Female composers in the Baltic

As the push for greater equality in classical gains more and more momentum, I thought now would be a decent time to just stand back and mention some of the many wonderful female composers from the three Baltic states. This list won't be in any form or order, expect listing nation by nation, and will serve as more of an introduction to female composers in the Baltic; especially those I haven't had the chance to mention yet. Gender equality in the region is something I will like to touch upon in future, but that will be for another time. So for now I hope you all find something you enjoy!

Estonia

Our first composer, Galina Grigorjeva (1962*), was born in Odessa, Crimea, and only came to Estonia after studying with Lepo Sumera. However this does not mean she is disconnected from the scene by any means. Her music is rich and potent, and her exploration of Slavonic sacred music adds an interesting dimension. This intrigue ultimately makes her music an intriguing statement and question of nationality, identity, and personality especially in a nation whose modern identity is still very new. 

The grand matriarch that is Ester Magi (1922*) stands as the oldest composer in the region as well as having a truly unique and individualistic stance; when compared with her peers and the following generations. Her music has the beautiful combination of personal ingenuity and ever responsive to 'tradition'. Despite the brilliance of her compositions, her music still retains and curious modesty which gives it a truly endearing quality. Thankfully as she has aged more attention is finally heading in her direction, and hopefully soon more performances of her music will come this far west. 

Helena Tulve (1972*), a personal favourite of mine, is a composer with very few who can really be compared to her. The originality of colour and inspired nuance of gestures give her music a quality that is always striking a fresh, regardless of how often one would listen to it. The rolling melismas combined with the resonant spaces make her music sit in a space that usurps the listener fully. For me what makes her music quite so brilliant is the ability to use harmonic space to merely allow the music to speak freely. Very few composers internationally can really compete with the skill in her work.

Evelin Seppar (1986*) is quite a recent discovery for me. And it is quite a curious one indeed. Within her music, you can hear the fascination with modal harmonies, but she skillfully finds ways to knock them off kilter; giving you a new way to listen to the harmonies. There is quite an honest beauty to her music and I look forward to uncovering more recordings myself.

Mirjam Tally (1976*) is another truly striking composer. Her raw potency is the first thing that hits the listener, especially in works like Erosioon. But this brutality is not the sole selling point of her work. Despite the intense focus on sound in the most abstract sense, never loses any sense of musicality or drama. Mirjam Tally, like her contemporaries like Helena Tulve, also really  show the profound energy composers had after the break up of the Soviet Union. Everyone wanted to truly immerse themselves into the new world without fear or question. Mirjam does this with a flair. The sheer impact of her music shows this relentless courage and potency within every gesture.

Lydia Auster (1912-93) is another composer who was not originally born in Estonia, but due to her work lead her there. Born in Petropavlovsk, Kazakhstan, Lydia studied composition in Leningrad with Mikhail Judin then in Moscow with Vissarion Shebalin. Her composing took her all over the Soviet Union, including stints in Turkmenistan, from 1950-1989 she was the Chairman of the USSR Music Foundation's Estonian Republic Department, firmly planting her within Estonia and the music scene within the region. Her music is charming and witty, and I imagine there would be a huge audience in the UK who would love to listen to her debonair musical stylings.

Tatjana Kozlova-Johannes (1977*) is an Estonian composer of Russian origin. She studied under Jaan Raats  and Helena Tulve and the influence of both of these tutors is apparent within her work, but she never drifts into pastiche. There is an elegant spaciousness to her work, and like her teacher Helena, Tatjana has an inspired ability to entrap the listener. She is still a very new discovery to me, and everything I have found has struck me. I am eager to see what else I can uncover of her work. 

For my last example to represent Estonia, I turn to Liisa Hirsch (1984*). Another very recent discovery, but a truly inspiring one. Her music is extremely direct and unforgiving. The unerring honesty within her music is almost divine. Never hiding or presenting her music in a timid manner. Her music simply is. It is simply remarkable. Her Ascending...Descending is a perfect example of what I mean. The combined elegance of the solo violin's lines accompanied by the perpetual rising or falling of the orchestra is just a joy to behold. 

There were many other names I would love to have mentioned, but it does give me a stronger excuse to return to them in future posts.

Latvia

Santa Buss (1981*) is a composer I have admired for a significant amount of time, and have also had the joy to interview relatively recently. A music is a constant journey of self exploration. Each piece, its own philosophical quandary being delved into with this highest intensity. No two works sound the same. But her personal 'voice' shines through. Maybe as her internal monologue remains constant, her musical ideas endure the same scrutiny, siphoning off only the gold from the dirt. Its hard to single out one piece as an example so jump to her soundcloud and enjoy! 

