The music of Harrison Birtwistle can be tough to
‘crack’, and the addition of choral singing is by no means a route
towards a more compromising musical passport to his expressive world.
This superbly performed and produced programme begins with The
Ring Dance of the Nazerene, which takes a gospel story from
the Last Supper, combining the ritual associations of circular dance
with the words of Jesus and his disciples interpreted by long-term
collaborator David Harsent. Drums and stabbing notes from wind
instruments compliment and add spice to the often angular and
confrontational material delivered by the choir. This is about as far
removed from comforting tales of resurrection or transports of ecstasy
as you can get. We are pushed about by the music and made to take
orders from the text: “By the word / I challenged the world. In the
world / I proved the word. To understand what I was / you must hear my
hymn. To know what I shall become / you must live in dreams.”
The Ring Dance of the Nazarene has
terrific impact but would be hard to define as attractive. Its bony
edginess contrasts with the Three Latin Motets,
which use the distance and relative abstraction of the Latin language
and more gentle a capella contours to create a
more timeless atmosphere. John Fallas in his booklet notes suggests
that the style for these pieces is, “if not strictly polyphonic seems
designed to evoke the aura of Renaissance sacred music.” Carmen
Paschale is the earliest composed of these works, including
the addition of a solo flute to point out the Nightingale in the text -
played here with her customary élan by Philippa Davies. The antique
nature of this Easter poem allows for a piece which builds into
something of remarkable intensity, from which we can climb down to the
female voices performing the little Lullaby.
On the Sheer Threshold of the Night is
another work which delves into early texts, in this case a Medieval
lyric which takes us into familiar Birtwistle territory, that of the
myth of Orpheus and Euridice. There is something about this subject
which brings out the best in Birtwistle, and the vocal layers and
chilling atmosphere of this piece - including some remarkable solo
soprano lines - make it one of the more impressive on this CD.
The Moth Requiem is the newest work here,
with an unusual setting of twelve female voices, three harps and alto
flute. The text, from poetry by Robin Blaser, has as its starting point
the strange nocturnal sound of a moth trapped inside a piano, the harps
an ideal vehicle for the unearthly beating and thrumming which would
emerge in such circumstances. A list of the Latin names of moths is
used as a significant chunk of the piece - contrasting directness of
expression with curatorial monumentality.
As mentioned at the start of this review, few of us are likely to take
the experience of this programme as an easy ride, but neither should we
run scared of it. This is the kind of music which demands concentration
and rewards study. Birtwistle doesn’t make music for enjoying while
immersed in a fragrant and steamy bubble-bath, but the substance and
integrity of his language and messages are unmistakable and
significant. With performances and recording as good as this we can be
grateful for his giant presence in today's musical world.
Dominy Clements
And another review ...
Harrison Birtwistle celebrates his eightieth birthday
this year (2014), and fifty years of composing. He has always been
concerned with re-interpreting, re-inventing, re-presenting themes,
tropes and ideas from the past, familiar experiences and concerns.
Others' rituals, memories and solutions colour much of his music in a
very English way. From (Greek) myth to Paganism and pre-Christian
beliefs, Birtwistle invites us to look at the often raw and
hard-to-manage worlds of inner imagination, memory and loss. He
sometimes makes the experience memorable by using familiar genres and
methods, musical styles and references.
This excellent CD from Signum is produced in association with BBC Radio
3; it's encouraging to see the once-great — but now seriously declined
— station doing something original and appropriate for what was once
the Envy of the World. The BBC Singers, Nash Ensemble and soloists
conducted by Nicholas Kok present six choral pieces. While not
necessarily designed and assembled specifically to represent
Birtwistle's work in the area, these could happily serve as an
introduction to it - especially for those more familiar with the
composer's symphonic work. Indeed it could stand for something of a
summation of the composer's achievement so far.
Significantly, Kok has the singers work in close tandem with
instrumentalists. At times the blend of sound, where the vocal overlaps
precisely and intimately with the wind instruments in particular, is
striking. At all times the two groups truly do the intricacies of all
of Birtwistle's music here proud.
The Ring Dance of the Nazarene [tr.1] is the
longest work on this CD, and was written in 2003. It exhibits that
important Birtwistle characteristic, their durchkomponiert nature,
where sound, rhythm, texture and - in this case - words all combine to
make a unified, strong, almost composite impression. The performers,
though, never defeat or confound our ability to connect cleanly with
the music. It remains clear and transparent in every component.
