Musical Moments - 9 Pieces for Flute, Clarinet, Piano

Composed between 1998 and 2005, the Musical Moments represent musical imprints of thoughts and circumstances from Alkis Baltas’s life. In any case, as he confesses, these short pieces “constituted a pleasant recourse from various everyday problems”.

Romantic in expression, “Love Song” (2000) is an inspired woodwind duet with piano accompaniment in simple ternary form (also known as Lied form): A-V-A`. The change of scenery in the middle section is effected by the parallel minor of the original tonality. The music becomes more active due to the new meter vand faster tempo, and with a new and intensive melody which contrasts the tender flute theme we had heard in the beginning. In the final section the piano assumes a more energetic melodic role, until the music fades away with a nostalgic recollection of the first theme.

Baltas reveals his humorous side in “Mozart-ata (3 mini-ets)” (2005), a series of three little pieces based on three minuets that Mozart composed at the age of 6 (implied in the title and the subtitle). In the first he is crying (“Lacrymozart”) - or actually whining - through the clarinet glissandi, while flute and piano mutually complement each other in presenting the melody of the familiar minuet in F major. In the next one, the little boy constantly creates a rumpus with his yelling (“Mozart is screaming”). To achieve this effect Baltas resorts to multiphonics, an experimental technique that allows a woodwind to produce two or more notes simultaneously, using specific fingerings combined with an unconventional way of blowing. The four-part chord in the flute’s high register depicts perfectly the shrieks of rambunctious (and nagging?) Wolfgang, while the clarinet and the piano keep on… minuetting as if nothing is happening! Finally, the two winds undertake the unhindered execution of the third minuet, with the piano running literally up and down as it simulates Mozart’s incessant scuttling (“Mozart is running”).

“Three thoughts about solitude” (1998) is not a trio, but three solitary monologues. Indeed, in a live performance the three musicians must position

themselves each facing a different side. The wind parts consist of very few pitch classes, in rhythmic patterns predetermined for each instrument: four

pitch classes in recurring formations for the flute and only two for the clarinet. The piano plays exclusively tone clusters (dissonant stacks of adjacent tones), which in the middle of the piece manifest fierceness. The three “thinkers” do not coincide save the last bar, where a small hope of encounter emerges faintly.

A canon entitled “Chasing happiness” follows, in which every part chases the other. An apparent stillness is established in the middle section, offering evidence that perhaps the goal (finding happiness) has been achieved. However, the canon continues and the fast chase is resumed, proving that it was all an illusion. The final bars wish to convey exactly that: the unattainability of absolute happiness.

Regarding the next work, “Tribute to innocence” (1998), Baltas remarks that it is “in ternary form and contains impressionistic traits, inspired by Seferis’ verse: ‘Whether it’s dusk or dawn’s first light, the jasmine stays always white’”. These traits refer to the beautifully coloured sound-world, which draws its idiom from the language of Satie (pioneer of the French avant-garde who influenced Debussy). Following the winds’ introduction, the piano enters with a melancholy waltz. Soon the music reaches a plateau, where the flute melody deviates from the tonality of the pianistic backdrop as if expressing discord. In its answer the clarinet acts conciliatorily and we gradually return to the waltz. The two winds sway to the intoxicating dance rhythm of the piano; and when the excitement is abated and the piano hushed, the “couple” remains there exchanging only a few words. In the end the melody seems transfigured, as it

passes by and disappears in the horizon. The title of “Mini-m(p)al(t)ism (Study on boredom)” (2005) is a pun on the composer’s last name and the technique of minimalism. As for the subtitle, it is indicative of Baltas’s intentions. The work is based on specific thematic (and not motivic) material repeated

endlessly on a steady pulse, while the dynamic level stays invariable for long units. In his generally personalised adaptation of the minimalist principles,

the composer gives the piece’s sectional form a sense of concatenation and direction towards a final climax.

The “Three bagatelles” (2005) transmit a pleasant and untroubled emotional state, without any technical or musical demands – a fact indicated by the title: bagatelle = something trivial (the composer himself offers the term “relax music” as an alternative). The music calls to mind the most unclouded pages of the Parisian style developed by the group of six composers known as Les Six, with elements from jazz and the blues. For example, in all three pieces the piano part is based on “walking bass” and syncopations – characteristics that turn up in the woodwind lines of the second Bagatelle and ultimately pervade the third. Bagatelle no. 1 is the simplest. The winds present a seven-bar-long melody (with interesting chromatic movement) twice alternately and then simultaneously. The music is suggestive of a carefree stroll and bears distinct cinematic properties. Enriching the rhythm with the ingredients mentioned above makes the second Bagatelle livelier, while the phraseology is modelled after the first. In Bagatelle no. 3, its carefully improvisational form and the instruments’ closer collaboration put together a charming culmination, clearly making this piece the least…trivial!

Fun yet virtuosic is “Don’t worry, be happy” (1998), with minimalist features which occasionally betray obstinate persistence. The sound effects and avant-garde techniques employed in this pantonal and often highly dissonant work are noteworthy: slap tonguing, multiphonics, clusters with the palm of the hand, rhythmic tapping on the piano lid and a final surprise from the pianist. Conclusion: no matter what happens in between, “Don’t worry, BE HAP-PY”!

“In te, Domine, speravi”, non confundar in aeternum is the Latin translation of the Greek original, comprising the first verse of the 71st Psalm

of David (70th in the Greek numbering); it also forms the last verse of the laudatory Te Deum. Many composers have set this verse to music. Select melodies on the text “In te, Domine, speravi” (Gregorian chant, Heinrich Schütz, Josquin Desprez) and the relevant “Ad te, Domine, levavi” (Joseph Fux) are heard throughout this work (2002). First, the melody of the Gregorian hymn is stated in free rhythm by the clarinet. Then the flute unfolds the Fux excerpt and holds a drone, over which the clarinet re-enters with the melody by Schütz. Next, the organ (or piano) delivers Desprez’ four-part setting and two consecutive expositions of the three other themes ensue. Through the sounding of these melodic lines, the composer aims to give the impression of an

invocation to God, which might originate in different time periods yet is offered concurrently. The prayer ends with the mystic whispering of the ritual

verse trailing away, while being rhythmically repeated in the flute’s mouthpiece.