Valentin Silvestrov is Ukraine’s leading composer and one of the most distinctive musical voices of our time. This album brings together the two superlative works of Silvestrov’s early maturity – Postludium for Piano and Orchestra and the Symphony for Violin and Orchestra ‘Widmung’. Recorded in the presence of the composer. The Lithuanian National Symphony Orchestra conducted by Christopher Lyndon-Gee can also be heard on 8.574123 in Silvestrov’s Symphony No. 7, Ode to a Nightingale and Piano Concertino.

REVIEW:

If you don't know [this] 86-year-old composer's music, a new album by conductor Christopher Lyndon-Gee and the Lithuanian National Symphony Orchestra makes a sonically satisfying place to start. It contains a pair of symphonic works that embody two recurring ideas for Silvestrov: that an end can also be a beginning, and that sweet, nostalgic music can thrive alongside concussive eruptions.

In Postludium for Piano and Orchestra, the composer essentially offers an ending, a "postlude," that becomes something brand new by mixing the avant-garde with old-school romanticism. The piece convulses in orchestral earthquakes of low brass (complete with aftershocks), but eventually gives way to delicate music that yearns for the long-ago beauty of Mozart.

The more expansive work on the album is a 44-minute symphony for violin and orchestra titled Dedication. Who's it dedicated to? Lyndon-Gee, writing in the album's booklet, treats it as an homage to the "life-force" of the human race — which encompasses not only tragedy, but also love and renewal. And yet for Silvestrov, he says, "Everything is a postlude to that which is slipping, inevitably and unceasingly, from between our fingers."

In Dedication, the violin — played with unwavering detail by Janusz Wawrowski — is not battling against the orchestra for domination, as in a typical concerto. Instead, the two protagonists complement each other, breathing as a single organism in Silvestrov's colossal exhalations of sound. Great waves of percussion crest over a spiky violin, a reminder that Silvestrov's early works from the 1960s were considered too avant-garde for Soviet-era officials.

Silvestrov has created his own sound world, charged with turbulence and bittersweet fragments of melody that can seem like quotes from other composers, but aren't. Near the end of Dedication, an elegiac theme, reminiscent of Mahler, emerges in the strings, struggling to rise ever higher through a dark cloud of roiling harmonies.

-- NPR Classical (Tom Huizenga)

Valentin Silvestrov was forced to leave his native Ukraine after the Russian invasion of 2022. His music has a prescient quality that unerringly seems to express the fate of his homeland. The intimate Violin Concerto and the heartfelt, single-span Eighth Symphony are notable for their economy of expression and emphasis on beauty, depth and harmony. This is music that hovers on the edge of silence in an uplifting homage to love and humanity, hope and renewal.

