Is there a nation more deeply invested in its musicians, and especially in its composers, than Finland? Such things are hard to quantify, but it seems unlikely. The investment begins early: The Finns regard access to music education as a basic human right.

The fruits of this enlightened cultural policy could be savored Thursday at Orchestra Hall, at an eagerly awaited Sommerfest concert by the Minnesota Orchestra -- an all-Finnish feast dished up by Osmo Vänskä, himself one of Finland's foremost musical exports. Spanning some eight decades, the program coupled works by two living composers, Einojuhani Rautavaara (Vänskä offered cash to anyone who could pronounce his name) and Kalevi Aho, with the towering Fifth Symphony of Jean Sibelius -- the fount of musical Finnishness. (If you missed Thursday's performance, don't despair; Vänskä has recorded all of this music.)

Rautavaara, who turns 80 in October, has been labeled, erroneously, a New Age composer. There is, however, a streak of nature mysticism in his makeup, as his "Cantus Arcticus" (1972) attests. Subtitled "Concerto for Birds and Orchestra," the piece mingles the cries of birds, taped by Rautavaara in the Finnish northland, with instrumental writing that is often spare but occasionally lush. Avian song is sometimes set against the orchestral texture, sometimes pulled into it, sometimes heard alone.

I'm not sure the piece deserves to be Rautavaara's most popular -- he has written far more engrossing music -- but it's no gimmick, and offers moments of arresting beauty.

Aho is going on 60; his reputation has been slower to spread beyond Finland. His Symphony No. 9 for Trombone and Orchestra (1994), which recalls the postmodernism of the Russian Alfred Schnittke, is built around the clash of two styles: angst-ridden modernist and vacuous baroque. Both are, to some extent, caricatures, and their juxtaposition allows for some inspired play: At the end of the first movement the harpsichord (signature instrument of the "baroque" style) is repeatedly brutalized by the percussion but keeps bouncing back in cartoon-character fashion.

R. Douglas Wright, the orchestra's principal trombonist, struggled intermittently with the grueling solo part, written for the dazzling Christian Lindberg, but was impressive on the sackbut (an early trombone, played in "baroque" sections) and terrific in his everything-but-the-kitchen-sink cadenza.

In Sibelius (who, between us, was part Swedish), Vänskä was incandescent. Tempos were sagely chosen; inner detail was plentiful; the final affirmation of E-flat felt cosmic in its import.

Larry Fuchsberg writes frequently about music.