A contemporary of Santa Buss, Gundega Smite (1977*) is another composer whose music manages to mystify you one moment and grab you by the scruff of the neck the next. A pupil of Peteris Plakidis, Gundega's music has an elegant sense of craft and purpose which can only be admired. For me, her choral music is what stands out most. Maybe due to the physical and human elements imbued into the music give it that earthy yet mystical quality. Music trapped in human flesh can only dream of transcending its humanity, but Gundega is definitely close to it.

Santa Ratniece (1977*) is another composer I have had the joy of mentioning previously in an article. Like her contemporaries in the Baltic, her music is fascinated with the wider world. Exploring poetry or themes of various cultures, Santa manages to deal with these cultural phenomena with an intrinsic sincerity. So be it exploring historic Jewish traditions or Buddhist art, she manages to approach it with a freshness and openness which only enhances her musicality. I was stunned by the fragility of her piano concerto, I was equally amazed by her ability to produce moments of violence. Santa's music is simply exquisite and needs more performances.

Indra Rise (1961*) stands at a curious point in time. At the point of her studying with Peteris Plakidis in 1990, the world around her had completely changed. This would have left her with the curious circumstances of having the feeling that anything was possible, but also having to fight the crushing sensation of what is our 'identity'. This being said, her music stands strong. Admittedly she could fall into the camp of 'new simplicity' which was heavily celebrated the world over when the Baltic was being rediscovered, Indra manages to not be lost in the labels, and is simply enjoyable. 

Maija Einfelde (1939*) is a composer who only quite recently began to gain some international fame after winning the International Barlow Endowment in the US, this however does not diminish from the elegance of her music. A pupil of Janis Ivanovs, Maija Einfelde is a composer strongly connected to the ideas of a Latvian nationality. She has mostly written for choirs or chamber ensembles, this however does not imply a modesty within her music. Her craft is simply brilliant and stands the test of time. Even though she wouldn't be called a revolutionary figure, her music is simply strong and memorable, and I am struck by every new piece I uncover by her.

Born in remote Ukraine, Marina Gribincika (1966*) is an immensely radical figure. It is extremely hard to pinpoint how she came to be the way she is, but there is a truly potent originality to her work. Within her Smilsu Laiks, the combination of cello octet, combined with shimmering and splatterings of percussion put her music into a whole new dimension. Time simply falls away. It is truly awe-inspiring. Need I say more?

A very recent discovery, Laura Gustovska (1986*) is one of the 'newest' generation of composers now composing in Latvia. Within her music is a vibrancy, and almost optimistic lightness to it. This is not to say, she sounds nostalgic, or to even suggest any naivety in her work, but simply the soundscape produce is truly positive and uplifting, even in darker or most violent passages. When listening to her work, there is a feeling there is a lot more brilliance to come out of her. I wouldn't say she is a done dish, but there is still a large amount of merit to her work as it stands and I look forward to hearing more. 

A contemporary of Gustovska, Ieva Klingenberga (1986*) stands in almost complete contrast to her counterpart. A significant amount of her work is defined by electronics and has a rather colourful attraction to it. The use of electronics combined with abstract thoughts, including Jung's ideas of anima, produces a rather dizzying spell. The hypnotic effect is quite strong, but never fails to kick you when you least expect it. Like Gustovska, time will see how she continues to grow as artist.

To conclude my mix of Latvians, Linda Leimane (1989*) is quite the composer to finish on. Her music is full of personal character and violence. It is almost unforgiving. Her ability to tap into the rawness of musical sound and gesture is remarkable, especially from a young composer in the early stages of her musical life. What strikes me most, is her ability to almost magnify the ensemble. Her chamber pieces like Magnetic Move manages to make a quartet sound like a huge expansive musical beast; which is made all the more impressive when you consider the piece is only 4 minutes long. I think out of all the three young Latvians I have mentioned so far, she has definitely hit me the hardest.

Once again, there are many more composers I could have mentioned and they are mentally added to the list of composers to mention in the future.

Lithuania

For those who have read my blog on more than one occasion, will know I hold the work of Justina Repeckaite (1989*) in extremely high regard. If you needed more proof of this, you simply need to look at previous posts or my description written for the music information centre. She is without a doubt a remarkable composer who always manages to strike with ferocity and fragility in the same gesture. Her first overtly celebrated work Chartres has an intense richness of colour to it, but more recent works like Unbennant-2 have a serene stillness to them which manage to unless power in the most surprising of ways. This year seems like it will be an extremely busy year for her, and after lots of discussion I am curious to see all the music she is going to produce. Also soon I should have a more in depth article discussing her work soon, as she has agreed to an interview, so watch this space.

