Recordings are only
snapshots, not the wider picture of
reality that is music. This is the first
recording dedicated solely to Julian
Anderson’s work, which is an anomaly,
given his importance as a composer.
Many thanks to Ondine and by association
the BBC who have provided a public service
by issuing this excellent disc.
Here we have Anderson’s
first major orchestral piece Diptych,
written in 1990. It’s easy to hear how
it won him a prize from the Royal Philharmonic
Society. For such a youthful composer,
it is a work of surprising originality.
From the first bars, we enter a world
of mysterious, intriguing sounds, first
darting and tentative, then expanding
into great arcs of colour and light.
The first part, Parades, builds
up wave upon wave of sound, using all
parts of the orchestra with confidence.
It then subsides into near silence as
the second part, Pavillons en l’Air,
begins. This movement reflects the themes
of the first in reverse, the extreme
pianissimo of its first minutes masking
a progressive layering of sound upon
sound, culminating in a glorious crescendo.
It’s the density of these layers that
makes the piece so distinctive. The
crescendo gives way to an even more
impressive coda of chromatic effects.
You are left wanting more, but tantalisingly,
the music skips away.
Fortunately, there
is plenty more. Last year, his Book
of Hours was performed at the South
Bank and highly acclaimed. There’s nothing
quite so recent on this disc, however,
which is more of a retrospective, and
just as welcome. It starts with Khorovod
from 1989-94. The name refers to a Russian
round-dance where three or four pitches
recur in endless variation. Anderson
develops the idea of a small cell of
notes repeated with endless variation,
further layering the sounds with different,
contrasting tempi, some of which whirl
around, further changing the pace. He
uses folk instruments, too, an oblique
reference to Russian and other non-western
music. At one point, there’s a poignant
violin passage, not quite a solo, but
perhaps a reminder that the violin has
an ancient role in traditional music.
Seconds later the violin melody disintegrates
as the instrument joins the orchestra
again in a decidedly modern sounding
mix, trumpets and drums leading in a
kind of wild dance. Simple cells are
again the building blocks of The
Stations of the Sun, though here
they are used to create a different
effect. The instrumental lines are longer
and more complex. The final section
pulls together the different elements
as if by centrifugal force, swirling
ever more slowly to a conclusion.
The Crazed Moon
(1997) was written in memory of a friend
who died at the age of only 24. The
title comes from a poem by W.B. Yeats
and also alludes to a lunar eclipse
Anderson witnessed in 1996. The music
centres on a long progression in which
the whole orchestra plays a basic melody,
but with different variations. The overall
impact is mysterious, as if half submerged
in unnatural light. It’s disturbing,
especially toward the end when tolling
bells are heard and distant trumpets
echo in the silence.
Anderson worked with
Tristan Murail and Gérard Grisey,
to whom Alhambra Fantasy is dedicated.
Islamic architecture doesn’t use image
for decoration. Instead, it uses abstraction
– developing patterns from small materials,
combining them in intricate, complex
forms, almost as if generated by mathematical
algorithm. Just as mosaics are built
from myriad, tiny blocs of single colour,
Anderson uses clear tones and half-tones
to build up chromatic configurations
that seem to glow with intense refractive
light. The Islamic idea of paradise
is a garden of infinite refinement of
colour, shape and light. Fountains are
part of the Islamic ideal, too, for
when light shines through waterdrops
in the heat, it throws up rainbows:
a powerfully potent image with which
to describe the elegance of this music.
It begs for imagination on the part
of the listener. The effect of sound
on the mind is fascinating. I’ve been
listening to this piece as meditation:
others will find other felicities, no
doubt.
Oliver Knussen, The
London Sinfonietta and the BBC Symphony
Orchestra have long been associated
with Anderson’s music, and these performances
are probably definitive. You could always
get this music from the scores (publishers:
Faber) but performances on this level
are inspiring in themselves. Since only
a minority get to go to live concerts
and catch broadcasts - thank goodness
we still have the BBC - recordings will
bring this wonderful, inventive music
to the audience it most surely deserves.
Anne Ozorio
BBC Symphony Orchestra/Oliver Knussen 
