This is the ramblings and discoveries of a Makem composer currently studying in Lithuania.
Discussing new works as well as old, hidden classics, this blog will show the world what there is to love in Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia.
The past few days have been full of indulging in new recordings, new-ish or less familiar composers, and hunting out recordings of various new works. Sadly, due to not being wealthy enough to just fly from Glasgow to Amsterdam, I was not able to see the premiere of Erkki-Sven Tuur's brand new work for piccolo and orchestra. The premiere took place on the 7th December in the Amsterdam Concertgebouw and was co-commissioned by the Royal Amsterdam Concertgebouw Orchestra, London Philharmonic Orchestra, and St. Louis Symphony Orchestra. Thankfully, the wonderful KlassikaRaadio stream their radio online so I was able to listen to it! Thank my stars!
The title Solastalgia comes from a term that was coined by Glenn Albrecht, and is derived from the Latin solacium (comfort) and the Greek -algia (pain); so naively pain in a place of comfort. So the idea essentially comes from the feeling of pain one gets at the change/destruction/desecration of somewhere that you have an emotional connection to. This subject matter ultimately shows the composer's intent when you notice the fact it is a concerto for piccolo - the metaphor of a songbird is quite a poignant move. It is overt that the composer is concerned about the change of the environment, be it on the personal level of fear for his rural home in Estonia or the larger problems facing the world. The composer's own programme notes detail his thoughts beautifully:
'Where I live, the impact of global climate change manifests itself in that winters are no longer winters and summers no longer summers. In my childhood it was ordinary for cars to drive to mainland on a 25 km ice bridge in the winter. There was a lot of snow. And summers were so warm that swimming in the sea was the most natural thing in the world. Today’s reality is that the difference between winter and summer equinoxes is often only 4-5 degrees. There is no place to hide from the ubiquitous environmental change caused by human activity.
An inexplicable anguish creeps into my soul when I see the vast areas of chopped down forests; the onslaught of oil palm plantations when I travel in Southeast Asia; when I read about gigantic ice blocks breaking off the mainland in Antarctica; the fields of garbage floating around in the ocean, etc. Why am I writing about this here? Do I have any solutions to offer? No, I don’t. And this composition won’t make the world a better place either. At best, it’s a lone voice in the wilderness – something that echoes the most burning conflicts of contemporary reality. The above was just to explain that I didn’t choose the title on a whim or due to the word’s peculiar sound...' -- Erkki-Sven Tuurprogramme notes
What instantly appeals to me within the context of this piece is the fact it is almost an anti-Romantic concerto; namely it isn't a heroic victory, it isn't even necessarily salvation, but a lone figure disappearing out of significance. Its also intriguingly anti-Romantic in the way many Romantic/Nationalistic figures tended to celebrate nature or the wilderness; whereas this is fear for the environment itself.
The work starts from a rather beautiful shimmering place. Our soloist singing unashamedly enjoying itself within its wonderful home. However, as time progresses elements and ideas get more and more evocative and challenging; changing and mutating. The once content creature now struggles to survive, getting more animated and fractious at the loss of its familiar home. The energy and sheer strength of the orchestra becomes increasingly powerful, but the soloist keeps singing. The sheer expanse of the orchestration is exquisite and intensive. The driving rhythmic force really pushes the orchestral backdrop to a point of complete dominance where the soloist has only brief glimpses of respite. These moments of 'calm' never feel peaceful or like a resolution but more a point of complete desolation. The finale is eerie. The fog is clearing and almost nothing remains. Is this a prophecy or epiphany? Has the desolation of this 'home' happened or is it going to happen? Its hard to say the exact intent at this point, but all we know either way, the composer is desperate to voice his fear for the future and for the rural world in general.
The premiere was astounding. I was blown away by what I was hearing. Erkki-Sven Tuur is definitely a new period of his compositional life, and a part that I am truly excited to see where it heads. The Royal Amsterdam Concertgebouw Orchestra were on particularly brilliant form and really bought the work to life. I can only imagine how wonderful it would have been to write for Vincent Cortvrint (piccolo), his mastery of the instrument and sheer tenacity in the premiere was glorious. What a wonderful performance, what a glorious piece; I can only congratulate everybody involved. And for those curious, you can hear the work on KlassikaRaaio here.
As the push for greater equality in classical gains more and more momentum, I thought now would be a decent time to just stand back and mention some of the many wonderful female composers from the three Baltic states. This list won't be in any form or order, expect listing nation by nation, and will serve as more of an introduction to female composers in the Baltic; especially those I haven't had the chance to mention yet. Gender equality in the region is something I will like to touch upon in future, but that will be for another time. So for now I hope you all find something you enjoy!
Estonia
Our first composer, Galina Grigorjeva (1962*), was born in Odessa, Crimea, and only came to Estonia after studying with Lepo Sumera. However this does not mean she is disconnected from the scene by any means. Her music is rich and potent, and her exploration of Slavonic sacred music adds an interesting dimension. This intrigue ultimately makes her music an intriguing statement and question of nationality, identity, and personality especially in a nation whose modern identity is still very new.
The grand matriarch that is Ester Magi (1922*) stands as the oldest composer in the region as well as having a truly unique and individualistic stance; when compared with her peers and the following generations. Her music has the beautiful combination of personal ingenuity and ever responsive to 'tradition'. Despite the brilliance of her compositions, her music still retains and curious modesty which gives it a truly endearing quality. Thankfully as she has aged more attention is finally heading in her direction, and hopefully soon more performances of her music will come this far west.
Helena Tulve (1972*), a personal favourite of mine, is a composer with very few who can really be compared to her. The originality of colour and inspired nuance of gestures give her music a quality that is always striking a fresh, regardless of how often one would listen to it. The rolling melismas combined with the resonant spaces make her music sit in a space that usurps the listener fully. For me what makes her music quite so brilliant is the ability to use harmonic space to merely allow the music to speak freely. Very few composers internationally can really compete with the skill in her work.
