Interview: Raminta Serksnyte

After a few weeks hiatus, I am back to the blog! Full refreshed after a lovely jaunt to Kintai surrounded by the Lithuanian countryside and gorgeous company. I also am able to finally show my interview with Raminta Serksnyte. A truly magnificent composer, Raminta's music stands as quite the leviathan within the local scene. Her music has been performed internationally including recent performance in Birmingham with the CBSO.

As mentioned in my previous post about her work De Profundis her early works were far more defined by minimalistic flavour akin to multiple other Baltic at the time, but after her Oriental Elegy her music took a drastic turn. Her musical colour is full of all the grandeur and flourishes of the post-spectral composers, as well as having a rich harmonic language to make her musical palette so vast. For me, what gives her music such strength is the way it combines all of these elements in such an elegant and fluid manner. Every piece I have heard has attracted my ears, and it was a joy to read her responses. 

Sveiki Raminta, thank you for being willing to be interviewed for the blog. I wanted to first ask you to describe your music for those unfamiliar with your work.

Labas Benai, thank you for the interest in my music. I compose music of various genres –from intimate chamber music to pieces for large-scale orchestra and opera. The balance between intense emotional expression and rationally composed structures has vital importance for me. My main sources of inspiration are nature and a broad spectrum of psychological states: from mysterious, nostalgic mood to dramatic expression and outbursts of vital energy. I consider the composition as a certain uplifted state of mind, materialized by means of sounds, where impressiveness depends on the composer’s technical mastery. 

The main principle of my music is the fluctuation and fusion of non-traditional “major and minor” (in their broadest sense). I would name my composing technic as “chiaroscuro”, with constant alternations of “light” and “dark”, “warm” and “cold” sonorities.

In your work, particularly that post Oriental Elegy, I find an almost sponge like quality. What I mean by this, is your ability to draw upon on almost all forms of musical expression alive today, including spectralism, musique concrete instrumentale, minimalism, and sonorism, and use them as a specific tool within your work. How do you go about exploiting these various musical gestures? And which piece do you think is the most successful at this?

From the early years I liked very different music, which naturally had an influence on me.  The spiritual and emotional impact is extremely important to me, and I often do not care too much about the style. In my opinion, a very simple piece or “new complexity” one can have a similar impact. The ability to compose music in different styles and genres can be compared to being multilingual. In every piece, I try to find the most suitable “musical language” which would be the most efficient in conveying conceptual ideas. Despite any stylistics, all my compositions contains the main principle of my music – the balance and fusion of “major and minor”.   The oratorio “Songs of Sunset and Dawn” is a good example of such “fusion”.

You have had the great fortune of being internationally performed, almost everywhere it seems, but where do you think Lithuania’s standing in the world is? Do you think Lithuania is slowly gaining musical influence? Or is it still trying to remove previous stereotypes and baggage?

In fact, the history of the professional Lithuanian music started just a bit more than 100 years ago.  This short time has seen many dramatic historical events, and Lithuanian music experienced fall and rise. Though during last decades, especially after re-establishment of Lithuanian independence in the 90s, [the] situation has changed drammatically. Thanks to some internationally renowned performers and composers, Lithuania is slowly gaining musical influence in the world.  The contemporary Lithuanian music is often described as “Baltic melancholy“, “specific minimalism“ , which is reflected by repetitious rhythms, consonant harmony, slow and long developments.

From your perspective as teacher within the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theatre, are there any young voices coming up through the years who you find are promising composers?

It is difficult to predict the future of the young composers, though during every exam session I find a few interesting works. Some pieces by Juta Pranulytė, Monika Sokaitė and Jūra  Elena Šedytė  are  quite impressive.

Finally, as I have done with all my other interviews, if you were stranded on a desert island, which five recordings, CDs, LPs would you want to have stranded with you?

•      Mozart “Requiem”
•      Björk “Homogenic”
•      Čiurlionis “The complete piano music”
•      Tibetan singing bowls (or any other sounds of bells)
•       Gordon “Decasia”

What made me smile most about these responses, was how in keeping with her character the responses were. Never speaking without purpose, much like her music, everything is direct and to the point and that is probably what draws me in the most. Her music is, just because it is. No question, no need for grand arguments, just simply magnificent music.

Enjoy, and until next time!

