As the booklet note to this release correctly point out, numerous
composers played the viola as their chosen instrument. As well
as being an under-rated and somewhat under-used member of the
string family, the viola is often a ‘listening’ instrument, placed
between violins and cello in a quartet; the middle voice in orchestral
strings, supporting and harmonising, but rarely shining as a true
melodic voice.
Brett Dean was a
member of the Berlin Philharmonic orchestra from 1985 to 1999,
so will have done an incredible amount of ‘listening’ in his
time. This shows in the remarkable Viola Concerto, which
not only provides a vehicle for the composer’s own playing,
but is something of a ‘concerto for orchestra’ such are the
variety of its colours and textures. A brief opening Fragment
sets the mood, its descending lines holding up a mirror
to the final moments of the last piece on this disc. This serene
mood is set in flight by the subsequent Pursuit. Brett
dean describes this movement as “music of jagged virtuosity
and rhythmic edginess, the kind of hybrid that might have arisen
if Paul Hindemith had played in a band with Tom Waits...” The
tumbling intensity of the events in this substantial movement
demand and reward repeated listening. There is something of
the insistent restlessness in the music which reminds me of
Berio’s Entrata, although Dean’s brushstrokes are at
the same time broader and his gestures fare more extrovert.
The third and final movement is labelled Veiled and Mysterious,
and is indeed begins full of secretive and moody col legno
tapping in the strings, and slow-motion rises and falls among
the winds. Much of the opening music oscillates around a single
note, a musette which fragments and develops into something
akin to the music in the Pursuit, at least in terms of
its gritty intensity if not its headlong pace. The music later
calms, to my ears becoming reminiscent of Alban Berg in its
late romantic character.
Twelve Angry
Men is an apt title for the uncompromising opening of the
next piece, written for and premiered by the cello section of
the Berlin Philharmonic in 1997. The allusion to the 1957 Henry
Fonda film of the same name is deliberate, and this extra-musical
reference invites the listener to interpret the voices as those
of dissent, and ultimate uneasy agreement. This ‘vocalise’ sometimes
manifests itself as gruff grumbling and even quite serene melodic
banter, but Dean uses the entire range of the instruments, pushing
the timbre into high registers as well as what might be considered
a natural range for male voices. This is however a piece which
is higher in drama than it is in any kind of melodic expressiveness,
and none the less impressive for that.
Intimate Decisions
is from a year earlier than Twelve Angry Men, and
during a period that saw the composer finding his feet as a
composer. Named after a painting by his wife Heather Betts,
the title chimes in with the process of writing for a solo instrument,
which was “like writing a personal letter or having an intense
discussion with a close friend.” Like many good pieces for solo
string instruments, you often have the feeling that there is
more than one instrument or player at work, and so the sense
of inner dialogue is quite convincing. As you might imagine,
the virtuoso bravura of the playing matches that of the writing
in this piece, and the work comes across not so much as a tour
de force as a major world event.
By chance I happen
to have recently read the grim novel ‘Ascent’ by Jed Mercurio,
whose subject is close to that of Brett Dean’s piece Komarov’s
Fall. This commemorates the Soviet cosmonaut Vladimir Mikhailovich
Komarov, who died in 1967 during a Soyuz I mission, and
therefore having the dubious honour of becoming the first person
to die in space. The space ‘feel’ of the music is clear from
the outset, with a sense of vastness and the unearthly high
peeps of space telemetry signals. ‘Eerie, lonely beauty’ is
contrasted with passages of dramatic urgency, reflecting the
agitated exchanges between the ship and the control centre on
the ground. There is also a brief, chillingly lyrical section
which portrays the farewells between Komarov and his wife over
the radio link from the control centre. The final dispersion
is a moving and effective coda, indicative of weightless demise.
Brett Dean’s music
impresses with a vivid imagination and ear for dramatic gesture.
These gestures are no means empty, having the force of highly
skilled orchestration and craftsmanship honed by years of practical
experience. Don’t expect welcoming and singable tunes or foot-tapping
grooviness, but do expect to have your earbuds ticked and tantalised,
stimulated and ransacked for sonic superlatives. This is serious
music but seriously good: and as you should expect and demand,
seriously well performed and recorded.
Dominy Clements
Brett Dean (viola) 
