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Born on December 29, 1979 in Mexico City, Diego Luna Alexander lost his mother in a car accident when he was only two. So Luna became immersed in his father's passion for entertainment as Mexico’s most acclaimed living theatre, cinema and opera set designer. From an early age Luna began acting in television, movies and theater. Once he achieved international recognition, he expanded his resume to include writing, producing and directing as well.
This producer-actor-director’s full bio includes such highlights as big budget sci-fi thriller Elysium (2013), the Oscar-nominated Milk (2008), Tom Hanks starrer The Terminal (2004), and provocative Y Tu Mamá También (2001). But his most recent directorial effort Cesar Chavez not outlines a slice of the famed civil rights leader and labor organizer’s life (powerfully played by Michael Pena) but also chronicles the birth of a modern American labor movement. The film also tells the story of a man torn between family duties as a husband and father and his commitment to the fight for a living wage for farm workers.
Passionate but soft-spoken, Chavez embraced non-violence as he battled greed and prejudice in this struggle to bring dignity to his community and disenfranchised people in general. Chavez inspired millions of Americans who hadn’t worked on a farm or been to California to fight for social justice. His journey is a remarkable testament to the power of one person’s ability to change the world.
Buttressed by two incredibly strong women — wife Helen (America Ferrara) and Dolores Huerta (Rosario Dawson) — Chavez presciently foresaw the impact the Latino American community would have on this country as he drew attention to this long disenfranchised sector.
Q: Once you got this idea, how long did it take you to do this film?
DL: At the beginning I didn’t know I had to do it; I would’ve quit had I been told this was going take four years and a half of my life. When I started I thought, “Wow, it’s amazing that there’s no film about Cesar Chavez. But this is so powerful and comes in time for many reasons, and since this community’s growing, everyone’s going to want to do this film.”
I went out and started shopping as is done with films. You go to studios and sit down with executives and everyone gave us a chance to sit down which sounded like, “Okay it’s happening,” then they said, “Wow, this is great, we love that you’re doing this, we’re not going to join but once you have a film, come and show it to us and probably we’ll be part of it,” and we’re like, “No! We need the money to do it!”
It’s not like I’m just going out and doing it. I heard things like, “Can you make it more sexy?” and I was like, “How can I make it more sexy? If it was sexier, farm workers would probably be living a different reality today.”
They said, “What about A-List actors? Can you have Antonio Banderas and Javier Bardem in it?” And I’m thinking, the man existed, there are pictures, there’s murals! You cannot just say, “Well now it’s just going to look like something else…” This is about a Mexican-American, a guy who was born in Arizona. Anyway, we found no support in this country. But by that point, I promised the family that I was going to deliver a film.
I promised that it was happening and then invested a year of my life into it at that point. We were working on the script with Keir Pearson, so I said to my partner Pablo Cruz, “Let’s go to Mexico and finance it the way we do in film.”
We went to Mexico and in a week and a half we found the money. At least 70% that allows the comeback for the other 30%. Then we came back and found the perfect partners, Participant Media and Pantelion Films, two different kind of film [studios], but they’re both doing films that would be perfect for this market — one that we’re trying to prove exists. That’s how everything started in terms of putting it together.
We wanted to come to the States and open a company and office here, so we said that we have to do a film that mattered on both sides of the border. It would allow us to work here but still do stories that connect us with where we come from and the community we belong to, to the point that my son who was born here, in the States, so he’s knows he’s a Mexican-American. In fact, he had an American passport before the Mexican one.
In a way, this was an attempt to tell a story that he would be able to use to find out where he comes from and what needed to happen for him to be where he is at the moment. That’s how everything started.
Q: Do you hope this film will change society’s perception of Latinos and the issues that concerns this community?
DL: There’s something that’s happened here before which is that all us Latinos, we have to learn from these guys that if we organize, if we’re united, we have the strength to change the world. That’s definitely a reality, because I don’t think we’ve been so well organized since then. Yes, there’s a lot of complaints that we have to this country, as a community, but I would start looking at ourselves in the mirror and [ask] why we haven’t done [anything]?
We have a chance to send that message on the opening week, March 28th, which is, “We want these films to be out. We want our stories to be represented. We want our heroes to celebrated in film.”
There’s two things that matter here. As Cesar said and showed us, one is that our strength is in our numbers, and they’re growing. So I don’t know why we, as a community, haven’t experienced that feeling of power [that] we actually have in hand. The other is that the film confronts you, not just us Latinos, but everyone in this country, with a reality that’s very uncomfortable, that today in the fields, the conditions still aren’t great.
