Max Richter - Valse Avec Bachir (EMI, 2008)

1 Boaz And The Dogs (3:11)
2 Iconography (3:17)
3 The Haunted Ocean 1 (2:07)
4 JSB/RPG (1:32)
5 Shadow Journal (8:27)
6 OMD - Enola Gay (3:34)
7 The Haunted Ocean 2 (0:54)
8 Taxi And APC (2:13)
9 Any Minute Now / Thinking Back (4:16)
10 I Swam Out To Sea / Return (3:52)
11 Patchouli Oil And Karate (0:36)
12 PIL - This Is Not A Love Song (4:12)
13 What Had They Done? (1:53)
14 Into The Airport Hallucination (3:27)
15 The Slaughterhouse (1:35)
16 The Haunted Ocean 3 (2:22)
17 Into The Camps (3:19)
18 The Haunted Ocean 4 (3:45)
19 Andante / Reflection (End Title) (3:30)
20 The Haunted Ocean 5 (Solo Version) (1:38)

D'une valse à l'autre. Formidable film d'animation travaillant la mémoire de soldats israéliens unis par la guerre du Liban, "Valse avec Bachir" est aussi le fruit d'un fécond pas de deux entre Ari Folman, réalisateur fasciné par la musique de Max Richter ("The Blue Notebooks" a accompagné l'écriture du scénario) et le compositeur allemand qui, dès qu'il fut contacté par Folman, a pris soin de se mettre à l'écriture pour lui délivrer, avant même le tournage de la première minute d'animation, l'ensemble des partitions. C'est peu de dire que les images du film sont désormais indissociables de cette musique : les séquences aquatiques notamment, oniriques et fulgurantes, ont donné lieu à une magnifique variation sur l'océan se déclinant en cinq plages au déroulé progressif, qui, si elles ne font pas oublier la dette due par le compositeur à Michael Nyman, contribuent à envoûter l'auditeur comme le spectateur. Max Richter s'est aussi amusé, entre autres, à piller Jean-Sébastien Bach, à se laisser hanter par la mémoire des romantiques (la "Marche Funèbre" de Chopin et la sonate pour piano D. 850 de Schubert dont les éléments apparaissent bouleversés d'une pièce à l'autre), à puiser dans son propre répertoire ("Shadow Journal", longue pulsation sourde marquée par les violons, emprunté aux "Blue Notebooks"). L'ensemble de ces pièces est peut-être ce que le compositeur a produit de plus abouti à ce jour. La satisfaction de l'auditeur ne saurait oublier la présence des deux tubes estampillés que sont "Enola Gay" (1980) et "This is Not a Love Song" (1983) : la première sert de parenthèse à une fête entre soldats sur un navire, et rappelle, par le contexte de la seconde guerre mondiale et l'apparente légèreté du morceau, les effets de contraste dans la représentation de la guerre (le film cite par ailleurs explicitement la scène de surf de "Apocalypse Now" et celle du sniper de "Full Metal Jacket") et la seconde, contemporaine de la Guerre du Liban, entre de plain-pied dans la narration (John Lydon en figure télévisuelle épileptique introduit le retour en permission de Ari qui cherche en vain à renouer avec son amoureuse). Il y a, dans la vision du film, quelque chose de fascinant à voir comment ces morceaux réveillent instantanément la nostalgie d'une époque dans un film d'animation qui, en dehors des indications historiques nécessaires, ne joue pas outre mesure sur les détails pittoresques ; c'est à la fois plus économe et saisissant que les références explicites à Kim Wilde, Kiss ou Michael Jackson dans le "Persepolis" de Marjane Satrapi. La BOF n'inclut pas en revanche les chansons sur le Vietnam détournées par des groupes rock israéliens. Peut-être moins politiquement corrects, les morceaux auraient aussi détonné par rapport à l'homogénéité des compositions de Max Richter.
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Max Richter - 24 Postcards In Full Colour (130701, 2008)

