Northern Sun Program notes by Egīls Šēfers: I am a proud Latvian. When I travel or perform abroad, I love to play music written by Latvian composers for my instrument, the clarinet. And I’m always delighted to answer questions about that music, and about the history and culture of my country. The world knows very little about Latvia. Many people confuse Latvia with Lithuania, mistake the Baltics for the Balkans, and are surprised to learn that there is a Latvian language—which is not at all similar to Russian. This album is an attempt to tell about my nation, its culture and its soul. In it, I’ve displayed the range of Latvian contemporary music for clarinet—everything from solo music to quintet. I’ve also tried to show the different ways in which Latvian composers have approached the instrument. I’m happy that, as a musician, I can do this by playing such a colorful and diverse musical repertoire. Like my teacher Ģirts Pāže, who once debuted the works by Imants Zemzaris and Maija Einfelde included in this album, I’ve had the chance to collaborate closely with Andris Dzenītis, Jānis Petraškevičs, Mārīte Dombrovska, and Santa Ratniece, all composers of my own generation. In several of the pieces in this album the listener will sense a deep yearning, a desire for something unfulfilled—sometimes verging on depression and loneliness. This important thread in Latvian music is particularly apparent in the works of composers such as Zemzaris and Einfelde who grew up and became professionally active during the time of the Soviet occupation. Works composed in the 1980s by these and other composers are full of inner pain and sorrow, as well as a yearning for freedom and independence. Does not Imants Zemzaris’s Balss, which is so close to our folklore, tell us about our centuries-long oppression the same way Latvian folksongs do? In Soviet times, censorship made it impossible to criticize the regime’s Russification policies. These were implemented by bringing in hundreds of thousands of Russian-speaking laborers and developing industries in Latvia that were unsuited to the country’s economic and environmental capacity. In Maija Einfelde’s work Skumjās serenādes, pain over the dying Baltic Sea is expressed as a lament, as sorrow—not as a protest or demand. By making the clarinet gurgle and swoosh like polluted water, squawk like birds coated in oil, and sing a dirge for the dying sea, the composer invokes the ecological catastrophe to which this forced industrialization contributed. The topic of ecology was one of the first to be publicly discussed during the period of perestroika. This discussion began a process in Latvia that eventually led to the National Reawakening and the Singing Revolution and climaxed with the regaining of independence in 1991. Though Pēteris Plakidis’s Veltījums Brāmsam was composed in the hopeful nineties, we can clearly discern in it the composer’s signature ability to take refuge from difficult realities in a generous dose of humor, and sometimes even an unabashed sarcasm. Latvians of my age grew up wearing Red Pioneer scarves and learning in school about the “superiority” of Communism and Socialism and the “ideal” order of things. The early work of the composers of my generation (already embroiled in the search for identity common to all in their early twenties) reflects the shock of the total downfall of this value system. Andris Dzenītis’ Arlekīna gars is a perfect example of this—the harlequin gradually transforms from a clown into an aggressive, grotesque, and almost schizophrenic madman. As he collapses, the true nature of this character (perhaps the composer himself?) is revealed—a quiet, tragic nature, heard in the voice of the bass clarinet. The composer Jānis Petraškevičs has always searched for new ways of expression in his work. When he was composing Et la nuit illumina la nuit, we spent countless hours together, studying the clarinet’s alternative playing techniques and the distinct sound effects they produce. These fine nuances still fascinate him. Once, when I asked if it wouldn’t make more sense to notate a particular passage differently (that is, in an easier way), Jānis responded, “Sometimes it’s important for me to feel a musician’s intellectual effort, the inner discomfort roused by the score.” Santa Ratniece’s work libellules also features a search for new sonorities. Here the clarinet merges into a single whole with the low, warm tones of the cello. Even though the composer almost completely renounces a traditional musical lexicon—weaving her sound texture with quarter-tones, multiphonics, and other alternative techniques—this 2009 work also reveals the fragile, emotional, painful, and I dare say even folk-like thread mentioned earlier. I included Mārīte Dombrovska’s opus in this album