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!

Twenty Fingers, plus another ten

And so Druskomanija Festival finds itself in the Gothic Hall of the art academy. The quiet, modest, arched hall has been a wonderful place for concerts in the past due simply to its curious intimacy and atmosphere. Last night's concert saw a variety of pieces, from a variety of nations written for violin, cello, and percussion. Each rather distinctly different from each other, and each desperate to address the native varieties in colour and timbre in the ensemble. 

After walking in about 10 minutes before the concert started, we were greeted to electronic noises and glitches muttering away to themselves. At first it was a curious and enigmatic scene to be presented with, but it grew tiresome after a while; especially as I was more eager to see the musicians. 

First came the work Past,Present, Future by Maryana Lysenko. I was particularly curious to hear her work, as my knowledge and awareness of the current scene in Russia is rather limited and seems to gravitate solely to Elena Rykova and Anna Romashkova; so I was indeed curious to see how Maryana compared and contrasted to these two gems. The piece started with the trio circled around the vibraphone, each bowing separate elements of the instrument; either producing glistening rings of the bar, or clicks and clattering sounds from striking the body with the bows or mallets. As time progressed the violinist moved to behind the mirror (which sadly from where I was sitting didn't hide her) where she bowed stroke exploratory gestures. The cellist eventually accompanied to, to much the same affect. Overall the work was curious as it was fascinating to observe. What we experienced was a surreal dance of ritualistic gestures amongst the members of the ensemble.The sensation through felt as if we were dealing with a wild animal which was somehow pretending to be tame and mild; and it all simply ring around the basic premise of discovery. The feeling was akin to seeing creatures trying to come to terms with a new object in their cage, trying to come to understand it by doing everything they possibly could to it. Admittedly, this wasn't the first time a composer has attempted this, however the composer's gesture and intent were thoroughly clear, so all the musicality was necessary throughout. So I am definitely fascinated to hear more of her work.

Following this, and the traditional elements of inter-piece shuffling came Considerations of Friday by Tadas Dailyda. From the little I had heard prior to this, I sincerely hoped this work would change my opinion for the better. However once being presented with the programme notes, I instantly began to worry. The programmatic description was somewhat akin to high school imaginings and oddly it felt like reciting the programme notes would take longer than the piece itself. But still I wanted to be proved wrong. I so desperately wanted to be proven wrong. However. The instance it started I could have wept. The click of the beat given by the drummer before the piece started made my heart sink. The sustained chord of the strings, against the pulse of the drums, made it sink further and harder than a brick in quicksand. I've grown up on metal and punk a lot longer than I have grown up on classical music. Writing classical music in a 'rock' style will always be like a parent trying to be 'down with the kids, yo!' it simply makes everyone uncomfortable. If you are going to commit to it, look to Zappa, look to Fausto Romitelli, look to Apocalyptica, or just throw away classical settings; but don't just write pulsing rhythms and 'riffs' for violin and cello. Metal is filthy and uninstitutionalised. It is not built for classic concerts, with good reason, it is built for people to scream, shout, throw bottles, getting hammered, and simply going apeshit. If your 'rock' inspired piece of contemporary music doesn't make the listener do that. You are doing it wrong. The worst sensation about it all was simply the fact, when the composer closed the piece with a gesture of him popping open a bottle and presenting it to the ensemble; I was simply unaffected by it. A gesture like that would normally annoy me to no end, but I was just so sick and numbed through sheer boredom and banality that I was just unmoved by it. 

Thankfully the following piece was a refreshing change. Monika Zenkeviciute has often been an interesting composer to observe, so I was of course excited to hear her trio. The work Little bit was described as being inspired by HPS (highly sensitive person); as according to the Sensory Processing Sensitivity as coined by Elaine and Arthur Aron. The piece had startling contrasts, starting with screaming violin and cello before leading to extremely timid quietness. The full exploration of the trio's palette was very well done and overall the piece made for fascinating listening. However I had two hang ups about the work. Firstly the link to HPS wasn't particularly clear, unless you were trying to test how 'sensitive' the audience were. Secondly it is a fine line creating art inspired by psychological traits and conditions, and ultimately if you aren't someone with the condition or trait; you are most likely fetishising the condition itself; which tends to be most harmful or derogatory to the people who have said condition. I haven't had a chance to ask the composer if she is HPS, if so; I obviously cannot tell her how life is with said trait. However, if she doesn't she has to tread carefully with such works, simply out of respect to those under those circumstances. 