1 The Road Is A Grey Tape (1:01)
2 H In New England (1:50)
3 This Picture Of Us. P. (1:36)
4 Lullaby From The Westcoast Sleepers (2:02)
5 When The Northern Lights / Jasper And Louise (1:00)
6 Circles From The Rue Simon – Crubellier (1:04)
7 Cascade NW By W (1:12)
8 A Sudden Manhattan Of The Mind (2:51)
9 In Louisville At 7 (1:03)
10 Cathodes (1:01)
11 I Was Just Thinking (0:59)
12 A Song For H / Far Away (2:08)
13 Return To Prague (1:02)
14 Broken Symmetries For Y (1:00)
15 Berlin By Overnight (1:27)
16 Cradle Song For A (Interstate B3) (2:11)
17 Kierling / Doubt (0:50)
18 From 553 W Elm Street, Logan Illinois (Snow) (0:57)
19 Tokyo Riddle Song (1:00)
20 The Tartu Piano (2:05)
21 Cold Fusion For G (0:35)
22 32 Via San Nicolo (1:23)
23 Found Song For P. (2:24)
24 H Thinks A Journey (0:57)

Vingt-quatre titres. A peine plus de trente-trois minutes. Qu’est-il donc arrivé à Max Richter, guide de mes nuits de décembre 2004, quand j’avais découvert le bougre, un peu par hasard, via son “The Blue Notebooks”, album parfait de post-classicisme à la beauté fracassante. Lui qui aimait prendre son temps pour mieux développer ses mélodies encordées et pleines d’un piano délicat ?
Rien. Ou presque. Il a juste voulu écrire une sorte de concept album sur, tenez-vous bien, les sonneries de téléphones. Partant du postulat suivant «Pourquoi une sonnerie de téléphone devrait-elle être nulle?», il a donc composé 24 morceaux, tous de très courtes durées (de 50’’ à 2’51’’), qui pourraient, pour la plupart, faire office de ringtones (écoutez In Louisville At 7, c’est flagrant): “24 Postcards In Full Colour”.

Comme d’habitude, violons, violoncelles et piano sont au rendez-vous, avec en guest une guitare. Les ambiances propres à Max Richter, ces atmosphères planantes, vaporeuses et oniriques, elles aussi. Ce sont d’ailleurs elles qui servent de fil conducteur à cet album, dont chaque titre est différent de son prédécesseur et explore des univers parallèles.
Et si le procédé peut paraître assez frustrant parfois, tant on aimerait que l’Écossais développe ses titres et fasse muer quelques secondes de musique en un ensemble plus consistant, on ne peut quand même que s’incliner devant le talent de Max Richter, compositeur post-classique émérite, qui compose des albums comme d’autres font des rêves, et qui, avec ce “24 Postcards In Full Colour” nous invite à un voyage dans le beau, le doux, le planant et l’éphémère.

Benzine

The place where art music and pop music meet is today less a border than a bridge constantly filled with traffic flowing both ways. I like to think of German-born Max Richter as standing somewhere in the middle of that bridge, a modern composer with a pop musician's sense of conceptual unity, emotional connection, and payoff. His albums to date have played like post-minimalist classical for those who follow indie rock and electronic music-- they could lead a Mogwai fan to Arvo Pärt and Gavin Bryars, or a Pärt fan to Rachel's, Stars of the Lid, and Philip Jeck. The point is that he makes art music with broad appeal, miles from the kind of process pieces that are easier to read about than listen to.

Richter's latest takes a step into a part of the pop world few modern composers have approached: the ringtone. Old-school classical music has been there for a while-- I have friends with piano sonatas, Mozart snippets, and bits of Bach on their phones-- but Richter is one of the first to build an entire recording around this most ubiquitous man-made ambient noise. These 24 brief tracks (totaling around a half-hour) are theoretically all meant to tell you that Mom is calling, but don't come expecting the bassline to "Play That Funky Music", the pep of "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik", or anything similarly snappy. These pieces are almost entirely in the same somber vein of Richter's other work. If you want a ringtone that could stop everyone else in the produce aisle in his or her tracks with its beauty, this is for you.