not just out of respect for her unfaltering faith in the clarinet, but also because of its special musical quality. The refined dynamic nuances and virtuoso passages in Expromptus are a challenge to a clarinetist, though a few lyrical and truly Latvian poetic sections also steal into the work. I think these are the strongest side of the young composer’s style. In them we find that our characteristic aching is still very real, though it is no longer the quintessential voice of an entire nation’s pain. Rather, it asks for an answer from each member of society, each confused individual—an answer which might fill the emptiness caused by collapse. Much of the music on this album had its origin in the wounds of oppression. We who lived under that oppression experience this music in ways others cannot. While growing up, I heard Einfelde’s and Zemzaris’s works performed by my teachers with deep feeling, even tears in their eyes. But this emotionally saturated music can also bring light and hope, even when it is born of heartbreak and despair. Music, that most sensitive mirror of this age, also tells us about the unbroken spirit of our nation. It is this spirit that kept our parents teaching the Latvian language and customs to their children, regardless of assimilation attempts by the Soviet regime. Because of our unbroken spirit, Latvians kept going to church despite repression. Every four years, the entire nation united in a magnificent song and dance festival Dziesmu svētki that brought together old and young from near and far to join in a mass choir of tens of thousands to celebrate this spirit through our songs. And at last, it was this spirit that helped us to overcome our fear and withstand intimidation by the Soviet military and helped us regain our independence. For the conclusion of the album, I am joined by friends and colleagues from my student years in the clarinet quartet Contraverso. We have recorded a work that is very different from the others—Daina Molvika’s opus Ziemas saule, which utilizes the broad timbral and dynamic possibilities of various instruments from the clarinet family (E-flat, B-flat, alto, and bass clarinet). This piece stands out with its expressly northern, simple, and even cold sound. The composer merely conjures up a typical Latvian winter landscape. There is no longer any sign of aching, or of the pain and suffering felt by a nation or individual, no more grieving, opposition or protests—direct or implied. I want to believe that music—this mirror—still does not deceive. I want to believe that peace and tranquility, felt in this recent work, tells us that we are at a time of healing—a time when we have taken our destiny in our own hands, when we do not regret the past or wish to shut the door on it, and when we gaze with confidence, pride, and hope into the future. Program notes by Mārīte Dombrovska: Solidity. This one word perfectly characterizes the music of Imants Zemzaris (b.1951), whose reflective tranquility is intermixed with a childlike naïveté, a pastoral simplicity, and a refined intelligence. Balss (Voice, 1985) for clarinet introduces a trilogy of pieces—Balss for clarinet, Lauks (Field) for organ, and Jāņu diena (Midsummer’s Day) for French horn, cello, and piano—which are tonally and figuratively linked by a Latvian folkloric “thread” in their melodies, keys, and rhythm. In reference to Balss, Ingrida Zemzare writes, “It’s not the case that the composer has stylized his music in a folkloric spirit. Rather, he has created a piece that contains elements of both instrumental and vocal folk music. This fusion is incredibly interesting; perhaps it is precisely for this reason that the sound is so unprecedented.” The composer himself had the following to say about his opus: “Glissando, double-notes, oral sonority, and games with keys? Taking apart the clarinet and making the musician play on its separate parts? No. In 1985 I chose a different path. I didn’t specify or typify the clarinet but, rather, just the opposite: I made it indeterminate, anonymous. I interpreted it as a universal, fundamental wind instrument—a pipe, a bagpipe, a horn, or something else. The voice of a pipe, the voice of bagpipes—simply a voice. Well, what does this voice sing to us, a voice that has perhaps come from the deep wells of primordiality? There are many different motifs, begun and not fully sung through, woven together in a continuous weave, an entwining, a belt (the Lielvārde belt?). The calls of shepherds are intermixed with the songs of field work and threshing (both can be called balss in Latvian). The Midsummer’s Eve melodies are mixed with lyrical songs—spontaniously, in a non-folkloristic and unscientific way. But if we imagine the entire ancient seasonal cycle (life cycle) as the wheel of a