It’s been a while since I reviewed a disc of a cappella
singing, so when this recording appeared on Len’s monthly
mailing I decided to give it a whirl. I was doubly intrigued
as I’ve only recently become acquainted with Vasks’
music through his Te Deum and other organ pieces - review - which struck me as very engaging and accomplished.
As for the Latvian Radio Choir, formed in 1940, they’ve
already recorded several CDs for BIS and Ondine, and minutes
into Plainscapes it’s not hard to see why they’re
in such demand. That said, the standard of modern a cappella
singing - in the Nordic countries especially - is higher than
ever, so they’re up against formidable competition in
the execution stakes.
First impressions are promising, this mixed chorus singing with
a cool, far-reaching purity that puts me in mind of those fine
Scandinavian ensembles. The music is set to poems by indigenous
poets, whom Vasks calls ’tribunes of freedom’ for
their courage during the Soviet occupation of Latvia. The
Tomtit’s Message, necessarily oblique, is a good
example of this, its long lines interrupted by sundry swoops,
cries, martial rat-a-tats and raucous laughter. The sound is
clear and the church acoustic is generally sympathetic, so the
oft high-lying passages aren’t at all fatiguing; more
bass warmth would have been welcome, but really that’s
a minor issue.
Three of the four miniatures that make up the Silent Songs
are by Knuts Skujenieks (b. 1936), who survived seven years
in a Gulag. The poems are gnomic, and the slow, rarefied vocal
writing is both stoic and deeply affecting. Choral discipline
and blend - so vital in music of sustained loveliness - are
superb. Even in this frigid landscape beauty still blossoms;
‘sleep, sleep’ is soft and plangent, ‘three
forests’ icily brilliant. What a range of emotion lurks
behind these notes, and how well this choir articulates them.
On first hearing Vasks’ choral style may seem a tad featureless,
but the music takes compelling shape and grows in stature with
repeated listening.
It’s not all subdued though; Our Mother’s Names,
in which women are identified with different birds, has its
aptly soaring moments. In the extended interview published in
the booklet Vasks sees this as a powerfully symbolic gesture
that binds people to each other and to the land; and like so
much of the poetry here it has a nationalist message. Stylistically
the piece veers between gathering strength and a sighing contentment,
the spaces in between filled with bird calls. It’s most
unusual, and mesmeric too. Vasks continues the feminine theme
with Sad Mother, by the Chilean poet Gabriela Mistral
(1889-1957). Written for women’s voices it’s a heart-piercing
lullaby blessed with a wonderful line and framed with great
feeling.
Summer is a light-filled interlude - goodness, what fearless
singing, now hushed now stratospheric - before we move into
the wordless Plainscapes. Vasks describes the latter
as a hymn to the Latvian lowlands, its horizon-stretching vocal
lines anchored by simple melodies on cello and violin. There’s
a powerful sense of the immemorial, and although it’s
the longest piece here it’s also the most immersive. There
are ear-pricking touches too, the upward and downward glissandi
most artfully done. After that comes the oddly titled - but
perfectly formed - Small, Warm Holiday. The collection
ends with Birth, which celebrates the life-giving power
of the sun. It’s a taut, sinewy piece in which the singers
fill the aural sky with light, now fierce, now fading. There’s
even a pagan drum, sparingly used.
This is a captivating CD that only reveals its strengths and
strange charm after several outings. As for this chorus and
their chief conductor they do the composer proud; the Ondine
engineers do well too. This quality package is enhanced by that
interview with the composer, which offers many valuable insights
and interesting asides.
Dan Morgan
http://twitter.com/mahlerei
Latvian Radio Choir/Sigvards Klava
