Interview - Raimonda Ziukaite

After the usual end of term faff, and moving back to the UK, I am finally in a position to return to the blog. And what a time too! I have got the response from a fascinating young composer who agreed to be interviewed for the page. 

The composer in question is Raimonda Ziukaite, and those who have seen previous posts will notice how positive I have been about a lot of her output in recent months. I find, as composer, she is really growing into something very interesting, so I was extremely enthusiastic when she agreed to the interview. 

Labukas Raimonda, firstly to start off things – how would you describe your music to a newcomer who is not familiar with your work?

Labuka. Well, if this is a newcomer to contemporary music in general I would firstly say: 

'it will be weird, you know… you might not like it.'

But if it’s a person, already familiar with contemporary music, then I would say my compositions have a clear idea, gradual process, homogeneity, multilayers. Some pieces are atmospheric, some are energetic, full of vitality (like nature element), and I wish to create more of this 'powerful sound' (like in heavy rock/metal). I don’t like scattered gestures and eclecticism, which I find in the most of contemporary music. In my opinion, music should have a form/inner logic a recipient could grasp. However, I think I still haven’t achieved 'my style', this specific, personal sound I can imagine, I’m still on the way to it. In addition, from 2013 I’m researching a (major/minor) triads and their systematic voice leading networks which might be used in composition. (Later it appeared it has to do with Neo-Riemannian theory). Currently I’m pursuing my doctor degree on it. My ambition is to establish a composition system based on a triad as a structural unit.   

Within your work, I notice an intense philosophical focus. The works each seem to be a playground for your own discoveries and contemplations – how do you feel achieve this within your work?

My motto is to 'never repeat myself'. It could be quite a childish, idealistic, naïve attitude, but I don’t want to produce, 'make' music randomly, thus kind of polluting the aether. For each new work there should be a new and pure idea, which is then developed by structural-processual thinking. During my study years, I used to create like this: let’s say that the idea for the piece will be harmonic (overtone) series and prime numbers. So I’m taking only prime numbers from the harmonic series and constructing 4 series, then permutating and getting 4 layers of it, for the rhythmic applying… guess what…prime numbers again!  (Prime Galaxy). In this way, everything is justified, each note doesn’t come from nowhere (blame it on the structure!). Or I’m taking a harmonic/overtone series and making another 4 rows (untertones, inversions, retrogrades), and then building additional series from each of the member of prime series (like fractals). Thus I’m getting my 'field of musical material' of a perfect structure and then comes the most difficult question: so what? How to transform it to real musical piece, how to play it? Then one needs to figure out adequate textures… Of course, this way of composing lacks personal expression and now I’m willing to involve more of my imagination and hearing into composing. Another curious thing: one teacher said 'but you control everything except the resulting sound itself.' But, working with structures, sometimes it comes nice accidental things. In the case of Vilniaus Bokštai, the structure came into beautiful shapes of towers like score painting and in the end sounded jazzy D7. People thought I done it on purpose, but it was the structure itself! On Chromatography I even saw triads as colours and composed quite intuitive, according the vision of colours. After an analysis, the piece appeared to have a logic structure anyway.

Which composers have most inspired your work? Either directly or just on philosophical levels?

First of all, my teacher Ricardas Kabelis, maybe not as a role model of a composer in terms of his music (never wanted to copy him), but as a very influential teacher, who over 6 years taught me the methods and principles of composition. Talking about sound aesthetics, I enjoy to listen to Michael Gordon and Julie Wolfe (Bang on a Can), Fausto Romitelli, Gérard Grisey, Per Nørgård, Georg Friedrich Haas (limited approximations). My recent discovery was Francesco Filidei. Although his style is an opposite side of the sound of my works, but it really grabbed my attention. And from Lithuanian composers I like music of Žibuokle Martinaitytė, Justė Janulytė, Nomeda Valančiūtė, Egidija Medekšaitė (it’s a coincidence that all are women!) and some more.

During my time here in Vilnius, I see the contemporary music scene is still coming to terms with what it wants to be. Would you agree with this statement? And where do you think it is going? How do you think you fit into the scene?

Firstly, it’s a very small community, and furthermore, some styles/techniques are more frequent here, as if there would be some 'Lithuanian' (or maybe Baltics) sound: slow, nostalgic, meditative music one could call 'Lithuanian minimalism'. There isn’t so much variety in styles (like for example, there isn’t much of new complexity, (thanks God...). Some trends come to Lithuania later as well, although now more and more of young generation goes abroad and gain experience there so the situation might change. Anyway, maybe it’s in my blood (ears), but I enjoy Lithuanian scene/sound.