21st-century piano music by the most distinguished Ukrainian composer of our time, recorded by a Polish pianist who has already won acclaim for his interpretations of Silvestrov's music. With the album 'Melodies of Silence', Tomasz Kamieniak demonstrated his affinity with the music of Valentyn Silvestrov, as international critics have recognised. 'The spectrum of piano literature is referenced,' according to Gramophone, 'thus making Silvestrov's endeavour as inclusive as it is extensive. Kamieniak is an enlightening guide, and one looks forward to future instalments in a project like no other.' This second instalment continues to document the fertile creativity which Silvestrov has found in the last quarter-century, especially in the field of music for the piano and for choirs. Begun seemingly as a distraction from large-scale works, this concentration on the piano has resulted in some 30 hours of music, organised into several dozen cycles of short pieces, most of them hardly more than a couple of minutes in length. Silvestrov then organised these into 'meta-cycles', each of them lasting in excess of an hour, intended to be performed as an unbroken continuity. 'Echoes of Harmony' can thus be viewed as a natural extension of 'Melodies of Silence'. The movements pay tribute to established genres: serenades, pastorals, waltzes and bagatelles. Characteristically for Silvestrov, the music continually seems to evoke a lost, Schubertian past, while also reflecting on the impossibility of recovering it. This approach creates a sense of fleeting time, where the music seems to stretch infinitely, suspended in space. There's no clear endpoint in these miniatures, allowing the music to linger, dissolve, and pause. Silvestrov is himself an accomplished pianist, who draws a deep range of sonority from the piano, and his pieces encourage interpreters to find a centre of stillness both in the music and in themselves, without recourse to the kind of chill-out aesthetic of many contemporary piano composers. Kamieniak enjoys a personal friendship with the composer, and his booklet introduction reflects both on the nature of these pieces and on their shared history. 'Does the composer leave room for interpretational latitude?' he asks 'Will micro-rubatos, micro-accelerations, micro-dynamics resonate with every listener? Questions abound, and among the more pertinent ones is whether a composer as rigorously attuned to his vision as Silvestrov will ever find satisfaction in interpretations by artists other than himself.' At any rate, Kameniak has become one of the composer's most insightful interpreters. - Valentin Silvestrov was born in 1937 in Kiev, Ukraine. He followed composition lessons with Boris Lyatoshynsky. In 2022 he fled from Ukraine following the Russian invasion in February. He lives in Berlin. - Silvestrov's musical style might be labeled Post-Modern. Using traditional tonal and modal techniques, Silvestrov creates dramatic and emotional textures, qualities which he suggests are otherwise sacrificed in much of contemporary music. "I do not write new music. My music is a response to and an echo of what already exists," Silvestrov has said. - The album Echoes of Harmony, featuring a collection of piano miniatures spanning from 2005 to 2021, form a cohesive, large-scale musical narrative. Silvestrov's fondness for bagatelles shines through in these works, representing his favoured genre in recent years. Under the broad umbrella of this genre, one encounters miniatures, including Serenades, Waltzes, Elegies, Pastorals, Tangos, Minuets, Preludes, Postludes, Mazurkas, Lullabies, Musical Moments, Barcaroles, and more. Music of touching simplicity and charm, offering consolation and peace. - This album is the successor of pianist Tomasz Kamieniak's highly successful CD "Melodies of Silence" by Valentin Silvestrov.

This album pays tribute to the singular world of Valentin Silvestrov, a composer whose music gently reaches out to the past while also resonating with the voices of such contemporaries as Leonid Hrabovsky, Alexander Knaifel, Arvo Part, and Andre Volkonsky. Curated and performed by pianist Alexei Lubimov, the recording unfolds like an intimate uninterrupted journey; a musical dialogue among friends and fellow spirits united by admiration and shared feelings. Silvestrov's�Bagatelles�form the heart of the album, not miniatures in the traditional sense, but fleeting moments of music. Each piece is open-ended, flowing into the next and forming a delicate chain that gradually reveals a shimmering, larger form. A deeply personal listening experience, this album invites the listener into a space where every sound feels like a whisper across time: thoughtful, luminous, and quietly profound.

Awarded a Golden Tuning Fork by Diapason Magazine!

Valentin Silvestrov is probably the best-known Ukrainian composer, and his Requiem for Larissa, now released on album by BR-KLASSIK, was written in response to the unexpected death in 1996 of his wife, the music and literature scholar Larissa Bondarenko. She had stood by his side from the very beginning of his artistic career. It was in 1999, shortly before the turn of the millennium, that Silvestrov was finally able to complete his Requiem.

He did not set a drama of the Last Judgement to music, as Mozart, Berlioz or Verdi had done before him, but rather wrote a lament - in seemingly endless, world-forlorn repetitions. The composer stepped out of the present and into the past, commenting on his life with Larissa with memories of music that had inspired her, and with profound allusions, retrospections and epilogues of the most personal nature. Silvestrov set the words of the Latin mass for the dead to music, yet he did not compose a mass in the sense of a liturgically close or ecclesiastically compatible piece of music. In his seven-movement requiem, the theological order of the Catholic requiem mass is irrevocably dissolved. As if religious gravity had been suspended, isolated words drift about freely and forlornly. The work begins and ends with "Requiem aeternam". At the end, only the wind rushes out of the synthesiser – and, at the very end, an echo of the wind.

REVIEWS:

Perhaps there’s never been a more apposite time for a Ukrainian Requiem. Composed in 1999, the piece is as deeply personal as it gets, being a response by the composer to the death of his wife, three years earlier. As such, it would be improper to seek to reappopriate the work as some kind of surrogate ‘Requiem for Ukraine’. Yet it’s difficult if not impossible, amid the ongoing violence to which Ukraine pointlessly continues to suffer, to listen to any Ukrainian music, particularly music expressing mourning, without some simultaneous reflection on a wider sense of loss.

