From RCA ARL1-2291:

Luciano Berio's style in the 1950s, like that of his compatriots Luigi Nono and Bruno Maderna, emphasized post- Webern serialism and electronic techniques. His subsequent work, however, has shown a shift in interest to indeterminacy as well as to more traditional approaches. This has often been expressed in a highly personal eclecticism, sometimes involving tonally centered music in which quotations from other composers, no less than from himself, have been recycled. But the variety of approaches he has followed all bear the stamp of an intense personality touched by profound human concerns, particularly where the writings of others, such as Dante, Eliot, Joyce, Auden and Brecht, have fired his imagination.

Concertino dates from 1951, the year of the composer's graduation from the Music Academy in Milan, and is written for concertante solo clarinet and violin with a chamber ensemble consisting of celesta, harp and strings. It is a Janus-like work, borrowing, on the one hand, from both the Baroque and the early 20th century and, on the other hand, looking ahead to Berio's Webern-derived serial textures of the later '50s. In principle the work pays homage to the Baroque concerto grosso in its contrasting of unequal groups of instruments; again, some of its incisive dotted rhythms are characteristically Baroque as well. But the orchestral palette, especially the delicate sonorities of celesta and harp, not to mention the uses of silence, derive more immediately from Anton Webern. This is not to imply, however, that Concertina is a serial work. On the contrary, Berio's commitment to the key of C is unmistakable almost throughout, and the composition as a whole follows a ternary design (A-B-A) corresponding to the tempo scheme: Allegretto (J= 64)-Vivace (J=132)-Allegretto (J= 64). The coda, though suggesting disintegration, represents in fact a deft transformation and synthesis of intervallic relationships (thirds and seconds) originating in the work's opening measures. 


From RCA ARL1-1674:

NONES: London Symphony Orchestra. Luciano Berio, Conductor

ALLELUJAH II: BBC Symphony Orchestra. Pierre Boulez and Luciano Berio, Conductors

COMCERTO FOR TWO PIANOS: Bruno Canino and Antonio Ballista, Pianos. London Symphony Orchestra. Luciano Berio, Conductor

Produced by Charles Gerhardt
Recording Engineers: Robert Auger and Philip Wade

Luciano Berio has been strongly influenced by the works of Anton von Webern, about whose music Arnold Schoenberg perceptively commented, "Every glance is a poem, every sigh a novel." But unlike his contemporaries who have followed Webern only to lapse into a dry, academic structuralism, Berio has used Webernist techniques to evolve a style combining consummate craftsmanship with profoundly human concerns. Writers, including Auden, Joyce, Proust, Brecht and E. E. Cummings, have served as sources of inspiration for him.

Nones (the title alludes to 3 p.m., one of the canonical hours), completed in 1954, is a case in point. Although the work was originally conceived as an oratorio based on W. H. Auden's poem of the same name, Berio revised his plan in favor of a purely orchestral version, giving poignantly wordless expression to the searing lines. In his poem Auden sets the Good Friday Passion in a contemporary context of indifference, of business-as-usual.

... it is barely three,
Mid-afternoon, yet the blood
Of our sacrifice is already
Dry on the grass;....
The shops will re-open at four,
The empty blue bus in the empty pink square
Fill up and drive off: we have time
To misrepresent,....

Berio's pointillistic palette evokes an atmosphere at once somber and surrealistic. His work is constructed on a 13-tone row (the pitch of D is repeated) made up of two segments having the pitch of A-flat in common. Significantly, each of the two segments contains three-note cells within which the "traditional" intervals of major and minor third are contrasted. These cells provide a vital source for his motivic material: thirds (sometimes in chains), sixths and tenths. By departing in these respects from orthodox tone-row construction, Berio brings to mind the observation of his compatriot and former teacher Luigi Dallapiccola that the "12-tone method must not be so tyrannical as to exclude a priori both expression and humanity."

Drawing upon these materials Berio constructs a tightly integrated work consisting of a "theme" (perhaps better described as a complex of pitch relationships and rhythms) and five variations. The opening 12 measures, which present the essentials of pitch and motive, follow the row forms closely. Clearly audible in measure one, for example, are the first three pitches of the original form of the row: pitches one and two are given to the harp, pitch three to trombone and lower strings. And a few measures later the electric guitar sounds the motive of a rising third and falling sixth.

Taken as a whole, the "theme" and variations approximate an arch form. Tension approaches a maximum in the course of variations two through four, while the outer sections suggest relative stability and relaxation. This cycle of relaxation- tension-relaxation is perhaps best understood in terms of a complex of interactions. This involves the manipulation of pitch materials just described in conjunction with at least five other factors. These include: 1) a series of seven basic note values or durations affecting also the treatment of silence; 2) a series of seven dynamic values (ppp to sffz); 3) five modes of articulation or ways of sounding a note (legato, staccato, tremolo, etc.); 4) a related procedure, derived from Schoenberg's Klangfarbenmelodie (tone- color melody) concept, whereby each pitch of a chord or melodic line interlocks different instruments, each instrument playing that pitch with different articulation and note values; 5) the alternation of tense passages of rapid rhythm and dense chromaticism with relaxed moments of "polarization" on one pitch in octaves.

