Interview: Juste Janulyte

After many months of not discussing much, I am finally back in some sense of tangible rhythm, and with internet access to I can return to my usual output and discussions of Baltic composers. 

Today I will quite simply show you all the interview I have been in the process of creating with one of my undeniably favourite composers; Justė Janulytė. There are numerous cases of me praising her various premieres that I have had the luxury of attending over the recent years. 

So without further ado, lets move onto the leading lady herself:

Labukas Justė! I want to jump straight into the elephant in the room, when people discuss your music, including yourself, the word monochromatic gets thrown around. What exactly do you mean by that?

Well it all started with my series of pieces for homogenous groups of instruments; only strings, only winds or only voices. And so I called it monochrome music. This term though has created a lot of discussions all the time because the result was rather opposite - if you briefly consider voices - even if they are all male voices, every person has his very individual, specific timbre from which you can recognise him on the phone, for example. The same occurs with instruments, maybe the differences are not so big like with voices but still they are, considering an instrument’s physical characteristics, whether it is old or new, the manner of playing, the articulation and so on. So as a paradox, these formally monochrome compositions, like blank sheets of paper or textile, exalt the colour up to their extremes. Just like looking at the monochrome Rothko paintings - one experiences his blue color in the most powerful and straight way, the colour itself becomes a really strong physical experience. This kind of effect is what I'm trying to achieve in my music as well.

Anyway, after purely monochrome instrumentations, I have gradually extended my limits into various amalgams (like Observation of Clouds for voices, strings and winds, Plonge for cello solo and 12 voices, The Color of Water for saxophone(s) and symphony orchestra, Here at the quiet limit for male choir and string orchestra, 2018) but still remaining faithful to the word mono.. while concentrating myself only on one idea, 1 process (even if cyclical), 1 acoustic phenomenon in one certain composition.

Untitled (blue divided by blue) - Mark Rothko (1966)

From my own standpoint, I find the word monochromatic extremely reductive, and at times almost counterintuitive. I personally find a parallel between your music and the Buddhist interpretation of emptiness. An emptiness which is defined by the fact the item doesn’t exist because it is constructed of constituent parts, and those parts in turn are empty because they only exist because of everything else. Can you see the parallel?

As Laurie Anderson said once, emptiness must be an utopic space impossible to experience as it would be destroyed immediately while one enters into it. But probably you refer to the fact that taking a single line out of my dense textures it would not have any sense as it works only as a constructive element to build the whole body?! In fact, those single, pulsating lines are like breathing pores of the skin, like the smallest dimension of a big fractal structure. What I’ve tried to do in my latest piece Midnight Sun for cello solo and 54 strings was to ‘zoom’ on the cello solo part in several steps highlighting it in confrontation with the orchestral texture as if it would be written in a bold typeface or if one detail of a dense texture would be observed through a microscope to overlap and represent at the same time different fractal dimensions of the same material.

As we have spent many days discussing our loves and hates, as well as our joys and stresses, I wondered what I could ask you that I haven’t already in some form or other. But I briefly pondered a quote from Hector Berlioz, who essentially remarked if all his music were to be destroyed, except for his Grande Messe de Morts he would be happy. Is there one piece you hope could survive and therefore truly define you?

It’s quite difficult for me to choose one piece as they are connected into a chain of a particular continuous creative process - one idea brings another, sometimes a less consistent result becomes very important later for some further development and so on. What I see quite clearly being a big fetishist of numbers and coincidences is a certain cycle of 7 years - a period of time in which human skin completely changes as they say - a period of time in which I gradually open a new window (maybe still into the same garden but at least from a different perspective or in a different light).

In 2003 I composed a piece for 2 pianos–my first conscious monochromatic piece with a very gradual metamorphosis from ‘white’ to ‘black’ (from diatonic pointilistic melodic lines to clusters) and a spacious stereo sound coming from 2 pianos…

After 7 years came Sandglasses (2010) for 4 cellos, live electronics, and video scenography which, thanks to video-maker Luca Scarzella, has brought up a manifestation of my visual thinking. This previously had only been embodied in musical structures or alluded to within my titles. My collaboration with Michele Tadini and Antonello Raggi helped bring a fantastic world of electronic music to my piece; ultimately producing one the purest conceptual examples of my monochrome aesthetic… And after another 7 years, finally The Colour of Water (2017) was written for a soloist playing with 3 different saxophones (soprano, alto, and baritone) and symphony orchestra, destroying my initial prejudice against the hierarchy in the ensemble and seeing that even very different elements can build one single organism made of different parts almost like organs in a larger striving to make this body live, breathe, and move in space.

