Dutch Composers

[André]

Really?

Indeed, it's the first time I've encountered that particle in relation with Rilke.

Coincidentally, last September I spent some time in Slovenia with my son. We went places and one of those was the Trieste area and nearby Duino, where Rilke wrote one of his most influential works, the Duino Elegies (which I haven't read). I didn't visit the castle or the Rilke museum, but trekked the Rilke Path around the Duino Estate. Amazing view on the Adriatic Sea. Maybe I should re-read Malte Laurids Brigge, of which I have only the faintest of memories.

[Mandryka]

Can someone talk to me about Jan van Vlijmen? I'm intrigued by his string quintet and I'd like to explore further.

[Roy Bland]

a bit long

Jan van Vlijmen (1935 ~ 2004)
    THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF SERIALISM HAVE NOT YET BEEN FAR FROM HAVING BEEN SUFFICIENTLY TESTED FOR THEIR POSSIBILITIES .

If there is one word that regularly surfaces in a conversation with composer and Holland Festival director Jan van Vlijmen, it is strategy. A motive that distinguished him from the outset from the rebellious Nutcracker movement (consisting of composers Louis Andriessen, Peter Schat, Reinbert de Leeuw, jazz pianist and improviser Misha Mengelberg, plus writer Harry Mulisch), which disrupted a concert by the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra on November 17, 1969, with their infamous action of the same name. Although Jan van Vlijmen endorsed the objectives—such as more attention to newly composed music in the programming and a renewal of the performance practice of both new and old music—he has taken a distanced position from the action because he opposed the method.
Incidentally, aloofness is a characteristic that highly typifies Vlijmen's demeanor. This character trait, which need not necessarily be interpreted negatively, also comes to the fore in his statements about his own music:
I am not the right person to say anything about that; others will have to do that.
The latter makes an interview with Van Vlijmen no easy undertaking. Yet it certainly goes too far to attribute the relatively limited popularity of his music—relatively, since the Piano Concerto written for the late Theo Bruins and dating from 1990 has been programmed this season by both the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra and the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra—solely to the composer's own reserve. His sound language is, in fact, very rich, but also often enormously complex, and can moreover be characterized by an attitude that stands diametrically opposed both to the neo-romantic-oriented music of the late Peter Schat and to the unapproachable and, in the best sense of the word, 'no-nonsense' compositions of Louis Andriessen, rooted in everything other than serialism. Which, incidentally, is not a value judgment regarding anyone whatsoever.
Mindset
Van Vlijmen is one of the few composers who attaches greater value to serialism as a historical phenomenon than many of his colleagues, without, however, being a serialist 'pur sang'. It should be noted here that serialism encompasses considerably more than what was understood by it in the 1950s. Furthermore, there is currently a strong tendency among the majority of composers and musicians in the Netherlands to distance themselves from serialist thought, which makes Van Vlijmen's position all the more unique. His affinity with the music of the Second Viennese School, Boulez, and Stockhausen certainly resonates in his own work, albeit in a manner that is very personal in terms of language. Another unequivocal fact is that many of his compositions are large-scale. The 'Quaterni' cycle for piano, violin, horn, solo soprano, mixed choir, and large orchestra, completed in 1984 (the parts of which can also be performed separately), fills an entire evening. In these and similar works, matter unfolds over immense distances through a richly branched discourse. The result is music that one never tires of listening to.
While Jan van Vlijmen may have distanced himself from the 'Nutcracker Action', that does not mean he is not a polemicist; on the contrary. Especially as an official in the music world, he has made his voice heard more than once. In words and deeds that leave no doubt and that have given Dutch music life a prestige it would never have achieved without him.
Pierre Boulez recently stated that institutions are indeed necessary but benefit from rebellion, while Van Vlijmen seriously questions whether institution and rebellion are compatible at all:
I have an innovative spirit, but is that also a rebellious spirit? When I look back now, for example, at our attempts in 1966 to get Bruno Maderna appointed as conductor alongside Bernard Haitink at the Concertgebouw Orchestra, I realize that we failed. Kees van Baaren was right in his remark that if we wanted to prevent Maderna from being appointed, we had to continue in this way. Mind you: there was nothing wrong with our objectives; it simply lacked sufficient strategy. And that is when you go astray.
The way in which I have tried to bridge the gap between theory and practice at the Royal Conservatory over all these years, by initiating new developments, was based not on rebellion but on a well-considered and meticulously calculated policy. My starting point was that a vibrant musical climate, even and especially in an educational institution, is only conceivable if theory and practice go hand in hand. Thus, I am still proud that we were able to fully integrate the Institute for Sonology in Utrecht into the educational program.
This shows what strategy means to Van Vlijmen: constantly realizing *how* the relationship between the goal and the means works, and especially whether the chosen means are indeed the right ones to achieve that goal. He arrived at this realization not only through his predecessor in The Hague, Kees van Baaren, but also through Walter Maas, the founding father of the Gaudeamus Foundation:

