Lawrence Power viola
Genevieve Lacey recorders
Tapiola Sinfonietta
Olari Elts conductor
Illuminatio for viola and orchestra (2008)
Whistles and Whispers from Uluru
for recorders and strings (2007)
Symphony No 8 (2010)
Recorded 2016/2017 in Tapiola Hall, Finland
Ondine ODE 1303-2 released in Febr. 2018
(---) In Tüür’s symphony the process seems to be more cellular and Beethovenian; the cells retain their exact form, pretty much. But the impetus almost always comes from below. We hear ‘moving’ pedal notes in the symphony that project upwards through the orchestra, sometimes stepping up through four evenly spaced intervals prompting block-chord shifts above – a Tüür hallmark that also features in the viola concerto Illuminatio written two years earlier.
(---) Lawrence Power’s strength of tone also underlines how this middle-ground solo instrument prompts the composer to counter his fondness for low, clustered sounds with dazzling, tight constellations of high trumpets, woodwinds and strings. As an Estonian counterpart to the violin concerto Distant Light by the Latvian Pēteris Vasks, in which light appears at a distance (clue in the name), this Estonian concerto is fascinating for its apparent journey towards a light source that eventually washes out the sound altogether. The little concerto for recorder and orchestra Whistles and Whispers from Uluru (2007) plots a course from high to low and back (via every type of recorder) and plays at combining two different but interdependent speeds – now there’s a Sibelian gesture. It’s excellently played by its dedicatee Genevieve Lacey, but on this rather mixed bag of a release it’s Illuminatio you have to hear.
Andrew Mellor Gramophone
Auf dem Weg zum Klassiker
Die musikalischen Landschaften, die Erkki-Sven Tüür imaginiert, sind stets eine Entdeckung wert.
Man mag es bei einem Blick auf die Playlist dieser Platte aus dem Hause Ondine kaum glauben, aber hier ist mit dem estischen Komponisten Erkki-Sven Tüür ein ehemaliges Mitglied einer progressiven Rockgruppe mit dem vieldeutigen Namen In Spe am Werk. Ein gutes Argument, um etwas auf den Punkt zu bringen, was der im letzten Sommer verstorbene Literaturtheoretiker Peter Bürger mit viel Süffisanz festgestellt hat: Die Avantgarde hält sich mehr für die Avantgarde als es zu sein. Erkki-Sven Tüür auf die Seite einer Avantgarde zu schieben, ist schlicht falsch. Dennoch hat seine Musik nicht nur ein hohes Innovationspotential, sondern weist sich schon heute mit dem Potential zum Klassiker aus. Seine Kompositionen zeichnen sich durch einen Reichtum aus, der keine kuriosen Titel oder Programme braucht, die lange Zeit auf wundersame Weise einen guten Ruf genossen. Aber auch die Rede von absoluter Musik wäre unpassend.
Die vorliegende Platte bringt drei Schöpfungen von Erkki-Sven Tüür aus dem ersten Jahrzehnt unseres Jahrhunderts zu Gehör, die von Lawrence Power, Genevieve Lacey, der Tapiola Sinfonietta unter der künstlerischen Leitung von Olari Elts musiziert werden. Man spürt im Falle des Orchesters, das auch Espo City Orchestra genannt wird, dass es sich zu einem Schwerpunkt seiner Tätigkeit gemacht hat, sich mit Neuer Musik auseinanderzusetzen. Es ist das zu spüren, was viele andere Gruppierungen vermissen lassen: die Kombination von Experimentierfreude und Spiellust, die hier dokumentiert ist. Das ist auch Olari Elts zu danken, der durch die Feingliedrigkeit seiner farbenreichen Interpretation den Raum dafür schafft.
Zwei Instrumentalkonzerte gehen auf dieser Einspielung dem heimlichen Höhepunkt voraus: nämlich der Achten Sinfonie des Komponisten aus dem Jahr 2010. Bei allen drei Stücken wird deutlich, dass wir hier bereits auf etwas zurückblicken, denn wie man an 'Sow the wind...' für Orchester aus dem Jahr 2015 hört, hat sich das vektorale Komponieren, wie es Tüür seit 2003 sich zu eigen gemacht hat, längst weiterentwickelt. Und doch sein 'Illuminatio' für Viola und Orchester (2008) wie auch 'Whistles and Whispers from Uluru für recorders and string orchestra' (2007) sind gute Beispiele dafür, was vektorales Komponieren bedeuten kann. Tüürs Vektoren stellen Grundfiguren dar, an denen es aber weder interessant ist, sie herauszufiltern noch sich auf sie zu kaprizieren. Auf sie bauen die Kompositionen auf, indem sie sich in ihnen aufheben.
