Tālivaldis Ķeniņš (1919-2008)
Symphony No 2 “Sinfonia concertante” (1967)
Symphony No 3 (1970)
Symphony No 7 (1980) Symphony in the form of a Passacaglia
Tommaso Pratola (flute), Egils Upatnieks (oboe), Mārtiņš Circenis (clarinet), Zanda Švēde (mezzo-soprano)
Latvian National Symphony Orchestra/Andris Poga
rec. 2021, Great Guild Hall, Riga, Latvia
ONDINE ODE14012 [68]
Sometimes when composers born in one country spends much or most of their lives in another, the ‘other’ country seeks to claim them as theirs. Looking up details about Tālivaldis Ķeniņš, I found that it was often claimed that he was Canadian since, after leaving his native Latvia and spending time studying in Grenoble and Paris, he ended up in Canada where he lived for the rest of his life. However, describing him thus would be like calling Miklós Rozsa American, which is demonstrably incorrect. One expects to hear elements of a composer’s country of origin in their music and, as Rozsa famously opined, you can take him out of Hungary but could never take Hungary out of him. Equally, there is something quintessentially ‘Baltic’ in Ķeniņš’ music and I say this even though in the second symphony there is a specific reference to a lullaby of Canada’s Mi’kmaq First Nations people, a theme he also used the same year the symphony was composed in his Suite in D major for organ. One could put it thus: it’s not what you say, it’s the way you say it. The booklet notes specifically that “at his core he remained a Latvian composer and not a French composer” – nor, I would add, is he a Canadian one. Although Latvia is a tiny country in comparison with Canada, it, too, has, as its Wikipedia entry confirms ‘dense sprawling forests’ and you can hear this in the music.
The entire second movement uses this native Canadian theme as its building blocks. The symphony is in the form of a concertante in which the composer uses flute, oboe and clarinet to highlight themes throughout and employs elements of the baroque era to underpin the fabric of the music. The booklet notes usefully provide the listener with the specific timings as to when the five variations begin, plus the recapitulation of the lullaby and conclusion. This core of the symphony is bookended by first a sprightly, casual theme and a cheeky closing one, both of those movements being of roughly equal lengths. The main ‘ethnic’ theme is introduced almost immediately the second movement opens. It is a very beautiful tune, easily identified, as are the specific variations even without timings.
Ķeniņš’s third symphony was written in 1970 at a time of considerable creativity which included chamber music as well as choral works. The booklet points out that Ķeniņš is characterised in musical circles as being a “contemporary romantic” and a “conservative modernist”. These labels can be useful and certainly those elements can be easily identified and agreed upon. However, looking back at some of my past reviews I noted that in one involving the music of Karol Szymanowski, I recalled his being called “The last romantic.” At the time I first read that description, I wondered what had given anyone cause to call him “the last” and all the music I have listened to since then has confirmed how careful one should be to suggest any form is ‘dead’. There is certainly more in Ķeniņš’ music that can be said to be romantic than could ever be described as ‘modern’ or ‘contemporary’. When I think of such music, two names come readily to mind: Boulez and Birtwistle. Compared to those, Ķeniņš’ music is closer to Schumann - and speaks to me much more than theirs, I have to say. I shall never forget sitting outside at a café in Paris in 1969 and hearing what turned out to be members of the BBC Symphony Orchestra talking to each other. I asked them what they were in Paris to play and one of them said “Bloody Boulez, unfortunately!” - this at a time when he was their Chief Conductor.
The first movement of his third symphony is boldly stated and emphatic; the second builds upon that mood and, despite the odd hint of calm, the symphony as a whole is pretty uncompromising in its material which creates a disturbing picture. The third and final movement is, if anything, even more of a declaration of the composer’s anger against (so the booklet notes have it) the “world bourgeois order”. It is definitely one to get to know better through repeated listenings.
Symphony No 7, composed in 1980 is described in the music section of the Canadian Encyclopedia as “one of the pinnacles of Canadian symphonic music”. With that statement we are back in the realms of a discussion about which country can claim a musician as theirs. Ķeniņš spent half a century in Canada but forever considered himself an exile from his native Latvia and those feelings, which included the fate of his mother and his father’s two transportations to Kazakhstan, are drenched in the music. His father was a poet and statesman, one of the founders of the Republic of Latvia on November 18th, 1918. In that first period when Latvia had just become independent, he served as both Minister of Education and Justice Minister, so it’s not hard to imagine how he would come into conflict with the Soviet authorities once Latvia had been incorporated into the USSR. All these tumultuous events are built into the tapestry of the music and indeed, the final section Aria sets a poem by Ķeniņš’ father Atis, of which two verses are:
“As darker looms the pathway,
And steeper stands the cliff,
More boldly let the heart say:
God’s hand shall shelter me!
Go boldly ‘gainst the midnight,
It is only a gate’
That leads you and your fortunes
To greater heights ever yet!”
With this material it is hardly surprising that this symphony is considered his most personal and the composer provided this pointer: “The mezzo-soprano solo links the composer more tightly with his family roots, expresses itself in more trusting and optimistic feelings, however, the unease in the harmonies and rhythm likely cannot hide the composer’s fears about our era. The concluding epilogue is like an Agnus Dei, and the developed passacaglia symbolises the course of our inevitable fate. The finale should express hope and faith, which stands over life’s troubles, soothing our darkest predictions and suppressing our fears.” It is understandable that the booklet writer, Orests Silabriedis, expresses the desire to see this symphony elevated to the same status as Ķeniņš’ sixth, which the composer himself considered his best. I haven’t yet heard that but the seventh is certainly a valid contender for being regarded with the highest praise, as it is a powerful personal statement that is both moving and musically satisfying.
Praise is due to all those who have brought these three symphonies to our attention on this disc. Although these are not premičre recordings, it would be hard to imagine any delivered with greater commitment or passion than here. The soloists in the second symphony are exemplary, giving beautifully measured performances. The Latvian National Symphony Orchestra play as if the music is in their blood as, no doubt, it is and Andris Poga controls them in such a way as to bring out the both the best in them and in the music itself. Mezzo-soprano Zanda Švēde has a truly wonderful voice which reflects the pathos and the passion in both words and music in a really telling way that leaves the listener with no doubt about the searing emotions they embody.
This is a superb disc of music by a little-known composer who deserves wider recognition, which this release should go a long way towards achieving.
Steve Arloff
Previous review: Hubert Culot
Published: November 21, 2022