Evelin Seppar (1986*) is quite a recent discovery for me. And it is quite a curious one indeed. Within her music, you can hear the fascination with modal harmonies, but she skillfully finds ways to knock them off kilter; giving you a new way to listen to the harmonies. There is quite an honest beauty to her music and I look forward to uncovering more recordings myself.
Mirjam Tally (1976*) is another truly striking composer. Her raw potency is the first thing that hits the listener, especially in works like Erosioon. But this brutality is not the sole selling point of her work. Despite the intense focus on sound in the most abstract sense, never loses any sense of musicality or drama. Mirjam Tally, like her contemporaries like Helena Tulve, also really show the profound energy composers had after the break up of the Soviet Union. Everyone wanted to truly immerse themselves into the new world without fear or question. Mirjam does this with a flair. The sheer impact of her music shows this relentless courage and potency within every gesture.
Lydia Auster (1912-93) is another composer who was not originally born in Estonia, but due to her work lead her there. Born in Petropavlovsk, Kazakhstan, Lydia studied composition in Leningrad with Mikhail Judin then in Moscow with Vissarion Shebalin. Her composing took her all over the Soviet Union, including stints in Turkmenistan, from 1950-1989 she was the Chairman of the USSR Music Foundation's Estonian Republic Department, firmly planting her within Estonia and the music scene within the region. Her music is charming and witty, and I imagine there would be a huge audience in the UK who would love to listen to her debonair musical stylings.
Tatjana Kozlova-Johannes (1977*) is an Estonian composer of Russian origin. She studied under Jaan Raats and Helena Tulve and the influence of both of these tutors is apparent within her work, but she never drifts into pastiche. There is an elegant spaciousness to her work, and like her teacher Helena, Tatjana has an inspired ability to entrap the listener. She is still a very new discovery to me, and everything I have found has struck me. I am eager to see what else I can uncover of her work.
For my last example to represent Estonia, I turn to Liisa Hirsch (1984*). Another very recent discovery, but a truly inspiring one. Her music is extremely direct and unforgiving. The unerring honesty within her music is almost divine. Never hiding or presenting her music in a timid manner. Her music simply is. It is simply remarkable. Her Ascending...Descendingis a perfect example of what I mean. The combined elegance of the solo violin's lines accompanied by the perpetual rising or falling of the orchestra is just a joy to behold.
There were many other names I would love to have mentioned, but it does give me a stronger excuse to return to them in future posts.
Latvia
Santa Buss (1981*) is a composer I have admired for a significant amount of time, and have also had the joy to interview relatively recently. A music is a constant journey of self exploration. Each piece, its own philosophical quandary being delved into with this highest intensity. No two works sound the same. But her personal 'voice' shines through. Maybe as her internal monologue remains constant, her musical ideas endure the same scrutiny, siphoning off only the gold from the dirt. Its hard to single out one piece as an example so jump to her soundcloud and enjoy!
A contemporary of Santa Buss, Gundega Smite (1977*) is another composer whose music manages to mystify you one moment and grab you by the scruff of the neck the next. A pupil of Peteris Plakidis, Gundega's music has an elegant sense of craft and purpose which can only be admired. For me, her choral music is what stands out most. Maybe due to the physical and human elements imbued into the music give it that earthy yet mystical quality. Music trapped in human flesh can only dream of transcending its humanity, but Gundega is definitely close to it.
Santa Ratniece (1977*) is another composer I have had the joy of mentioning previously in an article. Like her contemporaries in the Baltic, her music is fascinated with the wider world. Exploring poetry or themes of various cultures, Santa manages to deal with these cultural phenomena with an intrinsic sincerity. So be it exploring historic Jewish traditions or Buddhist art, she manages to approach it with a freshness and openness which only enhances her musicality. I was stunned by the fragility of her piano concerto, I was equally amazed by her ability to produce moments of violence. Santa's music is simply exquisite and needs more performances.
Indra Rise (1961*) stands at a curious point in time. At the point of her studying with Peteris Plakidis in 1990, the world around her had completely changed. This would have left her with the curious circumstances of having the feeling that anything was possible, but also having to fight the crushing sensation of what is our 'identity'. This being said, her music stands strong. Admittedly she could fall into the camp of 'new simplicity' which was heavily celebrated the world over when the Baltic was being rediscovered, Indra manages to not be lost in the labels, and is simply enjoyable.
Maija Einfelde (1939*) is a composer who only quite recently began to gain some international fame after winning the International Barlow Endowment in the US, this however does not diminish from the elegance of her music. A pupil of Janis Ivanovs, Maija Einfelde is a composer strongly connected to the ideas of a Latvian nationality. She has mostly written for choirs or chamber ensembles, this however does not imply a modesty within her music. Her craft is simply brilliant and stands the test of time. Even though she wouldn't be called a revolutionary figure, her music is simply strong and memorable, and I am struck by every new piece I uncover by her.
Born in remote Ukraine, Marina Gribincika (1966*) is an immensely radical figure. It is extremely hard to pinpoint how she came to be the way she is, but there is a truly potent originality to her work. Within her Smilsu Laiks, the combination of cello octet, combined with shimmering and splatterings of percussion put her music into a whole new dimension. Time simply falls away. It is truly awe-inspiring. Need I say more?
A very recent discovery, Laura Gustovska (1986*) is one of the 'newest' generation of composers now composing in Latvia. Within her music is a vibrancy, and almost optimistic lightness to it. This is not to say, she sounds nostalgic, or to even suggest any naivety in her work, but simply the soundscape produce is truly positive and uplifting, even in darker or most violent passages. When listening to her work, there is a feeling there is a lot more brilliance to come out of her. I wouldn't say she is a done dish, but there is still a large amount of merit to her work as it stands and I look forward to hearing more.
