We have three works
from Hovhaness for piano and various
forces one of which will have escaped
the attention of all but the most dedicated
follower. This is the Concerto for two
pianos and orchestra, written in 1954
but only premiered, by these forces,
in Moscow in 2004. It’s a work that
characteristically abjures virtuosic
strut and pyrotechnics and concentrates
instead on sonority and intriguing conjunctions.
The opening is in full Hovhaness Renaissance
style – rich, full, especially the brass
that puts one in mind of ermined and
ruffed ceremonial. The pianos sound
more elliptical, full of plinking suggestions,
decorative filigree and a surging VW
nobility (I thought of Dives and
Lazarus). There are very occasional
dissonant interjections and a big role
for the percussion towards the end of
the first movement. In the slow movement
he evokes the kanun – as the notes explain
this is a zither-like instrument – and
this, allied to important roles for
brass and wind, includes a raga section.
With the finale we have the cyclical
return of the Renaissance ceremonial
as well as more Indian derived motifs
that drive forward with passion though
the former leads to reiteration of the
bold brass and wind themes before they’re
taken up by the full orchestra; a gong
crash lends a triumphant feel to the
triumphant end.
The three pieces for
two pianos comprise Mihr (1945),
Vijag (1946) and Ko-ola-u
(1962). They’re all short and brilliantly
inventive. Mihr was the Armenian
fire god and once more Hovhaness has
recourse to kanun imitation as he had
in the concerto for two pianos rendering
an Eastern cast to the music for its
entire length. Ruminative, feasting
on repetition, it also evokes a faster
allegro type drive; what strikes the
ear most forcibly however are the ebullient
patterns that seem to prefigure in some
way minimalism without ever sinking
into its frequent banality and bathos.
Vijag is associated with an Armenian
feast of Ascension and it had me hypnotised
with its four-minute drone. Ko-ola-u
is the most recent, named after a Hawaiian
mountain range; ceremonial counterpoint
over a drone inform this one, as does
lissom writing and rhythmic sophistication.
Lousadzak –
concerto for piano and orchestra
was written in 1944. It opens in a withdrawn
way but soon leads to an extensive cadenza,
kanun imitation and evocative sonorities
that evoke the Persian and Turkish lutes.
Hovhaness writes a splendid passage
for solo violin and plenty of treble
flecked writing for the piano and directly
summons up the sounds of bagpipes in
a work that teems with colour as well
as repetitive rhythmic gestures.
The performances, needles
to say, are highly accomplished; to
them we owe the premiere of the Concerto
for two pianos and orchestra. The recorded
sound is sympathetic and warm, the notes
helpful and the first recording of the
concerto makes this, I’d have thought,
a mandatory purchase for Hovhaness admirers.
Jonathan Woolf
Martin
Berkofsky (piano, on all pieces) with 
