Uploaded April 2026 | Updated September 2026, 3 days ago
BY OLE BUCK
“I had long wished to write a concerto for Michala, not just a concerto, but the concerto
for Michala, as I had mentioned several times whenever the opportunity arose.
Many of the pieces I have written for M over the years have often been, if not inspired
by, then certainly influenced by birdsong, not as an attempt to imitate it, but more as an
underlying sonic imagination that has colored much of what I have written. And so it is
in CONCERTO ROSIGNOLO.
After I had composed the introduction and played it for M, the rest suddenly became
crystal clear to me, an alternating progression in which I gradually transformed into
a nightingale and let myself be swept along by the many new ideas that presented
themselves. It may not sound like much, since I have always aimed for simplicity and
transparency - and the particular tone that characterizes Michala’s playing fits beautifully
into this concept. So, all in all, I had the feeling that the music was writing itself, with a
nightingale perched on my desk, nodding in satisfaction:
CONCERTO ROSIGNOLO was composed in 2022 for recorders and is in many ways a
fantasy that emerged from a sonic sound-world, a bird world of sound, and as an echo:
a nature sound that was to run through the entire concerto. The form revealed itself; it
arose from the sound of the recorder.
After I had composed the long introduction, without really knowing where it would lead
me, it suddenly felt as though a bird landed on my writing desk and followed with interest
the sketches I constantly wrote down. “It ́s a nightingale,” I thought, and the many
small motifs gathered in the ensemble into a flow of birds’ voices, outbursts, and tonal
colors, which shaped themselves in such a way that I let impulse determine my choices,
because coincidence became the determining force of the form. I let this principle apply
throughout the concerto - for example: when a trumpet broke in and imitated the
recorder, it was because that insertion simply was a transition to a new section.
People often speak of program music as opposed to absolute music. The former has a
narrative in which the music unfolds, while the latter has a strict form, almost concrete
tone by tone, duration by duration, which can be put into formula and constitute an
equation that merges into a higher unity. This applies on all levels, from motif to section
to the large form.
This was the ideal of the great Romantics. Today, one can do whatever one wishes, which has the advantage that one may also refrain from doing what one does not wish to do, though one may be tempted anyway. When melody, for example, is in discredit, or shall we say, does not quite fit in, it is precisely because melody has a tendency -good or bad - to grasp the form, to be independent and thus break with a free sound world. Thereafter the art consists in having the melody blend in with everything else, to enter into symbiosis with the entire orchestra and to assume its place in an “order relationship” with the composition, but on a subordinate level. This latter idea has guided
many passages in CONCERTO ROSIGNOLO. Most clearly in the beginning, where a simple triad unfolds to cover the entire sonic spectrum of the recorder, and to influence reactions in the rest of the orchestra. One hears birds’ outbursts, natural sounds, and the quiet resonance so typical of spring when nature gradually awakens. This I let myself be inspired by in the introduction.
There is also a passage where I allow the sound to rest, and then give way to outbursts
that wish to break the silence. It is as though inner forces resist stagnation, and this
eternal “élan vital” is the inherent impulse toward movement. Once this impulse is set
in motion, I follow up in the subsequent material, thereby reaffirming the importance of
élan vital.
Thus, when I attribute an overall importance to birdsong and natural sound, it has to
do with the fact that what gets me started composing is: the sound of nature (“wie
ein Naturlaut”) and the realistic sound world (“world music”). For me they form a sonic
foundation in all music: European medieval music, music from the Orient, music from
all worlds, music from all corners of the universe. And only thereafter: music form the
instrumental world, the nature of the instruments, water, wind, and the human voice.
Music must be like the world: it must include everything and nothing; it must be itself, it
must transcend itself and it must be something entirely different than itself.
As I approached the end of this Concerto Rosignolo, I naturally thought about how
it might conclude, but did not need to think much about it, because the bird that sat
on my writing desk knew the answer. It was silent, looking down with one eye at the
manuscript, and hence the concerto ended in silence - as best you may notate silence
in tones. However, it is a pulsating silence: a dialogue between the tenor recorder and
trombone. But I myself would gladly have continued.”