A contemporary of Gustovska, Ieva Klingenberga (1986*) stands in almost complete contrast to her counterpart. A significant amount of her work is defined by electronics and has a rather colourful attraction to it. The use of electronics combined with abstract thoughts, including Jung's ideas of anima, produces a rather dizzying spell. The hypnotic effect is quite strong, but never fails to kick you when you least expect it. Like Gustovska, time will see how she continues to grow as artist.
To conclude my mix of Latvians, Linda Leimane (1989*) is quite the composer to finish on. Her music is full of personal character and violence. It is almost unforgiving. Her ability to tap into the rawness of musical sound and gesture is remarkable, especially from a young composer in the early stages of her musical life. What strikes me most, is her ability to almost magnify the ensemble. Her chamber pieces like Magnetic Move manages to make a quartet sound like a huge expansive musical beast; which is made all the more impressive when you consider the piece is only 4 minutes long. I think out of all the three young Latvians I have mentioned so far, she has definitely hit me the hardest.
Once again, there are many more composers I could have mentioned and they are mentally added to the list of composers to mention in the future.
Lithuania
For those who have read my blog on more than one occasion, will know I hold the work of Justina Repeckaite (1989*) in extremely high regard. If you needed more proof of this, you simply need to look at previous posts or my description written for the music information centre. She is without a doubt a remarkable composer who always manages to strike with ferocity and fragility in the same gesture. Her first overtly celebrated work Chartres has an intense richness of colour to it, but more recent works like Unbennant-2 have a serene stillness to them which manage to unless power in the most surprising of ways. This year seems like it will be an extremely busy year for her, and after lots of discussion I am curious to see all the music she is going to produce. Also soon I should have a more in depth article discussing her work soon, as she has agreed to an interview, so watch this space.
Loreta Narvilaite (1965*) is a curious composer within the Lithuanian landscape for multiple reasons. Firstly the nuance and charm to her music is simply like no other, not even other 'simplistic' composers quite have the endearing quality Loreta spins so perfectly. What is also fascinating is the fact she has made such an impact as composer, while staying completely rooted in Klaipeda. As the Lithuanian national scene is so heavily dominated by the capital or Kaunas, it is a genuine surprise to see a talented composer get the praise they deserve, despite not being so deeply connected to the scene in the same way as her contemporaries.
Raminta Serksnyte (1975*) is a composer who as she has grown has become increasingly radical in a truly original and poetic manner. As we briefly discussed in an interview her music has an increase plurality to it, especially in comparison to the early 'minimalist' works like De Profundis. This multilayered approach gives her music a rich palette to work with moving seamlessly from gesture to gesture. The elegance of craft, combined with ingenious ideas keeps her truly original. Any future works are almost certainly going to be magnificent to behold.
In direct contrast to the richness of Serksnyte, Diana Cemeryte (1974*) has a profound austerity within her music. The glistening shimmers of distant sounds, combined with unidentified murmurs lead to a fascinating landscape. Almost like trying to find a rare creature. You follow its minute gestures and movements, hoping the rustlings will unearth exactly what you are hunting for. Combined with the austerity of gesture is clear sense of herself. Her ability to just let an idea live is probably my favourite quality within her music. Her Les essais c'est tout II is a perfect example of this.
Onute Narbutaite (1956*) is one of the few figures in Lithuania who can stand purely on the merit of her work, without desperately needing to teach to survive. One of the few internationally celebrated composer Narbutaite is a one of a kind composer. Her nuanced use of harmony combined with immense dramatic powers makes her music quite the experience to behold. As 2016 marked her 60th Birthday, the year was full of fantastic concerts of her music which were inspiring. There aren't many figures in Lithuania who have defined and left such a lasting impact on the musical landscape of the nation.
Nomeda Valanciute (1961*) is a composer who is heavily rooted within machinism (a minimalistic trend which appeared in the 90s, spearheaded by the likes of Rytis Mazulis, Sarunas Nakas and other contemporaries). Her music is quite simply a matter of fact. It simply is. There is no question. No hidden meaning. Just. Is. It is remarkable that a composer being so defiantly restrictive, could have such a profound impact, but her music is unerring. Never ending. Just music.
Another composer who is having a profound impact on her generation is Ruta Vitkauskaite (1984*). For those who have read my blog before, will know my paths constantly cross with Ruta, and even though I am not always convinced by the work it must be said her unfailing desire to explore and challenge the norm is courageous. Her constant challenge to accepted traditions leads her to very interesting paths, and I am constantly reminded of figures like Cornelius Cardew or Eliane Radigue, simply because despite her dissatisfaction with tradition; she hasn't just followed other trends, instead trying to tread her own path regardless of the world around her. When her music has been at its most potent, it does stun, and as she grows her ability to keep hitting that goal will only increase. But in the end it doesn't matter, because she will keep challenging herself and the world around her, which is truly noble.
Now for my personal favourite. Juste Janulyte (1982*) is a composer I have admired for an extremely long time. Her music's greatest strength is it's own ability to simply be. Regardless of the world. The ability to simply sit with a sound, or colour, or space and stay still. Without an itching desire to leave. To just exist. It is simply divine. Though her music has been going through seismic changes since her early success, her personal voice is always prevalent. I have discussed her work on numerous occasions because of its brilliance, and I will continue to do so for a long time coming.
Once again, there were many figures I would have loved to feature this time, but will have to return to on another occasion. Hopefully sometime soon. Until then, happy listening.
A rare treat for me happened last night, the BBC Proms featured a Baltic composer. To be brutal, the proms have been rather lackluster this year, mostly because they have felt like they have been working to a formula; more than being genuinely 'bad' or 'lackluster'. Of course the quality of music has been extremely high, and the festival has successfully brought music to a huge collection of various audiences. A part of me however feels a small push of outlandish-ness would really make the festival extremely immense and truly enjoyable.
Anyways back to the point of my post. On Thursday 3rd August the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonic Bremen, under the exquisite baton of Paavo Jarvi, delivered a concert of Brahms, Mozart, and Erkki-Sven Tuur. The pairing I found rather magnificent, as Jarvi's conducting really comes to the fore with these composers, and Erkki-Sven Tuur has a truly witty and cheeky conversational quality to it; that is perfectly compliments Mozart.
