Ukrainian born pianist and composer Vadim Neselovskyi, now living in Brooklyn, has never forgotten his homeland. His previous album, ODESA, was a series of piano compositions, each inspired by a Ukrainian landmark, from the Odesa Railway Station to the Potemkin Stairs. PERSEVERANTIA, written for piano and the Netherlands-based Ysaÿe String Trio, is released today ~ the fourth anniversary of the russian invasion. The themes of resistance and perseverance may be universally applicable, but speak specifically to those fighting for their nation’s freedom.
Due to its direct engagement with the war, we expect this album will be talked about in the same breaths as Heinali’s Kyiv Eternal and ummsbiaus’ multiple suites: unflinching works that burn with urgency and demand to be heard. One can trace the arc of the narrative from opener to closer, “Before 24” to “After 24,” and marvel at the observations in-between. At first, there is only solo, exploratory piano, a simple beginning, devoid of tension. A tender melody reflects what should have been an emergence from winter to spring. The strings begin their serenade, and all is right in the world. Only in the sixth minute does a bit of precognitive sadness seep in, but only because the listener already knows what comes next.
“Tanks Near Kyiv” marks the beginning of the invasion: the shock, the horror, the fear. Could this really be happening? After the quiet ending of “Before 24,” the strings pounce on the listener like falling bombs. The piece is filled with staccato violence. The strings turn dissonant and the piano frantic, even random, like a cat with no cover. The repetitions of the fourth minute are like sirens, offering a nightmare rendition of that day and the days to come. Eventually, the entire piece slides into a drone, after which there comes time for reflection, but a limited, unpredictable amount; one is never sure when the next attack will occur.
“I Don’t Need a Ride” is a jaunty reminder of Zelensky’s response when offered an evacuation in the early days of the war, By the end, the strings become a maelstrom of activity, leading to the slow and seemingly inevitable “Orwell,” which speaks not only to Ukraine but to the totalitarian forces threatening to engulf the free world. By the center of the piece, the strings have awoken from their stupor; the resistance has begun in earnest, with a steady tempo and a folk refrain. At the end, a surprisingly sweet passage gives way to an increased tempo and emotional lift.
“Refugees” also plays with tempo, as early intimations of “Moonlight Sonata” yield to swift ivory improvisations. Moved by images of refugees fleeing the bombs, Neselovskyi wrote this piece to honor them, using birds and weather as metaphorical images in the album’s first video. Then the set’s most curious piece, “Dancing as if Nothing Ever Happened,” which takes a familiar tune at face value, then mutilates it musically, as if to say, you cannot look away. By the end, there is no escape. By “Choral,” the news has traveled around the world; mourning is everywhere, and the silences between the notes speak louder than the notes themselves.
“Lviv Funeral” keeps trying to escape its slower tempo, yearning for release, but cannot find it; the final, hard-pressed chords descend again into dissonance once again. Hope, thin as it is, is left for the frenzied title track to convey, but it concentrates on perseverance rather than military victory: a consolation prize of some value, but not the ultimate goal. “After 24” is as a reminder that this suite is not about the war from beginning to end, but from then to now, no happy ending in sight.
The piano notes of “After 24” mirror those of “Before 24,” played at a lower octave, like diminished expectations. As much as Neselovskyi wants to tie his suite in a bow, he cannot; circumstances will not allow it. And yet, the incompletion of the story lends the music additional power. As long as there is no resolution, the book cannot be closed. We cannot move on to the next thing. As we listen, the atrocities continue to unfold. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 