So ist die zunächst düstere 'Illuminatio' ein wahres Farbenspiel für Solo-Viola und Orchester (ergreifend-virtuos von Lawrence Power dargeboten), wohingegen 'Whistles and Whispers from Uluru' einen klugen Umgang mit verschiedenen Flöten und Elektronik beweist (schlicht berückend: Genevieve Lacey). Vor allen Dingen setzt Tüür Elektronik nicht nur um ihrer selbst Willen ein, sondern ähnlich klug wie z.B. Pierre Boulez in 'Dialogue de l'ombre double'.
Was macht nun schließlich die Achte Sinfonie zu einem Höhepunkt? Die Antwort ist simpel: Ihre Simplizität in mehrerlei Hinsicht. Die dreisätzige Sinfonie für Kammerorchester, die ohne Unterbrechung gespielt wird, stellt nichts dar und dennoch spitzt sie ein uraltes Thema des Musikgeschichte zu: die Dialektik von Kontinuität und dauerhaftem organischen Entwickeln. Eine Einladung für eine Entdeckungsreise: Zugreifen, unbedingt!
Simon Haasis 24. 04. 2018 magazin.klassik.com
Returning to one of my occasional themes, there have been some interesting releases of Estonian music in the last few months. In February, i wrote about the Ninth Symphony by one of the country’s most dynamic composers, Erkki-Sven Tüür, so it’s nice timing that the Ondine label has brought out a disc featuring his Symphony No. 8, performed by the Tapiola Sinfonietta conducted by Olari Elts. The disc also features two slightly older, large-scale pieces, Tüür’s 2008 viola concerto Illuminatio and Whistle and Whispers from Uluru, a work for recorder and string orchestra composed in 2007. One of the primary traits of Tüür’s music is energy, and large amounts of it, though the works on this disc demonstrate (as does the Ninth Symphony) that the way this energy is wielded is not only with devil-may-care abandon – though Tüür is hardly afraid of doing this – but just as often with considerable caution and care. Illuminatio, featuring soloist Lawrence Power, is a case in point, placing the viola within a context that encompasses both the monumental and the fantastical, guided by the soloist’s veering between momentum and lyricism. Particularly striking are its second and third movements; the former charting a complex journey between two poles but where the poles themselves are never fully revealed, the latter starting with the viola rhapsodising but somehow ending up in a barrage of orchestrated machine gun fire. The work’s final thrust towards a place of ethereal transcendence makes sense in pretty much the same way that dreams make sense. The recorder part in Whistle and Whispers from Uluru (performed here by Genevieve Lacey) isn’t unlike a catalogue of behaviours from a motley collection of exotic birds. The orchestra’s role is, again, primarily contextual, establishing soundscapes and backdrops as well as punctuating and underlining the soloist’s activities. Which really are quite special, Tüür always maintaining the sense of an ongoing line of melodic invention though forever twisting and spiralling around a network of trills, twiddles and a myriad other curlicues, reinforced partway through with electronics – a moment that, depending on your perspective, either detracts from the work’s established tone or transcends it with some unexpected magic.
The highlight of the disc, though, is Tüür’s Symphony No. 8, a three-movement work composed in 2010. Compared to its successor, it’s very much smaller than the Ninth Symphony, in both duration (25 minutes) and instrumentation, due to being commissioned by the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, making it the closest the composer has come to writing a ‘chamber symphony’. That being said, from the outset the work gives the impression that Tüür is trying to boost his relatively modest orchestra, making them sound as large and imposing as possible, taking a scurrying opening idea plus some accompanying Messiaen-like brass retorts and wonderfully compounding them and releasing the pent-up energy via a drum kit. It’s a glorious way to not so much start as practically detonate a symphony. Thereafter, though, the music almost wilfully turns its back on all this, reducing to a network of flowing wind lines that eventually just evaporate, literally bringing the piece to a temporary stop. This chop-and-change approach persists in the remainder of the movement, sometimes getting caught up in counterpoint, other times treading water, as if Tüür were playing with ideas on the fly, trying them out a few times in different configurations. Until, that is, that explosive opening jauntily returns (with just a whiff of Walton) to instigate a percussive pile-up before punching the music’s lights out. It’s such an impressive opening that it’s hard to imagine the much shorter second and third movements can live up to it. For the third, instead of adopting the air of a finale, Tüür instead explores dance-like counterpoint, peppered with florid woodwind runs and figurations, until a tutti shrug triggers a heavyweight progression into an undulating locked groove. The second movement is both the symphony’s and this disc’s high point, thin strands of floating gossamer that slowly become enriched, leading to a gorgeous meditation, so subdued and focused at first that its subsequent expansion feels unnervingly immense. On the strength of this and his more recent Ninth Symphony, i really can’t wait for Tüür to write a Tenth.
