Meet The Composer: Kaija Saariaho

"The very titles of the works of Kaija Saariaho (b. 1952) provoke strong associations. They blind the listener ('Verblendungen'), contemplate the light arcs of the Northern lights ('Lichtbogen') or one of the moons of Jupiter ('Io'), turn their gaze from the cosmic reaches of the starry sky to the microcosm of flower petals ('Petals'), or retreat to a hidden and secret garden ('Jardin secret'). Whatever the original inspiration for any of these works, Saariaho has managed to convert it with sensitivity and skill into sensual, colourful music. And even if there are some similarities or analogies identifiable between the original inspiration and the finished work, extra-musical phenomena have always been only a starting point for Saariaho, never the object of a simplistic programme.

"There is a natural explanation for why the visual dimension is often invoked in connection with Saariaho's works. Before deciding on music as a career, she studied fine aris at the University of Arts and Design in Helsinki. She studied composition with Paavo Heininen at the Sibelius Academy from 1976 to 1981. During this time, she was active in the Korvat auki! (Ears open!) society founded in 1977 to promote contemporary music. The close professional relationship established between core members of the society was at least as important as the official activities of the society—for instance, organizing public discussions and concerts. Kaija Saariaho recalls: '...there was a circle of us with Esa-Pekka Salonen, Magnus Lindberg, Eero Hämeenniemi, Jouni Kaipainen. We were all active and interested. If someone found an interesting record, all of us would listen to it. We held seminars amongst ourselves and things like that!' The other composers are keen to point out that these intensive meetings often took place at Saariaho's home in Helsinki.

"It was largely due to the central composers in the Korvat auki! society that the 1980s became a decade of Modernism in Finnish music, with much better exposure than before given to Modernists of earlier generations too. One of the main concepts of the Korvat auki! composers was to open up windows to Europe - in the time-honoured manner of Modernists and reformers in Finland. In the case of Saariaho, this dimension became more real than for many others. As early as in summer 1980, she visited the famous summer courses of Darmstadt, and when she had completed her studies, she went to study with Brian Ferneyhough and Klaus Huber at the Freiburg Musikhochschule in 1981-82, receiving her diploma in 1983.

"Since 1982, Saariaho has lived permanently in Paris, a stone's throw away from IRCAM, the well-known contemporary music research centre where she works regularly. Despite her emigration and internationalization, Saariaho has maintained close ties to Finnish musical circles: various Finnish institutions have commissioned works from her, she has had composition concerts in Finland, and in the academic year 1997-98 she was guest Professor of Composition at the Sibelius Academy.

"In her early period in the late 1970s, Saariaho wrote several lyrical, delicate and melodically expressive vocal works. Her focus soon moved from melody to rich tonal colour and harmony, two mutually complementary elements that are closely related to one another. From the early 1980s onwards, Saariaho's music has been characterized by sound surfaces rich in detail, often hovering between pure tones and noise; delicately lyrical, evocative moods; and processes of change unfolding in slow, organic growth and evolution. There is no traditional harmonic structure, counterpoint or pulsating rhythm in works from this period.

"Towards the end of the 1980s, Saariaho's works began to acquire a more definite profile as the dream-like slowness of the earlier works began to subside. In the 1990s, her trend towards a more powerful mode of expression and more abrupt shifts has strengthened, and even melody has reappeared as a significant element in certain works. However, rich tonal colour and meticulously planned details remain important.

"In painting her original and individual landscapes in sound, Saariaho has often used state-of-the-art technology, for instance tape music, live electronics or computer assistance. Modern technology is often seen as the antithesis of delicate lyricism, but Saariaho's works demonstrate that this need not be the case. Saariaho has also worked with many top musicians of our time; for instance, her string quartet 'Nymphea' (1987) was written for the Kronos Quartet, while the orchestral works 'Du cristal' (1990) and '...O la fumée' (1990) were written for Esa-Pekka Salonen, the violin concerto 'Graal thédtre' (1994) for Gidon Kremer and the song cycle 'Château de I'âme' (1996) for soprano Dawn Upshaw.

"Saariaho's output includes orchestral, chamber, solo and vocal music. Often there is a tape involved. Saariaho has also written several works that have a dramatic or cross-discipline element, including the radiophonic work 'Stilleben' (1988), the dance work 'Maa' (Earth, 1991) commissioned by the Finnish National Ballet and choreographed by Carolyn Carlson, and various multimedia and film music projects. Her most extensive project to date is an opera commissioned by the Salzburg Festival for 2001, based on the real-life history of a 12th-century troubadour, Jaugre Rudel.

