Date of composition: 2002
Premiere: 23 January 2003 in Cleveland, USA, by the Cleveland Orchestra under the direction of Franz Welser-Möst
Duration: 25 minutes
Performances by the Berliner Philharmoniker:
for the first time on 12 September 2004, conductor: Sir Simon Rattle
Anyone looking south into the sky on long winter nights can spot the striking constellation of Orion with the naked eye. It was already mentioned in the Bible as the Pleiades, but its name comes from Greek mythology. There, the demigod Orion, son of the sea god Poseidon, is a hunter of gigantic stature and dazzling beauty. Yet despite his divine lineage, he remains mortal, and various myths recount the story of his death.
According to the Odyssey, he was struck down by an arrow from the huntress-goddess Artemis, while the treatise De astronomia by the scholar Hyginus claims that he perished from the sting of a scorpion. The supreme god Zeus, or in other versions Artemis, personally ensured that Orion would live on in the heavens, securing him a celestial place among the gods.
The constellation and the figure of Orion inspired the Finnish composer Kaija Saariaho in 2002 to create her eponymous three-part orchestral work. She entitled the first movement Memento mori (“remember that you will die”). This can be read as a warning to Orion, or to all of us. The music gives the impression of accompanying the ancient hunter on his journey through space. Saariaho conjures mysterious, ethereal sounds, immaterial in their combination of glockenspiel and harp, roughened by tremolo strings, while regular eighth notes in the winds establish a steady pulse. After a little more than three minutes, however, the entire orchestra erupts in a wild outburst, played furioso and con violenza, dominating the movement until its end.
Barely audible, at quadruple piano, the second movement, Winter Sky, begins with a fragile piccolo solo in the highest register – a meditative contemplation of the Orion constellation. Here, everything flickers, flutters and vibrates: individual instruments – violin, clarinet, oboe, and muted trumpet – pass melodic fragments from one to another, while the rest of the orchestra creates ethereal textures of great aesthetic allure, evoking a celestial atmosphere. Even as the sonic density increases at times, the mood remains contemplative, with an impressionistic aura. Towards the end, the music acquires a surreal, otherworldly quality, as shimmering string sonorities merge with glockenspiel, vibraphone, and crotales – small tuned cymbals.
The final movement, Hunter, recalls Orion’s earthly life as a hunter. Here, rapid notes are played at a breathtaking tempo: Saariaho’s instruction is sempre giocoso – “always playful” – and even giubiloso – “exultant” – at one point. Twice, however, she interrupts the surging momentum, pausing as if in reflection – a reminder of the transience of earthly existence? In the end, the orchestra ascends to the highest registers, and the sound thins out. Orion has returned to the firmament, where we can still gaze upon him today. Distant, yet touchingly near.