Globokar began his musical
                        career as a jazz musician before formal studies in Paris
                        for composition and trombone, working eventually under
                        Luciano Berio’s guidance. Just before he began work on
                        the pieces recorded here, Globokar concluded a 19-year
                        stint as instructor at the School of Music in Florence.
                        He now resides in Paris.
                    
                     
                    
                    This release is quite a wild
                        ride. The first — and largest — work presented here, 
The
                        Angel of History, is to some extent an ekphrastic
                        work, based on the Paul Klee painting titled 
Angelus
                        Novus.
 It is also, as the composer states, “a
                        sound fresco of the time I am living in.” Considering
                        the range of years in which the piece was composed, one
                        can well imagine the overall tone of the piece. This
                        is a large-scale, ambitious work, for two ensembles of
                        considerable force, each with a conductor. In addition,
                        the score calls for pre-recorded tape feeds of folk music,
                        live “electronic alienation” of the second orchestra,
                        and two samplers. The first half-hour long section depicts
                        a musical descent into a sort of police state, with the
                        first orchestra, as the composer mentions, implying “a
                        democratic system gradually sinking into totalitarianism”.
                        The second orchestra, with snippets of folk music from
                        the former Yugoslavian regions on pre-recorded tape,
                        portrays “a specific power shaken by nationalist tendencies”.
                        Heavy stuff, indeed.
                     
                    
Most chilling is the second
                        part of the piece, intended to portray “a police state
                        ending in anarchy”. The movement begins with faint shufflings
                        and ghostly harmonics on strings. It crackles with fear
                        and paranoia, crashes, footfalls in darkness, and an
                        eerie aftermath, with the music of the orchestra dissolving
                        in static, as if from a public-address system left on,
                        with no-one left to man the microphone or to hear the
                        broadcast.
                     
                    
The final movement, entitled 
Hoffnung [Hope],
                        shows the conflict still unresolved, with a gradual awakening
                        from the rain-like static, but with, as the composer
                        mentions, “positive and negative” aspects of the ensembles
                        in constant superimposition. The movement holds out,
                        as the title suggests, the possibility that the positive
                        might win out, at least temporarily.
                     
                    
So how on earth does this
                        epic work 
sound? As one can imagine, any work
                        that takes on such a context certainly demands a great
                        deal from the performers and their audience. At times,
                        the flirtations of the piece with all-out chaos remind
                        this reviewer of George Antheil’s wild 
Ballet Mécanique in
                        its original form, with a barrage of player-pianos, sirens,
                        airplane propeller and piles of percussive hardware.
                        The underlying emotion here is far darker, however, with
                        marching troops and all-out wars, surmounted fleetingly
                        by the folk music of one particular region over another. 
                     
                    
The second work here presented, 
Les
                          Otages (The Hostages), sets an aural landscape,
                          with distant horns, guard-dogs barking, animal noises,
                          and almost subliminal hints at Beethoven. The pairing
                          of this harrowing piece with 
Der Engel der Geschichte does
                          make sense in that they both draw from the same difficult
                          space, even borrow snippets of the same folk recordings. 
Les
                          Otages moves occasionally a bit too close to its
                          material, calling for groans and vocal 
oof!-type
                          interjections toward the middle of the work. 
Les
                          Otages is at its most interesting when it focuses
                          relentlessly on a 
musical portrayal of the atrocities,
                          where it breaks off and allows for real tension to
                          develop, as it does in the onset of the second half
                          of the work. The same high demand is made upon orchestra
                          and listener, which for many will make this release
                          a very arduous two hours of listening indeed. 
                     
                    
Considering the first work’s
                        massive orchestral forces and electronic interventions,
                        it makes sense that this would be released as an SACD,
                        which provides the necessary definition, not only giving
                        a better sense of the two groups, but also placing the
                        listener in the centre of the maelstrom.
                     
                    
This is not, at least for
                        this reviewer, something to listen to every day, but
                        it is an intriguing — and occasionally quite harrowing — release
                        in Col Legno’s groundbreaking series of contemporary
                        works. 
                    
 
                    David Blomenberg
                    
                    see also review by Dominy Clements