Distant Episodes

This is a newly available composition for two pianos. I wrote it over the last year or so, in response to an expression of interest from duoDort in a little piece named Portrait, listed in my catalogue as dating back to 1989, for two pianos, duration three minutes.

Not only did such a miniature seem an embarrassingly small offering to hand anybody, but when I searched for the old manuscript I could not find the final page. After spending hours looking for it I decided it would be easier to rewrite the final page than to search on. How wrong I was. Did I not know, after so many root-and-branch revisions of past efforts, that it is impossible - for me at least - to go back to an old piece without changing it? And change it I did, but to an unsuspected degree.

The experience of trying to transport myself to the old 'me' of 1989 called to mind one of my teenage readings, Herman Hesse's Knulp: Three Tales from the Life of Knulp, known to me in the 1970s by its Spanish title, Tres momentos de una vida. In it Hesse returns to the same character, Knulp, to show us snapshots of three very different periods of his life.

Here I was, in 2008, working hard to replicate the musical logic that must have ruled my thinking twenty years earlier. The experience felt so much like a dialogue between the then and the now that the idea grew in my mind that I could make a virtue of this time dislocation, and frame the little Portrait with something even earlier to come before it and something of the present to follow it.

The idea would have not gone anywhere if I had not remembered that my Cantata de Navidad y Epifanía of 1978, for baritone, children's choir and two pianos, contained an interlude for two pianos. I went back to it and found that it could work, with the necessary adjustments, as a movement in a longer instrumental work. This provided the very early past, Portrait being the distant, but not quite so early past.

For the finale I resorted to my then most recently completed work, the String Quartet No. 1, 'Montes'. For this, remember, is not me looking at myself as I was long ago, then not so long ago and then now, but me looking at the music I composed in these three moments of my life. A form of meta-composition, you might call it.

The finale, then, is a second look at the movement out of the string quartet I find most intriguing, least completed, leaving the most to be said: the third, 'Music and Land'. From a purely compositional angle, I was curious to see how the rhythmic instabilities would work between two players rather than four, and to what extent the sharper definition of the piano's mechanism would enhance the clarity of the rhythmic contradictions and juxtapositions. I am thrilled with the result.

Although I took so long to complete the work, and I came up with fifteen minutes of music when they were only asking for three, it seems that a première by duoDorT is still a possibility. Meanwhile, I have posted up a computer demo version on MySpace and on last.fm.

Grabación de Trío

Los miembros del Trío Apolo, destinatarios de mi Trío, han emprendido la grabación de esta obra. Ellos la estrenaron en 2003 en el Teatro Achá de Cochabamba, y hace algunos años produjeron una grabación que por razones técnicas acordamos no publicar. El que estos músicos excelentes - Emilio Aliss, Eduardo Rodríguez y Ariana Stambuk - estén ahora realizando una segunda grabación es testimonio de su compromiso profesional infatigable. Les agradezco, les deseo éxito y espero con impaciencia los resultados de este fin de semana de trabajo.

El Trío Apolo encargó mi obra con el apoyo de la Fundación Arnoldo Schwimmer, y desde su estreno en 2003 la ha mantenido en su repertorio a lo largo de sucesivos cambios de personal. Existe en una versión para orquesta de cuerdas y piano, re-titulada Una música escondida, que fue presentada en Newcastle por Northern Sinfonia en 2004 y en La Paz por la Orquesta del Conservatorio Nacional de Música en 2007.

Danza de la loma en Zaragoza

Jaime Martín y su equipo de virtuosos

El Ensemble de Vientos de la Orquesta de Cadaqués presentó Danza de la loma en el Auditorio de Zaragoza el domingo 8 de marzo de 2009, bajo la dirección de Jaime Martín. Estuve allí para presenciar el momento. 

Lo primero que me impresionó fue el auditorio mismo, de proporciones generosas, una arquitectura sorprendente y una acústica de gran claridad. El interior está diseñado en distinto niveles y orientaciones, con grandes paneles de madera que suavizan la modernidad de los ángulos y le dan un ambiente acogedor al interior. 

Lo segundo - por orden de aparición y no de jerarquía - fue la personalidad del director, una especie de dínamo con batuta, lleno de entusiasmo por la música y por la tarea que tenía delante. Su buena relación con los músicos era evidente y el ambiente de trabajo de los mejores. 

