With Musica Falsa Lithuanian superminimalist Rytis Mazulis and virtuoso Italian flautist Manuel Zurria transform that wispy tin pipe into a visceral hydra-headed bludgeon. Mazulis is a composer deserving of far wider acclaim, so dense, complex and physically involving is his music, and it was to be expected that his music for this pithy instrument would wind up so muscular. Obsessed with canons, in jagged multi-tiered forms, he’s primarily written for chamber arrangements, but given the unplayability of much of his music his best release was the computer piano realisations of Twittering Machine. Zurria heard these recordings and, awe-struck, contacted Mazulis and the two worked, via email, on the pieces that comprise this recording – enthralling demonstrations of complex compositional logic realised by extreme instrumental technique.
The six pieces of Musica Falsa take one of two forms: stacked and staggered repetitive canons rapidly performed, splaying out and creating various spectral effects which justify the ‘superminimalist’s tag; and slow microtonal drones which slither and crawl like a deep-sea eel. The former are the more instantly gratifying, nowhere more so than on the opening Puja, in which an expanding series of rising canons split and fizzle, the high tones developing strobe effects from close multi-tracking. Those taking the latter approach are more demanding and difficult to penetrate, but a clear sense of order pervades, regardless of how dissonant and off-kilter they sound. The title work chugs slowly to life like a rickety steam train, Zurria’s gasping flute recalling the trumpet fanfare of Klimek’s ‘True Enemies and False Friends’, while in Schisma the reverse occurs, drawn out falling tones unravelling over 30 minutes before decaying completely, like a dying beast’s final breathes. This is captivating new music with surprises at every turn.
Joshua Meggitt
