Meet the Institute composers: Lembit Beecher

Lembit Beecher is one of the four composers of the inaugural NJSO Edward T. Cone Composition Institute. His Institute work, Kalevipoeg in California, imagines the Estonian folk hero transported to present-day San Francisco.

What has your composing journey been like?

I was pretty late to the composing game—I feel like there are all these 13- and 14-year-olds who have written their fourth symphony already! I played piano most of my life; I improvised a little, and I wrote a piece or two in high school and a few more in college. But it was only in the last two years of college that I really started writing, and I wrote a whole lot during my master’s and doctorate [programs]. Then I got into opera, and I’ve had a residency with Opera Philadelphia the last three years. But I’ve always wanted to also get back to writing orchestral pieces—I’ve written a few pieces for orchestra in the past—so this Institute is really a great chance to try to recapture that skill or two explore it more.

What stood out to you about the NJSO Edward T. Cone Composition Institute?

Well, I feel so lucky in retrospect, because it has been such a special experience. It feels caring in a way you wouldn’t necessarily expect from a big orchestra. Everyone from [NJSO President & CEO] Jim Roe to every player, everyone involved, has been so interested, and everyone obviously has devoted a lot of resources and time to this project. I feel like that really rubbed off on the composers. We felt really special, and we also understood how much energy there is behind making an orchestra work.

In the composer’s words

Kalevipoeg in California (2013) imagines what would happen if the Estonian folk hero Kalevipoeg were magically transported into present-day San Francisco. Though I was born and raised in California, my mother is Estonian. I spoke Estonian at home and remember being drawn to the strange characters of Estonian folklore. I was particularly fascinated by Kalevipoeg, the great hero of the Estonian national epic. The deeply flawed Kalevipoeg was not much of a hero; actually, his bluster, thoughtlessness, massive strength and propensity to get drunk and commit heinous crimes combined to make him a pretty unlikeable person. For some reason, perhaps in an effort to understand his character better, or perhaps just as a playful pastime, I began trying to imagine how Kalevipoeg would deal with contemporary society—what would happen if he were suddenly to appear, say, in downtown San Francisco? I imagined his power turning into awkwardness: a spastic, clumsy dance of sorts. And as I imagined him flailing about, searching for something recognizable, my image of him, a relic of a mostly forgotten world, became a sad one. Faced with the hardhearted crudeness of the modern world, Kalevipoeg’s own brand of crudeness became more sympathetic. So I imagined Kalevipoeg lashing out at the modern world in one last mighty outburst and then roaming away from the city and finding solace in nature, in particular in the majestic, ancient redwood groves of California, one old fogy hanging out with others.

Learn more about Beecher and the other composers of the NJSO Edward T. Cone Composition Institute.