This well-attended event was designed
as the launch concert for Metier CD92084. Playing to a commendably full
audience, it can only be counted as a complete success. Not only did
it fulfil its function as disc-related propaganda, it will, hopefully,
have secured Sadie Harrison’s rightful place on the musical map in this
country. For sheer conceptual depth of imagination and expertise of
execution, it was simply remarkable.
‘The Light Garden’ is actually
an early name for Afghanistan. Harrison (born 1965) took her inspiration
from ‘The Light Garden of the Angel King: Travels in Afghanistan with
Bruce Chatwin’ by Peter Levi; a memorable and evocative quote graces
the back of the concert programme. By alternating performances of traditional
Afghan music (performed by the Ensemble Bakhtar) with pieces of her
own making (played by The Tate Ensemble, Lontano and violinist Peter
Sheppard Skaerved), Harrison was able to refer to, interact with, transform
and occasionally flatly contradict ethnic material to create a truly
personal response. Such symbiosis is, if anything, addictive: one hears
traditional music in the light of Harrison’s twenty-first century reactions,
retunes to it and in the process reinterprets it. Similarly, Harrison’s
sounds, Western European at heart, take on a different slant, even referring
to the mystical at times (and it was when this happened one could really
hear this composer’s potential). Structurally, Harrison’s music was
surrounded (perhaps enveloped by) traditional movements, which both
opened and closed the evening as well as interspersing her works.
The traditional ‘Naghma-ye kashâl
Bairami’ opened proceedings. An Afghan seven-minute ‘warm-up’ (for the
audience as much as the players), its meditative, static and hypnotic
opening led to a rhythmic section that buzzed with energy. This performance
was played by rubâb (lute-like), Pontic lyra (think viola, played
vertically), harmonium and tabla (drum).
Harrison possesses the necessary
compositional equipment to present a piece that complements and expands,
emotionally, on this. It came in the form of ‘The Light Garden’ (2001),
a piece premièred at Carnegie Hall in June 2002. An immediate
audible link was the initial slithering lament, where a solo viola (Marina
Anscherson of the Tate Ensemble) recalled the Pontic lyra.
The dynamic contrast which ensues
could hardly be greater. The Tate Ensemble consists only of clarinet,
violin, viola, cello and piano, but they can generate a fair head of
excitement, plus no small number of decibels. Players are instructed
to shout, clusters infiltrate the piano part and the writing is Harrison
at her most virtuosic. Her use of space is most impressive: fragments
are thrown around the performing arena in a way that mere domestic stereo
will surely demean. The close of this 15-minute piece is warmly welcoming,
but, as Harrison says, all is not as it seems: ‘Whilst suggesting peace
this ending is in fact a false comfort; the sound-world, whilst being
immediately attractive and unalienated is itself alienated from the
work’s Afghan source and thus darkly ironic’.
Separating ‘The Light Garden’
from ‘The Fourteenth Terrace’, Harrison’s second ‘panel’, was an eight-minute
Herati love song, ‘Bibi Gol Afruz’ (‘Shining Flower Lady’), an improvisation
for Pontic lyra and tabla. It emerged as a plaintive cry from the solo
instrument which contrasted with the strong drum rhythms and that accelerated
in intensity. But it did little to prepare the listener for the visceral
onslaught of ‘The Fourteenth Terrace’ (the title is a reference to the
location of the tomb of the warrior-poet Zahiru’d-din Muhammad Babur).
Written in 2002, this performance by Lontano under the irrepressible
Odaline de la Martinez and with the excellent Andrew Sparling as solo
clarinetist was supremely exciting. Opening with a squealing clarinet
explosion of sound, the harsh and abrasive world was very much of today,
vocal shouts adding to the effect. This was a highly rhythmic, hyper-gestural
sound-world characterized by an extraordinary timbral sensitivity. Not
a single note seemed to be wasted. Percussion underpinned climaxes in
a stomach-disturbing rumble. There are underlying processional elements
to parts of this music (a Birtwistle-esque undercurrent?), leading to
an intensely fragile close. The lullaby-like effect of this ending links
perfectly to ‘Allah Hu’ (‘This is God’), a traditional vocal solo of
immense power. Veronica Doubleday was hauntingly gripping.
The final Harrison part, ‘Bavad
Khair Baqi!’ (‘May this goodness last forever!’) is for solo violin.
As the composer puts it, ‘the physicality of the music and the strain
that it puts on the performer was integral to the composition. The work
is meant to be a struggle’. I felt for Peter Sheppard Skaerved, a Paganini
for today who had to audibly breathe, vocalise syllablles, later focus
his voice and finally shout, all the while confidently despatching the
utmost intensity. Absolutely riveting (it lasts about eleven minutes).
The final gesture summed up the effectiveness of Harrison’s conception.
Effect, certainly, but it came out of the musical argument that had
preceded it, summing it all up: bowing a note high up in the stratosphere,
playing pizzicato and producing vocal exhalations all at the
same time!
Finally, the touching simplicity
and mesmeric repetitions of the traditional ‘Siah Cheshm-e Khumari’
(‘Your captivating black eyes’) displayed a sensually caressing vocal
line, spun like a thread. Haunting, it, like the entire evening, left
a deep and lasting impression. Harrison has somehow managed to marry
contrasting traditions, inter-relating them by association yet leaving
the integrity of each intact. And that is no small achievement. I have
heard various works by this still-young composer in the past, yet here
I feel she has finally defined her own individuality. Find the CD and
buy it.
Colin Clarke
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