Varty Manouelian: Serenade with a Dandelion

This is a project of huge dimensions; an interview as vast as the preceding review explains the thoughts, ideas, and ambitions behind it. The greatest celebration of Armenian music I have ever come across, the release of the four-disc Serenade with a Dandelion is a cause for much celebration.

We begin this set (in the Modulation Necklace Series, Volume 2—see Fanfare 43:5 for my review of Volume 1) with a piece for two violins by Vache Sharafyan (b. 1966). An exquisite performance of that piece gives the set its title, Serenade with a Dandelion. It is scored for two violins, with Pogossian being joined by Varty Manouelian (they are also the piece’s dedicatees). The piece is a tribute to the players, but also to the humble dandelion: “Softness and lightness, freedom of imaginary flight, the transparency of the dandelion seemed very close to the kernel of this Serenade,” says the composer. The piece is a tribute to this much maligned plant (not a weed, and one with astonishing healing properties). Sharafyan’s piece is intended as a musical “translation” of the dandelion that opens us to deeper worlds; its transcendental aspect is beautifully conveyed in this performance, while the harmonic language and melodic twists, so characteristic of Armenia, play gently with the listener’s soul. Pogossian and Manouelian are like one expanded violin at times; the one is an extension of the other, the very quintessence of chamber music. Amazingly, the set keeps up this level of musical excellence over its four-plus hours.

Coming in at just under 20 minutes is Sharafyan’s String Quartet No. 2 (dating from as recently as 2022). It is constructed in “chain” form, in which each section “births” the next. Such a natural analogy is perfectly apt; there is indeed something wholesomely organic about this piece. Overarching this is the framework of a sonata form. The performance is spot-on. This is like a super-intense Janáček, with an emphasis on small motifs repeated to create motion, but with a more Armenian accent. Sudden chordal, chorale-like sections take on huge emotive depth. If that sounds intriguing, so it should. The performance is superb, as is the recording (which is close enough that anacrusic sniffs from the performers register). The climax is remarkable: Grinding, hyper-dissonant chords are contrasted with consonance or single lines. This piece could go on to establish a place in the string quartet repertoire; if there is any justice, it will. And how those individual lines sing in this performance.

(As to my previous experience of Sharafyan’s music, see my review of his Petrified Dance—a dance of mourning for fallen Armenian soldiers—on a Cedille disc by the Aznovoorian Duo. A recording of Sharafyan’s Piano Trio No. 2, “Of Thoughts in One Movement,” on the Albany label looks well worth seeking out; the disc was featured in Fanfare 34:5.)

The name of Tigran Mansurian is better known; his first offering here is the remarkable Lachrymae (1999) for alto saxophone and violin. If that sounds like an unlikely combination, Mansurian quickly offers a correction: There are timbral equivalences and shiftings in this restrained, quiet piece that offers an equal dialog. Originally written for soprano saxophone and viola, this is a new version by the composer, who has rightly praised this intensely concentrated performance by Jan Berry Baker (sax) and Varty Manouelian (violin). The close is pure magic, a model of perfection in terms of structural preparation (by the composer) and achievement (by the performers). This piece finds its complement in Chameleon (2022) by Aregnaz Martirosyan (b. 1993): the same performers are featured, but with Baker now on alto sax. We will meet Komitas himself later, but here we have a piece of his used as “source material,” the song Loosnakn Anoush. The traditional here meets the modernist in no uncertain terms. The music is in a state of continuous change (hence the title, Chameleon). This is virtuosic for both instrumentalists in terms of their individual lines, but it is also a virtuoso piece for duet, and Baker and Manouelian excel. Baker’s extended techniques are particularly impressive, not least the multiphonics performed with a precision and control rarely encountered, even in the recording studio. As a composition, perhaps this cedes to some of the other pieces on this set in terms of memorability, but there is no doubting the compelling nature of Baker and Manouelian’s account.

The mezzo Danielle Segen is superb; the sheer intensity of her singing of Sillage (2021) by Artur Akshelyan (b. 1984) is astonishing in its perfection. Every phrase is expressively molded; Segen’s legato is impeccable, with her tone slightly blanched to maximal effect. These settings of Zareh Melkonian’s IT are more modernist than the pieces heard heretofore; the second movement, “From the future’s icy storm ...,” in particular is the product of an imagination well worth following. The use of voice with string quartet is highly engaging; the central piece, “Ablaze,” is remarkable in its wide-ranging vistas. Segen’s pitching here is noteworthy, given the difficult, wide intervals she is sometimes asked to negotiate. Her voice is strong throughout her range. The close recording adds to the excitement of the strings’ more frenetic moments. The finale, also entitled “IT,” speaks of the void in its icy coldness (“IT was “the void / vitalizing yet shattering”). Harmonies strive for warmth, but that iciness pervades all. Tender descending phrases suddenly swoop like a bird’s flight.

The second disc (Modulation Necklace Series, Volume 3) concentrates on Armenian art song, heard here in the safe hands of soprano Shoushik Barsoumian and pianist Steven Vanhauwaert. The songs of Komitas Vardapet (1869–1935) inhabit a world of their own; the first one we hear, Across Mount Alagyaz, seems timeless, but geographically specific in its way with melody and melisma. And if there is a representative song of Komitas’s trademark simplicity of utterance, As I Came Down the Mountain is a prime candidate, sparse of texture and all the more impactful for it. The song Walk On, Walk On is utterly charming, with the purity of Barsoumian’s voice matched by the clarity of Vanhauwaert’s playing. It is the power of the octaves in the piano that transports My Love Walked with a Glow to whole other realms. The woeful O Apricot Tree is laden with sorrow, with minimal means again achieving maximal ends. The performance’s success stems in no small part from Barsoumian’s control: She uses little vibrato, yet sustains the long notes perfectly, and her diction is (as far as I can tell) superb. It certainly never interrupts the phrase. The piano’s tolling for Homeless, unhurried yet unstoppable, forms the basis for the vocal melismas.

The significance of the crane (the bird, not the machine) in Armenian music and poetry is discussed in the above interview. Komitas offers two songs here: one is simply titled Crane, the other Howl, Crane. The first includes some harmonies of unexpected warmth pitted against the yearning of the bass’s open drone. This is a song of longing, for the bird’s “voice,” for news from faraway lands. Its companion piece is about the arrival of spring. But this is no Austro-Germanic celebration of joy; instead, Komitas speaks about an “open wound” in the heart. “Clotted blood runs in this exile’s heart,” and how the music reflects that pain perfectly. Komitas emerges as one of the finest song composers, and one who should certainly be seen and heard more often on recital programs.

The music of Romanos Melikian (1883–1935) has occasionally turned up in Fanfare’s pages, perhaps most notably his Emerald Songs on a disc on the Brilliant Classics label, performed by Miriam Sarkissian and Artur Avanesov (the latter familiar from the present set) reviewed by Henry Fogel in 39:6. Melikian’s music seems even more shot through with nostalgic pain. Glowing in the Garden is a haunting song indeed; “Weep Not” (or, “Don’t Cry” on the Brilliant disc) from the Emerald Songs is hardly less so. There is no doubting that the New Focus recording on the new set is infinitely preferable to the one on the Brilliant Classics label; the shallowness of the piano sound in the latter is most distracting. Barsoumian is a finer singer than Sarkissian, too, her voice firmer, rounder, plus, Vanhauwaert’s playing is more sophisticated than Avanesov’s. In the newer performance, the song unfolds far more naturally.

The cruelly short-lived Kourken Alemshah (1907–47) makes his Fanfare Archive debut here with two brief songs, I Loved and Wish. How fantastically Barsoumian soars in the first; Wish is more overtly dramatic. Finally, there comes a set of six songs by Mansurian from the 2012 cycle Canti Paralleli. There is nowhere near as much Mansurian on the Fanfare Archive as I expected, or as he deserves. How dark is the “Song for the Beloved” (to a poem by Paghtsagar Dpir), a song of a lost (female) love sung by the male protagonist, here taken by a female singer. The sense of loss is palpable, though, not least through Barsoumian’s magnificent inflections of line. There’s no doubting the internal tempests of “Because of your love,” either; note too how clearly Barsoumian articulates the melismas, and how the rich chords of Vanhauwaert’s piano add so much to the storytelling. The idyllic image of a white swan over a blue lake in Yeghishe Charents’s poem inspires the composer to preternatural beauty in “Over the Blue Lake”; melodic imitations in the piano seem like reflections in water. There is so much beauty here: Try the crepuscular “And at Eventide,” a song that starkly contrasts to the monumental muscularity of “My Soul” (“My soul is like a wondering bird / Storm-stricken, clipped of wings”). It is left to “Snow over the Mountains” to close the second disc, full of mystery and wonder. The sparse textures hearken back to Komitas, and yet Mansurian has his own voice. This is a fabulous disc.

Scored for string trio and performed by members of the VEM Ensemble (Ela Kodžas, violin; Damon Zavala, viola; Niall Tarō Ferguson, cello), Artur Avanesov’s Wondrous It Is... from 2023 is compact and expressive, with a surprise close. It is actually an arrangement of a “sharakan” (church hymn) by the eighth-century composer Kosrovidukht Goghtnatsi, and emerges as deeply pious and religious. It is followed by Avanesov’s String Quartet (2019–23 to date). This is a work in progress: Eventually it will comprise many discrete units that may be played in any order. Currently there are four, which makes it “look” like a traditional quartet; three of these are linked to the composer’s Feux follets series. The atmosphere of “Cognitive Study of the Generalized Anxiety Disorder” is post-Bergian, saturated with chromaticism and achingly expressive. It is followed by a “Drammatico” that moves closer to echt-Armenian tropes. None of this can prepare the listener for the innocent beauty of the third movement, “Quand l’aubespine fleurit” (When the hawthorn blooms). It is a set of variations on a medieval French chanson, where the ancient meets the modern in ingenious fashion: Avanesov is a master at this, as much as he is at interiorizing an “All’ungherese” for the finale. The performance is tender and caring, and burrows deep into Avanesov’s world.