Loreta Narvilaite (1965*) is a curious composer within the Lithuanian landscape for multiple reasons. Firstly the nuance and charm to her music is simply like no other, not even other 'simplistic' composers quite have the endearing quality Loreta spins so perfectly. What is also fascinating is the fact she has made such an impact as composer, while staying completely rooted in Klaipeda. As the Lithuanian national scene is so heavily dominated by the capital or Kaunas, it is a genuine surprise to see a talented composer get the praise they deserve, despite not being so deeply connected to the scene in the same way as her contemporaries.

Raminta Serksnyte (1975*) is a composer who as she has grown has become increasingly radical in a truly original and poetic manner. As we briefly discussed in an interview her music has an increase plurality to it, especially in comparison to the early 'minimalist' works like De Profundis. This multilayered approach gives her music a rich palette to work with moving seamlessly from gesture to gesture. The elegance of craft, combined with ingenious ideas keeps her truly original. Any future works are almost certainly going to be magnificent to behold.

In direct contrast to the richness of Serksnyte, Diana Cemeryte (1974*) has a profound austerity within her music. The glistening shimmers of distant sounds, combined with unidentified murmurs lead to a fascinating landscape. Almost like trying to find a rare creature. You follow its minute gestures and movements, hoping the rustlings will unearth exactly what you are hunting for. Combined with the austerity of gesture is clear sense of herself. Her ability to just let an idea live is probably my favourite quality within her music. Her Les essais c'est tout II is a perfect example of this.

Onute Narbutaite (1956*) is one of the few figures in Lithuania who can stand purely on the merit of her work, without desperately needing to teach to survive. One of the few internationally celebrated composer Narbutaite is a one of a kind composer. Her nuanced use of harmony combined with immense dramatic powers makes her music quite the experience to behold. As 2016 marked her 60th Birthday, the year was full of fantastic concerts of her music which were inspiring. There aren't many figures in Lithuania who have defined and left such a lasting impact on the musical landscape of the nation. 

Nomeda Valanciute (1961*) is a composer who is heavily rooted within machinism (a minimalistic trend which appeared in the 90s, spearheaded by the likes of Rytis Mazulis, Sarunas Nakas and other contemporaries). Her music is quite simply a matter of fact. It simply is. There is no question. No hidden meaning. Just. Is. It is remarkable that a composer being so defiantly restrictive, could have such a profound impact, but her music is unerring. Never ending. Just music. 

Another composer who is having a profound impact on her generation is Ruta Vitkauskaite (1984*). For those who have read my blog before, will know my paths constantly cross with Ruta, and even though I am not always convinced by the work it must be said her unfailing desire to explore and challenge the norm is courageous. Her constant challenge to accepted traditions leads her to very interesting paths, and I am constantly reminded of figures like Cornelius Cardew or Eliane Radigue, simply because despite her dissatisfaction with tradition; she hasn't just followed other trends, instead trying to tread her own path regardless of the world around her. When her music has been at its most potent, it does stun, and as she grows her ability to keep hitting that goal will only increase. But in the end it doesn't matter, because she will keep challenging herself and the world around her, which is truly noble.

Now for my personal favourite. Juste Janulyte (1982*) is a composer I have admired for an extremely long time. Her music's greatest strength is it's own ability to simply be. Regardless of the world. The ability to simply sit with a sound, or colour, or space and stay still. Without an itching desire to leave. To just exist. It is simply divine. Though her music has been going through seismic changes since her early success, her personal voice is always prevalent. I have discussed her work on numerous occasions because of its brilliance, and I will continue to do so for a long time coming. 

 Once again, there were many figures I would have loved to feature this time, but will have to return to on another occasion. Hopefully sometime soon. Until then, happy listening.

My week of Arvo Part - also starring Goeyvaerts

For the past week I have been chucked in the deep end, well and truly. I have been spending my week in New York, primarily in Fordham University where I have been attending the Arvo Part: Sounding the Sacred conference. The conference, which was heavily supported by the university, the Arvo Part Project, and the Sacred Arts Initiative to name just a few.

As can be guessed from the title, the week has been dedicated to the great composer. A conference of 4 days which has shown us a huge variety of stances and disciplinary viewpoints of the composer and his connection to the world around him. There were many fascinating discussions all of which have really challenged my understanding and broadened my sensibilities.

The real highlight of the whole conference was last night's concert in the Holy Trinity Church. The concert was overflowing with audience members and after a moment of hush the concert started. The opening came in the form of Trivium (1976) for organ. Andrew Shenton really showed his nuance and understanding of the piece bringing out all of the wonderful character and charm of the work, as well as the ethereal extra the often comes with Part's music. A real joy and a great way to open the concert.

