2006
Icarus
Lera Auerbach
A single-movement orchestral tone poem on the myth of the boy who flew too near the sun, roughly a quarter hour long, often paired with concertos as a concert opener.
What to listen for
Icarus runs without a break, so listen for changes of light rather than for movement endings.
The opening is quiet and suspended: high, thin sounds in the strings and glints from percussion, with pitched metal and bells giving the air a glassy quality. There is little sense of a tune at first, more a sensation of hovering and of something gathering.
From that stillness the music begins to climb. Lines rise in overlapping waves, one instrumental group handing the ascent to the next, and the orchestra thickens underneath. Auerbach keeps a pulse ticking somewhere in the texture, so the rise feels driven rather than drifting. The brass enters late and heavily, and the climb turns into pressure.
The climax is the moment listeners wait for: the full orchestra at maximum weight, then a collapse. What follows is the fall, and it is not a single crash but a scattering, with the material breaking apart and falling away in fragments.
The close returns to the opening world, quieter still, high sounds thinning out over long held notes until almost nothing is left. The ending is soft and unresolved, so conductors frequently hold the silence before lowering their hands. Expect the audience to wait a beat before applauding.
The story
Lera Auerbach, born in Chelyabinsk in the Soviet Union in 1973, came to the United States as a teenager and built a career as composer, concert pianist, and published poet. She has returned repeatedly to figures from myth and fairy tale, writing music that treats them as psychological subjects rather than illustrations.
Icarus takes the Greek story of the craftsman's son who escapes captivity on wings of wax and feathers, ignores the warning not to fly too high, and falls into the sea when the sun melts them. Auerbach has spoken of the myth as being about the value of the moment of flight itself rather than the punishment, and the piece is shaped accordingly, with far more music devoted to the ascent than to the fall.
The score dates from the mid-2000s and has since been taken up widely by American and European orchestras. Its length and its dramatic single arc make it a natural opening work, and it appears often on programs alongside a concerto.
First time hearing it?
- About 12 to 15 minutes, played straight through with no pauses. It usually opens a concert.
- Listen for the long climb: the music rises in waves toward one huge orchestral climax, then breaks apart.
- The percussion section is large and does much of the coloring, with bells and other metal giving a glassy shimmer.
- The ending is very quiet and fades to almost nothing. Wait for the conductor's hands to drop before applauding.
- No singers, no soloist. This is the orchestra alone, even when the rest of the program features a soloist.
Written by OrchestraFinder, reviewed September 2026.