A string quintet piece by Mansurian, Tremors, is expertly placed in the program, as it prefaces Martin Ulikhanyan’s Fantasy on Tigran Mansurian’s Film Music. Written for the Chilingirian Quartet plus one (it is scored for a string quintet with two cellos), Tremors is a transitional work that embraces the modernist tendencies of the composer’s earlier works; although rarely performed, it exudes its own magnificence. Sometimes when one tries to “place” a piece of music, either in the context of a composer’s output or in a wider historical sense, one loses the individuality of the work itself. There’s no chance of that occurring in this performance by members of the VEM Ensemble (Hanna Hrybkova and Arutyun Piloyan, violins; Evan Hesketh, viola; Abraham Bonilla and Antonio Lysy, cellos). The work’s dark center is bleedingly exposed; the cris de cœur towards the close is as expressive as any Second Viennese School Urschrei. The close is extraordinary, a briefly pulsating final cry that leads to silence.

A slightly different line-up from the VEM Ensemble (Arutyun Piloyan and Hanna Hrybkova, violins; Evan Hesketh, viola; Abraham Bonilla, cello; Phil O’Connor, clarinet) performs the Fantasy on Tigran Mansurian’s Film Music (2020) by Martin Ulikhanyan (b. 1981). This could easily become mawkish (the filmic origins are obvious), but instead one hears a piece of sweet expressivity. The films in question are A Piece of Sky, The Tango of Our Childhood, Way Station, Lyrical March, and The Song of the Old Days In delivering a well-constructed tapestry, Ulikhanyan demonstrates great skill as a composer, who states that this piece is an expression of his “love and deep respect” for Mansurian’s music. The language is approachably modal, the performance superb. Clarinetist Phil O’Connor is remarkable in imbuing each line and gesture with character. A sweet clarinet/violin duet towards the close is a notable beauty spot.

Unlike Martin Ulikhanyan, the name of Alan Hovhaness (an American of Scottish/Armenian descent) will need no introduction. His 1962 String Trio receives a hypnotic performance by members of the VEM Ensemble (this time with Ela Kodžas, violin; Damon Zavala, viola; Niall Tarō Ferguson, cello). The music is consistently fascinating and individual, the first movement (Adagio) a harmonic continuum of circularities before a hailstorm of pizzicato underpins a folkish melody in the central Allegro. This is the disturbance in between two slow movements, a brief moment of unsettlement before a Lento that takes the listener to more modernist territory. Ostinato is a key factor to this chameleon-like, ever-shifting work. The performance is extraordinary; one wishes for much more. Performances of this piece are rare on record: an OgreOgress audio DVD was reviewed in Fanfare 34:1 by Walter Simmons, and there is a performance on Centaur by the Concordia String Trio, but it is difficult to imagine a finer performance than this one.

There are only two entries in the Fanfare Archive for Turkish-born, French-trained Koharik Gazarossian (1907–67), and one of those is only a single piano prelude; the other is a recent release of 24 Etudes performed by Nare Karoyan on the Piano label (Fanfare 46:6). Here, we have another “snippet,” the short Ta mère n’est plus of 1961 for string quartet, with the VEM Ensemble again (here, Movses Pogossian and Ela Kodžas, violins; Damon Zavala, viola; Niall Tarō Ferguson, cello). The first violin lines are particularly sweet-toned from Pogossian. Written in Paris, the piece is absolutely lovely. Inspired by an achingly beautiful melody transcribed by Komitas from the village of Arazap in Armenia, it is just a pity that it is so short. Finally, there comes A Tale for Two Violins by Kristapor Najarian (b. 1991), another newcomer to the Fanfare Archive. The six movements, each with its own descriptive title, are performed by Ani and Ida Kavafian. Written in 2012–14, the piece invites listeners to create their own stories, while the Armenian and Turkish musical tropes help place the locale of the tale. The Kavafians gave the world premiere of this piece in Los Angeles in 2014. The music seems to speak of a fierce devotion to the music of the Middle East, especially Armenia and Turkey. Both Ani Kavafian and Ida Kavafian play with huge spirit and a sense of earthy authenticity. Frankly, it’s like listening to good Bartók in folkish mode (with apologies to admirers of that composer). The third movement, “Rendezvous: Ambets Gorav Lousengan,” is a particular romp, but it is the cadential ascending gesture over a trill that so lodges in the memory. The solo violin line that opens “Capture” is poignant indeed, and Ani Kavafian captures its tenor perfectly; the second violin here is almost orchestral in function. The movement rises to an ecstatic dance, its abandon perfectly captured here while (somehow) both fiddlers maintain technical perfection. The slow heart of the piece is the penultimate movement, a lament (“Misty Morning”), in which the slowly shifting second part underpins a regionally-inflected melody of mourning. The maintenance of a quiet dynamic at the movement’s close and its careful calibration is most impressive. It is only left to the exciting, buzzing finale, “Escape,” to bring our adventure to a close. Arco and pizzicato meet in the most thrilling ways.

The fourth and final disc comprises over 72 minutes of music by Artur Avanesov. The excerpts from Feux follets(Frenzied Flames) take us into hitherto uncharted realms. The first piece, “Des Fischers Liebestod,” is distorted Schubert, including a visitation to the valedictory plane of “Der Leiermann” from Winterreise. The movement’s title is a play on the Schubert Lied Des Fischers Liebesglück, a song which plays with disjunction between mood and text. Other famous songs are encountered in this, a mini “Schubertreise”: Der Tod und das Mädchen and Der Hirt auf dem Felsen. Although these are all premiere recordings, it is impossible to imagine a finer performance (and one naturally wonders what Avanesov would be like in pure Schubert). The second, “La lumineuse,” references French harpsichord music in its ornamentation; unexpected harmonic twists and resolutions represent breaks in clouds, and therefore increased luminosity. A stunning amalgam of the court of Louis XIV and Armenian traditional music (I’m not sure I ever expected to write a sentence like that), this works beautifully, with the swerves into Armenian territory adding sudden tinges of melancholy. It is Grieg who receives the treatment next, in “Hommage à herre Grieg,” Avanesov’s absorption of the Norwegian composer’s late style. Short but highly effective, it is a heart-based internalization.

One could play a listening game here: Which composer is Avanesov working with in each instance? Pretty much everyone would guess the next one, I expect: “Intermezzo III” references late Brahms. The necessary tropes are all present and correct, but nicely twisted into Avanesov territory. In his own booklet notes, the composer posits that “no longer perceived as an ‘intermediary play’ between larger, more important, movements, intermezzo is interpreted as a moment of meditative suspense between existence and non-existence.” The sense of a slowly-rotating kaleidoscope is irresistible. The cuckoo has inspired music before, of course (think Daquin); here he is again, in “Les Coucous.” The original Armenian title includes a pun reserved for Armenian speakers, in which there is a play on duality and “two cuckoos.” Avanesov brings out the post-Impressionist side of the music to perfection. A direct quote from Berg’s op. 4 Altenberg-Lieder is represented in the title of the next movement, “Hier ist Freude.” Berg’s already Expressionist line is taken for a walk into even headier waters. Written in 2020 during the Second Artsakh War, the piece plumbs profound depths. It more searches than meanders for a way to the light, and Avanesov’s own performance is heartrending. An in memoriam for an acquaintance who perished in the COVID pandemic, “Für Hanni” presents the power of dissonant dyads in what the composer calls a “gradual chromatic, winding-stair-like ascent” (shades of Ligeti there, perhaps!). There is also a Minimalist element here; the music’s ascent perhaps mirrors that of Hanni’s spirit to the Light, and its dissolution to a single repeated note is most affecting. Another in memoriam, “Nenia” references both Bartók and Kurtág (composers who have both used this title). To my ears, the latter more than the former is in evidence, and the result is music of extreme Angst. A consonant harmonic arrival offers little repose. This is a wonderful piece. How great the contrast is to “Intermezzo IV,” this time referencing Mahler, Kreisler, and Josef Marx.

The stand-alone Tezeta (2022) is a dual reference in Ethiopian music, both to a pentatonic mode and a subgenre. In Amharic, “tezeta” means “longing,” specifically a longing for something that will never return (we are told that there is an Armenian equivalent in the word “karōt”). At pains to illuminate the many connections between Armenian and Ethiopian cultures, the composer offers what is surely a unique piece. Cast in spiral form (modulations based on the aforementioned pentatonic mode, returning to the original but at a higher registral level), this is a phenomenally interesting piece. It is not for one listening; the musical surface is as rich as the harmonic and formal structure. The composer’s own performance brings more than a hint of slowly building ecstasy. Neither is this an easy piece; the fast swirls are beautifully articulated, while careful pedaling ensuring complete clarity. The climax is significant; the post-climactic plane is a place of profound peace.

