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Part 2

Can you take me through your process on the basis of a release that's particularly dear to you? How do you decide to release it, what did you start with, what sources did you draw from for all tasks related to it and how did the finished product gradually take shape?

Alright. I heard of Daumants Liepiņš, an up and coming young Latvian pianist some years ago. I heard him play and noticed something very special about him. There was this unstained, pure joy of music making when he sat at the piano - I think purity like that is very rare nowadays. I made a mental note that perhaps, someday, we will do a release of him - when he has formulated his ideas better and has something more to say.

A few years passed and Daumants’ performance career started to pick up. He got noticed more and more. And then the opportunity presented itself - during the lockdown this year one of our regional concert halls - Liepāja Concert Hall Great Amber - turned their concert hall into a recording studio. Funds that were intended for live performances were diverted to support the recording process, we got some substantial grants from the Latvian Ministry of Culture as well to stimulate the creative process in this difficult time.

And, thinking about programmes, I remembered about Daumants. He offered several programs for a release but initially there was very little thought of Latvian repertoire (our core mission, remember) in this young pianist’s mind. I sent some information to him, some suggestions, very gently, as if just passing by and it worked - Daumants looked at the suggestions and discovered this never before recorded sonata by Imants Zemzaris - “Seagull”. It spoke to him. During the lockdown he had spent much of the time strolling on the sandy beaches of Kurzeme (the region of Latvia where he is from) and it clicked - he paired it with Rachmaninov’s works one of which is Etude-Tableaux op. 39, No. 2 with an unofficial title “The sea and the seagulls”, we got the photos with Daumants on the Baltic coast for the cover and it all came together beautifully.

But the best part is, we now have another talented Latvian musician bringing the best of Latvian music to the wider world.

Could you take us through a day in your life, from a possible morning routine through to your work? Do you have a fixed schedule? How do the label and other aspects of your life feed back into each other - do you separate them or instead try to make them blend seamlessly?

I hate fixed schedules, they stress me out. They make me feel I’m not in control of my own life - the schedule is. Adaptability is key for me. I guess this is why I could say I thrive in these uncertain times. I can work from my office and I can squeeze some work in on the go, even sometimes while touring with Carion or somewhere deep in the mountains on my motorcycle.

I’m no big fan of morning routines, but a cup of good black coffee is a must. Perhaps a walk with our dog, but now my son takes care of that because the schools are closed at the moment in Latvia and most of the teaching is done long-distance and he needs to get out in the fresh air more.

I balance my artistic life that today mostly consists of playing with Carion Wind Quintet, a Copenhagen based group I’ve been with for over 10 years now, and my administrative work. I like to practice my clarinet in the mornings, I’m most productive then and a few hours in the morning is more than enough to keep me in good shape. But now most of the concerts are cancelled and there are many releases that need my attention so the clarinet waits in its case patiently.

Our office is in a beautiful old building at the very heart of Old Town Riga and I can see St. Peter Cathedral’s tower from my window. I like working there, this is where all the important administrative stuff gets taken care of. This is where I also like to meet with artists and discuss ideas. But as soon as the weather is good, I like to spend the sunny part of the day outdoors. You’ll often find me canoeing, motorcycling and hiking in the woods, leaving the mundane parts of office work to later, darker hours.
 
There are many descriptions of the ideal state of mind for being creative. What is it like for you? What supports this ideal state of mind and what are distractions? Are there strategies to enter into this state more easily?

I could tell you fairy tales of pure meditative awareness when the creative genius within is liberated from the shackles of routine life but this has nothing to do with modern reality, unfortunately. We all strive for our own balance in our own way. Of course, my mind cannot be creative if I’m pressed for a deadline and swamped with work. But that does not mean I have to go to a retreat to find the balance. Oftentimes just being in the company of like-minded individuals gets my creative juices flowing.
 
How is listening to the actual music and writing or reading about it connected? What do you achieve and draw from each experience personally? How do you see the relationship between improvisation and composition in this regard?

Most of the time, both aspects help each other. As classical music for the most part is, as Alessandro Baricco calls it, music for a prepared audience, you would miss so much if you listened to an unfamiliar contemporary piece without reading the liner notes first. Yet there has to be a time when you put all that aside and just allow the music to envelop you, speak to you in its own special language. Only then you can truly experience it.  

The second part of your question has to do with spontaneity, I think. In Carion’s performances those are those magic moments that we cherish and remember for a long time - when something unexpected happened, when one of us did an unexpected musical gesture and the others responded, those are the moments that define why we do what we do.

There has been an exponential growth in promotion agencies and there is still a vast landscape for music magazines. What's your perspective on the music promo- and journalism-system? In how far is it influencing your choice of artists, in how far is it useful for potential buyers, in how far do you feel it is possibly undermining your work?

It’s an excellent question. I would go further - in these postmodern times each person feels worthy and entitled to broadcast their opinion to the entire world. Twitter and other social media platforms are proof of that. It brings wonderful opportunities for those who were not able to get their voices heard in the past tell their stories to the entire world (it’s the same with digital music releases today - everyone can get their track on Spotify, there is no quality selection whatsoever) but it also has the opposite effect as well. Everyone is transmitting and nobody is listening. Like I said earlier - it’s a jungle out there.

There are hundreds of new classical albums coming out each month and nobody has the time to listen to them all. The role of solid criticism here is to act as a curator - to separate the seeds from the chaff. Does it always work? No. Do all get equal access to critics' objective opinions, not at all - critics are often biased and subjective and perhaps even sometimes influenced by market forces but what is the alternative? It’s like democracy, I’m afraid. It’s a flawed system but nobody has come up with a better one yet. It’s one of those ocean currents I have to take in account in order to achieve my goals.

Art can be a purpose in its own right, but it can also directly feed back into everyday life, take on a social and political role and lead to more engagement. Can you describe your approach to art?

I’m a performer. For me there is no art without the audience, no music without its listener - be it a concert or recording, it doesn’t matter. I need this exchange of energy that happens between the performer and listener. We complement one another, enrich one another. I’ve felt this in performances hundreds of times - I give energy and the audience responds positively, giving me the power to give even more. This positive energy grows exponentially almost as if we were feeding from each other. The more we give, the more we get in return. Therefore I don’t like art for art’s sake. I think it’s selfish. It’s like masturbation.

It is remarkable, in a way, that we have arrived in the 21st century with the basic concept of labels still intact. Do you have a vision of labels, an idea of what they could be beyond their current form?

A basic concept, but not much else. The way labels work today has changed dramatically over the last few decades and is still changing today. Who knows what this current crisis caused by the pandemic will mean and what long-term implications it will have, but I’m optimistic. I think as long as there will be musicians striving for their music to reach the audience beyond the concert hall and the audience will continue to love to listen to the music outside of the concert hall, labels will thrive. It might take different forms or shapes, the physical and digital formats will change for sure, but I still think there will be a role for a label as a delivery and promotion service in the future, same as there will be a role for journalists and critics.


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