The main musical aim here appears to be tonal variety. Richter places a minute of burbling, crackling ambient noise next to a painfully gorgeous minute of violins slipping in and out of harmony, or an arpeggiating electric guitar smothered in voices. The piano pieces are soft, contemplative, and a bit chilly-- they make me think of wearing a sweater while reading a thoughtfully written book by the light of a single lamp in an otherwise dark home. Autumnal is a word I occasionally see used to describe the feel of Richter's work, and it certainly applies here. These pieces are falling leaves and brisk breezes embodied in bow strokes, keystrokes, and electronic textures.

Richter has discussed the possibility of performing shows using these pieces as ringtones on his audience's phones, controlling the music from the stage via text message-- I'd love to be at one of those shows to see how it feels as a droning violin or gently pulsing, organ-like tone spreads through the crowd. Setting the concept aside, this is a frequently haunting album, though it sacrifices a great deal of flow in the name of brevity and variety. Even if no one ever downloads it to a Nokia, the hair-raising violin of "A Sudden Manhattan of the Mind" makes its point just fine as part of the album. And that's the most important thing to remember about this album: the concept is strong, but the music is stronger.

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Max Richter - From The Art Of Mirrors (Seven Things, 2006)

01 From the Art of Mirrors (52:12)

Performance live d'une musique d'accompagnement de films inédits de Derek Jarman.

Richter's The Art of Mirrors (issued by the UK downloads-only label Seven Things) is musical accompaniment for never-before-seen films from the Derek Jarman archive (around sixty S8mm film works produced between 1970 and 1983). Interestingly, while Songs From Before is comprised of short compositions threaded into a whole, The Art of Mirrors is a single-movement, 52-minute piece; however, it's a rather misleading detail—more a matter of CD indexing—since the two works are equally episodic in nature. It's not an unrelated composition either, as The Art of Mirrors opens with the sparse organ chords of “Song” and gentle vibes of “Harmonium,” and “Sunlight” surfaces too. The longer work is a live recording though there's little that sonically identifies it as such beyond modest stage noise and the closing applause. One thing that recommends the live presentation is that it builds to a ravishing climax whereas the studio set ends less dramatically with a piano coda (“From the Rue Vilin”). Obviously The Art of Mirrors is less concise than Songs From Before yet still provides a natural companion to it. In a perfect world, the release would be available in a DVD format too so that we might view Jarman's visuals alongside Richter's music.
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Max Richter - Songs From Before (130701, 2006)

1 Song (4:12)
2 Flowers For Yulia (6:50)
3 Fragment (1:41)
4 Harmonium (4:23)
5 Ionosphere (1:25)
6 Autumn Music 1 (3:54)
7 Time Passing (1:51)
8 Sunlight (5:35)
9 Lullaby (0:53)
10 Autumn Music 2 (3:49)
11 Verses (1:43)
12 From The Rue Vilin (1:02)