bicycle, turned quickly, then we get the same result. Regardless of the indeterminateness of the clarinet, Balss has been included over the years in the repertoire of Latvia’s best clarinetists. This, of course, has been a wonder for me.” Although Maija Einfelde (b.1939) has enjoyed great success in choral, symphonic, and organ music over the years, the composer’s main genre is still chamber music. In the mid-eighties, Guntars Pupa wrote that “A deep grasp of reality; strange, dusky moods; and dramatic, even tragic collisions raise her chamber works above the average, entertaining product…” His words still hold true today. The piece Skumjās serenādes (Trīs dziedājumi mirstošai jūrai) (Mournful Serenades: Three Chants for a Dying Sea, 1988) for clarinet and string quartet brilliantly characterizes Einfelde’s style at the time – meaningful, emotionally tense, and even expressionistic. Skumjās serenādes is interwoven with the e-f-d-e motif, reminiscent of Dmitry Shostakovich’s (one of Einfelde’s idols) musical monogram d-es-c-h. By discussing one of her beloved characters, the sea, Einfelde develops the theme of ecology with spontaneous emotion, bluntly and prevailingly It seems that in this work, the composer has managed to combine expressionistic tension with an impressionistic beauty. Einfelde’s favorite color, the grayish green waters of the Baltic Sea, glimmers here in all its radiant diversity. Pēteris Plakidis (b.1947) is most renowned for his works of chamber music, though his symphonic and choral works are an essential part of Latvian music. He is also an ardent collaborative pianist and a refined interpreter of chamber music who gladly performs together with his peers, for whom he often composes his music. Plakidis composed Veltījums Brāmsam (Dedication to Brahms, 1999), for clarinet, cello, and piano, for the Transatlantic Trio, where he performs together with the American clarinetist Eric Mandat and the Latvian cellist Ivars Bezprozvanovs. Veltījums Brāmsam belongs among Plakidis’s witty and at times ironic works, based in the musical style of Haydn, Weber, and Rossini. Here, a playful lightness is mixed with a deep seriousness, and popular Brahms themes are woven into tasteful, Plakidis-style laces. In Veltījums Brāmsam, as in the piece Vēl viena Vēbera opera (One More Weber Opera) for clarinet and orchestra, the clarinet is the main protagonist of the musical story. Plakidis is also one of the most erudite instructors at the Jāzeps Vītols Latvian Academy of Music. This album includes works by three of his students—Andris Dzenītis, Jānis Petraškevičs, and Mārīte Dombrovska. This disk features early works by Andris Dzenītis (b.1978) and Jānis Petraškevičs (b.1978). The different musical styles of these two composers were crystallized already in these pieces. In Arlekīna gars (Spirit of the Harlequin, 1995) for clarinet, we are introduced to Andris Dzenītis, who was known at the time for being edgy in both his music and his newspaper columns. Today he is one of the most renowned young composers in Latvia. Dzenītis works in almost all the genres of classical music, and has written two operas. Dzenītis’s works from the 1990s, including the sarcastic clarinet quartet Capriccio e contraverso, stand out with their expressiveness, their considerable dose of existential philosophy and youthful maximalism, and their occasionally depressive and self-destructive moods, which are also seen in his later work. According to the composer, “Arlekīna gars was written upon the suggestion of my friend Egīls Šēfers, who was also an energetic and encouraging schoolmate of mine. It was a wonderful opportunity to study an instrument that I knew very little about. Back then, I perceived the solo instrument as a lonely teller of an intimate story; this approach was reflected in several compositions from that period. The famous pair of contrasting clowns—the lively Harlequin and the sad Pierrot—are interesting characters. I chose the mask of the laughing Harlequin, whose outer form possibly hides a tragic, sorrowful reality. I depict the transition from the outer world of the Harlequin to the depths of his soul as a transition from the soprano clarinet to the bass clarinet. Arlekīna gars soon became one of my most frequently performed works. At the time, I dedicated the piece, almost idealistically, to the remarkable Finnish clarinetist Kari Kriiku, because I was inspired by his wonderful interpretations of contemporary music. In 2001, I further developed the theme of Harlequin and Pierrot in the piece Pierrot for alto saxophone.” Jānis Petraškevičs perceives the sonic world with the eyes of a painter, creating endless interplay of colors, lights and darks, and delving into the essence of sound. This album includes a ten-year-old recording of