My relation to it is not so obvious, since so far I don’t feel like I’m making a big career being an important name here. Moreover, somehow I feel repelled from a traditional career path of a contemporary composer: writing for classical instruments, contemporary music ensembles and composing another piece sounding the same as my colleagues. As if there is some born-hardwired need to be an outsider in general, I would love to find my own, personal, unique niche in music scene. The middle way, the average is always the safest, but I’m more tending to 'everything or nothing', although not always having courage for it. I often ask myself, what is the purpose of all this? Maybe that’s why I’m quite unproductive.

That might be related with the feeling I get while listening to contemporary music (and now I’m not talking about Lithuania scene). What is bad with it everywhere: mostly it doesn’t strike. Everybody in the world is making 'something' but rarely it grabs attention, it affects. Composers (I’m not an exception) composing for themselves, solving some issues in their heads which are interesting only for them or, in other words, playing some mind games and then expressing it through music, but the outcome sometimes are like 'meh': me as the listener sitting in a concert and dreaming or even (if it’s really boring) starting to read something... Not mentioning that most of the pieces in that concert sounds the same and you can’t remember them. The popular music wins at least due to its ability to ignite some emotions. The academic contemporary music has this potential too, sometimes even succeeds, but that’s more an exception. 

What are you currently working on? Are there any major works in the pipeline?

Since I’m studying for a doctor’s degree (to be exact, A.D. – doctor of arts) now, I need to fulfill my 'doctor plan' – this makes me a bit more productive (usually I used to compose only one piece per year!) This spring I was composing for ensemble and decided to do everything totally opposite as I’m used to, like an experiment (the piece Katedros involved aleatoricism, extended playing techniques, Baroque music quotes). In addition, this half year witnessed a revival of songwriting for a rock band. Among the nearest future plans is to make algorithmic composition by applying neo-Riemannian theory and of course to find my place, this unique niche I mentioned before, in a music world. J

To finish, if you were on a desert island, what five recordings/vinyls/CDs would you have with you?

Now I won’t mention contemporary music. I would take my own playlist/mixtape of various artists 'Songs of my Life'- songs, which contain some kind of emotional charge to me. These would include some music of Pink Floyd, Agalloch, Alcest, My Bloody Valentine, Pearl Jam, Bob Dylan’s song Knocking On Heavens Door and some Lithuanian songs to remind home. And in case there is no electricity in that island, I would bring a music instrument to play and sing myself.

A rather interesting interview indeed, I am definitely looking forward to see how she continues to grow as a composer. For those curious, you can find all her recordings here. And once my luggage finally appears in my flat, I can start going over my new collections of CDs from Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia. So until then!

A look back at my final year

Its finally here, the end of year is upon me. My time in Vilnius is closing and I am being released into the real world after many of years of shelter in the bubble of student life. It is rather surreal indeed, to say the least, and I will very shortly after graduating write a post looking back entirely at my time here. But, like I did this time last year, I will look back at some of the lovely concert moments I witnessed and which music I was particularly enamoured with. 

As 2016 was the centenary year of Julius Juzeliunas, autumn also witnessed some major events dedicated to the composer. This was wonderful for me on two fronts, firstly my sheer adoration of the work of Juzeliunas meant I was just going to witness lots of concerts where I admired, if not loved everything I heard; secondly my dissertation for this year was centred around the composer and so these concerts technically counted as 'educational' or 'research'. The most significant performance for the entire year was without a doubt the performance of Zaidimas. Juzeliunas's opera is a glorious feat and stands as both a wonderful moment of its time, but is also such a significant slice of Lithuanian operatic history, with very few composers managing to quite level him (Lokys the Bear, by Bronius Kutavicius is the only equal in my head). The performance was a glorious thing to witness, and I remember how excitable I was after the performance had finished. The only shame that still looms over the performance was the fact it wasn't toured or produced by the National Opera. It just seems surreal that the national opera wouldn't support one of THE composers within Lithuania in the past 100 years. Still, a wonderful concert is a wonderful concert!

The other composer celebrating a significant anniversary was Onute Narbutaite. As the gargantuan figure celebrated her 60th birthday, there were multiple concerts put on to celebrate this fact, spanning from concerts in the filharmonie hall, performance of various chamber works, and my personal favourite, the performance of Centones Meae Urbi. Performed in the Franciscan church here in Vilnius, the performance really bought this magnificent work to life. The sheer intensity of the harmonies and the profound effect it had on its audience, it was a concert I am not likely to forget for many years to come. 