"'Verblendungen' ('Dazzlements'), commissioned by the Finnish Broadcasting Company (1982-84), was Saariaho's first extensive work after finishing her studies, a sort of transition ritual in becoming a full-blown artist. Like many of Saariaho's works, it found its origin in a visual idea, a thick brush-stroke thinning out gradually. In the music, this is reflected in the overall form, an enormous diminuendo beginning in an opening Big Bang and continuing throughout the work. In this sense, Verblendungen is a fine example of the slow processes of change typical of Saariaho's music in the early 1980s.

"'Verblendungen' is written for a 35-member orchestra, smaller than a normal symphony orchestra, and a tape prepared by Saariaho herself at the GRM Studio in Paris. The tape is based on two sounds played on a violin, a bowed sforzato and a pizzicato. This was the first time that Saariaho used a pre-prepared tape with live instrumentalists. The relationship between the musicians and the tape is an important dimension in the work, and it changes during the course of the work. At first, the orchestra is bright in sound and the tape is rough and noisy, but at the end the orchestra sounds electronic and the tape is crystal clear. However, the orchestra and tape intertwine to produce a rich and nuanced image in sound.

"Whereas 'Verblendungen' was sparked by a brush-stroke, 'Lichtbogen' for nine musicians and live electronics ('Light arcs', 1985-86), commissioned by the French Ministry of Culture, was prompted by the Northern lights. It is an extremely sensitive, finely tuned and vibrant piece that is fundamentally static yet is constantly moving and alive. Various colours and noise-like sounds shimmer and undulate in a ghostly, nebulous musical space.

"There is also a more theoretical aspect to 'Lichtbogen'. Saariaho used a computer in writing this work; this was the first time she used a computer with a purely instrumental work. The basic material consisted of harmonics played on a cello; when bow pressure is increased, the notes break up into noise. A computer analysis of this phenomenon generated the harmony and sound models that Saariaho then translated into music for the musicians to perform, complementing the sound spectrum with live electronics, i.e. electronic processing of sound in real time in concert.

"Like 'Lichtbogen', 'Io' (1986-87) for chamber orchestra, tape and live electronics was also inspired by the cosmic dimension of the starry sky. The title refers to one of the moons of Jupiter, although it is tempting to interpret it as the Italian word for 'I'. 'Io' was commissioned by IRCAM for its 10th anniversary concert at the Centre Pompidou.

"In terms of musical material, Saariaho again started off small, with an analysis of individual sound phenomena, in this case noise-like sounds produced on a double bass and a flute. She then transposed the models she had worked out onto a new level, a larger scale. 'Io' is a synthesis of musical approaches in the sense that it has a tape like 'Verblendungen' but also live electronics like 'Lichtbogen'. The tape has quite an independent role in places, and it even has a three-minute 'solo' towards the end. In terms of expression, 'Io' heralded a shift towards a more many-sided and complex texture.

"Kaija Saariaho has said that one of the crucial insights underlying the radiophonic work 'Stilleben' ('Still life', 1987-88) came to her while sitting in a train. As darkness falls, the landscape outside fades from view and the passenger's face begins to show in the window. This poetic experience points two ways with regard to 'Stilleben': firstly, to the gradual processes of change so important to many of Saariaho's works; and secondly, to the fundamental themes of 'Stilleben'. According to Saariaho, 'Stilleben' is about travelling, distance and communication between people separated from one another or from their homeland. It is easy to imagine that there is something very autobiographical in this theme for Saariaho, a Finn living in Paris and doing a lot of travelling.

"'Stilleben' was commissioned by the Finnish Broadcasting Company. It received a prize in the radiophonic works category in the Prix Italia competition in 1988, and in the following year it received the Ars Electronica prize. A 'radiophonic' work is a special kind of taped work that, as the name says, is designed to be played on radio, not in concert. Its means vary, but usually it is something between a radio play and electronic music.

"True to the nature of radiophonic works, 'Stilleben' contains a variety of material: speech in three languages (Finnish, German, French), singing, instrumental music (including extracts from 'Lichtbogen'), various concrete sounds for example from metro stations, and various types of acoustics. The texts are from letters by Franz Kafka discussing the effect of separation on communication; Saariaho has also used the poetry of Paul Eluard and artist Wassily Kandinsky. Saariaho approaches this rich and varied material more as a composer than as a storyteller. In fact, the work does not come across as a clear plot structure; rather it involves associations awakened by various situations and moods, a sort of poetry in sound that has themes and content but not precisely defined meanings.

