Centones Meae Urbi - 60th Birthday Celebrations

New semester, new season, and a new collection of concerts for me to pass judgement at, and what a way to start the year than with a performance of Onute Narbutaite's immaculate Centones Meae Urbi (1997). This particularly seminal work, which draws texts from various different languages and sources based on their significance to Vilnius and Lithuania on the whole, was performed to celebrate the great composer's 60th birthday. 


In short Centones Meae Urbi is an intriguing work that is almost the perfect manifestation of Lithuania's collectives desires around the turn of last century. Searching for a way to come to terms with the highs and lows of its past as well as creating a sense of optimism that things can evolve into something greater. In the same way the Messiah came to define our understanding of the King James translation of the Bible, Centones Meae Urbi defines the sensibilities and desires of the 'modern Lithuania', that through its understanding of the past aims to define the present in a completely Lithuanian manner. The work draws upon texts by Czelaw Milosz, Joanes Bilducius, Adam Mickiewicz, Moshe Kulbak, Petri Strzelec, and Mathias Casimirus Sarbievius, to name but a few. These texts in turn are in Polish, Lithuanian, Latin, and Yiddish, all languages which have had strong traditions and connections to the region at large and very much define the cultural landscape of the area. The structure of the oratorio is shaped around the seasons, with each season defining a mood and intuition connected with the language or text involved. The whole work is a masterpiece, and to be honest I am extremely surprised it doesn't have a deeper footing in the locally performed repertoire considering its striking significance. 


Anyways back to the concert at hand, the serene Franciscan Church is a beautiful mismatched collage of ancient architecture and sporadic modernisations. The perfect setting for this oratorio. The atmosphere was buzzing with murmuring and chitter-chatter that was beyond eager for tonight's performance. The seats were overflowing with audience members resorting to standing at the back, or closing up like sardines on the benches. Then a slow hush descended on everyone and the performance was about to begin. 


The work starts with a lone Birbyne (a glorious Lithuanian folk instrument),the sound is hypnotic and just rings in the space. It strikes everyone with a powerful pastoral vigour. The soloist, Egidijus Alisauskas performs it beautifully and with mastery. This serenity is decimated by the heraldry of the brass. Their blaring chords resonating and filling the space with brilliance. The real sensation of the oratorio really begins to come together with all the voices present. In passages like the Processional or Spring at Lukiskes are performed perfectly by Aidija chamber choir and Jauna Muzika. Their diction was always strong, and full of focus. During the passages of fast, rhythmic, or melismatic passages meant their brilliance began to falter but this never really detracted from the impact of the music itself. 


Despite being close to 90 minutes of nonstop performing, the orchestra is used surprisingly sparsely. Meaning whenever it makes an appearance it is striking. Narbutaite's personal majesty and mastery of orchestration really comes to the fore in this oratorio, be it bringing the ensemble to crashing climaxes or disintegrating the orchestra down to solo instruments, it is always crafted beautifully and profoundly. On the whole, the orchestra was more than up to the task, but some sections precision began to wane slightly, particularly in sections that Robertas Servenikas took surprisingly slowly. During these moments the intent is often questionable as it regularly took the steam out of the piece. I think if he were braver, and allowed the ensemble to really let rip, the concert could have literally blown the roof off of the church. 


The three vocal soloists were on the whole very good. The soprano (Ieva Gaidamanviciute) and bass-baritone (Nerijus Masevicius) had amazing qualities within their voices, be it Ieva's naturally spritely nature in her voice or Nerijus's rich chocolatey voice, but sadly both lost their magnificence singing in higher registers. Making their solos at time rather limp. Egle Sidlauskaite, the mezzo-soprano soloist, was a pure and consistent joy to listen to. Be it the sheer ability to hold her own in such dense and magnificent orchestration or to hold a profound stillness, she accomplished it with prowess and skill. Egle was a wonderful treat to listen to and definitely showed her artistry with this oratorio. 


