"Threatening silences, powerful blows, intense pain": Reflections on the Premiere of "Confessions of the Mulberry Tree" at Het Concertgebouw
- Ramin Amin Tafreshi
- May 20
- 8 min read
Updated: 3 days ago
For a composer, nothing is more precious than having their work received as it was meant to be. The most invaluable moment occurs when the message beneath the notes is received and truly resonates with the audience, perhaps the ultimate achievement of any creation. Given music’s abstract nature, I have always found it incredibly challenging to convey a specific message or impression, particularly within the form of non-vocal music. Therefore, reading these words about my recent piece in a review by the renowned music critic, Wenneke Savenije, on De Nieuwe Muze, following the premiere of Confessions of the Mulberry Tree, meant the world to me.
"Threatening silences, resounding blows, hellish pain, anger and despair, suffering souls, merciless cruelties, everything seemed to pass by in this impressive orchestral work,..." (De Nieuwe Muze by Wenneke Savenije February 2, 2025 - translated from Dutch)
Considering the motivation and inspiration behind my piece, these words meticulously describe the inner intensity and emotional complexity of the piece. Not only in the reviews but from the enthusiastic audience, I received such impressions that reaffirmed that the piece had successfully made its impact and that its message had been received well.
A Heartwrenching Poem
Confessions of the Mulberry Tree is inspired by the final poetry collection of Baktash Abtin (1974–2022), an Iranian poet, screenwriter, and filmmaker. Abtin, who was awarded the 2021 PEN/Barbey Freedom to Write Award, was known for his unwavering commitment to freedom of expression and writing, and peaceful opposition to censorship. His tireless fight for these principles ultimately led to his imprisonment. After his tragic death in prison, the poems he wrote during his imprisonment were compiled and published in his own handwriting in a book titled An Elegy for Withered Flowers, released in 2024 in Sweden.
When I read these poems for the first time, I was struck and deeply moved by the powerful and heartbreaking words. Knowing that they were all written under the brutal conditions of the prison cells made them even more painful and breathtaking to read. Despite the circumstances, each poem was created with such care, sensitivity, and thoughtfulness. The poems are each marked with a date of completion, showing the passing of time for a poet whose only crime was having a mind that longed for freedom. Towards the end of this collection, one poem gripped me right from its first line.
I was the cry of freedom, I was the companion of freedom. [...] And the shadow of the mulberry tree was stretched in the sarrowed cortyard of the prison Baktash Abtin (Translated from Persian, Baran Publication, Sweden, 2024.)
That "cry of freedom" became my main inspiration and the urgency to express and to write. Thus, I immediately wrote that on top of a blank page of my score: "I was the cry of freedom."
The Cry of Freedom
How would you imagine, or rather express, the "cry of freedom"? What does that sound like? Is it a guttural scream torn from the chest, or a quiet, resolute mumbling breath after years of silence and suffocating social atmosphere? Does it echo across generations, or is it rooted in a single moment of resistance? Is it the voice of one person, or does it encompass many collective layers of sound? Can it be heard in music or be shown in art? Is that cry mournful, furious, hopeless, resisting, or all of these at once? Where does it live: on the front lines of a revolution, or in the simple daily acts of standing up for our rights? And when we hear it, do we recognise it for what it truly is? Do we share similar expressions and emotions in the face of freedom, or do each nation and culture express their yearning differently? It reminds me a lot of Munch’s painting, The Scream. What kind of scream is that? Why do I always hear a loud, screeching scream—born of overwhelming pressure and fear—every time I look at that painting? Do others hear that same scream when looking at the painting?
Considering all of this, I was looking for the initial thematic material for the piece. In the concert program, following my work, the orchestra was programmed to perform Shostakovich's first violin concerto. In that work, composed under the dictatorship of the Soviet Union's Stalin, Shostakovich used his well-known musical cryptogram (DSCH) for the first time in a piece by him.¹ By using this motif in his works, Shostakovich used his name as a cipher to hint to the listener that he was the creator of the piece. It was a hidden message within a piece of music for a composer who lived in constant fear of Stalin's brutal regime, which labelled him as a "formalist."
"This is his way of saying, 'I am putting myself right into the fabric of this music and, whatever you take it to mean, you cannot obliterate me.'" ² (Suzy Klein, BBC Music)
The concept of a cryptogram is certainly not new. Before Shostakovich, many composers, including Bach, Brahms, and Ravel, used this method in their compositions. Despite that, considering the story behind my piece, it became crucial and symbolically meaningful for me to use this technique to write a thematic material that hints at the poem and the inner message of Baktash Abtin. Therefore, I wrote the main theme based on the cryptographic representation of the word "freedom," giving the impression that the orchestra is metaphorically crying for freedom.
The Mulberry Tree
The mulberry tree has long held symbolic meaning in Persian literature. With its branches stretched high, as if in silent prayer to the sky, yearning, perhaps, for a moment of freedom—and its dense, voluminous crown, it is revered for its spiritual significance. This reverence extends beyond literature into Persian music, especially in the province of Khorâsân, where the mulberry tree is considered sacred. From its wood, the exquisite Persian instrument known as the dotâr is crafted.
