I
At the National Philharmonic Hall in Warsaw, Joshua Bell, a violinist, and Dalia Stasevska, a conductor, are working diligently to perfect the opening section of a concerto. The piece starts with a sequence of prominent notes from the woodwind section, followed by a bold and expressive melody on the violin that gradually transitions into a soft and tender phrase that takes one’s breath away. As they are making a recording of the performance, the musicians repeat the passage multiple times and make small adjustments to ensure it is flawless.
It is hard to imagine that the youthful Ukrainian orchestra, who demonstrate such dedicated enthusiasm in their performances, endured a nine-hour wait at the Polish border the day before. They have also been facing the harsh realities of a raging war for the past two years and are dealing with the tragic absence of one of their horn players, Maryan Hadzetskyy, who is currently missing in action.
The stakes are significant for all performers involved. The concerto for violin was composed by Thomas de Hartmann, a Ukrainian-born composer who has been largely forgotten. The International Symphony Orchestra Lviv (INSO-Lviv) will be recording the concerto for the first time since its debut in 1943. They will also be playing it in a concert featuring Ukrainian and Polish music in Warsaw. The timing of this revival during wartime is ironic, as De Hartmann’s composition, which incorporates klezmer elements, was heavily influenced by his anguish over the Nazi occupation of Ukraine and the treatment of its Jewish residents.
Bell has a strong passion for this new piece that he has added to his repertoire. He considers it to be one of the most significant works of the 20th century. He has a deep desire to play it with Stasevska and the New York Philharmonic, and he is considering pairing it with the Barber concerto, which debuted a few years prior.
Bell admires the balance of the piece, particularly the intense and devilish final section following a unique, short movement that evokes a violinist wandering through the destroyed Ukrainian steppes, playing somber and haunting melodies, as described by Olga De Hartmann, wife of the composer. He notes that the music has a strong visual quality and a tendency to transition abruptly between different musical moments, making it reminiscent of a film.
During his eventful life, De Hartmann went from north-eastern Ukraine to studying with Rimsky-Korsakov in pre-revolutionary St. Petersburg. He then traveled to Munich where he became friends with Kandinsky. He had a life-changing encounter with mystic and spiritual leader George Gurdjieff during the war and later lived in Tbilisi during the 1920s. De Hartmann also spent time in Paris during World War II before eventually settling in the US, where he passed away in 1956. In addition to his other accomplishments, De Hartmann also composed film scores.
Bell praises the work for its instant accessibility. He notes that while it contains lovely melodies, it also showcases intricate and unique harmonies, keeping the listener on their toes with unexpected twists. The element of surprise is a hallmark of exceptional music, and this piece embodies that quality.
The orchestra, and Stasevska from Finland and Ukraine, are driven by more than just uncovering a forgotten masterpiece. The upcoming performance in Warsaw also serves as a tribute to the Ukrainian classical music tradition, which has been overshadowed for too long. With the current invasion by Russia, it is finally gaining recognition.
In 2022, I first encountered Stasevska while she was leading INSO-Lviv in their hometown in western Ukraine. It was a special occasion as it was uncommon for a conductor from another country to collaborate with Ukrainian musicians. Despite the tense atmosphere following a recent counter-attack in September, there was a sense of hopefulness. The lobby of the Philharmonic Hall in Lviv was filled with boxes of medical supplies and necessities for those on the frontlines. Stasevska and her two younger brothers had been raising funds and she personally drove a truck of humanitarian aid from Finland.
The musical performance that evening consisted of pieces by mostly contemporary Ukrainian composers such as Yevhen Stankovych, Valentin Silvestrov, and Bohdana Frolyak. The audience was ecstatic in response to the orchestra’s first time playing many of these compositions. First violinist Olena Kravets recalls, “We used to perform Ukrainian music before the war, but it was a more typical repertoire. Now, our list of works is growing longer.”
Stasevska was born in Kyiv but moved to Estonia at a young age. When she was five, her family had to escape the Soviet Union and ended up in Finland with minimal belongings. Despite this, her father and grandmother were able to preserve their Ukrainian heritage by immersing her in cultural activities such as reading Gogol stories, singing folk songs, and speaking Ukrainian at home. She particularly appreciates the De Hartmann concerto for its familiar folk-like melodies.
