Konzertstück (1990)
(for timpani and orchestra)

It would be reckless to claim that there are too few concertos for solo instruments and orchestra. The classical-romantic repertoire, but also 20th century compositions, have a considerable number of works in this genre, and any music lover would be able to name a number of concertos for piano or violin at the drop of a hat.

Piano or violin are par excellence the preferred solo instruments. The violoncello would come a long way behind, followed by the flute, oboe, trumpet or viola. The eloquence made possible by the piano or violin and their wide range of expression are valued, appreciated and kept alive by composers and audiences alike.

Strangely enough, however, the timpani have hardly any solo literature or solo tasks with orchestra, although all those passages of great music in which the use of the timpani impressively supports the seriousness, indeed the pathetic nature of the moment, prove how indispensable these instruments can be. And not only in forte-fortissimo, but also and especially in a very special way in quiet, mysterious moments, almost on the verge of silence.

I belong to a generation of composers who struggled with the form of the solo concerto for a long time. We turned to other themes and problems, areas in which the exploration of the sound itself and the creative scope of these discoveries were initially more important than the continued cultivation of dialogues between soloist and orchestra. Such dialogues, which could rather be called monologues utilizing all virtuoso gestures and instrumental possibilities, were of course also composed, but were not called concertos.

I have always been fascinated by the technique used in vocal music in the 18th and 19th centuries of first finding the melody and then the appropriate words. This is one more confirmation that it is not the words but mainly the notes that are responsible for the cohesion of a musical work. Similar procedures were also used in instrumental music. The respective solo part, written first, was later given an orchestral accompaniment. Examples of this can still be found today.

However, I opted for the reverse procedure and thus – admittedly – chose a convoluted path to reach my goal. It began with Opus 1991, a veritable concert piece for orchestra. One year after the premiere, I wrote the solo part for timpani in 1992. This task was very appealing because I was able to work out a real dialog with the already existing foil of the orchestra on different levels. Thanks to the wealth of touch surfaces and the use of different mallets, it is still possible to extract unexpected colors from these old instruments.

The timpani have truly earned their place in new music.

M.K.
(Translation by Edition Peters)