dry, but sometimes rather sweet. Basically, imagine if the rebellious (less tuneful) Prokofiev wrote Beethoven's Sonatas Op. 49, and you will be in the same postal code as the actual music.

The third and fourth discs are guaranteed winners since they have Peer Gynt suite transcriptions. The third also has some music for children ("Journey to Fairytale Land"), a waltz "carissimo" that sounds like a French pop tune, and a gripping five-minute "Scène macabre" that alternates bold stabbing and soft mournful melody. The fourth contains Saeverud's quirky Schumann-like Op. 1 cycle of Capricci, a 40-second sketch all in the highest keys that sounds like a haunting music box melody, and an unusually harmonically adventurous collection of folksong transcriptions. The sixth and final volume has some real eccentricities even by Saeverud's standards, including a limping, haunting waltz appropriately called Lolita, a song without words called "Words Without Song," and a jazzy, childish, downright funny piece with the nearly-as-funny title "Con moto energico ma molto grazioso." Good luck achieving that, pianists!

Sadly, Vol. 5 is not on Qobuz, so I wasn't able to stream it yet. Anybody who likes the Grieg Lyric Pieces or Tveitt Folk Tunes probably needs...uh...all of this series. There may not be many "masterpieces," but there are also very few dull tracks and lots of really charming stuff. Steen-Nokleberg is as perfectly suited here as he is in Grieg.

[foxandpeng]

Symphony No. 5 was initially titled "Quasi una fantasia" at its 1940-41 genesis, but after World War II, Saeverud revealed that its real name is the Resistance Symphony. It is essentially one giant 25-minute accelerando/crescendo, from a tentative beginning through a series of variations that eventually develop, metastasize, enlarge the orchestra, and become more and more defiant. It may not be easy to love - it doesn't have any moment of tenderness, for example - but it is extraordinarily powerful and could only be written by one man. This is definitely one I'll return to a lot, and it's one that should be near the beginning of anyone's journey with this composer (along with No. 6, No. 7, and Peer Gynt - of the things I've heard so far).

Oboe concertos should not be too long or grandly scored, and this 18-minute example follows that advice. It starts with a folksy clarinet solo and the oboe enters after just 20 seconds. The most substantial movement is the finale, which has some jazzy rhythms (including timpani) and some nice exchanges between solo oboe, clarinet, trumpet, and others. A nice light diversion of a concerto, not as memorable as the Martinu oboe concerto maybe but something you could put on the shelf next to Vaughan Williams' contribution.

The CD ends with two short works: a five-minute Entrata Regale - yes, written for the King of Norway - and a ten-minute Sonata Giubilata, written to celebrate "the joy of composing" and in sonata form, the form Saeverud felt best expressed that joy. The Entrata is not a splashy Walton-like imperial march but rather a taut, exciting concert opener that ends on a glittering upwards chase through a tumult of percussion towards glowing E major. Sonata Giubilata starts unexpectedly with a calm clarinet solo, before the woodwinds and trumpets together begin unfurling the main theme. The secondary tune sounds unexpectedly American, like something from Copland, and there is again a folksy-jazziness to it. Rhythmically, the last few minutes of the piece are rather stubborn, as if Saeverud is trying to kick the orchestra into an even higher gear but cannot do so. But it's still entertaining.

This may be the most consistent or at least the most outgoing CD so far in the series. A really intense potent symphony, and three pieces that are on the lighter side but very colorfully written. When I say "consistent," I mean that the moods are similar, vs. the volumes where you have playful and modernist Saeverud side-by-side.



Primarily earlier works on this album: Symphony No. 2 was one of his first breakthroughs, which he nevertheless heavily revised and published again as a nearly-new work. Symphony No. 4 was the first written in what he and scholars now consider to be his mature style, and it's also the first to be cast in a single movement. No. 2 has an interesting structure, too: a two-minute (!) first movement, a slow movement, and then a "sonata grande" finale, which Saeverud rather jokingly wrote to a friend that he hoped he would live long enough to complete. (He lived another 70 years.)

