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George
BENJAMIN (b. 1960)
Palimpsests (2002) [19:40]
At First Light (1982) [19:03]
Sudden Time (1993) [14:37]
Olicantus (2002) [4:04]
Ensemble Modern and Ensemble Modern Orchestra/George Benjamin; and
Oliver Knussen (Olicantus)
Rec. live, 6 March 2003, Flagey, Brussels (Palimpsests); 27 July
1995, Mozarteum, Salzburg (At First Light); 28 February 2000 (Sudden
Time) and 17 January 2003 (Olicantus), Alte Oper, Frankfurt
NIMBUS NI5732 [57:26]
I first became acquainted with the music of George Benjamin
through another Nimbus disc, NI5505. Sudden Time features
on that disc too, but it was a vocal piece from 1990 that particularly
struck me, Upon Silence. For mezzo-soprano and ensemble
of viols, and composed for the group Fretwork, this is a remarkable
setting of W. B. Yeats’ poem Long-Legged Fly. The work
achieves what might be thought impossible, setting a near-perfect
text in a totally unexpected and apparently unsuited musical
idiom, whilst not only complementing it, but extending and transforming
it in such a way that the musical setting becomes quite another
work of art, leaving the original poem intact and undisturbed,
available to the reader just as before. Fretwork play wonderfully
– and the disc includes a second performance of the same work
in an adaptation for seven strings – but I was especially in
awe, and am still, at the astonishing, stunning performance
by Susan Bickley.
The rest of that disc is taken up by instrumental and orchestral
music, and it took me much longer to come to terms with these.
Vocal music, in any event, given the presence of text, is probably
easier to appreciate than purely instrumental music, and the
other works certainly revealed their secrets more slowly, and
required more effort on my part. But the effort was more than
justified, as it also was with the present disc. George Benjamin’s
music is exquisite, perfectly fashioned, like jewels, but not
always easy on the ear, and not always easy to fathom.
The earliest work here, At First Light, is written for
an ensemble of fourteen players. Such is the acuity of the composer’s
ear, however, that the listener is amazed at the variety of
colour achieved. The work begins in near-inaudibility, and the
tiny first movement is composed of fragments, scraps of ideas,
long held notes and twitters, that never really blend into anything
tangible. The other movements are longer, the second more dramatic,
the third calm, with fragments of melody and ravishing instrumental
sonorities. But this is music with few audible signposts. Sudden
Time confirms that impression. This is a work for large
orchestra, but there is very little in the way of melodic writing,
little to latch on to, being composed instead of fragments once
again, moments of harmony and ever-changing sonorities. There’s
not much sense of pulse or tempo either, the overall feeling
being of music which is slow, though emphatically not static.
On the other hand there is certainly a sense of progression
– in terms of time – in the last third of the piece, and it
closes with an extended melodic passage for solo violin, though
I think it would take a little while to learn to whistle it.
The ending is very abrupt. The music simply stops.
Palimpsests, of which this is the first recording, opens
with what the notes refer to as “an antique-sounding canzonetta”
played by a choir of clarinets, antique-sounding in the sense
that Berg’s harmonisation of the Bach choral in his Violin
Concerto is antique sounding. This work features rather
more surface drama than the earlier two, with considerably more
louder and faster-moving music and a general feeling that the
writing is more extended, less fragmentary. The ending, uniquely
of the four pieces, is loud. The final work on the disc, Olicantus,
was written as a “surprise fiftieth birthday present for composer-conductor
Oliver Knussen”, though any idea of levity that might be encouraged
by the pun in the title is dashed when one hears this sombre
piece, composed for fifteen players of low-pitched instruments,
anything but celebratory, but of a striking, grave beauty.
Oliver Knussen conducts the short piece dedicated to him, the
composer the others, and it is difficult to imagine how the
performances could be any finer. These musicians are, in short,
perfect advocates for this remarkable repertoire. The recorded
sound is excellent, and although these are live performances
the disc is not marred by applause. The booklet notes, by Stephen
Walsh, are very erudite and deal extensively with what might
be termed the philosophical aspects of the music. As such they
are not much help as a listening guide, but it is difficult
to imagine how any words might be. But don’t be put off. Try
this disc for yourself, with open ears and an open mind.
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