Biography

Ondřej ADAMEK

© Astrid Ackermann

Ondřej Adámek was born in 1979 in Prague.

He graduated from the composition department of the Academy of Music in Prague in 2004 and in 2007, from the Conservatoire National Supérieur in Paris, where he also studied orchestration, electroacoustics, conducting and Indian music.


He came to Berlin in 2010 as a guest of the DAAD’s Berlin Artists-in-Residence Programme, where he has been living ever since.

 

Fascinated by other cultures, he assimilates all the aesthetics he encounters. As a teenager, he played the organ, tablas and flutes, then discovered Noh theater, Bunraku and Zen Buddhist rituals. He immersed himself in flamenco in Spain and developed specific playing techniques, made instruments, and learned about Hinduism in India, as well as in Bali where he studied gamelan. His works reveal all these influences, marking them with a specific sound color which, combined with a powerful rhythm and a solid formal architecture, creates a personal music not exempt from dramaturgy.

 

His music was awarded the Synthèse Prize (Bourges 2002), Metamorphose (Brussels 2002, 2004), First Prize of Hungarian Radio, the Brandenburg Biennale prize (2006), the Prix Hervé-Dugardin – SACEM (2009), the Grand Prix Tansman (Lodz 2010), the Prix George Enesco 2011, and others. In 2014-2015, Adamek is fellow of the Academie de France, Villa Medici in Rome.

 He has received commissions for orchestral, choir, ensemble, and vocal works, as well as music for instruments and electronics from prestigious ensembles, orchestras and festivals of contemporary music in Europe, such as Simon Rattle and the London Symphony Orchestra with Mezzo-Soprano Magdalena Kozena, Isabelle Faust and Sinfonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunk, Deutsches Sinfonieorchester Berlin, Ensemble Intercontemporain, Klangforum Wien, Lucerne Festival Academy Orchestra, Diotima string quartet, Ensemble Orchestral Contemporain, Agora festival, Donaueschingen festival, Witten festival, Warsaw Automn, Les Musiques festival – Marseille.

 

Ondřej Adámek is also conductor and conducted his opera Alles Klappt in the festival Biennale Munich, also his opera Seven Stones in the opera festival in Aix-en-Provence. In 2018 Ondřej Adámek founded the vocal ensemble N.E.S.E.V.E.N, for which he also develops his own compositions and interdisciplinary programmes in cooperation with other ensembles. In his work as a conductor and leader of vocal ensembles, Adámek is interested in the authenticity and originality of the voice, as well as questions of movement, gesture and theatricality on stage.
Always interested in new forms of expression and sound colours, Adamek also develops, with
Carol Jimenez, his own  polyform instrument activated by air “Airmachine”.

 

Work(s)

" Where are you ?  "

For solo voice and orchestra

Ed. Billaudot

2024 SELECTION

The first performance of Adámek’s  Where are You ? for mezzo-soprano and orchestra was an outstanding event in Munich's concert program this year. In the eleven-part, approximately 35-minute-long kaleidoscope of sound, dominated by constant motoric movement – ranging from everyday sounds such as the monotonous ticking of a clock to the sweeping, electrifyingly rhythmic pounding of the orchestra “tutti” – the composer embarks on a search for the human ('Where do we come from and where are we going?') and the divine.

The songs are inspired by many different things including, Aramaic text, specific verses from The Bible, Moravian folksong, a traditional Sevillian Easter chant and the Hindu scripture Bhagavad Gita.

Adámek seeks the answer to the question “Where are you ?” in sound itself, not music or language, but the phenomes that constitute words, as he explains : ‘When I write vocal music, I spend a lot of time on the text.  I read it a thousand times loudly, search for its natural flow and look at the text from different perspectives: the meaning of the whole text, the meaning of each verse, of each word, but also the sound of individual syllables and phonemes.’  Such sounds become tactile and kinetic forces.  The deconstruction of word into fragments, fragments into syllables, syllables into phenomes, and then the further distortion of those phenomes into ‘pure’ sounds, destroys distinctions between languages, and the connection between sound and linguistic ‘meaning’, effecting a transition from the cerebral to the physical, such that the physical performers and their sounds become the totality and meaning of the work.

Thus, Where are You? seeks its answers not in the various cultures and religions – Judaism, Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism and Sufism – with which Adámek engages, nor in the various languages (Aramaic, Czech, Spanish, Moravian dialect, English, Sanskrit) or texts (The Bible, Moravian folksong, a traditional Sevillian Easter chant, the Bhagavad Gita) which he has set in the eleven sections of Where are You?, and which form a dramatic continuum.   Indeed, though some sections have quite a distinct idiomatic musical flavor, it can be difficult at times to follow the progression of textual explorations (or should that be explosions?) since, as words are deconstructed into breathy whispers, piercing howls, and guttural clicks and clacks, then framed within an orchestral sound-track of onomatopoeic fragments – a sort of surround-sound mosaic built from glissandi and other musical effects, and ‘found sounds’ (Simon Rattle shakes a box, the percussion experiment with aerosol cans) – they collide and coalesce.  Instead, at the start of the work it is the soloist – here, the mezzo-soprano Magdalena Kožená for whom the work was composed – who is the meaning.

