There have been many moments in history where a composer looks to overlooked native traditions to inject something ‘new’ into their work. Be it Vaughan Williams and Holst's explorations of English folksongs, Erik Chisholm's use of Pibroch, Bartók's recording of folk music or Rădulescu's reminiscence of his native Romania, all of these composers demonstrate the richness that exists outside the immediate surroundings of the concert hall. I would argue that the Bolivian Cergio Prudencio is one of the most fascinating of such voices to incorporate native traditions in their music.
Cergio Prudencio, born in La Paz in 1955, has dedicated a large proportion of his artistic work (which covers a wide variety of fields, including composing, poetry, research and conducting) to the question of identity and interculturality, not just within Bolivia but across the whole of Latin America. Beyond his musical creations, the establishment of the Orquesta Experimental de Instrumentos Nativos (OEIN) is quite the remarkable feat. OEIN was founded in 1980 and is an orchestra consisting of traditional Andean instruments. But in juxtaposition to the many traditional/folk orchestras that exist globally, what makes the OEIN stand out is their commitment not only to explore repertoire traditionally used by the Aymara or Quechua communities (with whom these instruments originate) but to be an ensemble which creates contemporary work, exploiting the instruments’ unique colours to expand what is musically possible. To draw on a quote from the orchestra's own press release:
‘Traditional music serves as the pillar supporting the technique and philosophy of the OEIN, while contemporary music expresses the identity of our times.’
Antología 1 is a recent release from Buh Records, which is dedicated solely to the work of Cergio Prudencio. This is in part to celebrate the solid body of work by the composer who co-founded the ensemble, but also a moment of reflection, as the ensemble are looking to continue pushing themselves into the twenty-first century. The album consists of five works that demonstrate a composer who is a master of the medium he is working with; at no point in listening does one feel ‘fatigued’ by the sound of the ensemble, as they are continuously pushed to limits in numerous ways which are both fascinating and striking.
Cantos insurgentes (2012) consists of material the composer used in the 2011 film Insurgents. The programme notes detail how the focus of the work is a pre-Hispanic sound, which isn't necessarily descriptive but more a tool for the creative imagination: a what if instead of a what was. The seven continuous blocks have a clear character, focusing on either the timbral or rhythmic quality of the instruments being utilised in that moment. With such a title, you would be forgiven for expecting a sort of militaristic quality to the music. And the mighty moments are just as compelling as the fragile ones, where the music descends into a fascinating rustling quality before bursting to life, time and again.
Tríptica (1985–86) is a curious piece. In later works, you can see how the fruits of Prudencio's labour with this ensemble have grown into something outstanding, but this triptych sounds like a composer finding their feet, or like a sculptor trying to gain an understanding of the new material they are working with. It can be compared to the likes of Schoenberg's Six Little Piano Pieces, where the uncertainty of certain elements requires a smaller idiom. Despite the slightly dismissive way I am describing the work, it is truly beautiful, and the lilting lines dance in a graceful manner, woven together like silk.
Otra ciudad (2005) was inspired by a poem by Blanca Wiethüchter and uses strong contrasts to reflect the shape of the poem from which is gets its title. The work is solely for sikus – Aymara and Quechua pan-flutes made from challa cane (thin-walled bamboo) – and the five movements exhibit a deep exploration of the timbral and musical possibilities of these instruments.
La ciudad (1980) is the first work Cergio Prudencio ever wrote for the ensemble, and once again draws inspiration from Blanca Wiethüchter's poetry. Prudencio describes the piece as an homage to his home city. The clash of traditional music with contemporary urban life is an embodiment of the dialectical relationship within which Prudencio and OEIN currently work. The interaction of this modernising and remembering brings up questions of history and socio-politics, and the simple one of identity.
Cantos funerales (2005) is simply my favourite work on this album. The piece is an exploration of how the Aymara reflect upon death, looking at their rites, theological ideas and considerations of the realm of the living and the realm of the dying and how they interact. In a manner comparable to Bronius Kutavičius (1932–2021), who explored ways of reimagining, through invented oratorios, what ancient pagan societies in the Baltic could have been, Prudencio has composed a sort of ‘requiem’ in an Aymara tradition that could have been.
The airy sounds of the sikus juxtaposed with the various percussive instruments conjure up a powerfully reverent space, and the sudden unleashing of the largest drums is a powerfully transcendental moment, which stuns me every time I listen to it – I have had the pleasure of indulging in this piece for approximately four months, and the effect hasn't lessened. Though significantly smaller in scale, another comparison I feel is particularly compelling is John Tavener's (1944–2013) The Veil of the Temple, where part of the musical experience is the journey the music takes you on. Both works create a space to contemplate certain ideas, before taking you to the next necessary stage on this spiritual journey.
Reflecting on the album as a whole, it is hard not just to write like a giddy child. I am reminded of the day when I, a particularly anxious 18-year-old, discovered the music of Horațiu Rădulescu (1942–2008): there was very little (if anything) I could compare it to at the time. I have been struck by Cergio Prudencio's work in the same manner. This, combined with the exemplary performances of the members of OEIN, make this an album that is a necessity – especially for anyone who says they are interested in music from the Global South. In short, this is a musical reckoning which you must listen to.