The struggle continues and consumers have also not been aware of what they’re part of when they buy a product since then. The amazing thing they did as a community, is that they connected with consumers, the rest of America, a community they didn’t think they had a connection with. They found a way to say, “Our story matters to you.”
When you buy a grape, you’re supporting child labor. Moms listened to that, when a mother was in a store in Chicago, she found a farm worker saying, “When you’re buying that product, you have to remember that behind that product is the work of my six year-old. ”
Mothers stopped buying grapes. So it’s about connecting, finding out what connects us, not what separates us. I think that’s a beautiful message about the film, and that applies not just for America, but for the world. It’s a nonviolent movement that said it’s about the responsibility of knowing we’re not here alone. The work of many has to happen so we can experience the life we have. It’s just being aware of that — that’s what matters.
Q: Was it tough for actor Michael Peña to have this on his shoulders?
DL: I was walking coming with Rosario from having lunch, and she told me, ”It’s unbelievable how much Michael changed for this role. He’s just nothing close to what he portrayed here.”
I always told him, “Michael, we have to be aware. We cannot do the Hollywood way, you know? We cannot say suddenly that Cesar was a great speaker, and the Martin Luther King kind of leader.”
But he wasn’t. He was very humble and timid. As a result of the amount of urge he had for change to happen, he had to become the leader. If he would’ve had a chance to stand back and stay behind, he would have done it. He was a great listener.
That’s why he could organize these people, because he came and took the time to listen to everyone’s story. This is a community that has been ignored for so long, that suddenly someone arrived that cared about their story and said, “Your story matters.”
In fact, Mark Grossman, who traveled a lot through rallies and was Cesar’s PR person — he wrote the speeches for him — was very close to him and we worked a lot with him. He told me [that] the rallies were painful because he would stay until nine, 10 pm, and people left, and he was still talking to a woman in the back. He had time, he nothing else to do but this, and everyone realized he was giving his life. We have to remember, this is a man that got out of living in the city. He changed his life, he was wearing a suit, he had a job. But he said, “No, we have to go back to the fields, we have to change things from the inside. It’s not going to come from the outside.”
He went back and sacrificed not just his reality but the reality of his family. I love when Fernando asks, “Who plays in Delano? You’re not taking me to a place that doesn’t have a major league baseball team, right?” And [Cesar] goes, “Yeah, we’re all going to sacrifice here, and we’re all going to go back to where we come from.”
Q: You showed how he sacrificed his relationship with his older son. You spent more than four years working on this movie. How much did it affect your relationship with your own children?
DL: It does, it does. I’ve never had to go so far as he did. I was in Chicago on Friday, took the red eye, spent Saturday and Sunday with my kids, and I’m here on Monday. I would never give away the weekend, and stay for another interview. I think that’s what makes him heroic. I don’t know if I would be able to go that far.
Q: How old are your kids now?
DL: Five and three. I don’t know if I would be able to go that far. These guys left for months. Besides everything we’ve talked about, the film is about a father and a son. To me, the reflection I’m making here is [that] there’s a sacrifice we fathers do. I did not understand until I had a baby. It changed the way I looked to my father. When I had a baby, I went back and said, “Damn, dad. You’ve done all of this?”
My mother died when I was two, so my father had to play both roles and work and it’s that very unfair part of life where you know you have to do it. I do film because of my kids, I think about them every moment of my life. Every decision I make, they’re involved. Probably, they won’t know this until they have their own.
That’s the gap that sometimes... Hopefully in life you have the time to bring it back together, but not many times it happens. For these characters, it took a long a long time. They had eight kids. Dolores Huerta had 11 kids. Imagine that and they managed to do all this as well.
Q: Was it a conscious choice that you avoided his childhood?
DL: The first script I got, [went] from the day he was born until the day he died. You can do that in a fictional film, it doesn’t matter, but with the life of someone I think that’s very unfair. It’s impossible in an hour and 45 minutes to tell of someone’s 64-year journey. I thought, “I’m going to concentrate in one achievement.”
That’s the boycott was to me. I said, “If I can explain how the boycott happened, and why the boycott happened, and what [it brought] to the community, I’ll be sending the right message.”