The other major anniversary I didn't manage to contemplate heavily was the 95th birthday of the Estonian composer; Ester Magi. Thankfully I have a good stash of recordings and will make sure I discuss her work very soon! The year did witness a very sad loss in the Baltic. The passing of Veljo Tormis was indeed a sad occasion not least because of the sheer power and originality of his music. As I discussed in a more direct manner his music, like Bronius Kutavicius, found a way to tap into the historic stream of local paganism and managed to rebuild a whole new musical world which could stun, move, and terrify. The world is definitely a sadder place because of his passing.

Like with the previous year, GAIDA Festival and Druskomanija festival were joyous festivals to witness, not least because of the strong variety of premieres they performed. Both festival continue to produce marvelous concerts and I sincerely hope I can find a way to smuggle myself back in October for GAIDA 2017! I have had a real pleasure of witnessing many wonderful premieres this year throughout the world, but I still think the following pieces simply hit me the hardest:


The opening of GAIDA 2016 saw the premiere of Vykintas Baltakas's commentum for cello and orchestra. Despite being an extension of an already existing work for cello and piano, this new work stood proudly on its own feet and merits. The charming conversational nature combined with a cheeky wit made for a glorious piece to witness. Jonathan Berman and Francesco Dillon made for a glorious pairing of performers to deliver such a premiere.


A few days later saw the premiere of another work that particularly struck me; x ciklai by Ramunas Motiekaitis. The piece landed in the middle of an intensely string quartet obsessed concert with 4 separate string quartets either performing on their own or with others to perform many different works. Ramunas's piece struck me the most, due to its calm and modest nature combined with a rather magical interaction with the performers involved. The more I have dwelt on this piece the more I regard it as his strongest work to date. 

The third premiere that particularly struck me happened during my cheeky visit to Riga back in February. The performance of The Colour of Water by Juste Janulyte was a premiere where I was overjoyed I sat on a Lux Express bus for four hours to witness. The sheer elegance and nuance from both the composer and performer made for a glorious welcoming to the city. I spoke about it very highly in my review of the concert, and thankfully recently the composer has put the recording online so I highly recommend it. Admittedly, this was one of three premieres by Juste I managed to see this year, and I loved all of them; but there is a fine line between fascination and overtly creepy obsession with someone and their music. Also I chose to focus on this work more, simply because recording popped up very recently, and the overall concert was pretty astounding. 

This year I also had the joy of travelling the world as a 'lecturer' where I had the pleasure to travel to Salzburg and New York to discuss my favourite Baltic people. It was both wonderful and surreal to get to travel to these places and just natter about what I love to a listening public, and not just nattering manically into some poor sod's ear. A personal joy too, while attending the Sounding the Sacred conference in New York, was witnessing the profound concert delivered by the Goeyvarts Trio, hearing Arvo Part in just intonation blew me away.

Obviously this is not the end of my obsessing of music within the region. There are many more composers I want to discuss and write manically about, and after all the CDs I have received recently, summer will definitely keep me out of trouble. So watch this space soon for more posts about the Baltic, and I close my simply showing a video of some wonderful music by Ester Magi.

CROSSROADS 2016

Since Monday, I have been in the beautiful city of Salzburg for this year's Crossroads International Contemporary Music Festival. This festival is a growing festival which aims to bring composers from different nations to celebrate ideas and challenge each other in an intensive few days of concerts and lectures. This year was the largest festival and included a lecture by the Italian Simone Fontanelli who discussed his creative work and the conundrum of how to address other people in your own music. Ensemble Synaesthesis have been resident for the whole week, and in the second night of the festival gave a performance of works by Andriessen and Lang. The penultimate night I had the opportunity to discuss elements of my recent research to date.

But ultimately the point of focus was last night's finale. All the work and anticipation was geared towards this performance of two Austrian premieres and three world premieres presented by the resident ensemble Synaethesis. The first work was Rytis Mazulis's De plus en plus, which was first premiered in Druskomanija 2016. Those of you that read my review of the premiere, will remember my astonishment at the fact that this work was so upbeat and perky in comparison to many other of Rytis's works. Last night's performance in Jazzit:Muzik:Club in Salzburg was the perfect venue for it, and a perfect way to open a wonderful concert.