Petraškevičs’s piece Et la nuit illumina la nuit for clarinet, alto, and piano (1997) with the composer performing at the piano. In reference to the composition, Petraškevičs writes, “‘Non-Being and Being, coming from the same depths, are merely different words. These depths are called Darkness. Darkening this darkness, alas, the door to all wonders’ (Tao). I’ve tried to create a musical reflection on this excerpt from the Tao, mostly in the slow and darkly colored passages at the beginning and the conclusion of the piece, “A Question Without an Answer” and “Answered Question Without an Answer”, respectively. The other four parts of the composition form a musical drama, in which instruments are perceived as characters in a play, as specific personalities or identities.” For Mārīte Dombrovska (b.1977), composing is a hobby rather than a professional activity, and her music reveals a continuation rather than a breaking of traditions. The clarinet is included in almost every other piece she has written—from her vocal cycles, instrumental ensembles, and electro-acoustic music to her orchestral music, like the Clarinet Concerto—perhaps because she was inspired by the performances of the clarinetists of her generation and was encouraged to write music for them. Knowing her “weakness” for clarinets, the organizers of the Fifth International Jurjānu Andrejs Wind Instrument Competition commissioned Dombrovska, then a second-year composition student at the Latvian Academy of Music, to write the obligatory piece for the competition. This led to Expromptus (2000) for clarinet, which was created as a mosaic-like single-mood totality of motifs. Due to its technical complexity, the piece is a hard nut to crack for clarinetists. Santa Ratniece (b.1977) composed libellules (2009) specially for this album, upon the request of Egīls Šēfers. Her works feature a careful exploration of the diversity of the timbral world, where she integrates and mixes various colors, creating new and unusual tonal nuances. The transformation of one musical instrument into another has by now become a signature trait of Ratniece’s music. Compared with the other composers on this album, Ratniece has gone the furthest in terms of creative exploration; her latest work, libellules (2009), almost completely renounces traditional notation. The composer assigned the work a rather poetic program: “In libellules for clarinet and cello, I was looking for a way to sense a particular dual phenomenon in Nature through sound, which in this case was incited by the interplay of two musical instruments. Dragonflies and water. What makes these delicate flying creatures with translucent, fragile wings always return to water? What invisible strings connect the pulsating of light silvery waves with the ceaseless movement of wings streaked with light? What reflections, imperceptible to human sight, make them race toward the surface of water? The clarinet and cello duet does not illustrate this attraction between dragonflies and water. Rather, it reveals the transformation of one into another. The slow swaying of water is combined with the creature that swims in waves of air; and the low, darkly saturated, quiet tones of the clarinet are merged with the cello, uncovering the languid line of the water’s surface. Fanned by sharp sunrays, the unceasing wings are echoed in wind-split, rhythmic reflections on the water; and the high, shrill sound of the clarinet breaks the loud flageolets so unusual to the cello. The bright, translucent water glitters in almost invisible silken wings, the water rises up in flight, and the dragonfly dives down into the depths…” The composer Daina Molvika (Klibiķe) (b.1975) currently lives in Oslo. Most of Molvika’s works are chamber music, though she has also written a few large-scale compositions and music for a multimedia dance production. Ziemas saule (Winter Sun, 2004) is dedicated to the clarinet quartet Quattro Differente. On the title page of the score, the composer writes, “The winter sun is matted, white, and blurry. It shines with a metallic glow through a light fog; in the cold its light is sharp.” Molvika also recalls the creation of the work: “Back then I was experimenting with an animation of sound and harmony. I liked to be on the border where silence turns into sound or noise, especially where it disappears back in silence. I think that a delayed sound becomes a phrase thanks to organic accidents caused by the performer’s flow of breath, or peculiarities of register, or something else… Sound is reanimated, because the performer brings it to life. In my eyes, the winter sun is a paradoxical and marvelous phenomenon. A white disk in the winter sky, though there is still a bit of lightning to it. Even a snowless winter days fills up with a hearty