THRENODIES, MYSTICISM, AND THUNDERBOLTS FROM THE EAST
By Paul Hertelendy
artssf.com, the independent observer of San Francisco Bay Area
music
Giya Kancheli is one of the important mystical composers from the
East, but with a distinctive style all his own that may or may
not depict a world gone badly awry.
His one-movement symphony with baritone, "Don't
Grieve," received its world premiere May 15, a result of the
commission by the San Francisco Symphony.
Kancheli writes very soft, consonant, and emotional music,
punctuated by frequent, deafening explosions of percussion, like
wartime buzzbombs disturbing urban tranquility. Whenever the
symphony lulls you into a meditative mood, you get a jolting
wakeup call---perhaps a proper metaphor for the vicissitudes of
today's strife-torn world.
The Georgian composer from Tbilisi continues a line of mournful
mystics including Arvo Part and Henryk Gorecki.
"Don't Grieve" was a curiously unsettling threnody
ruminating over death, silence, isolation and mourning, employing
collected texts sung by a lyric baritone. Did I say threnody?
More like a 6.0-Richter earthquake, with many aftershocks.
Kancheli, 66, who now lives in Antwerp, is famous for his
sorrowful musical titles and leanings. This work ranks among his
choice creations. It's accessible, never too profound, and
especially apt for post-9/11 despondency.
"Don't Grieve" is a kaleidoscope of images spanning
many languages (Georgian, Russian, English, German but,
surprisingly, no French), and at least 13 poets past and present
responsible for the aphoristic text fragments.
In his music, Kancheli may be reliving experiences growing up in
the USSR during the horrors of World War Two, but some of his
contemplative dreams may be unfathomable. The difficulty of
understanding musical mystics comes in trying to step into their
nebulous shoes. It all made musical sense to this composer in his
exciting SFS premiere, no doubt. But the only explanation he left
us is that this work was completed prior to 9/11, thus was not a
response to that terror/horror.
You could fault Kancheli in many ways: Scant imagery, a
mismatched jigsaw puzzle of a text, music that's always too loud
or too soft, and the perplexing sonic outbursts having no obvious
motivation. He does however write the most fetching lyrical lines
for the vocalist, and his orchestra is apt to be supremely
sumptuous.
His final curtain is perhaps the greatest enigma. After dwelling
for 36 minutes on the most morose subjects, with the music
draping the stage in black, he closes with a flippant little
staccato to admonish us, "Don't Grieve!" without
elaboration, without coda.
It's like an unfinished symphony, recalling the apocryphal tale
about Schubert, who was allegedly asked after a performance,
"Very fine work, indeed! But when will you complete the
symphony?"
There was a long, breathtaking performance this night by the
Russian baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky, who can make the
pillow-softest tones with the best of them and make them spring
to life like spring flowers.
The work was played with feeling by the SFS under Michael Tilson
Thomas. While not especially enthusiastic, the applause was warm,
and by the third bows the composer came out to acknowledge the
accolades.
The second half of the program was given over to the entire
"Daphnis and Chloe" ballet by Ravel, 53 minutes' worth.
It is lurid, sensuous, and pastoral in spirit, somewhere between
the futurists and romantics---but also anticipating the
neoclassicists with its ancient-Greek mythology. It is supremely
coloristic, with wind machines, flute choirs, a chorus of 140
doing vocalise---all rich effects, but a bit lengthy without the
story ballet visible. You are almost 40 minutes into the opus
before the most inspired music (which we know as the Suite No. 2)
begins to appear.