Seguidamente, todavía en orden estrictamente cronológico, me llamaron la atención los músicos, su alto nivel técnico, y el mucho carácter y musicalidad que desplegaban aun con una pieza para ellos del todo nueva como era mi Danza de la loma. El ensayo iba a ser una prueba de sonido breve, probando sólo secciones de las distintas obras y de la mía sólo la sección inicial, pero una vez que atacaron con Danza de la loma Jaime Martín siguió dirigiendo y los músicos siguieron tocando hasta el final, dándome así el lujo de oír la obra dos veces en la misma mañana. 

Por último, fue de admirar el público, que casi llenó la espaciosa sala y se comportó como se comporta un público habituado a los conciertos. El programa no hacía concesiones al espacio familiar de domingo por la mañana, y es posible que a muchos mi Danza les haya resultado desconcertante, o inclusive el Concierto para Violín de Kurt Weill; pero allí estaban los abonados en pleno, escuchando con atención y dándole al evento el carácter que necesita la música para ser un acto de comunicación. Felicidades a Zaragoza, a la Orquesta de Cadaqués y a Jaime Martín por el espíritu emprendedor de esta serie. 

Fue una experiencia muy grata y lamenté no poder pasarme más tiempo con ese grupo estupendo. Muchos se iban y yo mismo tenía que tomar el Ave de retorno a Barcelona, de donde vuelo a Newcastle el lunes. Menudo viajecito para once minutos de música, pero los participantes mencionados hicieron que valiera la pena. 

A belated but but very welcome première

 Darragh rehearsing
Munirando II for violin and piano was written in 1998 for a virtuoso player based in New York; it may be kinder not to name them, even though I have great respect and fondness for them. In the late 1990s I had a happy association with New York's Juilliard School. Their orchestra performed my Fuego in 1995 and the New Juilliard Ensemble commissioned my Peregrine and gave its première in 1996. They even revived it later, once at the Museum of Modern Art and again in 2005, for which occasion I revised it extensively. 

Coming into contact with the vibrant community of advanced student performers at Juilliard was a galvanising experience. They were players for whom technique appeared to have ceased to be an obstacle. They relished challenge and were not only not daunted by difficulty or elaboration or novelty, but they relished it. It was invigorating. After attending several concerts of Joel Sachs’s excellent Focus Festival I felt something akin to intoxication. There was so much talent there, such a gold mine on which to work, if only there were the opportunity.

The opportunity offered itself to me when one of the postgraduate violinists asked me to write a piece for their masters recital. This felt exactly right: it was a logical next step after Fuego and Peregrine, and it would enable me to work more closely with one of these outstanding young virtuosi. I set out to write a piece that would deploy the virtuosity that clearly was on offer, and I also wanted to challenge and extend the young player’s musicality, stretching their capabilities and generating a tension that, on its release towards the end, would provide a rewarding experience for player and audience alike. And, of course, I wanted to explore a particular idea I had had in mind for some time. I took time to produce the result I aspired to, taking, I think, around a year to complete the work.

When the piece was ready and shipped to New York, the player informed me politely that they would not be able to do justice to it in the time given. Aside from the disappointment this caused me, it meant the consignment of Munirando II to a long period of languishment on my shelves. Over the years I offered it to various players, but always had the same reply: sorry, too difficult. In frustration, I revised it in 2002 to make it more accessible, while still preserving its character of challenging virtuosity. In this revised form, breaking a long-held principle, I submitted the piece to a composer’s competition, the UK and Eire Violin and Piano Competition. Although sceptical of competitions in such a personal field as the creation of music, I harboured the hope that a lucky outcome might finally secure a performance for Munirando II. The piece was shortlisted but not chosen for the prize. Intriguingly, I received a communication to the effect that the chairman of the jury, the late Yfrah Nieman, would be interested in performing the piece if I would find a pianist and a venue. Although vaguely flattering, this seemed a strange idea in the circumstances and I was unsure how to take it. After thinking about it for some time I wrote declining the offer.

