Juris KARLSONS (b 1948)
Oremus…… (2018) [7:42]
Adoratio – Symphony for choir and orchestra (2010) [33:30]
Le lagrime dell’anima…. for choir and piano (2013) [12:33]
Ora pro nobis (2019) [7:21]
Vestards Šimkus (piano)
Sinfonietta Riga
Latvian Radio Choir/Sigvards Kļava
rec. 2014-19, St John’s Church, Riga, Latvia
Texts and translations included
ONDINE ODE1342-2 [61:30]
The crack Latvian Radio Choir continue their fine run of releases on Ondine with this appealing disc of music by Juris Karlsons, a Latvian contemporary of Pēteris Vasks and the late Pēteris Plakidis, representatives of the generation preceding Rihards Dubra, Andrejs Selickis and Ēriks Ešenvalds, five names which by now may be well known either to ‘Balticophiles’ or to lovers of accessible, modern choral (or in the case of Plakidis, instrumental) music. Karlsons is arguably less well known in the UK than these other figures, but repertoire of this quality gets picked up in time and a high profile release such as this will do his standing no harm at all. Latvia is renowned as the land of singing and song, and given that this velvet-toned group have also recorded the likes of Arvo Pärt and Toivo Tulev from Estonia as well as other Baltic figures one is eventually bound to ask: is there a particular fingerprint in Latvian vocal music that distinguishes it from the repertoire produced by its close neighbours? I raise the question out of frustration at what I perceive to be a tendency by critics in this country to lump together ‘the Baltic countries’. For example I detect a greater sense of the open air in Latvian repertoire, and wonder if this has something to do with the huge choir festivals unique to Latvia, the precision of the singing which is consequently required; and the tiny details characteristic of the part-writing of Vasks, Ešenvalds and Karlsons. On the strength of the LRC’s recent disc of Selickis (ODE 1327-2) he is more of an ‘outlier’ whose style seems more influenced by monody, chant and Russian austerity. Either way, the Latvian Radio Choir never seem to disappoint; one always comes out of any experience of their singing cleansed and refreshed, and the new disc is no exception.
More than half the duration of the disc is devoted to Karlsons’ biggish choral symphony Adoratio, first performed in 2010 and here benefitting from the luminous (and vividly recorded) accompaniment of the LRC’s regular collaborators Sinfonietta Riga. Karlsons has adapted sacred texts drawn from litany prayers (Kyrie, Agnus Dei), the Second Book of Chronicles and Psalm 22 to create an extended work of four sections (played without a break) which addresses the mistaken routes taken by man in seeking God’s help, and the solutions which are ultimately found within man himself.
The haunting purity of Karlson’s deft and lightly-worn orchestration is prominent throughout. The predominant sounds of the opening are those of tuned glasses, blended expertly with spare fragments of string melody, low flutes and a plaintive cor anglais. Karlsons creates shifting clouds of refined choral and orchestral sound which are contemplative, spring fresh rather than formulaic. The bell at the outset of the long second section augurs more reflective music of a decidedly melancholic strain. The deep bass voice that intones the Kyrie draws responses from the choir which gently increase in intensity and complexity and seem somehow at odds with the instruments. The Agnus Dei is introduced by a lovely four-note figure which hovers dreamily above the vibraphone; when the repose is shattered at the word “Domine!” the music assumes an almost Stravinskian austerity. The spirit of the music continues in this vein towards a rather strident passage which melds into the third section, a tempestuous episode of dramatic, arresting choral outbursts amplified by consuming gong sounds, brassy fanfares and tubular bells. A gentler, more confessional phase builds inexorably, the choral material slows and is reduced to an almost syllabic level before the inevitable crisis, which resolves on the loud, triumphal chords that accompany the first statement of Eleison, which launches the conclusion of the work. This is marked by gentle solo soprano, delicate percussion (the tuned glasses return to decorate the texture) while the strings contribute to a songful, sustained coda, whose hard-won sense of consolation gives way to the optimism of the magical, ethereal final Amen, with its stratospheric brass and celesta. Adoratio is fulfilling on both spiritual and musical levels. Karlsons’ choral writing is most natural and eschews obvious sentimentality. His instrumental writing, particularly for percussion is often novel but never showy. The work certainly merits the intense advocacy it receives from these committed forces. Ondine’s sound is superbly detailed but simultaneously inhabits a warmly alluring bloom.
The programme is bookended by two seven minute pieces for unaccompanied choir. The text for Oremus is deceptively verbose given the apparent simplicity of Karlsons’ music. In fact the words are drawn from Dei Verbum, the Second Vatican Council’s Dogmatic Constitution, but one would never guess. The syllabic setting at its outset alternates loud with soft, males with females; the music moves along with some urgency, more assertive than reflective. Swooping soprano lines feature in a more static central section before rich harmonic shifts imbue its conclusion with an almost Messiaenic ecstasy, the soprano at 6:54 uncannily evoking the sound of the ondes martenot.
Ora pro nobis which concludes the disc is a recent revision of a work Karlsons originally produced in 2011. There’s a Reich-like attitude to the whispered, syllabic pulsations with which the piece starts. A more contemplative Marian spirit emerges in the chordal paean at the hymn’s core which builds to a rapturous statement of the words Ave Maria. Ora pro nobis is certainly the most immediately communicative of the works on this disc and certainly draws out the energy and colour of this exceptional choir.
But I found Le lagrime dell’anima (Tears of the soul) which precedes it even more affecting. This features a spare and unusual piano accompaniment, and two simple, evocative lines of text which the composer compiled himself. Single piano notes depict teardrops, punctuating extremely static clouds of choral sound. The almost mystical focus the LRC afford each syllable almost forces the listener to reflect on the tiny text. At the 4:51 mark, a central episode marks a broadening of Karlsons’ palette, the piano writing becomes more agitated and improvisatory, the harmonies more fragmented and unfamiliar and a big choral climax at 7:00 peters out into the disembodied sound of isolated female voices. The texture broadens to incorporate the sound of seraphic handbells before the piano droplets return to accompany the voices towards a reflective conclusion. It is unsurprising that Le lagrime dell’anima was nominated for the formal award for best Latvian composition in 2012; the booklet note quotes the citation, part of which reads: “By imparting a divine dimension to the dialogue between piano and choral voices, in which the piano keys sing and the human voices shimmer and glisten, Karlsons has created…..an aesthetically beautiful, spiritually introverted turn towards God in which we hear the tears of the soul”. This absolutely captures the essence of this music.
Sigvards Kļava’s Latvian Radio Choir are always worth hearing, never more so than in the music of their homeland. Few ensembles can match their precision and purity of sound. Above all I feel they stand alone in the authenticity of their soulfulness. That Latvia embodies an ideal in the close-knittedness of its musical community is epitomised by this fine Ondine disc. One final thought; I wonder if the label might be persuaded to record the LRC in the singular music of one Latvian who seems massively under-represented in the listings – his name is Pauls Dambis (b 1936).
Richard Hanlon