I didn’t want to do a film just about this community. I wanted to do a film about how this community managed to connect with the rest of the country. Because to me, the powerful message here is that if change ever comes, it’s because we get involved and we people connect with others.
We find those who are out there and what connects us with them. So to me, that was the thing I wanted to focus on -- the personal struggle of a father. It’s the first film done about Cesar and the movement, so it’s unfair to ask one film to fill the gap of so many years where there was no film talking about it. Because if I was here, and there were another three films, I could focus in on a specific thing that none of the other films [did], but you cannot ask a film to tell everything that hasn’t been told. Hopefully this will [stimulate] curiosity and awareness so that people will go and investigate a little more about who they are and what’s behind them.
Q: Why was the movie shot in Mexico instead of where the events happened? Did that have to do with where you found the money? Being a movie about a syndicated movement, with the actors’ unions very strong here, don’t know how it is in Mexico, but how much of the actors and the crew were unionized?
DL: We shot in Mexico because of two reasons. One, the film was financed in Mexico, so a lot of the financing came as support. We first went to California, but even if we would have shot in the States, we would not have shot in California, because the actual places have changed dramatically since the ’60s. So you cannot shoot there, you’d have to recreate the [conditions].
We found in Sonora that the fields there have that immensity. Sonora is the state that produces 80% of the table grape of Mexico. Mexico is a huge country, so the feeling when you’re there, it’s the same feeling you have in the valley in California. You really are a dot in the middle of nowhere. There’s this immensity, the feeling that those fields are feeding a world,
In terms of the union, there’s no way to do a film this big non-union in Mexico. Every actor was paid through SAG; we also have a union in Mexico of actors and technicians. It would be very stupid to do a film about a union without the support of unions [laughs]. But you know what happened…? There was a whole debate on the extras.
The extras are farm workers. That doesn’t mean they didn’t get paid. The point is, I wanted to work with real farm workers. You know those faces? There’s no way to put makeup on a face and make it look like they’ve been under the sun for so many years, under that condition of dust and wind. Those faces tell you the story. Just by looking at the face, you get many things that can’t be said in dialogue.
Q: Were these farm workers from the area where you shot?
DL: Many farm workers joined. By the third day they realized that film isn’t glamorous and that the experience was as miserable as working in the fields [laughs]. Because we were in the fields, we put every penny we had in front of the camera, so the conditions we were shooting under were rough compared to the cliché of how Hollywood filmmaking is.
Q: Did the workers themselves teach you anything, something that you never knew?
DL: The only thing is that they reminded me every day of why the film needed to be done. It just still makes no sense to me that those who are feeding this country can barely feed their families. And by listening to their stories, I got the necessary energy to keep going. No matter what our issues were, they don’t matter. I am lucky to be able to choose where I work, who I’m around, what I do, what stories I tell, I can’t complain. It was a great reminder on why this needs to be out.
Q: The film deals with social issues. Is that also part of the marketing?
DL: Definitely, and we’re focusing a lot in kids. Before the proper promotion started, we did two weeks of going to high schools and universities. We went to Harvard, Berkeley, Irvine, UCLA, then we did a screening in the RFK High School. It was like a system. We did a screening where they taped it and then that’s going to be shown to kids around California.
We’re pushing to do tons of little videos in social media and everything to raise awareness about Cesar Chavez and what the movement [stood] for. That’s where Participant comes in. They have an amazing reach in terms of a call-to-action.
As part of our film, we are also making a petition to President Obama about making a Cesar Chavez National Day of Service. As the campaign goes, if you guys participate, it’d be great. There’s a page called takepart.com/cesarchavez and you can sign. If you sign the petition, we need a hundred thousand signatures to go to Obama.
Film should be the beginning of something bigger. This film should trigger, hopefully, the curiosity of people to find out exactly what this movement was about. It’s difficult to inform in an hour and 45 minutes about everything they did and still entertain but it is pertinent to talk about this because the issues today in the field are even more complicated [than ever].
We thought also about a day of celebration... A few states today celebrate Cesar Chavez day, but we thought that a national day of service would be the way he would like to be remembered, a day where you work and give something back to your community, which is what they did from beginning to end.
There [are] so many things happening at the same time, and there are so many things happening in Latin America. Because if few people know here the story of Cesar Chavez, you’ll go to Latin America and everyone thinks he’s a boxer. No one knows, and it’s something that hopefully the film, and everything happening around the film, might be able to change. Also, the foundation is working really close.