The end of the oratorio for me really summed up the mood and importance of this work. The male voices slowly left in a resounding procession, the mezzo relayed ideas and interacted with the group as they abandoned the hall. Then out of the ghostly distant voices, came strings, giving this joyous richness to place the soloist on a pedestal, before slowly fading as bells begin to appear. Like a new dawn on a Sunday, the bells keep growing, increasing in volume and intensity but suddenly releasing the audience into a eerie silence. And almost collectively from this silence, the audience were up out of their chairs clapping manically and in such ecstasy after what they have just heard. Now I cannot say what it is about this work, but there is something truly profound in this work that manages to resonate with the audience here. Maybe there is just something profoundly and impeccably Lithuanian about this work, that it creates such nostalgia and beauty that is akin to returning home. Who can say for sure, all I know is, despite some of my misgivings about the minute details of the performance, the work still manages to hit you hard, and that is why it is singularly one of the most important works by this magnificent composer. 


For those unable to attend, here are some excerpts from Youtube. So until next time, enjoy!

Observing Juste Janulyte

For my final installment before I return to Vilnius, and my final installment of composers featured in last month's BBC Music Magazine, I return to the wonderful work of Juste Janulyte. Those of you familiar with me and the blog, will know my great admiration of Juste's work. This admiration, is probably why I was not surprised to see her featured within the article. Her music, seems to be one of the perfect benchmarks for Lithuanian music within Europe. She like her contemporaries, Marius Baranauskas and Ramunas Motiekaitis (to name just two), aim to write a music that tries to address their places within the world, and not just looking at Lithuania to define them.


Today's work of focus is her personal leviathon, Observation of Clouds (2012), a work for choir, winds, and strings. This particular work should be viewed as one of her personal benchmarks, a truly defining work of her musical idiom. In the same way we view Arvo Part's Passio to be the first masterpiece with tintinnabuli, Observation of Clouds is the first truly monumental masterpiece of Juste's musical landscape. Admittedly this would be true, based purely on the size of the orchestration, the diversity of timbre, and sheer length of the work would make significant.


This being said, the sheer mastery of her technique does come to a particularly special pinnacle. The work opens with voices steadily drifting in, steady harmonics and slight swells lull the listener into a dreamy state. The heavenly voices of the choir drift in and mystify instantly. The gesture has the same power as the finale of Holst's Neptune from The Planets Suite, abstracted voices drifting like angels or a haunting spectre. The line between voices and ensemble is permanently fragile, at times it is like trying to spot the difference between separate plankton, so minute and incredibly small. As the work progresses we casually and freely drift to loud climaxes which consume everyone. The growth and diminishing of colours and harmonies leave you stuck in the moment. Just like staring at the clouds, whether they have any revelance or connection to the previous manifestations never matters you are simply struck by the beauty of it. The floating mass is gorgeous and magical, constantly playing tricks on the ears, and as soon as it appears, it drifts away.


The work shows the sheer magnitude that can be achieved from a simple idea like 'monochromaticism'. The subtle textural shifts, and seemingly static harmonies are profoundly used. Even though her output is still evolving, Observation of Clouds will ultimately stand the test of time and will be one of the most significant Lithuanian pieces for orchestral forces.

I am curious to see how she can continue to develop over time. After works like Observation of Clouds or her recently premiered Radiance it is curious to see how her can continue to evolve, but what I can say for sure if she works with the same intensity and focus she will continue to stun listeners for many years to come. Listen to her wonderful Observation of Clouds here on Soundcloud.


On Sunday I return to Vilnius and another academic year ahead of me. Who knows what other gems I will find, you will have to keep visiting to find out. Until next time! 

Raminta Serksnyte: De Profundis

After a few days away, I am back and ready for another blog post. As I hadn't quite finished the little collection of Lithuanians mentioned by BBC Music Magazine, I wanted to make sure I round that off before I return to Vilnius at the end of the month. Thankfully there are only two left, so it was be so much of my back against the wall to finish this off. So this brings me on to the striking work of Raminta Serksnyte.

Raminta Serksnyte (1975) is quite a curious composer, mostly due her unique ability to strike a listener, even after her intense gear change around 2002. Her early work has inflections of intense postromantic musicality, combined with beautiful imagery of forests, icebergs, and other pastoral metaphors. The musical language in these early works the extended tonality combined with elegant orchestration and magical craftsmanship make her works still striking today; even if they are quite a far cry from her more recent output.

The work I want to focus on this week, is the first piece of hers I came across: De Profundis (1998) is a work for string orchestra and is a rather curious stand alone work. The opening gitters build slowly in a way that is rather akin to Kutavicius. The quasi-minimalist repetitions lull you into the piece before suddenly smashing it with intense ferocity. The work quickly abandons the opening, leaving it as a distant memory as it progresses through its block architecture. The sense of drive is never lost, even in its densest passages. The constant abandon of introduced ideas can make a piece feel unstructured or unfocused, but like in works by Stravinsky, the nonchalant throwing away of material is one of the most striking features of the piece.