Après les très réussis Memory House et The Blue Notebooks, le roi anglais de l’ambiant, Max Richter, est de retour avec Songs From Before. C’est par l’intérmédiaire de ses carnets de notes bleus, publiés chez Fatcat, que l’allemand d’origine s’était fait connaître aux oreilles du plus grand nombre, dont nous faisions partie. Puis il nous avait convaincus à nouveau en accompagnant Vashti Bunyan pour son second album, l’an passé. Avec Songs From Before, sur 1130701, un sous-label de Fatcat dédié aux musiques plutôt ambiantes, Richter enfonce le clou et démontre une nouvelle fois que la musique néo-classique n’est pas une ennemie de la mélodie et de l’émotion. Car c’est bien cette dernière, ici, qui est au centre. Les pièces mélancoliques de Max Richter, montées à partir de violons, claviers, field recordings, voix (Robert Wyatt lisant Haruki Murakami, la classe), pianos et crissements informatiques, sont particulièrement évocatrices. Ces pièces "racontent" des airs parfaitement mélancoliques, qui évoquent l’esprit de Rachel’s, de Silver Mount Zion, Tiersen et autres Chauveau, mais aussi celui des complaintes cosmiques d’un Cliff Martinez ou de Brian Eno, ou encore de l’electronica minimale et abstraite. Avec son format très pop, ses douze titres pour à peine plus de trente-sept minutes, Songs From Before alterne les intermèdes aux accents électroniques, parfois accompagnés de voix, et les compositions romantiques et amples, expressives à souhait (Autumn Music 1 et 2, Flowers For Yulia). S’il semble à cet instant d’écoute et de digestion moins accompli que Blue Notebooks, Songs From Before n’en distille pas moins des mélopées hors d’âge, sobres et simplement belles. Des mélopées qui se répètent, lentement, subtilement, et qui laissent apercevoir, au lointain, un grand orchestre baignant dans la brume de l’aube.
Autres Directions

Max Richter's résumé becomes, nearly without exception, part and parcel to every review of his music: The German-born composer studied piano in Edinburgh and then at the Royal Academy of Music in London. He worked with electronics in Florence with Luciano Berio and co-founded Piano Circus, an ensemble devoted to work by 20th century composers such as Steve Reich and Arvo Pärt. In the mid-1990s, he collaborated with Future Sound of London, lending his piano and sampling experience to the long-running duo.

Sure, as paying dues in the field of new music goes, Richter's past is worthy of mention. But plundering his curriculum vitae also renders a certain logical lens for his work as a solo composer, a productive means of analyzing his self-described "post-Classical" compositions for strings, piano, electronics, and spoken word: When a Richter album-- especially his latest, Songs From Before-- is disassembled with his lineage in mind, its pieces are identifiable, clear precursors and allegiances made obvious. Electronic passages-- here, manipulated recordings of short-wave radio segments-- form both the underpinnings and segue sequences in Richter compositions. Their distant ambience reflects the foundations of Brian Eno's colossal ambient work (which Richter played with Piano Circus) and the corrupted warmth of Iannis Xenakis' best electronic pieces (which he studied with Ferio). Richter employees triads, so cinematic as they guide the perfect solstitial redolence of "Autumn Music 1", as freely and fondly as Pärt, and his rhythmic intricacy, so perfect as it guides the string-and-piano counterpoints of the splendid "Autumn Music 2", is an extension of Reich's pointillist thrust.

But, much as he did with 2004's beautiful The Blue Notebooks, Richter combines these disparate and proven ideas into fresh, emotive work. His central aesthetic of absolute taste-- from Robert Wyatt's staid readings of Haruki Murakami's writings to the gravitational rise of "Flowers for Yulia"-- is manifested, compositionally, through omnipresent motion. Richter's pieces are rarely still even if somewhat static, a facet epitomized by his strength with rubato, a classical technique for maintaining the essential meter of a passage by temporarily slowing or quickening the rhythm. It conjures an overwhelming emotional tizzy, bouts of rhythmic unpredictably guiding the familiar patterns of Richter's beloved minor triads. "Autumn Music 2" bridges these tendencies into a stunning manifesto where the strings and Richter's piano pull one another between poles of regret and redemption. Indeed, moments like these-- a four-minute emotional rapture, a 90-second string movement slightly damaged by radio receiver's static, a brief passage about true shades of blue-- show Richter's brilliance. By not distending his pieces in order to manifest his own dexterity, he does just that, squeezing multiple notions into slight spaces. The result is potency: Richter's music makes marionettes of otherwise reasonable people, his scoring hands the minor deities controlling strings capable of engendering instantaneous passions, regrets and decisions with simple melodic figures.