It would be another six years before the brave person came up expressing a serious intention to perform Munirando II: the young virtuoso Darragh Morgan, whom I had known in the early 1990s when he was a schoolboy in Belfast and I was composer in residence at Queen’s University. Even in those early days Darragh was showing impressive flair and accomplished technique. He left Belfast for music college and since then I heard about him through third parties, with news of how well he was doing. I sent him the piece and a couple of years later he said he would do it, with his official pianist Mary Dullea. I am delighted, and full of anticipation to hear what Darragh and Mary will do with Munirando II on 5 February at 7.30 PM in the Schott Recital Room, London.

As the title suggests, the piece is part of a series, the first of which was Munirando for clarinet and piano, commissioned by the Park Lane Group in 1995. In both cases the intention is to explore ideas of virtuosity and continuous flow, that maddeningly enviable quality of Bach’s music, taking it into the area of relentlessness.

The Spirit of the Andes

Verónica Souto. Photograph by Richard Strike

While on the subject of the Momenta Quartet’s performance of my String Quartet No. 1 ‘Montes’, I recommend a beautiful film: The Spirit of the Andes by Verónica Souto. It is a documentary on the life and work of Fernando Montes, the painter.

The film charts a life’s progress from bohemian La Paz in the 1930s to life as a student in Buenos Aires, world-watching in London cafés in the 1960s and ending with the high-profile international exhibitions in Montes’s mature years. Throughout, the film explores the constant concern with the Andean landscape, which Montes developed into a very personal approach characterised by subtle introspection and simplicity.

It will be shown on Saturday 12 July at 6PM in Culture Lab, Newcastle University.

Momenta in Newcastle!

Photograph by John Gurrin

I am thrilled to announce that the Momenta Quartet, unforgettable heroes of the première of of my String Quartet last year in Philadelphia, will be in Newcastle in the flesh. They will be taking part in the ¡Vamos! Festival with two performances.

On Friday 11 July the Momenta will take part in the festival launch at Northern Stage, playing my Montes and an array of other new Latin American music. The violist Stephanie Griffin and the cellist Joanne Lin will stun their audience with two solo pieces by the Brazilian maverick Arthur Kampela. You can actually see and hear one of them, Bridges for solo viola, on Kampela's myspace page. This programme will also include Oleajes by the Colombian composer Alba Potes, and the world première of a new work by my fellow Bolivian Cergio Prudencio. Cergio is currently the most active composer in Bolivia, and he has secured a place in history by co-founding - with his brother José Luis - and work for three decades as the musical director of the Experimental Orchestra of Native Instruments (OEIN). This evening there will be plenty of other musical goodies on offer, which you can look up on the ¡Vamos! Festival programme.

On Saturday 12 July the Momenta will play at King's Hall, Newcastle University. My String Quartet No 1 'Montes' will get a second airing, preceded by another impressive selection out of the Momenta's contemporary repertoire, including two very new pieces written for them by composers based here in the Northeast of England. These will be chosen out of a workshop I have organised with students from Newcastle and Durham universities: Matthew Rowan, Helen Papaioannou, Tom Albans and Eric Egan. Which of these will be chosen? That will be the surprise of the evening. The programme will also include Instantes by the young Venezuelan composer Manena Contreras and Four Pieces for String Quartet one of the fathers of contemporary Cuban music, Alejandro García Caturla.

Connected with the Momenta visit and with my work, there will be a screening of the beautiful documentary by Verónica Souto The Spirit of the Andes exploring the life and work of the Bolivian painter Fernando Montes. This will be at Newcastle University's Culture Lab. The eminent director will be with us to introduce her film.

Details and tickets are available on the ¡Vamos! website. Or you can book directly with Northern Stage, by clicking here or phoning 0191 230 5151.

'Montes' at Bolivar Hall

Jane Gordon, Adrian Charlesworth, Sara Jones and Jennifer Morsches. In the first image, I am acknowledging the Montes family who are in the audience. Photos by Richard Strike.

UK Première of String Quartet No 1 ‘Montes’

This was an intense experience. The music’s dedicatee, Fernando Montes, presided over the proceedings as if he were still here. His family did most of the organisational work making the event possible, whereas my music and, to a larger extent, Verónica Souto’s film The Spirit of the Andes, brought Montes’s work alive in front of an audience that was made up of Montes’s friends and admirers.

