John MCLACHLAN (b. 1964)
First
Incunabula, for orchestra (2007) [11;04]
Golden Circle, for ensemble and tape (2010) [11:14]
Sparśa for fixed media (2015) [15:02]
Diomedia, for tenor saxophone and recorders (2017) [9:31]
Aurora, for ensemble and tape (2013) [11:11]
Dog Ear, for fixed media (2013) [10:29]
Laurent Estoppey (tenor saxophone); Anne Gillot (treble and contrabass recorders)
National Symphony Orchestra of Ireland/Gavin Maloney
Sond’Ar-te Electric Ensemble/Laurent Cuniot
AIC Evolution Project Ensemble
rec. 2008-18
FARPOINT RECORDINGS FP079 [68:28]
John McLachlan was born in Dublin, a son of the poetess Leland Bardwell (whose distinctive tones feature on the last piece on this disc). He studied at the DIT Conservatory, the Royal Irish Academy of Music and Trinity College in his home city prior to a period of private study with Kevin Volans among others. Whilst the last decade has proved to be a period of continuous success for the younger generation of Irish composers McLachlan seems to be a slightly more senior figure whose art has been comparatively overlooked on this side of the Irish Sea, so this intriguing monograph provides listeners with a belated opportunity to hear a selection of his recent output. I note that a handful of McLachlan’s single works for piano, guitar or organ have turned up on mixed recital discs in the past but the sole reference to him I can trace on MWI is this appreciative review from 2000 of a privately issued promotional release which featured his early Two Lyric Sketches for string quartet.
Incunabula, the title of the orchestral piece which opens proceedings is the Latin word for ‘cradle’ and directly alludes to the printing of books prior to 1501. In his pithy booklet note the composer reveals his aim in this piece was to portray a “new-born energy”, and his fine craftsmanship is evident in its orchestration which displays diamantine sharpness. The belligerent brass, spiralling woodwinds and shimmering percussion which dominate its opening bars certainly ooze confidence. Timpani (from 2:03) suggest an imminent change of pace, but at this point the piece seems to go into reverse before regrouping in the form of a sequence of staccato brass stabs to which winds and percussion respond. A solo viola thread provides a link to a limpid, pastel episode which winds down in the face of a volley of orchestral interjections; the calm mood somehow manages to resurface before the piece appears to end abruptly in medias res. Whilst Mclachlan weaves the disparate elements of Incunabula together pretty skilfully, ultimately I found the piece to be rather dawdling and inconclusive. The NSOI certainly play with great elan and are very well recorded.
In Golden Circle McLachlan boldly seeks to reclaim the term from the dark political and economic implications it carries these days. Scored for flute, clarinet, piano trio and tape Its atmospheric first half literally glows golden; whilst its more gnomic second section is cyclical in structure. Thus the piece’s title is the literal embodiment of its spirit and form. Gentle autumnal chamber textures are illuminated by the eerie bell resonances of the tape part. These instrumental stylings have something of a Webernian flavour, albeit one spiced with gentle microtonal inflections. The composer’s harmonic language here seems markedly different from the orchestral piece, whilst his instrumental gestures increase in astringency as the work proceeds. The second section from 7:00 is marked by descending flurries and interlocking five and six note motifs which quicken and slow, being shared amongst the instruments until a dramatic piano-led chordal sequence ushers in taped sea and wind sounds whose interpolation (in this reading at least) seems rather brusque.
Sparśa is a tape piece whose title is a Sanskrit word which the composer interprets as the precise moment at which sensation becomes perception. In the note McLachlan implies he is referring to an age-old problem which music critics habitually face, namely the convenient practice of comparing new pieces to more familiar ones (presumably to provide their readers with some context) instead of completely unshackling themselves from the confines of subjectivity and experiencing the sounds anew. It’s certainly a novel concept for a fixed media piece and whilst I am seeking desperately in this description to avoid falling into this trap, I have to admit that I’m struggling to find the link between McLachlan’s means and his ends. The sounds during the first half of Sparśa are by turn metallic, scratchy, cavernous, ponderous, semi-formed, immersive, breathy and brittle. The piece seems ambiguous and multi-directional, yet despite abrupt changes of pace and texture it paradoxically hangs together with a degree of inevitability. A low hum at the outset of its second half hints at a more continuous experience, but the elemental interjections which occur intermittently (and vary considerably) thereafter challenge that perception. If all these sounds emanate from the drum samples mentioned in the note (credited to the drummer Gary Raymond) there is some clever manipulation and concealment going on. The effects in the final five minutes of the piece are yet more diffuse and disarming. From 11.20 a continuous high pitched howl floats ominously above a prolonged cymbal timbre until it evaporates to be replaced by bell sounds and shrill metallic shards.