The instant “warming” of sound for the first of the Tre Sonate (2022) is almost startling. These three little sonatas for piano trio are re-creations of the Baroque world and can be played together or separately (together they form an arch structure). This is the perfect close to the set: The piece is infinitely skillful and yet always delightful. The first sonata takes tropes from Domenico Scarlatti’s many keyboard sonatas and distorts them brilliantly. The performance is playful (all credit is due to violinist Varty Manouelian for those fast descents) and as brilliant as a Scarlatti sonata on the harpsichord. The first veers into almost Romantic territory at one point, and satisfyingly so. The slow central panel, a Lento, is an 11-minute aria for cello, expressively performed by Edvard Pogossian. There is something Bachian about the long line against pizzicato violin and short piano chords. When the violin and cello intertwine in duet, the effect is magical. It is lovely to have the finale performed at a true Presto and yet to hear every note clearly, a testament to all three players’ excellence. Ingeniously, over its course it covers all twelve key centers through a sequence of clever modulations (a “modulation necklace” of its own, perhaps!). The exposition and recapitulation of this sonata-like movement contain only major keys; the development sticks to the minor keys. Furthermore, cadences appear every 27 (three squared) measures. A positively Bachian interest in numbers is therefore present; to add even more to the fun, parts of the keyboard part are notated as a “cyphered bass.” It’s terrific in every respect.

The recording quality throughout is equivalent to the excellence of the performances. This set is a major achievement in each and every way, including fine documentation. Colin Clarke

— Colin Clarke, 2.15.2024

Many listeners, including reviewers, will be daunted by the prospect of four CDs devoted to Armenian chamber music of the 20th and 21st centuries, and the headnote is a bewildering thicket of names unknown outside Armenia. Good intentions count, and these performances are clearly a labor of love, the quality at times rising to an exceptional level of technique and musicality. But there needs to be an overriding reason for a general listener to explore this deluxe package, which I aim to provide. I’ve sporadically encountered a disc devoted to Armenian classical music—the last one was by the stunning violinist Sergey Khachatryan in 2015, a beautiful recital springing from a sad purpose, to commemorate the centennial of the tragic Armenian genocide committed by Turkey under the cloak of World War I.

The set under review serves a different aim, reaching out to the larger music world from a small country whose artists and musicians are fierce loyalists. The expatriate Armenian community in Los Angeles gave rise to a series of concerts featuring contemporary Armenian composers. The founder of the Dilijan Chamber Music Series was violinist Movses Pogossian,

who had moved with his family to L.A. in 2004. For the next 15 seasons a rich array of composers and compositions emerged, including over 50 world premieres. Pogossian and his wife, Varty Manouelian, who is also a violinist, are superb musicians, as can be heard in the opening work on CD 1, a fascinating violin duo by Vache Sharafyan. As a way to dip your toe in the water, a stream or download of their scintillating performance will be a strong motivation for exploring further.

The Sharafyan pieces, titled Serenade with a Dandelion, is the collection’s title track; it was also on the first program of the Dilijan series. As you’d expect, the composers and performers gathered here are closely knit as friends, colleagues, and collaborators. That raises an issue for general listeners. What justifies these works beyond cultural ties to Armenia? There are strong elements of folk music at work, but in general the idioms being represented fall into the eclecticism that prevails internationally today. There is no worry about provincialism. One mystifying aspect, however, is the title Modulation Necklace that serves as the rubric for all four discs. It refers to “a string of different modal constructions” rooted in Armenian folk music. This collection is an extension of an initial release titled Modulation Necklace from 2020 on the New Focus label.

I’ve devoted considerable space to pricking the reader’s curiosity, but what counts, after all, is the music, which I will cover one CD at a time.

CD 1: We begin with five assorted chamber works, of which two are string quartets, one is part of a vocal cycle, and three are duos. I mentioned the remarkable quality of the first duo, Sharafyan’s Serenade with Dandelion. The two violins are in giddy constant motion on separate, sometimes intersecting courses, bright with trills and engaging thematic material. The idiom is contemporary but personal and captivating—it is hard to imagine a more inviting entry point for the collection. More challenging but equally arresting is Sharafyan’s String Quartet No. 2, built in linear fashion out of strongly contrasting sections. The mood ranges from serenely contemplative to agitated, and to hold the structure together there are nods to sonata form.

The other piece with string quartet is a mysterious three-movement vocal work, Sillage, by Artur Akshelyan (b. 1984), whose often fragmentary setting of texts by poet Zareh Melkonian feels not too distantly related to Ligeti. In the second movement much of the text is whispered by mezzo-soprano Danielle Segen; her singing is quite lovely throughout. The quartet writing tends to be tonal and often melodic; the texts refer to a mystical entity, IT, which represents an almost Buddhist concept of the totality of existence.

We get twin duos for violin and saxophone that achieve an adroit blend of two very disparate instruments, but in contrasting ways. As the title suggests, Lachrymae by Tigran Mansurian (b. 1939) is an expression of mourning whose spare textures are parsed in minimal but deeply felt lines for violin and tenor saxophone. Chameleon, by Aregnaz Martirosyan (b. 1993), takes a totally divergent tack, exploiting the virtuosic side of the violin and alto sax in disjointed, frenetic action.

CD 2: This disc is devoted to Armenian art songs and is different from the other three discs. In miniature the program recapitulates the history of Armenian art songs from their beginning as arrangements of folk melodies gathered in the field to their present sophisticated state. As widely known as the field collecting by Bartók and Kodály is, the contribution made by Komitas Vardapet (1869–1935) to Armenian music is greater—Komitas is revered as the father of Armenian classical music (his career as a composer ended tragically when he was arrested during the 1915 genocide and witnessed its horrors, which led to a nervous breakdown and severe post-traumatic stress disorder).

The 18 songs from four composers that appear here are sung with deep commitment and admirable musicality by lyric soprano Shoushik Barsoumian. She and pianist Steven Vanhauwaert applied themselves to master the stylistic evolution that begins with the almost raw, open sound of Komitas’s folk arrangements, leading us through the steps represented by his musical heirs. Modal harmonies remain over the decades, as does Middle Eastern melisma, but there is more complexity in the songs by Romano Melikian (1883–1935) and Kourken Alemshad (1907–1947). Woven into the perennial themes of love and longing is the atmosphere of mountain life as both hardship and transcendence.

The original folk songs have an undeniable power and exoticism, but I think the general listener will get the most out of the four sophisticated songs by the contemporary composer Tigran Mansurian—he is a major figure among Armenian modernists—whose Canti Paralleli from 2012 manage to merge classic Armenian folk elements within a broad European setting. A cherished style at home now speaks to a wider world. Here Barsoumian adapts beautifully in her singing, showing the subtlety and refinement one expects from a French mélodie, for example, and revealing the lyrical beauty of her timbre.

CD 3: We return to the main track with a spectrum of chamber music for strings—a duo, three trios, two quartets, and a quintet with clarinet. The dates cover a wide span from the early 1960s (including Alan Hovhaness’s String Trio from 1962) to two new works from 2023 by Artur Avanesov. To keep this long review from unreasonably spilling over, I’ll limit my focus. Throughout this disc the historic influence of Komitas and the Armenian folk tradition weaves its way. A Tale for Two Violins is a musical adventure story based on the folk melodies that the composer, Kristapor Najarian (b. 1990), heard at home growing up. The old material gets vibrant new life in an imaginary narrative moving with evocative titles that the listener is invited to fill in with his own imagination (a sample: “Festivities,” “Rendezvous,” “Capture,” “Escape”).

Probing to the deep origins of Armenian culture in the 8th century, Artur Avanesov applies a postmodern imagination to ancient musical and literary fragments in a very impressive mélange. Taking a leaf from Ligeti, he writes “works in progress” that grow continuously as miniatures that can be played in any order. His String Quartet is represented by the four movements completed between 2019 and 2023. Space limitations forbid me from describing the ancient roots, secular and religious, that are woven into this work except to say that the result is genuinely haunting.

The musical languages encountered in the seven pieces on this disc vary, but to a general listener the feeling of warmth and heartfelt expression that envelops everything is unmistakable (excluding Hovhaness’s five-minute String Trio, an oddball concoction of the kind he apparently could spin off any time that an indiscriminate idea struck his fancy).

CD 4: After admiring several pieces by Artur Avanesov on the precious discs, I wasn’t surprised that he receives an entire CD to himself. Feux follets for solo piano is a major instance of borrowing Ligeti’s process of accumulating large numbers of small works as they proliferate into collections that span years. In Avanesov’s case, he informs us that Feux follets now amounts to over 100 pieces, of which nine are excerpted here. (The title is poetically translated here as “Frenzied flames,” but when it appears as one of Liszt’s Transcendental Études, it depicts fleeting luminescence, whether called marsh gas or will-o-the-wisp.)

In fairness to Avanesov’s impressive talent, this CD deserves a long review of its own, which it isn’t going to get, unfortunately. Moscow-born and now 44, Avanesov rose as a pianist and composer through educational phases largely spent in Armenia; he has taught since 2005 at the Komitas State Conservatory of Yerevan. The Feux follets pieces are immediately appealing

because of their strong pull toward melody, atmosphere, and tonal-modal harmony. Some have an arresting simplicity that make you imagine you are hearing an Armenian Satie or Mompou.

