Registration opens:
October 20th, 2025

Alabama Symphony Orchestra Masterworks Series

Seeking and Soaring

Each registrant will receive a voucher redeemable for any of the weekend's ASO Masterworks Concerts. REINKEMEYER Water Sings Fire BRAHMS Violin Concerto in D Major SIBELIUS Symphony No. 2 in D Major

Each registrant will receive one voucher redeemable for two tickets to any of the weekend's performances. Vouchers should be picked up in the administration office of O'Neal Library prior to Wednesday, November 5th. If tickets are not retrieved before 6 pm on Wednesday, November 5th, they will default to the next person on the waiting list.
If you have questions, contact Matt Layne at 205-445-1141 or mlayne@oneallibrary.org

Leah Bardugo’s short story When Water Sang Fire tells the story of Ulla, a mermaid from the invented northern kingdom Fjerde. For anyone familiar with Bardugo’s popular “Grishaverse”, particularly the Shadow and Bone series (also a major Netflix show), Ulla is the sister of the Darkling. But that’s not important for this story.

Bardugo’s mermaids possess magical powers derived from their singing. Their songs act like spells, capable of conjuring storms, creating objects, or even transforming the mermaids into humans.

Ulla doesn’t look like the other mermaids—her skin is gray and dull, and she’s treated as an outcast. But Ulla is powerful, and when she is paired with Sygny, a beautiful and popular girl, in spell practice, their combined talents prove to be extremely potent. The girls form an unexpected bond and become best friends.

Together, Ulla and Signy demonstrate their abilities to the court by conjuring flowers—a highly advanced magic since it involves creating life. But the song that brings forth such a powerful magic is odd, unlike anything the others have heard before. They are impressed, but also afraid.

Following their performance, the prince invites them to travel to the human lands with him, but it turns out he wants to use their powers to become the next king. Ulla is ultimately betrayed by a love-struck Sygny, who is enticed by the prince’s promise of marriage. Enraged by her friend, she conjures a great storm, destroying much of the land. When she finally recedes back to the sea, she dwells in dark caves, trapped in her rage.

This is where our musical tale begins. In the depths of the ocean, Ulla storms, waiting for “the lonely, the ambitious, the clever, the frail, for all those willing to strike a bargain. She never waits long.”

Reinkemeyer’s piece is less like a narrative and more like a painting, offering a portrait of the scorned sea witch—her anger and her pain.

Like Ulla and Sygny’s song, the sounds Reinkemeyer renders from the orchestra are odd. The music slides and creaks, grotesque and eerie, like the odd creatures at the bottom of the ocean. Restlessly, Ulla paces around her cave, unable to let go of her anger.

Neither Bardugo or Reinkemeyer offer any hint at possible redemption for Ulla; only empathy for the path that led to her circumstances. The piece is dedicated “with hope and gratitude for women who sing truth, though the world rains fire upon them.”

Violin Concerto in D Major (1878)

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897)

Run time: Approx. 45 min

Looking back on history’s great musicians, it’s easy to see them as abstract, isolated figures. But they were ordinary people, many of whom knew each other—particularly in 19th-century Germany, which practically overflowed with artistic talent. Among the great stars of this era was violinist Joseph Joachim, who was perhaps the most well-connected musician of the day. Schumann, Dvorak, and Bruch all wrote concerti for him; he performed Beethoven’s Violin Concerto with Mendelssohn conducting. And it was none other than Robert and Clara Schumann who first introduced him to Johannes Brahms.

At just 20 and 22 years old, Brahms and Joachim formed a fast friendship, one that would last the rest of their lives. At the heart of their bond was a wholehearted agreement on what they believed music should be. Both abhorred the flash and excess that was quickly taking hold of German romanticism. The grandeur of Wagner and the showmanship of performers like Liszt were, in their eyes, self-aggrandizing, robbing music of its substance. Instead, they approached music with great seriousness and reverence for the discipline and traditions of classical writing.

The concerto that Brahms ultimately wrote for Joachim feels like an ode to both their friendship and to their shared vision. At its core, it’s a very traditional concerto, possibly modeled on Beethoven’s (it’s even in the same key), and infused with Brahms’s characteristic symphonic depth and warmth.

As with many of Brahms’s concerti, the orchestra takes an extremely active role. There are passages, particularly the tender opening of the second movement, where the solo violin remains silent for a long period. Often, the principal melodic lines are carried by the orchestra while the solo violin floats above, “providing commentary,” as violinist James Ehnes describes it.

