Flowering Jasmine
Līga Baltābola (violin: Pelēcis, Porietis)
Marta Kauliņa (vibraphone: Pelēcis)
Liepāja Symphony Orchestra/Guntis Kuzma
rec. 2021, Great Amber Concert Hall, Liepāja, Latvia
SKANI LMIC127 [75:43]
Here we have nine works by Latvian composers, the earliest work dating back to 1906, the most recent from 2007. The booklet notes indicate that the underlying theme for the programme is nature, and especially the Latvian countryside. This is apparently the first in a series from these artists and the Skani label, each of which will have a theme. Conductor Guntis Kuzma, in his preface to the booklet notes, says that Latvian music has “fewer modernist elements”, which is a definite plus for me.
Of the nine composers, four were completely new names to me, and of the other five, Ēriks Ešenvalds and Jānis Ivanovs are the best known. For me, however, the name that stood out, and the initial reason for purchase, was that of Georgs Pelēcis, whose mini-concerto for violin and vibraphone provides the title track. More on him later, as I will comment on each work in the order they appear.
I had not heard any music by Ādolfs Skulte previously, though I did recognise the name, presumably from reviews of two of his symphonies, published on this site a few years ago (review). This Overture was written in his late seventies, not that you could tell this from its boisterous high spirits. Had I heard this without knowing what it was, I might have guessed at a filmscore by Korngold, and a very good one at that. I will certainly now seek out the Skani release of those symphonies.
Jānis Ivanovs is regarded as the most significant Latvian composer of symphonies, and there are a number of reviews of those works on the site; here are some examples of releases from the Skani label: review and review. Rainbow is an appropriately dreamy and delicate work, with a dynamic arc which provides a gentle surge in the middle, again entirely apposite given the title. It has a Delian feel to it.
Like Skulte, Alfrēds Kalniņš was a name I recognised without having heard any of his music. This is the earliest composition in the programme, and is recognisably so. It was inspired by a boat trip on the Daugava River, and especially under the high cliffs at Staburags. I heard hints of Tchaikovsky and especially Elgar in the grand maestoso theme that dominates the piece (I have no evidence that Kalniņš knew the music of Elgar). This is a cracking piece that would be an excellent concert opener. Another composer to explore further.
I am a devotee of the music of Georgs Pelēcis – his concerto for violin and piano, inscrutably named Nevertheless, is one of my favourite pieces of music (review). His music is simple and repetitive, almost hypnotic and overflowing with melody, not unlike the more recent works of Philip Glass. Flowering Jasmine is a delicate evocation of the plant in bloom, with the violin and vibraphone solos entwined around one another. Apparently Pelēcis has written a number of works inspired by flowering plants (he lives next door to the Botanic Gardens in Riga); I don’t believe they have been recorded, so I make an appeal to Skani. Flowering Jasmine already has a recording, on Nonesuch with Gidon Kremer, who is a long-time collaborator of Pelēcis. Do I have a preference? Possibly I would plump for the Kremer, which is taken a little quicker, but it may be that it is the version that has imprinted itself in my memory. Certainly, the discmates on this Skani release are more to my taste than those on the Nonesuch. I am happy to have both.
Now to the four composers who were completely new to me. Morning by Jānis Porietis has a very definite Vaughan Williams feeling to it, and that is meant as a compliment, rather than a suggestion of a lack of originality. The keening strings bring the Tallis Fantasia to mind, and there is a small solo part for the violin, imitating the morning chorus of bird song, an obvious resonance with The Lark Ascending. At over eleven minutes, it is probably a little extended, but not to the point where attention wavers.
The connection to the Latvian countryside in the Lyrical Ballad by Jānis Ķepītis comes from its use of a popular folksong about a farmer bemoaning his hard life. It is a melody that has been used frequently by Latvian composers to signify a protest against the various external forces that have ruled in Latvia over the centuries. Obviously for a Latvian, the well-known melody will give the work significant meaning, but this non-Latvian found it a little dull – attention definitely did waver - and is certainly the weakest on the album, though – spoiler alert – the last two are also a little underwhelming.
Ādolfs Ābele’s Meditation bucks the downward trend in the quality of the works towards the end of the album. Despite its title, it is not static, having a rhythmic flow that keeps it moving, and similarly a few surges in volume, to keep the listener’s focus. The booklet notes describe it as “one of the most rousing symphonic pieces by a Latvian composer”. Without knowing too many Latvian orchestral pieces, that seems a little surprising; yes, it is emotionally engaging, but rousing, I don’t think so. Perhaps the original meaning has been slightly distorted in translation.
What connection Illustration in Sepia might have to nature is less than obvious. It begins with a folk tune on the “fiddle”, but evolves into something more modern and menacing. Perhaps it is intended to portray the effect of the Second World War on rural Latvia – as the notes only mention the folk spirit often employed by Engelmanis, as well as his terrible war memories, we are left to make our own minds up. Perhaps that isn’t a bad thing anyway.
Ešenvalds is best known for his choral music, and there are several admiring reviews on MWI; here are some examples: review and review. His Nocturne was inspired by René Magritte’s painting The Empire of Light, which depicts the paradoxical image of a nocturnal landscape beneath a sunlit sky. How one might portray that in music is problematical. There are lots of glissandos in the high strings, tweets from the woodwinds, whistles and whispered words from a poem called Twilight by Sara Teasdale, an American poet (1884-1933). For me, the work relies too much on “gimmicks”, the sections where the orchestra is able to play “normally” are far more effective. Those more attuned to modern music, driven by “sound effects”, may engage much more than I did.
The Liepāja Symphony Orchestra has become a quite well-recorded ensemble, appearing not only on Skani, but also becoming one of Toccata Classics’ regulars, the latter requiring them to become adept at playing a range of totally unfamiliar music. Perhaps there were a few places where the string tone could have been a little more lush, but overall, I had no reservations. The sound quality is good, the delicate textures of Flowering Jasmine are cleanly delineated. The booklet notes provide a good background to each of the composers, but perhaps not as much as I would have liked about the music itself.
Overall, this is a first-rate programme, with sufficient variety in style and character to keep interest throughout. Yes, it fades a little towards the end, but I will be watching keenly for future releases.
David Barker
Contents
Ādolfs SKULTE (1909-2000)
Overture (1987) [6:37]
Jānis IVANOVS (1906-1983)
Rainbow (1939) [9:20]
Alfrēds KALNIŅŠ (1879-1951)
At Staburags (1906) [5:44]
Georgs PELĒCIS (b. 1947)
Flowering Jasmine (2007) [7:18]
Jānis PORIETIS (b. 1953)
Morning (1995) [11:36]
Jānis ĶEPĪTIS (1908-1989)
Lyrical Ballad (1984) [9:00]
Ādolfs ĀBELE (1889-1967)
Meditation (In Solitude) (1924) [9:47]
Agris ENGELMANIS (1936-2011)
Illustration in Sepia (1985) [6:13]
Ēriks EŠENVALDS (b. 1977)
Nocturne (2007) [10:08]
