Anatolijus Senderovas: 70th Birthday Bonanza

As I mentioned in the last post, things are starting to pick up in Vilnius and a large amount of concerts will be happening in a short space of time. Last night was a concert performed by the Lithuanian National Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Modestas Pitrenas. The concert was to celebrate the Lithuanian composer Anatolijus Sendervoas who turned 70 this year. The occasion was a very big one with Senderovas receiving a present from the president and was supported by many national or international foundations and institutions including the Lithuanian composers union and the Good Will Foundation.


Senderovas was born in 1945 to a Jewish family, which considering the seismic shifts and torturous events that preceded and followed his birth his existence is rather miraculous. He studied in what is now the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theatre under the guidance of Eduardas Balsys. And his music is definitively Baltic. The openness, the clarity, the moments of austere beauty, and the ability to unleash powerful violence makes his music the template that many composers following him or his contemporaries aimed to achieve.


The concert included four works, his concerto in Do (2002) for cello and orchestra, ...ad Astra (2007) for accordion and orchestra, Paratum cor meum (1995) for cello, four keyboards played by one pianist, choir, and large orchestra, and a new work Sokis (dances)(2015). Following many speeches and many presents and bouquets being handed to Senderovas, the concert opened with the concerto in Do. The soloist was David Geringas, who performed the premiere of the work back in 2002. The piece opened in a still dark calm, allowing the cellist to really open up this quasi-free quasi-cadenza showing off a wide virtuosity and beauty. Gradually ripples spread across the orchestra building to rich sounds which allows managed to make the soloist more powerful. The constant building lead to quite a powerful climax before coming back to the same dark calm that opened the concerto.


The next piece ...ad Astra was the work I was most familiar with before the concert, due mostly to the fact when I was writing my own concerto for accordion, Martynas Levickis kept referring me to his powerful piece. Hearing the two concerto side by side was fascinating, in the sense that one it seemed Senderovas had built quite a wonderful formula for producing concerti using a similar architecture but still make the work sound wildly different and unique. Part of it hangs in the instrumentation, whereas the concerto in Do is extremely lyrical this accordion concerto is violent and dense. Thick clusters spread from the soloist to the orchestra and the climax of the work is quite a powerful roar from the orchestra, it was especially intense as I somehow ended up sat in the front row. The whole concerti was played astounding well by the soloist Geir Draugsvoll.


After the interval and a lot of stage change, the concert resumed with Paratum cor meum. A monumental work, due to its size and forces. The Lithuanian choir Jauna Muzika supported the orchestra in this piece. Indre Baikstyte had the task of jumping across the four keyboards, which included piano, harpsichord, electric organ, and celeste. David Geringas took centre stage for the solo cello part. The text of the work focuses on quotes from the Psalms and Ecclesiastes. The quotations focus mostly yearning for release and the work reflects this through very beautiful solemn stillness. The interaction of soloist and choir with the orchestra is very similar to Flos Campi by Vaughan-Williams. Where instead of a solo singer with an aria, the soloist reflects the mood and beauty of the words. The moments of violence and chaos seems to detract from the work as it made the work feel a bit stop start but this being said, the violence was a powerful thing to witness.


The final work was a world premiere by Senderovas written especially for the concert. Sokis (dances) in short is, if you can imagine the result of Karlheinz Stockhausen writing authentic Klezmer music. The piece started with a bit of confusion when the compere Darius Uzkuraitis said: There might be a soloist, we don't really know. And a stage manager appeared with music before disappearing. The piece actually opened with clarinets wailing away at the Jewish folk tune, and it bounces along getting slowly more insane, before a sudden break into chaos. This chaos is suddenly halted by conductor Modestas Pitrenas, who then asked: Where is our soloist? The orchestra then shouted loudly for Geringas who walked out proudly before joining in on the fun. The piece carries on then descends again into chaos, Pitrenas asked again: Where is our soloist? The orchestra promptly shouted for Draugsvoll who also appeared proudly and added the occasion. It carried on dancing away, going like a bull through a china shop. When chaos ensued again Pitrenas screamed: What is this noise, what is going on? This lead to a small competitive cadenzas from Draugsvoll, Baikstyte, and Geringas, each zanier than the last. Then like a muscle man on steroids the dances charged on before coming to a loud end.

