Tüür is the
most prominent Estonian composer after
Pärt and Sumera. He has a sizeable
output to his credit, including three
symphonies, concertos for cello (1996)
and violin (1997), chamber music (including
the Architectonics series),
some choral works (such as the imposing
oratorio Ante Finem Saeculi
and the Requiem) and an
opera Wallenberg first
performed in 2001 in Dortmund. He has
so far been well served with commercial
recordings of his music. With his early
background in rock music, Tüür
developed a generously non-dogmatic
approach to composition. His recent
music, as represented on this disc,
often aims at a synthesis of the various
trends that have influenced his making
as a composer: rock, avant-garde and
Minimalism, to name a few. However,
he has managed to forge a highly personal
musical language, that has little to
do with mere eclecticism. In this respect,
he might be compared to Mark-Anthony
Turnage, with a similar background,
albeit in jazz rather than rock. Both
have patiently and fastidiously developed
a highly personal approach to music
fusing seemingly disparate elements
into one musically coherent whole. This
is often characterised by some fiercely
forward-driving energy as well as by
some disarmingly touching tenderness
or a pinch of humour. Both possess a
remarkable orchestral flair, an almost
endless imagination and an inborn sense
of drama. Another characteristic common
to both composers is the sense of direction
displayed in their music, a quality
so often missing in modern music. Last,
both write in an overtly modern, uncompromising,
but immensely accessible idiom that
cannot but endear them to performers
and audiences.
Like the Second Symphony,
Tüür’s Symphony No.3
is in two movements, but unlike those
of the Second Symphony, its two movements
(Contextus I and II )
are of fairly equal length. The first
movement, Vision of the Second
Symphony lasts a mere six minutes, whereas
the second one, Process plays
for some twenty minutes. Formally and
structurally, though, these symphonies
have little to do with any traditional
symphonic pattern, but nevertheless
possess a logic of their own. The symphonies
by Lepo Sumera that do not adhere to
any traditional symphonic mould either.
Tüür’s music often moves in
gigantic sound-waves, in which basic
material is constantly renewed, sometimes
beyond recognition, which thus enhances
the formal coherence of the pieces.
Incidentally, but importantly, Tüür
was born and often composes on the Baltic
island of Hiiumaa; it is hardly surprising
that the sea is so often present in
his music, as it was in Britten’s. His
music, however, is neither descriptive
nor programmatic; and the works heard
here are clearly abstract pieces of
music, even if one cannot deny their
obviously dramatic content. The opening
bars of the Third Symphony are deceptively
simple: some jazzy pizzicati
on double basses over a soft cymbal
trill. This hesitant start gets more
animated, and in a rapid crescendo gives
way to some nervous orchestral interjections
ending with a massive brass outburst.
Order is temporarily restored by the
drum’s regular beat. The strings attempt
to assert themselves but are interrupted
by the drum’s beat. Another attempt
seems at first more successful, but
is again interrupted, until the strings
finally succeed in being on their own,
stubbornly ignoring the various orchestral
interjections. At long last, the woodwinds
pick up the strings’ dancing phrases;
Tüür’s own view of Pärt’s
tintinabuli style, as it were.
The music gains considerable momentum,
the drum’s beat this time enhancing
the forward drive of the music rather
than trying to stop it. After a powerful
climax, the music tiptoes into silence.
The second movement, too, opens in utter
tranquillity, in a nocturnal mood, dispelled
by a brief but sonorous build-up giving
way to some undulating woodwind gestures
and strings chords. A short-lived climax
leads into a calmer section, primarily
for strings, again with some woodwind
flurries punctuated by brief brass fanfares.
The music slowly builds-up to another
short-lived climax. A last massive orchestral
build-up supported by the drum’s beat
from the first movement quickly dissolves
into silence.
The Cello Concerto
is in one single movement, in which
the soloist is present almost from first
to last, with little respite. The sombre,
often troubled mood of the piece is
emphasised by the almost surreal context
in which the soloist’s part is imbedded.
The music again unfolds in waves, often
characterised by fanciful, dancing melodies,
interrupted – or rather – contradicted
by orchestral interjections. Some melodic
turns of phrase in Tüür’s
music often evoke Martinů’s
capricious melodies, i.e. in spirit
rather than letter. As with much in
Tüür’s output, the Cello Concerto is
an abstract, dramatic work with many
contrasting episodes, either energetic
or almost static, meditative and impassioned.
The Cello Concerto ends quietly.
Lighthouse,
a commission from the Ansbach Bach-Woche,
is a brilliant work for strings appropriately
built on the B-A-C-H motive; but in
Tüür’s own way, in which often
disparate elements are brought into
a musically satisfying synthesis. There
is nothing of the Neo-classical imitation
one might have expected, although Tüür’s
rhythmic devices might be experienced
as updated Bach figurations. He even
indulges in a short fugal passage. That
said, the sound-world of the piece is
entirely Tüür’s own.
Well, yes, I suppose
that my enthusiasm for this composer’s
music is fairly evident. His is a really
distinctive voice. Here is a composer
for whom communication is paramount,
and who is not afraid to use any device
that may suit his aims, although he
always succeeds in avoiding mere eclecticism.
His performers obviously relish each
note of the music and play with commitment
and conviction. Excellent recording
and production.
Hubert Culot
See also
review by Terry Barfoot
David Geringas (cello) 