Following a brief moment of shuffling amidst the stunned 'silence' of the creaking pews, the next work that followed was De Profundis (1980). It is always hard to witness performances of this work for me. Having grown up with the almost intense perfection of the Hilliard Ensemble's recording  its hard to find other interpretations match it. The four singers had a wonderful tone and the interaction between the quartet and the organ was elegant. The percussive sounds could have been performed with a bit more mystery, but were still very effective. Despite the many merits of the performance, I just wish they sang it slower to really wallow in the depths.

Then, after even more shuffling, coughing, and spluttering, came the awe-inspiring Sarah was Ninety Years Old (1976/89). The broad powerful opening of the percussion combined with the beautiful lilting tenors were completely mesmerising. I am always stunned by the work, one because of the sheer power of it, but also because of the sheer oddness of it. The blocks of the sections are intensely static, but almost have no impact on the next, but you feel a building intense and dramatic dialogue. The entrance of the organ always stuns too, but I felt the dialogue between the organ and soprano didn't have the same fluidity of gesture that the Hilliard's recording managed to achieve. 

The finale of the concert came in the form of something truly astounding. The string trio Goeyvaerts combined with three astounding singers performed Part's Stabat Mater (1985). A truly inspiring piece, but last night's performance had one more intense nuance. The ensemble had performed the entire work in Just Intonation. For those unfamiliar with the term, just intonation is a tuning system where in short everything is tuned in relation to a point, instead of by 'equal' intervals we are used to in well-tempered tuning. What this did was give a truly unique power and colour to Part's music that has never been opened up before. The rolling lines moved along and the sextet had a truly exquisite sweetness to it. The colours of the three singers; Maria Valdmaa (soprano), Alex Chance (countertenor), and Tore Denys (tenor), was always complimentary and divine. The ability of the singers to adapt to the refined tunings and the new 'field' built up made for a truly profound moment. Not since seeing the British premiere of Adam's Lament was I struck by such a freshness in Arvo Part's music. I had to buy the recording the trio made of the work so I can continue to obsess and indulge myself in it. Goeyvaerts were astouning. No other way to put it. What a magnificent trio that I hope to hear again in the future.

It has been a lot of fun being in the conference and I hope this isn't the last time I have the pleasure of discussing Arvo Part or to witness a concert quite like this. 

Interview - Diana Cemeryte

Another week has flown by and I find myself with another interview for the blog. I have really enjoyed this particular process as I keep finding excuses to indulge myself in the music of composers I really admire. This interview is of course no exception. For those of you who are familiar with my blog, will know I have discussed Diana Cemeryte's work before, and have had more than positive things to say about it. For those curious, you can see me discussing Still by Diana here. 

When I initially discussed this interview with Diana, I had asked which piece should would like me to present alongside the article. She recommend I discuss her work Les essais c'est tout II (2016) for string quartet, percussion, and electronics. I was fortunate enough to witness the premiere firsthand in Jauna Muzika last year. I was struck by the sheer austerity and clarity of the work, despite its darker qualities. The metronomic pulsations combined with the mutterings from the electronics and the ensemble create a curious sense of spaciousness and impending urgency. The sensation is akin to watching the jittering activities at the microscopic level of a larger lifeform. The creature itself may be standing still, but at its most minute level, it is bustling with energy and anticipation. What I also find curious about Les essais c'est tout II is it appears to be one of the most overtly dramatic works by the composer. I always find moments like this, when a composer has a momentary shift from their 'typical' creations, and build something distinctly different but also distinctly them. It is a very pleasant moment indeed, and this work is a perfect example of this. I do hope it gets multiple performances in the near future. So before I move onto the interview portion, have a listen to Les essais c'est tout II on her soundcloud.

Labas Diana, thank you for allowing me to interview you for the blog. For those who did not see me talking about your music previously, could you briefly describe your work?

Labas Ben, thank you for your interest in my music. You know, I believe in power of not overloaded music  that is expressed with minimal number of gestures. My music must breathe, must have pauses and time to listen into it. This is perhaps (why) I mostly compose chamber music. Quite often I find inspiration in early music, especially in Gregorian chant. I sang personally Gregorian chant almost 10 years. So, this intimate relationship to that kind  of music inspired and guided me every time: 2001 I wrote Ave Maris Stella, oder zehn Minuten mit Organum for string quartet, 2006 -  a piece named O clemens, o pia.. for a clarinet and percussion, 2013 I initiated a project VIDI AQUAM: A Dialogue between Postmodern and Gregorian Chant  etc.

