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Programme Notes

aldakiak
akorda
biribilketa
bizitza
cuatro differencias
dos zortzikos
dipolo
duduk I & II
famara
fantasía
fauve
izaro
jaia
jukal
kin
krater
nubes I
nubes II
océano
saturno
soinua

Aldakiak

Aldakiak - 'variations', or more precisely 'variants' in Basque - consists of a set of nine small pieces of equal duration, which explore different ways of reacting to a single musical event, which remains fixed in each piece.

The structure of the work is articulated by varying instrumental combinations within the piano trio, including solos and duos. By doing so, the aim is to promote a kind of dialectic around the implications of this classical formation, ranging from commentary to critique, thus, enhancing the ambiguities inherent to all perception phenomena.

The piece is dedicated to the Trio Arbós, and was commissioned as a result of winning the 2001 INAEM Composition Prize of the Colegio de España in Paris.

Akorda

With Akorda, as with my other works, the chosen title suggests a wealth of different meanings which are reflected in the music itself. As well as the obvious reference to the instrumentation of the work, Akorda is the name of a place in the Vizcaya region, reflecting thereby my interest in musical folklore. The title is also similar in sound to the word ‘akordu’ which, in Basque, means ‘recollection’ or ‘memory’.

Memory is an intrinsic element of an art form such as music, which unfolds in time. This idea is explored on different levels throughout the piece and determines, to a large extent, the structural concept of the work. The parallel between the workings of human memory and the development of an original musical work offers me the opportunity of playing with this duality: music’s ability to distort the manner in which we perceive the passage of ‘real time’ in which music unfolds.

Apart from this reflection on an abstract concept such as memory and its physiological effect on an individual, there is also a play on its accepted historical sense: on the one hand there is musical folklore as the collective memory of a people, and on the other there is ‘serious’ music whose history is studied in traditional musicology. In this work, therefore, I have used two different types of material: one comes from the popular music of bagpipes, horns and zampogne originating from Scotland, Galicia and Italy; the other from the ‘art’ music of the Renaissance – more specifically from a canzona by Giovanni Gabrieli.

With its capacity to reproduce both these sound-worlds, the accordion itself becomes the driving force of the composition, during the course of which the instrument undergoes a series of transformations. At the beginning, the accordion serves as a kind of bagpipe. Then, as we imagine the number of melodic pipes and drones increasing to represent the Italian zampogna, the sound becomes that of an organ. The intention was to integrate the accordion into the musical discourse with the various instruments of the orchestra. In Akorda, the co-existence of the folkloric with ‘art’ music, of the abstract with the figurative (drone and melody), does not claim to achieve totality: such an aim would destroy any attempt at artistic creativity.

Biribilketa

Biribilketa, a Basque word of almost magical nature, musically corresponds with ‘ritornello’ or ‘passacaglia’. As if it were a magic potion, the piece is composed of various ingredients: hidden alphabetical codes, formal essences of a passacaglia, reminiscences of the alboka (a Basque folk instrument), secret numerical schemes… silence…

Bizitza

Bizitza (Life) for mezzo-soprano and chamber ensemble uses four poems by the Basque writer Bernardo Atxaga.

The transcendental view of life envisaged in these poems, their brusque contrasts and shifts of perspective in their formal writing, together with the use of a language filled with symbolic references fit in adequately with my actual way of thinking about music. Therefore, the music neither ignores nor mutilates the chosen poems. On the contrary, their capricious shapes decisively determine the structure of the work I have created.

Bizitza was composed with funds from the Basque Government.

Cuatro Diferencias

Full title: Cuatro Diferencias sobre un Tiento de Antonio de Cabezón

These four pieces could be considered as a set of variations although, given the static character of the different compositional strategies employed in each one of them, personally, I prefer to think of them as “photographs” of the same object taken from four different angles. I have considered those angles in relation to a closer or further degree of proximity to the sound-world and the rhythmic aspects of the original Tiento by Antonio de Cabezón upon which the piece is based, separating them in order to offer a new vision on this type of composition from the Renaissance.

Dipolo

I have translated into music the idea of duality which is the opposition of positive and negative charges present in a “magnetic dipole”. Dipolo has two contrasting parts (played without interruption) in which this principle of opposition is applied to the music in the form of extremes, including the extreme opposites of dynamics and register.

Dos Zortzikos

Dos Zortzikos consists of two pieces. In performance, the order of these is chosen by the player. According to this chosen order, the listener will be confronted with two very different musical experiences, since the degree of activity of the work as a whole, has been designed in a palindromic way - from its centre outwards.

The number five, so closely related to the nature of the zortziko (a Basque dance in 5/8), has been applied to several musical parameters and certain aspects of the work: repetition of pitches, superposition of five separate layers, fragments of pentatonic scales and specially, the metrical structure. Above all, the intention has been to make an exhaustive use of the rhythmic patterns associated with the zortziko, offering two radically opposed treatments of the piano, and exploring both its percussive and resonant nature.