BY OLE BUCK
“I had long wished to write a concerto for Michala, not just a concerto, but the concerto
for Michala, as I had mentioned several times whenever the opportunity arose.
Many of the pieces I have written for M over the years have often been, if not inspired
by, then certainly influenced by birdsong, not as an attempt to imitate it, but more as an
underlying sonic imagination that has colored much of what I have written. And so it is
in CONCERTO ROSIGNOLO.
After I had composed the introduction and played it for M, the rest suddenly became
crystal clear to me, an alternating progression in which I gradually transformed into
a nightingale and let myself be swept along by the many new ideas that presented
themselves. It may not sound like much, since I have always aimed for simplicity and
transparency - and the particular tone that characterizes Michala’s playing fits beautifully
into this concept. So, all in all, I had the feeling that the music was writing itself, with a
nightingale perched on my desk, nodding in satisfaction:
CONCERTO ROSIGNOLO was composed in 2022 for recorders and is in many ways a
fantasy that emerged from a sonic sound-world, a bird world of sound, and as an echo:
a nature sound that was to run through the entire concerto. The form revealed itself; it
arose from the sound of the recorder.
After I had composed the long introduction, without really knowing where it would lead
me, it suddenly felt as though a bird landed on my writing desk and followed with interest
the sketches I constantly wrote down. “It ́s a nightingale,” I thought, and the many
small motifs gathered in the ensemble into a flow of birds’ voices, outbursts, and tonal
colors, which shaped themselves in such a way that I let impulse determine my choices,
because coincidence became the determining force of the form. I let this principle apply
throughout the concerto - for example: when a trumpet broke in and imitated the
recorder, it was because that insertion simply was a transition to a new section.
People often speak of program music as opposed to absolute music. The former has a
narrative in which the music unfolds, while the latter has a strict form, almost concrete
tone by tone, duration by duration, which can be put into formula and constitute an
equation that merges into a higher unity. This applies on all levels, from motif to section
to the large form.
This was the ideal of the great Romantics. Today, one can do whatever one wishes, which has the advantage that one may also refrain from doing what one does not wish to do, though one may be tempted anyway. When melody, for example, is in discredit, or shall we say, does not quite fit in, it is precisely because melody has a tendency -good or bad - to grasp the form, to be independent and thus break with a free sound world. Thereafter the art consists in having the melody blend in with everything else, to enter into symbiosis with the entire orchestra and to assume its place in an “order relationship” with the composition, but on a subordinate level. This latter idea has guided
many passages in CONCERTO ROSIGNOLO. Most clearly in the beginning, where a simple triad unfolds to cover the entire sonic spectrum of the recorder, and to influence reactions in the rest of the orchestra. One hears birds’ outbursts, natural sounds, and the quiet resonance so typical of spring when nature gradually awakens. This I let myself be inspired by in the introduction.
There is also a passage where I allow the sound to rest, and then give way to outbursts
that wish to break the silence. It is as though inner forces resist stagnation, and this
eternal “élan vital” is the inherent impulse toward movement. Once this impulse is set
in motion, I follow up in the subsequent material, thereby reaffirming the importance of
élan vital.
Thus, when I attribute an overall importance to birdsong and natural sound, it has to
do with the fact that what gets me started composing is: the sound of nature (“wie
ein Naturlaut”) and the realistic sound world (“world music”). For me they form a sonic
foundation in all music: European medieval music, music from the Orient, music from
all worlds, music from all corners of the universe. And only thereafter: music form the
instrumental world, the nature of the instruments, water, wind, and the human voice.
Music must be like the world: it must include everything and nothing; it must be itself, it
must transcend itself and it must be something entirely different than itself.
As I approached the end of this Concerto Rosignolo, I naturally thought about how
it might conclude, but did not need to think much about it, because the bird that sat
on my writing desk knew the answer. It was silent, looking down with one eye at the
manuscript, and hence the concerto ended in silence - as best you may notate silence
in tones. However, it is a pulsating silence: a dialogue between the tenor recorder and
trombone. But I myself would gladly have continued.”
