Philip Glass (b. 1937)
Violin Concerto No.2 ‘The American Four Seasons’
Kjetil Bjerkestrand (b. 1955)
Violin Concerto No. 1 ‘Patientia’
Sarah Övinge (violin), Norwegian Chamber Orchestra/Edward Gardner
rec. 2021, Sofienberg Church, Oslo, Norway
LAWO Classics LWC1255 [72]

I requested this superb disc for review for the opportunity to widen my knowledge of one of America’s most eminent composers. The coupling was another concerto by a composer of whom I had no knowledge at all. The result, as it turned out, was unexpected.

Philip Glass’s Violin Concerto No. 2 is made up of four movements plus a Prologue and three interludes that are given to the soloist alone. The work’s subtitle leads you to expect that each movement corresponds to a season, but in fact they are simply numbered. A further point is that Glass allows the performers to play the movements in whichever order they please. The pensive Prologue leads without a break into Movement I. This is a kind of elegant waltz over an accompaniment that begins with repeated arpeggio patterns before progressing to such figuration that a pianist might play with the left hand. Song No. 1 begins like an exercise for learning arpeggios and maybe for crossing strings. This might seem dry, and so it is at first, but – as the music progresses – pauses gradually create a quite extraordinary sense of calm. Stillness is maintained in Movement II, where an oscillating accompaniment in the lower strings supports a long-breathed melody given out by the soloist. There is a more lively middle section before the opening music returns and the movement sinks into silence. Song No. 2 leads into lively Movement III, made up of constant figuration in the solo part; it ends suddenly. Song No. 3 is very expressive and a little melancholy, but the following Movement IV, the finale, has the soloist scurrying around in constant, hyper-rapid motion over a heavy, rhythmic orchestral foundation.

In this concerto, one can easily spot many stylistic characteristics of Glass’s work. The music is tonal, the harmonies generally uncomplicated. It can be highly rhythmic, in the more rapid passages in particular, but the rhythm too is usually regular and with few surprises. Movements, and indeed whole works, have a tendency to end suddenly, with little or no preparation and seemingly in mid-breath. Phrases, or short blocks of music, are repeated, sometimes over and over again, with little development in the conventional sense. The concerto is very accessible, easy to listen to and enjoy at a first hearing, and has passages of remarkable beauty, Movement II in particular. One wonders if the repeated patterns and equal phrase lengths to be found throughout will outstay their welcome after a time. I do not know yet, but after four hearings the music has held my attention each time, with new things heard at every encounter.

Norwegian composer Kjetil Bjerkestrand, one reads in the booklet, has spent most of his career working with rock musicians and in film music. His Violin Concerto No. 1 is in six movements. The first opens with synthesised sounds; they lead into a passage that features a singing line for the soloist supported by what I will refer to as an ‘eventful’ synthesised accompaniment. There is a pleasant, lulling quality to this music, helped by its regular pulse. The second movement’s rapid, constant movement feels like a kind of scherzo. The third movement is entitled ‘Descent and Ascent’, which I take to refer to the regular rising and falling accompaniment figure that supports long, held chords. This might be thought of as a slow movement, though the accompaniment is constantly moving. The solo line, if indeed there is one, is subsumed into the overall texture. Indeed, throughout the work most of the thematic material is given to the instrumental accompaniment, with the soloist sometimes in evidence, sometimes not. The fourth movement is entitled ‘Seven’, but I am unable to work out why. A regular, thumping bass akin to rock is present, as well as hints of Celtic or Scottish music. The fifth movement begins and ends like a slow, slinky tango which is interrupted by a curious passage where a warbling, high-pitched melody is heard above thick, heavy chords. Violin sounds then degenerate into scratchiness to link into the final movement. If the work begins with synthesised sounds that make this listener think of helicopters, this movement opens with sounds rather akin to a steam train. But let me stress: this is real music, and comments such as these are not meant to be flippant. The rising and falling arpeggios that follow have something of Arvo Pärt about them, but without Pärt’s asceticism. The work closes with a long fade-out into silence.

The photos in the booklet appear to have been taken at the recording sessions. In one of them, we see Edward Gardner directing the Norwegian Chamber Orchestra. For the Glass concerto, seventeen musicians are listed in the booklet, including a synthesizer. Bjerkestrand’s piece, to judge from the booklet listing, requires two synthesizers and a string quartet, of which the first violinist is the concerto soloist, Sara Öving. The synthesizers are in evidence throughout the work. In the Glass, on the other hand, there are just a few passages where the sounds are so clearly synthesized that one can pick them out easily, but one is left uncertain elsewhere.

Concrete information about the synthesizer in both works is desperately needed, but sadly the booklet note provides no help on this, nor indeed, to be honest, on anything else. This is a missed opportunity, because many listeners would welcome a few simple words of introduction in repertoire such as this. Instead, we have a long, discursive discussion that starts with the question ‘Just who is the modern performer?’ We learn that Bjerkestrand ‘describes the composition process as one part search for fixation points in a series of possible events, and one part exploration of friction caused by the union of the elastic and the mechanical’. So now you know. Given that the Glass – confusingly referred to as his 2nd Piano Concerto – was composed as a kind of companion piece to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, is the synthesizer meant to replace the continuo? How much freedom is allowed the performer as to the synthesized sounds produced? Are the string parts the same in every performance of the work? These are some of the things it would have been good to know.

I have said nothing so far about the performers. Sara Öving has, one reads, a wide experience of music of all kinds, and is an endless explorer of new forms of musical expression. In Bjerkestrand’s concerto, she seems as much an ensemble player as a soloist, but the Glass is a real concerto, and she is magnificent. When virtuosity is required, it is of a different order from a more conventional violin concerto. The finale, to give a single example, requires long passages of extreme velocity with much repetition, surely a nightmare to play and to memorise: she undertakes it with stunning success. Her rich and beautiful tone in more cantabile passages is balm to the mind. An allusion in the booklet to domestic harmony seems to suggest that Edward Gardner is her husband – that is easily confirmed online. The orchestra’s role in the Glass is mainly to support the soloist, and they and Gardner do this most satisfactorily. The quartet in Bjerkestrand’s work is made up of the orchestra’s principal players, but I am unable, for most of the work, to distinguish their playing from that of the synthesizers.

Trying to give a satisfactory account of this disc has been a daunting process. Listening to it, on the other hand, is unalloyed pleasure. To those readers interested in expanding their musical horizons, I strongly recommend it; indeed, I cannot imagine how this music, in such committed performances as these, could fail to please. Do your own research afterwards, if you wish, as I intend to do. Read the booklet note once, if you must. But most important, sit back and let your ears be the judge.

William Hedley

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