Then, as if in a speedy flash, we were thrown into Bozena Ciurlioniene's Senoviniai sokiai. The work draws inspiration from rhythmic motifs from pre-renaissance Lithuania and trys to build a dance which tries to connect the ancient past with the present. A fascinating endeavour, and one that has been done by many composers within Lithuania, so I was curious how she'd fare with it. The writing for the ensemble was fine, and the balance worked, and there was a fair amount of interaction between the instruments. However the harmonic language was simply naive, as were the rhythmic motifs. The ancient rhythms should have been the building blocks, not finished elements. There is so much that can be done with rhythm and still connect quite obviously to its source material. A part of me felt like it was an attempt to 'rebel' against complexity, but would have been her alternative? The whole thing just felt underbaked as a piece. The composer has craft, she just needs to use more of it with more intent. 

The finale of the concert was Robert Thorpe's Living with Bears. The work started with a hammering of dampened strings being strummed to within an inch of its life; the sensation was rather wild and interesting, it did grip me rather instantly. However the first violin melody instantly splintered the work. The melodic elements bared no relation or connection to the intense and powerful drive of the strumming. From there, the work simply unfolded. More of this 'melody' appeared and grew into something else. The largest 'melodic' element was extremely akin to Michael Nyman, a composer I thought I had escaped when I had moved to Lithuania. So overall it just felt disjunct. If it were in two movements, with the fiery rhythms in one, and the melodic elements in the other I probably would have been more accepting of the piece. Shame really.

This being said, the ensemble did quite well tackling such a variety of pieces, especially as a group that doesn't traditionally play as a trio; so well done to them. In future however, when performing contemporary music, they need to look more into what 'they' are saying with the piece, and thus avoid becoming performing machines of performing monkeys for composers. I imagine if the trio had clear visions of what they were saying with all the pieces the concert could have taken a very different turn. Admittedly a skill like this comes with time, so the future looks bright for Lora Kmieliauskaite, Arna Kmieliauskas, and the birthday boy Dziugas Daugirda.

Algirdas Martinaitis - Birds of Eden

As today marks 27 years since the Lithuania separated from the Soviet Union, I thought it would be a nice opportunity to focus on a Lithuanian composer I haven't had the chance to mention yet. Admittedly this also gives me more time to digest the pile of recordings I gathered while in Riga, so win win for me, and Latvian composers will be mentioned soon; I promise. Because of the seismic importance of the event, I thought it was necessary to discuss a figure composing around the time of the split and to mildly highlight the local desires of the people vying for nationhood. 

Algirdas Martinaitis (1950*) feels like a suitable person to mention within this framework. A pupil of Eduardas Balsys, Martinaitis came to prominence rather quickly after graduating from his studies at the end of the 1970s. Like his fellow 'neo-romantics', his music is obsessed with nostalgia, namely in the form of pining for something lost, rather than thinking 'weren't things better in the good ol' days'. This led him to build a rather curious personal musical landscape. The ability to have music with the deepest sincerity then to smash it with boisterous sarcasm or even sheer vulgarity, makes his music rather surprising. My first encounter with the composer was hearing his Serenade for Miss Europe which in its brief extent as a piece, shamelessly and hilariously quotes and smashes European classics into the listener's ear in the most inane or crude manner possible. It is an occasion which has stuck with me to this day.


The piece I wanted to focus on today, is a significantly shorter work; Birds of Eden (1981) for cello and tape. The work stands as one of the composer's most seminal pieces and clearly demonstrates a lot of thinking in the wider society at the time. A work with a title of Birds of Eden is extremely typical of a romantic composer, with its reflection of nature and pastoral ponderings; but the use of electronics instantly distorts and challenges this. Mostly on the basic level that there is no 'life' in electronics. Electronic music is the result of machines, so how can it artistically reflect wildlife? This simple gesture of instrumentation, throws up a lot of ideological posturing, which I am sure is intentional on the composer's half. The lack of life in the electronics combined with the nostalgic or just sheer romanticism of nature in the title can easily be a heavy handed gesture mourning the loss of something inherently native. 

The music itself is as hypnotic as it is energised. The cello lilts on melodic figures which are reminiscent of bird song, which in turn are layered on itself over and over again. The result is a rather magical dialogue between many birds. The electronics serve an interesting but very clear function within this piece, the use of electronic, or natural, noise subverts the musicality; functioning as a dissonance to destabilise the natural proceedings of life. The to and fro between the natural sounds of the cello and the electronics produces a fascinating dialogue. The repetitive nature of the melodic fragments adds to the intensity, it is almost as if the birds themselves are trapped within the machine, with nothing in their power except to keep singing. The short piece, lasting about 8 minutes, really builds a lot of ground and potential of presenting many ideological ideas; which cannot be surprising when you consider the piece was written in the last decade of the Soviet Union's control of the region. 