Simon Cummings 5against4.com
Erkki-Sven Tüür avancierte in den letzten Jahrzehnten zu einem der bedeutendsten Komponisten Estlands, steht mittlerweile neben Arvo Pärt als bekannteste Zeitgenosse des baltischen Staats da und genießt ähnliche Reputation wie die Järvi-Dynastie. Gründe für diese ansteigende Popularität gibt die Musik genug: Sie ist eigenwillig, unorthodox und wiedererkennbar, zugleich verständlich und auf eine bestimmte Weise eingängig. Innere Geschlossenheit und sinnfällige Form geben dem Hörer Halt, der Komponist bezeichnet seine Vorgehensweise in dieser Hinsicht als „vektorielles“ Komponieren. Klanglich darf es gerne auch etwas abgedreht, „spacig“, sein, ein Gefühl der Schwerelosigkeit stellt sich immer wieder ein. Tüürs Musik bewegt sich im All, hinreißende Klangbilder glühen auf und verglimmen auf der kontinuierlichen Reise durch farbenprächtige Musiklandschaften, der Hörer wird in eine fortwährende Faszination hineingezogen.
Illuminatio, „eine Pilgerreise hin zum ewigen Licht“, wie Tüür es bezeichnet, ist beispielhaft für angesprochene Merkmale dieser Musik, die omnipräsente Bratsche bewegt sich durch die galaktische Vielstimmigkeit hindurch und reflektiert das Erlebte, bis sie schließlich vom Orchester überrannt wird und nur noch in geisterhafter Ferne nachklingt. Whistles and Whispers from Uluru verlangt dem Blockflötisten alle nur erdenklichen Techniken ab, wodurch denn auch einmalige Effekte entstehen – bestechend ist vor allem der plötzliche Didgeridoo-Sound durch paralleles Spielen und Singen. Erweitert wird diese Klanglandschaft durch elektronische Einwürfe, die besonders mit Kopfhörern oder zu echtem Stereoklang fähigen Lautsprechern geradezu überirdisch erscheinen. Die Achte Symphonie wirkt beinahe kammermusikalisch und ist relativ klein besetzt, verdient aber durch Bedeutung und Gehalt ihren würdigen Platz inmitten der bislang neun gezählten Symphonien Tüürs.
Die Tapiola Sinfonietta unter Olari Elts bezaubert mit meditativer Ruhe und Empfänglichkeit für musikalische Phänomene. Die Musiker selbst sind ergriffen von der Musik, können allerdings abstrahieren, sich distanzieren und reflektieren, wodurch eben dieses Gefühl sich auch auf den Hörer überträgt. Unglaubliches leisten die beiden Solisten: Lawrence Power geht phänomenal auf das Orchester ein und reagiert augenblicklich auf dessen musikalische Impulse, bis es an ihm ist, die Führung zu übernehmen, von wo an ihm dann das Orchester folgt. Dies, was ein wahrhafter Solist können sollte, wird von Power eindrucksvoll demonstriert. Genevieve Lacey lässt nichts übrig vom Klischee der Schul-Blockflöte. In die höchsten Höhen schraubt sie sich auf den kleinsten Vertretern ihres Instruments, spielt zeitweise auch zwei Flöten zeitgleich, nichts ist ihr zu schwierig oder komplex. Dabei behält sie virtuose Leichtigkeit und inniges Gefühl, wandelt flexibel zwischen schlichtem Effekt und substanziellem Musizieren.
Oliver Fraenzke. 2018 March www.the-new-listener.de
Ondine are clearly taking up Erkki-Sven Tüür’s cause in a big way – this is their fourth major release of his orchestral music in recent years. In spite of the huge increase in popularity of Baltic (especially Estonian) repertoire, Tüür has relied extensively on the judicious patronage of ECM, but his appeal and influence is clearly broadening. The present disc includes two concertante works and a symphony from the last decade, a period which has seen Tüür move ever further from compositional foundations originally rooted in minimalism and what was once dubbed ‘The New Simplicity’. All three of these works are mightily impressive and amply repay repeated listening; the conductor Olari Elts clearly has the measure of them, and most obviously an ear for how best to draw out the detail of the intriguing colours Tüür manages to extract from both soloists and orchestra.