I had lengthy discussions with Walter about the 'Nutcrackers action'. In the end, I did not participate. My problem was—and Walter made me aware of this like no one else—that such actions are associated, in terms of method, with movements that one should actually be waging war against. The 'Nutcrackers' naturally did not conduct an action with a fascist undertone. Crucial, however, is that the nature of your actions must not tempt opponents to compare you to malicious currents.
Resistances and limitations
The interesting thing is that the above says nothing about the radicality of Vlijmen's approach. While he may well question the combination of the Institute and rebellion, this did not prevent him from bringing Jürgen Gosch to the Amsterdam Music Theatre in 1987 for a high-profile production of Wagner's `Tristan und Isolde`, which was almost unanimously savaged by the national music press. The reactions compare well with what befell Patrice Chéreau in Bayreuth in 1976, who—together with Pierre Boulez—was responsible for the most notorious staging of Wagner's `Der Ring des Nibelungen` of all time:
Chéreau has been able to do it more often since, and that makes quite a difference. Nowadays, he is generally—and rightly so, of course—ranked among the leading Wagner directors of today. That Gosch production was an act that I still stand behind wholeheartedly. He approached the piece in a completely authentic manner, without bothering with any tradition whatsoever. That this was not understood by the majority says less about Gosch than about all kinds of traditions of and surrounding Wagner. On the other hand, the director of Toneelgroep Amsterdam, Gerardjan Rijnders, was so impressed by Gosch that he sent all his actors to that production of Tristan. Such a thing was completely unique at the time. And, what is more, Rijnders immediately invited Gosch to his own company, which he has since done twice. Had I had the opportunity, I would certainly have asked Gosch back. I am certain that if we had had even more time to further perfect the production, the reaction to Gosch would ultimately have been very different than in '87.
A notable similarity between Gosch and Van Vlijmen is that both artists attach importance to imposing limitations and resistances upon themselves, with the primary aim of overcoming them. And this automatically brings us to Van Vlijmen's unique position in contemporary Dutch composition, in which a tendency towards freeing oneself from the structural side of the craft stands out. Consequently, he sorely misses that struggle with limitations and resistances of a structural nature in many of his recently written pieces.
I am incapable of anything unless I impose restrictions on myself. By which I do not mean to claim that this is a guarantee of quality, nor that those composers who do not do so are by definition bad composers. A great deal also depends to a large extent on your talent, your imagination, and countless other things. But to write something entirely in complete freedom, just like that... I am not saying it is impossible. After all, there are pieces in music history that were created in this way. Just think of Schönberg's "Erwartung." A masterpiece from the first half of this century, composed in three weeks. Typically a work that can only be made once. Why is it so brilliant? No idea. Structurally, it is impossible to make sense of, and yet you feel that it is this way and no other. "Erwartung" is one of Schönberg's best pieces, alongside "Pierrot lunaire," which comes very close.
Flesh and blood
How is this with Berg? In works such as the `Altenberg-Lieder` and the `Orchesterstücke`, for example?
These are undoubtedly easy to analyze, and that is always the case with Berg. In a sense, he was a number fetishist. Something that appeals to me, because I, too, have a strong affinity for numbers. Incidentally, that is typically an element of serial thinking. According to Peter Schat, serialism may be applied exclusively to what he calls the "Cold War music" of the fifties and sixties, but in my view, it encompasses much more. Serialism in the broadest sense of the word, for example, offers enormous possibilities for expressiveness. I cannot emphasize enough that, regarding everything that can be said about this subject, one must continue to view things from different angles. Serialism is still too often associated with classifying pitches and other musical phenomena into series of twelve, and furthermore with punctual thinking.
`Gruppi per venti strumenti e percussione` (1962), one of my early works, is admittedly a serial piece, but even then it was not as it was supposedly supposed to be.
Looking back on my compositional development, I find it difficult to pinpoint exactly which phases occurred. Perhaps `Omaggio a Gesualdo` (1971) for violin and six instrumental groups embodies a kind of turning point, because it is, in a sense, a reflection of a search for a different language, an attempt to break free from the melodic and harmonic ideas I had employed up to that point. This does not alter the fact that my approach to serialism has deviated from the 'laws' of the time from the very beginning. For instance, I can well imagine that, in your way of thinking about music and musical structures, applying serial principles does not lead you to pointillist music at all. That could just as easily be melodic, harmonic, or both.
As can be clearly demonstrated using, among other things, `Quaterni I` (1979).
