“LANDSCAPES OF LEGEND” concert

“LANDSCAPES OF LEGEND” concert
Friday, May 9th, 8:00pm
Ho Guom Opera
Ticketing: 300.000đ (for student only) | 500.000vnd | 800.000vnd | 1.000.000vnd | 2.000.000vnd
Free delivery: 0965 765 946 (Vietnamese speaking) – 0913 489 858 (English speaking)
Seating plan & ticket booking: https://forms.gle/wCBiWXQYpqe5KiRw6

ĐẶNG HỮU PHÚC – Symphonic Pictures from Vietnamese Folk Songs
Đặng Hữu Phúc is one of Vietnam’s most distinguished composers, a key figure in the country’s cultural renaissance and a master at weaving the sounds of Vietnamese traditional music into the Western classical idiom. His work often explores the meeting point of heritage and innovation, of memory and imagination, resulting in music that feels both deeply rooted and unmistakably modern.

Symphonic Pictures is a quintessential example of the composer’s artistic voice. Composed as a suite of orchestral vignettes, this work can be thought of as a musical “gallery,” where each movement serves as a self-contained tableau. Some movements evoke sweeping natural landscapes, others pay homage to Vietnamese folk life, religious rituals, or poetic states of emotion. The composer does not provide a literal program, instead inviting listeners to interpret the work through their own inner imagery and feelings.

What makes Symphonic Pictures particularly compelling is its sonic vocabulary. Đặng Hữu Phúc draws inspiration from the modal scales and melodic contours of Vietnamese folk songs, often employing pentatonicism and ornamentation that mimic traditional instruments like the đàn tranh (zither) or sáo (bamboo flute). He complements these with a sophisticated use of Western orchestration—lush strings, shimmering winds, and percussive colors—that evoke vivid atmospheres and dramatic contrasts.

The rhythmic language of the work is equally engaging, drawing on traditional Vietnamese dance forms and ceremonial pulses. At times, the music feels grounded in ritual, almost meditative; at others, it bursts with kinetic energy and folkloric celebration. Đặng Hữu Phúc’s use of silence and space is particularly striking—he allows certain gestures to resonate, creating a sense of breath and time that feels uniquely Southeast Asian.

Beyond its surface beauty, Symphonic Pictures can be understood as a statement of cultural pride and artistic sovereignty. It speaks to the resilience of Vietnamese identity and creativity, especially in the face of historical upheavals. In bringing this music to the symphonic stage, Đặng Hữu Phúc not only affirms the relevance of Vietnamese musical tradition in the modern world, but also contributes to a global dialogue in classical music—a dialogue increasingly enriched by diverse voices and perspectives. This concert features movements 2 (Spring), 3 (Rain) and 4 (Dance) from Part A and movement 2 (Butterfly & Sweet Flower) from Part B.

MAX BRUCH – Scottish Fantasy, Op. 46
Simone Porter, violin
A romantic evocation of landscape, history, and legend, Max Bruch’s Scottish Fantasy stands as one of the most poetic works in the violin repertoire. Composed in 1880, the piece bridges the worlds of Romantic concert music and folk tradition, blending virtuosity with heartfelt expression. Though often compared to a concerto, the Scottish Fantasy is structurally freer, reflecting the episodic nature of the folk tunes it draws upon. It offers not just a showcase for the soloist, but a rich tapestry of national color and emotional nuance.

Bruch was captivated by the melodic and harmonic character of Scottish folk music, which he discovered through the collections of 19th-century scholars such as George Farquhar Graham. Though he never set foot in Scotland, Bruch—like many Romantics—was enchanted by the idea of the Celtic world, with its rugged landscapes, heroic myths, and melancholic songs. The Scottish Fantasy is less an ethnographic study and more a creative reimagining, filtered through the lens of German Romanticism.

The work opens with a solemn introduction in E-flat minor, featuring a dignified orchestral prelude that leads into the violin’s first appearance—a free, recitative-like invocation that hints at the ancient and mystical. The first movement then introduces the folk tune “Through the Wood Laddie,” rendered with tenderness and grace. Bruch invites the soloist to explore its lyrical possibilities, with delicate phrasing and subtle ornamentation.