She first learned to play the violin and then the viola while attending Finland’s Sibelius Academy. However, it wasn’t until she saw a woman conducting for the first time that she realized her love for reading scores and belief in the symphony orchestra’s greatness could lead to a career as a conductor. The moment she picked up a baton and joined a masterclass with renowned Finnish conducting professor Jorma Panula was the most exhilarating experience of her life.
Currently 39 years old, she is successfully balancing her career while caring for her three-month old infant, whom she nurses during our conversation. In the United Kingdom, she is recognized as the charming principal guest conductor for the BBC Symphony Orchestra, and she also conducted the opening night of the Proms last year. Additionally, she was labeled a “breakout star” by the 2023 New York Times in the United States. In her home country of Finland, she holds the position of chief conductor for the Lahti Symphony Orchestra.
While organizing the concert for October 2022, she considered, from her Finnish perspective, the significance of Sibelius as a representation of her adopted nation’s identity. She reflected on the impact of pieces like his overture Finlandia during challenging periods, when words fail to convey emotions. She believes that through music, everyone can connect with and understand these sentiments.
“Move on from the newsletter promotion”
after newsletter promotion
In a situation where Vladimir Putin has clearly stated that the invasion of Ukraine is centered around culture and identity, Stasevska felt a pressing obligation to shed light on a partially obscured history of Ukrainian music that is waiting to be uncovered – despite the significant harm inflicted upon it by the Russkiy mir (the cultural and political influence of Russia) over many years. This includes Ukrainian composers who were imprisoned in the gulag, those whose compositions were never released, and those whose music was destroyed or lost.
She shares with me about Vasyl Barvinsky, who was imprisoned in the gulag for ten years starting in 1948. His musical compositions were destroyed in the fire at the Lviv Philharmonic Hall. After being released, he spent the last five years of his life attempting to recreate his lost music. He believed that as long as Ukrainian music continued to be played, it could not be completely destroyed.
Currently, classical music from Russia is not being played in Ukraine. According to Kravets, a violinist in the orchestra, the last concert performed by INSO-Lviv before the invasion featured Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade and a Tchaikovsky symphony. However, she does not feel the absence of these composers as there is a wealth of Ukrainian music that deserves recognition.
Ukrainian artists discuss the negative effects of not only the direct oppression of composers during the Soviet era, but also the belief that exceptional art could only come from the imperial centers of Moscow and St. Petersburg. Ukraine, seen as a “peripheral” region, was often dismissed as having only a simplistic, folk-based culture that was inferior. Additionally, many of Ukraine’s most renowned artists, such as Kazimir Malevich and Ilya Repin, were often assimilated into the center and labeled as “Russian”.
One could pose the question of whether De Hartmann, who was born in Ukraine, trained in St Petersburg, and lived an internationally nomadic life due to circumstances, was truly more or less Ukrainian than other composers like Prokofiev, who is commonly viewed as Russian despite being born in the Ukrainian village of Sontsovka in the Donetsk region. This could also be applied to Stravinsky, who had Cossack ancestry.
Kravets acknowledges that the inquiry is complex. She proposes that perhaps a better approach to introducing De Hartmann would be to highlight his Ukrainian heritage prior to Russian influence, as was the case for other composers. Bell expresses caution, as he does not want De Hartmann to be reduced to only being recognized as a “Ukrainian” composer. He does not want him to be overlooked in that manner.
The concept of identity is complex and can never be reduced to just one aspect. I am reminded of Sergei Parajanov, the notable Soviet filmmaker known for works like “The Colour of Pomegranates,” who once said: “I am an Armenian, born in Tbilisi, imprisoned in a Russian jail for my Ukrainian nationalist beliefs.” These are the challenges that Ukraine faces in the midst of a frightening existential threat. The intense focus on what it truly means to be Ukrainian – seen through discussions on language, history, literature, art, and music – is an unexpected consequence of Putin’s attempts to claim and absorb the country. The future consequences of this will unfold in the coming months and years.
In the meantime, the power of works such as De Hartmann’s violin concerto is irresistible. As the war casts its grim shadow ever more deeply, Stasevska says: “There’s such a contrast between light and dark in Ukraine. Music is to me the light. It makes me believe in good – and in humanity.”
Source: theguardian.com
