A smorgasbord of song lent Scandi chic to Australian Chamber Orchestra’s seasonal offering, From Winter’s Stillness, on tour at UWA Winthrop Hall on Wednesday.
Norwegian trumpeter Arve Henriksen broached the bill in mellow harmonics, flute-like in isolation then morphing with strings to brassier tones, meditative and alluring, for The Plume of Ash; exploring the high northern latitudes around Iceland’s Eyafjallajokull volcanic eruption.
Pausing to direct the orchestra, Henriksen swayed to his own composition, pitching in with breathy phrases, softly caressing the air to command instant obedience from the ensemble.
Gentle jazz riffs then gave way to haunting highlights in piccolo trumpet for Acceptance, mesmerically mournful in dialogue with the large string cohort over plangent bass and keyboard (Simon Tedeschi).
Californian Terry Riley’s Half Wolf Dances Mad in the Moonlight crashed the party with a hectic pace, rustling through the ACO ranks as artistic director Richard Tognetti beat time with his bow.
A soundscape drawn from crowded shores left Henriksen’s stark atmospherics far behind in jerky offbeat measures, bustling with beehive intent.
Estonian Tonu Korvits’ Kellamang (Bells) introduced female vocalists Trio Mediaeval; Anna Maria Friman, Ditte Maria Braein and Jorunn Lovise Husan softly carolling in close harmony with bell-like clarity.
Lilting rhythms picked up by trumpet returned as choral cascades in a carillon effect repeated through call and response over swirling strings. Discord spiced the mix, calling up delicate piccolo reflections.
Morphing to dance, the trio led a folkloric refresh of the palette, their lyrical strains spilling across trumpet then strings to close.
A world premiere of Icelander Hildur Guonadottir’s Timinn og Vatnio (Time and the Water) brought richer, fluid vocals infused by melancholic longing, again drawing echoes from trumpet in timeless discourse.
A glorious major chord warmed the ambience as trumpet ascended to the stratosphere before settling in mid-range as a fourth voice in the chorus; shadowing the women in a fade-out cadence.
Trio Mediaeval extended their distinctive melodic-harmonic melange over featherlight pizzicato for the traditional Norwegian ballad Det lisle banet (The little child), leaning into the pulse to draw all along in celebration; fading to a whisper.
Henriksen returned as a singer for Fljotavik, by Icelandic “post rock” group Sigur Ros; evoking a distant scene in velvet falsetto then another gravity-defying piccolo trumpet solo over shimmering strings and ethereal chorus to close the half.
After the interval, generous tones of four traditional hymns punctuated Soviet composer Alfred Schnittke’s Concerto Grosso No.1 in a kaleidoscope of genesis and genre.
St Birgitta Hymn opened in solemn solo trumpet then Friman’s sonorous voice, swelling to trio over gossamer strings; a soulful reset with an idiosyncratic twist.
Quirky piano led in tremulous strings for Schnittke’s Preludio. Duetting violins (Tognetti and Satu Vanska) spilled over to violas and cellos, returning to violins for a turbulent exchange answered by the ensemble.
A brighter mood summoned Trio Mediaeval for St Sunniva Hymn, extolling the eternal gifts of Christ in solo (Husan) then concerted voices, with Henriksen soaring to eerie trumpet harmonics before lending a bass voice drone to close.
Schnittke’s Toccata summoned scurrying violins, then violas and cellos, by turns scintillating and compelling. Jagged figures stressed the contrast with hymnody as Tognetti and Vanska blazed away to a stark conclusion.
A crystalline crescendo heralded Pris vare Gud (Praise be to God), its basic plainsong underpinned by sparse harmony flowing without pause to Schnittke’s Recitativo.
A crushed-chord progression returned to Tognetti and Vanska in duet supplemented by collective discord, deliberately dolorous with a dramatic dismount.
Trumpet and cello opened St Magnus Hymn, sweetly concordant in voice with Braein leading over quietly supportive strings.
Finally, a squealing trumpet sendoff broached a brittle cadenza in duelling violins, sounding for all the world like a full-on domestic. Vanska’s concluding scream did nothing to dispel that impression, but conciliatory tones soon followed in the Rondo-Postludio ending.
Contemplative keyboard and a tangential tango briefly slowed the flow towards a melodramatic conclusion, with celestial harmonics in the afterglow.
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