Rapid staccatos from the wind instruments pound relentlessly loud, until after about forty seconds a quieter electronic soundtrack sets in, which, through the alienation of instrumental sounds, seems like a distant, archaic reminiscence of the hectic beginning of the piece.
Then the strings set in unexpectedly, first with long, flat sounds, then with a frenzied tangle of movements.
The French-Greek composer Iannis Xenakis called his 75-minute work, written in 1968 and 1969, “Kraanerg”, the title of which combines two Greek words that could literally be translated as “cranial energy”.
A subtle allusion to the student movement of the time, which Xenakis, himself once fighting in the resistance against the National Socialists, had some sympathy for.
Much of the confrontations of that time can be felt in "Kraanerg".
Unlike in his successful piece "Metastaseis" (1954), which surfs on glissando waves, in "Kraanerg" he aims for a double contrast: between wind instruments and strings as well as instrumental and electronic sounds.
It is all the more astonishing that Xenakis' work, which is also dramaturgically very theatrical, is rarely performed in such a way
movement and stillness
In this respect, the Wiener Festwochen were right, for the hundredth anniversary of Xenakis' birthday (on May 29, there is a birthday party at the Festwochen on June 18) this stirring score at the center of a small homage in honor of this idiosyncratic, with mathematical and stochastic composers operating models.
On the stage in the small hall of Vienna's Museumsquartier there are only three podiums: on the left for the twelve strings, on the right for the eleven wind instruments of the formidable Klangforum Wien, in the middle in front for the conductor Sylvain Cambreling, who appears barefoot.
But where are the dancers?
The four of them initially sit, dressed in black, in the midst of the white-costumed musicians and only begin to loll when the electronic soundtrack starts, but freeze again as soon as it stops.
Only at the end of the piece
The light artist Caty Olive creates more movement, projecting constantly changing, gray vertical stripes onto the stage floor, giving the impression that the scene is floating over a surface.
This is far closer to the fluctuating music of Xenakis than the disappointing choreography of the French Emmanuelle Huynh, whose gestures and movements, drawn haphazardly from the repertoire of contemporary dance theater, are rarely related to the music.
Only the intertwined body sculptures can be understood as a replica of increasingly condensed sounds.
When fists are raised in the finale, Huynh's work slides into banal political romance - Cambreling lies down in slow motion, as cautiously as he conducts.