"In order to go on [after a crisis], one has to break through the wall. For me, this happened through the conjunction of several, often accidental, encounters. One of these, which in retrospect, turned out to be of great importance, was with a short piece from the Gregorian repertoire that I heard quite by chance for a few seconds in a record shop. In it I discovered a world that I didn’t know, a world without harmony, without metre, without timbre, without instrumentation, without anything. At this moment it became clear to me which direction I had to follow, and a long journey began in my unconscious mind.”
These words are from the Estonian composer Arvo Pärt (°1935), one of the most widely sold and performed contemporary composers. In an era when our life is filled with swiping and clicking on apps, his timeless music has ever greater appeal to an increasingly large audience. And yet, initially his music was not well liked. After he finished his studies at the Conservatory of Tallinn, Pärt embarked on the modernist path, with experimental and serial works that ran counter to the Soviet regime of his day. The complexity of the music and the rules laid down by the regime caused the composer an existential crisis. He withdrew, and after nearly ten years of silence – Pärt plunged into the period of Gregorian chant and the polyphonic repertoire – he emerged in the mid ‘70s as if reborn: “The complex and many-faceted only confuses me, and I must search for unity. What is it, this one thing, and how do I find my way to it?”
In this programme, the Flemish Radio choir took a spiritual journey inward. Like a pilgrim who takes to the road to the big questions of life, in search of rest and reflection. The contemplative music of Pärt and some other Baltic and Flemish composers point the way. Each of them found enlightenment in the nature and traditions of their native land, in faith or in love.
Tintinnabuli
Pärt called his new style of composition ‘tintinnabuli’, referring to the little bells that you hear in his music. It is constructed around slow melodic lines that unfold through small steps and triads that circle around that melody: “Tintinnabuli is the rule where the melody and the accompaniment is one. One plus one is one, it is not two. This is the secret of this technique.” Another powerful aspect of his music is the simple melodies, harmonies and structures. They make his compositions easier to understand, accessible and pure. Pärt compares his music to white light that contains every colour: “Only a prism can divide the colours and make them appear; this prism could be the spirit of the listener.”
In his textual treatment as well, Pärt turned back to simplicity. He did so explicitly in the Missa Syllabica, written in 1977. The liturgical text literally forms the guide to the music. As the title suggests, each syllable from the mass text coincides with a single note. In addition, Pärt also based the pitch on the length of the words, and the rhythms are also derived from the structure and punctuation of the text. He strove thereby for an objective approach: "I set out to encode each word, paying special attention for instance to make sure that each ending syllable resolves to the tonic. […] I counted the number of syllables, commas, points and accentuations. Sometimes a strong bond with the meaning of the word might unconsciously evolve, but basically, it is not determinative. I try to keep a certain distance from the text, and ideally, I imagine a completely objective psalmody, which is heard in church and emerges from a single sound. In this way, the sound would be like a universal language."
Over the years, Pärt developed a freer use of his tintinnabuli technique, such as in his Nunc Dimittis of 2011. Here, too, he based his work on a religious text, in this case taken from the Gospel according to Luke: “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word.”
There’s music along the river
For most of his vocal works, Pärt drew upon Biblical texts. But not for Es sang vor langen Jahren, a motet for alto, violin and viola. In 1984, the German musicologist and radio producer Diether de la Motte asked ten composers to set the poem ‘Der Spinnerin Nachtlied’ (The Nightsong of the Spinner) by Clemens Brentano (1778-1842) to music. In his version, Pärt expressed the lover’s longing for his beloved in a yearning, swaying melody. The same year, he also composed Ein Wallfahrtslied / Pilgrims’ Song, in memory of the late film director Grigory Kromanov. At the centre of the work is the paradox between our transitory existence on earth and the timelessness of eternal life. Pärt expresses these two dimensions in the contrast between the dynamic string part – built around a descending, chromatic line – and the static vocal line that is reduced to a single note.
Rudi Tas also looked back nostalgically, in his Atmospheres, at love and the fragility of life. He based his choral work on the poem ‘Strings in the earth and air’ by James Joyce: “The poem begins with a melancholy depiction of love, with a shy, introverted young man standing by a river. At once, you hear a contrast between two principles. First, the ideal of the unlimited economy of music, the conviction that music can and must be everything. The second is an environmental principle, reflecting on the finitude of life. The willow trees in the text are a traditional symbol of death; this is expressed through emptiness and emotion in the second stanza. The line ‘For Love wanders there [along the river]’ expresses the image of solitary love. The contrast between nature and music translates into colour motifs such as ‘pale’ flowers and ‘dark’ leaves, that coincide with the harmony of the music or the differences in vocal and instrumental colours. The third stanza is, in turn, a projection of the poetic image of harmony on earth.”
Folk traditions and vast landscapes
As is the case for Pärt, so Christian faith played an important role in the work of Cyrillus Kreek (1889-1962). This Estonian composer also had a particular love for the folk music of his country. Armed with a phonograph, he set out in 1911 to collect countless folk melodies and hymns. He put together a catalogue of some 1300 compositions, of which he worked several into a choral arrangement. Between 1914 and 1944, he worked on his most important opus, Taaveti Laulud or Psalms of David, which brought together his deep faith and his love for folk music. Kreek notably combined a static homophonic writing style – referring to the East European religious choral tradition – with folk melodies. In the texts as well, he explicitly opted to use the Estonian language.
Kreek’s music, which emphasises simplicity and the natural quality of the human voice, has influenced many Estonian composers, including Tõnu Kõrvits (1969). Veljo Tormis (1930-2017), a contemporary of Pärt’s, was one of Kõrvits’ great models. Peegeldused Tasasest Maast or Reflections from a Plainland was written as an homage to Tormis: it is a fantasy on one of his choral songs. In this sober composition, the cello weaves the sustained vowels in the choir into a warm tapestry of sound with subtle harmonic colours. It is a journey against the landscape of the plains, where occasionally a touching folk melody can be heard.
The Latvian composer Ēriks Ešenvalds (Riga, °1977) is one of the young generation of composers who have infused new life into the long-standing choral tradition of the Baltic States. His work has earned him numerous awards – he received the Latvian Great Music Prize three times – and has been performed around the world, from the Netherlands to Canada. Ešenvalds himself sang for many years as a tenor in the Latvia State Choir, and therefore understands better than anyone what it means to write for a choir. In his In Paradisum – traditionally a part of the Requiem Mass that is sung when the deceased is carried out – the choir plays the role of an accompaniment. It is the strings who take the foreground: their soft tremolos depict the flapping wings of the angels who lead the person to paradise.
Commentary by Aurélie Walschaert