The concert was a fun experience, and I sincerely hope Sokis got recorded, because of the wild and choatic forces it would be hard to make many future performances. Overall it was a wonderful mark and nod to the birthday boy and was performed beautifully by the orchestra and conducotr Modestas Pitrenas. A combination I hope to see many more times during my time here in Vilnius.  

Onute Narbutaite: Kornetas

Last night was my first visit to the Lithuanian national opera theatre (Lietuvos Nacionalinis Operos Ir Baleto Teatras). A wonderful venue in the centre of Vilnius and around the corner from the river Neris. Stood in the foyer before entering the actual theatre you stare up at the evening sky with the Gediminas fort dominating the skyline.


My visit was to see an opera by one of Lithuania's most internationally recognised composers, Onute Narbutaite. A composer who I have know for quite a significant amount of time, due mostly to the vast number of recordings available of her works. Finlandia did a wonderful selection of CDs including her second symphony and Gates of Oblivion. Her work has always struck me as rather wonderful. The intensity of the music combined with a powerful melodic strive makes her work very powerful. The second movement of the second symphony 'melody in the garden of olives' is one of best demonstrations of her music. With its focus on melodic material combined with jarring chords and thick colourful orchestral textures make the piece quite stunning.


With this familiarity of her work I was curious to see what a Narbutaite opera would sound like. Mostly because in my experience of watching opera by living composers, not all composers can make good opera. Sometimes the best composers will fail at opera. A good operatic composer needs something else, and I was hopeful to see if Narbutaite could work this magic.


The opera is called Kornetas (Cornet) and to quote the composer:


This opera is a free improvisation on the subject of Rainer Maria Riike's Die Weise von Liebe un Tod des Cornets Christoph Rilke....Now, in the 21st century, this opera improvisation is speaking of the universality of that story, as if trying to state that human yearning - for love or transcendence - always remains the same...R.M. Rilke's poetic storyline is reflected in the opera, however, it serves more as a pretext...and inspiration to a personal vision.             Onute Narbutaite.

The opera is two acts shows the last moments of Kornetas before he died in battle. Through these final moments he is haunted by memories of his past and you always feel his desire to return back to that life. This parallel of real life and 'dreamworld' is handled very well by the stage design so there is very little confusion about how the two worlds interact. Musically it has the same gutsy power that I come to know and love of Narbutaite. But its wonderful music sadly didn't make it great opera. The real strength in the work came in the second act where the momentum was far stronger and every shift from reality to dream felt more necessary. And the final death of Kornetas was extremely powerful. The first act spent too much time setting up the parameters of reality and dream, to the point that direction was lost and the death of the Screaming girl felt like it came out of nowhere. 

The hefty task of tackling a new opera was mastered rather wonderful by the conductor Robertas Servenikas and the main cast were very strong in their roles. The set was beautifully made, but at times felt unconnected.

My misgivings of this opera are by no means a reflection of the successes of Lithuanian opera or the quality of the music of Onute Narbutaite. Listen to Narbutaite's Tres Dei Matris Symphony the sheer magic and colour of the choir and orchestra makes for a wonderful listening. Alternatively you can hear Lokys the Bear by Bronius Kutavicius to see how powerful Lithuanian opera can be.


Over the next few weeks there will be more blog posts as I have been fortunate enough to get press access to the Gaida Festival, so look out for more posts. 

Bronius Kutavicius: The Gates of Jerusalem

Momentum is really picking up here in Vilnius, and I have gathered so many gems to discuss I've struggled to work out the order to present them in. But when I woke up today I had to discuss Bronius Kutavicius. It would be impossible to discuss the world of Lithuanian music, without looking at Kutavicius. Born in 1932, Kutavicius has been a prominent figure for an incredible amount of time. In the 1960s he was dabbling with the same kind of experiments many other composers were tackling, but he soon turned to a different standpoint. His fascination with language, ritual, and ancient architecture led him to create a music which emulated these factors, because of this many commentators on his work often refer to him as an archaeologist. Similarly to composers like Montvila or Juzeliunas, Kutavicius draws a lot from Lithuania's ancient folklore, mythology and folk music; but in comparison to Montvila or Juzeliunas, the desire is to tap into this musical world entirely, instead of translating it for classical audiences. This gives Kutavicius's music a brutal and archaic landscape, which still hypnotises, much like sutartines or Tibetan monastic music.