To that end, little here is ever belabored or iterative: This is quicker music for a quicker world, and it's Richter's most cohesive album to date. Of the 41 tracks he has released on the three albums billed under his own name, three of them breach seven minutes. None of these are on Songs From Before. This, very nearly, is pop music. Its self-aware brevity and dynamic could miff contemporaries in both classical and electronic music. But Richter is guided by proper artistic license: He understands that his predecessors-- from Brahms and Bach to Pärt and Glass-- made their marks in worlds apart from his own creative context, but that those composers borrowed liberally from the folk music (that is, the music at the center of their society's conscience) for the sake of source material and, quite simply, piqued audience interest. The Germans even had a word for Brahms' folk embodiments, and Beethoven lifted a Russian folk melody for a string quartet to please a Russian emissary. Richter takes techniques from the classics and modifies their approach to make more appropriate-- but no less efficacious-- statements for his own circumstances.

Given Songs From Before's thematic conceit, this is appropriate: Richter isn't interested in changing the way the world hears his music as much as idealizing how he wants to hear it. He resurrects past idols for present idioms, his heroes, proclivities and experiences donned as unrepentantly as the nostalgia at Songs' core.

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Max Richter - The Blue Notebooks (130701, 2004)

1 The Blue Notebooks (1:20)
2 On The Nature Of Daylight (6:11)
3 Horizon Variations (1:52)
4 Shadow Journal (8:22)
5 Iconography (3:38)
6 Vladimir's Blues (1:18)
7 Arboretum (2:53)
8 Old Song (2:11)
9 Organum (3:13)
10 The Trees (7:52)
11 Written On The Sky (1:39)

Il y a dans l'existence des joies musicales comparables à celle du coup de foudre amoureux. Au détour des allées encombrées de votre disquaire habituel, quelques notes s'envolent, arrêtent net votre élan, et vous vous trouvez saisi par cette brusque trouée de lumière, ayant perdu conscience du temps et de l'espace, réduit à l'attente éperdue de la note suivante. Le dernier morceau qui m'ait ainsi ébloui s'appelle - ce n'est pas un hasard - "On The Nature of Daylight" et c'est le second, peut-être le plus beau, du nouvel album signé par Max Richter. Élégie combustible introduite lento par les violoncelles, puis complètement dégagée de toute pesanteur par un duo de violons tournoyant en une parade amoureuse désespérée, le morceau s'impose avec force. Il s'en faut de peu pour que tout le disque, nourri au meilleur de la musique sérielle et ambient des trente dernières années (Reich, Glass, Eno, Pärt), se maintienne à cette hauteur d'inspiration. Entre minimalisme et expérimentation électronique, Richter a ainsi des trouvailles particulièrement fécondes : le mélange de percussions sourdes et de séquences mélodiques, l'échappée libre du violon dans "Shadow Journal", l'orgue répétitif et les choeurs de "Iconography", les délicats entrelacs de l'électronique et de l'acoustique sur "Arboretum".
Placé sous un haut patronage littéraire (Kafka, Czeslaw Milosz), son projet prend en outre la forme d'un concept-album réussi, la conception cédant toujours le pas à une intuition vagabonde, le minimalisme désamorçant le risque de l'emphase : régulièrement, un cliquetis de machine à écrire, la lecture de Tilda Swinton, les bruits captés dans l'environnement (croassements, sons de cloche), rappellent à l'auditeur qu'il se trouve bien dans l'exploration intime d'un univers littéraire qui restera simplement suggéré, inépuisable, non réductible à l'illustration sonore. Entre construction et sensibilité, hauteur de vue et modestie, tout semble avoir sa nécessité, et c'est presque à regret que l'on se prend à déplorer sur certains morceaux l'absence de développement du thème, ou une trop grande prégnance des modèles musicaux : par deux fois, les compositions pour piano rappellent de façon un peu voyante Philip Glass et Michael Nyman, étrange faute de goût chez un compositeur et pianiste par ailleurs si inspiré et maître de ses moyens. Faute cependant avouée et déjà pardonnée : tout le reste est superbe.
Popnews

