Programmtexte

A life in music is often rich with insight, creativity, and moments of transcendence. But it is also an extraordinarily demanding profession, one that can deeply impact an artist’s physical health and emotional well-being. Struggles that can happen to anyone – an illness, an injury – can exert an outsized impact on an artist’s career. „Lost Voices“ delves into the challenges of this world, sharing stories of loss, resilience, and transformation. An overwhelming majority of professional musicians confront injuries (such as overuse syndrome or hearing loss), mental health struggles (like depression or severe anxiety), and addictions. Personal and familial relationships are often put under pressure from musicians’ financial precarity and structural porousness that fails to distinguish life from work, and professional pressures can lead to creative blockages or burnout. For some, these struggles mark the end of a career. Many in the music industries hesitate speaking openly about these issues, fearing professional impacts of disclosure in an environment in which success-signaling is a norm, perhaps even an imperative. This lack of transparency often denies artists the possibility of receiving the support they need to recover. „Lost Voices“ wants to bring these stories to light—stories of adversity, renewal and transformation. It seeks to inspire understanding and compassion, honoring not just the artistry of musicians but also the courage it takes to endure and overcome the challenges that occur behind the music.

Satori is a Japanese word used in Zen Buddhism. Its meaning translates to a unique moment (extremely rare) of the self awakening – like an illumination – where the whole being enters in resonance with the forces of the Universe… Writing for a soloist melodic instrument has always fascinated me. Indeed I consider “the musical phrase” as a noble and fundamental parameter, whose presence leads to constantly taking up the challenge of the melodic invention. With Satori I therefore tried to bring my own contribution to this universe so fragile, so mysterious… by exploring a personal path. The main idea for Satori is based on the evolution of a process intimately linking two important musical concepts: the interval and the duration. If at the beginning of the score the musical phrases are expressed in small intervals and long durations, very progressively, towards the middle of the score, this binomial will be reversed with big intervals and short durations. This conception allowed me to create strange phenomena pertaining to the perception of time. Indeed, starting from a musical environment in which the durations are stretched-out, the piece gradually breaks with an even chronology, in order to penetrate into the vertiginous spirals of Time, by analogy with those sought by Zen Buddhist monks in their quest of Satori.

Voces amissae (Lost Voices) is a work for vocalist and ensemble which explores different ways in which people have lost their voices, whether for medical, social, political or other reasons, in the context of a musical investigation into the mechanics of playing pianissimo. The idea came out of my ongoing interest in examining the minutiae of instrumental sounds – following on from a series of pieces for small forces, I wanted to take my exploration further in a longerform piece for a larger ensemble and felt that adding a singer would help give this focus. I approached the wonderful Dutch soprano Nora Fischer, with whom I had worked before, only to find that she had been having difficulties with her singing voice. But she still wanted to be involved and this gave us the idea to contextualize Nora’s own struggle in a wider exploration of how people can lose their voice. Nora and I separately interviewed a number of people who had in some way lost their voice and transcriptions of parts of those interviews form the basis of the text that Nora vocalizes throughout Voces amissae. I have also included a number of poems by the little-known but wonderful Serbian poet Draginja Adamović, someone who has also lost her voice since her death in 2000 because no one in her home country seems to be aware of how extraordinary her poems are. Voces amissae was created with funds from an Arts Council of Ireland Music Project award, with support from DICMF and Triskel Arts Centre.

What’s happening to me?
How did I get here?
I’m striving to think.

(“Under the glass of the volcano” no.2 – Draginja Adamović):
The fish-eyed man
He followed my every step
And there behind the narrow gates
A candle was burning in praise of nothing

After the operation my voice seemed fine, and then it started to become painful, like there was a continual sprain in my throat. They put a blade down to intubate and they nicked one of my vocal cords. I carried on singing and I suffered a lot of pain. I just couldn’t stand the pain. I would go for four months without having a conversation of any substance and that was bad for my mental health.

Muscles rigid as a rock surrounding the magical place where sadness and ecstasy transform into sound. Each rigid muscle showing me a burden I am carrying, that is not mine to hold. And with each released burden another muscle starts to move.

(“Under the glass of the volcano” no.3 – Draginja Adamović):
A ship with lowered sails
Enters the night
Chaos and screams in the ship
One chimney is smoking

I won several competitions but it ended soon because dreams and talents will be punished over there. They were torn down by my cousin whom I was forced to marry at eighteen years old. “You say you want to sing? I laugh in your marvellously bruised face.” My mouth closed.

My silence is marvellously untouchable to you. All your screams and swearing vanish in the black hole I have become.

Six months in hospital and all I could say was “yes”, “no”,
and “the possibilities are endless”. I must get better; I must
achieve my goals: I must experience the world whatever
that is…whatever that is.

(“Under the glass of the volcano” no.4 – Draginja Adamović):
The purple-eyed woman
Puts a loaf in the kiln
Is it Golgotha?
A mouth asks behind the black wall.
The crucified sound trembles in the air

I noticed my hand was being weird, like spasming. I didn’t think I was controlling it, it was up and down. Then I tried to call out, it was like grunting noises. I couldn’t speak at all, just gibberish. My baby was really young and I was terrified I would never talk to him or read him a story again. Before the stroke I was very introverted and shy – now I’m regretting not speaking more. It’s given me an appreciation of my voice.I’m very optimistic. I should be more realistic – I’m not. Very optimistic, maybe totally.

It’s the phones. People have always looked away from me but at least they noticed me. It was their own choice not to look me in the eye. And some would come for a chat or to give what they wouldn’t miss. But now, those phones have meant the end for us, their eyes are fixed on that lifeless thing in their hand. And even worse they started to plug their ears as well. I can yell as hard as I want but when everyone around me is blind and deaf what use does my voice have?

(“Under the glass of the volcano” no.1 – Draginja Adamović):
I was lying buried in the sand
And thought of four feet
Dead people were sitting on the shore
I chewed the food they chewed
Tasteless food
Two hands brought out an earthen bowl
I went to stop them
I touch
I give back
I failed
The bowl fell in front of my feet
And transformed into countless bowls

Vocabulary increasing bit by bit; it gives me confidence to get back what I’m trying to say. I want to express my observations on life, what it is to be alive, and to feel a sense of joy.