"New" Music Log

[Brian]

Of course one of Latvia's leading composers, turning 67 this year, is *checks notes* a populist whose music is heavily inspired by Argentine tango? Half of this album of orchestral works by Arturs Maskats is given over to Piazzolla riffs. First the 11-minute "Tango," featuring a short accordion solo, and aside from some contemporary flash in the orchestration, it is a pretty straightforward imitation tango. He says that he wrote it to do for tango what Ravel did for La Valse, in which case he failed, but it's fun.

The 20-minute Accordion Concerto is similar, although it is broken up into four short movements and the second one has a wild climax where the strings are divided into individual soloists and they breed chaos, a la Penderecki. Still, it's not long before the brass enters with a Latin tango-type theme to subdue them back into shape. The accordion soloist often alternates passages of her own bustling solo with quiet percussion-only orchestral interludes. The third movement is a slow "Blues" (again, more Argentinian than American). This leads directly into a cadenza, then a perky finale that finally breaks free of South America to a more general, somewhat chaotic expression of joy. It's the best part. There's an unexpected quiet ending.

"Cantus diatonicus" is a 7-minute piece Maskats wrote as a student, with prominent solos for oboe (as main melodist) and celesta (as main accompanist, color provider, and folk-tune-quoter). The atmosphere is that of waking up or sunrise, with a childlike sweetness/innocence creeping into the musical language in the second half. When dissonance briefly appears, it sounds almost accidental.

The album ends with a 16-minute tone poem representing the poetry of Emily Dickinson. Called "My River Runs to Thee," it's also a monument to Maskats' biggest contribution to the musical world. In the early 2000s, he ran the Latvian National Opera and (according to the booklet) recognized the possible conducting talent of one of the orchestra's trumpet players. That trumpet player, Andris Nelsons, went on to commission this work from his old boss for performances in both of Nelsons' workplaces, Boston and Leipzig.

The piece starts off in what's becoming a familiar Maskats mood: quiet, with lots of softly clopping percussion. From here, a slow, romantic string melody builds to a climax and subsides back into more soft bell chiming and tinkling. I thought maybe the piece was ending, but that was just minute 4 out of 16. A spookier section begins around 7', with dissonant, clashing tones from the piccolo and violins that sound a little Ligetian. Maybe it's a reference to "Because I could not stop for death..."? Now there is a sort of slow development section, as the romantic violin melody and the more dissonant elements prepare for showdown. You'll never guess who wins. Overall, I found the piece a mixture of Vasks-style dualism/conflict and Hollywood schmaltz.

All told, the album adds up to just 53 minutes. The booklet is very little help explaining why this composer is so obsessed with tango. It does make clear, however, that he is a Latvian audience favorite because his music is so easy-listening, so approachable, and so forthright in its emotions. This album is, very rarely for a contemporary music CD, something for Florestan to listen to in a lighthearted mood. For me it is a little too sweet, but there are occasions when even a grump like me needs a little musical sugar. Maybe I'll listen again, maybe.

[Todd]

Back in 2017, I discovered the pianist Marie-Luise Hinrichs.  I picked up a pair of Soler discs from her and was mightily impressed.  I later picked up her recording Vocation, consisting mostly of recordings of her own transcriptions of music by Saint Hildegard von Bingen.  It was my purchase of 2017 and remains one of my purchases of the century.  I'm not exactly sure how, but this 2023 release Visions, which is essentially a sequel, escaped my attention.  Within thirty minutes of learning of this, I purchased a download. 

Basically, what I wrote in 2017 holds true for this recording.  (See link below.)  To be sure, the novelty is gone, and the first disc is firmly entrenched in my mind, so this disc had less of an impact.  That written, it's basically a beautiful, soulful, spiritual continuation of the first disc.  It is stylistically almost identical.  The only difference is that tempi are slightly swifter overall.  Also, Hinrichs adds one Tchaikovsky piece, two of her own, with the rest given over to Bingen and Gurdjieff.  This time, eight Bingen transcriptions are included out of eighteen tracks, so the mix is different. 

