Look at the biographies of Magnus Lindberg and Esa-Pekka Salonen, and you’ll notice that the similarities stack up pretty quickly.
These two Finnish artists — both composers, both performers and, in Salonen’s case, one of the world’s great conductors — are the same age, 64, attended the same music school and, on Thursday, will jointly present the premiere of Lindberg’s Piano Concerto No. 3 with the San Francisco Symphony.
Well, they’re not exactly the same age. “Magnus is four days older than me,” Salonen said in a joint video interview with Lindberg, “which I’ve never let him forget.”
Lindberg laughed. They are friends, of course, and this week’s premiere is the latest chapter in a lifelong relationship defined by mutual support and even the occasional collaboration, as when Salonen recorded Lindberg’s first piano concerto, a 1994 work loosely inspired by Ravel but in a thoroughly modernist vein.
The second piano concerto, which the New York Philharmonic debuted in 2012, is a product of Lindberg’s residency there, and was conducted by Alan Gilbert. It is a grand, deceptively conventional piece, running nearly half an hour over three movements. During a reunion with Gilbert three years ago in Hamburg, Germany, Lindberg saw Yuja Wang perform Shostakovich’s two piano concertos with the NDR Elbphilharmonie.
“I found that interesting, and we had dinner, and we started to discuss this and that,” Lindberg said, recalling his first meeting with Wang. “I said I would like to do another piano concerto one day, and it became a project.”
In the interview, Lindberg and Salonen discussed their history and that project — in which Wang will be the soloist, and which will travel to the New York Philharmonic in January under the baton of their fellow Finn Santtu-Matias Rouvali. Here are edited excerpts from the conversation.
How did you meet?
ESA-PEKKA SALONEN We met at 15 in a music theory group in the precollege department of the Sibelius Academy.
MAGNUS LINDBERG We were thrown out of music theory after two weeks because we were trying to know everything better than everyone else. And that teacher put us in the hands of another teacher, who became our theory teacher for eight years. We spent basically all Saturday mornings together during those years.
SALONEN We had this iron principle that no matter what happened Friday evening — whether a party or whatever — we were always there Saturday morning.
LINDBERG It was typically the three of us playing on two pianos, six hands. We would go through Scriabin’s First Symphony, and then we would analyze it and check the harmonies and play it. Also, we ended up having Esa-Pekka conduct if we played four hands. For me, at least, it was sort of a lifesaver because music theory was always around music with this teacher. It was always making noise, never theoretical.
SALONEN During those years, we went through not only the Western music canon but all kinds of things that did not belong to the canon. We developed a party trick that became really unpopular, which is that we played music by Josef Matthias Hauer, the weird Austrian composer who invented a 12-tone system before Schoenberg. We played “Apokalyptische Phantasie” on four hands, and it was not super popular, but we did it anyway because we thought the best thing we can give to friends is to widen their horizons.
And to the public. You were founders of the group Korvat Auki.
SALONEN We had a group of composing students and also instrumental students who were interested in contemporary music, who felt that we needed something new in Finnish music life and to open the windows to the newest things in Europe. So together with other friends and fellow students we started Korvat Auki. That’s how we met Kaija Saariaho, in the first meeting of the society. The first meeting, in fact, took place in Kaija’s then-boyfriend’s apartment. He was a painter, so he brought in his visual arts friends, and there was cross-pollination.
The idea was to bring new music to people. So we did concerts in schools and hospitals and so on — outside gas stations in the middle of nowhere, in snow banks. I organized one concert in my old school, which was totally faultlessly executed except that I had forgotten to announce it. Nobody knew that this concert had happened. I started studying conducting as well, mainly because no one seemed interested, so we had to bring someone from our own ranks.
LINDBERG We founded a group called Toimii, and that definitely came out of an enormous respect for what Stockhausen was doing. Aside from playing written music, we also did a lot of improvisation. We thought that should be a natural way of expressing musical thoughts.
SALONEN That was the group that once performed music at Ojai in bunny suits. That was a children’s concert; the kids seemed to like it.
Children have the most open ears.
SALONEN Exactly. They are the best audience, no question.
How have those years influenced your careers?
SALONEN In terms of Magnus and me, the cross-influence has been massive. We have spent countless hours talking about orchestration, notation, form, this and that. It’s been a lifelong school, in a way, and it’s still ongoing. Now I’m getting ready to rehearse his piano concerto tomorrow morning, and it’s a style that I know very well. But the delight here is for me to see, “Oh that’s new; that chord you haven’t used before.”
I tell my young conducting colleagues and students: Form relationships with composers. Because in the best-case scenario, you might find a working partner for the rest of your professional life. Of course, growing up in Helsinki in the 1970s was a great place for this to develop because it was a statistically unusual situation where like-minded composers were studying together and hanging out, and despite the different stylistic approaches, we were completely loyal to one another.
LINDBERG And we’ve been keeping on with the tradition that every time one of us has written a new piece, we gather and listen, and we give feedback. Being a composer in this strange world is astonishingly alone. Having someone you can trust telling you what he is thinking is crucial.
SALONEN The funny thing is that composing gets lonelier as you get older and become more famous. Because fewer people dare to say anything. So at the end of the day, you have your old friends and colleagues.
What new directions, Magnus, did you take with this new piano concerto?
LINDBERG I am sort of free. I don’t have to invent the concerto as a sort of individual-collective setup. This piece, despite being in three movements, would almost rather be like three concertos — a concerto in three concertos. I spent a lot of time working on it, and last winter, when it wasn’t fully ready, Yuja and I went through, and I allowed her to influence the writing. The specialties of her technique and her approach to the piano are quite stunning.
What should audiences listen for?
SALONEN The first time I went through this score, I spotted a few old friends: a moment, very fleeting, where there is a strong allusion to an existing piano piece. There’s one where the orchestra quiets down and the piano starts playing the first bar of “Ondine.” It’s like this hallucination almost, and it goes by very quickly. This is a technique that Magnus has been using since the very beginning. It’s like bumping into somebody in the crowd on the subway. It’s a familiar face — “I must know that person” — and then it’s over.
LINDBERG You think you invent something, then you realize, Oh, my God, that was so close to something that exists. Instead of abandoning it, for a brief moment you can give it a tribute, and go away from it.
SALONEN These moments, the accidental ones, happen to every composer — at least all the composers who respect the history of music and are aware of it. There’s something nice about the fact that you sometimes go back to your ancestors. It’s a sign of love and respect.
