Pärt: Fratres; Cantus; Tabula Rasa

Estonian composer Arvo Pärt (b. 1935) has since the 1970s used tonality and tintinnabuli (his word for the bell-like aspect of his music) to “to transport us towards something that has never been heard before” (Wolfgang Sandner). Many people find Pärt completely banal, but his mysticism and simplicity come from a trained, intelligent mind, and I find it quite effective. In 1984, ECM launched their New Series imprint with this album, helping to put Pärt on the map, at least in the West. The violin arpeggios of Fratres emerge from ECM’s trademark cool sonics, glittering and glaring like frost-hardened snow under the morning sun. The piano enters abruptly, and soon its simple chords are ringing carefully, accompanied by the violin’s quiet drone. Actual bells introduce the Cantus in Memory of Benjamin Britten, then string textures paint a troubled but not turbulent scene. Tabula Rasa, with its dark, atmospheric beauty, is more like a film score (Pärt wrote over 50 of those) and closer to American minimalism. The LP is better than even the hi-res download. The piano’s low register is better represented, for instance, and the veil in front of the orchestra has been torn away.