Stylistically, Hatzis's second string quartet is an eclectic gathering of fragments from his musical experiences, collected over the years from diverse geographical and chronological sources. These fragments are put together in a manner reflective of Hatzis's ongoing quest for a trans-national, trans-dogmatic view of the world and its inhabitants. The presence of heterogeneous stylistic elements in this piece also acts as a form of exorcism against the absurdity of war and senseless violence.
Awakenings starts with a statement of a quasi-Middle-Eeastern motif which appears in various guises throughout the piece. Even though the music is not minimalist per se, allusions to the music of the American minimalists of the 1960s, particularly Philip Glass, are evident throughout. The music starts softly with this mourning motif and gradually gains momentum peaking at the very end, and stops abruptly just short of a final cadence.
Fleeting Moments starts with a quotation from my first string quartet. The gypsy-like ground from the end of this work becomes the foundation for further elaboration of the material, which occasionally sounds like distant echoes of Brazilian tango. Halfway through the movement the music gives way to an unpretentious dance reminiscent of Balkan and Middle Eastern music. The dance gradually returns to the serene resignation of the original ground and the music stops, suspended, again with no definitive ending.
Most of the music (from the middle of Fleeting Moments to the end of the piece) was composed during the time of the terrible war in Kosovo and the continuous bombings of Belgrade. It was during those trying days that I decided to revisit Nadir, an earlier work, and transform it into the third movement of the present work. Scored for flute, viola and tape, Nadir was itself inspired by the horrors of war: it was composed during the devastating conflict between Iran and Iraq in 1988. The original piece has been modified significantly in its newest incarnation. Its "Islamic" Middle Eastern timbre has been maintained – it was clearly appropriate for both contexts - but the latter part of the newer incarnation follows a progress of its own, which is separate from the original. The stubborn ostinati of the end of the original are extended, re-orchestrated and intermingled with new material, becoming even more obstinate and compulsive in the process. This frantic process is interrupted twice by an Eastern Orthodox melody, a voice of deep spirituality in the midst of insanity and terror. However, it is twice ignored by the frantic music racing towards a violent cadence.
Metamorphosis picks up where the second movement left off. After several variations of the ground, and a ghostly reiteration of the Balkan-like dance (if the dance in the second movement was a dance of bodies, this one is a dance of souls), the music breaks abruptly into one last violent protestation before it is taken over by the orthodox troparion of the Metamorphosis (Transfiguration) of our Saviour. Similar in mode and content to the chant which tried to halt the progress of violence in the third movement, the troparion of Metamorphosis is a prayer for a spiritual metamorphosis to take place in the Balkans and turn this violent part of the world into a place of peace and enlightenment.
It is a work of great passion and intensity but also of discipline and universality...it would be completely effective to a listener who was not aware of its subtext. People who claim that Canadian composers don't ever write great music have not been paying much attention in recent years.
Hatzis' The Gathering, originally written for the St. Lawrence String Quartet and recorded by them, is one of his most powerful chamber music works, and that's already saying a lot.
This is not your mother's chamber music, but rather a score that evokes the alarming complexity of modern life. This heartbreaking yet hopeful work carries a message of tolerance that is relevant to families, community groups and even entire nations.