Far more intricate and virtuosic is Tezeta (translated as “longing,” with overtones of regret for what will never return), a 10-minute fantasia based on each note of the pentatonic scale. The work’s cultural origin is unique, being taken from popular music forms in Ethiopia, which has unexpected ties with Armenia. (Avanesov is scholarly and explains his compositions in detailed, informative notes.) He is the pianist in both works, and is joined by violin and cello in Tre Sonate from 2022. It is very nearly a Baroque pastiche in three movements (fast-slow-fast) that revolve respectively around Domenico Scarlatti’s keyboard style, Johann Sebastian Bach (with a brief quote from the St. John Passion), and early Classical sonata form. The mood is vivacious and sparkling in the two outer movements, aria-like in the middle. Armenia isn’t invoked, for the first time in the collection.

Movses Pogossian is the mover and shaker behind this recording project, which occupied a span from 2021 to 2023, but its musical reach extends from L.A. to Yerevan and beyond. I haven’t singled out many performers, for the happy reason that all are first-rate. The recorded sound is impeccable, and the lavishly illustrated booklet offers extensive annotations. Armenia’s history of struggle is due to its location between East and West, buffeted between mighty forces—Islam, Christianity, the Ottomans, and Russians—along with untold suffering in war and the unique horror of a genocide that killed somewhere between 600,000 and 1.2 million Armenians.

No wonder that an unbroken—and unbreakable—bond unites Armenia and the diaspora of its emigrants across the oceans. That the joy and beauty of the music gathered here can still be so abundantly felt is more than heartwarming. It has been a people’s salvation.

— Huntley Dent, 2.15.2024

The sub-title to this ambitious, beautifully produced, and musically rich set of references Armenian music old and new, but these descriptors mean different things in different cultures. The oldest music here consists of a disc of Armenian art songs, mostly grouped in the first half of the 20th century, including the work of Komitas (1869–1935), who is widely considered to be the founder of the modern school of Armenian music. That vintage is barely old in any number of artistic traditions. The new material by living composers, which includes the bulk of the works here, is music that hews strongly to traditional, often folk-oriented sources. Apparently, Schoenberg and Stockhausen did not have many adherents in the halls of the Yerevan State Music Conservatory.

This is not to say that there isn’t some adventuresome music-making in evidence in this collection, even when folk music is the main inspiration. Artur Akshelyan refers to “stretched harmonies containing some melodic embellishments” to describe his style in his 2021 three-part Sillage. It is a compelling and accurate way to designate much of the music by the younger composers represented here. At an extreme, there is a work like Aregnaz Martirosyan’s Chameleon, which she calls a tribute to Komitas, whose “folk song arrangements are always on my desk.” She specifically utilizes phrases from the Komitas song Loosnakn Anoush, but she buries them in a blanket of stylized sounds from violin and alto sax, in a puckish, conversational manner that recalls Ligeti. The music of Vache Sharafyan, at least in the two works heard here, is never so playful, indeed quite the opposite: It is consistently anguished, although not monolithically so. The title work of the set, Serenade with a Dandelion, is a duet for two violins, a plaintive dialog seemingly drawn from folk material, with subtle microtonal flourishes. Sharafyan’s one-movement String Quartet is louder, faster, angrier; there is an energy here that bears the influence of Penderecki. The young Armenian-American composer Kristapor Najarian contributes another folk-infused work, an overtly theatrical six-movement tale of two violins, played with marvelous energy and focus by the acclaimed Kavafian sisters. Alan Hovhaness is probably the best-known name in this group. His short, pizzicato-laden String Trio from 1962 is quirky and delightful.

The music of Artur Avanesov is vividly emotional, and not a little bit theatrical in many passages. His brief but highly engaging String Quartet includes movements titled “Drammatico” and “Cognitive Study of the Generalized Anxiety Disorder.” In his notes, he acknowledges the influence of Bartók, particularly in his use of lyrical folk melodies spiked by dissonance. Avanesov’s music fills an entire CD and part of a second one. He deserves the space, in particular for his very lovely solo piano music, which he himself performs. His Feux follets (“Frenzied Flames”) is a work in progress, a kind of musical autobiography or diary, in the manner of Grieg’s Lyric Pieces. As of the publication of this set, he had penned over 100 pieces in eleven volumes; he chose nine to include on this album. The musical language is deliberately retrograde or “old-fashioned” (a term that I suspect he would embrace), with odes to musical heroes including, appropriately, Grieg, as well as Brahms, Schubert, Berg, and French harpsichord music. His 2022 Tezeta is based on material heard in the songs of Ethiopian performers Seyfou Yohannes and Mahmoud Ahmed. Avanesov writes of the cultural and historical links between Armenia and Ethiopia, which might surprise many, as it certainly did this writer. His Tre Sonate (“Three Sonatas”) is another work of homage, in this case for the Baroque era, with echoes of Bach and Domenico Scarlatti. His writing in this music is delectably elegant and flowing, especially as expressed in this beguiling performance.

Avanesov was introduced to the executive producer of this set, Movses Pogossian, by Tigran Mansurian, a veteran of the era of Soviet musical culture and, in the words of Pogossian, “the living legend and soul of Armenian music.” Mansurian is represented here by three works: a single-movement work for string quartet plus a second cello, Tremors; an “ode of lamentation” for a seriously ill family member, Lachrymae, for tenor saxophone and violin; and a vocal cycle of six songs. Mansurian in turn is the inspiration for one of his many acolytes, Martin Ulikhanyan, who borrows music from Mansurian’s well-known film scores in a flowing homage scored for string quartet and clarinet. Another contemporary of Mansurian, Koharik Gazarossian, created yet another work based on folk tunes gathered by Komitas, her brief 1961 string quartet Ta mère n’est plus, which was premiered in Paris.

The disc devoted entirely to Armenian art songs begins, fittingly, with a group of Komitas songs, which sets the tone for the balance of the compositions. Romanos Melikian (1883–1935) and Kourken Alemshah (1907–1947) are very much in the Komitas camp, that is, in resetting folk melodies in the format of singer and piano accompaniment, with romantic and even sentimental subject matter for the words. Mansurian is also in this tradition, but his songs stand out for their elegant structure and deceptively simple melodic patterns. Soprano Shoushik Barsoumian renders the music with a clear, soaring voice.

Listening to this music, in repeated hearings, has opened my ears to a rich culture that I was previously largely unaware of (there are exactly three composers, Komitas, Hovhaness, and Mansurian, whose works I had heard before). As such, and aided immensely by consistently excellent performances and highly informative program notes, my musical sensibility has been greatly enhanced. This set is a wonderful achievement.

— Peter Burwasser, 2.15.2024

This four-disc set of music by Armenian composers, Modulation Necklace, is a game-changer. Movses Pogossian is both an accomplished, prize-winning violinist and founding director of UCLA’s Armenian Music Program. Who better to birth this astonishing set, a release of remarkable breadth, replete with invention? The music is consistently presented at the very highest standard.

What was the inspiration for this set? How did the idea come about, and how difficult has it been to bring it to realization?

This set is, in fact, a natural continuation of the process started by the Modulation Necklace compact disc of Armenian music, which was released three years ago, also on the New Focus label. As a performer and organizer, I’ve been quite fortunate to be involved with performing and premiering a lot of Armenian music, both through founding and leading the UCLA Armenian Music Program, and also by directing the Dilijan Chamber Music Series in Los Angeles for 15 seasons. I am also very lucky that some of my best friends happened to be amazing composers! Regarding the difficulty: Of course, it’s been hundreds and hundreds of hours of creative, organizational, and administrative activity, not without stress—but well worth it.

What are you hoping to archive in the release of this set? A new appreciation of Armenian music for listeners?

Absolutely! There is so much to archive and to celebrate. I was kind of astonished with how this project mushroomed to four discs and 270 minutes of music, and it could have easily been a double of that. By including a wide range of composers, from the revered Komitas Vardapet to the pieces written as recently as a year ago, the aim was to point the listeners to the vast richness and beauty of the Armenian musical culture, old and new. We already have plans for the next instalment in our Modulation Necklace series; we just need to catch some breath first.

Regarding the dandelion-inspired piece, the derivation of the name (“Dent de lion,” lion’s tooth) perhaps reminds us that there is a nobler aspect to this humble plant that is normally construed as a weed. Certainly, Armenian composer Vache Sharafyan seems to realize this in his lovely and quite complex Serenade with a Dandelion for two violins. Heard in a lovely performance here, it’s highly atmospheric. I also like how the use of stopping gives the impression of more than two instruments, too. How would you introduce this piece? And as one of the two players (with Varty Manouelian), what challenges does Sharafyan’s score pose to the performers?

Vache’s colorful, imaginative music has the built-in effect of taking the listener on fantastical journeys, and is almost therapeutic in nature. Serenade with a Dandelion has a special place in my heart. It is a gift from Vache to my wife Varty and me, with which we opened the very first concert of the Dilijan Chamber Music Series, back in 2005. The composer eloquently describes the piece in his program note: “... softness and lightness, freedom of the imaginary flight, transparency of the dandelion seemed very close to the kernel of the musical idea in the Serenade. Meanwhile, the dandelion consists of a confident lion as well: strongly in love, even somehow drunk out of love, and so rich of imagination.…” I could not have said it better—and,

frankly, it’s been a labor of love, both in premiering the piece two decades ago, and in bringing it back for this recording.

