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Ketil Hvoslef - ORGAN WORKS (Vol. 3)
(b. July 19th 1939, Bergen)
CHIESE DI ROMA:
1 – Santa Cecilia – alla memoria d’una santa decapitata
2 – San Clemente – livelli della fede
3 – San Ignazio – l’illusione della prospettiva
4 – La Chiesa di Quattro Coronati – l’oratorio di San Silvestro
First performance: Mariakirken, Bergen, June 19th. 2019 / Karstein Askeland
Ketil Hvoslef was born in Bergen on July 19th 1939. He is the youngest son of Harald Sæverud and Marie Hvoslef. He arrived at a propitious time, since his birth coincided with the completion of Siljustøl, the great mansion in the outskirts of Bergen where the Sæverud family settled and where his father lived until his passing in 1992. It also proved to be a haven during the Nazi invasion of Norway in the Second World War.
Being the son of a great composer, music was naturally very present during his upbringing. He learned to play the piano and the viola and, in his teens, he became heavily involved in Bergen's jazz and pop music environment, becoming a member of what was, reportedly, Bergen's first rock band. Hvoslef (who retained the Sæverud surname until his 40th birthday, when he decided to adopt that of his mother) had, however, plans to become a painter and took serious steps in that direction. It was in the Bergen Art Academy that he met the painter Inger Bergitte Flatebø (1938 - 2008), who would become his wife and adopt the Sæverud surname.
With the birth of their first child, Trond, in 1962, Hvoslef realized that he needed to provide for his family and, abandoning his dreams to become either a pop star or a painter he took an organist's diploma at the Bergen Music Conservatoire. Upon finishing his studies, he was offered a position as theory teacher at the Conservatoire by its director, the legendary Gunnar Sævig (1924 - 1969).
Hvoslef became a composer almost by accident. In his 25th year he composed a piano concertino for his own satisfaction. Shortly after, his father passed on to him a commission for a woodwind quintet he had no time or inclination to write. Since then Hvoslef has received a fairly steady stream of commissions and his work list counts with some 160 compositions to date. Hvoslef always enjoys a challenge and he has often written for unusual or seemingly "hopeless" instrumental combinations, always using the limitations of the ensemble as a stimulant for his imagination. He has written for large orchestra, for a great variety of chamber ensembles and for solo instruments. He has composed twenty concertos and three operas.
He was the Festival Composer in the Bergen International festival in 1990 and has received several prizes such as the Norwegian Composers' Society's "work of the year" in four occasions (1978, 1980, 1985 and 1992) and TONO's Edvard Prisen in 2011.
Hvoslef's music is characterized by great transparency and by a conscious building of tension achieved by accumulating latent energy. He wants his listeners to lean forward and listen rather than sit back and be lulled into a reverie. Listening to a Hvoslef composition is always an adventure. One never knows what to expect. He stretches sections of the music almost to breaking point and only then introduces a new idea. His music has a classical clarity and transparency and is therefore always easy to follow. Although his highly personal and concentrated language is very much of its time, Hvoslef is not averse to using material that is recognizably tonal (such as major and minor triads) albeit always in a context that sets these familiar sounds in conflict with their surroundings. Rhythm is a very prominent aspect of Hvoslef’s music. Although the vast majority of his production is notated in 4/4 metre, his rhythmical patterns almost never conform to it, always favouring patterns of odd-numbered notes.
Ketil Hvoslef is, without a doubt, one of the greatest composers to emerge from Scandinavia in the second half of the Twentieth Century and one of the truly original masters of our time.
ORGAN WORKS – Vol. 3
With this series (of which the present volume is the third and last), Amethyst Edition aims to publish Ketil Hvoslef’s works for organ that still remain in manuscript form. These are Påskevariasjoner (‘Easter Variations’ – 1986), Revidert Åpenbaring (‘Revised Revelation – 1991), Passacaglia (1997) and Chiese di Roma (Churches of Rome – 2015-2017)
One common denominator for the four works that feature in the series is that they were all commissioned by and written for the Bergen-based organist Karstein Askeland (b. 1963). We are very fortunate to count with his assistance in these editions, which he has meticulously proofread. His help with registrations and correct organ-related terminology has been invaluable.