This being said, this could all just be me romanticising the romantic. The piece on a purely musical level is just as fascinating and really should be in the solo cello repertoire. It is intense and powerful but just allows you to digest its gesturing and elegance. It is definitely one of the composer's finest works. Many of his works play around with romantic ideals of nature as well as contemplating tradition; and almost every single time his responses to these always challenge me on some level. This could be on the sheer musical level, on the dramatic level, or on the more ephemeral levels of ideology. 

All that is left to do is listen to the piece and decide for yourself. 

Melos kamerinis moteru choras: Debut and concert of new religious works

Last night in a whimsically chilly church. Melos kamerinis moteru choras gave their official Lithuanian debut, performing works of living composers, focusing mostly on text in relation to Palm Sunday. The twelve piece choir, accompanied by solo instruments in certain pieces gave, in short, an extremely strong first step into the wild.

The concert started with a work by the Lithuanian composer Vytautas Miskinis. The work Praeludium for voices and piano rolled along gently, with subtle swaying of harmonic development which underpinned a rich chorale. The circling motifs were extremely confident and the choir gave a wonderfully well blended sound throughout. The confidence in the false relations was strong, always giving the impression the choir were in supreme control.

The first of many premieres in the concert was the young Matas Drukteinis. His setting of the sanctus was quite commanding and striking, but also very modest. The nuanced repetitions of sanctus made the work sound almost ritualistic. These punchy gestures were set against by very still rich chords in the whole choir. The harmonic language was really moving but I felt the counterpoint fell apart in the still moments. The use of cello was very subtle and gave the whole piece a very strong base to bounce off from. The work in general was good, but I am curious to hear something more extreme from Matas, I have the impression modest music is not his own cup of tea and just wants to be let loose. I recommend you check out more of his work on Soundcloud.

The next work was by Monika Sokaite, for those who have read previous posts, know I wasn't sold on her recent piece for voice and piano. This being said I didn't let that previous thought cloud my listening of this new work by her. Lavabo Me (from Psalm 25) was described in her programme notes as a polyphonic work using techniques associated with the prolation canon. I always smile a bit when composers resort to older forms like prolation canon or organum, because there is so much joy and wonder in them. The piece started with an almost processional line from the sopranos flowing around beautifully and supported by a slow moving harmonic base. The harmony and voicing was strong and is was a good piece demonstrating choral music is a personal forte. I found after a while the drifting melodic line got a bit lost and so sense of direction disappeared and ultimately felt lackluster. A think with a bit more study of Ockeghem and Mazulis she has the potential of producing some really nice music inspired by ancient forms and ideas. I said this last time I reviewed her, I'll say it again; listen to her works here on Soundcloud.

After some shuffling from the choir came the music of the Polish composer Monika Szpyrka. adHuc was a piece that focused on very minute details and raw elements of the voice. Starting with growing rustlings and stutters which are set against varied breathing. The contrast and orchestration of the gestures was contrapuntally and creatively very strong. The evolution of timbre was handled in an extremely classy nature, giving the sensation the Monika is her element and her moment. The piece, especially compared to the predeceasing work was definitely like going from chalk to cheese. adHuc was always moving, always evolving and gripping the listener. It was by far one of the strongest works of the night and the most sophisticated works for unaccompanied choir I have heard in a while. I am definitely hunting to hear more from this gem! When you listen to her music here on Soundcloud, I hope you will agree with me. 

After this work came Mantvydas Pranulis's In Finem for trumpet and choir. The solitary opening from the trumpet resounded in the church beautiful and definitely had a similarly spiritual sensation. The choir entered and the interaction with them and the trumpet (played by the composer) was often very strong and well nuanced. Harmonically it had a similar sensation to Holst which was an odd surprise to hear from a Lithuania, but still a pleasant one all the same. The work in general was very strong, but towards the end the trumpet gestures became more akin to the jazzy characters from Aristocats than one of the seven trumpets at the end of time. Have a listen to his work here.

Next came the Aberdeenshire based Yank Sarah Rimkus, a student of Paul Mealor and the descendant of a Lithuanian. Her piece O Vos Omnes was very modest and still. Focusing heavily on open fifths and other wide chords. The stillness is treated very well, at times I felt the sopranos were a bit underwhelming in this. The piece did feel heavily influenced by her tutor but thankfully the influence wasn't so dominating that it felt like her music was mere pastiche. I also found many similarities between the work and the middle sections of John Taverner's Ikon of Light where notes just hang in space resonating freely. A nice piece, I'll be intrigued to see how she develops. See her music here on Soundcloud.

