Over the last 10 years, as i’ve been immersing myself ever more deeply into Estonian contemporary music, i’ve tentatively reached a point where i feel i can be more or less confident of what certain composers will or won’t do. Yet i mentioned in Part 1 of the lingering sense that i’m still very much a beginner, and as if to prove that point, various composers i admire had premières at this year’s festival that ranged from baffling to just plain bad.
The most innocuous of them was Ürgmetsa ulm [Dream Sequence of an Ancient Forest] by Madli Marje Gildemann, for two pianos and electronics. From what i’ve heard previously, Gildemann’s musical language is intriguingly unusual, but this was little more than a fairly neutral form of ambient drone, enlivened with vague sound shapes from the pianos and recurring calls from the electronics. Likewise Code “Liiv”, a new piece for ensemble and electronics by one of Estonia’s more experimental composers, Liisa Hirsch, that unfolded as a strangely inert and unengaging exploration of abstracted speech.
More problematic was Noise Cancellation Failure by the hitherto always dependable Malle Maltis. Her semi-staged opera invoked Odysseus encountering the sirens, but was laden with such bizarre additions (scallop-shaped noise-cancelling headphones; signs banning the consumption of bananas or beer on the ship) that, coupled to its impersonal musical language, made for a thoroughly weird and (i assume) unintentionally funny experience. i’ve found a lot to enjoy in Lauri Jõeleht‘s music in recent years, particularly the way he’s woven an interest in earlier music into his compositions. But his new Cello Concerto, premièred by Marcel Johannes Kits with the Tallinn Chamber Orchestra, conducted by Valle-Rasmus Roots, abnegated the need for saying something new about something old. It was nothing other than Estonian Light Music, 23 minutes of basic, neo-Romantic blah that has no need, and certainly no point, to.
The remainder of the Tallinn Chamber Orchestra concert was much more compelling. i’m still in two minds about Marianna Liik‘s new work for piano and strings Lahtirullumine [Unfolding], which began with a cogent, rather tantalising relationship whereby the soloist’s suggestions slowly spread throughout the orchestra, but devolved into a sequence of rather unimaginative textural episodes. Lepo Sumera was born 75 years ago, and died 25 years ago, and while neither of these were stated anniversaries being marked by the festival, his 1998 Symphōnē was an exciting tribute to his particular brand of energetic fire. Rhythm everywhere, from moderate, marked pulses to furious driving momentum, periodically interrupted by weirdly slow episodes as if everything had been dramatically slowed down and filtered, revealing rapid figurations within. Even here, though, energy was never lost, merely semi-frozen, with the work’s pounding conclusion overwhelming proof of its presence.
The highlight of the Tallinn Chamber Orchestra concert was the only new work on the programme to make complete sonic sense. Kristjan Kõrver‘s Sõnatute õhkamistega [With sighs too deep for words] has a religious title, but absolutely was not religious music. We were hurled into an abstract but startlingly palpable struggle; a stop-start music, pressing on confidently only to fall back. Little patterns of repetition, spreading surges, bursts of lyricism, but always dragging, seemingly stuck in and cycling around this behavioural palette, an underlying frustration hinted at in occasional grinding moments. Attempts to up the lyrical ante were met with threatening growls from the double basses. Everything about the piece rang loud and true, a language of effort, filled with earnest yet thwarted utterances, silenced by a fittingly abrupt full stop.
Aside from the aforementioned work by Liisa Hirsch, and a protracted slog of pitiful blandbient from Paul Beaudoin (whose music i’ve now heard twice and clearly never need to again), there was much to enjoy in the concert given by the Ensemble for New Music Tallinn. Though quite basic (and spoiled by appallingly bass-heavy amplification), Einike Leppik‘s Sang Softly to Me managed to conjure a world of soft, balmy whooze, its gentleness matched by a sense of inner excitement. Arash Yazdani‘s Ga Geriv for flute and tape took the idea of funeral laments from his native Iran to form an elementary pattern of overlapping lines. Yazdani’s programme note speaks of the laments as providing comfort, and indeed this was music less about communicating anguish than something more internalised, almost like being immersed in (and sheltered by?) echoes from the past.
