Twenty Fingers, plus another ten

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Distant Light - Tolimos Sviesos

Last night bared witness to my first all Baltic concert of 2017. The St. Christopher's Chamber Orchestra, alongside the soloist Giedre Zarenaite, performed a rather wonderful collection of pieces by some of the most original figures within the Baltic. I was extremely excited about this concert for a very long time for multiple reasons, firstly the combination of composers was just brilliant, and I was extremely curious to see how Giedre Zarenaite would approach such a significant work for violin and strings.

After a wonderful introduction from Donatas Katkus, Giedre approached the stage to perform Bronius Kutavicius's Andata e Ritorno for solo violin. The work itself is very typical of the composer, with its pulsating opening figure and slowly building form. Despite the highly technical demands of the work, Giedre always managed to bring out the lyrical qualities and pulsations without sounding like a performing robot. The connection with the piece showed Giedre's wonderful understanding of the work managing to deliver her own interpretation. So from a rather modest example of Bronius Kutavicius, Giedre managed to always hint at the brilliance within the grand composer as well as within her own artistic vision.

Then, after the charming work, came one of my favourite works for violin and orchestra Tala Gaisma by Peteris Vasks. The work, originally written for Gideon Kremer, stands as one of the most seminal works by Peteris Vasks, and has gone on to define his musical utterances to this day. Having enjoyed massive international interest, the virtuosic work has a vast array of performances and interpretations. I was particularly curious to witness how Giedre would approach such a mainstay of the contemporary violin repertoire. The work is ultimately defined by five key regions, which are separated by multiple cadenzas. In some of the lesser performances, soloists are often drawn into milking or dragging the slower melodic passages, and filling the performance with huge dramatic pauses. Giedre and Modestas Barkauskas did not fall into this trap. The sheer control and projection of message by Giedre was inspired. Throughout, every single gesture felt purposeful and necessary. She never became self indulgent or sentimental, but rather focused on the architecture and significance of the musical gesture within the larger narrative. This combined with the focused control of Modestas Barkauskas led to a rather intriguing and original interpretation of the work. The quality of the performance bought out the almost baroque quality of the structure and demonstrated this ornate design which very few performers bring out. It was definitely a memorable performance, and without question probably my favourite rendition of the work. If Giedre Zarenaite approaches all pieces with the same focus, control, and understanding of the music she will make herself quite a vital performer delivering highly focused and well informed performances.

Following this came a rather underperformed work by Arvo Part, Trisagion for string orchestra. The piece is one of the earliest examples of his famous tintinnabuli but in comparison to the likes of Tabula Rasa or Passio the dramatic focus seems to be more obvious and direct. The musical dialogue is presented in a raw but powerful manner and the result is one of my favourites of his entire output. Modestas Barkauskas was particularly intune with this piece, always bringing out the strongest and most potent qualitities of the gestures. The fragile elements were crystalline and the powerful gestures roared like the largest organ. A rather elegant rendition indeed.

The finale came in the form of Antanas Rekasius's Muzika styginiams. Rekasius has been witnessing a revival in Lithuania, thanks in part to the interest of Apartment House in London, as well as local musicology. The composer is extremely hard to define, but in a rather reductionist manner he is a kind of Ives-ian figure; namely he stands as such a singular renegade that noone else in the region could sound quite like him. This is particularly true of Muzika styginiams. The open heavy handed passacaglia figure which is interrupted with violent textural gestures makes for a rather mind-bending dialogue of the blatantly familiar and the terrifying unknown. Modestas Barkauskas seemed in his element with this work. The rendition was strong and forceful, hammering the musical material into our ears, forcing us to consume this magnificent insanity. 

The whole concert was a real treat for my ears, not just because of my love of the composers. The interpration and focus of the St. Christopher Orchestra under Modestas Barkauskas was extremely solid and very well controlled. The contour of the concert as a whole was also intriguing as well, there was a sensation of grander narrative within the concert as a whole, as well as within the composers's singular pieces. I am beyond glad I went and I sincerely hope I get to witness more concerts of this calibre over the course of 2017.