Symphony No. 2's "entrada" movement is not a fanfare but a gruff welcome from the violas, contrasted with woodwind solos. It feels like an ill omen of trouble to come, but the music slides directly into the slow movement, an intriguing blend of Euro melancholy and American blues (check out that clarinet tune!). The "sonata grande" finale is as dramatic and epic as its name suggests, though for the first time in this whole series I also sense the Stavanger Symphony string section tiring a little bit. The big, brassy, tragic ending with pounding chords is quite exciting. A curious piece, and a clear precursor to the more mature, concise Symphony No. 6.

No. 4 begins in a calm, almost pastoral manner, with the string section only declaiming a mild-mannered melody that, with its falling intervals, recalls Nielsen. As often happens in Saeverud, the arrival of woodwinds is timed with an increase in tempo; throughout this symphony, he develops those initial themes organically, apparently via a process where he went on walks in nature and let the music unfold in his head. The size of the orchestra is only made clear gradually (brass, including tuba, starts entering around 6').

Though the piece gets more complex (rhythmically, too) as it goes, this symphony is a miss for me. Its slow-fast-slow arc feels like something other composers had already done better and more memorably, and other composers would do better in the future, too. There are some really striking episodes, particularly at the brassy climaxes with a bass drum that BIS captures extremely well. But there's also a lot of not particularly enjoyable polyphony and busy work that sacrifices orchestral sound for rigor. Basically, it builds from calm Nielsen to chilly Hindemith without tunes. And then there's a surprise (quiet) happy ending with a rather unconvincing sparkle.

In between those two symphonies we have three orchestral miniatures: a Romanza with violin soloist, a Barcarolle, and a five-minute set of 50 Variations (!!) on a three-bar theme (!!). The Romanza is what you might call "romantic by Saeverud's standards," with lots of wind solos around the violinist and a memorable, mixed-emotion main theme that is rather catchy. There's also a light-hearted faster central section. The Barcarolle is a minute longer but substantively even slighter and with a chamber-sized orchestra. The 50 Variations are an absolute whirlwind; if you are unprepared, it may be several variations before you even realize they have started. The spiky, oddly-shaped theme is perfectly suited for this exercise, too, and the orchestra's colors are well-exploited. This is a real novelty but it is also a well-crafted delight.



(etc....the covers all look similar)

All but one of Saeverud's piano pieces take the form of miniatures. Many are collections of folk tunes and folk dances; some are 3-5 minute sonatinas; some are cycles like "Days of the Week"; the Peer Gynt suites are transcribed; and exactly one youthful piece is a full 20-minute Piano Sonata. These six generously filled CDs - all world premiere recordings - include at least two whole hours of "posthumous manuscripts." The discs have 37, 39, 37, 35, 31, and 36 tracks, which tells you something about how short most of Saeverud's forms are.

It's all utterly delightful. The Birdcall Variations on disc one are particularly interesting, and the first CD ends with a knockout of a catchy minor-key Nordic folk tune, the Ballad of Revolt. On disc two, the leaping dancing intervals of the Aeolian Harp Tune are memorable, as are the Albumblads. The Sonatinas are more abstract and sometimes dry, but sometimes rather sweet. Basically, imagine if the rebellious (less tuneful) Prokofiev wrote Beethoven's Sonatas Op. 49, and you will be in the same postal code as the actual music.

The third and fourth discs are guaranteed winners since they have Peer Gynt suite transcriptions. The third also has some music for children ("Journey to Fairytale Land"), a waltz "carissimo" that sounds like a French pop tune, and a gripping five-minute "Scène macabre" that alternates bold stabbing and soft mournful melody. The fourth contains Saeverud's quirky Schumann-like Op. 1 cycle of Capricci, a 40-second sketch all in the highest keys that sounds like a haunting music box melody, and an unusually harmonically adventurous collection of folksong transcriptions. The sixth and final volume has some real eccentricities even by Saeverud's standards, including a limping, haunting waltz appropriately called Lolita, a song without words called "Words Without Song," and a jazzy, childish, downright funny piece with the nearly-as-funny title "Con moto energico ma molto grazioso." Good luck achieving that, pianists!