Interview - Raimonda Ziukaite

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interview - Santa Buss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interview - Jachin Pousson

It is time for another interview, the second in my collection. Jachin Pousson is a composer who has fascinated since I met him in 2014. I had the priviledge of being his 'teacher' in the Palendriai composer course, I also had the joy of conducting his work which was premiered in the course. Beyond the sheer joy I found within his music, I am particular curious about Jachin because of the fact that, like myself, he is someone who came to the Baltic looking for a musical alternative and has resided in his cosy dwelling in the Latvian captial of Riga.

The work his I premiered was a curious piece indeed, for accordions and two string instruments. Cirqitri (2014) had this wonderful rolling harmonies which pulsated and shimmered, there was a glorious pull in the work; especially as it was quite so hypnotising. Cirqitri can be heard here. 

When I mentioned this process to Jachin, I asked for him to recommend a particular work to portray his output. Mostly from my point of view, every piece of his is full of curious nuances and details which gives each of them a certain glorious necessity to them; so I simply could not choose for myself. Jachin pointed me towards his Tides and Shadows for chamber orchestra as it is a good example of where his music is now, regardless of whether it is his strongest work or not. Tides and Shadows is full of that same richness and rolling harmonies that could be heard in Cirqitri but, due to the expanse of the orchestral pallete, it has a much larger array of colours and gestures. The flowing melodic line is coloured beautiful and always manages to avoid turning into something rather sacarin or self indulgent. A really wonderful work indeed. 

So here is the interview I had with the composer regarding his work and his life in Riga:

Hello Jachin, thank you for agreeing to let me interview you for the blog. Firstly, as a fellow foreigner in the Baltic, could you describe what lead you to Riga?

Hello Ben, and thank you for having me. The simple answer is the music. I began formal music education in Copenhagen under Hans Abrahamsen, who introduced me to composers from the Baltics. He gave me a few references to listen to with scores from the library and I began to discover treasure after treasure from this part of the world. The music was intriguing, boldly designed, and resonated on a deeper spiritual level to me. It contained to me a particular, novel combination of modern ideas, but with a solid foundation. At the time I was looking for a way out from what I perceived as fluffy, self-indulged, overtly intellectual or downright slapstick reactional output in the contemporary academic sphere. I began to explore the possibility of moving to the Baltics in my 2nd year of a Bachelors degree in composition, and managed to find a place as an exchange student at Jāzep Vītols Latvian Music Academy in late 2012. When the year was up, I realised I’d only scratched the surface and decided to continue my education as a Masters student in Riga. I’m still discovering great music here in Latvia, as well as music from Lithuania and Estonia.

And for those unfamiliar with your work, could you describe your concerns and obsessions as a composer?

I could say that early on I was obsessed with the schools of sacred minimalism, impressionism and spectralism. Much of my output has attempted to manifest at the intersection of these over the years. I’m thoroughly obsessed with the sculpting of texture, and places where individual melodies reach a speed or rhythm where they begin to be perceived as texture. The line where the threads becomes fabric, which can then be treated and transformed on a different material level. I’m also obsessed with large scale patterns and behaviours observable in nature. I like making musical analogies from these,  for example, music that describes the morphing shapes in starling murmurations, or the refraction of light through amber, or looking further outward, the chaotic orbit of Pluto and its phase-locked moon Charon. As a student I was motivated to find my own way of abstracting these in a perceivable, enjoyable way. There was poetry in the math that described the phenomena that captivated me, but it wasn’t easy to turn the math into music that produced a vivid impression of the source. However as I began to find my own way, I became more motivated to be honest with my output. It wasn’t enough to write a successful abstraction of a natural phenomenon. Today I want to communicate something more personal, and this calls for honesty.

I am concerned with objectivity. Hans Abrahamsen used to say to me that as a composer it is very important to be objective. Over time I think I’ve come to understand what he meant. Music is a subjective and emotional experience, no matter what role you play. To be objective is to be able to see a thing for what it really is and grasp the value of the elements important to it, whether or not it appeals to you personally. In retrospect, the academic composition exercises that were the most painful to the ear and mind initially, truly unlocked the doors of perception that allowed for deep appreciation of music I’d never have naturally selected for myself. There’s no two composers exactly alike, and for an environment to be supportive of explorers, contemplators, and those more aligned with tradition, I think objectivity is key.

Within your work, I often see attempts to connect to the ancient as well as connecting to the very new. How do you juggle this conundrum of ancient and modern? Where do you think, you achieved this balance best?