Joachim was quite involved in writing the piece, offering many suggestions which Brahms accepted, and even composing the first movement’s cadenza, which many of today’s violinists still play.

Today, the work stands as one of the most frequently performed violin concertos. Still, perhaps more potently, it remains a tangible remnant of the loving friendship and shared artistry between two of history’s great musicians—a love letter to the violin, full of all the emotion, reverence, and joy that they believed music ought to have.

It may be of interest that Joachim and Brahms lived long enough to make some of the earliest recordings, including one in which they perform Brahms’ Hungarian Dances together. The recording, though badly degraded, even captures a few seconds of Brahms speaking before the music begins. It can be found on YouTube.

Symphony No. 2 in D Major (1902)

Jean Sibelius (1868-1957)

Run Time: Approx. 45 min.

“I love the mysterious sounds of the fields and forests, water and mountains… it pleases me greatly to be called a poet of nature, for nature has truly been the book of books for me.”

—Jean Sibelius

Jean Sibelius was a Finnish composer living at a time when Finland was still under Russian rule. His importance to the Finnish people is difficult to overstate: not only is he regarded as the nation’s greatest composer, but his music has also been credited with helping to forge and sustain a strong cultural identity as the Grand Duchy of Finland resisted persistent attempts at Russification. His works roused deep feelings of patriotism, and it’s not an exaggeration to say that his music played a role in Finland’s successful campaign for independence. Today, Sibelius is a national icon. He has appeared on several markkaa (Finnish currency), and in 2015 was featured on a commemorative Euro. The country’s foremost music school proudly bears the name Sibelius-Akatemia.

Sibelius also played a defining role in developing the symphonic sound that we’ve come to think of as distinctly Nordic. But ask any musician about Sibelius, and the first word you will likely hear is nature. The outdoors was his most beloved sanctuary, and his music feels inseparable from it, just as Finnish identity and culture is intrinsically linked to the nation’s unique geography. Perhaps conductor Vladimir Ashkenazy captured it best when he said that Sibelius’s evocation of nature is “not superficial. It’s not a depiction of nature. It is what we are and what surrounds us. It’s our existence. It’s in our hearts and minds.”

This feels exactly right. Many works conjure the mood of a pastoral scene or a great tempest, but with Sibelius, you’re not merely glimpsing a picture of the natural world; you are in it. The flight of birds. The sparkle of the sun on the snow. The frantic swish of rushing water. The hush as the world seems to still when the sun hangs low in the sky. These scenes emerge from his scores with remarkable vividness, and I believe that he achieves this feat of musical cinema in a few distinct ways.

Structure 

Sibelius largely eschews the traditional forms of Western European art music. Yes, this symphony follows the familiar four-movement structure, but inside each movement the music builds episodically: themes appear first as fragments and gradually coalesce, rather than arriving fully formed. This may seem like an overly technical point, but whether we know it or not, we expect music to follow certain patterns, with themes recurring in the usual places. Sibelius largely ignores those expectations and lets his music unfold organically. The result is a sense of spontaneity that mirrors the experience of observing nature, perhaps sitting on a bench watching the clouds drift by.

Moments of pause

Most music born of the Western Classical tradition is highly concerned with motion—it’s always going somewhere or leading to something, every note economical and purposeful. Sibelius, by contrast, allows for moments of pause. He lingers in sonorities that are simply beautiful, when for an instant the clock no longer ticks. Isn’t this what it’s like to gaze out at a breathtaking landscape? For a moment, time ceases to matter.

Texture

Sibelius’s orchestration is full of multi-layered texture. Rather than a single melody supported by accompaniment, he builds orchestral landscapes in layers of unique characters. A flute might hold a glittering trill over smooth strings, which in turn glide under stately brass—like chattering birds flying over a placid lake. Distinct melodies fit together but maintain their independence, creating dynamic and multidimensional scenes.

Ephemeral Beauty 

Throughout his works, Sibelius offers some of the most exquisitely beautiful moments in music, but often they do not return. While Sibelius does revisit material, it’s never quite the same. Like a breathtaking scene in nature, such moments are fleeting. This can be exceptionally frustrating, but it also renders these radiant moments quite precious. When you are struck by something truly beautiful in this music, you mustn’t take it for granted—you might not hear it again.

–Notes by Valerie Sly, 2025