Having witnessed live performances and
a series of choral masterclasses under
the brilliantly musical and urbane leadership
of Tõnu Kaljuste, not to mention
dozens of excellent recordings, my expectations
for this nicely presented BIS CD were
heightened more than somewhat.
I have been a big fan
of Estonian music for a while now, and,
comparing these pieces with Sumera’s
symphonies and chamber music, I was
pleasantly surprised by an even greater
expressive freedom in his choral writing.
Estonia has a very strong vocal tradition,
and Sumera’s work on this CD engages
very much with a direct, sometimes even
confrontational manner of communicating
text, though without quite the blood,
sweat, iron and tears of Tormis. His
world often returns to an almost Medieval
sounding base, which is expanded and
extended with effective modern techniques
ranging from controlled chaotic ‘crowd
scenes’ to tonally non-specific melody
lines, clusters and close chromatic
harmony, to rumbling bass glissando
textures and even clapping á
la Steve Reich.
Concerto per voci
e strumenti was commissioned by
Tõnu Kaljuste, and has a text
by Doris Kareva which is made up of
phonetically associated Estonian words
and names. This untranslatable text
throws up a few amusing and unintentional
cultural divisions: the opening ‘Kirikiri’
sounded to me like someone calling to
an errant cat, whereas we are told that,
to an Estonian, this will (to those
initiated in the folk tradition) call
to mind the song of a nightingale. Textual
ambiguity aside, this is a powerful
work. The rhythmic tumult of the ‘Furioso’
first movement is taken over by an extremely
moving ‘Moderato’, which builds from
male murmurings to call-like figures
from the upper voices, the whole building
to an ecstatic climax which brought
tears to my eyes. The final ‘Allegro
misterioso’ has the atonal choral writing
I mentioned earlier, and has the quality
of some kind of ritualistic ceremony.
The clapping/vocal textures at 3:30
had me thinking of Reich’s ‘Tehillim’,
but at no point – even under torture
– would I suggest that this music is
in any way derivative.
‘Kui tume…’,
once again commissioned by Kaljuste,
is purely for ‘a capella’ choir, and
is based on a classic Estonian poem
from 1894 by Juhan Lev. Estonia is a
land whose uneasy relationship with
its giant neighbour Russia has thrown
up a great deal of art which is symbolic
of freedom and resistance. This poem
is given a gentle, almost introverted
setting – not without contrast – but
expressing underlying strength rather
than overt resistance.
Scratch a performance
or a recording led by Tõnu Kaljuste,
and you’ll find his influence permeating
like the letters on a stick of rock
through almost every material aspect
of the final result. The Mushroom
Cantata is presented here in a version
requested by Kaljuste, the original
first movement having been for bass
singer and wind quintet. The subsequent
movements appeared over an interval
of several years, but the whole is unified
by the text, which amazingly consists
almost entirely of the Latin names of
mushrooms. The spare percussive instrumentation
sometimes has an almost Orff like colouration,
and the choral writing carries the absurdity
of the text with deadly seriousness
– small gatherings of deadly poisonous
fungi being granted apocalyptic moments,
others being transformed by plainchant-like
counterpoint, while the piano and tympani
clatter and rumble underneath with dry
menace.
The final piece, Island
Maiden’s Song is in some ways the
most typically Estonian. The open intervals
and penetrating and fragmentary melodic
lines simultaneously carry the undulating
waves of the sea and its pervasive salt
breath straight into the ears of the
listener. The story is of course a tragic
tale of incestual seduction and suicide,
but the story of the young girl is told
to her parents by the sea itself, through
symbols and allegories. The text is
layered through the voices of actors,
who live in a dry acoustic close to
the wires behind your loudspeakers,
and the choir, which can be distant
and ethereal, or dancing on your shoulders
like the wicked imp in a Tom and Jerry
cartoon – except the effect can be quite
frightening, really.
This CD is a marvellous
work of art. As a concert programme
it would be unforgettable. As a disc
you can pull down from your shelf when
the mood takes you it is as irreplaceable
as a volume by a favourite author –
be sure never to lend it to anyone,
you’re unlikely to get it back!
Dominy Clements
Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir 