The general compositional procedures associated with Nones apply to Allelujah II as well, but with at least one important addition. Allelujah II (1956-58) belongs to what one might call the composer's "onion series." Berio's appetite for recycling material by adding layers to, or peeling them off of, earlier works can be seen in his Allelujah, Chemins and Laborintus series. He himself has commented that the various works of a series "relate to each other something like the layers of an onion... each layer creates a new, though related, surface and each older layer assumes a new function as soon as it is covered."

In the case of Allelujah I and II the "onion layers" apply as much to the physical deployment of players as to the actual musical materials. Both works are composed for antiphonally separated instrumental groups numbering six and five respectively. In the foreword to the score of Allelujah II Berio suggests four possible dispositions of the five groups, depending on local acoustical and architectural conditions. Each of these arrangements calls for the maximum possible separation of the five groups throughout the auditorium, requiring an additional conductor or conductors. In contrast, the groups required in Allelujah I, each of them smaller, are all deployed on a single stage. Allelujah II, however, not only demands a substantially enlarged percussion group, an extra trombone choir and some other additions but acquires greater antiphonal impact through the way instruments are placed within more widely separated groups.

These spatial considerations affect the design and dimensions of Allelujah II, expanding it to almost twice the length of Allelujah I. Aside from being a tour de force in its exploitation of antiphonal effects and instrumental densities, Allelujah II also depends on a tightly organized Webern-derived rhythmic serialization. This is a crucial factor in the sense of unpredictability it evokes in the listener. The opening six measures for example, show an extremely rapid rhythmic gradation, starting with the flute's sustained B-flat (also, incidentally, the final pitch of the work) in fact, Allelujah II as a whole shows greater extremes in note values than its earlier counterpart, moving from the initial sustained pitch to climactic melismatic patterns in 32nd notes in the body of the work. Like Nones, Allelujah II suggests an arch involving an interaction among similar compositional parameters. There are seven discernible sections, with the sixth suggesting a truncated reprise of sections one and two, and the seventh (much of it "peeled" intact from the parallel portion of Allelujah I) assuming the function of synthesis and coda.

No such Webernist techniques apply to the Concerto for Two Pianos, a work written during 1972-73 on commission from the New York Philharmonic. On the occasion of its premiere, March 15, 1973, Berio commented: "...the relationship between soloist and orchestra is a problem that must ever be solved anew, and the word 'concerto' can be taken only as a metaphor." The work in fact suggests a highly mobile relationship between soloists and orchestra in that the soloists per se often assume the role of accompanists to individual players from the orchestra. But, despite the "new" relationship between soloists and orchestra, the rhythmic and tonal organization is more traditional. Not only are there rhythmic ostinati reminiscent of the early Stravinsky; there are also strong indications of a G-centered tonality.

The following is a guide to the sequence of events in the concerto:

A cadenza for the solo pianos (subsequently joined by a third orchestral piano) opens the work. This is an extended ruminating, quasi- impressionistic passage interrupted by occasional dissonant outbursts. It is built for the most part on an E pedal point, with passing references to related pitches. The culminating point of the section comes with an insistent repeated tritone motive (E-flat-A) played in a high register, which serves to usher in the orchestra. With its entrance this sonority is sustained. The flute is prominently heard and subsequently continues in a solo passage that expands on the tritone motive in a wide- ranging, rhythmically active portion over an A-flat pedal point. After some brass passages a solo violin comments further on the flute material amidst interjections from percussion and brass. A section of extreme dissonance for full orchestra begins a developmental passage that culminates in a climax suggestive of Ives in its polyrhythmic and polytonal complexity.

A piano cadenza follows with solo interjections from strings, flute, clarinet, trumpet, horn and other instruments. The denouement is approached by way of passages for flute, bass clarinet and tremolo strings (ponticello) revolving around the pitches of C and G. A muted trumpet introduces a climactic tritone passage for full orchestra pounding out the sonority of B-F in an aggressive motor rhythm. Extended piano tremolos follow. Though primarily G-centered, they form part of a polytonal texture in which chords on G, E-flat and A-flat are intermixed and superimposed. The point of final repose is reached with a series of insistent G-major chords played against an undulant background recalling the work's opening measures.

Bruno Canino and Antonio Ballista have been associated with the concerto since its premiere. They were both born in 1936 and have concertized widely as a duo ever since they met as students in Miian in 1953. Their repertoire includes works by Stravinsky, Cage and Pousseur as well as compositions by contemporary Italian composers such as Malipiero, Donatoni and Castiglioni. They have appeared at festivals in Paris, Venice, New York, Zagreb and elsewhere.

-JOSHUA BERRETT


From RCA LSC-3168:

The three compositions on this record were written in 1968 in response to Walter Trampler's request for a piece for viola and orchestra. They are not a sketchbook for a concerto; rather, they represent a stepwise approach toward the viola-orchestra texture. Sequenza VI for viola solo becomes the basis of Chemins II, in which the viola is surrounded by a chamber ensemble; then Chemins II becomes the basis of Chemins III, in which the orchestra is added. (Chemins I, completed in 1965, follows a similar procedure by adding an orchestra to Sequenza II for harp solo.)

