Albania, when it shows
up on Western radar, is known for both
its conflict and its adherence to tradition.
Often these two traits cross paths.
This first release of what are hinted
to be further explorations of contemporary
Albanian music, hardly rests on traditional
laurels, though the part-singing and
tonalities of the region surface and
resurface throughout the disc.
The works here are
a wide ranging survey of composer Aleksandër
Peçi. Certainly the most harrowing
is the title work, scored for narrator,
traditional vocalist and soprano against
a background of electronics and tape
loops. Memorializing the foundering
of an Albanian refugee ship filled with
women and children in 1997, the piece
is claustrophobic and dark, the narrator
leaping out of the speakers as women
sob behind him and water rushes. The
text is based on fragments of the Gilgamesh
epic, spoken in Albanian in the Hades-low
voice of Bujar Lako: " I looked
at the wide sea/I shouted loud: Mankind
is dead". More than any work in
the classical/orchestral realm, this
piece calls to mind the Yugoslavian
Industrial group Laibach, with its dark
swirling and thick atmosphere, as well
as the gritty and threatening spoken
text. The electronic timbres that are
used — and this in a recording supervised
by the composer — tend somehow to cheapen
the deep pain and sorrow of the work,
giving the impression that the piece
is merely the background music for a
horror film, which can hardly be the
intended effect. One can’t help thinking
that the choir voicings would be so
much more powerful if sung by an actual
choir.
The trio of small pieces
that follow couldn’t be more distantly
removed in tone. Titled Rimodelazh
(Remodeling) for piano solo
and played well by Merita Rexha, are
reworkings of themes the composer used
as film music. The first two are heavily
reminiscent of the Chopin-influenced
early Scriabin. The last of the pieces,
entitled Feeling the Pulse of the
Day, retains the sound of Scriabin,
but in this case the last of his Preludes.
One of the most successful
pieces here, Heteroondulation (Polymotion),
from 1996, shows electronics to far
greater effect than Lament. The
piece, scored for two cellos and electronics,
is a longer work of 14 minutes. The
mosaic of sound from the tape/electronics
— filled with noises, traditional Armenian
instruments, drumbeats, and ominous
chord swellings, actually gives the
illusion that the tape is playing off
the live cellos! In this instance, however,
there is only one instrumentalist playing
off the other two parts. Pjetër
Guralumi, who was one of the soloists
who premiered the work, plays both cello
parts. Well recorded and with a sense
of drama, form and timing, it recalls
Schnittke’s works for strings and electronics,
only without the whip-lashing between
baroque continuo and the ultra-modern.
Sonic Roots (1995)
is a spectacular virtuoso piece for
clarinet, excellently played by Fatos
Qerimi. A seven-minute work, it is filled
with eerie birdsongs, same-note trills,
and alternate voicings. In spite of
its challenging tonality, I see this
as a piece that can see wider performance
on the recital stages of the world.
Its form, more of a narrative than making
use of any sort of traditional structure,
nevertheless does not lose the listener
in needless flash or ornamentation.
Policentrum (1999)
for string orchestra shows, as with
most of these pieces, a love of layered
sound, with Albanian and Western tonalities
cross-weaving into an intricate Moire
that calls to mind the work of Gubaidulina
or Shostakovich at his most hard-edged.
The superimposition doesn’t end there,
with conflicting meters overlapping,
themes tossed back and forth over the
divided strings, sometimes simply played
simultaneously. Conducted and played
with conviction by the AMRA ensemble,
this work could also see wider recognition.
Performed and recorded
in Albania, this disc, according to
the booklet, was intended to showcase
Albanian contemporary music and musicians.
It does both well, with good recording
quality and presence. I look forward
to future releases.
David Blomenberg