Commentators on Kutavicius try to pigeon hole him into either 'minimalism' or 'new spirituality'. Both of these labels ultimately miss the point entirely, simply because the motivations are almost completely separate. 'Minimalism' as a way of describing Kutavicius, is flawed in the basic fact that the music isn't repetitive to make it simple or approachable, the repetitions in Kutavicius's work are for ritualistic purposes, just like sutartines isn't minimalism, Kutavicius isn't minimalism. The issue with 'new spirituality' as a term is it either implies a 'new age' spiritual thinking, or treating spirituality as a novelty or musical niche. This is quite degrading to all composers who get that label slapped onto their work. Spirituality has been linked to the development of music for over one thousand years, so to draw on spirituality is simply traditional. Also by the kind of logic, shouldn't Kutavicius be 'old spirituality'? as he draws on pre-Christian religions.


I digress, the piece in question I want to focus on is his large scale work 'Gates of Jerusalem'. Written in 1995 the piece reflects a quotation from Revelations, 21:9-13:

Then one of the seven angels(...)showed me the holy city of Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God. (...) It has a great, high wall, with twelve gates (...) on the east three gates, on the north three gates, on the south three gates, and on the west three gates

The work is a four movement work, for each major point on the compass, and each movement divides into three sections. So there is a definitive musical section for each of the twelve gates. The work was originally conceived for piano, but the composer felt a single piano ultimately lacked what needed to be created, so a work for orchestra and choir was born. 

The first movement is the Eastern Gates. Musically it references Japan, with its echos of Gagaku (Japanese traditional music) and imitations of traditional instruments like piano strings being struck to emulate the koto. The movement also references the importance of Zen Buddhism and Haiku by quoting Buson's haiku:

To the west will spread the moonlight, and the shadows of flowers - to the East.

The next movement is the Northern Gates. Which references two major elements, Shamanism and Northern European composers like Sibelius or Nielsen. The reflection on Shamanism is revealed through the use of large drum and chanting. And the references to Sibelius and Nielsen come in the form of a 'Northern Fugue'. 

The Southern Gates is an extreme juxtaposition to the previous movement. The use of layered polyphonic rhythms and melodies drawing on African or Oceanic tribes makes this an extremely exciting movement. The drive and pulsations are as hypnotic as they are energetic. 

The final movement the Western Gates looks to Western Europe. The movement is subtitled Stabat Mater and it is based on the canonical text. The conclusion of the movement and the work on the  word Amen, has the overtly spiritual overtone of almost having prayers answered.

The careful consideration of many different spiritualities, cultures, and musical idioms in this work make it quite a powerful poly-religious oratorio. In much the same way John Taverner or Arvo Part's music tries to bring others to spirituality through crystalline music, Kutavicius brings the audience to spirituality by simply addressing all peoples.

This wonderful piece can be heard here on spotify performed by Donata Katkus and his St. Christopher Chamber Orchestra, as well as the Aidija Chamber Choir under the guidance of Romualdas Grazinis. And thankfully now more and more recordings of Kutavicius's work are appearing like the recently released Hyperion recording of Kutavicius's 'The Seasons'.



Information gathered from

Music Information Centre Lithuania

Sleeve notes on The Gates of Jerusalem CD by Linas Paulauskis

Julius Juzeliunas: Lygumu giesmes (Simfonija Nr. 5)

This week I will be tackling one of Lithuania's most influential composers, Julius Juzeliunas. A pupil of Juozas Gruodis, Juzeliunas had a broad career as a composer, and was one of the influential figures in Sajudis which led to the foundations of the independent Lithuania we know today.  Like many composers of his generation, his music started in a romantic style with an intense focus on folklore. But as he and his music matured, he drew on modernistic trends, as well as developing his own musical systems based on his research of Lithuanian folk music like sutartines. His music in the 80s shifted to what could be interpreted as a minimalist styling, but the intriguing layering of polyphonic lines and the sprinklings of Neoclassicism show there was something more curious happening in his music during this time.  His influence in Lithuania can be also seen in his tuition. In 1952 he gained the position of head of composition in the now Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theatre, where he taught many of Lithuania's leading composers like Rytis Mazulis, Ricardas Kabelis, Felix Bajoras, Vytautas Montvila, and Onute Narbutaite.

