This disc will come as somewhat of a culture shock
to those who, like myself, have only previously encountered Theodorakis,
Zorba's Dance aside, in his rather overblown Ode to Zeus,
on John Williams' (the film composer) 1996 Olympic disc, nestling alongside
(and completely outshone by!) Michael Torke's glorious Javelin,
and in miniatures championed by the likes of John Williams (the Australian
guitarist) and Sharon Isbin.
In complete contrast, Sadduzäer-Passion
is a complex allegorical work, based ostensibly on the history of the
ancient Jewish sect but written as an elegy to the Greek political left,
in which Theodorakis was heavily involved (and subsequently jailed for)
around the time of the "Colonels’ Coup". It is also sung in German (no
translations included) though based on the words of his friend Michalis
Katsaros.
Anyway, what about the music, you are probably asking.
If it is a masterpiece, and at least two of its seven sections at least
approximate to that description, then it is probably a flawed one, as
is the performance, if only by the nature of it being a live take, pops,
clicks and all (it has been digitally remastered however). One of the
main reservations, and one that would strike the casual or uncommitted
listener immediately, is the (excessively?) forceful delivery of the
speaker whose recitation has unnerving echoes, given the language, of
the Nuremberg rallies (maybe this was what Theodorakis intended, given
the subject matter). Still, the music is, without exception, interesting
and often very moving, and reminds me, variously, of Wagner (unsurprisingly),
Lili Boulanger, Koechlin (Law of the Jungle), Berg, the Ropartz
of St. Nicolas and the Martinů
of The Epic of Gilgamesh (even, in places, of Messiaen
or the recent work of someone like Haukur Tomasson). Despite this the
piece holds together very well as a whole and I am probably doing Theodorakis
a disservice by implying that it is so polystylistic, because it actually
isn't!
The first section, Form meines Ego (Form of
my Ego), is upbeat and fairly light in mood, lulling you into
a sense of false security, quickly dispersed by the almost Bergian angst
of the first part of the second movement Blinde Zeit (Blind Time).
The heart of the piece is, at least to my mind, located in the fifth
and sixth sections (Im Toten Wald and Blonder Jüngling),
where Theodorakis's Greek roots are displayed to their full in some
wonderfully potent, archaic modality (the only direct parallels I can
recollect are in some of the movements of John Foulds' brilliant Hellas
suite and, maybe, in something like Pour les Funérailles d'un
Soldat by the aforementioned Lili Boulanger). The finale starts
off promisingly and, despite a long (overlong?) section with the speaker
to the fore, ends with a remarkably powerful climax, a transfiguration
of the insistent percussive and vocal rhythms of the germinative first
movement into something more sinister, "a warning for the future" as
the highly informative booklet notes would have it.
This score continues to fascinate me and I would recommend
anyone at all interested in twentieth century music to hear it at least
once. The recording is not flawless but the intensity of feeling, conveyed
across 19 years, via CD, from this performance, remains undiminished.
As much as I love the English pastoral and American "outdoor" traditions,
a work like this demands to be heard and, in my case, reheard, irrespective
of its independence from those or any other obvious idioms.
Neil Horner
See
what else is on offer 
Hans-Peter Frank, conductor