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Susanna Mälkki on Sound and Silence

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Susanna Mälkki conducting the Los Angeles Philharmonic

Sound unleashes a tangible power in our physical world, where it can create gentle ripples across the surface of a pond or violently shatter panes of glass. But it’s the intangible properties of sound when shaped into music—both the tones and the silences from which they emerge—that have long fascinated humankind. For within music’s metaphysical merging of sound and spirit, we encounter untold opportunities to confront and process our most existential questions of life, death, and impermanence.

Such questions are laced throughout the program Schubert, Strauss & Saariaho led by the Finnish conductor Susanna Mälkki. Although we won’t hear a requiem mass, funeral march, or elegy, the three works featured on this program—penned by Franz Schubert, Kaija Saariaho, and Richard Strauss over a span of 200 years—beckon us to reflect on our mortality and what lies beyond life itself.  

I recently discussed the program with Mälkki over email, where she shared how she likens experiencing these works to “being seated in front of a mystery,” the relationship between sound and silence, and the connection she feels to her longtime friend and compatriot Saariaho when conducting the late composer’s music. 

Michael Cirigliano II: In previous performances of Saariaho’s last completed work, the trumpet concerto HUSH, you’ve presented it alongside some of the final music the Austrian composer Gustav Mahler wrote—the orchestral song collection Das Lied von der Erde (The Song of the Earth) and the Ninth Symphony, both of which are laced with messages of mortality and farewell. But in this program with the LA Phil, you’ve bookended HUSH with pieces written by composers much earlier in their careers. Strauss was just 25 when he composed Death and Transfiguration, and Schubert was the same age when he completed the first two movements of his Eighth Symphony. 

What prompted you to unite these three works this week? And what do you feel they collectively express to listeners about matters of life and death? 

Susanna Mälkki: We tend to think of certain musical works as symbols—sometimes because of the context in which they were written (like a final symphony), sometimes because of the content of the work itself. The two Mahler works were written by a composer of great maturity, but the fact that they became his final works wasn’t intended. HUSH, however, was a piece written by a mature composer who also knew that her time was up. It was written to be the very last, so in that sense, it is absolutely unique in the whole repertoire. 

But an event like death is more than just a medical fact. It’s a mystery we need to process, and music gives some of the most beautiful and nourishing opportunities for this nonverbal reflection, since we enter another time and place when we allow ourselves to be drawn into a musical universe. 

I don’t think there is any key for explaining what these works of Schubert, Saariaho, and Strauss mean, since interpretation is an intimately personal matter for both performers and listeners. What’s more important is the look within that they offer. But it’s not a coincidence that each of these works—which are full of very dramatic intensity—ends with soft sounds, notes that seem to fade into eternity, leaving us with the immensity of silence. 

Mälkki conducting Schubert's Symphony No. 8 "Unfinished"

MC: You’re right that silence plays an important role in this music—from the chasms of silence that echo between furious chords in the Schubert to the intermittent emptiness heard in the irregular heartbeat rhythm at the opening of the Strauss, and the closing moments of the Saariaho, when the chanting of “Bless and ink the silence(s)” gives way to an empty final bar.  

What do you make of the presence of silence throughout these works? Does it serve as a spiritual partner to the musical sounds, an important point of contrast, or something else altogether? 

SM: Well, silence … Silence is the beginning and the end. It is the ultimate contrast, the moment of holding breath, the suspension, the sound-free but resonant space where there is always vibration and energy. Silence can tune us into a different frequency, or it can purify or neutralize a preceding one, depending on its duration. Our ears are more receptive to sound when there are moments of silence in between, and there are sounds that keep ringing in our ears after they no longer sound.  

Although this doesn’t need to be a spiritual matter, it often can be. Depending on our state of mind, we may try to find the silence or escape it. In a musical context, we’re guided through a sonic landscape with varying intensities and sometimes surprises, where silence proves itself an extremely powerful element—especially when many people experience it at the same time. 

Although this doesn’t need to be a spiritual matter, it often can be. Depending on our state of mind, we may try to find the silence or escape it."

MC: Two of these composers confronted mortality in their music at very different points in their lives: Strauss explored existential ideas of death and the afterlife as a healthy 20-something, while Saariaho penned her trumpet concerto—which she referred to as her “journey to silence”—as she battled an aggressive cancer in her late 60s.  

Schubert, however, lived for another six years after abandoning his Eighth Symphony with just two movements complete. The symphony is abstract music that doesn’t connect specifically to ideas of life and death, but it’s hard not to hear this incomplete work without considering the composer’s short life—and all the music he never had the chance to create. 

SM: I hear both Strauss and Schubert presenting the topic of mortality in concrete ways, similar to the two Mahler works we previously discussed. It is indeed striking how profound Death and Transfiguration is, despite how young Strauss was when he wrote it.  And in Schubert’s case, yes, we are left with a lot of questions: How would he have finished the piece if given the time? How would he have evolved as a composer, had he had the chance to live to an older age? 

In comparison, Saariaho really needed to finish HUSH because she knew she’d soon leave this world, which makes it even more extraordinary. She knew there wasn’t much time, so although she was physically frail in those final years, all the music was really clear in her mind—and it had to come out before it was too late. 

Reflecting on all the questions these works bring to mind is like being seated in front of a mystery, but it also allows us the chance to be soothed by the music. This is a gift the composers left for us: A time and place for experiencing and possibly accepting the fact that we will never really know the answers. 

Composer Kaija Saariaho working in her studio, rue d'Asmterdam, Paris, 2019. (Photo credit: Maarit Kytoharju)
"I think of Kaija every day, and it comforts me that I can still be with her through her music. In one of our last meetings, she showed me the first three movements of 'HUSH'... she also spoke very candidly about how this piece would be her final farewell.
Susanna Mälkki conducting the Los Angeles Philharmonic in February of 2024 at Walt Disney Concert Hall.

MC: You were very close to Saariaho and few know her music better than you. Are there any reflections or moments from your friendship that bring you comfort when preparing and performing HUSH

SM: I think of Kaija every day, and it comforts me that I can still be with her through her music. In one of our last meetings, she showed me the first three movements of HUSH. She shared with me how she was inspired by [soloist Verneri Pohjola’s] sound and his approach to music-making—and she also spoke very candidly about how this piece would be her final farewell.  

Those were very difficult times. We didn’t want to imagine or accept that she wouldn’t be among us anymore when the premiere happened. But now, each time I conduct the concerto, I think of the fact that she very often referred to her music as an element of light—and it really is. This silence is luminous, there is stillness and peace.