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THE music programme of New Beginnings ended last night -- and what, in
sum, are we to make of it? Unequivocally, it has been by far the most
successful of the East European ventures masterminded in recent years by
director Chris Carrell.
The act, in short, has been got together. Successful here means
enlightening. And enlightening refers not to any personalised ego
nourishment, but to sheer levels of informativeness.
We had not heard, and now we have heard. We did not know, and we now
know perhaps a little. Rather late in the day, at the music forum last
weekend, historical viewpoints were revealed. How much more appropriate,
I felt last Saturday, if Alexander Ivashkin's revelatory explanation of
intellectual and spiritual orientation might have preceded some of the
music performed at the festival.
Still, such is the way of these things. What has been learned? As I
said some weeks ago, take any bunch of composers from any society, and
you will have a mixed bunch. Talents vary, as do the qualities of
individual compositions.
What was striking -- though after Ivashkin's talk, I felt a glimmer of
understanding -- was the seriousness, the earnestness with which Soviet
(specifically Russian) composers appear to be pursuing their new
freedoms.
It's not just that there are no laughs. There are few smiles. And if
an artist cannot look in a mirror and issue even a wry twist of a smile,
then seriousness can become a sombre, inward, and uncommunicative
affair.
It's understandable that, after five decades of repression and
conforming, the freed intellect will react by grappling with issues of
previously proscribed profundity. And perhaps the Russian spirit is
quintessentially earnest. But without humour there is no humanity. The
occasional gut-gesture injects into the cerebral just a little soul.
Maybe the newly-unchained Russian spirit just has to work through this,
like the hyper-intellectual activities that erupted in post-war Europe.
Or, who knows, maybe I'm trying to impose a dyed-in-the-wool Western
psyche on to a radically different culture? Maybe Alexander Ivashkin was
right when he quoted a Russian writer: ''We are the only European nation
seeking for suffering and worrying. In the West they are safe and
healthy, proclaiming the cult of the toothbrush despite the quest for
the latest truth.''
We are what we are. But if I had the opportunity, I would say to the
Russian cerebralists, okay, work through it. But then look to your
roots. Look to your folk heritage. Look to your satellite states who
wear their roots on their sleeves.
This was the most striking aspect of New Beginnings. What came out of
the represented states -- specifically Armenia and Estonia -- was
profoundly impressive. Why? I think perhaps because it acknowledged
overtly a source of inspiration other than the purely intellectual. And
it was not self-conscious about it.
The penultimate concert, by the Paragon Ensemble was, in that sense, a
classic. Two composers, from Armenia and Estonia, represented the core
of the programme, prefaced interestingly by Bill Sweeney's evocative
interpretation of Armenian ritualism.
The secret of the huge public success of these guys' music can be
precisely revealed in a single word. Characterisation. Though Armenian
Stepan Rostomyan's Wind Quintet was by no means a masterpiece, each of
its three movements adopted confidently an identifiable personality,
culminating in the heartfelt and compelling five-part soliloquy that was
its finale.
Likewise with Estonian Lepo Sumera's Play for Wind Instruments. Sumera
has wit and humour (he's a cheeky so-and-so, in fact) and it showed when
he gave each of his five instrumentalists a characterful solo. So where
the flute began demurely it became capricious, the bassoon proceeded
from the mischievous to the lyrical, the horn strutted his macho stuff,
the clarinet chattered shrilly (definitely a woman) and the oboe (ditto)
was slinky and feline. Character, you see.
Rostomyan's Third Symphony -- the great popular success of New
Beginnings -- carried its listeners inexorably from its wonderfully
atmospheric opening, to the voluptuous, Holywoodish glamour of its
heavenly chorus. Jings, I was nearly greetin' at it, transfixed by the
sheer sonic splendour. It had soul as well as calculation.
And, at another level, the swirling electronic/instrumental sounds of
Sumera's Music for Glasgow represented a joyous, sumptuous hedonism, a
wilful flinging of intellectual caution to the winds. In and around it,
the occasionally tentative, sometimes relevant interjections by Scottish
teenage composers had a simplicity, a naivety, and an occasional
gaucheness that was somehow touching.
Passions need not be unbridled. But they are factors of motivation in
music. Cerebral music might impress; rarely does it move. What --
ultimately -- counts most?
And David Davies and his superb Paragon Ensemble deserve the freedom
of the city. They gave youngsters who compose and perform the
opportunity to function professionally in public. Nothing -- in anyone's
experience -- can rival that opportunity for the development of
personality and critical self-awareness. Bravo. What an adventure.
And New Beginnings, too. What an adventure. Is there a balance sheet?
It has to be concluded with a favourable weighting on the credit side.
New Beginnings opened the eyes of the city.
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