Valerie Welbanks (cello soloist)
Ligeti, like many other Eastern European composers of the 20th century had a difficult and painful existence as a young adult, living through continuous periods of war and repression - bereavements of close family members and a lucky personal escape from the Nazis in the 2nd world war followed by communist rule in his native Hungary which was punctuated by the grinding greyness of commissars and committees who could make or break a young composer’s career on a whim.
Luckily for him (and for us!) Ligeti managed to escape Hungary in 1956 and made his way to Western Europe where he quickly found a place amongst the leading lights of the musical avant garde.
In the 60’s and 70’s there were a number of ‘goto’ imstrumentalists who were known for their willingness and indeed enthusiasm for avant garde works – Heinz Holliger on the oboe, Viktor Globokar on the Trombone, Severino Gazzeloni on the flute; Siegfried Palm fulfilled that role on the cello and numerous composers including Penderecki and Kagel wrote works specifically for him. Ligeti too – and in April 1967, the first performance of the cello concerto was given in Berlin.
If you are expecting a virtuosic upfront display by the solo cello with a suitably deferent orchestral accompaniment you will be disappointed. Not that the soloist doesn’t have some extremely difficult and challenging passages to navigate, but If anything, this work is an anti-concerto - it can even be played with an ensemble of soloists with the ‘solo’ cellist just one member of the group. In some ways the concerto as a form had come full circle by returning to its roots in the concerto grosso of the baroque where little groups of soloists would (musically) pop out of a larger ensemble and then return to the fold. This cello concerto is also quite short – about 16 minutes in total, with the first movement lasting about 6 minutes and the second movement about 10.
From the start, you can sense that this music is different, a reflection of the experimental and wonderfully creative explorations of a group that included not only Ligeti but also Penderecki, Lutoslawski and Xenakis to name but a few.
The two movements are very different even though they both begin with a single note that spans outwards like a fan to embrace nearby notes. In the first movement, the cello emerges gradually from silence with an E above middle C. Almost imperceptibly, the cello is joined by strings and then flute, clarinet, bassoon, horn, trumpet and trombone. Other adjacent notes are introduced creating clusters of sound.
That’s pretty much it. So where is the music?
It is to be found in the incredible subtlety of tone colour that sustains the whole first movement which is played in near silence – instructions for ppppp, pppp, ppp and pp abound. String players are instructed to move continuously from playing near the bridge (a wiry kind of sound) to on the fingerboard (more muted); string harmonics, tremolandos and other techniques together with extensive textual instructions litter the score. Similar types of tone-colour techniques are ever present in the woodwind and brass parts too. The movement ends with a long passage of long notes for the solo cello and double bass.
It is a very beautiful and awe inspiring 5 – 6 minutes of delicate sound.
The second movement is an almost total contrast. Although it starts innocently enough, outbursts by the solo cello, groups of soloists (strings) and the whole ensemble dominate the movement. There is ‘dissonance’ everywhere.
To focus on this aspect is to miss the point. In Ligeti, like (most notably) Xenakis, that point is texture – the actual notes are less important. Techniques of one musician playing 13 notes to the beat while another plays 12 and a third 11 etc. is a common device in Ligeti’s music. He knew that it would be close to impossible for an accurate rendition to emerge – in fact, in response to a question about another piece (Ramifications for String Orchestra) he stated that ‘the error was built in to the music’. (Xenakis who was a mathematician and an architect, used statistical equations to compose much of his music in order to create a similar effect)
Many listeners then, and now, find these ideas outrageous, ridiculous and ‘not music’. Here is not the place to contest that view. But – at least one should understand what these composers were trying to achieve.
There are many parameters that make up a musical sound and composition – pitch, volume, duration, (rhythm ) envelope, harmonic content and the cumulative effect of sound when combined both horizontally (as in a theme or melody) and vertically (as in harmony).
At different points in musical history, different parameters have been important and others less so. In the baroque, pitch and duration were paramount, orchestration was not. For example, the Bach Ricercare which opens tonight’s programme could be played by a string sextet or a full symphony orchestra – the essence of the piece remains in both instances. In Mozart, one wouldn’t dream of re-orchestrating one of his symphonies.
In the 20th century, percussion and orchestral colour came to the fore; then absolute pitch, rhythm and duration were added with the serialists, (eg: Webern) and in the 60’s and 70’s textural music became the focus – minimalism as in Terry Riley, Steve Reich and Phillip Glass, but also with Ligeti and the other composers mentioned earlier, albeit in a non-tonal environment.
Here the emphasis is on a tapestry of sound where strong thematic (melodic) material often recedes into the background and is replaced by a texture, or a sonic environment which creates atmosphere, energetic flux and effect. In this context, the quote about ‘the error is built in’ begins to make sense as the inaccuracy is part of the textural effect.
Even though it might not be aurally obvious, the textures are incredibly carefully and beautifully crafted. Drama and dramatic effect – a hugely important element of all Ligeti’s music – and humour are ever present.
Unsurprisingly, Ligeti’s music was used extensively in film, most notably in Kubrick’s ‘2001, A Space Odyssey’. It is striking how audiences will accept this kind of sonic exploration in a film without complaint, but find it challenging in a concert environment.
The movement ends with a solo cadenza on the cello, finally subsiding to the silence with which the concerto began.
