Interview: Juste Janulyte

After many months of not discussing much, I am finally back in some sense of tangible rhythm, and with internet access to I can return to my usual output and discussions of Baltic composers. 

Today I will quite simply show you all the interview I have been in the process of creating with one of my undeniably favourite composers; Justė Janulytė. There are numerous cases of me praising her various premieres that I have had the luxury of attending over the recent years. 

So without further ado, lets move onto the leading lady herself:

Labukas Justė! I want to jump straight into the elephant in the room, when people discuss your music, including yourself, the word monochromatic gets thrown around. What exactly do you mean by that?

Well it all started with my series of pieces for homogenous groups of instruments; only strings, only winds or only voices. And so I called it monochrome music. This term though has created a lot of discussions all the time because the result was rather opposite - if you briefly consider voices - even if they are all male voices, every person has his very individual, specific timbre from which you can recognise him on the phone, for example. The same occurs with instruments, maybe the differences are not so big like with voices but still they are, considering an instrument’s physical characteristics, whether it is old or new, the manner of playing, the articulation and so on. So as a paradox, these formally monochrome compositions, like blank sheets of paper or textile, exalt the colour up to their extremes. Just like looking at the monochrome Rothko paintings - one experiences his blue color in the most powerful and straight way, the colour itself becomes a really strong physical experience. This kind of effect is what I'm trying to achieve in my music as well.

Anyway, after purely monochrome instrumentations, I have gradually extended my limits into various amalgams (like Observation of Clouds for voices, strings and winds, Plonge for cello solo and 12 voices, The Color of Water for saxophone(s) and symphony orchestra, Here at the quiet limit for male choir and string orchestra, 2018) but still remaining faithful to the word mono.. while concentrating myself only on one idea, 1 process (even if cyclical), 1 acoustic phenomenon in one certain composition.

Untitled (blue divided by blue) - Mark Rothko (1966)

From my own standpoint, I find the word monochromatic extremely reductive, and at times almost counterintuitive. I personally find a parallel between your music and the Buddhist interpretation of emptiness. An emptiness which is defined by the fact the item doesn’t exist because it is constructed of constituent parts, and those parts in turn are empty because they only exist because of everything else. Can you see the parallel?

As Laurie Anderson said once, emptiness must be an utopic space impossible to experience as it would be destroyed immediately while one enters into it. But probably you refer to the fact that taking a single line out of my dense textures it would not have any sense as it works only as a constructive element to build the whole body?! In fact, those single, pulsating lines are like breathing pores of the skin, like the smallest dimension of a big fractal structure. What I’ve tried to do in my latest piece Midnight Sun for cello solo and 54 strings was to ‘zoom’ on the cello solo part in several steps highlighting it in confrontation with the orchestral texture as if it would be written in a bold typeface or if one detail of a dense texture would be observed through a microscope to overlap and represent at the same time different fractal dimensions of the same material.

As we have spent many days discussing our loves and hates, as well as our joys and stresses, I wondered what I could ask you that I haven’t already in some form or other. But I briefly pondered a quote from Hector Berlioz, who essentially remarked if all his music were to be destroyed, except for his Grande Messe de Morts he would be happy. Is there one piece you hope could survive and therefore truly define you?

It’s quite difficult for me to choose one piece as they are connected into a chain of a particular continuous creative process - one idea brings another, sometimes a less consistent result becomes very important later for some further development and so on. What I see quite clearly being a big fetishist of numbers and coincidences is a certain cycle of 7 years - a period of time in which human skin completely changes as they say - a period of time in which I gradually open a new window (maybe still into the same garden but at least from a different perspective or in a different light).