Then after a bit of shuffling came a little ditty by myself, but noone wants to hear about that so lets move on to the more interesting stuff. After even more shuffling came the Austrian premiere of Matthias Leboucher's Underwards for ensemble and electronics. The work was premiered in Synaethesis's GAIDA debut, and I was really struck by the work for its ability to be knee deep in the wonderful worlds of Romitelli and Grisey, without sounding like cheap knock-offs of either. After talking to the composer at the original premiere, he pointed out there were a few hiccups with the electronics, so last night's performance was an extra joy to hear as all the electronics were present and gave the work that extra little something. The gestures, the shape, the colours, were all immaculate; my only thought is how would Matthias tackle a large scale work? I imagine if he did it successful it would push him into a really truly fascinating realm. I highly recommend you check out his soundcloud.

After slightly less shuffling came a work by Karolina Kapustaite, a composer whose development I have watched with the same keen interest that a kestrel watches a mouse in a cornfield. Her work White Light, which was the second world premiere of the night, was written for a slightly smaller ensemble but was by no means less colourful or powerful. The use of harmonic space, combined with strong direct gestures made the work highly memorable, and an interesting step after her work which was premiered in Druskomanija 2016. Ultimately listening to this I was reminded of the works of Magnus Lindberg where the sense of energy was the result of an elaborate combination of natural overtones and building chromatic fields. The other thing I found myself loving, was the fact Karolina and Matthias were a wonderful compliment of each other. Their works inhabited similar spaces without sounding like imitations of each other. Also check out Karolina on soundcloud!

The finale came in the form of seven steps from the top by Dominykas Digimas, another composer I have observed with a lot of interest. I have often found myself witnessing Dominykas exploring the start of a very curious rabbit hole, and last night's premiere was no exception. The piece drew inspiration from Lithuanian Sodai, beautiful folk art sculptures with many layers of symbolism and spirituality.

The piece for quintet was an interesting departure as it was a work straddling the line between refined elegant sounds and filthy noise. The pulsations and circling round singular pitches were bold and strong, but after a while the effect began to thin out as simply the originality of the gesture wasn't strong enough to hide some of the weaknesses in the construction. The harmonic field was the main weakness, simply because it wasn't strong enough to give the work a point of reference. This being said, there is a lot of space to explore in this kind of world, it is a world I have a lot of love for ever since I first discovered the works of Radulescu, Iancu Dumitrescu, and Ana-Maria Avram. This could be why I found faults with the piece. I am looking back up from the rabbit hole, knowing how much further Dominykas can go. As long as he lets himself fall further into the warren there is potential for something very curious to come out of him. See more of Dominykas's works here.

The ensemble Synaesthesis were on good form, and tackled the bold task of performing the premieres in their stride. They have really come on a long way in the year I have been watching their performances. The one trick I particularly adored about the concert, was the simple fact all the works complimented each other, the concert as a whole had a wonderful shape to it, something which is far to rare in contemporary music concerts. So bravo Synaesthesis and bravo Crossroads for a wonderful festival.

Vidurnakcio saule

Last night in the buzzing atmosphere of the Filharmonie grand hall, was the second concert of the Vilnius Festival 2017. This particular concert drew quite a large crowd due to its guest soloist Mario Brunello and, especially in my case, the premiere of Juste Janulyte's Vidurnakcio saule or Midnight Sun. Now traditionally I would have avoided writing about the concert as there is only one Baltic composer in it, but I am very eager to make an exception in this circumstance. So in short the post is a bit off kilter from my usual ramblings.


So, lets begin! After the usual chitter-chatter to introduce the concert, festival, orchestra, thanking sponsors, and mention everyone to some lesser or greater extent, the concert began with the famous Adagietto. Sehr langsam from Mahler's fifth. I always have mixed feelings about ensembles and concerts programming this element of the symphony on its own, mostly because the sheer magnitude of the movements comes after the gut-wrenching turmoil of the preceding movements, either as a tonic to, or reluctant acceptance of the whole. Just performing the one movement on its own is a bit like smashing a Kinder Surprise and robbing the toy, without at least working through the chocolate beforehand. Anyways, the performance was done rather masterfully, and Modestas Pitrenas really came alive in the work, which he conducted from memory. What particularly attracted me to Pitrenas's rendition was his ability to conduct from memory and not do the conductor habit of staring at the now, non-existant stand; this allowed him to truly interact with the orchestra intimately and the effect was strong. My other joy came from the layout of the orchestra. As the ensemble were set up to perform the following premiere, the orchestral layout had cellos at the front with double-basses in the centre at the back, and violins and violas in an arc. This had the wonderful power of making the whole work sound grounded and more grandly weighted. A nice surprise indeed.