The piece I will be Introducing is one of the first pieces of Juzeliunas I ever uncovered, his Songs Of The Plains (Symphony No. 5) (Lygumu giesmes(Simfonija nr. 5)). This curious two movement symphony is written for female choir and strings and was the piece that won Juzeliunas the inaugural Lithuanian National Prize in 1991. The opening starts off very serenely as the violins build the melodic material that circles itself. The introduction of the low strings adds an extra level of energy, with the sharp stabs. The second section is defined by the introduction of the voices, who reiterate their melody Sedauto.  Each circling of the folk song gets stronger and more energetic, until it suddenly dissipates into a section reminiscent of the opening. The fourth section is heavily focused on another folk melody treated in a manner very similar to the first. The movement continues  progressing and evolving motifs are reiterated in the string orchestra, in a way that could be seen as a link to sonata form. The 'recapitulation' comes in the form of Sedauto  being sung by the choir again, but this time only accompanied by a low B tremoloing sul ponticello,  drawing the movement to a close.

The second movement is a much shorter movement in comparison. The burst of energy, combined with the constant evolution and linear form make this a thrilling piece  listen to. The entrance of the voices in this movement starts with the altos singing, while the sopranos adding text speak theirs adding a harsh element to it. We reach a moment where we feel a moment of calm, but instantly feel the movement building more and more over time; evoking so many different colors and textures from the strings. Towards the close, motifs and ideas from the first movement reappear, it is then rudely interrupted by material that opened the movement; bringing the piece to an energetic and thrilling close.

The work is fascinating and Juzeliunas's music gets more fascinating the more you delve into it. His Cantus-Magnificat written to mark the 400th anniversary of the Vilnius university, is a large masterpiece which will amaze listeners.

Information on Juzeliunas has been sourced from the following:

CD Sleeve notes from - Julius Juzeliunas CD produced by MIC.LT (LMIPCCD010, 2000)

Lithuanian Music Information Centre

And Lygumu Giesmes manuscript.

Vytautas Montvila: Gothic Poem

Welcome to another installment of Baltic musical gems. Last week I gave an introduction of the Lithuanian folk music sutartines. This week we shall be looking at how one composer drew on it. The composer is Vytautas Montvila, not to be confused with the poet of the same name. Montvila was born 1st December 1935 was not only one of the most progressive minds in composition in Lithuania, he never let go of the folk heritage of Lithuania.

After completing his studies with Juzeliunas, Montvila continued to develop his compositions by drawing on the sonoristic experiments opened up by the Warsaw festival, as well as drawing on serial techniques. These techniques always went hand in hand with folk music, either using sutartines melodies to help form tone rows, or building vast soundscapes by layering sutartines songs. 

The piece I am showing this time is his Gothic Poem. The piece is part of a triptych of works called Poems of Vilnius, this is the first element of it. The other two works in the triptych are called Choruses and Festive. Gothic Poem is a fascinating work, as it lies in a half way house between the dense sound sculptures of Penderecki and the sonorous openness of the Romanian composer Stefan Niculescu. From the onset, you hear the dense static 12 tone chord in the strings which act as a backdrop for the flute to start its melody. The changes in orchestration help define the microscopic changes in the piece. The woodwind carry most of the melodic content and overlap each other adding to the density and mysteriousness of the work. Then a sudden change in sensation, as aleatoric elements fly across the orchestra which lead to  fluttering repetitive cells in the strings, while the bassoons and clarinets introduce more surtatines melodies. 

This time the energy keeps building and building, with the addition of the brass and percussion leading ultimately to the climax of the work. The blasts from the trumpets and trombones in canon with each other, combined with the rhythmic attacks from the rest of the orchestra make this moment rather powerful indeed. The suddenly this climax slips away, into the strings. who reiterate musical ideas heard earlier in the piece. The close of the piece is heralded by the bells, ringing on as the music fades into nothing.

Structurally the work is very interesting, the shape and proportions are mirrored around the old town in Vilnius. The layering of folk melodies, combined with the dense colours make this work a rather fascinating curiosity, and is a great example of a piece which is as thoroughly modern as it is connected to tradition. Montvila was not the only composer to tackle this, in 1996 Radulescu drew on his native Romanian folk tunes in the third movement of his piano concerto, The Quest. 

Montvila went on to compose many works which drew upon his native music. Towards the end of his life around the late 1970s Montvila's music became more 'romantic' and sutartines became something more liberally referenced in his later works. 

