Valentin Silvestrov
Maidan

Kjiv Chamber Choir
Mykola Hobdych conductor
Recorded 2016
St. Michael’s Cathedral, Kjiv
Engineer: Andrij Mokrystkij
Cover photo: private collection
Recording produced by Kjiv Choir Productions
Release date: September 30, 2022

At the core of German existentialist Martin Heidegger’s philosophy was a concept he called “thrownness” (Geworfenheit). Although he meant it to express the uncontrollable immanence of being born into a specific time and place, it has since taken on connotations of suffering and hardship, without which life would never be defined. On Maidan, Valentin Silvestrov’s third all-choral program for ECM New Series, we witness the composer thrown from his private spiritual light into secular shadow.

Sung once again by the Kjiv Chamber Choir under the conduction of Mykola Hobdych, Silvestrov’s writing takes on a political layer he never wished it to have. The title refers to the “Euromaidan,” or the “Revolution of Dignity,” as it is known in Ukraine, signaling the government’s refusal to associate itself with the European Union in 2014 and a precursor to Russia’s invasion on February 24, 2022. Witnessing these events unfold, Silvestrov, then 84, took solace in song. With the alarm bells of St. Michael’s Cathedral sounding a rare alarm in the background, he reclothed the naked body of nationalism with verses from Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko (1814-1861) and liturgical texts.

The album’s bulk is reserved for Maidan 2014, a “cycle of cycles,” which melts the words of the Ukrainian national anthem (penned by Pavlo Chubynsky) into five different molds. Its opening proclamation—“Ukraine’s freedom has not yet perished, nor has her glory…”—takes on more of its intended meaning than ever, crying in the wilderness against the onslaught of a regime surrounding itself in self-fulfilling icons.

In response to such inflations of power, much of what fleshes out the remaining spaces is scriptural in origin. “Give Rest, O Christ, to Thy Servants,” for example, speaks with the voice of the Savior on the cross, who forgave his enemies as he died by their hand. We feel surrounded by the spears of those who would deem him a blasphemer and usurper of authority. Individual singers and choir mirror this dynamic, balancing the alto-led vigil of “The Lord’s Prayer” with the Belarusian folk song-inspired “Lullaby.” These embody the same contradiction of “Lacrimosa,” which awaits a blessed hope in the thorns of a world without it. Like the soloist in “Holy God,” giving praise, honor, and glory to the one on high, they understand that no evil can ultimately overcome the power of faith. Even the wordless “Elegy” makes its deference palpable.

Few composers articulate silence with sound (and vice versa) like Silvestrov, as demonstrated by three collections from 2014 (Four Songs), 2015 (Triptych), and 2016 (Diptych). These settings of Shevchenko range from robust (“The Might Dnieper”) and reproachful (“Come to Your Senses”) to fable-like (“A Cherry Orchard by the House”) and altruistic (“To Little Mariana”), reaching their darkest resignations in “My Testament,” in which the narrator requests, “When I am dead, bury me / In my beloved Ukraine.” Thus, the music suggests that wickedness in high places is truer than we care to admit.

Since Silvestrov now sees the world as Maidan, releasing this music to a wider audience feels appropriate. No longer is it chained to the narrow vision of a particular historical moment but rather the delicate swan song of something dying in all of us lest we fail to have room for hope when the chance arises. “After all,” he says, “the louder the mortars and canons roar, the softer the music becomes.” Therefore, his goal is not to evoke the chaos of war; he is a shield for peace, standing his ground in its storm.