What connects all these 3 pieces, which I have realised only now, is my beloved  ‘catabasis’ form - a gradual descending in register, in the Baroque rhetoric, this implied the going down to another world…I wonder when and how this thing caught up to me but probably it's all focuses around  gravitational force, which is one of those phenomena of nature which attracts me the most.

                              

Coming back to my parallels with Buddhist philosophy, would you agree that there is scope for your music to be a tool for meditation? And if so, have you or others tried it?

I don’t think it can be a tool for meditation even if sometimes my music is really slow and makes the listeners loose the ordinary sense of time flow and even go into trance. But it is not meant to be background music for some other activity than just listening to it as it requires quiet strong concentration to be able to perceive the symbolism of the structures, processes, concepts which are embodied inside. I hope it has a stronger force and can evoke wider, richer sensations than a common meditation is able to do.

As a Lithuanian diaspora, I can only imagine Italian, or other foreign commentators, have at one point or other dropped a line suggesting an obvious ‘Lithuanian’ or ‘Baltic’ sound. Would you say there is one in your work? How much do you think it matters?

I’m sure my sound is Baltic automatically just because I’m 100% Baltic myself. Moreover my composition studies with Lithuanian composers Bronius Kutavičius and Osvaldas Balakauskas were much longer than with foreign tutors and besides of that the first strongest musical experiences were also connected to the Baltic music like Centones meae urbis (1997) by Onutė Narbutaitė,

 ajapajapam by Rytis Mažulis (2002) or Aporia by Šarūnas Nakas (2001), so I’m rather proud to be a part of some Baltic tradition… Anyway, it’s quite superficial to speculate on national or gender issues...hopefully they are enough profound, natural and essential without any declarations.

And finally, as I have done with everyone else. If you were lost on a desert island, with only 5 recordings, what would they be?

From one side it is a very reductive request, from another one - I would definitely be happy to finally get some silence but if you really insist, here is a list of the moment:

(1) Passion(s) by J.S.Bach and all I can bring by J.S.Bach

(2) Symphony no. 45 Farewell by J. Haydn

(3) Canon of the last day by Ben Lunn 

(4) Passio by Arvo Pärt

(5) Corsican polyphonic chants - or am I going to be lost in my beloved Corsica? :)

To conclude, firstly I want to highlight a personal enthusiasm to get back into the habit of writing the blog, especially as I have missed the actual centenary events in Lithuania and Estonia. So please wait to see more coming in the next few weeks.

And finally from our participant, let us take this opportunity to listen to her Colours of Water with Arvydas Kazlauskas and Normunds Šnē - listen here.

A look back at my final year

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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!  

A hoquet and an exploration of 10 years of Narbutaite

This evening in the overflowing National Art Gallery, was the second in a triptych of concerts dedicated to the life and work of Onute Narbutaite, who celebrates her 60th birthday this year. This particular concert was focused on a 10 year period of her life, from 1986-1995, a fascinating period for two reasons; firstly it is a period that isn't celebrated that greatly and secondly it is a period when the trademark Narbutaite sound evolved into the magic we know and love today.Once again it was wonderful to see a concert were we were nearly literally up to the rafters with audience members of all walks of life eager to hear this rare treats.

After a heartfelt speech giving tribute and concert began with the percussion trio 'Monogramme' (1992). The work started with sporadic pops and stabs from the percussionists, the mood was very much akin to Xenakis in their almost random but almost mathematical precise gesturing. From this gradually melodic materials appeared in the pitched percussions which glistened and rang in the hall ceremoniously. The sense of anticipation and energy was always simmering away in the work, even during passages of almost complete stillness. On the whole the work was intriguing for many reasons, firstly for its similarities to major European composers like Iannis Xenakis and Hans Abrahamsen (during the modal passages). In the work you can hear a desire to find something greater than what it is.


The following work 'Astuonstyge' (1986) is the oldest work featured in the concert and sadly hasn't aged as well as the other repertoire in the concert. The intensive violin and viola duo, is full of violent posturing from the musicians, as well as passages of quite serene beauty. But the work feels a bit lost on two grounds, firstly the blocky structure ultimately negates the violent passages, almost neutering them. This combined with lasting just a bit too long kind of sucked the energy out of the room. This being said, the work is a great demonstration of the contrapuntal skills of the then, younger composer. The piece also stands as a great test piece really demonstrating everything that can be achieved in such a dynamic. The performers were second to none, but I imagine if the structure was far more obviously organic, or the work was a tad shorter it would have been astounding. All this being said, Narbutaite has evolved into a truly magnificent composer, and this work serves as a good biographical piece, showing her evolution to her current state.