The way I see it, there are many powerful and ancient archetypes we carry in our collective human consciousness. The image that came to mind was that opening chapter in 2001 A Space Odyssey where prehistoric primates gathered curiously around the black rectangular alien monolith to the soundtrack of Ligeti’s Requiem. The combination so spellbindingly captivates and spurs the imagination! Of course, composers embed symbols within music all the time. I suppose in my own work I’ve simply decided to reach further back and further forward, attempting to embody the ancient within the forward-looking, or vice-versa. I don’t know where the balance or rather the contrast was achieved best, but my most recent attempt was in a work called Rituals for mixed choir, piano and percussion last Spring. I incorporated singing techniques from Inuit and Mongolian throat singing with melismatic material culminating in spectral clusters with evolving forments. This was accompanied by timpani, tom-toms, sleigh bells, and a piano playing mostly rhythmically within the body of the instrument. I chose to write the text in Japanese, as I felt it to be a suitable language to capture the ancient past and the distant future poetically. I was happy with what emerged from this combination, and must credit the conductor Krišs Pozomkovskis for his outstanding interpretation.

As you have been living in Riga for quite some time now, how connected do you feel to the contemporary music scene? Do you feel like an outsider looking in or are you completely adopted into the scene?

Good question. How do you measure a feeling of connection? I’ve been an outsider all my life, having lived rootless and restless in many places. Riga was perhaps the first and only place I’ve sensed what home must feel like in terms of a physical location. I’m a local in the sense that this is where I’ve made music and bought my bread for the last 4 years, but I recognise there are many things I will simply never understand. The contemporary scene in Riga is wonderfully active and inclusive, and it’s been an enormous privilege to be able to grow and contribute within it. But it has its inner workings which are still mysterious to me. Sometimes I’ve felt passed over in favour of a local colleague. But other times I’ve been given opportunities I would say I scarcely deserved. In short I have somewhat stopped pondering this issue of how connected I feel to the scene and rather focused on how can I best contribute to it and build it up together with my esteemed colleagues in our time.

How do you think your studies have affected this?

Well, studies were essentially the platform for entering the scene. As a student, most opportunities to have your work realised came from within the academy. Post graduation, most opportunities come from people you’ve developed personal relationships with during studies. I suppose it’s the natural order of things. It’s all about who you know. It’s great to be able to revisit say, an ensemble or a solo musician and collaborate outside the walls of the academy. I believe this continuity is meaningful and propels the scene forward.

From your point of observation, who would you say are the most notable and interesting composers working in Riga today?

There are several generations of composers working in Riga, and there are notable and interesting ones within each. Though it may be obvious, I must mention Pēteris Vasks, since his music called to me the most when I was first drawn to Baltic music. He, Pēteris Plakidis and Selga Mence perhaps represent the most notable from the older generation from the point of view of my experience so far. From the middle generation, I must mention Rolands Kronlaks, Jānis Petraškevičs and Ēriks Ešenvalds. Each pushed the envelope of modern ideas and techniques along vectors of their individual interests, and all are in positions to influence and inspire the younger generation. The younger generation is harder to pinpoint as it is less consistent - that is, it is the most spontaneous and adventurous. But from my point of observation, I could mention that I keep an ear tuned carefully to Madara Pētersone, Evija Skuķe, Linda Leimane and Platons Buravickis.

And finally, like I did in my last interview, let’s do the desert island discs and which 5 pieces would you want with you if you were stranded on a desert island?

Perhaps a mix of things that have always managed to move and intrigue me - and have important memories attached. Tomorrow I’ll likely have changed my mind on one or two of these, but if I were leaving today, I’d take Arvo Part’s ‘Tabula Rasa’, Peteris Vasks’ symphony for strings ‘Voices’, Georg Friedrich Haas’s ‘In Vain’, Toru Takemitsu’s ‘In An Autumn Garden’, and… Miles Davis’s ‘Flamenco Sketches’.

So to close here is a wonderful rendition of Voices by Peteris Vasks.

Georg Pelecis: Concertino Bianco for Piano and Strings

This installment features the work of a rather intriguing composer and musicologist Georg Pelecis. His music is intriguing on the simple grounds his musicological work have been extremely definitive in shaping his musical sound.

Currently a professor at the Latvian Academy of Music, Georg Pelecis has had a broad musical career. While he was a student at the Moscow Conservatory he studied composition under Aram Khachaturian. He has gone on to having creative positions in both Oxford University and Cambridge University. His musicology work has specialised in musical form, specifically in the works of medieval, renaissance, and baroque composers. His most extensive work has been on Palestrina and Ockeghem. 