The viola concerto Illuminatio dates from 2008 and was commissioned by a consortium of five orchestras after an initiative by the Norwegian violist Lars Anders Tomter, although Hyperion stalwart Lawrence Power is the eloquent soloist here. From its truly luminous, spacious opening, it is clear that this piece is goal-directed and purposeful. The viola enters with a sustained major second, whereas harp and tuned percussion interject as if presenting fleeting shafts of light. The tones Power draws from his instrument are predominantly low and rough–textured, but certainly not unattractive; indeed Tüür’s orchestration is ornate and captivating. At times, the Tapiola Sinfonietta creates an enormous sonic backdrop, quite belying its size. The piece convincingly synthesises texture and melody until at a certain point, the latter seems to overwhelm the former. The melodic cells that occur at the outset develop and lengthen as if to emphasise a sense of purposeful exploration.
The form and content of Illuminatio seem to epitomise Tüür’s current approach to composition which he describes as ‘vectorial’ , the idea that the whole work derives from a ‘source-code’ ; its melodic ‘gene’ or DNA. In the great scheme of things, one wonders how technically or inspirationally different this is from Vagn Holmboe’s ‘Metamorphosis’ technique, or even Per Nørgård ’s ‘Infinity Series’; indeed I remember a documentary where Peter Maxwell Davies attempted to describe how he used to derive musical material from ‘vector’ like number grids. It went right over my head. The point here is that the structure, form and content of Illuminatio seems to cohere convincingly into a rewarding listen, regardless of technical nomenclature. Its 24-minute span seems not a moment too long. The interplay between soloist and orchestra is meticulously arranged, the conclusion has a real sense of inevitability about it and, despite its delicacy, a real confidence. It’s oddly moving – this quality has intensified in my experience over repeated listens. It’s always a treat to hear Lawrence Power – he seems particularly convinced by this new work and as a critical listener I can only concur, My abiding impression is that Illuminatio represents a significant addition to the viola and orchestra repertoire.
The evocatively titled Whistles and Whispers from Uluru is on the face of it another concerto, albeit one of significantly shorter duration and involving just the strings of the Tapiola Sinfonietta; these basic facts, however, barely scratch the surface. This is a concerto for recorders plural (that’s five – sopranino, treble, alto, tenor and bass). Sometimes the extraordinary soloist Genevieve Lacey plays more than one at a time, sometimes she sings and plays simultaneously; these orchestral and soloistic resources are extended still further by a substantial part for live electronics. Collectively, these forces contrive to produce a dazzling array of colours and textures. In fact Tüür conceived the work as a kind of sonic bridge linking Northern and Southern hemispheres. He produced the piece at his summer residence on the naturally beautiful Estonian island of Hiiumaa, a place rich in bird life. Given the Australian source of the commission, the sacred Aborigine landmark Uluru resonated in his mind, and this lovely work was the outcome. It nails its colours to the mast at the outset. The sopranino recorder builds phrases built on rapid staccato repeated notes, gestures immediately redolent of birdsong. Quite apart from the use of multiple instruments, Lacey’s part is hugely exacting, involving extended techniques such as multiphonics and glissandi. These combine with the electronics and strings to create an almost endless procession of unusual and sometimes haunting effects. Strange percussive sounds emerge as if from nowhere. At times Lacey combines singing and playing to convincingly evoke the didgeridoo. None of these are empty gestures – indeed the timbral variety resulting from these techniques contributes greatly to the success of what is a short, fascinating, but beautifully proportioned work. I detected reminiscences of earlier works in Tüür’s catalogue, especially the minimalist-nspired Insula Deserta, arguably his best known work and an apposite source given the geophysical connotations of this piece. Whispers and Whistles from Uluru, given its brief duration and seemingly complex performance requirements, could have ended up being tokenistic and diffuse. It is neither. That can only be a tribute to the ingenuity of its composer, the dazzling virtuosity of Genevieve Lacey and not least to the superb conducting of Olari Elts, who weaves the contrasting strands of the entire edifice together seamlessly.
