Esa-Pekka Salonen conducts STRAVINSKY

                                    ESA-PEKKA SALONEN CONDUCTS STRAVINSKY

ARVO PÄRT Orient Occident

This programme represents a retreat from the remote cloister where for so long Arvo Pärt invited us to join him‚ a definite shift from the aerated tintinabuli. The purity remains‚ so do the spare textures and‚ to a limited extent‚ earlier stylistic traits. Pärt’s voice is always recognisable. And yet who‚ years ago‚ could have anticipated the tempered tumult that erupts in the third movement of Como cierva sedienta‚ a half­hour choral drama commissioned by the Festival de Mœsica de Canarias and premièred in Tenerife in 1999.
I remember hearing an imperfect taped copy of that first performance‚ which both fascinated and perplexed me‚ but this new recording subscribes to ECM’s well­tried aesthetic where clarity‚ fine­tipped detail and carefully gauged perspectives are familiar priorities. The texts come from the 42nd and 43rd Psalms‚ opening with ‘As the hart panteth…’ (Psalm 42). Even in the first few seconds‚ after chorus and bell have registered‚ vivid instrumental colour signals a fresh departure. It’s almost as if Pärt is relishing textures previously denied him‚ like a penitent released from fasting. Take the second movement‚ ‘Why art thou cast down‚ my soul?’‚ which opens among lower strings then switches to tactile pizzicati and woodwinds that are almost Tchaikovskian in their post­Classical delicacy. At 2'36" an unexpected upwards harp glissando cues a rhythmically driven affirmation of praise. The descent from flutes‚ down to bass clarinet and finally bassoon that closes the piece is a really imaginative touch. That aforementioned ‘eruption’ occurs at 1'42" into the next movement‚ with its fearsome waterspouts and billowing waves‚ its bass drum‚ brass‚ bell‚ swirling winds and cymbal spray. The long closing section is pensive but conclusive: a dramatic opening‚ drum taps that recall Shostakovich 11‚ expressively varied instrumental commentary‚ quiet string chords later on and a closing episode filled with equivocal tranquillity.
The two shorter works are also significant. Wallfahrtslied (1984‚ ‘Song of Pilgrimage’)‚ a memorial to a friend‚ is presented in the revised version for strings and men’s choir. Again Pärt engages a lyrical muse‚ particularly for the emotionally weighted prelude and postlude whereas the accompaniment to the main text (Psalm 121‚ ‘I lift up mine eyes unto the hills…’)‚ a combination of pizzicato and shuddering bowed phrases‚ suggests a lament tinged with anger.
The seven­minute string piece Orient and Occident is barely two years old‚ and has ‘a monophonic line which runs resolutely through [it]’‚ to quote Pärt’s wife‚ Nora. Snake­like oriental gestures‚ coiled with prominent portamenti (the sort used by Indian orchestras) sound like an Eastern variant of Pärt’s earlier string works. ‘With perfect consistency‚ like links in a chain‚’ writes Nora‚ ‘tiny contrasting musical segments […] converge‚ yet produce a gently flowing stream of music.’ I’ll certainly buy that‚ but the choral pieces are the prime reasons for investing in this exceptional and musically important release. (Gramophone)

Hélène Grimaud / Esa-Pekka Salonen CREDO

Beethoven: Choral Fantasy op. 80
The piano's crashing opening chords herald what seems for the first three minutes like a solo work. Then comes a tentative dialogue with the lower strings, after which - equally tentatively - the woodwind enter. Human voices arrive almost as an afterthought. This was a fantasy indeed, written at such speed that the musicians got their parts with the ink wet. As the piano reworks the simple musical ideas on which the whole edifice is based, we get a strong whiff of what Beethoven's celebrated improvisations must have been like. In 1808 he'd earned little, and his friends encouraged him to put on a four-hour concert of his own works in order to refill his coffers. But this late addition was no mere space-filler: bringing order out of chaos, moving from darkness to light, and prefiguring the final theme of his Ninth Symphony, it reflects Beethoven's genius at full tilt. 

Beethoven: Sonata in D minor, op. 31 no. 2 "The Tempest"
Beethoven himself didn't give this work its name - according to his early biographer Schindler, the composer declared that the work could be understood by reading Shakespeare's play - but from the moment the first theme breaks free from the cavernous opening chord, it certainly is tempestuous. That chord seems to pose a question, to which - after a long journey through darkly dramatic landscapes - the last notes come like an answer. This sonata was one of three composed in the village of Heiligenstadt in 1802, at a time when Beethoven was growing deaf, and in near-suicidal despair. Here he was at his most heroic: on the one hand, his "Heiligenstadt Testament" confided his woes to posterity (while concealing them from his contemporaries); on the other, he was creating masterpieces of coiled energy like this. 

John Corigliano: Fantasia on an Ostinato
As one of the American composers finding a way forward without abjuring tonality, Corigliano is blazing a fascinating trail. In this work from 1985 his aim has been "to combine the attractive aspects of minimalism with a convincing structure and emotional expression". The foundation is the famous theme of the second movement of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, with Corigliano exploiting the repeated rhythmic motive as well as the harmonic pattern. (Michael Church)

Music is about emotional communication. Give it a try, and don't think you have taken the wrong road when perhaps you just have not gone far enough. After all, what is to come does not need to be discovered so much as invented. (Hélène Grimaud)