Although
barely thirty this year (2006), Stuart McRae already has
a considerable output to his credit. This is the first full
disc devoted to his music.
The
earliest work here Stirling Choruses was
written for the brass section of the BBC Scottish Symphony
Orchestra. In a short introductory note, the composer mentions
that the piece “borrows its modus operandi” from Elliott
Carter’s Third String Quartet, in that there are two instrumental
groups (horns and tuba on one side, and trumpets and trombones
on the other) as well as a solo trumpet, each with their
own separate types of material constantly interwoven and
overlapping in a colourful kaleidoscopic way. Though inspired
by Stirling Castle, the music is neither programmatic not
descriptive, but rather conveys the impression made by the
imposing castle and its surroundings. This powerfully impressive
piece is probably the most straightforward one in this selection,
in spite of its formal and technical complexity, which says
much for McRae’s assured mastery.
The
Proms first performance of the Violin Concerto by Tasmin
Little was well received, and this substantial work has already
been taken up by Christian Tetzlaff who performed it in Edinburgh
in 2002 and who has now recorded it. Though far from easy
from a purely technical point of view, the music is fairly
traditional by contemporary standards. The structure of the
concerto, however, differs from the traditional lay-out,
in that it is in four movements of unequal length, the main
weight of the whole piece and its logical outcome being the
long final movement. The first movement opens tentatively,
the violin stubbornly repeating a few notes before making
several attempts at lyrical outpourings. Some time later,
roles are reversed: repeated notes played by the orchestral
strings and interjections from the soloist who again tries
- and almost succeeds in - singing long lyrical lines. A
sort of dialogue ensues, but orchestra and violin never really
meet; and the global impression of the first movement is
one of instability and ambiguity, the more so when the music
is brought to an abrupt end.
The mostly dark-hued and elegiac
second movement, written in memory of Xenakis who died during
the composition of the concerto, is full of long, eloquent
lines for the soloist, that nevertheless fail to achieve
the lyrical tone that they obviously aim at, by sliding between
and around the intended notes, again leaving a strong impression
of unease. The music builds up to a massively scored, chordal
climax leading into a brief cadenza-like passage, after which
the music dissolves into thin air.
The third movement is
a short, ghost-like Scherzo, mostly for orchestra, in which
the violin darts some tiny incisive fragments in all directions,
almost aimlessly so. In the long slow final movement, the
soloist is – at long last – allowed to be its own lyrical
self and to sing in long lyrical paragraphs, accompanied
at first by distant drum-rolls, later by discreet orchestral
touches: harp, a few woodwind, some light percussion. A more
animated section follows in which the orchestral textures
thicken, punctuated by massive chords, a variant of the chords
heard in the preceding movement. After that, the music becomes
calmer and elegiac again for a last, appeased gesture of
farewell. McRae’s Violin Concerto might at first seem uncertain
as to the direction its music should take; but further hearings
reveal the remarkable inner logic, and one realises that
what may at first seem rather ramshackle is in fact strongly
goal-oriented and thoroughly logical.
Scored
for violin, cello, clarinet, oboe, harp and piano, Motus is
a concerto for small ensemble, in that each instrument also
has some soloistic passage of its own, in which it can develop
its own character and virtuosity. The composer describes
this piece as a procession, in which – I would add – each
instrument briefly delivers its offering. This short piece
is a real tour de force, taxing and demanding on the
players’ part; but successful in purely musical terms.
The
most recent work is also quite impressive. Two Scenes
from the Death of Count Ugolino sets words from Dante’s Inferno,
in which the poet encounters Count Ugolino with his jaws
planted in the back of Archbishop Roger, who was responsible
for his death and that of his sons. The first scene is mostly
narrative and recounts that gruesome vision. In the second
scene Ugolino relates the death of his sons. The music for
the second scene, roughly cast as a varied rondo, moves at
greater speed emphasising the drama suggested by Dante’s
words. Although far from easy, the music’s almost endless
inventiveness and imagination not only brings out the tragic
events in most vivid terms, but also radiates some deeply
felt humanity, and thus achieves the composer’s intention
of bridging “the gap between our horror at the awful depravity
and the deep sympathy we must feel if we are to help those
who suffer because of it”.
For
all its formal and technical complexity, McRae’s music retains
a remarkable expressive strength that never fails to communicate
directly. Though clearly of its time and place, it nevertheless
remains firmly rooted in tradition. In this respect, I might
be tempted to liken it to the music of Mark-Anthony Turnage.
Judging from these pieces McRae is now no longer just a promising
young composer; here is a musician who has things to say
and who knows how to say them best. One of the most striking
characteristics is that the music unfolds logically and is
clearly as to its destination. “If there is one thing that
unites these pieces... it is that they all feel like journeys
of a sort”. I cannot but fully agree with these words by
the composer. I now know that he is a composer whose progress
I will watch with interest.
Hubert Culot
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Loré Lixenberg
(mezzo)b; Christian Tetzlaff (violin)a 