After some shuffling, and grand applause for the entering soloist came Vidurnakcio saule by Juste Janulyte. After the sheer success of her premiere in Riga, I was intrigued how she would respond to writing for soloist and ensemble again. Especially for the cello. An instrument with such a huge historic gravitas behind it, that makes writing a concerto for it an almost terrifying burden for any composer. The work started with hushed murmurs from the heavily muted soloist. His gestures heavily austere and restrained. The orchestra glistening like glass. Each entry was extremely intimate and continued a huge intense fragility throughout the work. The soloist was never overtly virtuosic, but Brunello's control of such disparate and timid material was insane. Many lesser performers would have cracked with such material. As the work progressed, the gate was slowly loosened, with practice mutes being swapped for the traditional mutes; bringing with it a greater energy. The work began to shrink away into nothingness before suddenly breaking into an intensely powerful climax. The entire hall was filled with sound, which was truly incredible when you consider the ensemble were just strings. From the disappearing wave of sound, the screaming soloist finally emerges after almost drowning in the sea of noise. 

This work did challenge me, mostly because what on this earth quite compares to it. And in reality there are very few works that seem to be achieving the same; or at least treating such a soloist in the same manner. Harold in Italy by Berlioz is the obvious comparison with its famous non-hero viola; but that still had the soloist dictating a narrative. This work didn't really strive for that. Another comparison is with Ligeti's cello concerto, but that two-movement work at least allowed the cellist out of his cage to have a wild moment at the end of the work. String Quartet and Orchestra by Feldman feels like the best comparison, with its fragile interactions and profound stillness. But still it is an inadequate comparison as the dynamic between soloist and orchestra still had 'friction' or a 'clash' between each other. My only real conclusion on the dynamic of the duality between the two is the idea that this work was a true concerto in an almost baroque sense. The two elements were at odds with each other. The soloist constantly trying to dictate a narrative, and the orchestra either submitting or retorting to it. The climax is quite so profound as it almost sees the ensemble realise that alone, they cannot beat the soloist, but united there is a chance. Which is where we see the soloist screaming in defiance. Only just managing to quell the weight and power of the united orchestra. For a piece that murmured for an extremely long length of time, it really had a lot to say. 

It must also be noted, after the wonderful performance by Mario Brunello, he performed a truly beautiful encore. I sadly did not catch the name of it, all I can say is it was beautiful!

After the break, the orchestra had returned for the final two pieces. The overture Ruy Blas by Mendelsohn and his 4th symphony. I was highly confused by the inclusion of these two pieces in the concert, mostly because of the fact they were so out of character with the rest of the concert. The theme was 'Italian' but there is such a huge history of Italian music, surely something could have fitted better. I understand concerts have to sell tickets, and god forbid assuming people might be coming for a contemporary piece, but if you can truly match up pieces well; the overall impact is vastly superior. This really was my sole complaint of the second half, as the orchestra had a lovely vibrancy and charm when performing these works, and Pitrenas really shows this is HIS repertoire, as he was even more endearing as a conductor with these works.  

I am a bit gutted I won't be able to catch tonight's concert dedicated to Osvaldas Balakauskas, but anyone who can go I cannot recommend it highly enough!

Interview - Santa Buss

After a lot of manic days with Druskomanija Festival and fast approaching deadlines, it is nice to have a moment to step back and return to another interview. This time I had the joy of interviewing Latvian composer Santa Buss, a composer whom I have admired for a fair while now; so ultimately it was wonderful she agreed to the interview. 

As composer she is heavily preoccupied with extra musical material, with many of her works attempting to convert philosophy, art, mythology, and science into musical gesture. A pupil of Arturs Maskats and Rolands Kronlaks (not even to mention her various mentors across the world), Santa stands at a curious impasse. She is entirely in tune with many things in the Latvian scene, but also at the same time stands aloof in her own distinct world. From many discussions with her, the returning theme of discussion is travel. In particular, never staying in one place for too long, this necessity to keep picking up sticks is very apparent within her work. In liminarite one can see the changes of proceedings within an abstracted ritual and seeing how it transports the person to a new reality. The interview was carried out on a sunny Thursday in Vilnius as we awaited to attend the final Vilnius installment of Druskomanija Festival. Sat in the sun, me with a nice coffee, her with a small glass of white we started conversing:

Sveiki Santa, it is wonderful to have you being involved in this interview. For those who aren’t familiar with your work, could you briefly describe your music and your desires within it?