Duduk I, Duduk II

These are the first two of three pieces (Duduk I being for solo soprano saxophone, Duduk II for saxophone quartet, and Duduk III for oboe trio) whose material is based on the traditional modes/scales of Armenia. These modes nourish Armenian popular music as well as liturgical chant. ‘Duduk’ is the name of the Armenian oboe, traditionally made of Apricot wood. It is never played alone, but is normally accompanied by slightly larger instruments called ‘drone-duduks’ which function as harmonic support for the main player by holding drones for an unlimited period of time, the musicians using circular breathing.

The mellow and somewhat mournful sound produced by the duduk (although being a double-reed instrument) is most similar to the timbre that, by the use of certain techniques, can be achieved by the soprano saxophone.

The piece deals with the ‘problem’ of providing drones that are not present as such, and sets its task as creating the illusion of their presence. At the same time, this polarisation between drone and melody, carried to the extremes, demands experimentation with the material in a way that reflects an equally extreme emotional background: the trauma that stems from a yearning for a lost homeland which, along with a sense of survival against all odds, characterises the Armenian psyche.

Famara

Famara is the name of one of the few natural reserves in Lanzarote (Canary Islands) which has remained untouched by the tourist industry. Although inspired by this beautiful landscape, this piece is not only descriptive, rather, it is a reflection on the damaging effect that tourism has had on the native culture.

For this particular reason I used folk material from the most distant islands of the Archipelago, La Gomera and El Hierro, as their folklore has been preserved in its authentic form, (even surviving the European Conquest of 1402), as have the original instruments consisting of flutes, drums, and ‘Chácaras’ (type of castanets).

As certain instruments in the orchestra display their own melodic and rhythmic personalities, referring in different ways to the folk material, the piece combines them dealing with the concepts of unpredictability of natural phenomena and of isolation in this particular part of the planet.

Fantasía

Fantasía shares some musical materials with a piece I wrote for guitar and chamber ensemble. In a way, this new piece is a free adaptation (therefore its title) and an elaboration of those materials, making it suitable for solo performance. The source is the 'cante jondo' (deep singing), which is recognised as being the essence of Flamenco, as it has been preserved in its most authentic form.

As the piece incorporates some melodic and rhythmic archetypes related to this sound-world, it sets out to notate the 'imperfection' very much associated with folk music. A prominent feature is the quasi-vocal treatment of the guitar, using certain techniques such as pitch-bends and mordents of various kinds.

The treatment of the guitar is also intended to be an evocative approximation to the sound that can be produced by a flamenco guitar (of very different construction). This is achieved by a more incisive way of plucking the strings, letting them vibrate against the frets, and by incorporating certain percussive sounds that accentuate the rhythmic aspects of the piece.

Fauve

Fauve ('wild beast' in French) is the term that gave origin to 'Fauvism' - the Artistic movement characterized by the use of colour by means of violent oppositions and aggressive contrasts, aiming for maximum dissonance. This however, does not reflect on the piece in an obvious way, since the nature of the instruments used (pitched percussion) intentionally restricts utter brutality.

The piece is more an exploration within a restricted number of musical 'colours', in order to create an interdependent relationship between them, by means of contrast and similitude, which also affects dynamics and register. On a rhythmic level, there is a continuous juxtaposition of mechanical structures alongside freer ones, enhancing their flexibility by harmonic means, and aiming to translate into music the chromatic, yet subtle energy present in 'fauvist' paintings.

Izaro

Izaro takes its name from a small island close to the Basque coast, in the Bay of Biscay. On it lies an abandoned Franciscan convent, which in its time was visited by the ‘Catholic Kings’.

In my view, this could represent the position the Church holds in society nowadays: isolated and abandoned. These concepts have been taken into account whilst shaping the structure of the piece, defining the treatment of the instruments and establishing the relationships between them. Therefore, Izaro, rather than being merely inspired by an idyllic landscape, is more a reflection on the issue of growing disconnection, which has been portrayed in the music by the combination of different musical materials: pentatonic, diatonic, chromatic, etc. This sense of isolation is further enhanced by the superimposition of unrelated and distinct senses of musical time: the combination of the static (the eternal) with the movement of a fast moving society (the ephemeral).

Jaia

Jaia means 'fiesta' in Basque. In a way, the piece is intended as a homage to Albéniz because it uses, as a starting point, some melodic, rhythmic, and harmonic materials from his late piano music. As these elements provide the unity for the piece, I have provided diversity through use of certain techniques, such as a rather selective randomisation of the material and other compositional devices applied to the structure of the piece. This practice has allowed me to gain different perspectives on the original.

There has been no attempt on my part to recreate the music of that period other than to throw it into relief. Therefore, rather than only creating a connection with the tradition of Spanish piano music, I opted for exaggerating or simplifying certain aspects of it, thus offering a renewed and personal vision by treating in a very different way the same materials Albéniz used.