In 2003 I composed a piece for 2 pianos–my first conscious monochromatic piece with a very gradual metamorphosis from ‘white’ to ‘black’ (from diatonic pointilistic melodic lines to clusters) and a spacious stereo sound coming from 2 pianos…

After 7 years came Sandglasses (2010) for 4 cellos, live electronics, and video scenography which, thanks to video-maker Luca Scarzella, has brought up a manifestation of my visual thinking. This previously had only been embodied in musical structures or alluded to within my titles. My collaboration with Michele Tadini and Antonello Raggi helped bring a fantastic world of electronic music to my piece; ultimately producing one the purest conceptual examples of my monochrome aesthetic… And after another 7 years, finally The Colour of Water (2017) was written for a soloist playing with 3 different saxophones (soprano, alto, and baritone) and symphony orchestra, destroying my initial prejudice against the hierarchy in the ensemble and seeing that even very different elements can build one single organism made of different parts almost like organs in a larger striving to make this body live, breathe, and move in space.

What connects all these 3 pieces, which I have realised only now, is my beloved  ‘catabasis’ form - a gradual descending in register, in the Baroque rhetoric, this implied the going down to another world…I wonder when and how this thing caught up to me but probably it's all focuses around  gravitational force, which is one of those phenomena of nature which attracts me the most.

                              

Coming back to my parallels with Buddhist philosophy, would you agree that there is scope for your music to be a tool for meditation? And if so, have you or others tried it?

I don’t think it can be a tool for meditation even if sometimes my music is really slow and makes the listeners loose the ordinary sense of time flow and even go into trance. But it is not meant to be background music for some other activity than just listening to it as it requires quiet strong concentration to be able to perceive the symbolism of the structures, processes, concepts which are embodied inside. I hope it has a stronger force and can evoke wider, richer sensations than a common meditation is able to do.

As a Lithuanian diaspora, I can only imagine Italian, or other foreign commentators, have at one point or other dropped a line suggesting an obvious ‘Lithuanian’ or ‘Baltic’ sound. Would you say there is one in your work? How much do you think it matters?

I’m sure my sound is Baltic automatically just because I’m 100% Baltic myself. Moreover my composition studies with Lithuanian composers Bronius Kutavičius and Osvaldas Balakauskas were much longer than with foreign tutors and besides of that the first strongest musical experiences were also connected to the Baltic music like Centones meae urbis (1997) by Onutė Narbutaitė,

 ajapajapam by Rytis Mažulis (2002) or Aporia by Šarūnas Nakas (2001), so I’m rather proud to be a part of some Baltic tradition… Anyway, it’s quite superficial to speculate on national or gender issues...hopefully they are enough profound, natural and essential without any declarations.

And finally, as I have done with everyone else. If you were lost on a desert island, with only 5 recordings, what would they be?

From one side it is a very reductive request, from another one - I would definitely be happy to finally get some silence but if you really insist, here is a list of the moment:

(1) Passion(s) by J.S.Bach and all I can bring by J.S.Bach

(2) Symphony no. 45 Farewell by J. Haydn

(3) Canon of the last day by Ben Lunn 

(4) Passio by Arvo Pärt

(5) Corsican polyphonic chants - or am I going to be lost in my beloved Corsica? :)

To conclude, firstly I want to highlight a personal enthusiasm to get back into the habit of writing the blog, especially as I have missed the actual centenary events in Lithuania and Estonia. So please wait to see more coming in the next few weeks.

And finally from our participant, let us take this opportunity to listen to her Colours of Water with Arvydas Kazlauskas and Normunds Šnē - listen here.

Osvaldas Balakauskas - Symphony No. 1

Today I wanted to go over a wonderful recording I recently came across of Osvaldas Balakauskas's Symphony No. 1. For those of you unfamiliar with his work Balakauskas is one of the most significant and crucial figures for Lithuanian music. In 1964-69 Balakauskas was studying in Kiev Boris Lyatoshinsky (1895-1967) (or Lyatoshynsky, depending on your preferred spelling). As the majority of his cumulative years as a composer were away from Lithuania, the knowledge he bought back with him would have been enough to secure his significance; particularly as during that time travel and exchange of information was still slow. Thanks to the cultural thaw under the years of Kruschev, information from Western Europe was seeping through into the Iron Curtain, but individuals needs to search intensively to find it. For Balakauskas being in Kiev allowed him to gain access to the works of Anton Webern, Olivier Messiaen, Iannis Xenakis,and Pierre Boulez; composers who would have a profound influence on his work.


