 "...Rich in feeling and sensitivity, a literally gushing
source of melodies, he does not fall back on technological contrivances or an
arrogantly fabricated technique to express his outpouring of music Both the
maturity and the elaborate expression of his thought are proof of his talent as
a composer. Beyond all that, however, the felicity of Vanghelis
Petsalis's orchestration of his 1st Symphony and his
unquestionable ability in this delicate musical process demonstrate the
existence of an exceptional understanding of the possibilities of sound, of an
eclecticism, which distinguish him as a symphonist..."
COSTAS CHARALAMBIDIS President of the Society of Greek Theatre and Music
critics
Translation
Paul Edwards
One is always prey to strange sensations when
approaching for the first time a "new" work perhaps because it is our peer,
exuding a reality in which, if we cannot identify ourselves individually, we are
all accomplices, sharing a common heritage
perhaps because, as in this case, we like to see in its youth an unsullied
candour, born of passion and sentiment. It goes without saying that it would be
unreasonable to try and assign a programme to this work, and yet the natural
evocative power of the Symphony No.1 immediately brings to mind other, parallel
presences, strange images and figures from another world. We
could compare it, therefore, to the neo-romantic works, but only in order to
get our meaning across better, to express as simply as possible the fact that
here there is little or nothing of the sonorous universe usually named
"contemporary", with its perfectly programmed perils and revolutions.
The world which Petsalis creates here appears again
in the Adagio and the Preludes a world immersed in a profound melancholy, a
spirit with moments of unease, never anguished or tragic, rather gently veined
with sadness, searching alone and yearning for a universal serenity. And Petsalis' writing, in its physical manifestation, the
score, bears witness to this world one can make out the order and the chaos by
moving away or drawing nearer, in that the nearer one gets the mare reality is
swallowed up in a chaos of musical agglomerates and dissonances, and the
further away one moves the more that same chaos is absorbed into a universe of
recognisable figures.
 The
Symphony
has been composed in 1995. Four movements, one essential parable, like the
blooming and fading of a flower Andante con motto. First, the bassoons intone a
distant coil, a leap of a fifth the clarinets sound the echo, with a leap of
first a minor third, then a minor second the intervals are characterised by a
diminishing movement which reappears later an, the hallmark, almost, of Petsalis' work. The oboe now sings the only clear melodic
cell like a recurring thought, freakish and sinuous. It seems as if the orchestra
is slowly awakening from a long sleep flutes and clarinets begin to whirl,
followed by the other wind instruments. But their dance is overshadowed by a
sombre, menacing light a figure descending by adjacent notes, the slow progress
of the strings and brass. The tension continues to grow, the instruments pass
the two melodic figures back and forth, as they attempt uselessly to stand out
against this dense, impenetrable atmosphere. First the violins, then the flutes
and oboes are contrasted with an ascending movement, mirroring each other; but
even if, occasionally, they reach the summit, it is only to fall back and
slowly dissolve. The only voices in the Andante semplice
are the strings, reminiscent of chamber music. Two figures overlap each and alternate
throughout the movement; the first is a slow procession of repeated crotchets,
chords that mingle and blend into each other. The second is constructed of
quavers and broken chords, forming a background to the silent lament of thee
first violins. An unexpected passage of four bars follows; a yearning
descending melody in conjunct motion. A pause. Towards the end, the oboe and
bassoon reappear from the void, rising up their voices in a slow, warm, epic
song. The third movement is marked Allegro energico.
The violin's wail is answered by the wind this is a call, a warning, signalling
the arrival of something, a figure looming on the horizon. The passage is
marked by the strings, locked into their cadenza rhythm, becoming ever
weightier, ever more oppressive. The brass hastens to the scene, both to
witness and participate. Its arrival is followed by a deafening orchestral tutti, a disturbing, elephantine, devastating presence.
Everything is overturned. Then, slowly, it drifts away, its passing clearly
marked, acknowledged by the mournful sighing of the strings. The final largo is
marked Tempo di Marcia funebre. The music begins to wander, melancholy, hailed by
the austerity of the brass. We now feel the full impact of that burning reality
proclaimed in the preceding movements. Individual instruments whisper brief
prayers and then unite in a yearning choral lament the descending figure
reappears, as if unable to find rest. And yet the work closes on a note of
hope, heard first from the violins, a feeble, yet reassuring light, reinforced
by the sweetest of the woodwind.
 The
Adagio
and Fuga for strings brings together two
passages, contrasting in form yet animated by a similar, almost sacred spirit.
The Adagio sostenuto
composed at 1989 recalls the mood of the Symphony it is dominated by a gentle melancholy, appearing immediately in the strings, with a sense of being
resigned to human frailty. The melody yearns, aches, slowly becoming more
clearly defined, exploring all the registers, from the lowest to the highest,
as if trying to invade every aspect of existence. There are but a few notes,
and yet they appear to be trying to multiply infinitely, in their emotional
reverberations. The descending figure reappears once again- it seems to be
slowly taking over the melody, enfolding it, imprisoning it, so that all it can
do, in the last moments, is sink and die. An equally solemn and austere
atmosphere surrounds the Fuga of
1993, with the some subtle thread of drama. The articulation is majestic, a
cathedral with innumerable spires. The exposition is clear and regular: the
severe subject is presented by the double basses and second cellos' the violas
and first cellos reply the subject reappears with the second violins, the first
violins replying rapidly. Four voices. They begin to dance, rising up,
whirling, mingling, thematic fragments falling and disappearing, in a seemingly
ineluctable crescendo. But heaven is never attained' they surrender on a feeble
F major. The Adagio reappears, with its initial simple melody, and then
gradually alters both itself and the memory of the fugue, of the hopeless
flight towards the heights. In fact, it is heaven, which reaches down to Man,
who rejoices humbly, whose heart, seems to reply "Amen".
The Preludes for piano nine moments of dreamlike reality. They were
apparently composed in two separate periods; the first eight between 1987 and
1989- although the eighth is undated - whereas the ninth is dated 16th May
1991. These are fleeting memories, which reach out to us and then flee away,
without stopping. Thus No1 an aphoristic flash of ethereal sextuplets; or No2,
whose notes resemble ripples in the eternal silence. No3 is characterised by on atmosphere of obscurity,
with surprising, blurred hints of America, with a melody vaguely reminiscent of
jazz. No 4 is once again aphoristic, providing an abrupt, jarring contrast with
its predecessor. The mood changes with No5, weightless as a recurring dream, then becoming
ever clearer the notes increase one at a time, filling the air, and then
vanishing. Both No6, full of anguish, its chromatics
rendering it slightly theatrical, pretentious, and No7, with its compelling waves of octaves in the lower
registers against a background of chords of frenetically repeated triplets, are
more clearly articulated. No8 is marked Adagio, espressivo
quasi fantastico: this is a delightful fairy tale,
with a vein of melancholy, like a lullaby for a child. The collection closes
perfectly with No 9, a hysterical and yet resigned unburdening.-
Marco Lannelli
Translation
Emma French
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