Conceptually, Max Richter's The Blue Notebooks-- German-born composer mixes contemporary classical compositions with electronic elements in a dreamscapy journalogue featuring excerpts from Kafka's The Blue Octavo Notebooks as narrated by Tilda Swinton-- reads like a relentlessly precious endeavor, as new age music for grad students, the sort of record that sagely pats you on the back for being smart enough to seek it out. And yet in practice, despite the fact that it is exactly as outlined above, Kafka quotes and all, there is absolutely nothing exclusive or contrived-feeling about it. In fact, not only is Richter's second album one of the finest of the last six months, it is also one of the most affecting and universal contemporary classical records in recent memory.

But how to describe music that relies so completely on seeming familiar? Richter may fancy himself in a class with Philip Glass, Brian Eno and Steve Reich (indeed, his hyperattenuated sense of minimalism owes to all three), but unlike his influences, he's not remotely interested in subverting the traditional rules of composition. Short of one very beautiful moment that plunges an electronic sublow bassline into a deep sea of harpsichords and violas (see: the literally perfect "Shadow Journal"), there is nothing here to suggest that Richter is concerned with anything other than melody and economy. It's a formula he singlemindedly exploits with staggering effectiveness for the balance of the album's 40+ minutes.

Constituted mainly of sparse pieces that lean on string quartets and pianos in equal measure, The Blue Notebooks is a case study in direct, minor-key melody. Each of the piano pieces "Horizon Variations", "Vladimir's Blues" and "Written in the Sky" establish strong melodic motifs in under two minutes, all the while resisting additional orchestration. Elsewhere, Richter's string suites are similarly striking; "On the Nature of Daylight" coaxes a stunning rise out of gently provincial arrangements while the comparatively epic penultimate track "The Trees" boasts an extended introductory sequence for what is probably the album's closest brush with grandiosity. Richter's slightly less traditional pieces also resound; both the underwater choral hymnal "Iconography" and the stately organ piece "Organum" echo the spiritual ambience that characterized his work for Future Sound of London.

If, however, there is one piece that fires The Blue Notebooks off into the stratosphere, it's the aforementioned "Shadow Journal". Featuring a lone viola, some burbling electronics, a harpsichord and a subterranean bassline, it establishes a simple, keening melody and then gently pulls it wide, like warm string taffy, across its eight minutes. The fourth track on the record, it is nonetheless its centerpiece, and on a larger scale, possibly a gigantic beacon for composers searching for useful ways to introduce dance music's visceral, body-jarring qualities into the classical sphere.

But make no mistake, this is not Richter's electronic/classical crossover, nor it is really his concept record. In fact, with songs that similarly forgo the temptations of complexity and choice so as to preserve their core ideas, it's perhaps better thought of as his four-track demo, his lo-fi recording jaunt. It's Max Richter testing himself to see what he can produce under restraint. Turns out it's more than he might have otherwise.

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Max Richter - Memoryhouse (Late Junction, 2002)

1 Europe, After The Rain (6:13)
2 Maria, The Poet (1913) (4:47)
3 Laika's Journey (1:30)
4 The Twins (Prague) (1:58)
5 Sarajevo (4:03)
6 Andras (2:42)
7 Untitled (Figures) (3:27)
8 Sketchbook (1:54)
9 November (6:21)
10 Jan's Notebook (2:41)
11 Arbenita (11 Years) (7:04)
12 Garden (1973) / Interior (3:24)
13 Landscape With Figure (1922) (5:14)
14 Fragment (1:26)
15 Lines On A Page (One Hundred Violins) (1:22)
16 Embers (3:38)
17 Last Days (4:18)
18 Quartet Fragment (1908) (3:02)