Dolores Huerta has been promoting the film with us, and every time she grabs the microphone, she talks about it and the 10 other things that matter to her. If film can work for that to happen, if film can bring attention to the work of those that are still in the struggle, still out there, I’ll be very proud. But it’s definitely about kids.
You know an amazing thing that has been happening is that today there’s many Latinos in key positions and many have the chance to actually choose what they want to do in life. They have businesses and so many of these people are buying out theaters and giving them away to schools.
For the first weekend, someone said, “I would like to share this film with every high school kid of the community I come from” which is an amazing thing. The distribution company Pantelion is getting these calls and managing to actually make it happen, where you basically buy out a theater and fill it with kids that normally wouldn’t go watch it, or will probably watch it two years later on their phone while doing another 20 things, which is how kids now watch films... so that’s also happening. People like Henry Moreno — he was the first one.
Q: Is he one of the producers?
DL: No, no, no! He’s just a guy that cares about this. I was at an event in Washington, and Moreno talked about this, he was doing a show and he told me, “I’m buying out theaters to share with the kids, and this is happening, people are starting to react.”
That’s fantastic. I did this film because I think I have some distance to the story. Generationally, I wasn’t around when this happened, so also that gives me some objectivity, I guess. But the angle which I’m telling this, it’s the perfect angle for people who don’t know the story, to listen [to] it for the first time.
Q: What did it teach you about yourself as a father, as a director, as an actor?
DL: You know, I found a connection. It was through telling personal stories that they managed to bring the attention to something bigger. It was about a mother going out, as I said, a mother going out of a grocery store and telling another mother, “Behind that grape, there’s the work of my kid. Are you sure you want to be part of that?”
Then that mother got hit so badly and so profoundly, that she’s gonna turn into an advocate for the movement. But it’s by telling personal stories that you can trigger that, and I think film has that power. Today, if I was sitting in a board meeting of this movement, I would say, “Let’s do short documentaries about each other’s experiences and get them out, because that’s the way to get people’s attention.”
We do the same thing, in a way. At least film is capable of doing what these guys did. That was a connection that I found on the way. When I was out and everyone was like, “Oh, you’re doing the film about Cesar Chavez! I gotta tell you something. My grandfather, one day, he grew up and blah blah blah…”
If I do a documentary where I tell you, “More than a 100,000 have been killed in the last eight years in my country because of the war on drugs that our president started, our former president started…” You’re going to go, “Oh, that’s a big number.”
But if I tell you the story of a kid who lost his father and now has to work and had to get out of school to support his mother, and how the life these four people changed dramatically, not just his but his brother and his sister... The next day you’re going to care about the war we’re living there. So by telling personal stories you can trigger that attention and that’s something they were doing that was way ahead of us.
How many female jazz musicians can you name? Judy Chaikin's new documentary The Girls in the Band can help. By the time the credits roll, you will have met three generations of distaff players, composers, arrangers and
conductors reaching back to the 1920s. Names like saxophonists Roz Cron and Peggy Gilbert, trumpeters Clora Bryant and Billie Rogers and drummer Viola Smith will roll off the tongue as readily as those of Thelonious Monk and Dizzy Gillespie.
Photo by Chris Lee.
At the wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the night of Wednesday, December 3rd, 2025, I had the privilege to attend a sterling concert presented by Carnegie Hall and performed by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra led by the eminent Manfred Honeck.
The event started promisingly with an admirable account of Lena Auerbach’s compelling, somewhat mysterious Frozen Dreams, commissionedby this ensemble and heard here in its New York premiere. Below is the composer’s own comment on the work:
Music exists in a paradox: It is both frozen and ephemeral, tangible and elusive. The act of composition is an attempt to capture something that is already dissolving. My orchestral work Frozen Dreams emerges from this paradox, reimagining the sound world of my earlier Frozen Dreams for string quartet (2020) and expanding it into an orchestral landscape that explores the fragility of perception and the shifting nature of reality itself. As I returned to this material, I found myself drawn to the idea that an event becomes fully real only when it is perceived—an idea that resonates, in a poetic sense, with aspects of quantum realities. Music unfolds as a wide field of potentialities, taking on a unique shape for each listening ear.