"'Jardin secret' ('Secret garden') is a curiosity-provoking title that seems to evoke the composer's innermost thoughts. Saariaho has given this title to three works in which she has explored various parameters of music through the same basic model, using a computer. The first work of these is purely for tape (1984-85). The next to be completed was 'Jardin secret II' for harpsichord and tape. The concluding work, written for string quartet and live electronics, is 'Nymphea' (1987), sub-titled 'Jardin Secret III'.

"'Jardin secret II' is different from Saariaho's earlier compositions. It is energetic and rhythmic to the point of being chopping, The harpsichord part is restricted to a few effective basic gestures: trills, tremolos, chord ostinatos and short sharp figures. Saariaho has edited the tape using harpsichord sounds and human heavy breathing. 'Jardin Secret II' is an important work in that it helped open up a newer, more serious approach in the composer's musical thinking.

"'Petals' (1988) for cello and live electronics is a sort of associate member in the 'Jardin secret' series. The material in the work derives largely from the string quartet 'Nymphea' ('Jardin secret III'). The titles also allude to the same sort of sphere, Nymphea meaning 'waterlily'. In discussing 'Petals', we must also mention the contribution of cellist Anssi Karttunen, one of Saariaho's favourite musicians who provided the inspiration for the work and to whom it is dedicated. Saariaho has described the musical concept of 'Petals' thus: 'Petals is about contrasting elements, which here consist of pale colour on one hand and events whose kinetic energy is clearly based on rhythmic and melodic gestures on the other. These more precisely sketched shapes go through a number of changes and finally blend into the less dynamic yet intensive colour tapestry of the opening.'" (Kimmo Korhonen, tr. Jaakko Mäntyjärvi. From the liner notes.)

 

Performers: Avanti! Chamber Orchestra, Jukka-Pekka Saraste, Kaija Saariaho, Jukka Tiensuu, Anssi Karttunen, Endymion Ensemble, John Witfield

1.1. Verblendungen

1.2. Lichtbogen

1.3. Io

1.4. Stilleben

2.1. Jardin Secret II

2.2. Petals

2.3. Lichtbogen

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Giacinto Scelsi - The Orchestral Works 2

"Giacinto Scelsi is known to have some untiring propagandists: he dissipates our angst, plunges us into an exquisite life, leads us into God's arms. He is also known to have some violent disparagers: he is less a 'messenger' than a joker behind apocryphal scores. But since his death in 1988, and the discovery of some new scores (some 120 works are published today, leaving around 30 yet to be fully explored), plus musicological and historical developments, the mystical spasms, the foolish garbled syncretism and the contemptuous treatment of a shrewdly revivified past have all been muffled. Now remains only Scelsi's music, which nearly everyone has avoided even mentioning. As his friend Henri Michaux wrote: 'Against noise, my noise. This noise then wards off all others—present, from before, from all day long—assembling them through a prodigious unheardofness into a perfect nothingness, a full relief.'

"Scelsi's music appears quite remarkable, although retrospection is still not distancing us enough to know just how much it has transformed new music. We know of his analogies with Varése's premonitions, with Frederich Cerha's or Per Nørgard's intuitions, and the minimalists' rudimentary developments. We know of the influence he had on Ligeti—who acknowledged this—or on Horatiu Radulescu, on the composers from the ineptly named 'spectral' school (Tristan Murail, Gérard Grisey, Michaél Levinas...), then on the architects of musical informatics, or even on his innumerable sextons, who, in their pursuit of examining the inner workings of sound—'the first movement of the immobile' (Scelsi)—attempt to perceive its 'depth', to analyze its transitions, its variations. Henceforth, according to Murail, 'we shall no longer compose (juxtapose, superpose), but de-compose, or at least, quite simply, position sound.' This corresponds to a radical change of perspective in our musical tradition.

"All of Scelsi's works, gigantic liquid monuments, are 'absolute' in the sense that they are totally refractory to the outside world (and thus answer the question of what is music for me); sometimes they even oppose it. Immersing ourselves in the sound, his sound, we perceive not only pitch or timbre, for example— according to Scelsi, we hear the beating of its pulse. He envelopes this tremulous fleshy being known as sound, inhabits us with little mind to our thoughts, observations, or our 'sauve-qui-peut-(la-vie)'—every-one-for-himself—attitudes, to the point that his resounding obviousness overpowers us. We are contained in the energy he incites within ourselves. One of Scelsi's premier performers and personal friend, the double bassist Joélle Léandre, has declared that when one plays his music, perception becomes so intense that one actually becomes sound itself. This rendering the world to nothingness, this flagrant bursting of the self into sound itself (not only does one feel different from others, but different from oneself), and, the strangulation of time; this liquefying of phenomena, all these paradoxically constitute the universality of Scelsi's music. Again, Léandre: 'You can play his music in Tibet, in Africa, in front of a jazz or rock audience, or before ordinary folks who don’t have any real relation to art—all of them will be profoundly roused.'

