Harrison Birtwistle - Silbury Air

Silbury Air, for chamber orchestra (1977) The London Sinfonietta Elgar Howarth “[s] to tell us something, or told us something we should not have missed, or [is] about to tell us something. This immanence of a revelation that does not take place is, perhaps, the aesthetic fact.“ -- Jorge Luis Borges Something is on its way in Harrison Birtwistle’s 1977 work Silbury Air: something dire is on its way, is racing to relay a splendid or terrible knowledge -- but it doesn’t come to pass. Everything is in place: the sharp shine of ritual, the cycle of hush and outburst, the ceremonial straightjackets and incantational repetitions, the formal violence of a supreme order unfolding. To paraphrase Artaud, Birtwistle’s 16-minute score for 15 players is a remarkable “music of cruelty,“ submitting to a preeminent determination, bound fiercely, rapt in tensions. Which makes it all the more extraordinary that Silbury Air smothers its epiphany, and keeps its