John's Rumination on Abhisheka

‍

There's a significant A-to-Z bookmarking in my output. The 'A' is Abhisheka and the 'Z' is Zeal, both written in the first half of the 1990s when I was still in thrall to the  ethos and priorities of a university-composer mindset. Both of these pieces share a fascinating characteristic - they are the (only) two works of mine that other composers consistently (almost universally)give a big thumbs up to. No other works I've created share this distinction. And yet ( - and more subtly - possibly because of this composerly-consensus), I feel more detached from these two works than any of my others. Don't get me wrong, I love both pieces and am proud of having created them, but I believe they came from a time when I was still more 'in my head'. Composers reading this, who know some of the music I went on to write, may think that was a good thing and I should have stayed in my head, but in my own journey I'm glad to have freed myself from that imbalance between the head, the body, and the heart. A few composers felt strongly enough over the years to tell me they wished I'd continued to travel the path I was on with Abhsisheka. I guess it's a 'composer's piece'.

‍

I wish it was played more often with the amplification and the reverb. The Matangi Quartet in Den Haag recently performed it this way in the (Un)Heard Festival. It was exquisite - how they responded to and 'performed' the reverb.

‍

But the New Zealand String Quartet are the true midwives of Abhisheka. They took it to the world, to so many places, and they really believed in the piece. I've been so lucky for their love of it. And then the late Peter Barber made an extraordinary version for viola quartet, and I made a wind version for the Netherlands Blazers Ensemble (inevitably changing the tempo, as the players all seemed to experience an overwhelming need to breathe).

‍

Programme Notes

‍

Drafted immediately after reading a book by the Buddhist guru Chögyam Trungpa, Abhisheka was my first-ever attempt at writing music with space in it. Until this piece, practically everything I had written was ultra-caffeinated, fast, full of notes, and murder on the performers. But having been (albeit temporarily) inspired by the great truths and peace in Trungpa’s writing, I found myself navigating slower passages of musical time, as well as exploring the microcosm of inner space between intervals of our tempered chromatic scale.

‍

“The sanskrit equivalent to ‘initiation’ is abhisheka, which means ‘anointment’ or ‘to sprinkle or pour’. And if there is pouring, there must be a vessel into which the pouring can fall. So at last we might really give up all these complications and just allow some space, just give in. This is the moment when abhisheka – sprinkling and pouring – really takes place, because we are open and really giving up the whole attempt to do anything, giving up all the busyness and overcrowding.

‍

Finally, we have been forced to really stop properly, which is quite a rare occurrence for us.”

‍

Reviews

‍

“This is a mostly slow and reflective piece, beautiful as well as profound. Extensive use of quarter-tones gives it an unusual sound. Against a background of hushed chords, the violins and cello each have an extended solo passage. After a more energetic and unexpectedly intense climax, the viola has its turn. Psathas shows a sure hand in the marriage of material to form and the careful pacing of the work.”

Oliver Hancock, Music in New Zealand, Summer 1998-1999

‍

"This celebration of the inspirational symbiosis that these four musicians share with our composer community has much going for it. If one could venture a superlative for the word immaculate, then this production would deserve it; as far as visual presentation is concerned, Simon Kaan's “Untitled Waka” on the cover could not be bettered for cool elegance.”

William Dart, NZ Herald December 2010

‍