Jukal

‘Jukal’ is a gypsy word that means ‘good’, a word which translates as ‘ondo’ in Basque. Through a play of words - cante hondo (deep singing) being the essence of Flamenco which so poignantly represents the pain and anguish of the Andalusian Gypsies - the title reflects the flamenco tradition as reinterpreted by the Basque composer. These two opposed references, embracing the extreme concepts of joy (jukal) and sorrow (as in cante hondo), provide the emotional core of the piece.

Jukal deals with the polarisation of three general elements of Andalusian Gypsy music: song (vocal treatment, represented here primarily by the bassoon), play (guitar or plucked sounds), and dance (percussion), whose roots can be found in Arab, Indian and Jewish folk musics. In Jukal the solo guitar and the ensemble combine in different ways to become successively closer to these three components, Erkoreka having made use of a sophisticated means of notating the imperfections inherent in folk music.

Kin

The title makes reference to the Qu'in, a traditional Chinese instrument related to the sitar, which in this piece is represented by the cello. On the other hand, the accordion works as a Sheng, the Chinese mouth-organ.

In Kin, apart from evoking the sounds produced by those instruments, I have tried to exaggerate the original musical material, in order to portray a feeling of fragility that could be associated to the spiritual character of traditional Chinese music. This has been further enhanced by an extensive use of its main melodic feature, the glissando, which aims to provide both flexibility and sensuousness to the musical discourse.

Krater

The piece starts with a mysterious atmosphere, evoking a volcanic landscape.

Soon a dialogue is established arriving at a first culmination point which marks the beginning of the eruption – ashes, bubbles, flowing rivers of lava…and petrification. An ambience of heat and humidity is created combined with earth sounds.

After all this activity there is a sensation both of desolation and of admiration for the new enigmatic landscape.

Nubes

I. Cúmulos…
II. … Nimbos

Nubes (“clouds” in Spanish) consists of two movements played without interruption. The first, Cumulus, is a play of sonorities based on a fixed intervallic structure from which clear groups unfold, and then dissipate. In the distance, one can hear intimations of a storm.

The second movement, Nimbus, erupts powerfully; the play of intervals expands. Here all the elements that constitute the storm are present: wind, rain and electrical discharges grow from a single nucleus and come together creating an apocalyptic ‘climate’. Suddenly the sky clears and the storm dies; a parallel with life itself.

Nubes II

I. Cirros…
II. …Estratos

Nubes II concludes the cycle which began with Nubes, both works sharing the same musical material. The complete cycle does not claim to be a meteorological exemplar. Rather, it aims to offer different angles on the same object.

This second instalment contrasts with the first by a more subjective musical treatment of the terms to which it refers. The elements and the sounds they trigger, those of the storm, are no longer treated separately but are combined and alternated, thereby creating a broader fragmentation of the musical discourse.

For there are two basic ways of depicting a storm: one is based on the direct representation of its component sounds; the other, perhaps more interestingly, analyses the course and physiognomy of the storm itself.

Océano

Océano was commissioned the Orquesta Sinfonica de Euskadi and first performed by them under Gilbert Varga in Bilbao, Spain, on 4 October 2004.

The composer writes:

'Inspired by different oceanic states, the piece evokes the calm of the ocean both as a physical phenomenon and as a metaphor for timelessness, combined with the ever unpredictable forces of nature and translated into turbulence and drama. Aiming to reconcile the timeless with the unpredictable, the ocean, always different yet always the same, also appears in some sections to be represented in the notion of imperceptible change.
'Moving towards a 'sub-aquatic' sound, the music constantly reiterates descending fragments in which the natural order of harmonics is inverted: fast moving low registers, high sounds in slow motion, as if seen through a mirror that, like the ocean, reflects the world, whilst distorting it.
'Océano is above all a study in dynamics; a sea of unequal dynamics, and a pattern of sporadic breathing, simulating the oscillating movement of the waves.'

Saturno

Towards the end of his life, the Spanish painter Francisco de Goya completed a series of works now known as the ‘Black Paintings’, due to their macabre subject and sombre colouring. Saturno is perhaps the most horrifying of all of them, and its sight had a powerful impact on me.

I tried to portray that feeling into the music in terms of structure. The pieces makes a ‘dramatic’ use of extremes of register and dynamics, hoping to get into the psychology of Saturn and to reflect the equally extreme situation of a man who, according to mythology, is devouring his own son fearful of being usurped.

Soinua

Soinua - 'sound' in Basque - was conceived with a clearly differentiated treatment of the piano and the accordion in mind. Its structure is defined by a series of contrasting relationships between both instruments that, by simulating the sounds of various instruments, appear to be in constant transformation.

The piece explores the combination of distinct musical materials, pentatonic, diatonic and chromatic, which are juxtaposed in different - and sometimes even disconnected - time contexts, always in search of suggestive sonorities.