The slower passages despite, being just as brief as the more frantic material, are luscious and mesmerising. The way notes just hang in space just strikes the heart, admittedly in this case it strikes the heart with pins into a voodoo doll more than cupid's arrow. The piece constantly builds then suddenly stops and builds again, this constant hocket and hiccuping leaves the sense of unease right in the forefront of the piece, without having to be particularly intense on the surface level.


The orchestration of the group is as striking as it is rather simplistic. I point this out, simply because in later works like Almond Blossum (2006) and Oriental Elegy (2002) orchestration because far more akin to the likes of Pascal Dusapin or Jonathan Harvey, with the use of extended colourings to really make the orchestral palette explode with as much colour as a painting by Jackson Pollock.


De Profundis eventually arrives at a beautiful release, which has very similar echoes of Stravinsky's Symphonies of Wind Instruments, with the use of extended harmonies and slow moving chorales bringing the work to a rather beautiful shimmering end. I am curious how much the original Psalm (129/130(depending on your numbering of psalms)) impacted the structure of this piece. But the below quotation does fit rather elegantly with the piece structurally.

My soul has stood by his word.
My soul has hoped in the Lord.
From the morning watch, even until night, let Israel hope in the Lord.
For with the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption.
And he will redeem Israel from all his iniquities.  - Psalm 130

I will of course leave you to make up your own minds on this, but in the mean time enjoy this wonderful rendition of the work by the Stuttgart Chamber Orchestra under the baton of Matthias Foremny.

Onute Narbutaite: A symphony and a melody from the Garden of Olives

Following on from the theme of discussing composers mentioned in BBC Music Magazine's article on Mirga Grazinyte-Tyla, I bring one of my favourite and arguably one of the most striking symphonies to come from the Baltic state.


Onute Narbutaite (1956*) is a fascinating and thought provoking composer. Her work is expansive and as she gets older shows no sign of slowing down or becoming tamer. Starting off with far more modest works which show high sensitivity and minute nuances, after the turn of the millennium her works seem to have taken on a larger grandeur and magnitude. As it stands, Narbutaite is the single most recorded Lithuanian composer, with possibly the exception of Ciurlionis, but this knowledge alone means it is no surprise she has a large international appeal. I first came across her works thanks to the large variety of recordings produced by Naxos and Finlandia, these CDs give a real taste the sheer spectrum of her work.


 Her fame and popularity as composer does have a small amount of fate on her side, as after the fall of the U.S.S.R. Western European nations took a massive interest in Baltic nations mostly to find other composers like Arvo Part and Henryk Gorecki. What this did was both positive and negative as fine composers like Peteris Vasks, Lepo Sumera, Toivo Tulev, Onute Narbutaite, Osvaldas Balakauskas, and Erkki-Sven Tuur to name a few gained a larger international appeal; it ultimately stereotyped the states as 'new simplicity' or 'deeply spiritual composers', which in some cases is true, but as my blog is intending to show is only a narrow stretch of the picture. Not to detract from the skill and prowess of Onute Narbutaite, but if it wasn't for this turn out of events she could have faced a life of obscurity outside of Lithuania; like many of her contemporaries suffer today.


One of her most famous and monumental works is her second symphony (2001). This two movement symphony is full of intensity, drama, and colour. The first and larger movement, titled 'symphony', has intense dramatic drive from the offset. The sheer power hits you and hits you hard. Like in Gorecki's second symphony the intensity is profound, but also beautiful and reassuring. The harmonic movements are unsettling and calming. The sensation is very similar to Schoenberg's Chamber Symphony No. 1, where it is familiar and tonal, travels a great distance, but is moving so quickly that the ride is bumpy and full of danger, due simply to the pace of movement. The orchestration is sublime throughout the first movement and always shows a composer with extremely fine craft and to end the opening movement on such an eerie calm is elegant.