So, the opening section, ‘Slotha – setting a trap for divine’, begins in ritual fashion.  Kožená cupped her hands in front of her face, then extended her arms, accompanying her reaching out with a mantra-like evocation which seemed to summon elemental feelings: pain, loss, anger, love.  This first song is based upon Czech translations of the first two words of the Lord’s Prayer in Aramaic (“Awoon dwashmeya’”).  The orchestra are silent, and it’s clear that this work will be less an orchestral song-cycle than a dynamic, probing, hyper-sensitive dramatic scena: as the program explains, Adámek spends two minutes simply exploring the first two phonemes, ‘a’ and ‘w’.  Gradually, tentatively, the emitted sounds – hushed breaths, vocal ticks – are picked up by the orchestra, are relayed, echoed, developed. 

Sounds evoke contexts too. The second eponymous section is inspired by Chapter 19 (not Chapter 12 as the programme stated) of the First Book of Kings, in which God reveals himself to Elijah after he has smitten the prophets and fled to the wilderness : “And he said : “Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord.”  And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake.”  Percussive thunder, the strings’ glissandi wind-screech, the horns’ snowy blast, and finally an orchestral ‘landslide’ evoked Elijah’s internal monologue – “I’m looking for You in lightning,/ In thunder, in hailstorm … You’re not in earthquake.  In snowstorm, in blizzard, in avalanche?” – as Magdalena Kožená’s elongated syllables and stuttering repetitions complemented the instrumentalists’ pictorial soundscape.

Elijah has believed that he encounters God in such dramatic manifestations.  God understands that Elijah’s depression will be lifted through a personal encounter with Him. And so, ‘the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a still small voice’: a ‘still small voice’ that speaks to Elijah’s human heart. Adámek does not allow us to share in Elijah’s humble experience of God’s presence, however; instead, his questions lead him to wonder whether God can be found in song, in dance, “In wine!” – thoughts which lead to the adaptation of a Moravian dialect folksong in which a couple of music-loving drinkers are led by “holy angels, all of them with horns” to Paradise, into which they are denied entry by Peter.  Texts intrude upon other texts, and into this raucous folksy tale abstract words from the Life of St Teresa of Avila are interjected, in Czech: “delight … sweetness …/ … deliciousness …/ whiteness … pain.” 

There are false gurus, too, in the section entitled ‘Sharp Point’ where the sound-world becomes sparse and intensely focused, and then a ‘Confession’ in which Rattle’s tiny, precise baton movements evoked the interiority of St Teresa’s words as they tumbled and echoed against harp and bass drum.  Kožená’s absolute commitment, and vocal and dramatic surety, were astonishing, and I was interested to find Adámek commenting that there were passages where “Magdalena was hoping to have more ‘singing’ in the piece and I was again insisting on a half-whispered voice, low register, pronunciation of each phoneme, strict rhythm like beat-boxing.’  The mezzo-soprano had her chance to ‘sing’ in St Teresa’s ‘Ecstasy’ in which instrumental pictorialism – the harp, piccolo, double bass and xylophone slicing as the angel thrust the spears into the martyr’s heart – closed with quasi-rapture: “He draws out my entrails/ Leaving me all on fire/ Of divine love/ Sweet pain/ Delicious pain/ Beautiful pain.”  And, again, in the lyricism of the ‘Gentle Whisper’ in which the divine is manifest in the air, in light, in sound. 

In the closing section – a chant-like hymn of praise setting text from the Bhagavad Gita, sung in English before transmuting to Aramaic – Kožená turned her back on the audience, reaching forwards towards the musicians.  It was an apt gesture as, ultimately, Kožená alone unified this work, through her extraordinary focus, precision and commitment.  Adámek juxtaposes different idioms – the Moorish magic of a Sevillian Easter song, the verve of American music theatre, the indelicacy of a Moravian folk song – but such contrasts do not create tensions that help to elucidate the structure of the whole.  Rather they are just contrast. The composer is fortunate to have Kožená, and Rattle and the LSO, to bring them together. (…)

Claire Seymour

" Follow me (2017) "

Pour violon et orchestre

Edition Billaudot

2020 SELECTION

Follow me is a concerto for violin and orchestra in three movements composed for Isabelle Faust. A hocket — where the melody is divided note by note between the soloist and the orchestra — becomes the music of an imaginary tribe. Underlying the score there is the idea of a progression in the relations between a ‘guide’ and a ‘crowd’: the ‘guide’ pronounces words that are simple, but strong.

At the beginning, he is alone. Later, individuals begin repeating the words after him. Then a ‘crowd’ repeats each word after the ‘guide’, but changes it little by little, distorting, even ridiculing it. Later, the ‘crowd’ turns against its ‘guide’, who insists on his original words, while the ‘crowd’ crushes him with their own exaggerated, distorted words, until the ‘guide’ disappears.

Ondřej Adamek