The third work was by far my personal favourite. 'Liberatio' (1989) is a work I have been vaguely familiar with for a long while now as it is featured on the wonderful CD produced my Finlandia which features her magnificent second symphony. With the first notes of the flute the piece grabs you. The hypnotic harmonic material slowly begins to grow, constantly circling on itself, it lures you in. Then at points when you are most mesmerised she strikes with bold brass chords and ringing dense harmonies. The sensation is as powerful and one sided as a hammer smashing an eclair, it completely decimates and makes a massive impact.This particular piece is a very poignant moment, with in this you can hear Narbutaite found her voice. But instead of timidly crafting it into elegant profundities she used that voice to scream. The work is magnificently brutal and the acoustic of the gallery only magnified it. A stunning piece and definitely worth listening to the recording which is on Spotify.


Following on from this, a short speech was given my Onute Narbutaite, allowing for massive stage management to occur for the final two pieces. The penultimate piece 'Hoquetus' (1993) is a curious little work for viola, cello, and double bass. In short the rhythmic games of the hoquet are like watching the manic dance of a three legged person. The gestures bounce around and the trio manage to keep a sense of jollity despite the obvious complexity in the rhythmic patterns. The piece was a well programmed bit of respite after the power of 'Liberatio' and the upcoming immensity of 'Verinys'.


The finale came in the form of 'Verinys' (1995), a fascinating ritual-like piece for winds, strings and percussion. The instrumentalists were dotted all over the place creating a wonderful 3D field of sound to surround  the audience. Each musician is given a collection of fragments that they are to play and the conductor defines the beginning of each section. What this set-up creates is a truly magical piece where the wind instruments slowly gather their combined sound, growing into a ringing magnificent aura of sound. Before slowly fading away as the next section takes hold. The sensation of time is rather curious within this piece as ideas calmly drift in, but like in nature, things fade away leaving only faint murmurs of their past existence. No matter their power or majesty everything fades away. The atmosphere after the final note was powerful. Holding everyone in place.


Even though within this concert only two pieces really stand the test of time, a concert like this still has a major value. It shows us the state of flux within the composer's own existence during this time, ignoring the social and political changes going on around her at the same time. It also shows the many routes she could have traveled as a composer, reminding us that despite the freshness of ideas used, doesn't mean they give the composer a decent amount of longevity to their work. Finally this kind of concert really allows us to understand how Narbutaite became Narbutaite, and if we are to understand great composers, understanding them in the context of their own works is of vital importance. 

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!

Onute Narbutaite: A symphony and a melody from the Garden of Olives

Following on from the theme of discussing composers mentioned in BBC Music Magazine's article on Mirga Grazinyte-Tyla, I bring one of my favourite and arguably one of the most striking symphonies to come from the Baltic state.


Onute Narbutaite (1956*) is a fascinating and thought provoking composer. Her work is expansive and as she gets older shows no sign of slowing down or becoming tamer. Starting off with far more modest works which show high sensitivity and minute nuances, after the turn of the millennium her works seem to have taken on a larger grandeur and magnitude. As it stands, Narbutaite is the single most recorded Lithuanian composer, with possibly the exception of Ciurlionis, but this knowledge alone means it is no surprise she has a large international appeal. I first came across her works thanks to the large variety of recordings produced by Naxos and Finlandia, these CDs give a real taste the sheer spectrum of her work.


 Her fame and popularity as composer does have a small amount of fate on her side, as after the fall of the U.S.S.R. Western European nations took a massive interest in Baltic nations mostly to find other composers like Arvo Part and Henryk Gorecki. What this did was both positive and negative as fine composers like Peteris Vasks, Lepo Sumera, Toivo Tulev, Onute Narbutaite, Osvaldas Balakauskas, and Erkki-Sven Tuur to name a few gained a larger international appeal; it ultimately stereotyped the states as 'new simplicity' or 'deeply spiritual composers', which in some cases is true, but as my blog is intending to show is only a narrow stretch of the picture. Not to detract from the skill and prowess of Onute Narbutaite, but if it wasn't for this turn out of events she could have faced a life of obscurity outside of Lithuania; like many of her contemporaries suffer today.


One of her most famous and monumental works is her second symphony (2001). This two movement symphony is full of intensity, drama, and colour. The first and larger movement, titled 'symphony', has intense dramatic drive from the offset. The sheer power hits you and hits you hard. Like in Gorecki's second symphony the intensity is profound, but also beautiful and reassuring. The harmonic movements are unsettling and calming. The sensation is very similar to Schoenberg's Chamber Symphony No. 1, where it is familiar and tonal, travels a great distance, but is moving so quickly that the ride is bumpy and full of danger, due simply to the pace of movement. The orchestration is sublime throughout the first movement and always shows a composer with extremely fine craft and to end the opening movement on such an eerie calm is elegant.