You have been living and working in Frankfurt for a significant amount of time now, I am curious to know what first led you to move to city first? And secondly how you feel the local scene and the national scene have influenced your work to date?

I always wanted to study in Germany. It’s a magic country for  musicians, isn’t it? So, I studied three years (of) musicology at the Johann Wolfgang Goethe University in Frankfurt. But the main reason, why I  left Lithuania (in 2001) was more simple – it was love.

Music trends in Lithuania were more or less influenced by the post romantic spirit at that time, so naturally I was fascinated at so different music landscape in Germany.  You could choose between various ways of music: K. Stockhausen, H. Lachenmann, W. Rihm etc.  You could attend concerts with amarvelous musicians and the most important thing at that time for me was – the contemporary music was truly played and performed live in concerts! Next important point was attending the Internationale Ferienkurse für Neue Musik in Darmstadt. I did it twice in 2004 and 2006 and it was intensive learning and great experience for me. In two week I could meet and research in Darmstadt all the music streams and currents. And you get  such a dose, injection of contemporary music for the  entire year or probably even for the entire life. So, I really recommend it for young composers!

Back to your question, I think, I naturally pick some music elements or effects to my music vocabulary from the music, which I listen and appreciate in Germany. I also think, that I benefit from the both music landscapes – the Baltic and the western (I don’t want to say german).

I have been drawn to your music, mostly because of its honest depiction and dedication to form. It never feels complex, but you manage to portray complex ideas in such a manner that they can draw the listener in. How do you think you manage to make this quality? And which piece do you think shows this off the most?

You can speak much better about my music than I, Ben. You know, in my music I try to construct modes. I feel myself like a painter, who lays different layers of colors: sometimes thick, sometimes transparent. For me it is not important to develop themes, to lead them to the culmination. Much more important is to play with the material, with the colours, with different modes, to move these layers from one space to the space. Sometimes this is the way, I revive the sounds from the early culture (Hildegard von Bingen), or let myself inspire from the visual arts. This is like in the piece Les essais c'est tout II (2016) for string quartet, percussion and tape. I tried to dive into the art of a Swiss sculptor Alberto Giacometti, his long, continuous, fragile and often walking figures. An allusion to the works of Giacometti I  used long and subtle lines of instruments, reduced musical elements and somewhat transparent patterns.

Recently you had the premiere of your children’s opera, congratulations again, how did you feel when you approached writing for children? Often composers avoid such commissions as they feel it beneath them, but I imagine you hit it with stride.

Thank you! It was an honour to compose something for children! I was very glad, I could choose among five instruments (it’s still my favorite chamber music) and children chorus. Of course I had to concentrate on the simple melodies, to much more consonant music, but I also used my favorite effects, like air noises of the wind instruments, whispers in the chorus, or complex piano and percussion rhythms. I was so happy about this project! Especially - about the book and CD of this opera!

What are you currently working on at the minute?

This half of the year will be very intensive for me:  I will have three commissions. At this moment I am working on the piece for the Thomas Mann Festival in Nida.

And as is my habit with these interviews, what five recordings would you want to have with you if you were stranded on a desert island?

It is difficult to choose only five recordings. Every phase of our life has favorite music. Therefore, I will take these compositions, which were important to me in the different times of my life: something from medieval music (Hildegard von Bingen, or gregorian chant), Gustav Mahler Adagietto from Symphony no. 5, Arvo Pärt  Sarah Was Ninety Years Old, the Salvatore Sciarrino’s opera Luci mie traditrici and Keith Jarrett The Köln Concert.

Veljo Tormis (1930-2017)

Veljo Tormis (1930-2017) photo by Tonu Tormis

The death of a composer is always a poignantly sad moment, as a person who gave life to such a creative expanse will no longer produce again. The passing is made all the more significant when the composer in question was such a vital figure for their nation and for music internationally. 

This is definitively true of Veljo Tormis. Throughout his life, Veljo Tormis's music has been distinctive, unique, and Estonian to its core. A pupil of Visarion Sheblain in the Moscow Conservatoire, Tormis's early works were preoccupied with neoclassicism, his Overture No. 2, which was performed in the Warsaw Autumn Festival 1961, is a perfect example of this. 

Tormis's music gained its unique twist after he began to drawn on the Estonian folk tradition of regilaul which shaped the composer into building a musical language which drew upon ancient constructive ideals and fusing them with modern techniques. The result, is simply powerful. His large works like Eesti Ballaardid (1980) is like a kaleidoscope of rituals and reflections, blurring together producing a hypnotic and beautiful musical display. Other works like Raua Needmine (1985) is raw, and intensive (Stravinsky would have killed to make a choir sound this ritualistic and potent). The work is simply for two male soloists, choir, and drum, which feels like we have excavated a lost tribe enacting a ritual. 