Orchestration is, in many ways, an exploration of this uncertainty. What happens when sound, once confined to the four voices of a string quartet, is stretched across the vast sonic universe of an orchestra? Does it retain its essence, or does it become something else entirely? Here, we confront the deeply personal and subjective experience of perception. No two listeners will hear Frozen Dreams in the same way, just as no two dreams are identical. A chord might sound luminous to one listener, foreboding to another. A silence might be filled with anticipation, or with loss. The orchestra, with its myriad colors and shifting densities, becomes a dreamscape in which meaning is perpetually in flux.
We often think of memories as something fixed, securely behind us, but they are as fluid as the dreams that shape them. In a poetic sense, we are always “remembering the future,” allowing our subconscious to blend past and future into the present. In Frozen Dreams, musical ideas resurface like echoes of something once known, or yet to be—blurring the boundaries of time. A theme emerges, vanishes, then returns changed—as if recalled from a dream, yet belonging to a moment still waiting to unfold.
Though the title Frozen Dreams suggests stasis, this work is, at its core, about movement—about the delicate tension between what is remembered and what is forgotten, between what is possible and what is inevitable. It is a meditation on the way time is layered in our minds: past, present, and future coexisting in an endless spiral. Perhaps, in the end, this music does not seek to answer the questions it poses. Instead, it invites the listener to dwell within them—to step into the dream and, for a fleeting moment, let the boundaries of time and self dissolve.
The composer was present to receive the audience’s acclaim.
A remarkable pianist, Seong-Jin Cho, then entered the stage for a dazzling account of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s fabulous Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Op. 43, from 1934. The composer wrote to the renowned choreographer Mikhail Fokine about the scenario for a 1937 ballet based on the piece:
Why not resurrect the legend about Paganini, who, for the perfection of his art and for a woman, sold his soul to an evil spirit? All the variations which have the theme of Dies Irae [nos. 7, 10, and 24] represent the evil spirit. The variations from No. 11 to No. 18 are love episodes. Paganini himself appears in the “theme” (his first appearance) and again, for the last time, in variation No. 23. The evil spirit appears for the first time in variation No. 7. Variations nos. 8, 9, and 10 are the development of the evil spirit. Variation No. 11 is the turning point into the domain of love. Variation No. 12—the Menuet—portrays the first appearance of the woman. Variation No. 13 is the first conversation between the woman and Paganini. Variation No. 19—Paganini’s triumph.
Enthusiastic applause elicited a terrific encore from the soloist: Frédéric Chopin’s astonishingly beautiful Waltz in C-sharp Minor, Op. 64, No. 2.
However, the second half of the evening was even more impressive: an awesome rendition of Dmitri Shostakovich’s extraordinary Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, Op. 47, from 1937. In an official publication three months after the premiere of the work, the composer wrote:
The theme of my Symphony is the stabilization of the personality. In the center of this composition—conceived lyrically from beginning to end—I saw a man with all his experiences. The Finale resolves the tragically tense impulses of the earlier movements into optimism and joy of living.
In the much later Testimony, Shostakovich offered a contrasting interpretation:
I think it is clear to everyone what happens in the [finale of the] Fifth Symphony. The rejoicing is forced, created under threat, as in Boris Godunov. It’s as if someone were beating you with a stick and saying, ‘Your business is rejoicing, your business is rejoicing,’ and you rise, shaky, and go marching off muttering, ‘Our business is rejoicing, our business is rejoicing.’ What kind of apotheosis is that? You have to be a complete oaf not to hear that … People who came to the premiere of the Fifth in the best of moods wept.
The initial, Moderato movement begins dramatically, ushering in a mood of great solemnity; in the ensuing development section, a sinister march is the vehicle for music of great intensity that builds to a powerful climax before subsiding for a recapitulation of the more irenic, second theme encountered in the movement’s first part—the movement closes with a hushed coda. The succeeding scherzo, marked Allegretto, is characteristically playful and often stirring; a contrasting Trio is sometimes dance-like in its rhythms—the movement ends abruptly and emphatically. The Largo it precedes is plaintive, lugubrious but also passionate if with meditative moments sometimes of extreme quiet; it concludes very softly. (According to the notes on the program by Dr. Richard E. Rodda, the legendary conductor Serge Koussevitzky thought it “to be the greatest symphonic slow movement since Beethoven.”) The finale—its tempo is Allegro non troppo—is propulsive and exciting for much of its length but with a more fraught, subdued and largely pessimistic middle section; it closes stunningly and magnificently.
The artists deservedly received a standing ovation.