There can’t be many pieces for solo saxophone and viola, but Tigran Mansurian’s Lachrymae suggests maybe there should be more! What a powerful piece this is, written in 1999 when a close member of Mansurian’s family was ill. This blew me away, with its two intertwining lines, independent and yet related (on a very immediate level, the timbres are not too far distanced from each other). Am I right in thinking that drooping phrases indicate the sense of loss? (Interestingly, I reviewed Sharafyan’s Petrified Dance in Fanfare 46:1, which is a dance of mourning, linking the two composers—Gems from Armenia on BIS, Fanfare 35:4.) In his review of Mansurian’s “Bagatelles,” James H. North speaks of leaning on the composer’s heritage (Armenian) but within a modernist perspective. Would you say that’s fair in relation to Mansurian’s music?

I think it is, overall, a good description, but I would add a good number of layers and angles to this modern classic of Armenian music. Tigran Mansurian’s impact on the generations of Armenian composers is matched, in my opinion, only by Komitas and Khachaturian. Always evolving, his more “modernist” pieces of the 1960s to the 1980s closely aligned themselves with the revolutionary and defiant spirit of Schnittke, Silvestrov, Pärt, and Denisov—all of them being his close friends. Gradually, Mansurian’s music has entered the realm of transparency and deep homage to the modal universe of the Armenian musical tradition. I think this set gives listeners a good representation of Mansurian’s inner world, as the three recorded works are really different from each other.

Sharafyan’s Second String Quartet is remarkable. Cast in what the composer calls “chain” form, in which each section births the next, it’s an incredibly varied experience expressively. Occasionally I hear Janáček in the repetitions of cells, but then it veers off in a totally individual way. Some of the writing is incredible—long, fast passages followed by almost playful modernist moments in which discontinuous phrases on each instrument create an impression of misaligned clockwork. Again, you’re performing here (first violin) with obviously esteemed colleagues. How did you go about interpreting this piece? What would you say makes it individual?

I’ve known Vache for more than 30 years, and, frankly, lost track of the amount of works that I was fortunate to be involved with, as either a commissioner, a first performer, or simply as a friend. His output is truly enormous. However, I agree with you that the Quartet No. 2 is indeed something else. I recall how we were reading it for the first time with my wonderful collaborators Andrew McIntosh (himself an amazing composer, by the way), Che-Yen Chen, and Coleman Itzkoff, literally marvelling at the twists and turns of this remarkable scenic drive-like experience, with happy smiles on our faces. While the piece has considerable technical difficulties, once they are conquered, it sort of plays itself—we are just letting ourselves be taken for a ride in a fairy tale.

The name Akshelyan (Sillage) is new to me—and it turns out to be new to Fanfare too. Could you introduce the composer, perhaps, and how this piece came to be included?

Akshelyan is one of the most prominent representatives of the post-Soviet generation of young Armenian composers, and I am delighted with the result of our first collaboration. I was approached by Alec Ekmekji, an aficionado of Armenian music and UCLA’s VEM Ensemble (which at that time consisted of mezzo-soprano Danielle Segen and a string quartet) about ideas for a commission. Alec happened to be good friends with the poet Zareh Melkonian’s daughter Lina, who was very kind to work with the composer on choosing the texts that appealed to him.

The result is Akshelyan’s Sillage, which, in my opinion, is a marvelous piece: haunting, complex, and full of fantasy and colors. To quote Akshelyan from his program notes, he was “rather on the philosophical side of it, as if the different time fragments of life and death coexist in our memory, and we are impacted both from past and future events. Therefore, musically speaking, I had to include short phrases or sometimes repeated words.… I considered quasi-soft and meditative passages along with abrupt and ad libitum interventions, in which the repetition of words will provide a dynamic link between voice and strings, and the ‘nature of the moment or instance’ will project the ‘emotional sillage.’”

There’s something of the viola in Berio’s Folk Songs here (I’m thinking of “Black is the Color of my True Love’s Hair”). Firstly, could you introduce the poet upon which this is based, Zareh Melkonian?

I did not know about the poet until this project. Here is a beautiful write up about him by Lina Melkonian, his daughter—I hope it’s helpful! https://linamelkonian.com/zareh-melkonian

The three movements are centered around a poem called IT. The music plays with traditional modes of writing (to represent the past) as well as more modernist techniques. The finale almost sounds like a folkish lullaby to me. The performers are remarkable—the control of all of them, but particularly the singer, is stunning. How did the choice of performers come about?

The piece was written specifically with the voice of Danielle Segen in mind (see above about that). The composer and Danielle were in communication about the vocal range, preferences, and so on—and it really paid off. Regarding the string quartet, I plead guilty to hand-picking musicians that I admire and love playing chamber music with. A few years back, Andrew, Che-Yen, Coleman, and I collaborated on a Kurtág “Hommage” program, which stands in my memory as one of the most satisfying immersive and spiritual experiences that I have ever had as a musician. The Avanesov miniatures were premiered at that concert, and naturally I wanted to bring back the same cast—and I am lucky and grateful that it was possible.

The scoring of Chameleon by Aregnaz Martirosyan takes us back to strings and sax—this time a solo violin with alto sax. The impression is generally light, until those sudden punctuating syncopations. Interestingly, it uses a Komitas folk melody as part of its material. That speaks of a sense of national pride as well as high imagination. How important is that sense of national identity to Armenian composers in general and Martirosyan in particular?

I am glad you picked up on that. It’s fair to say that a reverential relationship to Komitas is quite characteristic for the Armenian composers of the new generation as they steadily move away from the dogmas of the dated Soviet Realism and embrace the depths of Armenian music’s ancient identity.

It’s time to move on to Disc 2: Armenian Art Songs. Who is Vatsche Barsoumian, who is mentioned in the notes?

My dear friend and a musician of rare insight, Vatsche Barsoumian has built an oasis of Armenian culture in Glendale, CA by founding the Lark Musical Society 30 years ago, as well as its offspring, the Dilijan Chamber Music Series, which he asked me to lead in 2005, for what became 15 memorable seasons, packed with commissions, premieres, and highly committed chamber music-making. Vatsche is one of the world’s foremost scholars on Komitas and Armenian music in general, and has been instrumental in dreaming up the concept of an entire compact disc dedicated to Armenian art songs, which are performed beautifully by Shoushik Barsoumian and Steven Vanhauwaert.

The first eight songs are by the composer usually just known as Komitas, although his full name is Komitas Vardapet. Can you introduce him a little and discuss what makes his music so special? Can you perhaps also speak about the importance his work has had on other Armenian composers who followed him?

This is a question that would require an entire book to be answered properly. A truly watershed figure in the history of Armenian culture, Komitas Vardapet has been rightly called the “savior of Armenian music.” He was a priest and a victim of the Armenian genocide of 1915, during which he fell victim to the purge against Armenian intellectuals. As one of the eight survivors from the prison camp he was deported to, he suffered from deteriorating mental health, and was eventually transferred to a clinic in a suburb of Paris, where he spent the rest of his life, dying in 1935. As an ethnomusicologist, very much like Kodály and Bartók for Hungarian music, Komitas collected and documented thousands of Armenian folk songs. As a scholar, Komitas wrote in-depth treatises about the unique Armenian modes, as well as doing invaluable work deciphering the unique notational system called “khaz.” As a composer, while his input is limited (mostly for, choir, solo piano, and voice/piano), he left us with gems that are venerated in Armenia, and are finally receiving international attention, thanks to ECM recordings and performances and also recordings by some very prominent musicians such as Kirill Gerstein (who is soon releasing a highly anticipated Platoon recording that pairs Komitas and Debussy) and Grigory Sokolov. It is a known fact that after one of the triumphant performances of Komitas’s choir in Paris, Claude Debussy came backstage and knelt in a gesture of admiration, saying: “You are a genius, Holy Father.”

I’m intrigued by the sparse nature of the scoring—often a piano single line and voice. It’s as if he achieves maximal effect through minimal means. Is that a fair appraisal?

Just like you, I find that particularly impactful!

... but the melodies themselves are highly ornate—are the decorations part of the Armenian musical vernacular? And, I love the singer, to be honest—a lovely voice, clear and yet warm. Her diction seems excellent as far as I can tell (in the sense that syllables are clearly defined—I don’t speak Armenian, I’m afraid!).

I fondly remember 18-year-old Shoushik at the very beginning of her career, still a student at USC, mesmerizing the audience by singing Komitas with such purity and nobility that it took my breath away. A beautiful person and musician, she has so much to offer with her innately deep interpretations, which stay away from external effects and aim to concentrate solely on the meanings of the texts and the music. I love this kind of ego-free musicianship so much.

There seem to be extremes of emotion here. The fourth song is ultra-beautiful; “Homeless,” the sixth song, is unbearably sad. The last two Komitas songs are both centered on the crane (the bird, not the mechanical object!). Is this a meaningful symbol in Armenia?

Cranes have a special significance for Armenians, related to our tragic history full of trauma, ethnic cleansing, and migration. Many folk songs and poems are dedicated to cranes as symbols of homesickness.

Romanos Melikian (1883–1935) is a new name to me—would you care to introduce him to Fanfare’s readers? There are only two songs by Melikian here—but there’s a lot of beauty in the filigree delicacy of Glowing in the Garden and the incredible pain of Weep Not. Is there much more to discover? I hope so! I wonder why we don’t know more about Melikian—only one of his pieces, Emerald Songs, has been reviewed in Fanfare before.

Well, this is one of the reasons why this CD set is conceived: also to bring attention to some wonderful Armenian composers of the past who are not much known yet outside of Armenia. The widely educated musician, composer, and choir conductor Romanos Melikian, a Moscow Conservatory graduate, is the founder of the first National Conservatory in Armenia’s capital, Yerevan, in 1921. (I am a proud alumnus of the Conservatory, and therefore one of the many beneficiaries of Melikian’s vision.) Due to poor health and a busy life as an organizer, Melikian’s compositional output is not large, but it is exquisite, and consists of mostly works for voice. Interestingly, the pianist in the recording to which you refer, Emerald Songs, is Artur Avanesov, who is featured prominently in our project, both as a composer and performer.