"'La nascita del Verbo' ('The birth of the Word'), a grand 'cantata' in four parts for chorus and large orchestra, was written in Rome between 1946 and 1948—therefore heralding his spiritual, mystic (influenced by the Orient), and musical (sound dissection, timbral quest) transformation. The work was premiered on November 28, 1949 in Paris at the Théatre des Champs-Elysées, by the French National Orchestra, conducted by Roger Desormiére and the French Radio Chorus, conducted by Yvonne Gouverné. (Scelsi: 'Désormiere was the ideal conductor for any contemporary composer. He was implacably lucid and had an exceptional musical acuity.')

"This majestic cantata's style contains hints and traces of chromatic languages, like in Scriabin; some neoclassic tendencies, like Malipiero; and a dodecaphonic impression, although there is never a trace of actual serialism in Scelsi. Certainly, serialism was the most intransigent phase of western music—its force indispensable, but one that would incite a new poetics plus a new, active way of listening and hearing. It left behind a long-standing aesthetic wound that many judged not easily tamed.

"The first section of 'La nascita del Verbo' begins with an orchestral prelude leading up to the Word. In an 'atmosphere of chords', says the composer—indeed the chorus sings only syllables—we are witnessing the 'formation of sonorities polarized on all the vowels spoken by the chorus, which is divided into up to eight arts. A sea of percussion supports this peroration and precedes a vibraphone pedal, held in he higher registers, and which acts like a bridge between the opening and second sections.' There, the Word is 'born' and is manifest in the 'sonorous explosions on the syllables of the words Deus, Amor, Lux.' The third section, Scelsi specifies, is a 'vast double fugue one of the most imposing in the history of music', exposed and frequently re-exposed by the brass whose motifs are the same as the words Deus, Amor, Lux of the second section.' In the fourth and final section (also the longest), 'the choir, in a meditative atmosphere murmurs parlando a Latin invocation to fraternity. Several voices distinguish themselves one by one and sing a very simple three-note melody that gradually builds into a vast tutti. A dodecaphonic series in the strings announces the return to complexity. The three-note melody reappears and gives way to a lofty polyphony which culminates in a forty-seven voice canon in twelve keys. Finally, a second invocation—'Domine in te speravi'—reintroduces a new formation of chords of vowels and syllables, in the same spirit as in the first section, but this time in relation to the three notes on which the work concludes: 'Amor Lux-Domine'.

"This work, 'truly written in blood', left Scelsi 'in a deplorable state'. Afterwards, he stopped composing for several years. Meanwhile, in phantasmagorical public houses whose doors slam with the same resonance as a Viennese snuffbox, he gets involved with Heraldic science and Ninevehian art. Several moorings dock his ship, but enable him to become aware of—ah, prodigious unheardofness—materiality, of the depth of sounds' shadows, of what is incalculable in sound. He first explores this at the piano, only to desert the instrument — all while constituting an essential share of his ceuvre—since micro-intervals are not possible with the piano, by definition and in all practicality. Hence, whether through provocation or necessity — it really doesn’t matter — because in any case, a radical product of his evolution and of his pioneering labors emerges with his famous 'Quattro Pezzi (su una nota sola)' (1959) ('Four pieces on only one note') for chamber orchestra of 25 musicians. Each piece is limited to one pitch (f, b, a flat and a), but with micro-fluctuations of sound (vibratos, slurs, spectral changes, tremolos...), sometimes with octave transpositions. Because of the nearly total abandonment of the harmonic dimension, the listener may concentrate on new sonorous subtleties, on the orchestra's timbre as a whole. Timbre, formerly considered a negligible aspect of writing in relation to the notes themselves, is actually one of the main characteristics of musical perception — of aural perception. Thanks to these excavations, the music seems to crackle, to fissure, to be but scattered illuminations springing from its own depths.

"In 1966 came the ferocious, tormented, complex and variegated five-movement work for ondes Martenot, seven percussionists, timpanist, chorus and twenty-three musicians—'Uaxuctum', 'The Legend of the Mayan City' which they themselves destroyed for religious reasons. 'Uaxuctum' indeed once existed (the exact spelling of this famous 'city' in the Petén province of Guatemala is Uaxactuin, meaning 'Eight stones'). Among its rich and numerous vestiges is the oldest stone monument, a low pyramid covered with stucco. The Golden Age of this city began in the IXth century, and came to an abrupt end (climatic changes, wars, epidemics?) in the middle of the IXth century. Then it was said: 'The solitude and silence was heard in the Mayan cities'. And it's is better like that: no real Orient, no sitar accompanying a violin, no crossbreeding of shoddy goods. More than that, this 'elsewhere' is the same as Michaux's 'distant interior,' his 'Voyage to Great Garabagne'.

