“I feel when writing for a string quartet that I’m entering into the intimate core of musical communication,” the late Kaija Saariaho wrote of her second string quartet, Terra Memoria, in 2006. Twenty years separated her first and second outings for these forces, and while the electronics have departed in the journey from the initial Nymphéa to here (and the acute focus on timbre has relaxed), the pieces share a common musical argument. For one, there’s Saariaho’s continued fascination with the particular timbres and textures available to stringed instruments, like tremolandos, trills, and bowing techniques like playing at the bridge. What the two quartets also share is the sense of the music gleaming, resulting from these carefully chosen combinations. 

Terra Memoria is a pretty straightforward title. “Earth refers to my material, and memory to the way I’m working on it,” Saariaho wrote. “The piece is dedicated “for those departed,” she continued. “Those of us who are left behind are constantly reminded of our experiences together: our feelings continue to change about different aspects of their personality, certain memories keep on haunting us in our dreams. Even after many years, some of these memories change, some remain clear flashes which we can relive.” 

Saariaho died from brain cancer in 2023, so the piece becomes a kind of meta memorial today. But Terra Memoria is no redolent, misty-eyed tribute. Score indications vacillate frequently and distinctly, between misterioso, espressivo, and dolce (sweetly), followed by rasping sections called things like con violenza, impetuoso. The piece aches like a piece written a century before, full of expressive anguish and volatility. Listen for the waterfall-like constructions of limpid textures, and the stunning moment halfway through when the tiny, sky-high texture is delicately snuffed out.  

© Hugh Morris 2025