programme notes: Beyond Silence

“Here I am alone with silence. I have discovered it is enough when a single note is beautifully played. This one note, or a moment of silence, comforts me.”

- Arvo Pärt

Amid Silences

With these words, in a 1976 interview, Arvo Pärt described his search for a new musical language, which he named tintinnabuli. The term refers to melodic lines unfolding step by step, encircled by triads that shimmer like tiny bells. Everything is interwoven: 'Tintinnabuli is the rule where the melody and the accompaniment is one. One and one, it is one – it is not two. This is the secret of this technique,' he explained.

Around 1980, Pärt reached a turning point. From then on, he focused mainly on sacred and vocal music, often setting biblical texts. For his Miserere (1989), he combined two sources: verses from Psalm 50, in which King David begs forgiveness after being accused of adultery and murder, and the apocalyptic text of the Dies Irae from the Requiem Mass. In the coda, these perspectives merge into a single hushed prayer.

The structure and scoring of the piece are entirely dictated by the text. David’s penitential monologue is set syllabically for soloists, while the Dies Irae bursts forth in full power from choir and orchestra. Even punctuation, syllable counts, and accents shape the music. Each word of the psalm is followed by a pause, its length determined by the punctuation—giving every word its own weight and meaning.

In Miserere, silence becomes as eloquent as sound. Despite the large forces (choir, five soloists, organ, and an instrumental ensemble of twelve players), the work invites deep introspection—one of the qualities that makes Pärt’s music so compelling.

From Darkness to Light

The music of Pärt and Kancheli is often described as part of the 'new spirituality': works that give voice to the transcendent while belonging unmistakably to our time. The two composers share more than this label: both left their homelands in the former Soviet Union in search of artistic freedom. Kancheli departed Georgia in 1991 for Berlin and, from 1995, served as composer-in-residence with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra of Flanders (today Antwerp Symphony Orchestra). For both, exile marked a shift from dense, complex structures to more transparent, approachable textures. In a 1997 interview, Kancheli explained:

'When you are sixty, you feel less drawn to the massive sound layers you adored in your forties; you begin to explore other gradations of sound.'

Yet Kancheli’s music is distinct from Pärt’s. Composer Rodion Shchedrin described him as “an ascetic with the temperament of a maximalist, a restrained Vesuvius.” His works often unfold in long, hushed spans, suddenly broken by explosive outbursts. This is true of Amao Omi—literally ‘Senseless War’—a commission from the Netherlands Chamber Choir in 2005 for choir and saxophone quartet. Like much of his oeuvre, it expresses longing for a lost time and place:

'I cannot remain indifferent to cruelty and violence, and perhaps that is why my music is often steeped in melancholy. In my work I express my vision of the power of the human spirit, rising above an immoral regime.'

In Amao Omi, this sorrow and injustice are countered with beauty and hope. The saxophone quartet weaves a delicate soundscape around the choir’s urgent plea, gradually leading the music from darkness into light.

A Perfect Play of Repetition and Variation

Kancheli held profound admiration for J.S. Bach (1685–1750). He often emphasized that Bach’s music embodied for him the ultimate expression of order and purity. This clarity is vividly present in Bach’s Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor. The piece is built upon the repeated bass motif that provides a steadfast foundation, above which ingenious variations unfold.

Though frequently performed on the organ, the work exists in several arrangements. Its wealth of color, and the breath-like resonance of the organ, are captured especially well in the version for saxophone quartet. The ostinato begins in the lower register, gradually migrating through soprano, alto, tenor, and baritone saxophones. At times it slips into the background, only to resurface in unexpected registers. The interplay of repetition and subtle variation creates a meditative experience—one that touches on the same spiritual dimension found in the works of both Pärt and Kancheli.

Aurélie Walschaert