The Orthodox faith has been part of my life in one way or another since childhood. At one time I described it as being like the air that I breathe. While I perhaps would not go so far today, the Orthodox faith has certainly been a huge influence in my life – not least in music!
An Orthodox church service is a feast for the senses. Firstly, it is sung from start to finish, the priest chanting and the choir responding. Added to this there are multiple extra-musical elements: the church is adorned with icons and frescos, the smell of incense permeates the service, flames flicker on beeswax candles, people bow down to the ground and cross themselves. No wonder that many artists find inspiration in such devotion wrapped in beauty. Myself included.
I was 17 years old and attending the upper secondary school for music in Kuopio when I wrote my first proper Orthodox work, a Panihida. This is the Orthodox equivalent of the Catholic requiem. It was quite a decent effort for a 17-year-old, with all my idols and role models unabashedly in full view. There is nothing deplorable in this, because it is in the very DNA of composing music that one intuitively writes things that one enjoys. The less mileage a composer has, the more difficult it is to conceal where you are musically coming from, because one’s ‘own voice’, as it is called, is only just emerging.
In any case, the Panihida played a substantial role in my musical evolution. The vocal ensemble founded after its premiere grew into the Krysostomos Chamber Choir, which has now been performing my Orthodox sacred music for more than 20 years. We have also commissioned new Orthodox works from ten Finnish composers, with a new world premiere almost every year.
A recording of Mikko Sidoroff’s Panihida by the Krysostomos Chamber Choir.
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A few words about the theology of Orthodox sacred music might be in order. In a church service, the music is always subservient to the word. The word governs how the melody (or, if harmonised, the music) progresses, and the melody (music) helps the word become tangible. When word is bound to music, the message goes much deeper into the mind.
Basil the Great, one of the Church Fathers, wrote that music in the Church is like a wise doctor adding honey to the cup when administering a bitter medicine. These words are from a long time ago, but they are a guideline to how to write Orthodox sacred music even today.
If we look at the stylistic features of the Orthodox sacred music sung in Finland, we find that it is in four parts, homophonic and tonal, by default slow (heavy) and mostly legato. There is a complete absence of the means of modern music; indeed, I have noted that whispers, glissandos, atonality and speech choir are considered elements that hinder rather than help the conveying of the message of the Church.
This is where my personal musicianship rises up to challenge the conventional view. Who decided this? Why is tonal music the only acceptable vehicle for Orthodox sacred music? And is homophony or monophony really the only way to present the text clearly?
These are questions that I have explored through various experiments with the Krysostomos Chamber Choir. We have commissioned works from composers who are not in the Orthodox Church and have sung these works at church services. A composer who does not carry the burden of our church music tradition (as I do) may find a fresh and new approach. Perhaps this is the path towards renewing and finding new means of expression for Orthodox sacred music.
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Many fine new works have emerged as a result, some more Orthodox-ish than others. Some are of limited use because of their technical challenges, while others are unsuitable for a liturgical context because of their choice of text. We might describe these as music written in an Orthodox spirit rather than actual Orthodox sacred music – not that this detracts from the artistic value of any of them.
Nevertheless, it must be said that a certain familiarity with the tradition may be useful for a composer who would like to see their music enter the canon of Orthodox sacred music. Composers should be aware that the Orthodox order of service is very precisely regimented and controlled. I regard this as a positive thing, because when the text source is delimited, it is easier to find a suitable text to set. After all, composing music is also to a great extent a process of exclusion.
Another important thing to note is the function of the music during the service. A good example is the Cherubic Hymn in the liturgy. There is very little text in this hymn, but the piece must last a long time, because all sorts of actions are performed during it, and it must be possible to complete them while the piece is being sung.
The third important thing to be aware of is the nature of various services: in Lent, the order of service is changed and the overall tone is something usually described as ‘bright sadness’. This is one of the most important periods of the ecclesiastical year, and the music must reflect its mood. Easter, by contrast, is a holiday of joy, and the mood of the music must match this.
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Orthodox sacred music is fascinating, and working in this field has enriched my life hugely. My recent projects include Vigilia (2023), a setting of the all-night vigil in Swedish, which is to be recorded in May this year. My next project is a liturgy in English, whose shape is to be determined by the end of this year. Later this year, we will be premiering a new work by Jennah Vainio, For the departed. It is a wonderful and touching work that brings new, fresh ideas to the table within the Finnish Orthodox sacred music tradition.
Most of the members of the Krysostomos Chamber Choir are not members of the Orthodox Church, but they are all excited every time we get the score of a new piece that no one has performed before. Singing in a choir is a community thing, and I would argue that working in such a marginal genre makes the community bond even tighter than usual. We all feel that we are dealing with something unique. This has certainly been my experience in the 20 years that I have had the pleasure of conducting this choir.
The work that I began at the age of 17 is still a work in progress, though I would venture to claim that in the meantime I have managed to discover something of my own voice as well.
Featured photo: Sylvain Guillot
Translation: Jaakko Mäntyjärvi