His works, were not solely defined by Estonian traditions, he often drew upon other cultures or on other musical traditions from pre-Christian eras; including Livonian, Setus, Finns, Ingrians, and Bulgarians, to name a few. The approach and result, never turned into mere exoticism or fetishism, but through principled composing and an elegant sincerity led to the production of truly original works. 

A composer who will be sorely missed, both for his wonderful music and for his impact on the Baltic as a whole. As I never had the priviledge to meet him, all I can do is rave about how wonderful his music is, so here are some more wonderful examples of works by the great and dearly departed Veljo Tormis.

Vytautas Bacevicius: Septintas Zodis/Septieme Mot

After a few days flitting off to Scotland, I am back in Vilnius and ready to write more. This week's installment is a particularly powerful Lithuanian gem, Vytautas Bacevicius (1905-1970). Brother of the Polish composer Grazyna Bacewicz, Vytautas is a particularly remarkable figure in Lithuanian music and the wider sphere too. Bacevicius is one of the most significant names in Lithuanian history, and a figure who will continue to inspire composers today. Musically he is often compared to Scriabin, but I find this comparison a bit tedious, mostly because Bacevicius can stand on his own two feet and doesn't need to be similar to a famous figure to be significant. I also find the comparison a bit short sighted as when you compare him to other composers of the period, Andre Jolivet (1905-1974) is a much better fit. The flowing free tonality and poetic nuances share a very similar character. I also find comparing Bacevicius to Jolivet more significant due to the fact both composers are on the larger scale pretty well hidden gems often over shadowed by other composers of situations.

Vytautas Bacevicius, was born and lived during a period of constant shifting. Firstly being born in Lodz (formerly Russian Empire, now Poland), but identifying himself as Lithuanian, he initially studied in Lodz conservatoire under Kazimierz Sikorski and Kazimierz Wilkorimski. He then moved and studied in Kaunas before moving to Sorbonne University where he studied philosophy. In 1932 he returned to Kaunas and taught. During the time of his return and the outbreak of war he founded the The Society of Lithuanian Music Progressists and in 1936 was the leader of Lithuanian section of the ISCM. In 1939, he was touring South America, when world war two broke out he emigrated to America and lived there for the rest of his days.

His music can be seen to be in three distinct periods, his early period closely linked to the impressionists and late romantics. His middle period is referred to his Lithuanian Period; most likely due to the fact of being based in Lithuania during this time and working so much within the musical landscape. This middle period is far more modernistic in its construction and drawing influence from the expressionists. Around the time he moved to the US his music took a more conservative tone; simply to build a reputation as composer, but as this became rather stifling Bacevicius abandoned this approach. His final period is referred to his Cosmic Period which is where I find him as his most powerful and unique. This period is referred to as his cosmic period as he was trying to find a balance between absolute music and the cosmological nature of things. So this was an attempt to transcend music, with a supreme form of musicality that could touch all sentient beings as well as tapping into the very essence of the universe.

Throughout his life, Bacevicius had been working on a series of works called Mot/Zodis (Words). This series of seven pieces was written for a variety of keyboard settings, mostly for one piano; but Deuxieme Mot was composed for organ and Septieme Mot was composed for two pianos. Today we will focus on just the Septieme Mot (1966), mostly because I have the score and I do love it so much.

The work is in three movements; Allegro moderato - Larghetto misterioso - Allegro con fuoco. These three movements are very colourful and flowing with ideas flying and suddenly disappearing. The first movement is extremely violent and potent with running figures being juxtaposed with strong stabs. The harmonic language is unpredictable but stable, the chords no matter how dissonant are never jarring but liberally shift from one place to another. The interaction between the two pianos is pretty magical as they always seem as an extension of each other and never and competitor to each other. The first movement can be heard here:

The second movement, is wonderful still and motionless. Spacious melodies move seemlessly before a reiteration of a strong powerful gesture fades into the nothingness. As the movement progresses it becomes more animated, but never feels rushed or energetic, almost like a candle glittering. The gestures and motifs hang like stars in the sky. Many musicologists like to discuss the fact there are no barlines like it is a brand new idea, but I find in this piece that lack of barlines is almost akin to works of Byrd and other composers of the period; the barlines don't matter, the music will just flow. This movement does exploit that beautifully. The second movement can be heard here:

The final movement is the most potent and fiery. With the rhythmic ideas bouncing full of momentum. The polyphonic texture brings in many lines and colours together but the music keeps getting interrupted by a returning figure which almost becomes more and more sarcastic as the work progresses. And as it progresses sarcasm slowly turns into an almost brutal nagging which ultimately ends the movement in quite a strong strop. The violence and energy in this movement is remarkable and I am surprised this work is not adopted by more piano duos the world over. You can here the final movement here:  

The Septieme Mot is a truly remarkable work from a composer towards the end of his life, but it must be mentioned his works for orchestra like Graphique or Poeme Electronique or his concerti are extreme too and are always worth a listen. Also the other segments of Mots are definitely worthwhile and I feel should be a beautiful edition to any pianists repertory. Toccata Classics have done a wonderful job by recording the entire set onto CD. Definitely worth buying. 

Arvydas Malcys: Concerto for Clarinet and Chamber Orchestra

After two of some wonderful Estonians, I think its time to return to a Lithuanian gem I have developed quite a fondness of since uncovering his music. Arvydas Malcys (1957*) is a rather curious composer as he doesn't fall into any camps of composers that can be found here in Lithuania or throughout Europe. His willingness to tackle classic forms and structures like concerto is intriguing as it is truly adhering to the nature of a concerto but never feeling conservative. Also musically there is a strong affinity to composers like Bartok or Honnegger who used modernist 'techniques' as an extension of what has come before and not a rejection of it.

A student of Vytautas Laurusas, Arvydas Malcys studied composition alongside his studies of the cello (under Domas Svirskis). His music has won multiple awards and is full of a huge amount of colour and character, it is a real shame British orchestras haven't heard of him. I imagine Malcsys's work would be extremely well received by the paying public.

The concerto for clarinet and chamber orchestra was written in 2007 and dedicated to the late Algirdas Doveika who was the principal clarinettist of the Lithuanian National Symphony Orchestra. The concerto was written for Roger Arve Vigulf, a Norwegian clarinettist Arvydas had worked for around three years previous to this concerto. The work is in three movements which a calm declamatory cadenza, before flying off into a pulsating driving sphere. The first movement is short, but never loses its energy, constantly pushing the piece along with a great vibrancy. The simple nature of the first movement is made more elegant by the introduction and expansion of the material throughout the chamber orchestra. The energy is a stark contrast the to beautiful melodic material in the soloist, who floats seamlessly above the ensemble.But as the piece progresses the energy in the orchestra turns to staggering tremolandi and the clarinet flies over the chaos.

The second movement is drastically different and potently beautiful. Much like in the solo clarinet movement of Messiaen's Quatour pour la fin de temps, the movement starts with a sparse clarinet melody leaping beautifully over wide intervals and disappearing into nothingness. The entrance of the strings reiterate the opening of the first movement and give the middle movement a larger depth and broader colouring. The reiterating Es from the clarinet morph into powerful multiphonics stretched against the dense clusters in the strings, before flying off into an allegro passage. The section is a bit more frantic with the aleatoric elements blurring any sensation of pulse and rhythmic direction. Suddenly the frantic energy busts into an almost comical bouncing triplet section which canonically repeats gestures from the clarinet, before it fades away into a peaceful mournful calm.

The final movement is full of cheeky gestures and energy. A fantastical scherzo which really lets the soloist let loose and show off their prowess. The clumsy pulsations from the strings add a sense of comedy in the opening bars of the movement. Then this clumsy cheeky side disappears with a gesturing of tiny fragments flying around the group. The tiny gesture grows and expands and gives the sensation of clockwork as everything ticks along growing and growing. This ticking becomes a bit more maniacal before dissipating into a whole new section with screaming glissandi from the soloist. This leads onto an area with lots of drive, being pushed by flying scales which disappearing and morph into flickering gestures which fade and eventually disappear with the final Gershwin-esque gliss.

The work can be heard here on spotify. It is a fun work and a great show piece for clarinettists the world over. I'd be curious to see how other soloists would shape this kind of piece, as there is so much room for a soloist to add their own personal input.

Anyways until next week, where I might either discuss Bacevicius or Lithuanian music on the whole, looking at where it is in comparison to a generation ago. Until then!

Raimo Kangro: Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra No. 2

Firstly, and rather belatedly, Happy New Year. As the blog is still very young, it would have seemed pretentious to do a rounding off 2015 blog post; especially when I hadn't even been writing this blog for the whole year. This past week has been rather nonstop with my involvement in the BFE/RMA Student Conference 2016, in Bangor north Wales. It was fun to be involved for two reasons, firstly it was great to introduce everyone present to works by Kutavicius, Juzeliunas, and Montvila. Secondly, it was particularly fun to be extra sci-fi by being sat in my comfy flat in Vilnius, talking 1000 miles away in Bangor through the magical power of Skype.