The string quartet experience was very different from the Philadelphia story. First of all, the London-based players were not a pre-existing string quartet, but came together especially for the occasion. This in itself was a considerable organisational challenge which started from the recruitment of the players. At the early stages of planning, if the project was deemed possible at all it had been because a string quartet of young, enthusiastic, new-music loving players, mainly Venezuelans, was deemed to be available to Bolivar Hall. When I made the necessary contact to ascertain the existence, youth and enthusiasm of the players I found that their existence and youth were a distinct possibility, but their enthusiasm was conspicuous by its absence. By this time the project preparations had taken off: the plan was to mark the first anniversary of Montes’s death at Bolivar Hall on 17 January, with a projection of Souto’s film and a performance of my quartet. Many people were working on that assumption. There was no turning back.

At this point enter Jennifer Morsches. She was remembered by the Montes family as a recent, but devoted friend of Fernando’s, and she was remembered by me as the excellent cellist who worked with Florilegium and whom I had seen, much to my surprise, playing romantic and twentieth-century music with Elizabeth Schwimmer in Cochabamba, Bolivia. On being approached about this project she showed unequivocal enthusiasm, and soon she was to prove true to her word. She took on the recruitment of the other players and the planning of the rehearsals, including the offer of her own house for them. When recruitment proved harder than expected her commitment was unwavering. She did not falter even when, two days before the first rehearsal and five days before the concert, her colleague Rodolfo Richter, appointed first violin, announced that he was pulling out because of a severe eye infection that required immediate surgery. Saturday 12 and Sunday 13 were spent in a flurry of phone calls between Jennifer, me and possible Richter replacements. The quartet seemed doomed to cancellation, but the thought of doing that to the Montes family was hard to stomach. Somehow Jennifer's perseverance worked its magic, and by Sunday evening a replacement was in place in the form of Jane Gordon, violinist of the Rautio Trio.

I stayed out of the players’ way the day of the first rehearsal, Monday 14 January, and took the train down to London on the Tuesday. I found the players immersed in their discovery of the piece and of each other, riding on the crest of a very steep learning curve. The piece was new to them, so was the style, and so were they to each other. They were not exactly gliding over, but they were not sinking either. Good spirits saved them, and Jane Gordon saved them by taking the reins and leading with a firm hand. By the end of Tuesday the piece was far from ready, but the spirits far from broken.

On Wednesday, the day before the concert, there was to be no rehearsal because of another concert involving our superb cellist, by the early music group Florilegium. I knew this splendid ensemble since our Bolivian venture in 2005, so I took the opportunity to go and hear them. It was a lunchtime concert, in the bowels of Imperial College. The difficulties of finding this secret location even well after reaching the Imperial campus meant that I got there only for the second piece. I was taken aback by the sight of their virtuoso director, Ashley Solomon, playing Mozart with his foot in an elaborate contraption that appeared designed to keep his toes together. But more than that, I was taken aback by the sight of the violinist, Rodolfo Richter, playing with great aplomb and reading with seemingly unbloodied eyes from a music stand like everybody else, displaying an ocular resilience I had not thought him capable of in his current state. If anybody ever doubted that Mozart’s music can be miraculous, here was the proof. It heals the soul, it heals the eyes. The concert was truly enlightening. And Jennifer was the magnificent player I had always known her to be.

On Thursday 17 January, a year to the day since the death of Fernando Montes, a documentary about him and a string quartet about him received their British premières at London’s Bolivar Hall. Tickets had sold out weeks in advance. The Chairman of the Anglo-Bolivian Society, David Minter, gave a fitting tribute to the artist in his introductory address. Then I introduced the piece outlining each movement’s connection with a Montes painting. Vince Harris helped with the projection of the relevant paintings. Then my four friends played the string quartet, with an assurance that belied the short preparation time and a commitment that did not fail to stir and move. Then Verónica Souto introduced her film, and then the programme closed with the film itself.

It was a memorable occasion in many respects. Clearly Fernando Montes was foremost in the minds and hearts of all present. Several people had travelled a long way, some from abroad, for the occasion. It was an act of group catharsis, where the music and the film provided the ritual’s structure. I found it all deeply moving.