Indeed. I have the strong feeling that serialism has not yet been sufficiently tested for its achievements, let alone exhaustively investigated and thought through. It may be true that one does not encounter a series-like structure in my work, such as in Boulez's 'Structures I', but my way of thinking has certainly been influenced by it. The manner in which I handle melodic and harmonic elements is, fundamentally, a logical consequence of that strict serial period. In any case, this can be found in the arrangement of the structural elements, the language, the grammar, and so on. You see this in Boulez and Stockhausen as well. Their recent works may well be based on serial starting points, yet they are very far removed from the Darmstadt milieu.
John Adams stated quite recently that we will soon view the phase of twelve-tone technique and serialism as merely a curious interlude in music history.
I know too little about what is currently on the minds of young people, but when I hear the work of young composers, I also notice a certain regressive tendency. You can view this partly as a reaction to the musical situation of the years following the Second World War. There are composers who wish to distance themselves from this and see serialism as a mistake. My problem, however, is that if you deny the phase of serialism, you find yourself in a situation where a decisive period of music history is skipped, with the logical consequence that you end up with what preceded it: late Romanticism. The fact remains that history takes its own course, whatever we may think of it. Of course, other things happen—fortunately!—too. But I will continue to oppose such a statement by Adams.
On the other hand, I am convinced to the very core of my being that one can only mean something as a composer today if one acknowledges everything that has come before. Including, therefore, the serialist period. It is part of your flesh and blood. Now, there have been composers who have said regarding my Van Gogh opera (`Un malheureux vêtu de noir`, 1990) that it is idiotic to create an opera based on serial principles. In doing so, one forgets that we are not talking about the serial principles of thirty or forty years ago. The reasoning was that it would be impossible to conceive a music-dramatic work based on serial premises.
If I may interrupt you for a moment, in his `Wozzeck` Berg makes use of Baroque and Classical forms in such a way that, to use the composer's words, the listener need not be bothered by it. Here I see a clear analogy with the handling of serial principles in your opera.
You could indeed say that. `Un malheureux vêtu de noir` is certainly a Bergian piece, and not only in this respect. Without `Wozzeck` it would never have been written, and without `Lulu` even less so. And by that I mean the handling of the tonal material, which is considerably more rigorous in `Lulu` than in `Wozzeck`.
Mirrored main shape
Your Piano Concerto also evokes associations with the name of Berg for me, partly due to the aggressiveness of the piece, the recalcitrance.
Albeit that this aggression is interspersed with hushed, lament-like passages. I don't know how that works. I am never aware of such matters when I compose. I had to write this concerto at a furious pace, to be precise: immediately after my Van Gogh opera. Because I had to start at the Holland Festival in January 1991, so it had to be finished by then.
As far as gesture and color are concerned, there are, in my opinion, clear affinities with opera.
Other people have said that too, and I do not want to deny it either. You mention the name of Berg, but I tend to think more of the form of the work, which is 'mirrored,' and you see that often in Berg's work as well. Not only in the second movement of the Kammerkonzert, but also the famous interlude from the second act of 'Lulu' and, not to be forgotten, in that mysterious fast movement of the 'Lyrische suite.' In my Piano Concerto, I have strived for a mirroring of the overall structure.
We are primarily talking about the formal elements, and not the notes.
There is a small section where a literal mirroring of the notes occurs. But when the piece returns, it does not begin literally. For you then hear a new element: an orchestral interlude. During the moment when the piano re-enters, there is a literal inversion for a few measures. After that, a new phase begins, featuring a major piano solo section that was absent in the first half. Essentially, you can view my Piano Concerto as an extended main form with a mirroring structure. Now, this latter aspect is naturally partly inherent to the main form itself, as evidenced by the relationship between exposition and recapitulation.
While much of your music may be regarded as difficult to access, one of your most recent compositions, `Inferno` for vocal and instrumental groups (1991-'93), makes a remarkably transparent impression in contrast to some of your other works. This has not escaped the attention of the music press either. Furthermore, especially as the end of `Inferno` approaches, I perceive that the music radiates comfort rather than horror. Is that correct?
That wasn't planned that way intentionally, but of course I enjoy reading and hearing those kinds of things. To me, `Inferno` is a sort of `Tombeau`.
That does not stand alone. In `Quaterni III/IV`, the extensive slow articulation is, after all, a `Tombeau` in memoriam Kees van Baaren.