There are no previous pieces by Kourken Alemshah (1907–47) at all in the Fanfare Archive. And yet his I Loved seems like a cross between a Schubert song/melodrama and Eastern harmonies and melodic constructs. It is quite remarkable (and, I have to say, the singer is astonishing in her high register in “Wish”). What would you say makes Alemshah’s writing unique?

Yes, Alemshah was another important figure in Armenian music who is finally receiving some well-deserved exposure. Unlike Melikian, who received his education in Moscow and worked on the fringes of the Russian Empire (and later Soviet Union), in Yerevan and Tbilisi, Alemshah was a member of Turkey’s Armenian minority, and was later educated in Milan. He settled in Paris in 1930, and that’s where most of his creative activities occurred. In addition to composing, he also founded the “Cilicia” choir, which became a well-known choir in the Armenian community of France. In 1933, at the age of 26, Alemshah was invited to join the Association of Musical Authors, Composers, and Editors of France (SACEM). In 1937 his work Armenian Wedding, a combination of Alemshah’s music with popular songs, won the second prize at the international competition of People’s Music, with the participation of 20 nations. In the 1930s, he composed under the pseudonym of Jean Valdonne. In 1939, Alemshah was appointed to direct the Sipan Komitas choir, which he led until his death. He conducted Armen Tigranian’s opera Anoush and the performances of the Armenian Divine Liturgy in a number of French cathedrals. I’d say that Alemshah’s music is infused with his upbringing and deep love of Armenian music, but also highly influenced by the European training that he received, and the cosmopolitan environment of Paris, which at that time was a mecca for artists.

Finally for this disc, there are six songs from Tigran Mansurian’s Songs from Canti Paralleli. You refer to this in the notes as the best representation of the genre of Armenian art song. And I also see what the singer means in her booklet notes about the hypnotic nature of the piano part (which she says influences her deeply, and it certainly comes across as such in the music). Also, the song “Over the Blue Lake” in particular seems to exemplify this. Why is the set called Canti Paralleli?

The title of the cycle refers to the fact that the composer used two poems each from three different Armenian poets (Paghtasar Dpir, Yeghishe Charents, and Avetik Isahakian). Actually, the enhanced version of the cycle has two more poems added by Vahan Teryan, but the recorded version has a total of six songs. They are indeed pure gems, perfectly balancing poetry and music, with such a degree of piercing transparency that it takes your breath away from the very first note. As I mentioned earlier, Tigran Mansurian’s uncanny connection to the Armenian language and literature is unique, and his late compositional style suits those poignant texts like a glove. It is actually Vatsche Barsoumian’s opinion that Canti Paralleli is the best representation of the Armenian art song, and I fully agree with him. What makes it special is that Shoushik Barsoumian had several opportunities to work with the composer on these songs, in preparation

for the 2012 premiere performance in Yerevan, Armenia, so I think we have a definitive version of this masterpiece documented for posterity.

What about the poets that these composers set? It’s difficult in translation to catch the subtleties of their verse, of course. What are their specific characteristics as poets, and how do you feel the composers translated (or worked with) that in their music? Also, is there an Armenian school of poetry, and if so what are its characteristics?

The poems set to music by the composers in this collection are very diverse and represent different historical periods of Armenian poetry. Finding common themes among them is truly impossible because they cover a time span ranging between troubadour poetry and Futurism. In addition, due to the distinct difference between the Western and Eastern Armenian languages, two schools of Armenian poetry can be identified. While having different phonetics and orthography, Western and Eastern Armenian are two mutually intelligible branches of the same language. Due to political and historical circumstances, the two schools often differ not only linguistically but also stylistically. The musical settings of these poems rather reveal their intrinsic qualities (through the prism of the composers’ individual styles) than tend to find a common theme between them.

Moving to the third disc, Artur Avanesov has at least made it into the Fanfare Archive with his Feux follets, which I reviewed back in 43:5 (with yourself as soloist, on the New Focus disc Modulation Necklace). His Wondrous It Is... is based on a melody by the eighth-century poet Khosrovidukht and is poignantly scored for string trio. It’s absolutely lovely—what was the intent of the original melody? Is a “sharakan” a particular type of church melody?

Wondrous It Is… is Avanesov’s arrangement of the sharakan (church hymn) by the eighth-century Armenianauthor Khosrovidukht Goghtnatsi, one of the first known female music authors in the world. Khosrovidukht’s song is dedicated to the memory of her brother Vahan, who was abducted by Arabs, forcibly converted to Islam, and spent twenty years in a prison. Upon his release and return to Armenia, Vahan converted back to Christianity but soon met a violent death as a martyr.

It is incredible to think that this string trio piece was written in 2023, so many years after the original, and yet it seems to maintain the original’s sense of holiness and devotional respect.

I agree wholeheartedly! It draws you in instantly, and holds you in its spell until the very last note, a delightful pianissimo grace note by a lone violin that is an homage to Armenian folk tradition.

It’s a terrific performance, too—there’s so much control from the players. I do wonder how much rehearsal and recording time they had, as the standards are so high throughout the set!

This is really a labor of love. I am so incredibly proud of the young performers, members of the VEM Quartet (two graduate students and a recent alumnus). The piece was commissioned by the UCLA Armenian Music Program, to headline a concert tour of Armenia in the spring of 2023. In a short period of time, from early March through mid-May, Ela, Damon, and Niall have performed it on multiple occasions, from outreach events for school children in Armenian provinces to high-profile concerts in Yerevan and Los Angeles—always to an incredibly receptive reaction. They also got to work on it with the composer (who took part in our tour as a performer as well). By the time they recorded it in late May 2023, they really owned it.

It is nice that this is followed by Avanesov’s String Quartet No. 2; but the title of the first movement shocked me before I even heard a note—“Cognitive Study of the Generative Anxiety Disorder.”

Artur sometimes shocks me with his titles. But I have to say, it is an accurate and, actually, helpful insight into the piece for us, the performers!

The quartet took him four years to write (2019–23) and yet remains a work in progress, with more music to add. We have four movements so far (rather neatly, that does fit with the general conception of a string quartet!) Three of the four movements are linked to Feux follets, right? (That’s another piece that is in continuous evolution—some 70 pieces so far! Or more by now?)

As Artur Avanesov writes in his program note: “... this is another work in progress that will eventually comprise many small units. These could be deliberately selected and played in any order. So, the title String Quartet does not refer to any specific musical form; instead, it is just a description of the instrumental combination for which the composition is written. The present recording features all four pieces existing at this moment. Three of them are linked to the corresponding Feux follets pieces.”

What are the challenges for the performers of this music?

We worked a lot on these pieces. They are deceptively short but rather complex and tricky to put together. Performers are asked to combine a Berg- or Webern-like precision of coordination (lots of complicated twists and turns, counting can be tricky, etc.) along with a very Romantic and “in the moment” aesthetic of freedom and improvisation. So, you have to be very focused and aware, but also comfortable enough to play rubato. It is very rewarding, though!

So, on to the “Generative Anxiety Disorder.” My own impressions are that a motif, heard at the opening, returns again and again, as if in escalating Angst. The Angst seems more harmonically generated in the second movement, “Drammatico.” Here, folklore meets microtonality in the most astonishing compositional dance. And I love the song of the third movement. Hushed and as intense as the slow movement of a late Beethoven string quartet, this is remarkable (although shorter than I expected from the gravity of the materials!) A medieval French folk song forms the inspiration for this movement here, “Quand l’aubespine fleuret” (When the Hawthorn Flowers)—truly beautiful.

I’m going to skip over to the fourth disc at this point, as it contains pieces by Avanesov related to the above—a sequence of nine pieces from Feux Follets. They are fascinating—the way he embraces Schubert and internalizes Des Fischers Liebesglück is remarkable. Various other songs are referenced (there’s no missing Der Tod und das Mädchen!). It’s very clever but remarkably affecting at the same time, as Schubert morphs into a more Eastern version of himself and then into Avanesov himself. This internalization of other composers seems very personal to Avanesov, doesn’t it?

Definitely. Everything is personal for Artur, and for someone with his encyclopedic knowledge of music it seems only natural that he is “besieged” by references and reverences, so to speak. Actually, the great György Kurtág, whom I have the great honor of calling a mentor, functions in a similar manner as a creator. Of course they are very different, but I do see this common trend between them.

Just as clever is La lumineuse, a take on the character pieces of the French clavecinists of the era of Louis XIV and Louis XV! It has clear traits derived from them, yet still maintains something of Avanesov’s identity. I find these pieces very playful—and very, very clever. Avanesov’s Grieg piece again leaves us in no doubt as to the references; nor does the late Brahms (Intermezzo II). The booklet notes on the latter make an interesting point—the Intermezzo is no longer between two pieces but between existence and non-existence. Would you care to expand on that?

That is vintage Artur: He takes something very common and traditional, and looks at it from a unique angle. As he eloquently explains in his program note, he is looking for the “... moment of meditative suspense between existence and non-existence, a moment of absence from both life and death, or that of presence in both at the same time.”