Anyways, it is back into the Baltic and into the gems. As it is wonderfully chilling and snowy here in Vilnius, we need something upbeat and positive. I could think of no better person than the wonderfully witty and charming Raimo Kangro (1949-2001). Raimo is a figure I have had a wonderful soft spot for, ever since I heard the first note of his music. Raimo has a wonderful charm and wit that can only be equaled by composers like Haydn or Vivaldi. A student of Jaan Raats and Eino Tamberg, Raimo Kangro became closely linked to the 'neo-classical' scene in Estonia. The 'neo-classical' label does Raimo Kangro a disservice, mostly giving the impression that he was a conservative composer. His music is wonderfully energetic, bouncy, and just a joy to listen to.

What really makes Raimo Kangro stand out is his connection to sonatas, symphonies, and concerti. Works like his Clicking Symphony or Sonata for Two Pianos are times when he is at his strongest. So this brings me to his Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra. This wonderful four movement work. The first movement Declamazione starts with a rich piano chord, resonating freely as strings slowly enter; then a burst of life comes into the orchestra. After a brief interlude by the pianos, the orchestra enter again, circling on their motifs, the atmosphere is calm, rich, and resonant. The colour and power in the orchestra builds into really beautiful passages.

The second movement Variazione starts a fantastical musical interaction between the two pianos, focused on the more percussive effects like harmonics and plucking strings. As can be guessed from the title, the movement is a theme and variations of sorts, with opening gestures returning to the for. A highly rhythmic movement and is just a pure delight to listen to.

The third movement Impressione is a more austere movement, with crystal clear piano chorale. The entry of the cellos brings in a rich melody, and the circling harmonic material adds real beauty, but also a really mournful tone to the movement. The entry of the pedal adds so much angst to the piece that you are just gripped for the entirety of the movement. 

The final movement Allegro is a real tour de force, a speedy that just keeps flying. The pianists are let off the reins and are both able to really show off their own prowess. The circling harmonic configuration, gives the movement real stability allowing the soloists and orchestra the space to bring out the energy; not that it is much of a challenge, with the irregular time signatures and moto perpetuo-feel of the whole movement.

The work is wonderfully direct, so I do not want to take up more of your time, by giving strong rhetoric to prove you should enjoy this. Just listen to the piece here on spotify. The two other works: Concerto for Two and Gaudeo are both wonderful gems I aim to touch on in the future. Until next week.

Anna Veismane: Wings

With the past few posts being consistently full of Lithuanian composers, you would be forgiven to think I am only going to discuss Lithuanians. Now GAIDA has finished, I thought this would be a great opportunity to discuss a recent Latvian gem I have uncovered.

The composer in question is Anna Veismane (1976*) a composer who I am surprised it took me so long to discover her. A pupil of Peteris Vasks and Romualds Kalsons, to name just two of her teachers. Her music and herself don't need too much of an introduction, due mostly to the wonderful clarity in her work. But to show her off a bit, she has worked with ensembles and musicians all over the world like the North/South Chamber Orchestra (USA), Latvian Radio Choir, William Schimmel, and The Concorde Contemporary Music Ensemble, to name but a few. I have never really been fond of just quoting someone's biography, but for me it simply highlights how many composers who are pretty busy writing for ensembles worldwide go under the radar, especially in the sheltered musical environment of Britain.

But I digress, today's post is merely an introduction to one piece for cello and accordion called Wings. The work was written and performed by TWOgether duo, at the Latvian Music Days 2014. The second work by Veismane with the title, the first being a piece for solo flute. The duo is pretty captivating, starting with timid flashes and flutters of sound. Hearing the gestures pass from cello to accordion and vice versa is always fascinating, due to the quite dynamic separating the two instruments becomes almost impossible. Then suddenly a strong gesture from the cello bursts from the music into a beautiful frenzy, with small circling motifs combined with clusters in the accordion. The energy is slowly released, and the duo shimmer and die away into nothing.

The work isn't overtly grand or revolutionary, but it is just a nice fresh piece of music. Every gesture and idea is refreshing to listen to and is something I have been listening to on loop for a fair while now. Its also always nice to just come across a gripping miniature. Sometimes the most gripping pieces of music are tiny, just look at Farben from Schoenberg's Five Pieces for Orchestra, or Webern's symphony. 

Enjoy the piece here, but I also recommend people check out her website here. Some recordings of her works are present and they are definitely pieces I will want to discuss in future posts. Until next time! 

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.