It’s fair to say that his role in this recording of Tüür ’s Symphony No 8, Elts’ conducting is also pivotal. I have followed this composer’s symphonic output with great interest over a quarter of a century, ever since I was deeply impressed by an extract from his Symphony No 2, which appeared on Kriss Rusmanis’s revelatory Radio 3 series ‘A Baltic Triptych’ in the early 1990s. All bar the First and recent Ninth have now been recorded. His recent examples all involve elements additional to the orchestra – No. 4 features a percussion soloist, No. 5 a Big Band, No.6 a part for pre-recorded tape and No 7 a choir. This symphony is purely orchestral and was commissioned by the Scottish Chamber Orchestra. While some of the textures Tüür creates suggest reduced forces, much of the time the casual listener would assume the band here is one of conventional size. It perhaps takes repeated exposure to get to grips with this symphony, but I can report that it is certainly worth the effort. The presence of soloists in the concertante works certainly provides signposts for the listener in navigating them. Their absence here means the symphony requires (and merits) more concentrated attention. It is densely wrought, though cogently argued. Everything stems from the rising ‘knocking’ motif on the marimba which opens the work, and the omnipresence of minor seconds. As the work proceeds, these intervals open out in a wedge-like manner not unlike the later symphonies of Robert Simpson, though Tüür’s more variegated colours and ear for jagged juxtapositions provides a very different, if equally exciting, listening experience. At times in the long first movement there are reminders of the composer’s flirtations with both jazz (as in the Symphony No 5) and rock (he was a founder member of the band In Spe). The percussion writing is the big clue here. The turbulence of the first movement gives way to more exposed chamber textures as the work proceeds. Initially, I found some of the gestures and colours to be reminiscent of those used by Aulis Sallinen in his later symphonies, but greater familiarity with the piece reveals genuine stylistic homogeneity with Tüür’s own previous essays in the form. Indeed, one clear strength of the Symphony No 8 is in the tautness of its argument and its succinctness. The Tapiola Sinfonietta meet its considerable difficulties head-on and Elts’ grasp of its structure is comprehensive.
As ever, the Ondine recording is spacious and detailed and contributes considerably to the spectacular impact of all three works on this terrific disc. Kimmo Korhonen’s notes provide clarity and insight and complement a hugely worthwhile release. Fans of this composer need not hesitate. Newcomers will find much to enjoy.
Richard Hanlon 2018 April www.musicweb-international.com
The Estonian composer Erkki-Sven Tüür is one of those composers whose music is both uncompromisingly modern and above-average accessible. He roughly follows the line of fellow, compatriot symphonist Eduard Tubin (1905-1982) and Finnish “Fauvist” Einojuhani Rautavaara (1928-2016). Tüür is up to eight symphonies by now, which makes him one of the more prolific symphonists of our time. Fortunately he’s also one of the more interesting ones, with a composing-style nearly as heterogeneous as Alfred Schnittke’s. While liberally dipping into jazz and rock as influences, Tüür never falls into the treacherous shallows of “crossover”. Collage–yes; elevator music–no. With his second-most recent symphony, the Seventh (along with the piano concerto), being among my favorite discs in 2014 (ECM), I anticipated this Eighth (2010)–along with the viola concerto (Illuminatio, 2008) and a flute concertino (Whistles and Whispers from Uluru)–all the more.
The viola concerto, instigated by violist Lars Anders Tomter and here performed by the exquisite Lawrence Power, rises from nebulous depths and piles up dissonant planes and lines like ice sheets that are eventually broken up by percussion and the glockenspiel. The action increases in the second movement, where blocks of soloist activity juxtapose with xylophone elements. The third movement sees some vehement hammering and strenuous “violing” as if the concerto struggled to work toward the fourth-movement Finale. That’s where Power’s deeply musical virtuosity gets to shine especially, before being run down by the increasingly powerful orchestra and the concerto eventually ending–quietly, exhaling.
The Eighth symphony may be written for chamber orchestra–the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, to be precise–but neither in length (25 minutes) nor style is it a chamber symphony. The symphony appears as a dark cauldron with hammered strokes bubbling up here and intermittent mini-climaxes there. All until a folksy waltz-in-disguise sneaks in and reminds, distantly, of Shostakovich. Admittedly, not much more seems to be happening than that–although the final apotheosis is most appreciable. The three continuous movements are punctuated with heavy percussion–but if you want that to come through on this recording, you will have to crank your amp to 11.
Whistles and Whispers from Uluru (2007) is the Estonian view of the Australian outback. It’s a flute concertino (Genevieve Lacey playing all the required instruments, which go beyond the extended flute-family all the way to the didgeridoo) with aboriginal color painted on its surface in which much chortling and gurgling goes on. Impressionable, imaginative ears might hear a forest with chilled nocturnal birds or whistling desert-fowl. Amid this, the once-upon-a-time prog-rocker Tüür doesn’t shy away from using a drum kit to enliven the texture. It’s all colorful and atmospheric stuff and then it gurgles once more and it’s all over. This nominally least-weighty piece on the disc turns out to be a bit of a show-stealer. (---)
Jens Laurson
https://www.classicstoday.com/review/erkki-sven-tuurs-whistling-desert-fowl/