The penultimate work came from the Welsh composer Nathan James Dearden. The piece O Crux Ave was set for double choir, with members stood opposite each other. The still modest opening hit me instantly, a calmly brilliant gesture which was the seed of growth in the piece. The counterpoint between each group and across groups was extremely well handled and always felt purposeful and necessary. The Qui passus es pro nobis... was strong and pulsing like a mantra that resonated beautifully in the church. The whole piece struck me to the core and instantly I can tell this one of Nathan's strongest pieces to date. The work was bold and modest, well crafted and elegant, and ultimately sincere. If he carries on like this Wales has a bright future with Nathan as a champion of his generation. Enjoy his works here on Soundcloud.

The finale was the perfect finale piece. Juta Pranulyte, the Glasgow based Lithuanian, presented one of the greatest pieces of the night. Christe Qui Lux for alto saxophone and choir was a beautiful meditation which at times had the same striking mesmerisation as Feldman's Rothko Chapel and Toivo Tulev's Songs. Notes hung in space and disappeared into the space like clouds forming and unforming or rain droplets falling into a river. The work organically and seamlessly grew from the saxophone, at one point it strayed dangerous close to Lux Aeterna by Ligeti, but managed to break away before it got cornered. As the work progressed, the sound grew and the church itself felt like it was resonating with the choir in one harmonious gesture. Christe Qui Lux is definitely the strongest piece I have heard from the composer, may the good work continue. Listen for yourself on Soundcloud.

Melos Choir, under the combined direction of Jolita Vaitkeviciene and Dalia Krapavickaite, achieved a strong and very promising debut. As a whole, for me the strength of the choir hung in the lowest altos who were a strong foundation for the choir to build upon. The middle voices were well blended and well toned, but at times I felt their dynamic was weaker than it should be; the most important music is often in the middle, not the top or bottom. The top sopranos on the whole were strong, but I felt at times that there were blockages stopping the higher registers just pinging round the church like a ray of light. The stamina of the choir needs to be addressed, but to be honest the temperature in the church will have had considerable effect on it all. The two conductors were strong and focused. Jolita Vaitkeviciene was by far the superior conductor in my mind, but that is mostly due to age and experience, the subtle controlled gestures were always elegant and necessary. Dalia Krapavickaite has a bright future a conductor, but I am curious to see how she would interpret a classic piece.

The choir have to be commended on such a strong debut, especially as the debut was filled with world premieres. With hard work, dedication, and the same element of daring who knows they could challenge Jauna Muzika for superiority. 

Vidmantas Bartulis: Bolero Pavane Lachrimae

This week I thought it would be fun to look back at a work I discovered long before I moved to Vilnius. Bolero Pavane Lachrimae by Vidmantas Bartulis, I first heard performed in Cardiff in a concert given by the St. Christopher's Orchestra. The concert was part of the Vale of Glamorgan festival that year and the festival is what opened my eyes to the many wonderful composers here in Lithuania.

Vidmantas Bartulis (1954) is quite a curious figure. Often labelled as 'neo-romantic', Bartulis is more than just a conservative composer trying to bring back old traditions. His output can be compared to the likes of Alfred Schnittke with the clever use of polystylism, but also the desire to tackle tradition head on and see what can this tradition bring. In works like 'I Like F. Chopin' and other works in his 'I Like..' series, Bartulis draws on his favourite music like a springboard to jump from into something new, but still deeply connected to his love of music.

In the work Bolero Pavane Lachrimae Bartulis draws on musical ideas from the Lachrimae Pavane by Dowland, mostly the shifts of harmony. The work is quite detached from Dowland  but still holds its gut wrenching quality. The opening stabs are intensive and brutal, made more dramatic by their irregularity. The entrance of the cello is filled with sadness and beauty, before it steps back and the brutal attacks return. 

The main focus of the first movement is heralded by the pulsing chords which underpin the cello obligato. This section is quickly followed by another fragment with the cellist singing above a pulsing percussive line in the violins. Like many sections of the piece, the moment passing quite quickly into a new moving material.

Suddenly the piece explodes into life, with tremolandi in the orchestra. The violence and drama is reminiscent of the opening but is continuous and the soloist flies over it and fights against it all. The drive never seems to end and the cellist fights valiantly on. Before suddenly returning to original progression, like a rushed and relieving return home. The end of the first movement sees the cellist acting as percussion and colour on top of the beautiful melancholic chorale in the orchestra.

The second movement, opens with a beautiful chorale. Setting the scene for a beautiful conclusion, before the cellists return. The sumptuous line of the cello is just a wonderful moment and still strikes me, even after 3 years of listening to it. The movement progresses and eventually draws to a close, fading into nothing. Here is a recording on Youtube:

This was the first piece that drew me to the work of Vidmantas Bartulis, and I have yet to be disappointed by his work. I hope you all enjoy and I will see you next time.

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! 

Anatolijus Senderovas: 70th Birthday Bonanza

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


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


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


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


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


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

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