But Chemins III is rather surprising if one expects a concerto sound. Walter Trampler's extraordinary, Paganini-esque performance of Sequenza VI is not featured; instead, the surrounding instruments extend the material from Sequenza to the point where the viola often seems absorbed, though it remains the source of the work. (Paganini refused to play Berlioz' Harold in Italy because he thought the viola part wasn't sufficiently prominent; one shudders to think what his reaction might have been to his role in Chemins II or III.)

As Berio has said, "the three pieces relate to each other something like the layers of an onion: distinct, separate, yet intimately contoured on each other; each new layer creates a new, though related, surface, and each older layer assumes a new function as soon as it is covered."

Rather like an etude, Sequenza VI focuses on a single problem: the development of a kind of polyphony of different textures. Escaping the monodic limitations of various instruments has been a central feature in all of Berio's solo sequenze. In Sequenza III, for voice, there is a polyphony of different "vocal gestures" (laughing, crying, gasping, and so on); Sequenza IV, for piano, centers around the interplay between what is being played on the keyboard and harmonies held by the sostenuto pedal, while Sequenza V, for trombone, explores a polyphony of vocal vs. instrumental sounds.

So the instruments superimposed on Sequenza VI to form Chemins II are intended as an extension of the viola part. The tremolo that dominates much of Sequenza becomes flutter-tongue in the wind instruments, rolls on the percussion instruments and tremolo in the other strings; it also becomes sustained chords, which reflect its continuous aspect. Rapid, irregular figures dwelling on specific harmonies appear as extensions of what might be called "distributional tremolo," a technique by which the violist distributes tremolo over the four notes of the chords opening Sequenza (where it would be impracticable to sustain tremolo on all four strings at once). A slowed-down version of this technique occurs at the end of the three pieces, where the viola seems to suspend a chord in space by irregularly but repeatedly touching separate portions of it.

But the process by which Chemins II grows out of Sequenza VI is neither chronological nor conversational (as it tends to be in concertos): the ensemble doesn't react to Sequenza bit by bit as it goes along, extending only what the viola has presented. Many features of Sequenza are introduced by the ensemble well before the viola has stated them. To mention two examples: figures growing out of the distributional technique described above already pervade the ensemble before the viola shares them, and the trombone introduces glissandi long before they appear in Sequenza.

It is as if the extension of Sequenza VI takes place outside of time. The viola part has been transformed by its new surroundings from a time-dependent exploration of shifting contours and spaces into a time-independent object, any part of which can be taken up by the surroundings at any time. In a sense, all of Sequenza VI is simultaneously present through much of Chemins II, as if Sequenza were a painting or, better, a sculpture. The result is that parts of Chemins II have a peculiarly stationary quality.

But the use of the orchestra in Chemins III partially restores the temporal aspect of Sequenza. Much of the orchestra's role consists of punctuating chords, which by themselves recall the passage of time and restore a sense of motion where Chemins II seemed stationary; also, the timing of these chords depends on certain harmonic points basic to the structure of Sequenza VI. So the viola part has recovered some of the temporal dependence it had in Sequenza and which was played down in Chemins II.

And Chemins II is transformed by its new surroundings: the unitextural, tight-fisted chamber ensemble is suddenly set off in an expanded space of far less density. One thinks of the transformation in our perception of the earth brought about by the first photographs of it from halfway to the moon.

This shifting of roles, the perception of relationships between objects and their contexts, the awareness of how they act on each other, is a source of meaning. This kind of meaning is also explored in the third movement of Berio's Sinfonia, where the Scherzo of Mahler's Second Symphony is treated much as Sequenza VI is treated in Chemins II and III. The Mahler undergoes constant transformation through the juxtaposition of shifting contexts, which are viewed as extension of the basic material.

Susan Berio, commenting on Chemins I, for harp and orchestra, develops the idea this way: ". . . everything we do extends and comments on something else . . . in that vast proliferation of paths that gives inevitable rise to more paths, each splitting its destiny into a web of trunks and branches, twigs and sub-twigs. And our place is here, on the sub-est of the sub-twigs, regarding the still burgeoning lines of meanings that can only be traced back or maybe forward, because forward they are still .nosing their three-million-nosed way, trying three million paths in the certainty that a dozen will lead elsewhere than to intersections with the other two million plus. . . ."

Extension and relation. Perhaps a single action or a single piece of music by itself is without meaning. Perhaps it is only through the manipulation of contexts that meaning can be developed. Awareness of each of the three pieces on this record transforms one's awareness of the others. On just one level: Sequenza VI is potentially Chemins II and Chemins III; Chemins II is extended, detemporalized Sequenza VI but potentially Chemins III; Chemins III is extended Chemins II, retemporalized Sequenza VI but potentially. . .

-STEPHEN MORRIS