I never expected to see Alban Berg as one of the composers, much less one of the Altenberg-Lieder as a dropping-off point, but here it is in “Hier ist Friede.” The melodic similarity is crystal clear, as are the harmonic references. Would you agree there is an expressive similarity between Berg and Avanesov?

This is very perceptive of you to notice; I agree fully.

I think I find “Für Hanni,” an in memoriam piece, the most touching—this became a choral piece, I believe? And the idea behind it is very effective—an ascending, “winding stair-like” ascent amongst the Minimalist gestures. I also imagine this takes quite some control from the pianist.

Artur is truly a great pianist; I sometimes call him the “Armenian Thomas Adès,” because both of them have mesmerizing pianistic abilities in addition to being great composers.

It’s fascinating, too, how the composer creates a prolongation of this in the next movement, “Nenia” (a dirge)—and, taking the title as another catalyst, references exist to Brahms and Kurtág in the music.

It’s also interesting how, in the two Intermezzos here, the composer refers less to Brahms (certainly in the final one) than to the end-of-century likes of Mahler—and Kreisler and Joseph Marx are also cited. I don’t know enough about Marx’s music (although I know the odd piece) to comment—how does this link to it? This final Intermezzo is very elusive indeed, almost fragmentary. Am I right in hearing some Armenian tropes in there, in the sudden flurries of notes and some of the melodic shapes?

I was so curious about your take that I relistened just now, and am actually hearing an homage to Rachmaninov (and Brahms and Mahler, of course). But we’d have to ask Artur!

I’m surprised (again!) by the inclusion of the music of Ethiopia in Tezeta—and surprised this piece seems to move towards modern jazz improvisation at times! I’m lucky enough to be able to read the notes for this release, but could you perhaps explain to the readers the relationships between Armenian and Ethiopian indigenous musics?

There is indeed an unbelievable connection between Armenian and Ethiopian musical cultures and histories, something that I learned myself relatively recently— thanks to the significant and important research by Paris-based composer Michel Petrossian (whose brilliant Piano Trio is on our first Modulation Necklace album). To quote Avanesov from his notes: “... while visiting Jerusalem in 1920s, Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie I came across Armenian orphans who survived the Armenian Genocide of 1915. Having learned their story, he felt so compassionate that he took forty orphans to Addis Ababa, where he entrusted them to the care of the Armenian musician Kevork Nalbandian, author of the Imperial Anthem of Ethiopia. The Arba Lijoch (“forty orphans”) formed the imperial brass band of Ethiopia; many of them permanently settled in the country, thus influencing its musical life.”

How crazy is that? Basically, by a random act of historical coincidence, a single Armenian musician, Kevork Nalbandian, writes a National Anthem of Ethiopia, and is rightfully credited with establishing the professional musical culture of an entire country!

Also regarding Tezeta: I’m intrigued by the following: “Though written for piano solo, the piece was conceived as an imaginary conversation between several saxophones, keyboard, and drums.” That seems oddly specific; it is again performed by the composer, so one assumes

he had this in his mind during the performance. Occasionally, I confess, I thought of steel bands in this piece! And yet it is deeply serious, not flippant at all. To me, it feels like a tone poem for piano.

It is truly a unique soundscape. Imagine hearing it on Avanesov’s upright piano in his apartment in Yerevan, Armenia, when he first played it for me upon completion in the late evening. He is lucky to have very kind neighbors who adore him!

You also have the honor of having first recordings by the composer himself! Small wonder they are so convincing, musically!

That goes without saying.

Avanesov’s Tre Sonate (Three Sonatas) that closes the entire set seems immediately more approachable, even open-air. It pays homage to the form of the piano trio, and exudes a real affection. There’s a rather nice formal touch here: Each sonata can be played separately, but when played together they form a very satisfying three movements (fast-slow-fast). The first is great fun, a tribute to Scarlatti. (I love the rapid violin descent rounded off by a low staccato piano note at an octave displacement—put together, a typical Scarlatti left-hand gesture.)

And from Scarlatti one moves to Bach (the St. John Passion, and even more specifically “Zerfließe, mein Herze,” heard right near the end of the piece). There’s no missing the link between the two if you play them one after the other—and the vocal original certainly seems to encourage a sense of cantabile from the players, especially cellist Edvard Pogossian (who carries the melody for the majority of the time, only briefly ceding it to the violin of Varty Manouelian). It’s truly lovely, and appears to me as a real tribute to old JSB in the most tasteful manner possible. Does Bach hold a particular place in the hearts of Armenian musicians?

Well, I think Bach holds a particular place in the heart of every musician, and Armenian musicians are not an exception.

The final movement—the notes refer to a two-reprise form, by which I take it you mean both sections are repeated. There’s a lot of clever aspects to this movement mathematically—would you care to explain them to our readers? And how it does works musically! (To me it’s like a game, and we hear that playfulness in the music itself, but maybe that’s just me! There is some drama there, but I wonder whether it is tongue-in-cheek melodrama.)

Yes, this movement is a rather witty play on various numbers (four and three), and also cleverly goes through an entire chain of chromatically descending modulations from C Major back to C Major, thus covering all 12 (four times three) tonal centers. This is done while keeping a strict structure of 27 (three squared) measures per cadence, throughout an entire movement!

We have a first recording of Mansurian here in the piece Tremors, right? This is a string quintet, as opposed to a quartet. It occupies a special part in Mansurian’s output for its transitional nature—a departure from his fascination with the European avant-garde and a move towards nationalism, perhaps? It also seems particularly gritty at some points, against which the elegiac passages seem even more peaceful. It’s a terrific piece, and I almost feel that calling it “transitional” does it a disservice, as it works perfectly well in its own right. What do you think? What makes this piece so special to you? And how was the process of discovering the score for you and your colleagues as you worked on it? Certainly the performance implies deep work as you reveal the piece’s structure so well, and the climaxes therefore carry real weight.

I believe Tremors is the last major chamber work by Mansurian that has not been recorded yet, and sort of completes the circle of documenting his impressive body of work for posterity. Stylistically, it closely aligns with composer’s String Quartet No. 3—another dark, edgy, at times thorny-sounding masterpiece. I particularly love how the piece ends, with a ray of

hope (the violin in a very high register), and then an unanswered question by a solo viola (the composer’s favorite instrument). Actually, I am not performing in this piece; instead it’s my young student colleagues from another VEM incarnation, joined by my distinguished former UCLA colleague and friend, cellist Antonio Lysy, who sadly just passed away. I had the pleasure of being in the booth and producing this wonderful performance.

I’m absolutely intrigued concerning the title and basis of Martin Ulikhanyan’s Fantasy on Tigran Mansurian’s Film Music for clarinet and string quartet. Film music tends to be considered as something less than concert music in the West, and yet this works beautifully. The composer says he’s “personally very close to the composer.” What does he mean by that?

To start with, Armenia is a relatively small country, and when it comes to the cultural circles, everyone pretty much knows everyone! As for Tigran Mansurian, literally every Armenian knows his name, and can sing the beautiful bittersweet melody from the film A Piece of Sky, to which Mansurian wrote the music. Martin Ulikhanyan is one of Armenia’s most recognized composers in the genre of film music, and so my idea was to commission a piece from him that would pay an homage to Mansurian’s most beloved tunes from various films, while remaining an original composition. I think Martin has done it splendidly.

The piece is lovingly crafted, and just as lovingly played! The pizzicato section is particularly fetching. I think there are some passages I could identify as “filmic,” but that is by no means the rule, and Ulikhanyan seems to use that as part of a strategy of contrasts.

It’s also great to see some Hovhaness here, surely the most famous of the composers in this set. He qualifies as an “American composer of Armenian and Scottish descent”! What I find remarkable is that he has a completely individual musical signature.

I confess that when I was younger and cockier, I tended to look down on Hovhaness as a second-rate composer. Thankfully, I have matured somewhat, and now admire not only his remarkable output (over 400 works!), but also his holistic worldview as well as his reverence for nature. I think that in his chamber music especially, Hovhaness is like a chameleon, constantly reinventing himself. He is also never in a hurry, a quality I wish I had! I find it interesting and telling that he was friends with the great American composer Lou Harrison. Having had the pleasure of performing several times at Lou Harrison’s magical house in Joshua Tree (which has the best acoustic in the world, by the way, designed by Lou himself), it was very touching to see the correspondence between the two great men. When we worked on the String Trio with the VEM, we tried to make sure that the idiosyncrasies and non-conventional sections of the score are brought out and celebrated rather than undermined—and I am really happy with the final result.

The Gazarossian Lament is very powerful; and while I admire the recording of her Etudes on Piano Classics (46:6), I find this far more profound. But few will know anything about Koharik Gazarossian (1907–67). Again, would you care to introduce this composer?

I am so glad you enjoyed discovering this piece as a listener! Hailing from the genocide-surviving Armenian minority of Istanbul, Koharik Gazarossian was an active member of a circle of Armenian feminist intellectuals, writers, and artists, and one of the first women composers of the Republic of Turkey. Graduating the Paris Conservatory, she toured Europe, the USA, Lebanon, and Egypt, performing as a concert pianist in major concert venues, including Carnegie Hall, the Salle Gaveux, and Wigmore Hall. Written in Paris in 1961, Aghchi Mert Merel A / Ta Mère N’est Plus for string quartet takes its theme from a melody transcribed by Komitas in 1913 during a song collection excursion. Two field notebooks from this trip were saved by writer and scholar Toros Azadian and handed to Koharik Gazarossian in 1943. The lament Aghchi Mert

Merel A was the very first song in this collection that Gazarossian worked on. Thanks to Melissa Bilal, my dear friend who is an internationally recognized Gazarossian scholar, the inaugural Promise Chair in Armenian Music, Arts, and Culture at UCLA and also the director of the UCLA Armenian Music Program (a project that I was asked to start ten years ago at UCLA), I became aware of this work, and so we had the honor of premiering it in Los Angeles in the Spring of 2023, and later recording it for this project.