Certainly. Many of my pieces are 'lamenti'. But regarding 'Inferno', I did not want this to be expressed in either the title or the explanatory notes. However, it is made clear by the quote ("...Heaven was impossible, only hell possibly existed...") from Mulisch's novel 'The Discovery of Heaven', which is printed at the beginning of the score. It refers to a visit to Auschwitz that the protagonist of his book, but also he himself, made. That is why 'Inferno' is, for me too, a 'Tombeau' in a very direct sense. I arrived at Dante's texts via Primo Levi. In publications about his camp experiences, he often refers to Dante's 'Inferno', and that circumstance ultimately led to this piece. The reason I did not factor this into titles and explanatory notes is that such things can also evoke impure feelings.
I am currently working on a number of solo pieces. Those for viola (Solo I: `Faithful`, 1984), clarinet (Solo II: 1986), cello (Solo III: `Tombeau`, 1992), and alto flute (Solo IV: 1995) are already completed. The intention is to compose ten of them. I am also working on a String Quintet with two violas. So, a lot of chamber music. Nevertheless, in the longer run, I would like to start writing for larger ensembles again. Perhaps even a music-dramatic work, who can say? I am also seriously considering rearranging one of those solo works for soloist and multiple instruments. I have this intention especially regarding the alto flute piece.
Does your music often travel abroad? Edo de Waart conducted `Quaterni I` and `II` in San Francisco.
Yes, and that performance of 'I' in particular was brilliant. The best I have ever heard. Furthermore, my music is rarely played abroad. More so in the past than now. Boulez conducted my 'Gruppi' and one of the Serenatas (1964) several times. Maderna too, of course. 'Trimurti' (1980, revision: 1981) is regularly performed by the Schönberg Quartet, abroad as well, incidentally. They have just made a fantastic recording of it, which will be released on CD soon. 'Trimurti' is one of my most successful works, a true string piece. I am still toying with the idea of ��making an arrangement of it for string orchestra. The Schönberg Ensemble has also frequently performed my 'Nonet' abroad. What hinders me most when composing is a lack of time. I am stepping down as director of the Holland Festival in 1997. Then a completely different situation will arise.
What takes priority then?
One of the things is undoubtedly going through what I have created up to now once again. There are pieces that I feel are open to improvement, sometimes regarding the writing style, and at other times regarding a few minor substantive passages. In short, I want to rewrite those places that irritate me. I have actually already done that with `Gruppi`. If you place both scores side by side, the second one looks completely different. I have thrown out that free passage, the aleatoric episodes, in particular. Simply because they were not essential. Those are truly "generational errors," time-bound phenomena, in other words. In the `Quaterni's`, too, there are details I want to improve, especially in `II`, and—to a lesser extent—in `III`. Moreover, I think I still need to do something about the voice/orchestra balance in `III/IV`.
Fulfilment
You already mentioned that you were leaving the Holland Festival in 1997. How do you look back on that time now?
With a certain satisfaction, I may say. When I started, the festival was in a serious financial and artistic crisis. There was a clear lack of sufficiently coherent policy. Now, honesty compels me to mention that the board had already made agreements with the national government just before I took office, so that I had some scope to operate. This does not alter the fact that a great deal had to be done to give the festival a solid artistic, business, and financial foundation. And that has now been achieved. Bear in mind that the Holland Festival is among the poorest festivals in Europe, even today. A tremendous amount of effort had to be put in to secure funding, as well as resources from the private sector. Until recently, my options have been very limited for that reason. However, now that my departure is imminent, I fervently hope to be able to do a little more.
My greatest love is music theatre. Since 1991, we have staged more than thirty productions, partly in collaboration with other institutions. What I have primarily strived for is the presentation of pieces that have never been seen in the Netherlands, and works that were performed for the first time ever. Take, for example, the developments surrounding the 'Zeitoper' from the first half of this century, where you might think of Schreker and also someone like Max Brand, a composer whom no one knew until recently. But what a fascinating figure! I have also dedicated myself to contemporary music theatre. I am not only thinking of 'big names' like Berio, Nono, and Stockhausen, but also of other, lesser-known composers. I started a cycle of Dutch music theatre works in 1993, which is currently running until 1998. Ergo: every year, a new music-dramatic work by a Dutch composer can be seen. We have Ton de Leeuw (`Antigone`, 1993), Rob Zuidam (`Freeze`, 1994), and Theo Loevendie (`Esmee`, 1995) behind us, and Klaas de Vries (`A King Riding`, 1996), Robert Heppener (`Een ziel van hout, 1997`), and Klas Torstensson (`De expeditie`, 1998) are on their way. I hope to have thereby laid a foundation upon which my successor can build.

[Mandryka]

I like the fact that his works are long and totally uncompromising. Until recently I only knew him as the composer of the Art of Fugue transcription which Viotta Ensemble recorded.