Flamma was originally premiered by the Australian Chamber Orchestra in 2011, and finally received its British premiere in the Proms. The work is rather typical of Tuur's 'current' period, with its nuanced skill of picking up a huge palette of textures, techniques, and timbres in a singular elegant work; which never resorts to gimmick. The gesturing and shape is vaguely reminiscent of Insula Deserta with its intricate textural gestures and rolling melismas leading into huge powerful climaxes. However Flamma is significantly more 'mature' or at least more obviously the work of a grand master. It is almost like Insula Deserta dosed up on caffeine and amphetamines, ultimately charging like a bull and feeling almost indestructible; definitely a quality Paavo Jarvi manages to pull out of the performance.
The harmonic language is rich and potent, dissonances never sounding 'forced' and everything just flows. The periods of rich consonance ultimately sound dreamy or in a haze; like a small moment of transcendence from the clattering caused earlier. The score is truly intricate and really shows the composer's ability with such a huge palette. Having had the opportunity to compare the recordings of the Australian performance and Jarvi's performance in the proms, I can without a doubt say Jarvi really knew what to pull out of the score. This could be the result of performing later performances, the premiere is always hardest to produce a personal rendition as conductor; but Paavo Jarvi is really alive within the performance and I can only imagine the sound within the Albert Hall was glorious.
Erkki-Sven Tuur, has had the privilege of appearing in the proms on multiple occasions, which is not surprising at all, I do hope however that the Proms would be daring to allow more from the Baltic to sneak their way into future festival. I say this now as CBSO have the wonderful Mirga Grazinyte-Tyla and that Paavo is a regular guest in the festival too. I can but live and hope. For those who missed the opportunity, you can listen here. Definitely worth a listen, either for the glorious roar of Tuur or the refined conducting of Paavo Jarvi.
For the past week I have been chucked in the deep end, well and truly. I have been spending my week in New York, primarily in Fordham University where I have been attending the Arvo Part: Sounding the Sacred conference. The conference, which was heavily supported by the university, the Arvo Part Project, and the Sacred Arts Initiative to name just a few.
As can be guessed from the title, the week has been dedicated to the great composer. A conference of 4 days which has shown us a huge variety of stances and disciplinary viewpoints of the composer and his connection to the world around him. There were many fascinating discussions all of which have really challenged my understanding and broadened my sensibilities.
The real highlight of the whole conference was last night's concert in the Holy Trinity Church. The concert was overflowing with audience members and after a moment of hush the concert started. The opening came in the form of Trivium (1976) for organ. Andrew Shenton really showed his nuance and understanding of the piece bringing out all of the wonderful character and charm of the work, as well as the ethereal extra the often comes with Part's music. A real joy and a great way to open the concert.
Following a brief moment of shuffling amidst the stunned 'silence' of the creaking pews, the next work that followed was De Profundis (1980). It is always hard to witness performances of this work for me. Having grown up with the almost intense perfection of the Hilliard Ensemble's recording its hard to find other interpretations match it. The four singers had a wonderful tone and the interaction between the quartet and the organ was elegant. The percussive sounds could have been performed with a bit more mystery, but were still very effective. Despite the many merits of the performance, I just wish they sang it slower to really wallow in the depths.
Then, after even more shuffling, coughing, and spluttering, came the awe-inspiring Sarah was Ninety Years Old (1976/89). The broad powerful opening of the percussion combined with the beautiful lilting tenors were completely mesmerising. I am always stunned by the work, one because of the sheer power of it, but also because of the sheer oddness of it. The blocks of the sections are intensely static, but almost have no impact on the next, but you feel a building intense and dramatic dialogue. The entrance of the organ always stuns too, but I felt the dialogue between the organ and soprano didn't have the same fluidity of gesture that the Hilliard's recording managed to achieve.
The finale of the concert came in the form of something truly astounding. The string trio Goeyvaerts combined with three astounding singers performed Part's Stabat Mater (1985). A truly inspiring piece, but last night's performance had one more intense nuance. The ensemble had performed the entire work in Just Intonation. For those unfamiliar with the term, just intonation is a tuning system where in short everything is tuned in relation to a point, instead of by 'equal' intervals we are used to in well-tempered tuning. What this did was give a truly unique power and colour to Part's music that has never been opened up before. The rolling lines moved along and the sextet had a truly exquisite sweetness to it. The colours of the three singers; Maria Valdmaa (soprano), Alex Chance (countertenor), and Tore Denys (tenor), was always complimentary and divine. The ability of the singers to adapt to the refined tunings and the new 'field' built up made for a truly profound moment. Not since seeing the British premiere of Adam's Lament was I struck by such a freshness in Arvo Part's music. I had to buy the recording the trio made of the work so I can continue to obsess and indulge myself in it. Goeyvaerts were astouning. No other way to put it. What a magnificent trio that I hope to hear again in the future.
It has been a lot of fun being in the conference and I hope this isn't the last time I have the pleasure of discussing Arvo Part or to witness a concert quite like this.
After a few manic weeks filled with a wedding, a 60th birthday, and a crazy number of hours in varying forms of transport I am back to being to write on the good ol' blog. So give to my cognitive muscles the chance to warm up again, and to look at something I have loved for a very long time, I decided to look at Erkki-Sven Tuur's piano sonata.
For the dedicated followers of this page, you will know I covered Erkki-Sven Tuur's string quartet about a year ago. For those curious, I definitely following this link to check it out. It is interesting to return to Erkki-Sven Tuur with this particular work, the piano sonata was written at almost the exact time as his string quartet and has many similarities in musical stance as his string quartet. There are, however, nuances that really make the sonata stand out as something rather remarkable.