Upon Balakauskas's return to Lithuania in 1972 he stood out as a singularity having not gone through the same 'rites of passage' as his contemporaries like Bronius Kutavicius or Feliksas Bajoras. But he was eager to continue striving forward delving deeper into serial technique crafting into something uniquely his. It must be pointed out here, that even though many Lithuanian composers from Benjaminas Gorbulskis to Vytautas Barkaukas, but it never really sunk in as a significant trend; unlike Britain, France, Germany, or America where the affects of serialism still ring out amongst composers. The sheer fact Balakauskas was delving into serialism so deeply is curious considering his surroundings. Then to realise he managed to do something only really matched by Peter Schat (1935-2003) by creating a serial-logic that adds a whole new interpretation of it.


But anyways back to the symphony. Balakauskas's first symphony was written in 1973, being one of the largest pieces he wrote upon his return to Lithuania. The symphony is a 24 minute beast for full orchestra and is fantastically intense to listen to. The symphony shows a radical young composer screaming, desperate to be heard. The opening flourishes and jagged edges dance their way around the orchestra, never wanting to settle down. The hard edges of the harmonies combined with the angular bouncing of the melody, despite their intensity, draw the listener deep into the fray. Moments of calm appear, but have an unsettling edge to them, a sensation similar to the eye of a storm. The angst slowly gathers momentum again, building into extremely powerful and tense moments. The contrapuntal violence between the lower brass and the high woodwinds makes for an intensive crossfire. The finale of the movement is extremely strong and potent, just a magnificent beast really before fading away to nothing.

The second movement is dark and lilts stealthily around. The passing melodic lines add to the mystery. A really fascinating movement which never truly reveals itself, just draws you deeper and deeper while it steadily and patiently gathers itself. The vaguely cyclic nature of the movement adds to the hypnotism, despite the intense climaxes that are reached, you are still lulled into a false sense of security. 


The finale movement builds with an extremely energetic fugue. The finale is bombastic and full of beans. The rhythmic intensity is always present, even at points of supposed calm. The sensation of drive and energy is unmatched really. The dense harmonies are crafted superbly, producing magnificent sonorities despite the complexity of the harmonic language. This combined with the magnificent rhythmic craft, produces an elegant work indeed. A truly underappreciated gem, which needs to be heard more. 

Diana Cemeryte: Still

This week I am going to introduce a truly wonderful composer. Diana Cemeryte is a wonderful discovery I have made since I moved to Vilnius. A composer whose music is just wonderfully still and hypnotic. A student of Teistutis Makacinas, Rytis Mazulis, and Osvaldas Balakauskas Diana currently resides in Frankfurt.

Due to her study of gregorian chant and desire to not 'chatter' her music is extremely austere. The austerity is not a coldness or lack of sensation, but a chilled beauty like a singular snowflake. A snowflake is quite a wonderful comparison as the stillness is not just an empty space. In composers like Morton Feldman the stillness is frozen music moving extremely slowly, whereas in Anton Webern and Diana Cemeryte the stillness is extremely and elegantly layered. The fixation on gregorian chant and early polyphony means her work flows and moves seamlessly from space to space.

The music draws you in and forces you to focus on a singularity. As soon as you do this, you see how complex and sophisticated the construction is; like zooming in on a snowflake you see the symmetry, the skilled and perfect construction which was invisible from a distance.