"Numerous 'interior elsewheres' are studded in this Scelsi work. But after the Far East, pre-Columbian civilizations of Central America, the richness of the Mayan pantheon, his supposed myths and mysteries are but reflected in Scelsi's compositional process: new instrumental and vocal techniques (breathing noises, nasal sounds, muted or inhaled gutturals...), rhythmic incantations, rhythms 'rising from vital dynamism' (Scelsi), a petrified flow of time. Few woodwinds, a string section consisting of six double basses, lots of brass, as is often the case with this composer, and, in addition to a timpanist, no less than seven percussionists: in part with quite unique 'tools' such as the 'grande fusto da 200 litri per olio lubrificante, senza saldature (sic)' whose ribbed sides are to be stroked and rubbed, or a large aluminum dome, vertically suspended, whose diameter must be no less than 1.50 meters.

"'Uaxuctum', a work of a rare difficulty, only received its premiere on October 23, 1987 in Cologne by the Cologne Symphony Orchestra and Radio Choir conducted respectively by Hans Zender and Herbert Schernus. Scelsi was able to attend the performance, and died less than a year later." (Jean-Noël van der Vied. From the liner notes.)

 

Performers: ORF Radio-Symphonieorchester Wien, Concentus Vocalis, Wiener Kammerchor, Peter Rundel, Johannes Kalitzke

1. Quattro Pezzi: 1

2. Quattro Pezzi: 2

3. Quattro Pezzi: 3

4. Quattro Pezzi: 4

5. Uaxuctum: 1

6. Uaxuctum: 2

7. Uaxuctum: 3

8. Uaxuctum: 4

9. Uaxuctum: 5

10. La Nascita Del Verbo: 1

11. La Nascita Del Verbo: 2

12. La Nascita Del Verbo: 3

13. La Nascita Del Verbo: 4

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Giacinto Scelsi - The Orchestral Works 1

"Italian composer Giacinto Scelsi (1905-1988) was one of the creative geniuses of our time—one whose legacy and artistry will continue to inspire, impress and mystify appreciative listeners and critics well into the 21st century. Amazingly, for a composer who died so recently (scarcely more than a decade ago), little is known about his life. He forbade anyone to photograph him, and he purposely and routinely changed or concealed details of his personal and public life even from those with whom he had daily contact. Born in La Spezia (Liguria) to an ancient aristocratic family, Count Giacinto Scelsi d’Ayala Valva was courtly and engaging, with a presence—and piercing blue eyes—that could overwhelm; less fortunately, neurotic episodes darkened long periods of his life.

"Scelsi never attended a regular school, but instead was tutored privately at home. Nor did he have any regular academic training in music. He studied composition privately in Rome (no one knows for how long) with Giacinto Sallustio, a pupil of Respighi. Later he took sporadic lessons in Vienna with Walter Klein, a Schönberg student, and with Egon Kohler, in Geneva, a disciple of Scriabin. Scelsi spoke fluent English and French in addition to his mother tongue, and wrote many articles and two volumes of poetry in French.

"Scelsi was not a composer who fit any previous historical model of the profession. He was independently wealthy, and thus able to create without the need to satisfy any segment of the public, no matter how common or esoteric. His social milieu was a strange assembly of wealthy friends in high society, Tibetan monks with whom he meditated and chanted, and the most famous musicians, poets, and painters of his day. Although a description of 'avant-garde' would not be inaccurate, he had little to do with and did not seek entry into any other current of music or art that was exploding in every direction from the intellectual and social chaos of the 1960s. Above all, he was a visionary who knew that his message would at first be comprehended by very few and that many years would pass before even the connoisseur could assimilate his intent. But his time has come: the history of contemporary music will have to be rewritten, for the second half of the twentieth century is now unthinkable without Scelsi.

"Scelsi's primary concern in music was with the basic elements of sound itself. He was obsessed, for example, with the sound of a single note — its natural components both above and below the fundamental pitch, its microtonal variations, and physical interactions that occur when elemental sound components are combined. The micro-intervals color and shape the sound, revolve it around a pulsating sphere whose center, in Scelsi's own words, was always his destination. In aural and spiritual dimensions, there are clear parallels between Scelsi's music and South Indian classical music and Tibetan chant.