The intense focus on Palestrina has been crucial in form his musical ideals of 'new consonant music'. This simple approach brings music to focus on modality and counterpoint, using these two parameters Pelecis can apply 'modern' ideals of harmony onto contrapuntal lines to produce music that is equally old and equally new. 

One of the most obvious and beautiful examples of this is his Concertino Bianco, for piano and strings. The work's name simply comes from the fact the entire piece is based on the white notes of the piano. The three movement work is ultimately very cute and bright with the strings and piano having a wonderfully mutual discourse throughout the work. This kind of balance is very reminiscent of the Brandenburg Concerti where the concertino group is quite distinct from the repiano group, but the two never feel exclusive or in conflict with one another. The opening movement is jolly and the piano lilts on its high register while the strings add a lot of warmth to the whole sound. The second movement is more sombre but never feels mopey or melodramatic. The final bouncing movement brings the whole work to a fun and enthusiastic end. 

This rendition by Heinrich Schiff with Alexei Lubimov at the piano, bring this work to life and every minute detail is heard beautifully. The whole concerto can be heard here and there are many recordings and videos of performances of Pelecis's work. His music is remarkably easy to gain an understanding of, but in my opinion, never feels  like it is attempting to pander to a common denominator. It simply is and does it remarkably well.

Enjoy.





Information about Georg Pelecis came from his Wikipedia page: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georgs_Pel%C4%93cis

Peteris Vasks: String Quartet No.1

For many fans of Latvian music, Peteris Vasks is quite the formidable character. Renowned for his simple but striking beauty. His works post-Latvia's regained independence have been defined by his incorporation of folk melodies, programmatic use of extended techniques, and musical and melodic clarity. The emotive powers of Vasks's oeuvre is quite unique from the 'group' of composers he is often tied up with (Henryk M. Gorecki, Arvo Part, John Taverner). Part of his uniqueness, I believe, is linked to his compositional education. Because of the regime at the time, being a Methodist, Vasks was not allowed to study in his native Latvia. This led him to emigrate across the border to Lithuania where he studied composition under the guidance of Valentin Utkin. 

As this blog aims to be an eye opener to the Baltic world, I wanted to introduce one of Peteris's earlier works. His early music is heavily influenced by the experiments and trends of the Warsaw Autumn Festival. This means the music of the time draws a lot of influences from sonoristic music like that of Krzysztof Penderecki. He also incorporated a lot of controlled aleatoricism like in the works of Witold Lutoslawski. 


The work I wanted to to introduce is Peteris Vasks's first string quartet.Written while he was living in Vilnius, the work became the first of five major string quartets. Each of these works have a wonderful uniqueness that can equal many leading composers of the 20th Century. The first quartet is intriguing for many reasons. The three movement work tackles the long tradition of the form, as well as challenging it with many contemporary ideas. The opening movement is extremely violent and powerful, with its hard striking bow strokes and extended techniques. The glissandi and extreme changes in dynamics keep the listener second guessing. The violence regularly disappears into still chords which suddenly explode again with an extra level of fury.

The second movement is a violent sonata, whose rapid circling motifs are very reminiscent of Bartok. The driving moto perpetuo leads to a dramatic chorale, full of angst and longing. In many ways this movement is the most traditional, not just because of its use of sonata form, and likeness to Bartok; simply because this movement uses no extended techniques or contemporary textural devices. The tension of the movement dissipates and leads to a solo for the cello. The cellist is able to use the gut-wrenching melody to draw all the emotive powers it can muster. The climax of the melody ushers in a recapitulation to the opening sequences. 

The final movement, simple titled 'Melodia' uses circling aleatoricism to underpin a beautiful melody first played by the viola, then by the first violin. The simply beauty created by these modern textures was probably a harbinger of where his music was heading. But after all the violence and intensity of the previous movements, the finale is a welcome relief and has the sensation of an even greater beauty. This recording by the Navarra Quartet really highlights the qualities of each movement and played with such astounding beauty and technical prowess. Their recordings of the second and third quartet is to be commended and I highly recommend giving them a listen.

The album can be found here: Vasks - String Quartet No. 1

All information gathered from the Schott webpage, Peteris Vasks wikipedia page, and the recording came from Spotify. 