The work was dedicated to Anne Tuur and was premiered in Tartu in 1986 by Kalle Randalu and within it the overall sonata shows a composer with a really unique ability to draw upon tradition and build something unique with it. Firstly the three contrasting movements have elements of the traditional piano sonata within them; the declamatory first movement which lays the foundations of the whole work, the still mysterious middle movement, and flying finale. But the connection goes much further than mere moods.
Within the first movement, we see the rolling harmonies building up gathering momentum before introducing a wildly contrasting still gesture. The two musical entities function as the A and B subject in the sonata, however Tuur takes it further than merely contrasting the opposing forces. The ultimate result is an extremely fluid juxtaposition where each gesture appears briefly before flitting off somewhere. The harmonic language and voice leadings ultimately clarify the nature of the different areas, as the mood of the whole sonata is extremely succinct upon itself. Like in the string quartet, this work has many similarities to minimalist music, but the brilliance of sound and repetitive gestures I believe are merely just a wonderful element of Tuur's music, regardless of the world around him. As the first movement moves along, the elements grow and lead to fascinating musical discourses between themselves, before calmly coming to a close in a rather serene manner.
The second movement, is where the elements of genius begin to shine. The slow movement firstly begins by hammering out motivic fragments from the previous movement and allowing the resonance of the overtones to define the response. The musical material within the second movement are completely connected with each other simply by exploring the capacity of one modal area. The result is mesmerising, but for me what is of particular curiosity is the wonderfully Beethovian nature of the sonata. It begins to show itself within this movement, as upon listening you can instantly feel its connection to the first movement. From this we can also draw other comparisons, mostly through the connection of harmonic evolution and motivic composition.
The finale flies. The rolling arpeggios, contrasted by the flourishes and fragments within the left hand produce an extremely intensive and powerful dialogue. The fluidity of the gestures continues from previous movements producing a truly liberating musical landscape. As the movement progresses the material evolves further and further, exploring whole new regions which previously had not been visited. The sheer might of the piano writing begins to come to the fore with the growing power of the material. The result is a truly magnificent finale.
Overall the sonata is simply fantastic. There is a sheer brilliance to it which few other composers can muster. Erkki-Sven Tuur takes it all within his stride. The sonata has a wonderful ability to tap into the fertile ingenuity of the tradition, but managed to bring his own personal spin to it, in the only way Erkki-Sven Tuur can. Having looked on his website it is uplifting to see so many professional recordings of the sonata, because the work is a truly glorious work and really needs to become connected with the canon. You can listen to the work below. So sit back relax, and I'll be back with more soon.
After an unexpected hiatus, I am back. After a few days of soul searching, it suddenly came to me. I realised I have not written about probably one of my favourite Estonians to grace this earth. Helena Tulve.
Helena Tulve (1972*) is an Estonian composer from Tartu whose music is a glorious music and rich flowing melodies and sumptuous palettes of colour. In her student days she studied with Alo Poldmae before going to the Estonian Academy of Music where she studied with the equally brilliant Erkki-Sven Tuur. After her studies in Tallinn, she studied in Paris under the guidance of Jacques Charpentier, and it was in France where her music was able to get that extra zest that sets her apart from her contemporaries. Being in Paris in the very early 1990s would have meant she was able to consume the vast collections of delights from composers like Kaija Saariaho, Gerard Grisey, and Marco Stroppa to name a few. This combined with the recently reinstated independance of Estonia would have left in the a brand new world that she could craft to her design.
Her music is quite far reaching having written for a vast array of settings including a rather hypnotising opera. All of her works have a particular zing of Helena Tulve, now this is by no ways suggesting the works sound identical, but more that you are always aware of when you are listening to a piece by Helena Tulve. Just like in the way Schoenberg is always Schoenberg or Brahms is always sounding like Brahms, Helena is Helena; and in a century where composers are sounding increasingly similar, composers like Helena give us a wonderful jolt of interest.
Often her works build on her understanding of spectral music as well as her knowledge of gregorian chant. The resulting 'mash-up' is just magical, a right up my street, as the music gives the sensation of being extremely familiar as well as out of this world. Almost like the spiritual powers of the chant are starting to jump out of the musicians and into our ears.
Now admittedly it was almost impossible to choose just one work of Helena's to demonstrate, as I simply love everything she writes, and pretty much everything is in itself its own masterpiece. I decided to focus on L'ombre derrier toi (2011), mostly because of its use of instruments. It is a work for three viol da gambes and sting orchestra, heavy handedly showing the clash of old and new. The result is this magnificently rolling melody which grows into a glorious sculpture of sound. What makes it all the more magnificent, is the gesture in the viols. The fleeting ornamentations are almost perfectly in tune with the ornamentation that viol players would use when playing consort music, so intuitively, and almost literally, it has dragged ancient music to today and made it into a exquisite piece for the ears. The gradual built of colour, is not rushed, nor is it slow, pacing almost seems perfect and the momentum that is built is just elegant. The sculptured mass of sound never builds into something noisy, merely it gains the sensation of trying to transcend itself, by becoming so rich and full it endeavoured to transcend the page.
I could spend days talking about how wonderful the music of Helena Tulve is, so I will stop taking up everyone's time and simply end with a wonderful quote from her:
'Of utmost importance to me is the extending of musical boundaries. By this I mean the extension of timbral, formal and stylistic borders as well as the opening-up of music’s geographical boundaries. The latter has greatly advanced the former.'
Its always nice when a composer sums up their music in a neat practical manner, instead of leaving 'critics' like myself to spout paragraphs about how great they are. Anyway, until next time.
As it has been a while since I did a little look at a singular piece and considering the world around us currently I couldn't think of anything better than to look at Raimo Kangro. As the world around us is becoming an incredibly scary place what with Herr Trump and Britain playing Russian Roulette we all kind of need something just to give us a brief moment of respite.