Hvoslef belongs to a generation of Norwegian composers and musicians whose higher music education resulted in an organist diploma. He has, therefore, an intimate knowledge of the technical and expressive possibilities of the instrument. His first work for the organ was Orgelvariasjoner – Organ Variations from 1972 – which he does not consider to be fully satisfactory. Six years later he would salvage the work’s main theme in his 7-flutes miniature Ludium (mph 1977). His first consummate composition for the instrument came in 1974 with Organo Solo, the third in a series of works for solo instruments designated by their Italian name (Flauto, Tromba, Organo, Violino etc.)
After a gap of twelve years Hvoslef again turned his attention to the organ. The occasion was the debut concert by the, at the time, 23 year old Karstein Askeland.
Although Hvoslef has written a number of works with biblical texts or based on religious themes, he does not consider himself a religious person. For that reason, he is able to approach religious texts and themes without taking dogma into account. All of the religion-related works he has written have been the result of specific commissions. He mentions Bibelske Bilder (Santimagine) – mph 3086 – as a prime example of a biblical text (from the 12th chapter of The Book of Revelation) chosen primarily for its visual properties. He states:
I believe I can somewhat rightly call myself a visual composer, in the sense that, when confronted by a new task, I think “serious-visually” instead of “serious-philosophically”
Hvoslef writes the following in regards to Chiese di Roma:
I have lived in Rome over extended periods, and it could not be otherwise but that the city’s churches became an important part of my visual impressions.
The direct reason behind Chiese di Roma was an evening visit to the church of Santa Maria in Trastevere, where a sculpture of a beheaded woman stands in a glass case in front of the altar. I sat alone in the church when a small “choir” of black-clad nuns entered almost silently, like a small, dark breeze. They placed themselves in front of the sculpture and, together with an organist – also dressed in black – began to perform/sing an evening mass. Quite soon the pitch of the choir dropped, followed by repeated attempts by the organist to raise the choir up again. This “performance” went on for a while and that which made the strongest impression on me was the warmth and devotion with which they performed the mass. Their helplessness did not deteriorate the expression; quite the contrary. This experience gave me the idea of writing an organ work in which I would try to recreate this helpless tenderness.
The idea later came of visiting other churches in Rome with the intention of capturing the peculiarities and character of the different church rooms. The result became four organ pieces connected to four churches with very different stories to tell.
At 53 minutes of duration, Chiese di Roma is Hvoslef’s most extended and ambitious organ work. It is not, however, his first organ composition inspired by a Roman theme. In 1988 he wrote “Toccata – Fontana dell’Organo Villa d’Este”, inspired by a visit to the famous site in the outskirts of Rome.
Hvoslef’s music has always been characterized – as stated above – by its transparency. One can always hear everything that happens in the music, even when he writes for symphony orchestra. The organ is, in a sense, an “orchestra in a box”. Its myriad possible sound combinations invite composers and organists to search for all manner of colours and intensities, from the most ethereal and delicate to the most incisive and overpowering. The latter capability often turns organ music – particularly much of that written in the past hundred years – into impenetrable sound masses where overwhelming volume is deployed at the expense of detail. Hvoslef does not shy away from high volume when the music demands it but he always maintains clarity.
Long pedal tones are a common feature to all four movements of Chiese di Roma. In Hvoslef’s music, harmony has practically never a directional function. Whatever harmonic changes may happen on top of the mentioned pedal tones always create a colourful effect, in the manner of a kaleidoscope. The harmonies, as well as the melodic cells and lines, often turn around themselves until the idea has been used up and it is time to go on to the next section of the music. Although certain aspects of the musical material are reinstated in each of the movements, the music is – in keeping with Hvoslef’s practice and visual conception – episodic. The eventual return of material provides the pieces with a formal coherence that might not have been easy to discern otherwise. The work begins and ends with an open E flat harmony. Of all aspects of the work, this is the one that definitely unites it into a whole.
