Tigran Mansurian is
the most prominent Armenian composer,
although he is still much lesser-known
than, say, Khachaturian, Hovhaness or
Arutunian. His substantial output, however,
has secured his place among the most
important composers of his generation.
His music is deeply rooted in Armenia’s
musical past and has been strongly influenced
by the works of Komitas. It cannot be
compared to the superficial folksiness
of Khachaturian. Mansurian’s music goes
much deeper into Armenia’s musical heritage
and in no way attempts to mimic it for
colour’s sake. Mansurian has so fully
absorbed his ancestral musical past
that he literally re-creates in his
own way, preserving the powerfully expressive
strength and apparent simplicity of
Armenia’s ancient music. There is thus
no question of mere imitation, rather
a sincere and deeply-felt tribute to
the richness of Armenia’s musical past.
In an interview printed in the lavish
insert notes, the composer stresses
his indebtedness to Komitas whose spiritual
and scholarly influence is an essential
component of his music-making. So, the
music heard here is quintessentially
Armenian in spirit; but do not expect
any folk-like, colourful romp à
la Gayaneh.
The Concerto
for Violin and Strings of 1981
is the third panel of a triptych of
string concertos that the composer once
described as a cycle "without any
external signs of a cycle". The
three works of the triptych are all
concertos for strings and string orchestra:
the first two panels, Cello Concerto
No.2 and Concerto for
Violin and Cello, were composed
in 1978 and the last panel, Violin
Concerto, in 1981. (Incidentally,
a complete recording of the cycle is
available on Orfeo C 415 971 A, with
Lianna Issakadze, Ivan Monighetti and
the Georgian Chamber Orchestra.). The
triptych – or trilogy – may also be
described as "The Way of the Cross",
since the unifying motif running through
the three pieces is the ubiquitous B-A-C-H
germ cell or the so-called ‘Cross’ motif.
The three concertos also share several
characteristics. All three are predominantly
slow, and are modestly scored for small
string ensemble. The sparse, economical
scoring emphasises the introvert, mystical
nature of the music. In many instances,
the Violin Concerto heard
here is redolent of Pärt, although
Mansurian’s music is generally warmer
in tone than Pärt’s.
The Viola Concerto
"...and then I was in time again..."
is also scored for small string orchestra;
and shares many features with its predecessors.
The subtitle of the piece is taken from
Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury,
which the composer acknowledges as "a
sort of handbook [to me] over the last
ten years". I do not know Faulkner’s
novel, so am unable to say whether the
music relates to it; to a certain extent,
this does not really matter, for Mansurian’s
music speaks for itself and may be (must
be?) heard as an abstract piece of art.
The composer’s inner conflicts are expressed
in a restrained, timeless idiom which
actually emphasises the universal character
of the composer’s concerns. Even so,
Mansurian never bears his heart upon
his sleeve; he obviously wants to communicate
and does so in often deceptively simple,
but highly effective terms.
The short Lachrymae
for soprano saxophone and viola overtly
partakes of the same emotional world
once again expressed with economy of
means and restraint, nonetheless communicating
as unspeakable sense of grief and bereavement.
The piece was in fact composed for one
of his friends who was then severely
ill. It clearly belongs to the ancient
lachrymae tradition represented
by works by Dowland and Purcell, and
also by Britten, but again in Mansurian’s
unique manner.
In Confessing
with Faith for viola and four
voices (counter-tenor, two tenors and
baritone), Mansurian gets still closer
to old Armenian music and to Komitas,
though without any attempt at superficial
imitation. This is a substantial setting
of seven verses from the prayer book
of St. Nerses Shnorhali, an Armenian
poet, musician and patriarch who lived
from 1100 to 1173. The setting is mostly
syllabic and monodic, at times flowering
into brief contrapuntal episodes constantly
embellished by the viola’s warm, human
tone which adds another voice to the
‘monks’ choir’. The viola is an equal
partner with the voices. In the very
first bars its lengthy intonation prepares
the way for the entry of the voices.
It is then constantly present throughout
the rest of the work, as a sixth, wordless
voice. The viola also introduces the
second part of the piece (I do not dare
speak of ‘movement’ in as deeply religious
work as this). The final part is more
overtly hymn-like and homophonic in
character. The viola has the last word
in a beautifully moving epilogue mirroring
the introduction of the first part.
I need not tell you
that all the performances recorded in
the composer’s presence have an unquestionable
ring of authenticity. All are superbly
played and recorded though some may
find the recording too close. The set
is beautifully produced with a lavish
booklet well up to ECM’s best standards.
I will only complain about the short
playing time, and I regret that it was
not possible to include some more of
Mansurian’s deeply-felt music. This
reservation apart, this is a magnificent
release.
Anyone interested in
Mansurian’s music may also look for
another all-Mansurian disc released
by Megadisc (MDC 7839 with several chamber
works).
Hubert Culot
Kim Kashkashian (viola)acd;
Leonidas Kavakos (violin)b; Jan Garbarek
(saxophone)c; The Hilliard Ensembled;
Münchener Kammerorchesterab;
Christoph Poppenab