Maija Einfelde (b. 1939)
Iz senseniem laikiem [From Long Ago](1992)
Trīs noktirnes [Three Nocturnes](1988)
Crucifixus (1989)
Ave Maria (1994)
Sanctus (1999)
Trīs jūras dziesmas [Three Songs of the Sea](1994)
Balãde [Ballade](1987)
Ilze Reine (organ) rec. 2025/26, Walcker Organ of Riga Cathedral, Latvia
Reviewed as a download
SKANi LMIC179 [71]
The pipe organ is without a doubt a marvel of human engineering. Some sources describe it as the most complex piece of machinery until the advent of the telephone exchange in the late 19th century. Suitably, the form of music many listeners expect to hear on the organ is the fugue: a genre with associations of being intricate, academic, and even mathematical. I have attended organ recitals for years and I still find myself intimidated by some of the vocabulary: the diapasons and the mixtures, the tuning systems and multilingual stop names. I will add, by the way, that I don’t, personally, think this is very fair. Fugues can be incredibly expressive – but I think it is fair to say that the stereotype exists.
I am not quite as attracted to the more mathematical-engineering side of the pipe organ (although I admire those who are) but I truly love the sounds they can make. A good-sized pipe organ has a vast, vast array of possible shades, from ethereal and delicate to thundering and apocalyptic.
I want to propose in this review that Einfelde is a colourist who makes good use of the orchestra’s range, and writes compositions that are readily understandable as emotive pictures. Nothing abstract or academic here!
Maija Einfelde was born in 1939 in Valmiera, Latvia, a town of the medieval Hanseatic League. Although in the booklet (notes in Latvian and English) we read that “Einfelde admits that the organ is not among her favourite instruments”, she first studied music with a church organist – her mother. That, perhaps, gives the instrument a touch more biographical resonance. That was not the only line in the booklet where one could imagine a wry smile on Einfelde’s face. Commenting on the fact that all her organ compositions seem to date between 1987 and 1999, she says, “but I think I’ve exhausted the organ’s timbre. Time will tell.” Don’t hold your breath for ‘Einfelde Organ Works, Vol. 2’ is what I’m hearing.
Einfelde continued to study in Latvia, graduating from the state conservatory in 1966 and working ever since as a composition and music theory teacher. Her compositional output is summed up as follows: “In the 1970s and ‘80s, Einfelde composed mainly instrumental and vocal chamber music. In the 1980s, she began composing for organ and orchestra, and since the 1990s, she has been focused on choral music.”
I know of only two other CDs of her music. There was a disc dedicated to her choral settings in 1999 (review), about which Neal Horner wrote, “I detect a kinship…with the often angry and anguished utterances of Vasks.” Then there are her violin sonatas, recorded in 2020 (review), the first of which Stephen Greenbank calls “spiky and angular”. As for organist Ilze Reine, she has been a featured artist on four CDs of music by Latvian composers, the best-known being Vasks’s Laudate, (review) containing five of his choral works from the 2010s. To sum up: this present release really is a chance for us all to hear something new.
Iz senseniem laikiem was composed in 1992 originally for clarinet quartet and runs about eight minutes. My Latvian is a little rusty (well, non-existent, actually) but the booklet tells me that the title means “From Long Ago”. There is no Buxtehude or Gabrieli here – Einfelde is drawing on Latvian folk chants of the daina style, which means droned vocals and metrically trochaic poetry. It opens with a steady crescendo and lots of repeated notes. The rhythm feels, as a result, rather ‘free’, and it took me two or three listens to really get into the right mindset for it. Think of it as a “Chant Without Words”, and you’ll be on the right track.
Next comes the Three Nocturnes from 1988. We are warned in the booklet not to think of Chopin, but of Mahler. I didn’t hear either, really, but they do follow conventional nocturne form – slow, dreamlike opening; impassioned middle section; return to calm at the end. In general, the first nocturne is moody, exploiting some of the brassy sounds of the organ, while the second is more agitated. For me, the third is the highlight of the collection. It opens with a pure, solitary theme that is reinforced by deep harmonies later on. This growling gives way to a twinkly, piccolo-like section, which segues into another big climax. It’s all very symphonic.
Following the Nocturnes is a triptych of unrelated religious pieces with one-word Latin titles. Different though they are, they point back to Einfelde’s history as a choral writer in different ways. First is 1989’s Crucifixus, which is suitably stark and dramatic, opening with stabbing, staccato chords and lots of pedal work. There is a political lament here as well. Einfelde sees in Mark 15:24 “…they divided his garments, casting lots for them…” a metaphor for the history of her native Latvia, so often divided among its powerful neighbours. This might remind you of Penderecki. The second piece, Ave Maria, is one of Einfelde’s most popular compositions in its original choral arrangement. I can see why. After a somewhat convoluted opening, the melody comes in beautifully clear, and it is appealing and reflective. It also provides a nice moment of warmth in this album. The last of our religious pieces is Sanctus, composed in 1999 as one of her final pieces for organ. Believers might, or might not, appreciate the way Einfelde has represented, quote, “a sort of Trinity” through different musical components. I have a feeling that it might be one of the 4th- or 5th-century heresies. Musically speaking, it’s quite reminiscent of Messiaen, as you might expect.
We have another trio in the form of the Three Songs of the Sea, composed in 1991 for string orchestra as Simfonieta. It is not, therefore, three different songs about the sea, but a single composition. It was inspired by a Latvian folktale about some young men who come across sea-blue horses, and, after mounting them, are carried into the water, never to be seen again. As such, she adapted the work for solo organ in 1994 as a sort of in memoriam to the 852 people killed in the sinking of the MS Estonia that year. It is a highly dramatic work lasting all of 13 minutes. The first movement depicts the calm of the sea with big waves crashing against the shore. The middle movement is a toccata with plenty of menace representing the storm, and also the galloping of the legendary horses. We return to the calm, flat seas in the elegiac third movement. The context is not necessary, exactly, since Three Songs of the Sea is highly dramatic even for a casual listener, but it gains something if you know the story behind it.
We finish with the 13-minute Ballad, Einfelde’s first composition for the organ. It, like the Three Songs of the Sea, is a lament, this time for the victims of the anti-Jewish pogroms of 1905. It, like Iz senseniem laikiem, makes use of folk-music material, here with haunting, dissonant harmonisations. The piece cycles through various contrasting moods, from stormy to sorrowful.
The acoustic of Riga Cathedral is wonderfully spacious, and the engineers at SKANi have done an excellent job capturing every detail and the full dynamic range. I feel as if I’m there in person. The organ used was constructed by Walcker Orgelbau from 1882 to 1883, and reconstructed by Flentrop a century later. It has 124 stops and 6,718 pipes ranging from 13 mm to 10 metres in height. A full stoplist can be found on here.
Adventurous organ aficionados should check out this album, but so, I think, should listeners of contemporary classical who do not often venture into the world of stops and ranks and manuals. They will find Einfelde a compelling and original voice, with an exciting range of textures, emotions, and tonal colours.
Maija Einfelde may feel that she has exhausted the timbre of the organ, but I do not think we have exhausted the output of Einfelde. Here’s to much greater recognition of her dramatic, varied, vital works.
Aidan Gray
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