Rediscovering the Charm of Lutosławski
(Original posted on June 14, 2006)
I recently listened again to the “Interlude” from Witold Lutosławski’s (1913-1994) Symphony No. 4, on the NAXOS label.
Following my recent article on Rautavaara in the context of neo-romanticism, I’ve been revisiting some of my NAXOS discs. Among them, Lutosławski particularly caught my ear.
Lutosławski is a composer renowned for creating music through a technique of controlled aleatoricism (or limited aleatoricism), famously employed in works such as his Symphony No. 3, the “Chain” series, and “Jeux vénitiens” (Venetian Games). Personally, I have a fondness for his Symphony No. 3.
One cannot help but be impressed by the “stumbling, headlong rush” created by the power and abruptness of its “da-da-da-da!” motif. This, intertwined with controlled aleatoricism, generates a “transformation in the volume and textural density of sound.” Furthermore, the masterful construction of the piece, which seizes the listener’s inner tension and propels them forward, is truly captivating.
Another distinct appeal lies in his unique harmonic sense, which I would describe as “bitter and cold, yet with a texture as fine as velvet.” The “Interlude” I’m discussing today allows one to savor this quality thoroughly.
The fabric of the piece is woven by strings that continuously present an “alternation of spacious sonorities.” Into this, fragmentary phrases, like sighed soliloquies, enter and exit, imbued with a sense of perspective.
The creation of this perspective is exquisite. The rustic (or naive) expressions of woodwind instruments might appear right before you, or a group of strings might sound as if emerging from a distant, deep place – and sometimes the reverse, with a rustic woodwind emerging from afar. This creates a subtle yet rich variety.
This style can be considered one of Lutosławski’s signature techniques; partial applications can be found in various pieces, and a simple yet effective example can be heard in the first of his “Three Postludes.”
Regarding the “Interlude,” a particularly noteworthy moment occurs around the 3:37 mark: a faintly fragrant, sweet sonority from the strings, followed by a descending trombone line and the sound of tubular bells. After this point, which serves as a structural peak, the music begins a gentle path towards convergence and resolution (literally, a reduction in the number of constituent notes).
This “Interlude” was conceived as a piece to connect “Chain 2” and “Partita” in concert performances, but personally, I would rather recommend enjoying it as a standalone work.
While I hesitate to comment from what might be called a “pharmacological listening” perspective (listening to music for its specific effects), it gives the impression of inducing a “quiet awakening” in the listener, distinct from mere relaxation. And it evokes a sense of something like a vast, yet enclosed, space.
Incidentally, I originally acquired the CD containing this piece for its Symphony No. 4, so I had only given the “Interlude” a cursory listen. Revisiting it this time, with ears attuned from my exploration of Rautavaara, I was struck with awe by its musical world. This experience also made me reflect on how a listener’s state and approach to listening can influence their perception, given that I hadn’t reacted to it on the first hearing.
