Scottish Chamber Orchestra: Rhythms of Eastern Europe

Queen’s Hall - 11/01/24

Jonian Ilias-Kadesha, violinist and director

The Scottish Chamber Orchestra and virtuoso violinist/conductor Jonian Ilias-Kadesha proved themselves a match made in musical nirvana in the course of three joyous concerts in Dumfries, Edinburgh and Glasgow last week. The focus was on the contribution and inspiration of Eastern European musical traditions to the classical repertoire, and once again the SCO pulled off an imaginative programme which surprised and delighted a responsive audience at (for me) the Queen’s Hall in the capital.

Of the five works, two were energetic, lyrical pieces from composers more usually associated with avant-garde, experimental or dodephonic music (György Ligeti and Nikos Skalkottas), one was from a recognised pioneer of modern ethnomusicology (Béla Bartók), and two were – less expectedly – from leading figures in the classical and impressionist eras respectively (Mozart and Ravel).  

Ligeti’s Concert Românesc combines elements of the Romanian folk tradition that the composer studied in Bucharest with inventions of his own based on what he called “the spirit of the village bands.” Vital, richly melodic and dynamic, its sound world is a universe away from the music that briefly made Ligeti famous (Adventures, as adapted for Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 film ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’) or from the micropolyphony of Atmosphères. 

The SCO delivered a compelling performance: rhythmically tight, sensitive to the contrasts of light and shade, and capturing the spontaneity that lies at the heart of its carefully structured harmonic layers. One notable feature of this piece is an offstage, almost ghostly horn. However, the Stalinist authorities in Hungary were unimpressed by the “irregularity” of village music featured in the 12-minute piece, and promptly banned Concert Românesc before it could be premiered. So it was not actually performed for the first time until 1971, twenty years after its creation, in the USA. It deserves many more outings.

Next up was Bartók’s delightful Divertimento, written to commission in just 15 days. It has a positive immediacy which belies the war darkness of the times and contrasts starkly with the densely grieving String Quartet No. 6, which the composer was also working on at the time. The concert stage was re-organised for this and succeeding pieces, with the violins and violas standing alongside their solo violinist and (occasional) conductor. The synergy between the orchestra and their visiting musical director was evident in a performance that combined passion with moments of ineluctable tenderness and delicacy, not least in the deep yearning and tension of the molto adagio. The third and final movement features wild syncopation, contrapuntal trickery, and wonderful pizzicato ahead of the final flourish.  

The second half began with Skalkottas’ s Five Greek Dances, selected in 1946 from 36 varied dance pieces written in the 1930s. It was first performed on these islands at the Proms in 1953. These are charming vignettes imbued with subtle dissonances, shifts from a dominant major to a darker minor, and quirky rhythmic twists. As in the preceding works, there is a deep appreciation of (in this case, southeast European) folk traditions here, and no hint of condescension or mere mimicry. Apart from Iannis Xenakis (and for quite different reasons, Vangelis Papathanassiou) Greek composers tend to be overlooked these days. Much of Skalkottas’ s work has gone the way of most serialism outside a small circle of afficionados. But he has a lot to offer to more adventurous ears. 

At first sight, the inclusion of Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 5 in A Major (known as ‘Turkish’) might seem a little anomalous in this programme. Its eighteenth-century nod towards the east is more that of an emerging Orientalist imagination than any significant engagement with those traditions. The move from major to minor key and from a 3/4 dance to a 2/4 military step in the concluding rondeau is the supposed ‘Turkish’ element, essentially. But in many respects, this is still one of the great Austrian’s most adventurous compositions. The graceful opening is for orchestra only, with the violin first slowing things down and then introducing the main theme. 

Jonian Ilias-Kadesha had already shone brightly this evening. In this concerto he was luminescent. Very much in the spirit of Mozart, he took the solos in his own direction, with pitch-bending, dynamic contrasts and changes of pace and attack drawing on his own Albanian and Greek heritage aplenty. This was a revelatory performance from a violinist whose technical ability is matched by a profound musicality and often startling originality.

Those qualities also shone through in the evening’s final work, Ravel’s testing Tzigane (1924). Despite its name (‘Gypsy’), there is little of the Roma culture here, but the opening does draw on the Hungarian slow-fast dance form. If one wondered how on earth Jonian Ilias-Kadesha was going to follow his breathtaking Mozart performance, the answer was soon signalled here. Tzigane begins with a lengthy solo which is almost like a cadenza, and as the piece progresses the challenges to the violinist become ever more demanding, in keeping with the sometimes-wild exuberance of the music. 

Again, this unapologetic floridness is not the Ravel many will immediately recognise. Ilias-Kadesha took it all in his stride, and more. The applause from the orchestra at the end (ahead of a deserved encore, conjuring with the atmospherics of a Kodály) was no affectation. They have clearly drawn inspiration and enjoyment from this collaboration, and it showed. This concert is likely to be one of my musical highlights in 2024, even though it is only January.   

Cover photo: Kaupo Kikkas