I am balancing between being in the piece, and being out of it. Both living and observing the ideas. Bringing my music from one state of being and taking it to a brand new one. You never fully understand it, you can just observe it. In turn you cannot work out where it is going or where you are living. This clarity in turn comes from the balance between these balances and extremities. Say ‘Absinthe’ from clear mind to intoxication and eventual recovery.

I constantly feel, away, none native within the world. I am fascinated by many other artists, and have been more directly influenced by them; leading me to a more conceptual approach. Months could be spent on the anatomy or on Asia poetry (like in One Inch of Love is an Inch of...), just for me to learn something unknown to me; before I come to the musicality of it. I eventually translate this knowledge into a score or some other form. The title and programme notes often come long before the music itself.

When I do compose, the moment is rather intensive. All my creativity focuses itself into one obsessive moment, to the point that I cannot leave. Within this frenzy my output is heavily concentrated into this epicentre. It probably explains why I feel the need to leave when I am not composing.

What I find interesting in your music is its feeling of fluidity despite regularly being constructed of fragmented or even combative elements. How do you feel you achieved this sensation within your music?

The most obvious case is imagining the music as an object and observing it from different angles, I imagine the weight and texture of this object and in turn bringing it to life in my composition. This probably helps to create this fluidity and block like nature to it. All connected, but still a different viewpoints are considered. Each elements can be varied, extended or reduced in each piece, this is always this closeness within my music. The most extreme example of this is ~ea gla~ (pronounced sea glass). The idea came from this object like a broken bottle, which has arrived on the shore. In turn it tries to work out its past, to try and understand what it was, what it is, and what it can be. Trying to make sense and find the connections to thoroughly understand itself, starting from small elements upwards.

I am intrigued to observe Latvia’s homegrown quasi-spectral/sonoristic composers. In your work, just like your colleague Martins Vilums, this timbral based thinking has really gripped a generation of Latvian composers, why do you think this is?

Probably first I wouldn’t consider myself spectral. During this generation was the first time people studied abroad, so suddenly there was lots of various musics available to fall in love with and exploring new colours and sounds. The teachers in turn challenged us to move beyond our own native borders and traditions. 

The other element is because of history and situation, everyone just wanted to break the tradition, and question how one should write? Especially composers highly connected to this sound, studied abroad. The composers who stayed native, sound ‘native’.

Would you say there is a growing divide between Latvia Diaspora and Enduring Latvia?

Its hard to say, I don’t necessarily have the authority to say so, but I think there is a division more or less between generation, as well divide between composers born in 70s and early 80s, and the composers born in late 80s and 90s where they appear slightly more conservative. One thing I have noticed is composers who are younger than me, grew up entirely on choral music; so when they write for choir they tend to stay more firmly rooted in the tradition.

Also to consider the composers who arrived to composition late like Martins Vilums, and studied other elements before composing  tend to sound wildly different to the younger generations. So we had been granted a rather advantageous situation, as we were considered ‘adults’ and not ‘students’ when we 'started out' as composers. 

To carry on with this spectral theme, how do you think it compares to schools of spectralism in France, Romania, or Estonia? Do they have common concerns or are the stances on La musique spectrale different from nation to nation? And where do you fit in, in this spectrum of spectralists?

To be honest I am unsure, it could be different from composer to composer. For example Santa Ratniece studied with Helena Tulva, Martins Vilums never studied directly in France. 

Composers like Janis Petraskevics and Martins Vilums merely responded from the grape vine. There has never been the harmonic understanding that is used within France. I am unsure having never explored it; Janis could be the only one who is more connected, maybe, but he never mentions it.  For us, the concern is predominantly focused on timbre and other forms of harmonic control, it is a happy accident if it relates to other nations or ‘schools’.

How directly do you feel you connect to the Latvian ‘scene’?

For me, a few years ago an article discussed my work with the sentence:

'my music is present in the scene, it has a strong presence, but doesn’t belong to the scene; I don’t fit' (paraphrased in the moment)

I was not very aware of this, until I saw it written. At the moment I have also made myself move outside of Latvia for many reasons, either out of learning and sheer curiosity of travelling. So this lead me to multiple residencies, being supported by various foundations. Having this cultural life, supported by foreigners outside my native country has really changed me. I really don’t feel I fit in the scene, both because of my living and my music, I cannot say where I fit with my music or my living.

