I began my listening this 29th of March, 2020, upon learning of the death of Krzysztof Penderecki, a powerful influence upon my personal musical tastes. It was Penderecki's
De Natura Sonoris that first introduced me to the composer's music and began my lifelong appreciation for the man and his music making. I turned to the disc, a vinyl LP long in my collection, which started it all for me in the early '70s.
This NONESUCH record features two works by Penderecki (and two by Xenakis) and I've never been the same since first hearing them. It was the second track on side B of the album,
De Natura Sonoris though, that totally captivated my attention. I had never imagined such orchestral music existed, and so I began to explore further the works of this avant-garde composer.
Over the years I've acquired quite a library of Penderecki's recorded music, several dozen discs worth with multiple interpretations of many of the major works. (I must have at least a dozen recordings of the
Threnody alone! -- as well as the score, a real delight to gaze at during listening sessions of the music).
One disc is a rather fine introduction to this composer (with all works conducted by Penderecki himself, including the
Threnody), and I played it this afternoon, re-enjoying each and every piece:
I scoured through recordings, choosing to hear a handful that had special meanings to me, and including the Violin Sonata No. 1 on NAXOS 8.557253, the Symphony No. 2 "Christmas" on OLYMPIA OCD 329, and Quartett für Klarinette und Streichtrio on BIS CD-652. But the crown of my listening session today remains a rehearing of another LP disc that has resided on my shelves (and spun on my various turntables) for quite a few years, the RCA Victrola recording of Penderecki's
Passion According to St. Luke.
Classic Penderecki, touching on so many of the bases for which the composer is known. And a profoundly beautiful and moving composition at the same time. A work in which Penderecki truly touches the sublime.
I admit to having been rather exhausted after my survey of the composer's music, and I sat in silence for some while, wondering what might sooth the spell of the moment as I reflected upon the life and music and so recent death of Krzysztof Penderecki. a true giant on the contemporary music scene.
I don't know why, but I was led to move to a new shelf of CD discs where resided no "classical" composers of either the traditional or the modern schools. In a row of folk music I found the disc my mind had sought out as a possible musical
palate cleanser to my session with Penderecki:
the high lonesome sound by legendary Kentucky mountain vocalist/banjoist Roscoe Holcomb, on Smithsonian Folkways CD 40104:
This sparse, barren, simple-sounding disc full of raw, emotionally human songs featuring banjo, harmonica, and guitar accompanying the rather sad, plaintive vocals of Holcomb did not do much to sooth my soul with its unique change of pace, especially when featuring songs such as track number 20, "A Village Churchyard", seven minutes of mournful humanity. But it
was a great contrast to the
Threnody and the
Lucas Passion, at least musically.
But what I found especially haunting, and sobering, while perusing through the liner notes of the Holcomb disc was this quotation on p.4 by musician/actor/researcher/journalist and Grammy winner Jon Panake:
"Roscoe Holcomb's music is at once so archaic and so abstractly avant garde … the exultation of despair … the most moving, profound and disturbing of any country singer in America."
With but a few small word changes, this passage could uniquely describe the music of one Krzysztof Penderecki, whose loss I mourn this day, with no small sadness.
Where ever are my ears, Krzysztof Eugeniusz Penderecki sounds on. RIP, Maestro. And thank you.