The second movement, nicknamed the Melody in the Garden of Olives, shows a fantastic juxtaposition of extreme simplicity and jarring harmonic complexity in a truly magnificent interplay. After the flourish of strings they suddenly release, and almost like chanting monks, sing their melody. The melody circles on itself constantly with mild adjustments so it is never just exact repetition. The interjections from the rest of the orchestra come in the form of a distorted but shining chorale. The unresolved harmonies never quite finding any peace or release, and with every appearance almost feel like they grow stronger, almost vanquishing the melody. The very simple gesture is just genius. And for a composer, particularly after such large momentous gestures in the first movement, to cut the work down to such raw material is a brave and daring step. The result, almost ironically, is far more powerful than the first movement. The drama slowly unwinds and grows into something truly hypnotising, then suddenly, the trumpet appears. The moment it arrives is like something out of this world almost divine.


The work is unsurprisingly popular, it shows a composer with an extremely fine craft and also a composer who leaves musicologists and commentators like myself wondering how on earth do we define her? Throughout her work, she is full of romantic ideologies but never sounding regressive or conservative. She strives for a Mahlerian magnificence which never sounds like a pale imitation but actually something she is almost defining herself. It poses many fascinating questions indeed, many are quick to label her as 'neo-romantic' but this is very short sighted for many reasons. Firstly as neo-romanticism is Western Europe is used to define composer either started in a complex field then went romantic a la Penderecki, or alternatively are writing very romantic despite the national trend being heavily experimental. This view point doesn't really work for any nation from the former Soviet Union as the state sanctioned 'style' was for social realism, which ultimately translated into continuing romantic music without a break from it. This meant that many fine composers carried it on, and ultimately show us what romanticism in Western Europe could have been like with the outbreak of World War II. What this ultimately means for Onute Narbutaite, Lithuania never truly cut its ties with romanticism, meaning she is just a romantic composer. But what this needs to be understood as, is she is a twenty-first century romantic. Which she is without shame or worry, and ultimately makes her one of the striking composers alive today.


Listen to the glorious recording of her Symphony No. 2 here on Spotify!

GAIDA Festival: Lithuanian National Symphony Orchestra

After last week's visit of the Californian Santa Claus like figure (Terry Riley), GAIDA Festival has now gotten into full swing. Last night's concert was a concert of four extremely different works, by four wildly different composers. The four composers were Marius Baranauskas, Onute Narbutaite, James Dillon, and Francesco Filidei. James Dillon needs little introduction, a vibrant composer with lots of grit. This comes together in quite solid ways in his Andromeda for piano and orchestra. The orchestra tackled it strongly, but due to the length of the concert and the acoustic dissipating the clarity of minute piano gestures  the piece did feel like it was lagging.

Francesco Filidei was a wonderful bright breath of fresh air, not just in the context of the concert, but also in the aether of contemporary music. The austerity combined with the audacity of the tonal pages in his Fiori di Fiori was just truly remarkable. GAIDA Festival chose wisely making him one of the focused composers of the festival. I won't go into more detail about Francesco as one he features in more concerts throughout the festival, but I also want to get back to talking about Baltic composers. But before I do that, I highly recommend everyone checks out Francesco Filidei's Website.

Recently in a previous post I discussed Onute Narbutaite's Kornetas and for those with good memories or the time to read the link, I sadly wasn't converted to the opera, despite my love of Narbuatite's work. Her piece in the concert kein gestern, kein morgen is a concert adaption of the aria by the same name from scene 15 in the second act. Concert adaptions of arias from the opera in theory is a very strong move, because musically the work is beautiful and well rounded, and I can imagine singers around the world would love to sink their teeth into the arias. Sadly this piece didn't entirely go to plan. The music was strong, performance was very good, even though at times the light tenor Tomas Pavilionas was drowned out by the thick orchestration. The flaw was simply this concert adaptation was too long. Being familiar with the opera I knew the significance of why the music was extended as long as it was; it was Cornet's final words before his death. Without the dramatic lead up to it, the effectiveness was ultimately lost. Which is a shame, because Narbutaite has so much more up her sleeve. Hopefully I can get back to being very positive about her new work soon.