It is a paradox, I am performed by wonderful musicians in Latvia, as well as abroad, and am present in the Latvian and European scene, but not completely in tune with it. Maybe I will find the answer in the future.

So as you said you are more away from Latvia, than in Latvia; are there composers in Europe you particularly admire?

Janis Petraskavics that is for sure. Martins Vilums, admittedly this is very local. James O’Callaghan these three are young-ish people I find interesting, however I can’t stick to just these three, it feels wrong to just mention names. I am much more looking forward to being present at a concert and being surprised over following the life and work of an artist over a length of time. I would obviously go see music by people I have been impressed by, I’ve never had a habit to collect things so I try to avoid looking in one single direction. This isn’t due to a lack of interest, but more a desire to not obsess or an unwillingness to restrict myself on one area for too long. Certain names have a certain resonance, but this might not be the case if I return to it, it almost feels like it belongs to the past.

I have changed a lot in the past few years (beginning  with the start of my travels from 2007, growing in intensity by 2010), and often things feel like they belong to the moment more than a museum lifestyle to visit and revisit them. This is not to demote their significance but more I have a greater need to find what I am now, whatever that may be. 

Finally, as I have done with all my other interviews, if you were stranded on a desert island what five CDs/Vinyls/Recordings would want to be stranded with? 

That was my least favourite question. I can’t answer sadly. It seems like the worst scenario being surrounded by nature and not being able to escape. I’d be more focused on trying to escape rather than listening to anything else.  I’d rather sit, or walk around and think. 

It was a joy to talk with Santa about such a wide variety of subjects. The sun combined with nice coffee made it especially pleasant. We rounded the discussion off with a wonderful concert with the Lithubourgian Ensemble. But to conclude this article have a listen to the wonderful One Inch of Love is an Inch of...

Lithubourgian Ensemble

The finale of Druskomanija's Vilnius residency was located in the stunning open spaces of the Lietuvos nacionaline Martyno Mazvydo biblioteka. The stage was set, and an audience had gathered below the warm glow of the stained glass. The concert was a collaboration between Lithuanian and Luxembourger composers and musicians. Any of you who have read older reviews of mine will be acutely aware I am very keen on collaborations like this as it is the perfect place to bring many nations together. 

After the opening introductions the ensemble were sat gathered for the first piece Belorussian Spots by Tatsiana Zelianko. In her broken notes, Tatsiana had pondered on how her music was the result of being Belorussian and having lived in Luxembourg for nine years, so I was particularly curious to see the results. In a bright flash it opened. Flying rhythms darted about the space and every instrumentalist danced around each other rather nimbly; like sprites in a forest. The whole work had a feeling of concerto of sorts as the pianist was really going nonstop flying away throughout the work, Sabine Weyer really handled it with a surprising amount of ease. After a while the rhythm and energy didn't quite convert into 'drama' or 'intensity', but the piece still had some fascinating element to it. In the end, it was a fascinating piece to ponder, but the question is was their an epiphany at the end? Tatsiana Zelianko is definitely another composer on my list I need to investigate after this.

Next came the native Raimonda Ziukaite and her Cathedrals. The work opened with a divine fragility, which was made all the more potent by the presence of the stained glass within the space. Gestures appeared. Then they disappeared. The austerity at the beginning was inspired, and extremely well crafted to the point when the overtly tonal elements were in the front and centre it sounded alien. The work had a charm and elegance very much akin to Hans Abrahamsen. Very nicely done, and very nice to hear more works by Raimonda again.

Then came our second member of the Luxembourger contingent. impulses et factures by Nik Bohnenberger was a wild change of direction from the preceding piece. It flew open with a frantic energy. The melodic figures glided majestically and everywhere, at times in a predictable manner, other times in a spasmodic way. The whole work was restless, to the point that the rests gave us no release. The work kept evolving and rolling along on its manic journey and the result was rather fascinating indeed. I did feel towards the end there was something missing, I couldn't say what. It just need that extra stroke of magic to truly captivate and inspire, but nevertheless it was still highly impressive, and still had a strong impact despite some elements not quite resounding properly within the premiere.