The second movement, a scherzo marked Allegro, shifts into brighter, more agile territory. It features dazzling violin passagework and syncopated rhythms that evoke the energy of Scottish dances. Here, Bruch’s orchestration becomes more playful and transparent, allowing the violin to dart and spin like a fiddler at a countryside ceilidh.

The third movement, Andante sostenuto, is the emotional heart of the work. It draws upon the folk tune “I’m A’ Doun for Lack o’ Johnnie,” an achingly beautiful lament. Bruch’s treatment of the melody is deeply expressive, giving the violin space to sing, sigh, and soar. This movement is notable not just for its emotional weight but for its quiet nobility—a portrait of longing and love that transcends any single culture.

The final movement, Allegro guerriero, is a vigorous and dramatic conclusion. It is based on “Scots Wha Hae,” a patriotic song attributed to Robert Burns that celebrates Scottish resistance and bravery. Bruch transforms the melody into a kind of heroic anthem, rich with rhythmic drive and harmonic power. The soloist navigates dazzling runs and grand gestures, culminating in a triumphant flourish.

Simone Porter, tonight’s featured soloist, is widely praised for her intensity, intelligence, and poetic sensibility. A true artist of her generation, Porter brings a fresh voice to this beloved repertoire. Her technical brilliance is matched by a rare emotional maturity—qualities that make her an ideal interpreter of Bruch’s Scottish Fantasy. In her hands, this work is more than a violin showcase: it becomes a journey through landscape, myth, and memory. Olivier Ochanine and the Sun Symphony Orchestra are thrilled to welcome her to Vietnam.

JEAN SIBELIUS – Symphony No. 1 in E minor, Op. 39
Jean Sibelius’s First Symphony, completed in 1899, is a cornerstone of early 20th-century symphonic literature and a striking declaration of artistic identity. Although deeply rooted in the Romantic symphonic tradition—especially in the influence of Tchaikovsky—it already bears the unmistakable fingerprints of Sibelius’s mature style: stark lyricism, elemental power, and a profound connection to the natural world.

The symphony’s genesis is closely tied to Finland’s national awakening. At the time, the country was under Russian imperial rule, and Sibelius, though not overtly political, became a cultural symbol of Finnish independence. His music offered a sense of shared identity and emotional expression that resonated deeply with his compatriots. The First Symphony, while not programmatic, reflects this inner fire and yearning for self-definition.

The symphony begins not with a grand tutti, but with a hushed timpani roll and a solo clarinet melody—one of the most haunting openings in the symphonic repertoire. This lyrical gesture feels like a voice calling across a frozen landscape, setting a tone of introspection and solitude. The first movement, Andante ma non troppo – Allegro energico, unfolds with dramatic contrasts: stormy tutti passages, brooding string textures, and soaring themes that seem to reach toward transcendence.

The second movement, Andante (ma non troppo lento), is a slow, melancholic song in which Sibelius explores long melodic lines and rich harmonic coloration. There is a searching quality to this music, as though it were probing the depths of memory or emotion. The orchestration is sensitive and restrained, allowing moments of intimate beauty to emerge from the broader canvas.

The third movement, Scherzo: Allegro, offers a burst of energy. It is rhythmic, angular, and windswept, evoking Nordic forces of nature—whipping winds, shadowed forests, and sudden storms. The trio section provides contrast with more flowing lines and folk-like lyricism, but the overall effect is one of kinetic urgency and visceral power.

The final movement, Finale: Quasi una fantasia, is perhaps the most striking. The subtitle hints at a looser, more rhapsodic structure, and indeed Sibelius defies traditional symphonic expectations here. Themes are developed not through rigid formal techniques but through a kind of organic evolution, as if they were elements in a natural landscape shifting with time. The movement contains echoes of earlier material but transformed, refracted through new emotional states. The ending is not a blazing triumph but a kind of ambiguous resignation—majestic, yet shadowed with doubt.

Sibelius’s First Symphony does more than announce the arrival of a major composer. It reimagines what a symphony can be: not just a display of formal mastery, but a medium for introspection, landscape, myth, and nationhood. For modern audiences, the work remains as gripping and relevant as ever—a testament to the enduring power of personal voice in orchestral music.