"Some writers have claimed that Scelsi was the first Italian to write in the twelve-tone system, but there is no evidence to support this conjecture. After a few lessons with Klein, Scelsi lost interest —to him it was even more structured than the tonal system — and never pursued it. The inexorable pull toward Zen Buddhism and other oriental influences following a catastrophic nervous breakdown soon led him to a path that has few if any precedents in Western music.

"Nevertheless, despite his obsession with a single note and his search for new structures (or eliminating them completely), some of Scelsi's pieces use traditional compositional techniques of Western music. These include polyphony and counterpoint, which emerge as both ancient and modern musical artifacts—a juxtaposition of time created by looking to the unknown abyss of the future while at the same time recalling a known or imagined reconstruction of the past.

"In the 1960s, Scelsi engaged the string quartet 'Quartetto di Nuova Musica' (Massimo Coen and Franco Sciannameo, violins; Giovanni Antonioni, viola; Donna Magendanz, cello) to study and play his music, experiment with sound and notation, and record and publicly perform his music in Italy and abroad. On one memorable occasion (he rarely left home during this period) Scelsi traveled with the quartet to Athens for the Hellenic Festival of Contemporary Music 1966, and the world premiére of his fourth string quartet. An ecstatic audience demanded a complete repetition of the piece as an encore.

"A constant presence, in addition to Scelsi, was the noted Italian composer Vieri Tosatti (1920-2000) — Scelsi's amanuensis and collab- orator for nearly three decades, from the mid 1940s to the early 1970s. Tosatti's exact role in the actual creation and writing down of Scelsi's music is unknown. Scelsi often referred to himself as a 'messenger' rather than a composer, and the extent to which this was true in the literal sense was known following Scelsi's death only to Tosatti himself. In the final years of his life, blind and living near Rome, Tosatti preferred to remain silent on the matter.

"Despite a few live performances and a trickle of recordings from the 1960s on, most of Scelsi’s music, especially the large orchestra pieces, remained unknown until October 1987. The occasion then was a series of performances at the International Society of Contemporary Music Festival in Cologne. At the festival, Scelsi's music created an unprecedented enthusiasm —a thrill of discovery —for sold-out crowds. Since then performances of his works have continued to reach a wider public and a cross-over audience of symphony, chamber music, and new-music aficionados, as well as fans of new-age and psychedelic music.

"'Canti del Capricorno' is a collection of twenty songs written between 1962 and 1972, mostly for and in collaboration with soprano Michiko Hirayama. Some of the Canti are written specifically for soprano voice, while for others the exact voice is not specified. Improvisation and 'personal inspiration' play a large part in the interpretation of the songs.

"There is no word-text. Rather, the sounds are phonemes — speech-like cells, often jarring — that predate or transcend language as a means of expression.

"'Canti del Capricorno No. 1' (percussion and soprano) is a dark piece whose colors are emphasized by a difficult vocal technique that requires two simultaneous pitches to be produced.

"'No. 2' (tenor) begins in the lowest register and morphs into a pointed middle register with the notes becoming smooth, fluctuating within their space. The characteristic rhythm is anapestic (short-short-long).

"'No. 18' (soprano and percussion) evokes a primitive ritual. The percussion supports and propels the voice, engaging the singer in a fiery and urgent battle.

"'No. 14' (tenor and percussion) is a companion to Canto No. 18. Primitive ritual is again suggested as the voice and percussion engage in a dramatic duel.

"'No. 15' (soprano) is an alternating earthly battle and celestial tranquility between the birds and the beasts—the five strophes of the bird alternating with the four of the beast.

"'No. 19' (voices and instruments) suggests the union of nature and mankind through the sounds of the breath as well as the plaintive sounds of the instruments.

"'Hymnos' (1963), about eleven minutes, is Scelsi's longest continuous single movement. It demands a large orchestra divided antiphonally into two almost identical groups, symmetrically placed on each side of the central axis made up of the organ, timpani, and percussion.

"The note of obsession, so typical of Scelsi, is the unison D (re) with which the piece opens. There are microtonal variations around the note, which struggles for survival as the tonal center moves first to F and then to B-flat. In aural and spiritual dimensions, there are clear parallels with oriental music.

"About halfway through the piece, as a result of accumulated pedal tones and their harmonics, the aura of a phantom choir miraculously appears — or so it seems— in a spine-tingling revelation. The chant-like sounds that emerge (but are nowhere evident in the score) are a nod to the title, Hymnos, a Greek word and the origin of the English word 'hymn'.