Diomedia is an attractive and unusual work for tenor saxophone and recorders which sounds especially effective in the performance recorded here in the cavernous acoustic of the French Church in Bern. It takes as its starting point the interactional synchrony involved in the mating behaviour of the albatross (Diomedia Exulans is its Latin name - readers who saw the relevant episode of David Attenborough’s unforgettable TV series The Life of Birds will be familiar with these engaging rituals). Laurent Estoppey’s sax dominates the opening, its effective repetitions evoking the precisely choreographed courtship routine. The sounds of keys being busily depressed provides an apt percussive counterpoint to the proceedings. The contrabass recorder part seems to be implicatory rather than explicit, providing more of a ‘shadow’ for the strutting alpha-male sax. Anne Gillot’s role is thus quietly complementary rather than overtly submissive. The treble instrument only materialises at the end of the piece, suggesting a plaintive ornithological outburst from the female perhaps rather than a contented post-coital cigarette. The pleasing ambience around the instrumental sound certainly matches the spirit of the music. I was most taken by this piece.
Aurora is a collage piece for ensemble and tape conceived during a workshop and performed as part of a recital a few hours later. As McLachlan states, it eschews structural rhetoric if not structure itself – in his view the finished product playfully suggests a kind of dawn chorus. To my ears this Aurora is conveyed by an atmospheric and benign type of free improvisation with intermittently lyrical elements and vivid colours (notably from flute and piano strings), although an excessively resonant acoustic seems to overemphasise some sounds at the expense of others. Whilst some of the contributions from clarinet and cello are melodic and even elegant, in the main Aurora resembles what one might anticipate from a workshop derived piece for this kind of ensemble. The piece seems somewhat unformed and unfiltered despite occasional gestural repetition which might help the listener navigate. The taped birdsong at the end of the piece is lovely but whilst the piece might have convinced the audience on the night in my view a lack of distinctiveness rather compromises its effectiveness.
Dog Ear is another piece for tape. In this case it’s a collage constructed from recordings of the composer’s mother reciting extracts from her own poetry intercut with samples from the composer’s own music (including some of the pieces included on this disc). Conceptually, reading in the note about the very personal nature of this piece and the composer’s own description of the way it was made filled me with little optimism but these expectations proved to be ill-founded. McLachlan’s mother Leland Bardwell was evidently a fine writer; the text of her poem First (which lends its title to this disc – it's reproduced in the booklet) is central to this piece and will touch anyone who’s deeply attached to their pet(s). These words form a key component of what might be considered a potted sonic autobiography. I found it unexpectedly moving. Notwithstanding its somewhat Beckettian aura Dog Ear proves to be surprisingly coherent, although some listeners may feel they are intruding on something that is far more personal than universal. McLachlan describes it as being “almost in the radiophonic tradition”- in my view the ‘almost’ is superfluous. The fusion of instrumental with concrete sound and the telling final line of the title poem coagulate into a gnomic conclusion which is undeniably powerful.
In recording terms the issues I mentioned regarding Aurora are absent elsewhere and the different provenances of performances and locations have little impact on the overall sound quality. On this evidence, whilst John McLachlan has a commendably flexible approach to composition, encountering his work for the first time I can’t help feeling that some of these pieces work better than others and that ultimately his voice is a tad less distinctive than those younger compatriots of his (Ed Bennett, Donnacha Dennehy and Linda Buckley to name but three) whose music I have frequently praised in these pages. Having said that, both Diomedia and Dog Ear are sufficiently interesting to ensure that I’ll certainly seek to hear more of McLachlan’s work when the occasion arises.
Richard Hanlon
Recording details
January 2008 at the National Concert Hall, Dublin, Ireland (Incunabula); September 2011 at Centro Cultural de Belém, Lisbon, Portugal (Golden Circle); May 2018 at the French Church, Bern, Switzerland (Diomedia); January 2014 at The Hugh Lane Gallery, Dublin, Ireland (Aurora). Dog Ear was realised in 2013. Sparśa in 2015.