As is most often the case with Catholic churches, the ones that inspired this work all bear the names of saints.
The church of Santa Cecilia, which inspired the first movement of the work, is in the Trastevere district. It was built in the 5th Century, in honour of the martyred St. Cecilia, patron saint of musicians. As the movement’s subtitle indicates, she was beheaded. Of the four movements in the work, Santa Cecilia is the one that most obviously displays the sense of ‘helpless tenderness’ Hvoslef describes regarding his experience with the singing nuns. This atmosphere permeates the first four minutes of the movement. Without warning, the music gathers momentum from measure 107, with an ostinato that would, six years later, find a new home in the eleventh of the Thirteen Violin Duets (mph. 4735). This develops into intricate and animated three and four-part counterpoint with most activity in the top voices. The music returns to its earlier vulnerability, now in the form of a descending flurry of notes (m. 167 and ff.) that wind down into 45 seconds of abject darkness (mm. 185-205). A slow, contemplative polyphony emerges from this, also gathering momentum and intensity until reaching breaking point in m. 279. More slow polyphony follows, now in a more serene state, particularly from m. 301. Typically, Hvoslef reintroduces the dainty, unassuming motif from the beginning of the piece, over ten minutes after we last heard it – having forgotten about it in the meantime. This gives rise to a new idea, consisting of repeated quaver thirds. Scurrying triplets in the middle voice provide the glue between the two outer voices, which play a melody (m. 362 and ff.) earlier heard, but not sufficiently asserted, in mm. 149-166. The ostinato earlier heard in m. 107 also makes a comeback (m. 376), but now also more emphatically than earlier. What seems to suggest a new build-up towards a possible climax, turns into a cul-de-sac, with two voices competing for space before falling into silence (mm. 383-392). At the end, the music falls into a state of quiet contemplation, finally resting on a very subdued C major chord.
St. Clement was one of the earliest popes after Peter (either the second or fourth, according to different sources). Like St. Cecilia he also died a martyr’s death. The church that bears his name in Rome is placed in close proximity to the Coliseum. Faith was at the very centre of Clement’s doctrine. Hvoslef refers to this in the subtitle of the second movement San Clemente. The four “levels” that divide the continuous movement also refer to the layers of construction the church underwent before reaching its present form. These also serve as a guiding line to the archaeological history of the city of Rome. Although additions to the church continued into the 19th Century, Hvoslef only takes us as far as the 11th. Of all the four movements in the work, San Clemente is the one that most closely adheres to Hvoslef’s visual conception of the music. The movement begins with a series of overlapping thirds. They begin, softly, up high and gradually descend to the lowest register. One can easily imagine the visitor to the church descending from street level to the original structure, 20 metres below ground. The resulting darkness is of an impersonal, merely physical quality, with none of the ominous overtones we found in St. Cecilia. Hvoslef introduces each new “level” with a series of ascending thirds. Again, a strongly visual representation of the act of climbing or rising. “Level 2” is dominated by a gently insisting right hand ostinato (m. 83 and ff.) that soon interacts with another, more extroverted ostinato in the left hand (m. 88 and ff.). It grows in intensity before falling back to its original relative calm. “Level 3” again begins with rising thirds, now in a brighter registration. This is the most contemplative of the levels. A long drone supports a series of short chords separated by pauses of different lengths – a typical Hvoslef device. A short, scintillating episode – as darts of light playing capriciously with the dark interior (mm. 215-222) – gives way to the most extended of the quiet sections, beginning on m. 223. This calm, unhurried music seems to suggest a need for lingering on this particular section of the building. The dissonant harmony ensures the alert state of the listener.
