Andrzej Pietrewicz - #7

A Closer Listen

Sacred music poses greater challenges than music in other genres, because sacred music attempts to reflect the essence of the divine.  Andrej Pietrewicz has been amassing an impressive discography in this realm over the past few years, with each release improving on the last; in the words of the slavery spiritual, “Every round goes higher, higher.”

The public is not privy to Pietrowicz’ first three mini-symphonies, as he made his public debut with #4.  As we noted upon release, the EP is “a colorful suite with colorful art to match.”  This combination continues on subsequent releases, whose art suggests stained glass and whose music refracts shards of light.  #4 was a fine introduction, piano-centric with a choral finale: Resound, proclaim; Sing a new song; Glorify.  Of the longer #5 we wrote, “The string lines often veer into abstraction, only to return in time to let the sun shine through.”  The cover image, Sewzinski’s “Sunbeams,” could be interpreted as both sun and eye, symbolizing illumination.  And then earlier this year #6, featuring the familiar lineup of piano, harp, vibraphone, flute, clarinet, and percussion.  The chimes in the opener are especially lovely, a tone he will soon extend.

Then a right-hand turn: beginning with track two, #6 is a choral work with titles quoting passages from Isaiah and Jeremiah to 1 Corinthians and Revelation, all chosen to offer comfort and hope.  These timeless words, transposed to music, have an incredibly calming effect.  The album seems the natural extension of the closing track from the composer’s first public release; but we did not expect the composer to choose another musical path for #7, though in retrospect the instrumental “Reflection, the light and the crystal” and “The greatest: the way of love (exit, sending forth)” seem prescient.

#7 adds many elements not previously heard in the composer’s work, while others are temporarily suspended.  Like #6, the new album has a clear trajectory, following a different, yet parallel thread through Scripture.  If #6 starts in the physical realm and moves to the spiritual, #7 focuses on the spiritual realm from start to finish, its lyrical messages more subtle yet somehow more powerful.

The opening piece, “Psalm,” could well have been titled “Breath.”  The practice of prayer often begins with breath, but the Spirit is also considered breath, as in the famous hymn, “Breathe on me, breath of God,” or the modern hymn, “Breathe.”  Multiple, centering breaths are joined, with any hope the supplicant and the Spirit, before the first notes descend like a dove.  The striking of chimes is akin to temple prayer, mallet instruments sparking higher exhalations and exhalations.  When wind chimes move to the center on “Wind Presence,” one sees the album cover as a set of chimes, while recalling the wind of Pentecost: the wind that God is in, unlike the wind of Elijah’s experience, which is only the precursor to God.

“Water presence” introduces a field recording aspect: water upon water, wave upon wave.  God is always in the water, from the Spirit moving over the face of the deep to the water flowing crystal clear from the throne.  Even the voice of God is often described as “the voice of rushing waters” or “many waters” or “a roaring waterfall,” depending on one’s translation; as such “Water presence” is as much a transcription of the Word as a composition with lyrics.

In the subsequent piece, the phrase “See, I am making all things new” is tumbled like glass in a kaleidoscope.  The accents and inflections vary until the words begin to evaporate and coalesce:  “See, I am aching.  All things knew.”  “See I am a king,” “Sea I am.”  Passages of Scripture mean different things to different people, varying not only in translation, but in interpretation.  The beautiful extension: Pietrewicz is making something new, sending light through a prism as a parable of God’s innumerable facets.

By “Clothed with the sun,” whose title hearkens back to #5, a background drone can be detected, like a life force that has been there all along, unnoticed, borne on the breath of the tide.  “Sleeper, awake” exhorts listeners to reassess the witness of their senses.  The key phrase is extended and amplified, while tendrils stretch back to previous tracks: the breath, the chimes, the words “all things new.”  The birds are beginning to sing; or have they always been singing?  The combination of birdsong ~ layered like breath, wind and water – and the title “Messengers (a new world each day)” ~ recall “Morning Has Broken.”  The mourning dove is now the morning dove.   The prayer has concluded, and a new form of prayer has begun.  (Richard Allen)