The second movement, nicknamed the Melody in the Garden of Olives, shows a fantastic juxtaposition of extreme simplicity and jarring harmonic complexity in a truly magnificent interplay. After the flourish of strings they suddenly release, and almost like chanting monks, sing their melody. The melody circles on itself constantly with mild adjustments so it is never just exact repetition. The interjections from the rest of the orchestra come in the form of a distorted but shining chorale. The unresolved harmonies never quite finding any peace or release, and with every appearance almost feel like they grow stronger, almost vanquishing the melody. The very simple gesture is just genius. And for a composer, particularly after such large momentous gestures in the first movement, to cut the work down to such raw material is a brave and daring step. The result, almost ironically, is far more powerful than the first movement. The drama slowly unwinds and grows into something truly hypnotising, then suddenly, the trumpet appears. The moment it arrives is like something out of this world almost divine.


The work is unsurprisingly popular, it shows a composer with an extremely fine craft and also a composer who leaves musicologists and commentators like myself wondering how on earth do we define her? Throughout her work, she is full of romantic ideologies but never sounding regressive or conservative. She strives for a Mahlerian magnificence which never sounds like a pale imitation but actually something she is almost defining herself. It poses many fascinating questions indeed, many are quick to label her as 'neo-romantic' but this is very short sighted for many reasons. Firstly as neo-romanticism is Western Europe is used to define composer either started in a complex field then went romantic a la Penderecki, or alternatively are writing very romantic despite the national trend being heavily experimental. This view point doesn't really work for any nation from the former Soviet Union as the state sanctioned 'style' was for social realism, which ultimately translated into continuing romantic music without a break from it. This meant that many fine composers carried it on, and ultimately show us what romanticism in Western Europe could have been like with the outbreak of World War II. What this ultimately means for Onute Narbutaite, Lithuania never truly cut its ties with romanticism, meaning she is just a romantic composer. But what this needs to be understood as, is she is a twenty-first century romantic. Which she is without shame or worry, and ultimately makes her one of the striking composers alive today.


Listen to the glorious recording of her Symphony No. 2 here on Spotify!

M. K. Ciurlionis - Lithuanian Demigod

As mentioned in my previous post, the next few posts will discuss composers featured in BBC Music Magazine's segment on the wonderful conductor Mirga Grazinyte-Tyla. I thought age order may be a wonderful way to  go, and also it means I finally get to discuss the composer most loved by Lithuanians: Mikalojus Konstantinas Ciurlionis.


M.K. Ciurlionis (1875-1911) is in short the grandfather of Lithuanian music, at least in the sense of he empitomises the national or romantic ideal of Lithuanian composer. He is idolised, discussed, romanticised, and adored for many wonderful reasons. He is the idolised mostly for the sheer breadth and imagination he brought to nation in such a short space of his lifetime. His work as composer was not the only side to his creativity. He is also a defining feature of the artistic landscape of Lithuania too, his artworks have gained him more international acclaim and praise, and no Lithuanian till Jurgis Maciunas could even compete with such ideals of being the complete all expansive artist.

As can be seen above in Ciurlionis's Finale: Sonata of the Sea (1908), the artwork has many connections to impressionism, but somehow transcends or at least forces it to progress. The majestic nature of it is quite profound and striking. Now I am no art historian, but I know I like the art work of Ciurlionis and can see why it is idolised so much within Lithuania.

His musical prowess is equally expansive and elegant. His musical language is full of the luscious romantic flair and beauty we all have a soft spot for. The beginning of his music life he is very closely aligned to the likes of Sibelius, with a most but profound grandeur about it; this is particularly prevalent within his two large symphonic works Miske (1902) and Jura (1907). His later works show he is tapping into something far more chromatic or at least far more freely expressive, the chromaticism always feels more akin to Strauss and Wagner, never quite matching composers like Bartok or Honegger.

Many fine musicologists have looked deeply into the work of M.K. Ciurlionis, and rightly so he is a very fine composer and is seen as the cell from which Lithuanian music was able to spawn. But I fear he has been immensely romanticised in his brilliance. Yes, without question, he did wonders for Lithuania his work in setting folk tunes are truly valuable, like Kodaly and Bartok, Ciurlionis alongside his colleagues opened up the Lithuanian folk traditions to the world. His symphonic music is astounding, I have a great love of Miske in particular, such a striking piece of music indeed. But to imply he was one of the greatest symphonists is a bit premature. His orchestral music: Miske, Jura, De Profundis (1900), Kestutis and  his Symphony in D minor ( both finished by Jurgis Juozapaitis) - is ultimately limited, yes they are fine pieces but the craftsmanship is on par with those around him, and with figures like Mahler and Sibelius around, it is almost daft to compare.

