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!

Su Gimtadienu Onute Narbutaite!

Last night, in the wonderful setting that is Filharmijos Didzioji sale, was the finale in a triptych of concerts celebrating Onute Narbutaite's 60th Birthday. As it was the finale of a collection of concerts, of course this concert would be the largest one. The repertoire of this particular concert consisted of three significant orchestral works by the composer: La Barca (2005), Krantas upe simfonija (2007), and her leviathan Symphony No. 2 (2001). The three works written within six years of each, depict a composer at her seminal moment; the moment where she has stepped out of the shadows and has appeared purely as Onute Narbutaite. 

The first work to be performed was La Barca written in 2005, the stand alone orchestral work is a wild beast. With its opening clatter and roar (which was evidently too much for one audience member who promptly left after the first stanza) shows Narbutaite at her most ferocious. The work is powerful, colourful and quite simply intense. This piece, which is full of drama, intrigue, and flourishes really should be better known worldwide! The orchestra tackled it with almost a sense of ease, or simply they felt at one with Narbutaite's work. The latter is definitely apparent of the conductor Robertas Servenikas who seems to always be present when someone is performing Narbutaite.

After the usual shuffling came Narbutaite's Krantas upe simfonija (Symphony No.4) (2007). Out of all the works in the programme, this was the only piece I was not familiar with before last night's performance. In short, it is a real curiosity. Mostly because it seems to be on the edge off an imminent shift in the sensibilities of the composer. It features all the hall marks of Narbutaite, with its rich orchestration and sheer potency, but also featured an out of character sense of calm. Of course, preceding works by Narbutaite have had calm sections, or felt calm, but the sense of calm was quite different in this circumstance. Ignoring the almost spectral sensations of resonance that appeared in some of the calm moments, the sheer mood of the work was simply different; even now I am struggling to put my finger on exactly what was different about this symphony. Maybe it is just something as simple as the posturing towards a symphony. Symphonies have a world of different approaches and semantics behind them which many composers have tapped into in various ways. So this one maybe approached the symphony in a more Beethovian manner, with the sense of holding a place, allowing it to extend into the next thing but never feeling overtly destructive or at odds with itself. The work is truly astounding, and I really hope a recording exists!

The finale came in the form of the elegant Symphony No. 2 (2001). A truly seminal work, and a personal favourite of mine. Those of you who are familiar with this blog will know I covered the work quite recently responding to Mirga Grazinyte-Tyla's article in BBC Music Magazine. You can see it here. The orchestra were on solid form within this piece, and hats off the trumpeter for performing one of the most terrifying solos I think there is for the instrument. Nothing causes stress quite like a solo where any split note could ruin the whole symphony. What is interesting to observe is the change in mentality towards the symphonic form. Symphony No.2 and Tres Matris Symphoniae  both share an almost Mahlerian quality, with their potent drama and long extended melodies. Whereas I mentioned in Krantas upe simfonija the sensation is more in line with Beethoven. Either way it is fascinating to observe, and as one of Lithuanian's most prolific symphonists (Balakauskas has 5 and Juzeliunas wrote 6) she is a vital source of work for the nation and for the symphonic repertoire. 

The whole concert was wonderfully performed. The performing felt as natural as breathing, you could tell the orchestra felt at one with the work of the profound composer. It was particularly joyous to see Robertas Servenikas truly in his element, watching conductors conduct, you do notice the moments they really lose themselves to the performing and just truly madly and deeply love what their arms are making an orchestra do. My only thought about the whole night, is why wasn't there a new work from Onute Narbutaite? I know her collection of work is huge and magnificent, but particularly after having three concerts to celebrate her, it would have been wonderful to commission a new work; a concerto perhaps or even a song cycle to rival Das Knaben Wunderhorn? Beyond that there is nothing I can add to last night. A true joy and I hope she continues to write for a long time to come!  

Centones Meae Urbi - 60th Birthday Celebrations

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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.