Osvaldas Balakauskas: Concerto for Oboe, Harpsichord, and Strings

The first composer I thought I should introduce everyone to, is a figure who holds the same kind of importance in Lithuania as Maxwell-Davies holds in England. Born in 1937, Osvaldas Balakauskas has been an influential figure in Lithuanian music since the middle of the 1960s. After studying in the Vilnius Pedagogical Institute before moving to Ukraine to study with Boris Lyatoshinsky at the Kiev Conservatoire. His time in Kiev was extremely influential on his work, it was during this time he was able to indulge in his loves of Xenakis, Stockhausen, Messiaen, and Webern. Between the years of 1988-1992 he was a member of the Lithuanian Independence Movement (Sąjūdis). After this time, he became one of the first ambassadors for Lithuania after regaining independence. He served as ambassador in France, Spain, and Portugal. 

The defining feature of O. Balakauskas, is the clash of serial techniques and tonality. He does this with his signature technique, which he calls, dodecatonality. This technique, has a multitude of implementations. If a composer were to use these ideals on a 12 tone row, Balakauskas's technique could approach this in two ways:

1. By building a twelve tone row which implies traditional tonal harmonies, i.e. C, Eb, G, G#, E, B, Bb, F, D, F#,A,C#.
2. Or by layering a tone row with with transpositions of itself to produce, tonal harmonies, i.e. the above row C, Eb, G, G#, E, B, Bb, F, D,F#, A, C#. Could be layered with a minor 3rd and a fifth. Eb, Gb, Bb, B, G, D, Db, Ab, F,A,C,E. and G, Bb, D, D#, B, F#, F, C, A, C#,E,F#.

As can be seen, the original tone row, it is built up of two major chords a tritone apart, and two minor chords a tritone apart. In this particular example the layering produces the first three notes of the row in the opening chord. What this allows the composer to do, is seamlessly shift harmonies in constantly surprising shifts in a way that is surprising, but always feels rather right.

Obviously, the above example is a mere introduction to the technique and O. Balakauskas himself was able to take the technique to really profound and wonderfully constructed ways. The best way to introduce someone to a musical technique is to show musical examples. Which brings us onto the Concerto for Oboe and Harpsichord. Written in 1981, this three movement concerto is one of his most conventional concerti. It is also one of his most approachable works. The interactions between the strings and the two soloists is lively and light-hearted. The second movement is a beautiful movement which sees the Harpsichord sitting back while the oboe sings its heart out. The final movement is highly rhythmical ending the concerto in a flourish. 

Osvaldas Balakauskas - Concerto for Oboe, Harpsichord and Strings - Movement I

Information gathered from the followings sources:

Osvaldas Balakuaskas Profile, Music Information Centre: http://mic.lt/en/database/classical/composers/balakauskas/#bio

Osvaldas Balakauskas - Balakauskas: Concerto Brio for Violin and Chamber Orchestra/Ludus Modorum/Piano Concertino, BIS

Why the hell did you go to Lithuania?

As the opening post of this blog, it is only sensible to answer this question. The Baltic state is a small one, with a modest stamp on global history. Despite the modesty of the nation's stature, the music has a wonderfully curious and unique sound. 

My discoveries of this beautiful world came from multiple sources. The first major encounter that came about for me when I attended Sounds New Music Festival in 2011. The festival's theme was Baltic Plus, it included works by many leading composers from Denmark, Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, and Finland. The Kaunas quartet performed works by Lithuanian composers like Bronius Kutavicius, Juste Janulyte, and Rytis Mazulis. After this encounter, I had the personal pleasure being able to work with the wonderful Martynas Levickis (Check him out here). Over the years, me and Martynas worked on many projects including a  concerto for the instrument  as well as a monstrous work for four accordions, string quartet, percussion, and voice. Martynas is a keen advocate for the music of his native country and he was enthusiastic to introduce me to Jonas Tamulionis and the folk tradition of Sutartines (this is a topic that needs its own dedicated post, watch this space). Then in 2013 the Vale of Glamorgan Festival in Wales performed a large number of Lithuanian composers, including Algirdas Martinaitis, Vidmantas Bartulis, Vykintas Baltakas, Bronius Kutavicius, Juste Janulyte, and many more. This week and a half long festival was the moment I really knew I had to find out more about these composers and the world they inhabit. 

From the 1st September of this year, I will be commencing my studies in the Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theatre. As I learn more and get absorbed by the world around me, I shall be adding new posts covering new composers, singular works, and reviews of concerts.

ačiū labai and speak soon!