Musicologists also like to point out that there are supposedly 'serialist' elements in his piano works. Often pointing to a motif of B,Bb,D (nicknamed the Webern row, due to its prevalent appearance in his opus 21, Konzert). This I have major concerns with, not because the work is fully chromatic, and actually elegantly taps into the full chromatic with ease. My issue with it stems from the fact it ultimately shows a misunderstanding of serialism. Having a motif does not imply anything, B, Bb (A#), and D could easily feature in B minor, and knowing J.S. Bach there is probably a fully chromatic fugue in B minor based on this; but we never suggest he is serialist, he has merely tapped into it. Part of the reasons why musicologist like this argument, is because it implies Ciurlionis beat Schoenberg and Webern to the punchline, which is a tad juvenile, but also misses the fact Franz Liszt's Faust Symphony beat them all. The reason I am arguing this is simply Ciurlionis's harmonic ability is really profound, especially from such a young man (he did die before he reached 40). The issue is a matter of function and purpose. The point of serialism ultimately is the intervallic devices and craft used and to ultimately put pitch at the dead centre of the music, almost controversially to suggest that the same intervallic patterns transposed would produce the exact same results as it is the relationships not the tone that matter. Within Ciurlionis, tone is ultimately everything, he is after all a musical child of impressionism, his nuance and colour within his orchestral works prove this without a doubt.

I want to round this off by trying to suggest Ciurlionis's brilliance is a different kind of brilliance than what is often considered. I want to simply highlight Chopin, as if he needs any real introduction. Looking at Chopin, ultimately gives us an interesting comparison to work with. Like Ciurlionis, he wasn't necessarily the very first composer, but is arguably the most famous and most loved. Like Ciurlionis, his piano works are immensely expansive and show a fine modest elegance. Like Ciurlionis, his symphonic works are far fewer in number, and in the history of their nation aren't the greatest contributors to symphonic music. Both are followed by a more significant composer when it comes to symphonic contribution, Szymanowski for Poland, and Gruodis for Lithuania. Ciurlionis, is ultimately a composer who in a world dominated by over the top grand orchestral gestures, like Chopin, managed to have a lasting impact on the musical world around them simply through piano music. Yes, my reduction is far too simplistic, but ultimately stands true, a composer who in those circumstances was able to open up a whole national theme, a whole national world of music by simply writing fantastic music for the piano should be far more celebrated than a composer who made loud noises with over 800 musicians. This is ultimately why M.K. Ciurlionis is so significant and should be loved worldwide. A man who was opening a whole world of harmonic potential, expanding the music of the piano, opening national folk music to the wider world, and creating such magnificent art needs celebrating. So until next time enjoy some of his wondrous piano music below.

Eduardas Balsys: Violin Concerto No. 1

After a week flitting off to Yerevan, I am back in Europe, and back to blog. Today I saw a wonderful article by BBC Music Magazine on the wonderful conductor Mirga Grazinyte-Tyla. In it, a little side column shows four Lithuanian composers Mirga particularly appreciates, so my next four posts will discuss these figures! But today I need to discuss a composer I have been meaning to discuss for ages now, Eduardas Balsys. After weeks and weeks of having lessons in the room in academy dedicated to him, with his stern face staring at me and my compositions, I feel ashamed to not have mentioned him sooner. 

Eduardas Balsys (1919-1984) is an extremely significant figure in Lithuania as he, alongside Julius Juzeliunas, spearheaded Lithuanian music in the newly formed Soviet state; and came to particular prominence in the years of artistic resurgence after the passing of Joseph Stalin. This manifested itself in many different ways, either by being a popular proponent of 'Social Realism' with his works like 'March of Young Leninists' (1976). Or in the way he helped reopen explorations into modern musical languages like serial music or aleatoricism in works like 'Journey to Tilsit' (1980). He also constantly showed a desire to tap into local folklore and traditions like in his ballet 'Egle Queen of the Grass Snakes' (1960). Within all these areas Balsys managed to retain an elegance and sense of craft which is very apparent within his work, he is also an interesting example of how composers coped with the confines of Soviet censorship; as he was, like many others, able to sneak quite intense intellectual music under the radar of the regime. He also has the great accolade of being one of the most significant tutors within Lithuania's musical history, having taught many of Lithuania's leading composers today. 


