If you are familiar
with other works by Georgian-born Giya
Kancheli, you will know what to expect
here. Rather like Arvo Pärt, tempos
are all slow, melodic material is made
up of the most simple, repeated fragments
that do not appear to develop towards
a climax, and the soporific atmosphere
is often punctuated by violent outbursts
form the instruments, as if the listener
is being jolted out of any sense of
stasis.
These elements are
all present and correct here, and whether
this music ‘does it’ for you will depend
largely on how you view this sort of
compositional process. The booklet note
tries to tackle this head on, becoming
nothing short of a defence of the communicative
power of simplicity in the wake of Second
Viennese complexity. I have mixed views.
I was very moved by a previous Kancheli
disc of orchestral works …a la Duduki,
where the variety of colour within the
orchestra helped reduce any boredom
that might set in. Here, it’s a little
more difficult with much smaller forces,
and the chamber delicacy that suits
much of his music can be negated by
that sheer lack of variety.
That’s not to say there
aren’t things to enjoy, but my advice
would be to take it one at a time. For
me, the most compelling piece here is
Time…and again,
which could be an artistic credo for
the composer. The bell-like intoning
of the piano provides a mournful backdrop
for the lamentations of the violin and
a feeling of soulful longing that the
odd peremptory outbursts do nothing
to assuage. This is music that can be
hypnotically moving in the right mood,
unbearably protracted in the wrong one,
though one is sure of an honesty and
integrity at work.
V & V
provides more of the same, though a
larger string body and taped voice chanting
a ghostly, child-like melody do set
up a strongly atmospheric texture. Kremer’s
fragmented violin line, with its sustained
repetitions and fermatas stopping any
straightforward climactic progress,
makes the piece end up like some sort
of dreamlike violin serenade.
The Piano Quartet
in l’istesso tempo is
the longest piece here, and as such
I did feel the composer indulging in
a certain amount of what could be termed
minimalist note-spinning. The obsessively
sustained ‘same tempo’ of the title
is alleviated here and there, but overall
the composer seems intent on imposing
a state of contemplation on the listener,
whether they like it or not. I guess
you can always switch the player off
if you disagree.
One thing is for certain,
the performances are absolutely dedicated
to the cause, and the recording wonderfully
warm and atmospheric, with the sounds
just emerging from absolute silence.
Tony Haywood
Kremerata Baltica/Gidon Kremer 