"'Hurqualia' (1960) was the first of the Scelsi pieces for orchestra written at the height of the composer's maturity. As with 'Hymnos', Scelsi obsesses on a single note—in this case a different note for each of the four movements. The overall impression of the piece corresponds somewhat to the traditional notion of symphonic construction in four movements. Scelsi's subtitle, which no one who ventures within listening distance of the work is likely to contradict, is 'A Different Realm'. 'Hurqualia' (the h is silent) reveals a shocking Scelsi: the music is violent, impulsive, loud, fast.

"The first movement, a kind of introduction or overture, begins serenely with sounds reminiscent of the mantra-like syllable 'Om', It builds gradually to a massive and destructive explosion of brass and percussion. The percussion takes an active part, and the drums are struck con la mano—by hand—instead of with sticks, much in the manner of Indian tabla. The end is sudden, on a single drum stroke.

"The second movement introduces tension of another sort, within a self-contained structure and under a surface of quiet expression. The central focus is on B-natural, with branches up to a minor third (D-natural) and shrinking to a conflicting and unresolved C-sharp.

"A melodic element, with violent rhythmic accents, is stressed in the third movement. The fourth movement begins (like the first) on E-flat, but the true pole emerges as B-flat. This movement is the richest and most complex of the work. The drums are again used as tabla, and enormous groups of clusters bring the piece to a violent climax.

"'Hurqualia' is scored for piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, three trumpets, two trombones, timpani, four percussionists, strings (but no violins) and three sets of amplified instruments.

"Scelsi gives instructions for the independent dynamics of three amplified groups (oboe, english horn, E-flat clarinet in the first group; horn, tenor saxophone, musical saw, viola, and double bass in the second; and two trumpets and trombone in the third). The origin of the title is unknown.

"'Konx-Om-Pax', a twenty minute work for choir and orchestra, is Scelsi's crowning achievement. The orchestra is the largest ever assembled by Scelsi. The piece is in three sections, and uses relatively simple material but projected onto an enormous landscape of sound.

"The order, structure, and detail of this piece surpasses any of Scelsi's previous works. Even the organ stops are meticulously specified, and the joining of 'all' in the third movement, combining the massive forces of orchestra and choir, makes an inevitable allusion to a previous 'ode to joy'. The title is the word 'peace' in three languages: ancient Assyrian, Sanskrit, and Latin. In a subtitle, Scelsi describes Konx-Om-Pax: Three aspects of Sound: as the first motion of the immovable, as creative force, as the sacred syllable 'Om'.

"Such wildly different music demands a new approach in learning and playing for both the conductor and the musicians. There is no precedent for learning or teaching Scelsi's music; experimentation guides progress; perfection is elusive. At the very least, every technical and musical skill in terms of color and intonation that the musicians have achieved in their conservatory training is demanded in full measure; at the same time the listening mechanisms and parameters which musicians rely on innately to play accurately and musically are stretched to new limits. In the end the musicians have to use and simultaneously abandon the very skills that are needed to play any music—and to make that leap into the soundscape that is Scelsi's mind and music.

"As an artist and as a human being Scelsi's sole purpose was centered on a desire to listen to cosmic forces. This desire emanated from transcendental thought as he searched for the divine essence of religion outside of geographic and temporal borders. He used elements from known traditions to reach moments of transcendence, reaching out, through his music, for entry into the profound realities of the universe, with undaunted spirit and a fervent hope for universal peace." (Riccardo Schulz. From the liner notes.)

 

Performers: Carnegie Mellon Philharmonic, Carnegie Mellon Choir, Juan Pablo Izquierdo, Pauline Vaillancourt, Douglas Ahlstedt

1. Canti Del Capricorno No. 1

2. Hymnos

3. Canti Del Capricorno No. 2

4. Canti Del Capricorno No. 18

5. Hurqualia: 1

6. Hurqualia: 2

7. Hurqualia: 3

8. Hurqualia: 4

9. Canti Del Capricorno No. 14

10. Canti Del Capricorno No. 15

11. Konx-Om-Pax: 1

12. Konx-Om-Pax: 2

13. Konx-Om-Pax: 3

14. Canti Del Capricorno No. 19

 

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Milton Babbitt - Piano Concerto; The Head of the Bed

"Milton Babbitt, born in 1916, has spent most of his career as composer, theorist, and teacher at Princeton University, where he followed his teacher, Roger Sessions, as William Shubael Conant Professor of Music. He has also been for several years a member of the composition faculty at the Juilliard School. His influence has been wide-ranging; his students include both Donald Martino and Stephen Sondheim. The recipient of many awards during his career, Babbitt has most recently been named a MacArthur Fellow: in 1986 he was elected to the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters. 