The renowned violinists Ani and Ida Kavafian, who play Kristapor Najarian’s A Tale for Two Violins, are those that gave its world premiere in Los Angeles in 2014. They certainly seem to dig right into this performance! There are some remarkable passages where both of them are double-stopping, enriching the sound; and indeed there is the contrastive power of the single folkish line. What’s fascinating is Najarian’s response to that line; or indeed the power of a single line against a drone (in the penultimate movement). The final movement is full of drama—this is indeed a tale of capture and escape. I like the idea that the titles suggest a story’s framework and leave the deals to the listener; I also like the way the music is expertly crafted. But this person is completely new to me! The programmatic nature of the music is more overt than any of the others on the set, would you agree?

This is another one of those happy stories of human and musical connections, dear to my heart. Kris (Kristapor) Najarian was an undergraduate violin student of mine at UCLA, a wide-eyed kid who loved not only Western classical music but also rock (he is really good in electric guitar) and folk (his father is an accomplished oud player, and his grandfather was a sought-after luthier of the oud, which is one of the traditional Armenian string instruments, plucked like a guitar). Midway through his violin studies, Kris added a composition major and graduated with both. Next thing I knew, he was in the Paris Conservatory studying with Eric Tanguy, and is now a composer in his own right. A Tale is Kris’ first widely successful work; it was a commission from the Dilijan Chamber Series and Lark Musical Society. The spectacular violinists Ani and Ida Kavafian (dear friends of mine) gave it a truly memorable premiere in Los Angeles a few years ago, and the rest is a history of repeat performances all over, and a universal acclaim by professionals and amateurs alike.

We dealt with disc four above when talking about Avanesov; so I wonder what’s next for your Armenian projects?

As I mentioned above, there is so much worthy Armenian music to document for posterity. My hope is that we’ll be able to issue sequels to the Modulation Necklace series about once every two years. I do have ideas, including potential commissions, but don’t want to jinx anything. Hopefully, when the time comes, we’ll be talking about the next project!

Also, a word about the recordings perhaps as, like the set’s documentation, they are superb. Were any of the composers present? Najarian and Avanesov are still with us, of course!

Did I mention earlier that I feel very lucky? The stars truly aligned, and the support that I had—creative, emotional, logistical—has been just superb. I do have to give a shoutout first and foremost to Sergey Parfenov, our lead recording engineer, editor, and a guru of sound and post-production. Sergey has been responsible for 270 minutes of recorded music on this set—it’s four and a half hours of music. Just imagine the amount of time and effort that it took to oversee that amount of material! I am also very grateful to my staff colleagues at the UCLA Herb Alpert School of Music, where we are very lucky to have a state-of-the-art recording studio, one of the most coveted spaces in Los Angeles. Working with Dan Lippel, the creator and driving force of New Focus Recordings, has always been such a pleasure—this is our fifth project together. Dan is a great musician himself, and has human and musical standards that I admire. I am also very

grateful to designers Marc Wolf and Irene Baghdasaryan for their beautiful creative solutions; I love both the printed and digital booklets.

Needless to say, the honor of choosing the performers and making music with them is what I cherish most, because once all the dust settles, those memories will stay with me.

Thanks so much for going through this rather long sequence of questions!

My pleasure!

— Colin Clarke, 2.15.2024

When my wife and I moved from Atlanta to Los Angeles in 2021, we made several
discoveries about our new home city. We knew, of course, that the Pacific Ocean would be a
relatively short drive from our house in Northeast LA. What we hadn’t anticipated was that a
mere ten-minute ride separated us from breathtaking mountain hikes. Another rewarding
discovery was the prominence of LA’s Armenian population. With Glendale (again just a few
minutes from our house) serving as the focal point, the metropolitan Los Angeles Armenian
population is exceeded only by Armenia itself. Needless to say, the presence and influence of
Armenian tradition and culture, including music, are profound in Los Angeles. Violinist Movses
Pogossian, a graduate of the Yerevan Komitas State Conservatory, moved to LA in 2004. In his
liner notes for a new 4-disc set on the New Focus label, Serenade with a Dandelion: Armenian
Chamber Music, Old and New, Pogossian recounts collaborative efforts that exposed Angelenos
to Armenia’s rich musical tradition. In 2005, Pogossian co-founded the Dilijan Chamber Music
Series, “dedicated to showcasing traditional pieces of Western classical chamber music, as well
as pearls from the treasury of Armenian chamber works.” For the first decade of its existence,
Movses Pogossian also headed the UCLA Armenian Music Program, part of the UCLA Herb
Alpert School of Music. Both the Dilijan Chamber Music Series and UCLA Armenian Music
Program have presented numerous concerts showcasing the works of Armenian composers, past
and present. Many of those compositions, as well as the artists who perform(ed) them, are
featured on Serenade with a Dandelion, a set comprising music by Armenian composers of the
20 th and 21 st centuries.

Each of the four discs on the New Focus set concentrates upon a particular aspect of
Armenian chamber music. The first showcases chamber music for various combinations of
instruments. These include Vache Sharafyan’s Serenade with a Dandelion (2005) (two violins)
and String Quartet No. 2 (2022), Tigran Mansurian’s Lachrymae (1999) (tenor saxophone and
violin), Artur Akshelyan’s Sillage (2021) (mezzo-soprano and string quartet), and Argenaz
Martirosyan’s Chameleon (2022) (alto saxophone and violin). All of the works on disc 1 adopt a
decidedly modernist type of expression, with a focus on the repetition and development of
motifs, couched in a broad spectrum of instrumental colors. Disc 2, “Armenian Art Songs”,
opens with several arrangements for voice and piano of Armenian folk songs, created by
Komitas Vardapet. Two songs each by Romanos Melikian and Kourken Alemshah follow. The

disc concludes with excerpts from Mansurian’s Canti Paralleli (2012). Komitas’s beautiful
arrangements of the folk material set the stage for a disc that celebrates melody’s beauty and
expressive potential (full English translations of the songs are included in the booklet). All of the
songs are performed to perfection by soprano Shoushik Barsoumian and pianist Steven
Vanhauwaert. Disc 3 returns to instrumental chamber music, scored, with one exception, for
various combinations of strings. That exception is Martin Ulikhanyan’s Fantasy on Tigran
Mansurian’s Film Music (2020), pairing a clarinet with string quartet. The remaining works are
Artur Avanesov’s Wondrous It Is… (2023) (violin, viola, cello) and String Quartet (2019-23),
Mansurian’s Tremors (1990) (two violins, viola, two cellos), Hovhaness’s String Trio, op. 201
(1962) (violin, viola, cello), Koharik Gazarossian’s Ta Mère N’est Plus (1961) (string quartet),
and Kristapor Najarian’s A Tale for Two Violins (2014). The second disc of instrumental chamber
music presents music generally cast in an approachable idiom, one that more clearly adopts folk
and other traditional Armenian elements.

The final disc showcases composer and pianist Artur Avanesov performing his own
works. First are 9 excerpts from Avanesov’s “work in progress,” Feux follets, a collection of
“100 keyboard pieces arranged into eleven volumes. The Feux follets pieces feature various
musical styles and contain multiple references to the pre-existing music of different time periods,
cultures, and individual artists.” The included Feux follets selections evoke music spanning the
Baroque to Berg, Bartók and György Kurtág. In these brief piano pieces, Avanesov’s weaving of
historical elements into what he describes as “essentially a postmodern work” is brilliant,
seamless, and entirely captivating. This is also music that maintains a gratifyingly accessible
idiom, without ever sacrificing its sense of creativity and exploration. The same is true of another
solo piano work, Tezeta, inspired by Ethiopian popular music. The concluding Tre-Sonate (2022)
(violin, cello, and piano) comprises three brief works that can either be played as a unit, or
separately. The first (Allegro assai) “zooms in on the eccentricities of Domenico Scarlatti’s
keyboard sonatas.” The slow-tempo second piece (Lento), evoking Bach, spotlights the cello.
The concluding Presto trio is a nod to the Classical-era tradition. Its sonata form is the
foundation for episodes of chromatic descending modulations from C Major to C Major (major
keys in the exposition and recapitulation, minor keys in the development). As with Haydn and
Mozart, Avanesov employs these academic structures and techniques to fashion music that is
unfailingly spirited and entertaining.

Serenade with a Dandelion is a treasure trove of fine and compelling music, all superbly
performed. No doubt violinists Ani and Ida Kavafian (Najarian’s A Tale for Two Violins) will be
familiar to Fanfare readers. But all of the artists give exceptional, committed performances. It is
clear from the committed renditions of the various works, as well as Movses Pogossian’s
heartfelt booklet narrative, that this project is a labor of love for all concerned. The recordings,
made at the UCLA Herb Alpert School of Music’s Ostin Music Center, and Lincoln Center’s
Rose Studio, are superb. In addition to Pogossian’s essay and the translations of sung texts, the
booklet includes detailed program notes for all the repertoire. A first-rate, enriching musical
journey, one I recommend to all with the utmost enthusiasm.

— Ken Meltzer, 2.16.2024