Crescendo, large variations in dynamic, frequent rallentando and
accelerando passages are typical of Birtwistle's sense of drama and
impact on the listener. Here Kok and his forces handle them with great
style.
The Moth Requiem itself [tr.8] is also a
substantial work, at just over 18 minutes. It dates from 2012, and so
is the most recent composition here. It's the most varied, complex and
intricate too. Written for sopranos (12), flute and three harps, it has
many Birtwistlian hallmarks: Robin Blaser wrote a poem in the early
1960s about his discovery of what was making an unusual noise - a moth
trapped in his piano. This evokes in Birtwistle a host of emotions and
resonances. Chief amongst them is a variety of losses: of the many
species of moth nearing extinction, or extinct; of the mystery because
the poet did not know what was causing the phenomenon; of the sound as
the insect had to stop; of some of the symbolism of the moth; loss of
memory when memory is yet also the only way to (re)create the otherwise
unseen and unexperienced. Then there’s loss of the past in general. The
singing employs hocket-like techniques at various points, reminiscent
of Machaut and his contemporaries.
If this is in some ways typical of Birtwistle's best and latest
thinking about words and music, we are in good hands. If the levels of
engagement and interpretative insight available on this CD from the BBC
Singers and instrumental soloists too, we are fortunate indeed.
On the Sheer Threshold of Night [tr.7] was
written in 1980 and is a work full of contrasts too; chiefly of
dynamic. The choir is divided throughout, four each of sopranos, altos,
tenors and bases to tell the Orpheus myth — which has long fascinated
Birtwistle — in the version by Boethius. The work is highly dramatic
with its crucial peripeteia (turning point). The style of choral
singing which Kok elicits from the BBC Singers in all the works on this
CD is perhaps at its most expressive in this piece. It's a practised,
unified, yet well-conceived style of singing which suggests vividly
that there is a multiplicity of depths and breadths to Birtwistle's
subject matter - even in the theme of Orpheus. The experience of the
Singers means that we are never 'hammered'; nor do we feel undue
pressure to respond in any one way as opposed to another. Quite an
achievement.
Carmen Paschale [tr.5] is the earliest work, dating from 1965; it's
more declamatory in style than the other pieces on this CD. It is
redolent of the oratory of Easter and alludes to the season by using
bird-like sound effects, and the flute which Birtwistle originally
intended. The choir sings in unison for the most part, adding to the
strength of the religious conviction to which the composer so typically
alludes without necessarily endorsing it explicitly. Carmen Paschale
also contrasts directly with Lullaby [tr.6], from 2006, the shortest
piece here. Lullaby is gentle and reminds us, perhaps, of analogous
pieces written by contemporary, Peter Maxwell Davies. Its brevity and
sense of peace are entirely appropriate for the genre.
The Three Latin Motets, for chorus from the opera The
Last Supper [trs. 2-4] are perhaps the most compact of the
works here. Dating from 1999, they compress huge ranges of emotion and
insight into brief, almost miniature (Webern-like) movements of around
three minutes each. Unlike Webern, though, they are far from seeming
fragmentary. More sustained ideas act not so much as contrasts with the
insistent and slowly progressing impetus that characterises much of
Birtwistle's music of this time. Rather, they support and reinforce the
way he has chosen to have text and music work together.
The singing of the choir is impeccable from first to last. Its singers
strike a tone that presents Birtwistle's work with respect. They offer
an appreciation that commends his music to us as established and of
great achievement - yet without metaphorically 'shouting', without
feeling a need to advocate it.
The recordings were made over the winter of 2012/13 at the BBC's Maida
Vale studios. This acoustic is lively and responsive to the many blends
of voice and ensemble which Birtwistle needs and builds. The booklet
that comes with the single almost an hour-and-a-quarter long CD
contains just the right amount of description of Birtwistle's composing
life and priorities. These pieces are placed in context and background
given on the performers and full texts are provided. If you're an
enthusiast for this, one of the most important living British
composers, you cannot afford to miss this CD; these pieces here enjoy
only available recordings anyway. They are performed with great
trenchancy and empathy with the idiom. As an introduction to this
varied corner of the equally varied work of Birtwistle, the CD also
makes a welcome addition.
Mark Sealey