Le premier, Memoryhouse (2002), emmène l’auditeur dans un voyage à travers l’Europe du 20ème siècle. Le temps et l’espace sont deux thèmes forts chez Richter. Ainsi, la phrase musicale qui compose le premier titre se décline et se modifie au travers de tout l’album. Parfois dans une autre tonalité, parfois accélérée ou ralentie, parfois tronquée. Elle se trouve comme altérée par le voyage à travers le temps et l’espace, et symbolise le va-et-vient entre la stabilité et le changement. Pour cet album, l’auteur a ajouté des sons inhabituels à la partie instrumentale jouée par un orchestre philharmonique. Ainsi, dans le morceau intitulé "Sarajevo", les quelques notes cristallines et désespérées d’une femme sont étirées et composent un chant de détresse face à l’horreur qu’a connue la capitale de la Bosnie. Sur d’autres morceaux, on entend de la pluie, et même des bruits cosmiques qui viennent évoquer le voyage spatial de la chienne Laika.
L'Auditoire

If, like me, the thought of Max Richter having full use and control of the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra fills you with a child-like sense of excitement and glee, then don't bother with this review? just track down a copy of Memoryhouse.

German-born, and of Scottish upbringing, Memoryhouse is Richter's first official solo release, and is an absolutely exemplary form of what he calls post-classical. A 65-minute, 18-track behemoth of a debut, it is all composed and produced solely by Richter himself. It is a self-proclaimed "imagined journey through the story of the last century", which seems like a daunting and near impossible image to portray. But Richter pinpoints moments, memories and influences in his own life, to map these 18 pieces out. Personal, literary, and musical experiences rain down heavily throughout; there are always many intertwining themes.

There are two themes in particular which are more prominent and which the music is structured around, the first being the opening piece "Europe After The Rain", which recurs in various forms throughout; the second being "the slow pulse on the bass drum". Richter claims that this is taken from a quote, from an event in the life of Mahler: in 1908 Mahler witnessed a funeral procession outside of his hotel room window that was accompanied only by a single bass drum.

The results are a staggering, wonderfully complex, expertly thought-out and executed release. The orchestral arrangements are stunning and provocative. Richter's experience with the "Piano Circus" and his formal musical education become evident with the complex orchestrations and expertly integrated found sounds such as voices from old radio shows, and the sound of rain (the theme) emanating from the opening track "Europe After The Rain" and resurfaces occasionally throughout. Pieces like "Maria, The Poet (1913)" incorporate spoken word, and sound a lot like A Silver Mt. Zion. "The Twins (Prague)" is a truly gorgeous piano segment, simple, but of the utmost beauty. Switching between major and minor areas, it gentle sweeps, and bleeds into the breathtaking "Sarajevo". A voice almost whispering the words "My dear love" resonates into the song about two lovers (one Christian, one Muslim), shot dead while fleeing the besieged city. An operatic female voice cries out as the violins build up momentum, swirling heavenwards.

"November" and "Last Days" are the two boldest and heaviest pieces, and are so very grandiose in nature. "November" uses an unconventional power chord arrangement, but both are very grand, and both herald something of great beauty, and are so overly dramatic and ostentatious that they will almost knock you off your feet. "Quartet (1908)" is the final track, and is a reprise of the opener. The music is intentionally played through a valve amp from the 1960s, so it sounds like an old 78. It gives off a nice warm, distant noise, reminiscent of the backing music you would hear in films from the 1940s and 1950s.

"Memoryhouse" isn't quite as streamlined as "The Blue Notebooks", and it is all the better for it. Every track is a masterpiece, but because there are 18 tracks, and it is 65 minutes long, it can be pummelling; it takes endurance so, as a whole, it is best taken in smaller doses, over repeated listenings. It must be noted that it doesn?t suffer for this; even in small doses it is extremely potent.

With Richter's use of themes in each individual piece and throughout, he has accomplished an amazing level of depth. This music oozes genius, and commands respect. He has managed to create an album of such great sophistication, but at no point does it feel oppressive. He has also managed to achieve what very few people could ever hope to achieve, a classical (or is that post-classical ?) album for the masses.
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