The piece that first drew me into her astounding work was Still (2004) for solo piano. A work which in its seven minutes takes you away to something distant and profoundly mystical. The opening is intensely quiet, with lines bouncing around the highest reaches of the instrument. Notes hang in the air as the counterpoint thickens. Despite being so still and silent, the listener is frozen in place. You slowly begin to pick out small instances of the harmonic language, but due to the sparsity and modesty of it all these hints fall into insignificance. The flowing lines steadily pick up momentum and you gain the sensation of a rippling energy under the surface, like a river flowing under the ice.

The sensation of form has disintegrated in this piece, this isn't to say there is no form in actuality the form ceases to matter. The 'climax' around the five minute mark is striking, almost startling, and you calmly return to the meditative stillness and just follow the work to its end. The piece flows, the moment arrives, the moment passes. Once its gone it never returns, hints of a past are dropped every so often, but you just sit and watch the world flow by; like a monk meditating. A thought arrives and a thought leaves.

Such an elegant work indeed, you can listen to it here on soundcloud. I will definitely be on the look out for more work from this stunning composer. 

Osvaldas Balakauskas: Concerto for Oboe, Harpsichord, and Strings

The first composer I thought I should introduce everyone to, is a figure who holds the same kind of importance in Lithuania as Maxwell-Davies holds in England. Born in 1937, Osvaldas Balakauskas has been an influential figure in Lithuanian music since the middle of the 1960s. After studying in the Vilnius Pedagogical Institute before moving to Ukraine to study with Boris Lyatoshinsky at the Kiev Conservatoire. His time in Kiev was extremely influential on his work, it was during this time he was able to indulge in his loves of Xenakis, Stockhausen, Messiaen, and Webern. Between the years of 1988-1992 he was a member of the Lithuanian Independence Movement (Sąjūdis). After this time, he became one of the first ambassadors for Lithuania after regaining independence. He served as ambassador in France, Spain, and Portugal. 

The defining feature of O. Balakauskas, is the clash of serial techniques and tonality. He does this with his signature technique, which he calls, dodecatonality. This technique, has a multitude of implementations. If a composer were to use these ideals on a 12 tone row, Balakauskas's technique could approach this in two ways:

1. By building a twelve tone row which implies traditional tonal harmonies, i.e. C, Eb, G, G#, E, B, Bb, F, D, F#,A,C#.
2. Or by layering a tone row with with transpositions of itself to produce, tonal harmonies, i.e. the above row C, Eb, G, G#, E, B, Bb, F, D,F#, A, C#. Could be layered with a minor 3rd and a fifth. Eb, Gb, Bb, B, G, D, Db, Ab, F,A,C,E. and G, Bb, D, D#, B, F#, F, C, A, C#,E,F#.

As can be seen, the original tone row, it is built up of two major chords a tritone apart, and two minor chords a tritone apart. In this particular example the layering produces the first three notes of the row in the opening chord. What this allows the composer to do, is seamlessly shift harmonies in constantly surprising shifts in a way that is surprising, but always feels rather right.

Obviously, the above example is a mere introduction to the technique and O. Balakauskas himself was able to take the technique to really profound and wonderfully constructed ways. The best way to introduce someone to a musical technique is to show musical examples. Which brings us onto the Concerto for Oboe and Harpsichord. Written in 1981, this three movement concerto is one of his most conventional concerti. It is also one of his most approachable works. The interactions between the strings and the two soloists is lively and light-hearted. The second movement is a beautiful movement which sees the Harpsichord sitting back while the oboe sings its heart out. The final movement is highly rhythmical ending the concerto in a flourish. 

Osvaldas Balakauskas - Concerto for Oboe, Harpsichord and Strings - Movement I

Information gathered from the followings sources:

Osvaldas Balakuaskas Profile, Music Information Centre: http://mic.lt/en/database/classical/composers/balakauskas/#bio

Osvaldas Balakauskas - Balakauskas: Concerto Brio for Violin and Chamber Orchestra/Ludus Modorum/Piano Concertino, BIS