The opening thirds of “Level 4” are even brighter than before. Their gradual acceleration suggest the approaching of natural light after having spent a long time in an artificially lit environment. This is confirmed by the joyful explosion of sound in m. 280. At the end of the movement the music finally embraces an intensity and level of activity that has, at best, only been hinted at previously. This last section – dominated by probing, ascending lines – brings back echoes of earlier ideas. The repeated chords in mm. 380-389 hark back to m. 177 and ff. The playful hocket beginning in m. 380, brings back memories of m. 215 and ff. At the very end, the well-established overlapping thirds rise, one might say, triumphantly to an A major chord, underpinned by a C natural in the bass. This is a chord type of which Hvoslef is very fond. It can be found, in the same “key” in “Bibelske Bilder” (mph. 3086).
Of all the movements in this cycle, San Ignazio is the one with the greatest predominance of pedal points. 305 of its 416 bars are based on pedal points. They are mostly long held drones, with the exception of one section (mm. 333-369), where the unchanging bass follows the rhythm of the upper voices and pauses also when they pause. The movement is inspired by the 17th Century church of Sant’Ignazio in Campo Marzio, dedicated to St. Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Jesuit order. The aspect of the church that obviously caught Hvoslef’s imagination is the ceiling art. The extraordinary frescoes by Andrea Pozzo – a lay Jesuit priest – manage to create the illusion of great height in a relatively low ceiling. Financial restrictions made it impossible for the architects to provide a dome. Pozzo created, instead the illusion of one. He tricks the eye in the same way with another fresco, in which the observer is taken visually upwards toward the heavens, effectively “removing” the ceiling of the church.
It makes sense that, in order to appreciate the frescoes from different vantage points one needs to stand still; hence the pedal points. Otherwise, it would be futile to speculate how the many details of the Sant’Ignazio ceiling correspond to Hvoslef’s musical realization.
There are, in this movement, obvious unifying elements. The pedal points provide a general sonic environment. The opening and closing motifs, although identical in rhythm, are a retrograde version of each other at a distance of a minor sixth. The motif also reappears, in its original form, in mm. 370-372. Unusually for Hvoslef – albeit not for the first time – an entire section of the piece is exactly repeated three times. This concerns the joyful polyphony that bursts forth after the opening motif (mm. 3-34). It returns, verbatim, but transposed down a fifth, in mm. 145-176; and again, in the same “key” in mm. 372-403. Both the original and last versions are extended slightly in order to provide a link to the following music. These three structural pillars create the impression of moving – or having moved – in space. The observed image is the same, but the perspective has changed. A final unifying factor for San Ignazio is the use, in several sections, of Hvoslef’s own “Titlestad Scale”: C-D#-E-F-Gb-Ab-B. He has used it in several other works (Titlestad, in the district of Fana, was his place of residence for many years from the 1970’s through the early 1990’s). The scale provides the frame for the sections in mm. 177-196, 211-240, 313-369 and 406 to the end.
In between the sections mentioned above, different kinds of music unfold, always with clear points of rest to differentiate them. The energy that has been withheld for most of the movement is finally given free rein at the very end. San Ignazio ends with a loud open C, making a reference to the more restrained C major chord that concluded Santa Cecilia.
After 41 odd minutes of relatively abstruse music, L’Oratorio di san Silvestro seems, at the outset, to extend a friendly hand to the listener, perhaps as a reward for having stayed the course and having navigated through some fairly esoteric soundscapes. The arcane is not entirely absent from this movement, but there are extended sections that solely utilize the pitches of conventional scales. The first 32 measures are in B-flat Dorian. Measures 37-79 are in F major. Measures 224-250 are in F Aeolian. Measures 299-320 are in C Phrygian (same pitches as F Aeolian and B-flat Aeolian). These sections provide the listener with the scent of familiarity.