In the poem by Baktash Abtin, the mulberry tree evokes a unique and haunting image that inimitably captures the tragic and unjust reality he endured. In his verse, the sorrowful shadow of a mulberry tree stretches across the prison courtyard. An image that feels as though the tree bears witness to the suffering and cruelty inflicted upon the innocent, yet remains voiceless. This silent presence is deeply moving, heavy with emotion and grief.
In the second part of my piece, following all the intense and dreadful pain, I wanted to transform the tree’s silent witnessing into a powerful and expressive voice of resistance—a remembrance for those silenced, and a tribute to the sacrifices of individuals like Baktash Abtin, who fought for freedom, even at the cost of their own lives. For this, no instrument seemed more fitting than the English horn, capable of expressing that mournful, aching cry with unparalleled depth and sensitivity. Hats off to my dear friend and incredible musician, Juan Pedro Martínez, for his masterful performance of this theme.
Rehearsals with the Nederlands Philharmonisch Orkest
Among all the experiences I gained in the past years in the music scene, rehearsing with an orchestra taught me the most valuable lessons. During Nedpho's rehearsals, I felt really lucky that Maestra Gemma New was very enthusiastic about the piece, and the orchestra was extremely welcoming. Both are extremely essential aspects of working with such a medium. Therefore, from the first rehearsal, we not only rehearsed the piece itself but also had the opportunity to experiment with different ideas on various instruments with the musicians. Things like selecting the appropriate mallet or drum instruments for the percussion, experimenting with special techniques on the harp, finding the best combinations for the double bass harmonics, or trying very high glissandos on the Tuba!
Another special discovery during rehearsals is the interpretation of the conductor and musicians of a newly written work. Since there are often no audio references, everything gets shaped from scratch. Hence, the rehearsals are rather collaborative explorations through the score, with my role as a subtle guide. On the other hand, during the rehearsals, I got to understand my piece differently. A phrase I imagined as tense became tender; a transition line or an accented note became more important, or a quiet moment, unexpectedly, felt so powerful. I got to look at my piece through the eyes of the conductor and the musicians, which helped me experience my work differently.
Having said that, one of the most effective methods for rehearsing newly written pieces when time is extremely limited is to refer to universally recognized concepts. For instance, instead of explaining that you want short accented notes with a full bow, you can simply say: "I want Hitchcock's Psycho effect on the violins." #Simple, #Effective, #To_the_point!😉
Premiere at the Concertgebouw
On the day of the premiere, a wave of memories rushed over me. The first time I stepped into the Concertgebouw as a teenager (around 15 years ago), sitting on the right balcony, I listened to Prokofiev’s Fifth Symphony, utterly astonished by the brilliance of the orchestra, the magnificence of the hall, and the mesmerizing moment of pure listening. At the time, it felt like an unreachable dream to one day have a premiere with one of the Netherlands’ most renowned orchestras in such a historic venue.
This time, however, that was surreal, as it was my music being performed. From the moment I wrote Abtin's verse, "I was the cry of freedom," on top of a blank page and started to write the piece to the final soundcheck, everything had led to this moment. The orchestra began to play Confessions of the Mulberry Tree, and the weight of everything that had inspired the work—the poetry, the pain, the resistance, the longing, the imagery of the mulberry tree—felt emotionally heavy. When the final chord echoed in the hall and slowly faded into the deep, long, and meaningful silence and stillness, I sensed that something had profoundly resonated. In the end, for a composer, nothing is more precious than having their work received as it was meant to be.
Tafreshi is a fantastic orchestrator, like a worthy pupil of Willem Jeths. He uses almost the entire instrumentation of the orchestra of Shostakovich's first violin concerto. But he also goes in completely different directions. After some soft opening notes we soon hear a painting of threat and crisis, in broadly painted, turbulent cluster passages by the entire orchestra, which then move on to increasingly tonal melodic fragments. All of this is kept tightly under control by conductor Gemma New. (Basia con Fuoco by Neil van der Linden, February 2, 2025 - translated from Dutch)
Klankcast: Episode 100 - Muziek met een hartverscheurende boodschap
I had the wonderful opportunity to join the 100th episode of the Klankcast podcast, hosted by Botte Jellema. During the episode, I shared my inspirations and thoughts on my work. You can listen to the podcast on all streaming platforms.
Learn More: Klankcast: Music with a Heartbreaking Message
References:
Brown, Stephen C. “Tracing the Origins of Shostakovich’s Musical Motto.” Intégral 20 (2006): 69–103. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40214029.
Phil Hebblethwaite. "7 secret codes and ciphers hidden in music" BBC, October 20, 2017. https://www.bbc.co.uk/music/articles/cb7ac9cf-207e-4244-8302-2436f2c2ba5a.