 

"The two works heard on this recording bring together a number of strands in the complex web of Milton Babbitt’s compositional concerns. 'The Head of the Bed' (1981), commissioned by the Chamber Music Society of Baltimore and composed for Phyllis Bryn-Julson, embodies both Babbitt's interest in chamber music and his long-standing affinity for the female voice, previously exemplified by 'Du' (1951), 'Vision and Prayer' (1961), 'Philomel' (1963-64), 'Phonemena' (1969-70; 1974), and 'A Solo Requiem' (1976-77). The 'Concerto for Piano and Orchestra', written in 1985 for Alan Feinberg and the American Composers Orchestra, conjoins his massive, intricate vision of the orchestra with the pianistic virtuosity of 'Tableaux' (1972), 'Reflections' (1974), 'Time Cycle' (1978, 1982), and 'Canonical Form' (1983). Both compositions manifest the juxtaposition of brilliant virtuosity against a voluptuous setting characteristic of so many of his works for solo protagonist. 

 

"Although both works are structurally complex—among Babbitt's most elaborate extensions of Arnold Schoenberg's breakthrough—each in its own way dramatizes the expressive flexibility and power provided by twelve-tone musical syntax. 

 

"While Babbitt is perhaps best known for his chamber and vocal music, these loom over his oeuvre a series of vast monuments for orchestra, alas but dimly perceived due to their infrequent performance and the absence of professional recordings. (ed. note: This is the first of Babbitt’s orchestral works ever to be recorded.) The Piano Concerto is the most recent of Babbitt’s orchestral works, which include 'Relata I' and 'II' (1965, 1968), 'Correspondences' (1967) for string orchestra and electronic tape, the as yet unperformed 'Concerti' (1974-76) for solo violin, orchestra, and electronic tape, and 'Ars Combinatoria' (1981). In all of these works Babbitt treats a orchestra as a resource for a wide variety of timbres through a full range of dynamics and registers; the interaction of these factors with the solo piano is the crux of the Concerto. Throughout the composition the orchestra is divided ito four distinct registers, each of which projects varying versions of a multiply interpreted underlying structure, The various sections of the work are demarcated by the change of ensembles of registers in the orcheste: running through fifteen combinations of soles, duos, trios, and tutti. The piano, in contrast, remains constantly active throughout its range, and responds to the orchestra’s changes by changing the nature of its own material, now complementing the orchestra’s music, now reflecting it in a distorted manner. Although the surface of the music is mercurial, a gradual overall dramatic progression unfolds through the shifting orchestral registers. The Concerto opens with the piano pitted against the lowest register of the orchestra, followed shortly by the highest register; for the first third of the plece no more than two registers are present in the orchestra, and the lowest register is withheld after its initial appearance until the midpoint of the work. From then on, the lowest register is nearly always present, and more registers are active simultaneously. The gradual accretion of orchestral presence eventually forces the soloist into silence before its full majesty in the penulumate section. The piano reenters, however, casting the orchestra into its highest and lowest ranges to open its own ae ar passage to the close. 

 

"'The Head of the Bed' is both synthesis and synopsis of Babbitt's vocal and chamber music. The work is a setting of a poem in fifteen stanzas by the American poet John Hollander, who also wrote the text for 'Philomel' (NW 307). The composition evokes a number of Babbitt's earlier works both in large-scale design and in detail, While the vocal writing and text echo several previous vocal compositions, the nature and treatment of the ensemble have their reots in his 'Composition for Four Instruments' (1947-48). The present work and the earlier piece employ the same ensemble of instruments, and both contain fifteen sections, each distinguished by a different grouping of instruments (analogous to the play of orchestral registers in the Concerto). In 'The Head of the Bed' the fifteen sections correspond to the fifteen stanzas of the poem. The further subdivision of each stanza into fifteen lines allows Babbitt to create a subtle echo between the composition of the vocal part for each section and the overall deployment of the instrumental groupings. The disposition of motive and register in the vocal line also invokes a fundamental compositional strategy of the 'Composition for Four Instruments', reflecting the encompassing compositional vision that has informed Babbitt’s music throughout his career." (Andrew Mead. From the liner notes.)

 

Performers: American Composers Orchestra, Charles Wuorinen, Alan Feinberg, Parnassus Ensemble, Anthony Korf, Judith Bettina

1. Piano Concerto

2. The Head Of The Bed

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Annette Krebs & Taku Unami - Motubachii

Collaboration between German and Japanese sound artists Annette Krebbs and Taku Unami, released on Erstwhile Records in 2010. Available to purchase physically or digitally here. Subtle blend of electroacoustic improvised work, vocal samples, field recordings and some drones giving an overall impression of hidden mystery, never quite resolving.

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