The finale came in the form of Andrius Maslekovas and his Brush Strokes. Those who have read the blog know that Andrius was the first composer I interviewed for the site, and in it he mentioned previous works which also are highly concerned with Japanese/Zen calligraphy, read the interview here. However, last night's premiere was an intriguing change of pace. Namely it hit you like a ton of bricks. The whole work showed a composer really in full swagger. The work had a strong personal character and an elegant violence to it, a perfect finale for the concert and for the festival's presence in Vilnius. The intensity never really stops, but it never seems to loosen its grip either. Just hammering us constantly. Those who vaguely are aware of Zen, may be confused by the violence in a Zen inspired piece. But many people forget the sheer violent drunkenness of some of the monks. The whole piece can in a curious way relate to a Zen koan, a personal favourite of mine: What is Zen? Zen is a shit-stick. Bloody well done Andrius a thoroughly impressive piece indeed.

A note must also be given to our Lithubourgian ensemble as they had only formed for this concert alone. They were definitely thrown in at the deep end. They handled the repertoire with grace and managed to add a lot of drama to the works. Very well done to all involved. And I hope the festival's excursion to Druskininkai goes just as positively as this finale in Vilnius.  

Saint Christopher's Orchestra in Druskomanija 2017

It was that time of year again, where Donatas Katkus and his band of merry string players perform contemporary pieces and perform premieres of students from the Lithuanian Academy of Music. Once again this year the concert was held in the National Gallery, staring out at the river and riverbank, in the sunny evening sun. 

After the usual introductory spiel, came Ieva Budriunaite's Genau. The composer noted her inspiration from Switzerland as well as discussing the multiple motifs that led to the construction of the work. My heart did sink when I saw the names of the listed bands she had taken quotations from; which included Florence and the Machine, Coldplay, Chopin, David Lang, and Doves to name a few. But this being said my fears were dumbfounded. Oh frabjous day, calloh callay! The opening was still and serene, with every entry being surprisingly delicate and crystalline. As the work grew the variety of motifs were handled with increasing skill and nuance, and above all else, amazingly tastefully. Overall the work was modest and rather content in and of itself. Yes, the timbral palette could have been extended some what, and the harmonic language despite showing real ingenuity within tonal language, could have been made more interesting by broadening it. This being said, the work was simply self sustaining. Despite the areas that could have been improved the work, worked. The motifs were handled perfectly and Ieva managed to overcome the nightmarish problem of interacting with the 'pop world'. So well done, and I am curious to see how she continues to grow as a composer.

Following a bit of shuffling, and stern words from Donatas Katkus to the nearby restaurant/cafe area, came the second piece Lietuvos liaudies muzika (1990) by Mindaugas Urbaitis. This work very simply does what it says on the tin. It builds a huge collage or web of varying Dzuku folk melodies and watches how they interact with each other. The whole atmosphere of the piece is very curious indeed. The string orchestra were able to come out of their shell a bit, and every single player managed to make their own melodies sound like the most important part of the piece thus giving a much greater life to the work as a whole. 

Then came Monika Sokaite's Sigitas. The three movement work was dedicated to the Lithuanian cultural figure of legend Sigitas Geda. Without knowing how personally Geda influenced Monika, it is very easy to see why he could be a source of inspiration. The three movements draw reference to quotations from various works by the poet and musically everything interacts with them. The first movement opened with harmonies gathering slowly, as if like clouds in a storm. As the energy built within the movement, it was very clear to hear something has clicked within Monika's work. There was a sensation that she has thrown everything she has got at the piece, and it has ultimately paid off. The gesturing, the harmonic contrasts and colours, combined with moments of modesty serenity really show she was desperate to say something in the work. The gesturing and harmonic language throughout the three movements reminded me somewhat of Dobrinka Tabakova or early works of Erkki-Sven Tuur. I always like it when composers surprise me as much at this. There is no need to say much more other than very well done Monika, this was a glorious piece indeed.

The finale came in the form of Perskelta Tyla (2004) by Arvydas Malcys. The huge work for strings really shows off the full strength and fragility of a string ensemble, and Katkus was definitely the man to bring this work to life again. The power and modesty were handled with equal brilliance, and the orchestra constantly showed their dedication to making this work sing. With the finale being what it was, I must congratulate the festival on such a well rounded programme. It is surprisingly rare to see a concert of contemporary music stand so neatly and give a sensation of narrative across the four works. Thinking back to the early incident, a nod or at least a note must be given about Donatas Katkus. With the noise coming from the eating area, many performers would have just carried on begrudgingly, not Katkus. His sheer fervour and dedication to performance really shone when he corrected the situation, before continuing with the wonderful concert. There is definitely only one Donatas Katkus in this world, and what a musician he is.