For the quickest summation possible: I adore the first recording; I adore this recording.

Oh, it turns out this is the third such recording.  In 2019, she released Meditationen, which I somehow missed.  It is not downloadable, so I will have to obtain a physical copy.

Original Vocation comments: https://www.good-music-guide.com/community/index.php/topic,26195.msg1049294.html#msg1049294

[Brian]

MacMillan's Symphony No. 4 is an intimidating listen at 40 minutes on a single track, in a single movement. It is primarily slow, with such big architecture that the Qobuz review compares it to Bruckner, although it doesn't sound anything like Bruckner. Parts sound like the musicians are warming up before the lights dim; parts involve a surprising amount of Caribbean steel drum, which I don't think I'd ever heard in classical music before.

The overall emotional feel is contemplative, very Serious, maybe slightly grim in places but mostly a sort of hushed beauty. It sounds like a very early Sunday morning as the birds start to wake up and light creeps in through the bedroom window and the person inside slowly drifts out of sleep to the realization that they need to eat breakfast and go to church. After a fairly loud climax around 15', the cellos (without vibrato) begin to intone almost medieval-sounding religious hymn tunes, with more steel drum decorations. At 24', it's the violas sounding like 1600s viol consorts. It's somewhat painful, after this, to endure a passage where the percussion players must intentionally play out of rhythm with each other.

There follows a passage of great beauty - restrained rather than rapturous, but beauty all the same, and with MacMillan's habitual religious reverence. The ending of the symphony, unexpectedly, is loud and fast, building to a sizeable climax with lots of percussion and a French horn that is Star Wars-ish.

Then we have the half-hour Viola Concerto, written for Lawrence Power. The viola has immediate melodic work to do, and MacMillan's gambit with orchestration generally is to pit the viola against smaller instrumental groups, then have big percussion-heavy climaxes break out while Power is resting. The central movement, especially, has an appealing vision of viola as healing balm and reassurance. The finale offers some of MacMillan's "catchiest" writing, with strong rhythms and a lot of piccolo - think maybe Shostakovich or Arnold. I don't know if it will stick in my memory as strongly as the symphony, but it makes a very good first impression.

[foxandpeng]

MacMillan's Symphony No. 4 is an intimidating listen at 40 minutes on a single track, in a single movement. It is primarily slow, with such big architecture that the Qobuz review compares it to Bruckner, although it doesn't sound anything like Bruckner. Parts sound like the musicians are warming up before the lights dim; parts involve a surprising amount of Caribbean steel drum, which I don't think I'd ever heard in classical music before.

The overall emotional feel is contemplative, very Serious, maybe slightly grim in places but mostly a sort of hushed beauty. It sounds like a very early Sunday morning as the birds start to wake up and light creeps in through the bedroom window and the person inside slowly drifts out of sleep to the realization that they need to eat breakfast and go to church. After a fairly loud climax around 15', the cellos (without vibrato) begin to intone almost medieval-sounding religious hymn tunes, with more steel drum decorations. At 24', it's the violas sounding like 1600s viol consorts. It's somewhat painful, after this, to endure a passage where the percussion players must intentionally play out of rhythm with each other.

There follows a passage of great beauty - restrained rather than rapturous, but beauty all the same, and with MacMillan's habitual religious reverence. The ending of the symphony, unexpectedly, is loud and fast, building to a sizeable climax with lots of percussion and a French horn that is Star Wars-ish.

Then we have the half-hour Viola Concerto, written for Lawrence Power. The viola has immediate melodic work to do, and MacMillan's gambit with orchestration generally is to pit the viola against smaller instrumental groups, then have big percussion-heavy climaxes break out while Power is resting. The central movement, especially, has an appealing vision of viola as healing balm and reassurance. The finale offers some of MacMillan's "catchiest" writing, with strong rhythms and a lot of piccolo - think maybe Shostakovich or Arnold. I don't know if it will stick in my memory as strongly as the symphony, but it makes a very good first impression.

These works are excellent.

[JBS]

Malcolm Arnold used steel drums in his Commonwealth Christmas Overture