Eduardas Balsys: Violin Concerto No. 1

After a week flitting off to Yerevan, I am back in Europe, and back to blog. Today I saw a wonderful article by BBC Music Magazine on the wonderful conductor Mirga Grazinyte-Tyla. In it, a little side column shows four Lithuanian composers Mirga particularly appreciates, so my next four posts will discuss these figures! But today I need to discuss a composer I have been meaning to discuss for ages now, Eduardas Balsys. After weeks and weeks of having lessons in the room in academy dedicated to him, with his stern face staring at me and my compositions, I feel ashamed to not have mentioned him sooner. 

Eduardas Balsys (1919-1984) is an extremely significant figure in Lithuania as he, alongside Julius Juzeliunas, spearheaded Lithuanian music in the newly formed Soviet state; and came to particular prominence in the years of artistic resurgence after the passing of Joseph Stalin. This manifested itself in many different ways, either by being a popular proponent of 'Social Realism' with his works like 'March of Young Leninists' (1976). Or in the way he helped reopen explorations into modern musical languages like serial music or aleatoricism in works like 'Journey to Tilsit' (1980). He also constantly showed a desire to tap into local folklore and traditions like in his ballet 'Egle Queen of the Grass Snakes' (1960). Within all these areas Balsys managed to retain an elegance and sense of craft which is very apparent within his work, he is also an interesting example of how composers coped with the confines of Soviet censorship; as he was, like many others, able to sneak quite intense intellectual music under the radar of the regime. He also has the great accolade of being one of the most significant tutors within Lithuania's musical history, having taught many of Lithuania's leading composers today. 


Eduardas Balsys's violin concerto no. 1 (1954) is a curious work. In its three movements, the work manages to evoke many wonderful sensations, as well as starting off with moments of blaring dissonances. The work has many moments akin to Prokofiev, Bartok, but also many moments is very similar to Gustav Holst, which I think is probably the best composer to compare Balsys to for many reasons. Firstly the political influence in Holst's music meant he thrived on writing for amateurs and for the masses in his works for Brass Band, Wind Band, and Choir. Admittedly Balsys came about this less willingly, but the two came to similar results. On top of this, the two had a great desire to tap into folk traditions, with Holst reinvigorating British folk music and Balsys exploring his ancient folk melodies and themes. 


The first movement of Balsys's concerto is living and driving, starting with a bang, and profound procession, before the violinist goes for a run. The solo line is full of elegance, agility and grace. The soloist and orchestra fight it out for the entire movement, before eventually it seems the orchestra manage to subdue the soloist, even if only ever momentarily. 


The second movement starts with whispers and murmurs. The rolling chorale-like procession is lead by the clarinet which is mournful and sombre. The soloist enters with a beautifully melismatic line which rolls and sings so beautifully. Slow but surely the movement builds closer and closer to life, but still maintains a distinct sadness or nostalgia for something lost. 


The finale is a real showstopper. The music bounces and dances, the violinist navigates a really virtuosic solo line, but always holding importance over the orchestra. Despite being so virtuosic, the soloist lines always maintains a melodic nature, almost like how in the Brandenburg concerti how the soloists are melodic, but still extravagant. The nimble violin line keeps bouncing and the orchestra is equally agile throughout the movement. The rhythmic nuance is really elegant and the music is just damn fun to listen to. 


The concerto as a whole is marvelous, and it is a shock that it is not better known across the world. A part of me feels because Eduardas Balsys spent the majority of his working life on the other side of the Iron Curtain, he is simply ignored for being on the wrong side of the barrier. Too many composers are ignored and I feel gems like this show how nonsensical our ignorance of the music of former Soviet states is. 


Until next time, here is a glorious recording of Balsys's Violin Concerto No. 1 (1954)