Raimo Kangro, born in 1949, is one of the most significant voices of the Estonian neo-classical trends which had manifested in country during the Soviet years. Kangro's music is fascinating to observe because of its wit and charm. A student of Eino Tamberg and Jaan Raats, Kangro's music seems to thrive on an overt simplicity and stability of harmonic language which in turn is used as a platform for everything else to spring from it. Within Kangro's large body of works are a huge collection of concerti, symphonies, and piano works. I have previously discussed one of his concerti for two pianos which not only exploits the full potential of dialogue between the forces but also explores a full spectra of extended techniques to build quite a magnificent work.
The neo-classical elements within Raimo Kangro's work stuck with him throughout his working life. Another curious element of his works are his hommages. He produced a curious cycle of twelve portraits all of which celebrate composers he admires from Mozart and Vivaldi to Reich and Schubert. This connection to history never makes his music feel conservative or backwards, and dare I say; may even put him in a better light than other prominent neo-classicists like certain members of Les Six or even Stravinsky (whose neo-classical works do make we want to cry sometimes, as they never quite match the wonder of earlier works and just make Stravinsky look like a bit of a charlatan).
Anyways back to the Clicking Symphony (Ploksuv sumfoonia) (1993). The four movement symphony, written for an army of mandolins (the composer does specify mandolin orchestra, but I do feel a large gather of mandolins can only really be described as an army or armada) has all the 'typical' architecture of a symphony, with a lively vivo for the first movement, a contrasting con moto and sostenuto for the middle movements, and a brief vivo to conclude. The four movement are more akin to Haydn in character, as they only last about approximately four minutes each, and the finale is a blink of just a minute, so there is no Wagnerian or Mahlerian self indulgence in this symphony.
The first movement starts with a brisk articulated driving momentum. The first subject is energetic and the discourse between all the forces extremely conversational. The pulsing accompaniment and strong force in the lower elements of the orchestra give the music its unique twang (pardon the pun). What is fascinating to observe in the symphony is the fact this symphony functions identically to say a symphony written purely for string orchestra, there is no hint at trying to adapt the musical dynamic to the forces. The other fascinating element is due to the brevity of the first movement you can just sit make and marvel at the wondrous craft of the architecture.
The second movement, has an air of scherzo about it, it is playful and spritely. It is a smidgen steadier but this doesn't deaden the jollity of the work. The use of pulsing cycles and irregular rhythms makes the work a joy to listen to, and is like some of the more overtly playful works of Bartok.
The third movement is rather serene and stands as the largest movement of the symphony. The rolling harmonies and sustained sound of a double bass give the perfect backdrop to a moving melody. The melody steadily grows and the anticipation and excitement grows with it. The beauty and serenity of the melody never feels sentimental as the inner dialogue is still bustling with energy and there is still a spring in the step of the orchestra throughout. It is hard to say which movement is my favourite, but it is definitely a contest between this and the opening.
The finale is brief but fun. Maybe I love the whole symphony because it never takes too long and just says what it needs to. The drive in finale is rather extremely, especially after the calm of the third movement. In the finale we see brief snippets of the opening movement, almost alluding to an overarching sonata form throughout the four movements. A neo-classicists equivalent of Inception, a sonata form within a sonata form.
The whole symphony is just a treat, and I think the perfect tonic to the recent dark days we have been witnessing. The whole symphony has a brief tang of Vivaldi within it, but it is hard to say if it is because of the musicality of the work, or the fact there are mandolins. The whole symphony is on Spotify and is accompanied by a surreal but wonderful mix of works written for mandolin orchestra, definitely worth a listen. Anyways until next time!
Thanks to the world of twitter I was able to discover Klassika Raadio's online portal, which has allowed me to listen to a wonderful concert in Tallinn that happened on Friday. The concert is with the Eesti Riiklik Sumfooniaorkester under the wonderful baton of Anu Tali.
The concert featured five Estonians, Maria Korvits, Mari Vihmand, Mirjam Tally, Ulo Krigul, and Lepo Sumera; and for me this concert was a good chance to hear Estonian composers that had slipped past my radar.
The concert started with Maria Korvits's Langedes ulespoole, taeva kaarjasse kaussi for symphony orchestra and was premiered in the concert. The work hypnotically circles on itself growing organically and reaches really rich magical colours. Admittedly at times it felt a bit too close to the wonderful Helena Tulve, but still a nice treat for my ears.
Following this was Mari Vihmand's Floreo, a work written in 1996 and was the eldest work in the programme. In short it was gorgeous. Really sumptuous and glorious, it left me rather stunned in my tiny little flat. Definitely need to find more of Mari Vihmand!
Then after this came Mirjam Tally's Erosioon for cello, symphony orchestra, and electronics. The work was intensive and driving, a really clever use of the soloist and the electronics. The opening grunt of the cello instantly shouted 'listen to me!', this brutal work was thrilling. The soloist was always in control and from what I could hear must have been enjoying themselves throughout. This was definitely the most original and purposeful pieces in the concert. A composer who not only knows what they want to say and shouts it at you while throttling you will always get high praise from me.
Ulo Kirgul's Understandards for vocal ensemble and orchestra had a certain charm to it. Estonian Voices were in solid control of what they had to sing. It was playful and fun, the connection to jazz at times was a bit crass and tacky but it all made sense and fitted to itself. Not for me, but a nicely crafted work. Admittedly after living in the Baltic during the winter, I did heavily consider the text 'You think you've seen the sun?' very true statement indeed.
The finale was Lepo Sumera's symphony no. 6. A monumental and powerful work. Sumera is a composer I have been meaning to get round to discussing this marvelous composer. The symphony is dark brooding and powerful. Out of the darkness comes moments of beauty brighter than anything I can think of. Anu Tali really made a wonderful interpretation of this magnificent piece, at no point did I feel it was a conductor playing contemporary pieces, she almost fooled me into thinking this work is one of the most standard pieces of repertoire; Bravo Anu Tali!