The work of Vytautas Montvila is one of the many ways Lithuanian and other Baltic composers coped with the restraints put on them during the years under the Soviet Union. One key linking a lot of composers in this generation is the desire to link tradition to the now. Not just casting it off, like many western composers did post 1945. 

Information came from the Vytautas Montvila profile page on the Music Information Centre website: http://mic.lt/en/database/classical/composers/montvila/#bio

As well as from the score. 

Happy Birthday Arvo Part

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.

Dabbling with Sutartines

A lot has has happened since my last post, Firstly my sister got married and I moved into my new flat in Seskines (on the outskirts of Vilnius). Hence why it has been quite a bit here. On the plus side, I have managed to grab a good stash of scores and recordings from the Music Information Centre in Vilnius; so I will be talking about each of them over the coming weeks. But I wanted to start off dabbling with Lithuanian folk music first. At first I can imagine this is a confusing jump, considering my last articles have been about composers still alive and kicking, but it is with good reasoning. Because of the demands from the Soviets for 'social realism' in art and music, many Baltic composers resorted to exploring their countries folk music.On top of this composers like Juzeliunas, Montvila, and Kutavicius approached their national folk music in a process a kin to the early works of Peter Maxwell Davies or Harrison Birtwistle, who looked at Britain's ancient music for a fragment of 'tradition' to draw upon. 

So what is sutartines?  In a brief manner of speaking, surtatines is a Lithuanian folk music which is traditionally sung by women in groups of three or four. Sutartines translated into English essentially means 'singing together or in accordance with each other.'  The music becomes very fascinating, firstly the jarring dissonance.  The music is heavily focused around the interval of a second and a third false (a third of Halfway Between a major and a minor third).  On top of this it is structurally rather interesting, the nature of the text and the music means there is no naturally occurring cadence, in theory sutartines could last forever. As can been seen from the video below, the structure is as follows: 

Beginning (Leader starts) --------- Collecting (other sings join in) -------- Ending (Which is mad by a hoot or -ooh sound)

This structuring gives great importance to the lead singer or the rinkeja (Which literally means collector). The rinkeja will ultimately define the mood, speed, and overall character of the sutartines;  as well as bringing in the other musicians and concluding the piece. But why would a folk tune need a leader? Ultimately this links back to original sutartines function, work music. Sutartines, when originally sung, were folk melodies to accompany everyone's work; this obviously was not the case with all sutartines, some were for celebration, war or mourning, but a significant amount were. 

Sutartines also makes many cosmic references. As Daiva Račiūnaitė-Vyčinienė points out in her wonderful book Sutartines: Lithuanian polyphonic music; 'The structure of sutartines is best expressed by the symbol of a wheel'. As mentioned earlier, sutartines effectively is continuous. This roundness links back to folk symbolism where the wheel depicts the Sun, the Universe and the Universal Tree. So the music is one with the universe. To expand this further a Lithuanian riddle suddenly draws an interesting comparison: "Where is the centre of the Earth? - In the centre of the wheel". This can instantly be compared with the Buddhist ideals of 'finding the centre' but it also  highlights the curious similarity in function of sutartines and Tibetan ritual music, which also has a leader co-ordinating everything to prepare all for meditation. It is a curious similarity, but I will not go on to try and prove sutartines singers are like Buddhist monks chanting while they work, it is just always nice to reflect on interesting coincidence.

Earlier you said composers drew on sutartines, how else is the tradition being kept alive? Well ultimately sutartines enjoyed quite a remarkable renaissance in the seventies and eighties, as it became a symbol of national identity against the Soviets. Today many Lithuanians are very proud of this heritage. Ensembles like Trys Keturiose perform sutartines  in a traditional manner but still experiment by performing with many other musicians like Abraham Brody (see below). Alternatively bands like Zalvarinis bring elements of sutartines and other Lithuanian folk music into their heavy metal music. 

So as can been seen from this brief introduction, sutartines is as pinnacle to Lithuanian music as Mozart is to western classical music; it exists as it is, because of it. As for the future of sutartines, its future seems bright and will continue to be so as long as it is seen as a symbol of Lithuanian identity, but as the world becomes more globalised how will it affect its national identity?



Sources from

Daiva Raciunaite-Vyciniene - Sutartines: Lithuanian Polyphonic Music - A Cosmic Explanation of the Role of the Sutartines and the Lead Singer

Youtube for recordings of Trys Keturiose and Zalvarinis.