This movement is inspired by the frescoes of the basilica of San Silvestro in Capite, placed in the square that bears the name of the saint, a 4th Century pope. The frescoes tell the story of the conversion of Constantine. Hvoslef appends a descriptive name for the artworks for each of the ten sections. In a sense, L’Oratorio di san Silvestro thus becomes a “Pictures at an Exhibition” of sorts, with the walls of a church here substituting an art gallery. It is fascinating and surprising to follow Hvoslef’s imagination through the piece. ‘Giudizio Universale’ (universal judgement) opens the movement with its Morse Code-like repeated notes and a double drone framing a raising and falling two-part harmony. The aforementioned section in F major follows in an atmosphere of serene joy. Short-lived joy, as it happens. The next section, ‘Costantino Colpito dalla Lebbra’ (Constantine struck by leprosy), creates an atmosphere of spiritual, rather than physical suffering with its soft but intense chords – now by themselves, now framed by a double drone – separated by pregnant pauses,. A more extended passage of understated, continuous music follows, leading to the third section ‘Costantino Sogna’ (Constantine dreaming). Here a tender melodic motif appears that will show up again, transformed, later on. Peter and Paul appear to Constantine in this oneirical episode (m. 206). The music becomes more active in the fourth section. ‘I Messi di Costantino Salgono sul Monte Soratte per Incontrare Silvestro’ (Constantine’s messengers set out to Mount Soratte looking for Sylvester). A new melody infiltrates itself at the end of this section (m. 254 and ff.). The same melody, with its mirror inversion, carries on to the next section, ‘Silvestro Rientra a Roma’ (Sylvester re-enters Rome). The repeated notes heard in the beginning return, one tone higher, in this section. The animated semiquavers that begin in m. 286 lead to ‘Il Battesimo’ (the baptism) in m. 298 which, oddly, is in the minor mode. The melody first exposed in the dream sequence returns in ‘Costantino Curato’ (Constantine healed), with a different rhythm and staccato quavers spicing up a long-held pedal point. The brief ‘Silvestro a Cavallo’ (Sylvester on horseback) leads to ‘Costantino Consegna la Tiara a Silvestro’ (Constantine hands the tiara over to Sylvester). Here the “dream” melody and the one heard at the end of the “messengers” section coexist briefly in two-part polyphony, enveloped by a long-held B-flat. As with the two previous movements, most of the outward energy is saved for the final section titled ‘Costantino Libera il Popolo Romano dal Drago’ (Constantine frees the Roman population from the dragon). On top of an insistent two-note ostinato in the pedals, the music develops into a frenzy. For one time only in the work Hvoslef unleashes a mighty cacophony with the growing clusters played alternatively by the hands from m. 392 to m. 404. Even here, though, clarity is maintained, as it is obvious that there is no inner detail to which we might need to pay attention. The clusters are the musical event. The piece ends on a very positive note with the melody first heard in m. 254 played, again, in tandem with its inversion as the two-note pedal motif slows down. The repeated notes heard earlier return at the very end, bringing the work full circle to the open E-flat harmony that set it in motion 53 minutes earlier.
Hvoslef has provided two endings to the work. In the original one, the repeated notes begin earlier. In the “ossia” ending they only appear six measures from the end.
Karstein Askeland – whose recording of Chiese di Roma is available from the LAWO record company – chooses to play the alternative ending.
Chiese di Roma is the current culmination of Hvoslef’s majestic production for the organ, which spans five decades. It is a powerful work of rare beauty that, along with his other masterpieces for the instrument, ought to find its rightful place in the repertoire.
About this edition
Karstein Askeland is keen to point out that the registration indications are to be seen as general directions rather than fixed instructions. Each organist will find his or her ideal registrations based on the ones given in this edition and dictated by the instrument and church rooms in which the works are performed. Having said that, the given suggestions in this edition of Chiese di Roma are based on the organ of the Church of St. Mary (Mariakirken) in Bergen:
https://weimbs.de/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/N_Bergen.pdf
Ricardo Odriozola, July 27th 2023
German preface not available ...
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