RIGA - There is nothing new or shocking about classical composers incorporating folk music into their grand work. When Mussorgsky staged folk dances in "Boris Godunov" in 1874 it was a way of asserting a strange Russian patriotism. Ever since "Porgy and Bess," with its use of African-American folk hymns, premiered in 1935, Gershwin has been accused of racial condescension. That said, it may be America's best opera.
Here in Latvia, Peteris Vasks has spent a career turning the Latvian folk songs and Lutheran choir music (his father was a preacher) that provided the soundtrack to his childhood into high-brow fare.
"Most European composers have lost this need for folk music," Vasks says. "For spiritual reasons, we cannot lose folk music. It should be vital. It reminds people of their humanity."
Vasks sits on a small wooden chair in the Great Guild hall in Riga's Old Town. He is a short man, quick to offer warm touches on the arm to new acquaintances. For years he's been beset with commissions for ballets and symphonies from as far away as New York and Germany. He's overworked, but he seems to be in a good mood. The Latvian Symphony Orchestra will be honoring him with a special concert on April 8 to celebrate his 60th birthday on April 16.
Being born in Latvia in 1946 helped define the music he ended up dedicating his life to. If he had been born in America, the first of the baby boomers, he may have found some inspiration from The Beatles or the Grateful Dead 's "I have no interest in that music," he says - when it came time to compose his first songs.
Instead, he grew up in Aizpute, in the Latvian countryside, when folk song festivals were a common form of entertainment and there was always good music at the church on Sundays.
Things were more complicated in the '70s and '80s when his career began. Every professional musician was expected to perform Soviet anthems, which he detested. Like everyone, he likes the greats of Russian music 's Tchaikovsky, Mussorgsky and Prokofiev 's but he recalls them being played "way too much."
"Playing [Latvian] folk music at the time was a form of resistance," he says. "Everything was under control."
Was his work ever censored?
"No, I wrote instrumental music." There were no words to upset any authorities. "I felt very free in my music." To be fair, all the folk music with which he grew up was perfectly legal.
Throughout the Soviet era, Vasks' music was abstract, dark and avant-garde, seemingly meant for a small group of an exclusive group of elites. If his music was a way of resisting the state apparatus, he wasn't taking too many people along with him on his revolution.
About 20 years ago, he decided to change direction. Ever since, Vasks' music has been deeply spiritual, but cheesy in a kind infectious way, like a Berlioz symphony. His choral works are expansive and democratic. His music has become more muscular, solid and clear. Sometimes he will offer a long pastoral, followed by offsetting, but perfectly right dissonances. His work is accessible.
Vasks' effortless friendliness makes it a bit odd to hear his cranky explanation for the change. "I don't like listeners, but I want them to listen."
He remains faithful to the church of his youth, but his approach to spirituality seems vague and New Age. Now much of his music employs Gregorian chant, part of a tradition he did not grow up in directly, but which he loves nevertheless. He is always aware of the "contrast between the immortality of music and the mortality of people."
In the past 15 years, Latvia has picked up all the best and worst of Western pop culture. How does Vasks feel, as he approaches his 60th birthday, when he walks into a cafe or restaurant and is greeted by stereophonic pop tunes? It is, after all, something he obviously did not have to grow up with.
"It's terrible," he says with a smile. "Silence is so wonderful. I ask the waiters, 'What does it cost to turn this music off?'"
Peteris Vasks 60th Birthday Concert
Great Guild Hall
Tickets: 3 's 12 Lats
More info: +371 7213643