Dima Slobodeniouk directs the New York Philharmonic. Photo by Brandon Patoc
At Lincoln Center’s wonderful David Geffen Hall, on the night of Saturday, November 22nd, 2025 I had the privilege to attend a superb concert presented by the New York Philharmonic under the sterling direction of Dima Slobodeniouk.
The event started very promisingly with one of the New York premiere performances of Sebastian Fagerlund’s remarkable, impressively orchestrated Stonework, which was completed in 2015 and splendidly realized here. The composer has said that “Working with the orchestra is a very natural medium,” that “Technique is just as important as finding your own voice,” and that “the grand Finnish archipelago and sea with its vast and open views, as well as the islands with their raw, primary rock, continue to provide me with endless inspiration.” He also said, “I have always been interested in ritualistic and primeval things, and in impulses from other genres of music.”
In useful comments on the program by Matthew Woodard, a Prospect Research Associate at the New York Philharmonic who has been an annotator for the Hudson Valley Chamber Music Circle, he explains that “Stonework is at once a standalone composition and the first in a trilogy with the orchestral works Drifts (2016–17) and Water Atlas (2017–19). As their titles suggest, these pieces take inspiration from an abstract connection to the landscape of Fagerlund's hometown.” The notes also record that:
Finnish conductor Dima Slobodeniouk and Sebastian Fagerlund are longtime colleagues and collaborators. In 2007 Slobodeniouk commissioned Fagerlund's orchestral work Isola for the Korsholm Music Festival and led the premiere with the Vasa Symphony Orchestra. The conductor has overseen numerous notable performances of Fagerlund's works, including the US premiere of Stonework, with the Seattle Symphony in March 2024. Slobodeniouk has also led recordings of Fagerlund's Clarinet Concerto and Partita for Strings and Percussion.
Stonework builds to a powerful climax that transitions to a subdued dénouement. The composer was present to receive the audience’s acclaim.
The celebrated soloist Augustin Hadelich then entered the stage for an excellent account of Samuel Barber’s extraordinary Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 14, which was originally finished in 1940 but revised in 1948. The composer contributed the following to The Philadelphia Orchestra’s program for the piece’s premiere:
The Concerto for Violin and Orchestra was completed in July, 1940, at Pocono Lake, Pennsylvania, and is Mr. Barber's most recent work for orchestra. It is lyric and rather intimate in character and a moderate-sized orchestra is used: eight woodwinds, two horns, two trumpets, percussion, piano, and strings. The first movement — allegro molto moderato — begins with a lyrical first subject announced at once by the solo violin, without any orchestral introduction. This movement as a whole has perhaps more the character of a sonata than concerto form. The second movement — andante sostenuto — is introduced by an extended oboe solo. The violin enters with a contrasting and rhapsodic theme, after which it repeats the oboe melody of the beginning. The last movement, a perpetual motion, exploits the more brilliant and virtuoso characteristics of the violin.
The initial movement’s opening is song-like and exquisite; the movement soon acquires a more driving rhythm and shifts to a more agitated mood—at times the music is quite dramatic—but it ends quietly. The ensuing slow movement also begins lyrically and melodiously but it becomes starker before the return of the primary theme; the music intensifies before concluding gently. The finale is propulsive and exciting, indeed dazzling, and ends abruptly and forcefully. Enthusiastic applause elicited a delightful encore from the violinist: he played his own virtuosic arrangement of Ervin T. Rouse's Orange Blossom Special.
The second half of the evening was even better: an outstanding rendition of Jean Sibelius’s magisterial Symphony No. 2 in D major, Op. 43, completed in 1902. About this work, the distinguished Finnish composer Sulho Ranta said: “There is something about this music — at least for us — that leads us to ecstasy; almost like a shaman with his magic drum.” Igor Stravinsky reported that Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s comment on it was, “Well, I suppose that's possible, too.” The first movement begins happily but the music soon acquires a more solemn—and then more passionate—character, closing softly with unexpected suddenness. The slow movement that follows opens somewhat mysteriously, even suspensefully, eventually entering, if only temporarily, a turbulent phase before attaining a charming serenity and then ascending to the sublime. The ensuing movement starts relatively eccentrically but arrestingly; it is not entirely without playfulness and has something of the quality of a scherzo but with contrasting, more soulful interludes. The finale, marked Allegro moderato, is stirring, exultant and magnificent, with some almost pastoral passages and hushed moments—it ultimately soars to a stunning, Romantic conclusion.
The artists deservedly received a standing ovation.