The work is a refreshingly unusual take on what has become a bit of a hackneyed, even rather vainglorious concept. Silvestrov’s Requiem sidesteps the usual drama and pseudo-spiritual histrionics, for the most part showing disinterest to the familiar Latin text.

Of course, such a mindset stems from a vast, inconsolable mix of emotions, and signs of this manifest in the following Tuba mirum, where the pent-up tension turns volatile, causing turbulence. The words continue in a semi-disoriented stream, articulating an angry Kyrie not so much directed at a deity as hurled in its face. We soon become aware that, though the music is so tragically entrenched, we’re nonethless progressing through the conventional Latin text at surprising speed: less than halfway through this second section we’ve already heard Requiem aeternam, Kyrie, Dies irae, Tuba mirum, Rex tremendae, Recordare and Lacrimosa, each one reduced to a truncated utterance petering out in ellipsis.

...the subsequent Lacrimosa – how heard in its entirety – is a soft-edged return to reality, but again its language is pained, the solo soprano progressing one phrase at a time. There’s the distinct impression of an attenuated music, physicality hobbled, pulse fibrillated, coagulating into rising choral clusters as the bass sags and drags downward. We’ve moved into another form of stasis, cycling round and round, rising and falling. Again that paradoxical duality of infinity and the infinitesimal: of being locked into a single “day … of weeping”, stretching on forever.

The central movement, ‘Prochai svite, prochai zemle’ (Goodbye, o world, o earth, farewell), setting words by renowned Ukraininan poet Taras Shevchenko, both sits outside this traumatised immobility and also serves as another instance of imaginary escape from reality. Its blend of folksong- and chant-like melodic writing sounds dream-like, but is again articulated one phrase at a time, evidently still as pained and doom-laden as everything that preceded it, and its closing moments are an ominous indication that we are in precisely the same place as we were before.

The remainder of Requiem für Larissa, its final three movements, reinforce the same all-pervading stasis of grief. The Agnus Dei offers illusory evocations of Mozart that, drifting and drenched in reverb, sound even more hauntological than that glimpse of a memory in the Lacrimosa.

We’re back in darkness, and the final two sections fixate, again elliptically, on the Requiem aeternam text. The work’s conclusion, in keeping with its immobility, presents music heard previously: that radiant memory from the Lacrimosa, as lovely as it is heartbreaking, slowly evaporating, via timpani rolls and lone string phrases, into a blackness without end.

Performed by the Munich Radio Orchestra with the Bavarian Radio Choir, conducted by Andres Mustonen, this is a live recording from June 2011. It’s good that it’s not a studio recording, polished and honed; don’t get me wrong, it’s an absolutely superb performance, but a work like Requiem für Larissa benefits immensely from the vibrancy and tension that permeate the live experience. It’s not the first recording of the work, and i’m sure more recordings will come, but everything about this sounds definitive.

-- 5 Against 4

A remarkable piece, [here] handled with great delicacy and control.

-- Choir & Organ

The composition of the Requiem was a necessity for Silvestrov to come to terms with the unexplained death of his wife Larissa. That is why his work became a lament and not a drama of the Last Day. The endless, world-forlorn repetitions may be heard as a commentary on their life together, peppered with reminiscences, retrospectives and personal epilogues. Meanwhile, one may hear the work of this Ukrainian composer more generally also against the background of the war of Putin and the Russian army against the brother country with connotations of senseless murder.

For a good half century Silvestrov has had an independent style, which he himself calls meta-music and which one might locate close to Western neo-romanticism or post-modernism. The sweeping gestures still show mourning and the time of processing loss rather than reconsideration. The five-part chorus, rounded out with a basso profundo in the low register, and the soloists who come from it, make this mood, which lets nothing but dejection be heard, impressively clear.

In this recording of a concert that took place back in 2011, the orchestra finds more of an underlining role, where accents are also added. In some sections, including those in which a synthesizer is added, natural sounds such as wind, are also imitated, as well as the old, ideal world with Mozart sounds. Andres Mustonen keeps all participants in contact with the necessary freedom with good coordination in such a way that a very dense and impressive music becomes audible, which nevertheless does not let despair arise despite all the pain. The recording, produced by the Bayerischer Rundfunk technical department, together with the informative booklet, therefore offers a high-quality rounding off.

-- Pizzicato