This concert was a wonderful eye opener for me and I shall definitely keep an eye fixed on it so I can listen to more wonderful concerts in Estonia. For those curious about the concert listen to it here. Admittedly I am unsure how long it will stay online, but I hope it stays on long enough for many people to find it and fall in love with it!
This week I wanted to chat about a wonderful work that I have been eager to talk about since I started this blog, but needed the right kind of time for it. The composer in question is Toivo Tulev (1958*) an Estonian composer whose music and personal evolution has fallen at one of the most potent times of Estonia's history.
Toivo Tulev is part of the generation composers just after giants like Arvo Part, and who was a part of the generation setting the stage for Estonia post-Soviet occupation. His music draws on many influences including hard rock, Gregorian chant, sonorism, and minimalism. This collection of influences is almost the epitome of Estonia since the 1990s, everyone freely drawing on everything that they can. The result has meant many profoundly strong composers have come out of the tiny Baltic nation.
The mood of Tulev's works owes a lot of the Arvo Part, I don't say this in the sense that he is a bland copy of Arvo Part, but more that Part opened the door for Tulev's music to really shine. The focus and meditative atmosphere is always beautiful be it in a piece for piano lasting 3 minutes or a half an hour long work for choirs, orchestra and soloists.
This brings me very nicely onto Songs (2005). Songs was commissioned by Paul Hillier while Toivo Tulev was composer in residence with the Estonia Philharmonic Chamber Choir. To quote Hillier's words in the CDs sleeve notes:
...I proposed that he write an extended new work for us, and ventured to suggest that it might be a polychoral piece with various groups of singers and instruments distributed around the concert venue... Paul Hillier
So in short, the work is meditative collage of religious texts from a multitude of sources including Song of Songs, Cantico espiritual, and Coplas del alma que pena que por ver a Dios. The works are all connected by the sense of yearning; a spiritual longing to be closer to God. The setting of the text is in three languages English, Latin, and Spansh, which gives the sensation of constant reflection and revaluation of what has been said, forcing you to remain mindful.
The ensemble is laid out like so:
Coro Lontano Archi Orchestra I Soli Orchestra II Coro I Conductor Coro II Organo Lontano This layout surrounds the audience and fills the space with this meditation. To add to the colour of the ensemble is the use of Duduk, an instrument native to Armenia which is renown for its mournful colour and beauty.
The work can be divided into 8 sections and in the recording produced by harmonia mundi is divided as such. I - By Night - Starts with dark rustlings and building from the ensemble, before we hear the first quotation of the text 'By night on my bed I sought him Whom my soul loveth I sought him, but I found him not'. This movement focuses around the larger ensemble, with the text being sung by the choir. II - Where have you hidden, Beloved - The next section starts with repetitions on singular pitches oscillating around each other. It is very focused and very still and wonderfully hypnotic. III - This life that I live - Is the first section to feature a soloist. The beautiful flying lines from the soprano mystify and mesmerise. The lightness and nimble soprano in the recording really hits the point home, I am a bit in awe of it. The stillness of the orchestra holds the atmosphere allowing the soprano to ring like a beautiful siren.
IV - Nigra Sum - This movement starts very boldly and strong, full of colour and energy. The entrance of the Mezzo soprano soloist is still filled with rippling energy which holds her like the sea holds a ship.
V - Behold, thou art fair - Is the longest singular segment, and is lead by the tenor soloist. Despite sounding very still, the music is still full of yearning and a potency you feel may suddenly explode uncontrollably. The entrance of the choir is haunting and just emphasise the power of the tenor.
VI - I am come into my garden - This is my favourite movement, mostly because I find when a counter tenor is good it is profoundly beautiful. Robin Blaze really brings out the ephemeral nature of the text and music and just draws a listener in closer almost being absorbed by the text and the singing.
VII - Reveal, reveal your presence - This movement begins to build with energy the movement. Despite the long lines in the instruments and singers there is a sense of a building tempi and the the sparky soprano solo adds to the deeper potency of the movement. Allowing it to build and build.
VIII - Mira que la dolencia de amor - The final sees reiterations of older texts as well as the inclusion of the new Spanish text. Despite being a finale, it is by no means a release or a conclusion. There is a greater sense that the souls have gone unsatisfied and with an uneasy breath out the piece ends.
This powerful and potent work is just magical and I can spend days listening to it. The CD by harmoni mundi is definitely worth buying, not just for this singular piece, but also for the collection of other works by this wonderful composer.
I had been tossing and turning thinking about what piece to show this week, and I came to the decision that actually its about time I discuss this figure. Erkki-Sven Tuur (1959*) is quite the Estonian giant and is important to Estonia for two major reasons; his musical eclecticism and sheer vibrancy. He first started his musical career in the progressive rock band Spe heavily influenced by Frank Zappa, and Emerson Lake and Palmer. Shortly after this period he dove into 'classical' composition. He studied with Jaan Raats and Lepo Sumera and studied electronics in Karlruhe, Germany.
His music has a great vibrancy and energy and is never afraid to include various musical devices or strategies into pieces like bringing serialist language in combination with minimalistic repetitions and cycles. Even though the string quartet (1985) is not the strongest piece by Erkki-Sven Tuur, I felt compelled to talk about this one first, as it was the first piece of his I found. The colour and clarity of the two movement work really struck me.
The two movements are very direct episodic movements, with the first being about half the length of the second movement. The first movement closely resembles a rondo or ritornello form loosely following this shape:
A - B - C - B1 - C1 - A
A - is a monophonic texture with the quartet musically playing in unison, the harmony is vaguely tonal, but contradicts itself as it is never clearly Bb major or Eb major for example.
B - is a more animated episode with driving arpeggios in the violins while the viola and cello wait before interacting with it.
C - is a still moment, with the cello playing a harmonic glissando to colour the circling notes in the other three instruments.
The directness is treated remarkably as it never feels predictable.
The second movement is far more extensive in its evolution, but follows a similar basic shape to the first movement. It vaguely references the same kind of shape, but feels more elegant in its construction. The second movement is as follows:
A - B - A1 - B1 - C - B2 - A2 - Reiteration of opening material of 1st movement.