The final piece was a work by Marius Baranauskas. He is quite a fascinating composer, a student of Janeliauskas, Marius has been highly focused on the interaction of words and music. This isn't in the traditional sense of words and music, and just writing lots of songs, but more about making an ensemble speak. In works like Talking (2002), the result is a beautiful richness and murmuring, almost like the sensation of chanting a mantra. So I was very excited to see this new work by Marius. The new work in question, Beatitudes, draws inspiration from the Sermon on the mount. As the composer points out in the programme note:

...The blessings refer to the harmonious, fulfilling, and significant humans existence and are very relevant nowadays as people are lacking a life of sense, love, and peace. 

Marius Baranauskas

His spiritual connection to the work at no point becomes sappy, overly sentimental, or pious. And the reiterations of gesture do evoke images and sensations of repeating a prayer. The thick layering of orchestral colour was rich like a good quality 85% dark chocolate, but for me it all felt to familiar. This is Marius at his most comfortable, which is a shame for me. I imagine there are still wonderful places Marius and his music can go, the potential and potency is huge. Sadly this piece simmered, but not in a way that it was boring or uninspiring, but more like after mastering a recipe for a gorgeous roast dinner you only eat this roast dinner for weeks; after a while you lose the initial beauty of the dish because of being overly familiar.

I would still highly recommend people listen to the video below of Marius Baranauskas's Talking. The work blew me away the first time I heard it, and for those who listen it would not surprise them to learn that it won the Takemitsu Prize in 2004.

The next concerts of GAIDA include performances by Ensemble 2E2M, Ensemble Repertorio Zero, Mise-en New York, CRASH Ensemble, and the Klaipeda Chamber Orchestra.



What a fun time to be in Vilnius.

Onute Narbutaite: Kornetas

Last night was my first visit to the Lithuanian national opera theatre (Lietuvos Nacionalinis Operos Ir Baleto Teatras). A wonderful venue in the centre of Vilnius and around the corner from the river Neris. Stood in the foyer before entering the actual theatre you stare up at the evening sky with the Gediminas fort dominating the skyline.


My visit was to see an opera by one of Lithuania's most internationally recognised composers, Onute Narbutaite. A composer who I have know for quite a significant amount of time, due mostly to the vast number of recordings available of her works. Finlandia did a wonderful selection of CDs including her second symphony and Gates of Oblivion. Her work has always struck me as rather wonderful. The intensity of the music combined with a powerful melodic strive makes her work very powerful. The second movement of the second symphony 'melody in the garden of olives' is one of best demonstrations of her music. With its focus on melodic material combined with jarring chords and thick colourful orchestral textures make the piece quite stunning.


With this familiarity of her work I was curious to see what a Narbutaite opera would sound like. Mostly because in my experience of watching opera by living composers, not all composers can make good opera. Sometimes the best composers will fail at opera. A good operatic composer needs something else, and I was hopeful to see if Narbutaite could work this magic.


The opera is called Kornetas (Cornet) and to quote the composer:


This opera is a free improvisation on the subject of Rainer Maria Riike's Die Weise von Liebe un Tod des Cornets Christoph Rilke....Now, in the 21st century, this opera improvisation is speaking of the universality of that story, as if trying to state that human yearning - for love or transcendence - always remains the same...R.M. Rilke's poetic storyline is reflected in the opera, however, it serves more as a pretext...and inspiration to a personal vision.             Onute Narbutaite.

The opera is two acts shows the last moments of Kornetas before he died in battle. Through these final moments he is haunted by memories of his past and you always feel his desire to return back to that life. This parallel of real life and 'dreamworld' is handled very well by the stage design so there is very little confusion about how the two worlds interact. Musically it has the same gutsy power that I come to know and love of Narbutaite. But its wonderful music sadly didn't make it great opera. The real strength in the work came in the second act where the momentum was far stronger and every shift from reality to dream felt more necessary. And the final death of Kornetas was extremely powerful. The first act spent too much time setting up the parameters of reality and dream, to the point that direction was lost and the death of the Screaming girl felt like it came out of nowhere. 

The hefty task of tackling a new opera was mastered rather wonderful by the conductor Robertas Servenikas and the main cast were very strong in their roles. The set was beautifully made, but at times felt unconnected.

My misgivings of this opera are by no means a reflection of the successes of Lithuanian opera or the quality of the music of Onute Narbutaite. Listen to Narbutaite's Tres Dei Matris Symphony the sheer magic and colour of the choir and orchestra makes for a wonderful listening. Alternatively you can hear Lokys the Bear by Bronius Kutavicius to see how powerful Lithuanian opera can be.


Over the next few weeks there will be more blog posts as I have been fortunate enough to get press access to the Gaida Festival, so look out for more posts.