Eduardas Balsys's violin concerto no. 1 (1954) is a curious work. In its three movements, the work manages to evoke many wonderful sensations, as well as starting off with moments of blaring dissonances. The work has many moments akin to Prokofiev, Bartok, but also many moments is very similar to Gustav Holst, which I think is probably the best composer to compare Balsys to for many reasons. Firstly the political influence in Holst's music meant he thrived on writing for amateurs and for the masses in his works for Brass Band, Wind Band, and Choir. Admittedly Balsys came about this less willingly, but the two came to similar results. On top of this, the two had a great desire to tap into folk traditions, with Holst reinvigorating British folk music and Balsys exploring his ancient folk melodies and themes. 


The first movement of Balsys's concerto is living and driving, starting with a bang, and profound procession, before the violinist goes for a run. The solo line is full of elegance, agility and grace. The soloist and orchestra fight it out for the entire movement, before eventually it seems the orchestra manage to subdue the soloist, even if only ever momentarily. 


The second movement starts with whispers and murmurs. The rolling chorale-like procession is lead by the clarinet which is mournful and sombre. The soloist enters with a beautifully melismatic line which rolls and sings so beautifully. Slow but surely the movement builds closer and closer to life, but still maintains a distinct sadness or nostalgia for something lost. 


The finale is a real showstopper. The music bounces and dances, the violinist navigates a really virtuosic solo line, but always holding importance over the orchestra. Despite being so virtuosic, the soloist lines always maintains a melodic nature, almost like how in the Brandenburg concerti how the soloists are melodic, but still extravagant. The nimble violin line keeps bouncing and the orchestra is equally agile throughout the movement. The rhythmic nuance is really elegant and the music is just damn fun to listen to. 


The concerto as a whole is marvelous, and it is a shock that it is not better known across the world. A part of me feels because Eduardas Balsys spent the majority of his working life on the other side of the Iron Curtain, he is simply ignored for being on the wrong side of the barrier. Too many composers are ignored and I feel gems like this show how nonsensical our ignorance of the music of former Soviet states is. 


Until next time, here is a glorious recording of Balsys's Violin Concerto No. 1 (1954)

Blog post of pure reason

After a week of allowing ourselves to have a breather and a chance to gather ourselves after last week, I thought it'd be nice to return to a familiar name to this blog to at least bring a smile to everyone. This has turned into a brief return to Rytis Mazulis. I sincerely hope for those reading this blog need no introduction to the work of Rytis (if you do, I must find a way to be more blatant). 


For those unfamiliar with the composer, Rytis Mazulis is one of the most seminal composers of the Lithuanian landscape. He occupies a fascinating space which tapping into intense intellectual drive as well as a complete rejection of the past. His music draws influence from the likes of Conlon Nancarrow, as well as having the same intensive microtonal obsessions of James Tenney and Horatiu Radulescu. Many commentators on Rytis's work label him as a 'super-minimalist', I have two problems with this title; firstly it sounds like a terrible superhero name, secondly because Rytis's work is intensively concerned with canons surely if he is a minimalist, Ockegham must be a minimalist too! Even though Rytis's music does show some of the habits of other minimalists, but to place him in the same field as them is ultimately wrong. 


For those who spotted the terrible pun in the title of this post, today's featured work is Rytis's 'Clavier of Pure-Reason' (1993). The title of this seminal work is an amalgamation of J.S. Bach's Well-Tempered Klavier and Immanuel Kant's Critique of Pure-Reason. This profound obsession with philosophy and intellectualism is another characteristic which separates Mazulis from the American and British minimalists who saw minimalism as an opportunity to renounce intellect. 


The Clavier of Pure-Reason is a very straight forward work. A humble work for 24 pianos or one pianist and electronics, the work layers many canonic adaptations of an original idea and slowly introduces into an violent haze before slowly fading them out. The result is a wacky, almost hyperactive work full of an oddly sadistic sense of humour. The complexity of the layering and the use of the piano has many similarities to Conlon Nancarrow, but to suggest this is pastiche of him would be shortsighted. Ultimately the Clavier of Pure-Reason is like Conlon Nancarrow on a cocktail of speed and red bull, or alternatively like listening to J.S. Bach while overdosing on acid. It is oddly familiar but oddly terrifying. A truly unique work, from a magical composer. Enjoy!