It’s a while since there’s been an album devoted to Tōru Takemitsu‘s orchestral music, so it’s been good to spend time with a new release from the BBC Philharmonic, conducted by Christian Karlsen, that explores four of the composer’s works from the ’80s and ’90s. One of them is purely orchestral, the 1995 tribute to Morton Feldman Twill By Twilight, while the other three are concertante works, all involving guitar: To the Edge of Dream (1983), Vers, L’arc-en-ciel, Palma (1984) and Spectral Canticle (1995), the latter two pairing the guitar with oboe d’amore and violin respectively.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of regarding Takemitsu’s music as being all about rather aimless journeys through ravishing landscapes. His unique approach to structure was such that he created worlds where anything could happen, apparently spontaneously, and sound absolutely right. Yet that impression doesn’t just magically happen, and I suspect an important part in the ongoing appraisal of Takemitsu’s music is the degree to which that inherent ‘rightness’ requires special care, in order that it doesn’t sound merely indecisive or directionless. The overwhelmingly obvious beauty has only ever been part of the story, and probably not the most important one.
One strategy that Karlsen has evidently sought to take in these performances is to avoid what he perhaps perceives as a parallel trap: of wallowing in its all-pervading lushness. Of itself, that’s entirely admirable, yet in the case of two of these pieces, it seems to work against their implicit elasticity. There’s a very nice mix of heat and cool in the introduction of To the Edge of Dream, with a corresponding combination of suspension and momentum, but as soon as guitarist Jacob Kellermann gets going, his briskness sets him apart from the orchestra. Their responses to his material are warm, with real passion emerging in the angular surges Takemitsu gives them at times, but there’s never a meaningful sense of connection between soloist and orchestra. Kellermann’s guitar doesn’t act as a focal point, or as a catalyst, or even as a counterpoint to everyone else. As such the work’s contour is flat, and there are even times when the orchestral ruminating starts to sound like a longueur.
Vers, L’arc-en-ciel, Palma fares better, in part because Kellermann’s determination to press on, again demonstrated here, is at least partly countered by Juliana Koch’s oboe d’amore. i’m not sure if it’s the actual playing or the way it’s captured in the recording, but the brightness in the winds sounds muted here, which is unfortunate as Takemitsu bestows some searingly bright moments on them. That being said, the general orchestral sound is far more compelling than in To the Edge of Dream, making the most of some unexpected orchestrational touches, and the surprising heft that emerges from time to time. Furthermore, Karlsen and the BBC Phil are clearly making no attempt at all to ‘prettify’ the piece, allowing its dissonances to speak fully, in the process leading to some eye-wateringly intense surges. The final climax works really well in this respect, its repeating process building and building to form piercing shards of light. Yet here, again, the too-brisk tempo doesn’t allow enough room for the aftermaths of these powerful moments to reverberate, or sufficient time for us to reflect on them.
A necessary comparison is with the famous recording of these two pieces made in the early 1990s by guitarist John Williams with the London Sinfonietta, conducted by Esa-Pekka Salonen. Their performances aren’t significantly longer than the BBC Philharmonic’s – To the Edge of Dream is one minute longer, Vers, L’arc-en-ciel, Palma two minutes – but in both cases it’s sufficient to allow for the vital flexibility that permeates Takemitu’s musical firmament to stretch and relax, and as a consequence attain a far greater level of intensity and immersion. Though it’s over 30 years old, that recording remains the benchmark for both these pieces.
By contrast, Spectral Canticle is almost entirely unrepresented by existing recordings, which is all the more strange considering it was Takemitsu’s last orchestral work, completed the year before his death. (The only other recording i know of is by the Tokyo Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra, included in the long out of print Complete Takemitsu Edition.) The relationships are much better defined here, with violinist Viviane Hagner demonstrably taking the lead. After a mysterious opening – the BBC Phil sounding almost coy – Kellermann settles quickly into a fittingly measured subordinate role, whereupon a beautifully messy link ushers in Hagner, laying out strong lyrical shapes with the most exquisitely clear intonation and beauty of tone. It makes for a lovely pairing, the violin’s angular song being answered by soft blooming warmth in the orchestra, while the guitar acts as an innocuous sidekick. Karlsen gets a superb sense of rapture from the BBC Phil, who blend into the most wondrous sonic unity. Furthermore there’s a real sense of partnership, of soloist and orchestra listening to each other carefully as an essential part of their forward movement. Together they make Takemitsu’s constant fluctuations of chiaroscuro sound like the changing light resulting from clouds moving in front of the sun.
The BBC Philharmonic gets to end the album on their own, in a truly stunning rendition of Twill By Twilight. Again there’s the impression of shifting light conditions, both the brightness and the shadow seemingly oblique, penetrating each other in strange, unexpected ways that only reinforce a sense of quiet awe. Though there’s never anything approaching a melody here there is, nonetheless, a constant strain of lyricism running through everything, which is clearly made the centre of the work’s capricious narrative, and which contains more muscular swells than anything we’ve heard so far. Especially nice – and a complete contrast to the haste heard in the guitar-focused works – is the way Karlsen allows certain eruptions, which turn out to be apropos of nothing, to project, hover and resound at length, such as the tremulous moment around halfway through and, above all, the massive extrusion a few minutes before the end. The conclusion of this piece is by far the most gorgeous performance of anything on the album: down into a deep, profound space that gently glistens, before finally entering a low triadic place of peace.
Notwithstanding the issues i’ve mentioned, these are sumptuous, sensitive performances that highlight and demonstrate the low-key caprice that lies at the core of Takemitsu’s musical thinking. At its best, the levels of beauty attained here are simply staggering.
Released by BIS, Spectral Canticle is available on SACD and download.
[…] “It’s easy to fall into the trap of regarding Takemitsu’s music as being all about rather aimless journeys through ravishing landscapes. His unique approach to structure was such that he created worlds where anything could happen, apparently spontaneously, and sound absolutely right. … Spectral Canticle is almost entirely unrepresented by existing recordings, which is all the more strange considering it was Takemitsu’s last orchestral work, completed the year before his death. … Karlsen gets a superb sense of rapture from the BBC Phil, who blend into the most wondrous sonic unity. Furthermore there’s a real sense of partnership, of soloist and orchestra listening to each other carefully as an essential part of their forward movement. Together they make Takemitsu’s constant fluctuations of chiaroscuro sound like the changing light resulting from clouds moving in front of the sun. The BBC Philharmonic gets to end the album on their own, in a truly stunning rendition of Twill By Twilight. Again there’s the impression of shifting light conditions, both the brightness and the shadow seemingly oblique, penetrating each other in strange, unexpected ways that only reinforce a sense of quiet awe. … The conclusion of this piece is by far the most gorgeous performance of anything on the album: down into a deep, profound space that gently glistens, before finally entering a low triadic place of peace. … At its best, the levels of beauty attained here are simply staggering.” [reviewed in October] […]