Sadly, Vol. 5 is not on Qobuz, so I wasn't able to stream it yet. Anybody who likes the Grieg Lyric Pieces or Tveitt Folk Tunes probably needs...uh...all of this series. There may not be many "masterpieces," but there are also very few dull tracks and lots of really charming stuff. Steen-Nokleberg is as perfectly suited here as he is in Grieg.

Finding your comments really helpful. Thank you.

[Brian]

Sadly, this is the last volume in the BIS orchestral series. The contents list shows this: it is a real grab-bag of various pieces. The earliest is the Overtura Appassionata, Op. 2b, from his first real concert success. It is definitely a youthful piece in terms of its rather traditionally romantic color palette and style, but it is also creatively orchestrated and has a number of interesting episodes with "Nordic" romantic feel. There's also a really great frightful climax around 11' with lots of that classic Saeverud brass. Basically, draw a line from late Alfven or young nationalist Sibelius a little bit further into the future, and you'll arrive here. Very nice.

The Goat Song Variations are as pastoral and carefree as the name implies, with lots of cute rustic detail: a chirping oboe, a single muted trumpet echoing from far away, and gently stamping barn dances. Divertimento No. 1 has a solo flute with small orchestra, or rather, it's a work for string orchestra plus flute, not necessarily in a solo capacity.

The rest of the album is filled with miniatures and orchestrated piano pieces, including the "Rondo amoroso," which I admittedly did not notice while listening to the Naxos piano series, but which apparently is his most famous work in Norway and mandatory for all piano students there. The orchestration frames the piece as a very folksy oboe solo with equally folk-like string writing. The "Siljuslatten," a sequence of dances, uses an especially large rambunctious orchestra (including cowbell), sounding like a Norwegian version of the Dances of Galanta.

Except for the overture, this is Saeverud at his fluffiest and lightest. It provides a wonderful portal between his two personalities, the big, bold orchestral man of great seriousness and the private composer of delightful piano miniatures. Here more than anywhere else you see how both those sides could exist in the same person. It may not be a grand finale to the cycle. It's more like a light dessert after a full meal.

And what a meal it was! I have so much to return to. What an enjoyable, eccentric, distinctive composer.

[foxandpeng]

Sadly, this is the last volume in the BIS orchestral series. The contents list shows this: it is a real grab-bag of various pieces. The earliest is the Overtura Appassionata, Op. 2b, from his first real concert success. It is definitely a youthful piece in terms of its rather traditionally romantic color palette and style, but it is also creatively orchestrated and has a number of interesting episodes with "Nordic" romantic feel. There's also a really great frightful climax around 11' with lots of that classic Saeverud brass. Basically, draw a line from late Alfven or young nationalist Sibelius a little bit further into the future, and you'll arrive here. Very nice.

The Goat Song Variations are as pastoral and carefree as the name implies, with lots of cute rustic detail: a chirping oboe, a single muted trumpet echoing from far away, and gently stamping barn dances. Divertimento No. 1 has a solo flute with small orchestra, or rather, it's a work for string orchestra plus flute, not necessarily in a solo capacity.

The rest of the album is filled with miniatures and orchestrated piano pieces, including the "Rondo amoroso," which I admittedly did not notice while listening to the Naxos piano series, but which apparently is his most famous work in Norway and mandatory for all piano students there. The orchestration frames the piece as a very folksy oboe solo with equally folk-like string writing. The "Siljuslatten," a sequence of dances, uses an especially large rambunctious orchestra (including cowbell), sounding like a Norwegian version of the Dances of Galanta.

Except for the overture, this is Saeverud at his fluffiest and lightest. It provides a wonderful portal between his two personalities, the big, bold orchestral man of great seriousness and the private composer of delightful piano miniatures. Here more than anywhere else you see how both those sides could exist in the same person. It may not be a grand finale to the cycle. It's more like a light dessert after a full meal.

And what a meal it was! I have so much to return to. What an enjoyable, eccentric, distinctive composer.

Thank you, Brian.