This was even more the case in Psalms by Justė Janulytė, for viola d’amore and electronics. Seemingly timeless, formless, in a permanent state of evoking, or actually becoming, it was like hearing overlapping pockets of memory, fragments of a whole that felt tangible yet elusive – and perhaps imaginary. Time become undone, the music capable of going on forever, yet without any trace of forward motion, caught in stasis. Maria Rostovtseva‘s chamber works have often explored situations of group behaviour where parts move together and echo one another, occupying another kind of static environment. That was also the case with her new piece, The Sparkling Felicity of a Passion Flower, the ensemble jostling, occupying the same space. Fragments of lines and chords continually begged the question as to how connected or independent they were, overall creating the sensation of being out of sync or misaligned. It was hard to tell whether, over time, it all became clearer or we just became more accustomed to its gentle blur. Just as one was contemplating what, when fully aligned, might emerge, Rostovtseva brought the process to an end.
Both Marianna Liik and Lauri Jõeleht were represented much better by music performed by harpist Liis Jürgens, in the first part of an extravagant “Grand Concert” triptych of performances held at the Arvo Pärt Centre during the festival’s opening weekend. Jõeleht’s Stella matutina [morning star] worked much better in this harp arrangement than in its piano original, like a jewelled object with ultra-refined facets and edges. The material was engrossing, practically glinting, alternating fast and slow before seeming to combine them simultaneously.
Liik’s Miniature demonstrated the volatility that typifies some of her best work. Here it was channelled into lyrical ideas, such that its filigree was ripped apart by sharp accents. The piece demonstrated a strong sense of light and dark, delicate and brooding, culminating in a flamboyant collapse.
Though it contained its fair share of variety and high jinks, the final part of the evening, given by piano duo Talvi Hunt and Kadri-Ann Sumera, proved frustrating. Overblown, über-metric mucking about in Lepo Sumera‘s Ten Canons, sounding like Shostakovich if he had led a happier life; unconvincing post-romanticism in Aaro Pertmann‘s collage-like Tagasitee [The Way Back], where almost every shape, gesture, chord and flourish felt borrowed; weird, superficial stuff evoking some kind of cheesy musical in Rein Rannap‘s Elan; and a clearly gradually waning but otherwise hard-to-penetrate narrative in Lola-Mariin Hermaküla‘s Ületus [Overcoming].
It fell to Kuldar Sink, who died 30 years ago, to come to the rescue with his fabulous Four compositions. Written in 1964, during the period when Estonian composers were finally getting stuck into more experimental ideas and techniques, its music spoke with a forthright directness that is to some extent alien within most Estonian contemporary music. Opening with a sequence of fireworks, one being carefully let off at a time, this was followed by a playful mix of violent attacks and repetitions, but, as previously, halting, as if actively considering each action. The third was more scattershot, slower but with even stronger attacks (Talvi Hunt’s power on her piano was astonishing) while others were muted, revealing overtones, within a lurching structure that maintained a sense of tension. The fourth was all rapid tremolandos channeled into rampaging torrents, ominous undercurrents, noise textures with rising and falling pitch bands, and sharp, clustered impacts, ending in a huge bass register tumult.
The central concert, featuring flautist Monika Mattiesen and pianist Michael Wendeberg, offered the most striking and memorable music of the evening. Indeed, Andrus Kallastu‘s Particolari was one of the most captivating works performed during the entire Estonian Music Days. There was something mesmeric about the obvious intricacy of its construction, with highly detailed material and a relationship between Mattiesen and Wendeberg that seemed plausibly both simpatico and indifferent. Yet this paradox did not present a problem – still less a puzzle to be solved – as the music spoke with a strong lyrical voice, cogent, urgent, passionate and highly original. A piece that had me wanting to hear it again immediately as soon as it had ended.
Equally compelling was Toivo Tulev‘s Vahepeal lehtede hämarusest piilub olematus [“meanwhile, from the twilight of the leaves, the void peers out”]. Intricacy was on display here too, articulated as a twin-stranded voice but driven by a shared, earnest impulse. Almost the entire piece occupied a very high register, making occasional deep piano notes (the void?) very striking indeed. Tulev split the players later, Mattiesen’s piccolo acrobatically flying away, yet Wendeberg‘s measured piano was evidently drawn to it, coming back into its orbit, thereby reforming the pairing. Though occasionally broken by unexpected stases, the work’s denouement overflowed with floridity, before eventually slowing, bringing to a close the most gripping musical narrative.
Some of the performances from this year’s festival are available to stream (for free) either as audio via Klassikaraadio and/or as video. Links below:
Ensemble for New Music Tallinn: audio / video
Grand Concert: audio – Liis Jürgens, Kadri-Ann Sumera & Talvi Hunt, Monika Mattiesen & Michael Wendeberg / video (complete)
Tallinn Chamber Orchestra: audio
