Willem Jeths: 'My First Symphony is about life and death'

At his 53^e can Willem Jeths boasts an impressive career. His orchestral and chamber music works are performed worldwide and have been recorded on many CDs. In 2008, the newly built Muziekkwartier in Enschede opened with his opera Hotel de Pékin, and three years later the recording of his ode to gay marriage reached Monument to a Universal Marriage even US President Obama. At the request of the Saturday Matinee Jeths wrote his First Symphony for the Radio Philharmonic Orchestra and the mezzo-soprano Karin Strobos, which will premiere it at the Concertgebouw on 13 April.Why did you write your First Symphony only now?

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It is a somewhat loaded, classically romantic term, raising expectations of notions of sonata form, scherzo and so on, but my symphony is none of those. An instrumental diptych is flanked by two vocal movements set to poems by Goethe, which are closely related to the theme. The second movement is based on my orchestral work Scale, Le tombeau de Mahler and is about life presented as stairs to climb.

The third movement is also built on an earlier orchestral work, Metanoia ('that which is beyond thought and understanding'). This describes what happens after earthly life and is about transformation, rebirth, or even standing with God.

Searching for texts on life and death, I ended up with Goethe's poems 'Unbegrenzt' and 'Selige Sehnsucht', which form the basis of parts one and four. In the former, Goethe perfectly captures the cyclicality of our existence in the phrase 'Anfang und Ende, immer fort dasselbe': when you die, a new beginning arises again.

In the fourth section, Goethe gives us a moral message: you should strive for the highest possible in your life. He compares this to a butterfly that tends to fly towards the sun, at the risk of its wings burning. If you don't, you are merely 'ein trüber Gast auf der dunklen Erde'. Incredibly beautifully and pithily put, especially since a butterfly itself is already a transformation from the caterpillar stage.

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Death and transformation are a recurring theme in your work. What fascinates you in it?

'For me, it is not so much about a romantic fascination with the dark side of death, but more about the moment of passing into something else. I am convinced that our life does not end when we die and even have a memory of another life. It is too personal to explain exactly what that means, but there is no doubt in my mind that you should try to pull yourself to a higher plane.

You have to be willing to accept that you have a message and want to work towards something beyond the mundane. For me, that has everything to do with concentration, with searching for a goal. That's what I want to write compositions about, not because I want to say something autobiographical or religious, but to give musical form to the idea.'

How did you do that in your First Symphony?

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My piece has a lot to do with Mahler, mainly because of Scale, Le tombeau de Mahler, which I wrote for the Mahler Year of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra. His nine-part 'death chord' from the Tenth Symphony plays an important role, and the use of a military drum and a Fernorchester also refer to Mahler. In the third movement, Alban Berg's chord, which he heard in his mind when he was taking a walk on the beach on a gloomy spring day and the sun suddenly broke through, sounds like an image of God. It is overwhelming in sound and akin to Mahler's death chord.

The corner parts are inspired by the voice of Karin Strobos, with whom I previously worked in Monument to a Universal Marriage and Hotel de Pékin. Her mezzo-soprano is fragile and intimate and I used the middle register frequently, giving her voice even more nobility. I contrast that with an alto saxophone, whose somewhat rawer and more direct sound works as a kind of alter-ego. I approached Goethe's verses functionally. For instance, after 'Anfang und Ende immer fort dasselbe', the notes return in mirror image, so that the end is literally the same as the beginning.

The final movement contains a lot of material from the earlier movements, but when the butterfly threatens to burn its wings, instead of Mahler's death chord, it suddenly sounds a consonance in major. The death claps of the big wooden hammer transform into ringing bells, which acts as a reveil, a moment of announcement, of joy almost. Because it goes to the heart of our humanity: you have to fly towards the light, at the risk of being burnt.

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