A - is growing tremolandi
B - is a burst of circling notes, combined with an arpeggiated gesture
C - is a sustained chord of Db, F,G,Ab.
It is a wonderful and approachable work, which made me fall in love with the composer's work. In larger scale works like the symphonies or concerti, the pieces are far more profound and elegant; this is by no means a condescending message for his chamber works like this quartet. It is hard not to love his work. You can hear the string quartet here and you can find out more about Erkki-Sven Tuur here; alternatively you can find him on twitter.
See you next time, when I am likely to come back to wittering about lovely Lithuanians.
Firstly, and rather belatedly, Happy New Year. As the blog is still very young, it would have seemed pretentious to do a rounding off 2015 blog post; especially when I hadn't even been writing this blog for the whole year. This past week has been rather nonstop with my involvement in the BFE/RMA Student Conference 2016, in Bangor north Wales. It was fun to be involved for two reasons, firstly it was great to introduce everyone present to works by Kutavicius, Juzeliunas, and Montvila. Secondly, it was particularly fun to be extra sci-fi by being sat in my comfy flat in Vilnius, talking 1000 miles away in Bangor through the magical power of Skype.
Anyways, it is back into the Baltic and into the gems. As it is wonderfully chilling and snowy here in Vilnius, we need something upbeat and positive. I could think of no better person than the wonderfully witty and charming Raimo Kangro (1949-2001). Raimo is a figure I have had a wonderful soft spot for, ever since I heard the first note of his music. Raimo has a wonderful charm and wit that can only be equaled by composers like Haydn or Vivaldi. A student of Jaan Raats and Eino Tamberg, Raimo Kangro became closely linked to the 'neo-classical' scene in Estonia. The 'neo-classical' label does Raimo Kangro a disservice, mostly giving the impression that he was a conservative composer. His music is wonderfully energetic, bouncy, and just a joy to listen to.
What really makes Raimo Kangro stand out is his connection to sonatas, symphonies, and concerti. Works like his Clicking Symphony or Sonata for Two Pianos are times when he is at his strongest. So this brings me to his Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra. This wonderful four movement work. The first movement Declamazione starts with a rich piano chord, resonating freely as strings slowly enter; then a burst of life comes into the orchestra. After a brief interlude by the pianos, the orchestra enter again, circling on their motifs, the atmosphere is calm, rich, and resonant. The colour and power in the orchestra builds into really beautiful passages.
The second movement Variazione starts a fantastical musical interaction between the two pianos, focused on the more percussive effects like harmonics and plucking strings. As can be guessed from the title, the movement is a theme and variations of sorts, with opening gestures returning to the for. A highly rhythmic movement and is just a pure delight to listen to.
The third movement Impressione is a more austere movement, with crystal clear piano chorale. The entry of the cellos brings in a rich melody, and the circling harmonic material adds real beauty, but also a really mournful tone to the movement. The entry of the pedal adds so much angst to the piece that you are just gripped for the entirety of the movement.
The final movement Allegro is a real tour de force, a speedy that just keeps flying. The pianists are let off the reins and are both able to really show off their own prowess. The circling harmonic configuration, gives the movement real stability allowing the soloists and orchestra the space to bring out the energy; not that it is much of a challenge, with the irregular time signatures and moto perpetuo-feel of the whole movement.
The work is wonderfully direct, so I do not want to take up more of your time, by giving strong rhetoric to prove you should enjoy this. Just listen to the piece here on spotify. The two other works: Concerto for Two and Gaudeo are both wonderful gems I aim to touch on in the future. Until next week.
It is hard to discuss Baltic music without the giant Arvo Part. A composer who not only has the heavy weight title of the most famous composer in Eastern Europe, but also the most performed living composer. His music has been, and continues to be, performed worldwide and he touches audiences worldwide. I was fortunate enough to meet him at Sounds New Festival in 2010, in the crypt of Canterbury Cathedral as the Amsterdam cello octet performed a dedicated concert to him. It was also there I was lucky enough to see the premiere of Adam's Lament. As a composer, Part has had a significant influence on my work.
When it comes to Part, I am of an opinion which is rarely expressed or even considered. The opinion is this: Part is more mathematical and serial than people give him credit for. The mathematical precision of his St. John's Passion is far more akin to the work of Morton Feldman and Anton Webern. Admittedly Webern never tackled large scale structures like Feldman or Part, but there are very strong similarities. Mostly the systematic control and slow evolution of ideas. In the St. John Passion, Part manages to maintain a meditative like aura for over an hour while essentially staying in A minor. Without the systematic precision the work would fall apart into nonsense.
But A minor is a tonal idiom, why are you comparing him to Webern and serialism? Well firstly to answer this, a myth or two needs to be dispelled. Firstly serialism is not having a 12-note row and going through it without repeating notes until it is finished. You do not even have to look at late serialists or post-serialists to find this. It can be easily seen in Webern, Berg, and Schoenberg. Serialism is simply this: in tonal music the significance of a singular note is determined by the root i.e. C major. This means certain notes and chords are more important than other. In serialism the significance of a singular note is determined by the row/series. What this means is all notes are equal, a musical socialism if you will. So what you do with your row is up to you. Webern used the row in his symphony to define harmonic areas, where as Peter Schat used serialism to highlight characters of three note chords. Secondly serialism is not just using all 12 notes. Stravinsky, Balakauskas, Maxwell-Davies and many more have produced music using small note rows. So in theory a scale like A minor could be used in serial music, the difference will be how it functions.
With these myths displaced, listening to Arvo Part's St. John Passion gains a very different and intriguing light. The music becomes like a crystal clear glacier slowly moving and evolving. The austerity of material is remarkably like Webern using only as little as need. With this Part has continued to hypnotise listeners all over the globe.
So Palju õnne sünnipäevaks Arvo Part. May you continue to mystify us all.
