Yannis Kyriakides was born in Cyprus, grew up in England and now resides in Amsterdam. This rich background has clearly contributed to Kyriakides’ wide-eyed and exploratory compositional approach, yet for all the diversity there’s an even greater consistency, a remarkably clear and dogged single-mindedness, that runs through his music. Antichamber collects ten chamber pieces on two CDs, works of varying size and make-up, all but one involving electronics. As the title implies, Kyriakides is interested in questioning the meaning of chamber music, stretching its boundaries, but he does this very much from within: these are resolutely composed works, each action and reaction carefully considered. His chief interest is in relationships, “those between musicians, between musicians and technology, and between performers and spaces, real and imaginary.” These relationships are in constant flux, this balanced uncertainty forming the basis of Kyriakides’ music.
The relationship between acoustic and electronic sound sources is of particular concern, such that even the wholly acoustic ‘hYDAtorizon’ for piano quintet has you guessing. His use of ‘electronics’ too raises questions, involving computers, record players, iPods and ‘soundtrack’. It’s unclear whether pieces such as Dog Song (Cerberus Serenades Orpheus) for double bell trumpet, soundtrack and computer is a duo or a quartet or, as only one performer is mentioned, a solo. Besides these formal concerns myriad extra-musical concepts are investigated: philosophy, history and linguistics; ghosts, codes and number stations; Heraclitus, Gilles Deleuze and Georges Perec. An eloquent track-by-track summary by Kyriakides details these interests in the liner notes. His music hits both intellectually and emotionally, then, and with a vigour almost unrivalled in contemporary music.
In ‘Telegraphic’ of 2007, telegraph keys are inserted into the mixing desk and function as a stop-start button, gating the sustained drones played by the six instrumentalists. Winds, strings, trombone and synth shuttle and creak like a rickety steam train, one slickly produced by rune gramofone. Violin and electric guitar duel on ‘Zeimbekiko’, harmonic pings and gruff scrapes recalling a more refined Gastr del Sol, set against the whirling fog of Balkan folk music creaked out on old vinyl. ‘Chaoids’ begins as driving minimalism before the violin, alto saxophone and vibraphone all stumble, tripped up by electronic tones and glitch, struggling for the rest of the track to get back on course. ‘PNEuma’ also dabbles in repetition, and hints at groove, rhythms tapped out on the piano’s body and the bassoon skronking like John Lurie. The final ‘Atopia (hyperamplified)’ acts as a summation of sorts, collapsing flute, viola, and electronics into an anxious, mournful drone, expanding and contracting like the audible inhalations of the flautist, time metered out portentously with periodic gongs of the vibraphone. Antichamber is a stunning release, an impressive survey from one of today’s most compelling composers.
Joshua Meggitt
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