white light, which makes everyone squint. I long to see it again and again.” *** Egīls Šēfers (b.1978) is one of the most renowned young Latvian clarinetists—a natural soloist who can perform even the most complex passages with incredible ease. His playing is known for its high technical mastery and meticulous artistry, polished down to the last detail. Šēfers delves carefully into musical texts, uncovering their deepest layers. He also displays a broad dynamic range, from a full-blooded fortissimo to a whispering, barely audible pianissimo. Šēfers studied clarinet with Ģirts Pāže at the Jāzeps Vītols Latvian Academy of Music, where he earned a bachelor’s degree in 2001. He continued to perfect his performance skills in Stockholm and later in the United Sates, where he earned a master’s degree from Butler University in Indianapolis, studied in the doctoral program at Indiana University Bloomington, where he also held a position of Associate Instructor of clarinet. He has performed in the U.S. and Canada both as a soloist and as a member of chamber ensembles and orchestras. He has forged his performance skills by training with many world-famous clarinetists, including Kjell-Inge Stevenson, John Graulty, Richard Stoltzman, Charles Neidich, and Eli Eban. With Eric Hoeprich, he learned the art of early clarinet playing, and in Denmark he held the Principal Clarinet position with the Odense Symphony Orchestra. As a student at the Latvian Academy of Music, Šēfers was a multiple winner of the Latvian Clarinetists Society’s competition; he also won the Yamaha Young Performers Award, and first prize in the Fifth International Jurjānu Andrejs Wind Instrument Competition. In the United States, Šēfers received several awards for his concert performances, including an Honorary Citizen award from the city of Dallas, Texas. Šēfers is currently a member of the Danish woodwind quintet Carion. After seven years abroad, Šēfers returned to Latvia with his wife Astra and their son, Arturs Miķelis. Clarinetists Mārtiņš Kalniņš (b.1979), Česlavs Grods (b.1977), and Kristaps Kitners (b.1974) are graduates of the Jāzeps Vītols Latvian Academy of Music. At the academy, Kalniņš and Grods performed with Egīls Šēfers in the clarinet quartet Contraverso; together they participated in Richard Stoltzman and Kalmen Opperman’s master classes in the United States. Today, Kalniņš is a clarinetist in the Latvian National Opera and the director of the wind and percussion department at the Jāzeps Mediņš School of Music in Riga. Grods is a member of the clarinet quartet Quattro Differente and the Latvian National Armed Forces Orchestra; he is also an organist at the Virgin of Anguish Roman Catholic Church in Old Riga. Kristaps Kitners plays in the clarinet quartet Quattro Differente, and is a soloist in the Latvian National Armed Forces Orchestra. Pianist Toms Ostrovskis (b.1980) has been Egīls Šēfers’s stage partner for more than ten years. After graduating from the Jāzeps Vītols Latvian Academy of Music, Ostrovskis studied at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, where he earned a master’s degree, and at City University London. He has attended master classes in various countries, triumphed in several international competitions, and performed throughout Europe, Japan, and Canada. Violist Kaspars Vilnītis (1975) studied at the Jāzeps Vītols Latvian Academy of Music, the Welsh College of Music and Drama, and the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, and has participated in several international master classes. He was a founding member of the ensemble Sansara and has performed with the Baltic chamber orchestra Kremerata Baltica. Vilnītis has performed many solo and chamber music concerts in Latvia and Britain. Ēriks Kiršfelds (b.1973) is a soloist and cello concertmaster in the Baltic chamber orchestra Kremerata Baltica. He graduated from the Jāzeps Vītols Latvian Academy of Music and studied with Ivan Monighetti at the Basel Academy of Music. He regularly performs in various chamber ensembles, the Latvian National Symphony Orchestra, and the Liepāja Symphony Orchestra; he also works as a collaborative musician for the Latvian Academy of Music’s chamber ensemble class and for the Jūrmala School of Music. Contemporary music, including works by contemporary Latvian composers, has an important place in his repertoire. The Sinfonietta Rīga String Quartet was founded in 2006, along with the Sinfonietta Rīga chamber orchestra. A year later, the quartet was nominated for a Latvian Great Music Award in the category Debut of the Year. The majority of their repertoire consists of contemporary music. Composer Maija Einfelde dedicated her String Quartet to the ensemble, which premiered the work in 2009. More info: www.egilssefers.com www.lmic.lv