Violin Concerto: A Requiem

April 18, 2026

From [Suvisoitto for flute and tape by Usko] Meriläinen, the program moved directly to Markku Klami’s new violin concerto Requiem. The listener may or may not keep in mind the theme of involuntary childlessness that underlies the work, but as pure music the concerto made a deep impression. It does not strive for outward display; instead, it speaks powerfully through its inner voices.

In this concerto, Klami has created an exceptionally refined sound world, in which the rich orchestral writing and the solo violin communicate with sensitivity and natural ease. Stylistically, the musical language even approaches neo-Romanticism or neo-Classicism, yet feels fresh and avoids cliché. The interplay of light and shadow resonated movingly and beautifully, both in the orchestra and in the nuanced performance of violinist Maria Puusaari.

April 19, 2026

Klami’s Violin Concerto Requiem was heard in the concert as a world premiere. This finely nuanced work, at times almost otherworldly in its beauty, received an airtight and highly charged interpretation from violinist Maria Puusaari and the Tampere Philharmonic Orchestra under the direction of Ruut Kiiski.

April 22, 2026

Markku Klami’s Violin Concerto: A Requiem tells a personal story from a seven-year journey through childlessness. He hopes the work will offer comfort to others who have experienced involuntary childlessness. Violinist Maria Puusaari interprets the piece with great artistry together with the Tampere Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Ruut Kiiski.

The work is divided into three movements: De profundis (From the Depths), Alcheringa (Dreamtime), and Ad lucem (Toward the Light). Klami did not wish to give explicit listening instructions; instead, he encouraged listeners to focus on the emotions evoked by the music. He specified that the piece does not follow a particular theoretical framework, but is shaped by the emotions he experienced during his journey—from frustration to acceptance.

At the beginning, one hears the rumble of thunder. The music surges with anger, frustration, and anxiety—perhaps even disbelief. There is a sense of escape, of running away from something. A rapid violin figure conveying dark emotional tones recurs throughout the work, especially in the first movement. The acoustics of the large hall carry all the nuances of the music clearly to the listener.

The transition between the first and second movements is clearly perceptible. The music calms. Low, tranquil textures convey a deeply moving sorrow that resonates with the listener. A little later, a bubbling sense of hope emerges—like a spring stream and birdsong. At times, the music brings in mind film scores. One can hear hope flickering on and off. Toward the end, there is a gentle rocking motion, the mood perhaps cautiously serene.

The third movement begins grandly. Once again, we find ourselves amid storm and surging emotions.

At times, the work is open to interpretation. Does the now-calmer music express serenity or the fatigue of struggle? Those who have experienced childlessness may identify with the ebb and flow of emotions. The music rises, and a faster, more joyful tempo begins. If at the start one was running away from something, this feels like a springtime dash toward something. At the end, the same melancholy heard at the beginning returns, and the piece concludes with a deep sigh—acceptance?

Markku Klami describes his feelings after the concert: “Expectations were high, and the violin soloist, the conductor, and the orchestra all gave a magnificent and deeply moving premiere. It will take time to process all of this, as many years of a journey were crystallized into that evening. I feel happy and grateful.”

April 23, 2026

Markku Klami's Violin Concerto: A Requiem has received more public attention than usual (including a lengthy interview with the composer on the Kulttuuritoimitus website) because of its subject: a composer who has struggled with long-term childlessness—so the program notes tell us—channeling his feelings into the concerto as a “personal therapeutic work.” The notion of a “therapeutic work” is itself a label that invites reflection; Gustav Mahler, at least, readily comes to mind as a candidate for composing such pieces.

Markku Klami thus clearly defined both the starting points and the style of the concerto: when one wishes to convey comfort and hope, “certain stylistic devices of contemporary music are not particularly suited to that purpose”—what matters is a striving for “unashamed beauty.” (Possibly for this reason, the orchestration is economical: there are only three double basses, and even they remain silent for extended passages.) The concerto indeed unfolds in line with these premises as a listening experience in which the dramatic arc and contrasts are clearly mirrored on the emotional level, the texture remains easy to follow, and at times richly adorned with finely crafted, miniature-like details.

Overall, the work breathes a delicate fragility, an alternation between hope and despair, while the solo part offers the violinist much to play; Maria Puusaari, a tireless interpreter of contemporary music, performed excellently. The rich continuum of Romantic tradition has thus gained another Finnish violin concerto—one that admirers of the style can certainly appreciate even without any knowledge of its background; in this sense, the work succeeds in touching on something broadly human.