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Foreword from Simen K. Bøhler:
After what at this point is more than half a year after my dear friend Jósef put the first notes down on paper, his first Opus, 24 preludes for piano is complete to the point where we hope to see it published in the near future. As he was doing some final revisions, Jósef decided to have a foreword. The foreword was going to be a way for him to explain some of the processes that went into this composition, and to provide the reader with some guidance as to which elements might be deserving of some extra interest in rehearsing, performing, or listening. However, after some deliberation, he decided there would be more value in having an outside perspective on the composition. When he first approached me with the suggestion, I was deeply honoured, and more than happy to do so, yet admittedly a bit terrified of the task that was ahead. After all, although a competent user of the written word, I have never written a foreword to a composition, or anything else, for that matter. My advantage in retelling the compositional process, is that I was around most of the time, sometimes giving criticism, but for the most part listening to Jósef’s reflections and experiences as the project went on. This text is born out of my impressions from the outside of the compositional process, as well as the very first full performance of the piece. Thus, this text consists of the elements I as a spectator have found noteworthy in the composition, and the development of Jósef’s artistic and compositional qualities in the process.
Firstly, I believe it is necessary to spend some time on the background for the piece. As part of the third year of education at the University of Stavanger, Faculty of Music, students were asked to conduct a self-defined project for the spring semester. Already when the academic year commenced, Jósef had a clear idea that he wanted to compose a proper piece – I say ‘proper’ here, to distinguish this from his earlier compositional ‘sketches’ – and after some deliberation, he decided upon the 24 preludes medium. When he had resolved to compose the cycle, it was to a large degree influenced by the equivalent work, Op. 34 by Shostakovich, composed at a similar age. The other benefits he cited was particularly related to the technical nature of writing in all tonalities, in Jósef’s opinion an ideal tool to familiarise oneself with the full extent of the piano register, as well as listening to a variety of pieces in the different styles parallel to his progress in the piece. An additional benefit of the prelude form that only appeared later, is that it lends to the composer an opportunity to experiment with a great variety of styles, a strength I believe this work showcases beautifully.
In working through the piece, you will find a multitude of examples of the influences Jósef encountered while preparing and composing. Some are ideas he arrived upon organically, an example being the two sibling preludes Maria and Maria 2, both are treatments of the ‘Maria- motive’ in Bernstein’s Westside Story, a musical Jósef curiously has never seen himself, only getting the inspiration after hearing his then partner humming the song while they were cooking. Inspired by that sensation
of hearing a melody strangely familiar, yet unknown to himself, he recreated that effect by ‘hiding’ quotation within more complex rhythms, harmonisations, and alterations. I believe the effect one should strive for is one where the listener is certain they recognise the music, but they are just unable to grasp it. Some homages to influential composers are given through the titles, like Prelude no. 3 – Dmitri, naturally a tribute to Shostakovich’s ironic style of composing. I believe the performer should in particular give attention to the simple rhythmic structure of the left hand, in order to fully express the sardonic wit of the music. The effect created by the dotted quaver on the second beat of the left-hand motif is significant in that regard, and when listening to Jósef playing the piece, I noticed that it would often be given an ‘uneven’ feel. Often it would be given a slightly longer dot, closer to a double dotting, and simply grazing by the following semi-quaver as a result.
The piece concludes in a sudden fashion, with the introduction of the second motif being cut short, catching the audience off guard. It appears to me that Jósef seems particularly comfortable – or ‘fluent’ – when writing in that sarcastic, parodic style. Prelude No. 15 Drukkjuskapar Valsurin (Drunken Waltz) is another great example of the qualities inherent in Dmitri. Similarly, the final prelude No.24 Astor is, of course, inspired by the Argentinian composer Astor Piazzolla’s tango rhythms and signature form. The ABA-form is of course not inherent to Piazzolla, however, the percussive and fast tango of the A-part being replaced by the lyrical B-subject, then to have a shortened reprise of the A-part was inspired by a period of listening to the Argentinian master. Both Dmitri and Astor are examples of the direct influence picked up from his parallel project of expanding his knowledge of various styles and composers, through listening to a selected set of albums every week.
During the composition, some of Jósef’s motivation was also to expand upon his compositional register, to more fluently be able to express his ideas at later stages in his artistic maturing. To help instruct him in that endeavour, was Kyrre Sassebo Haaland an irreplaceable resource. Among the pieces most heavily influenced by the technical aspect of composition, we find No. 21 Takadimi Takida, a title referencing the Indian rhythmic tradition konnakol. The konnakol system is based on different linguistic rhythmical structures, to more easily and fluently understand complex motives. (The title, Ta-ka-di- mi – ta-ki-da, is a structure for groupings of seven. Similarly, ta-di-gi-na-thom is a structure for groupings of five. A more thorough knowledge of the system will undoubtedly provide the player with a greater understanding of the material, considering the rhythmic

element present in a multitude of the pieces.) The konnakol system became especially important to Jósef when going through a stressful period of wrist pains that hampered his routine in practicing. The solution came in the form of the Indian system, allowing him to focus on developing his rhythmic finesse, while giving his wrists much needed rest. Similarly, prelude No. 14 Tólv Tóna Tvætl (Twelve Tone Tune) was a result of Mr. Sassebo Haaland urging Jósef to develop command of some modern compositional techniques. This one in particular was a product of working within the structure of the twelve-tone system, gaining an understanding of the various ways in which he could treat the original subject.
Let us first consider the structure of the twelve-tone thread utilised. The first three notes are placed in a second inversion E-flat minor chord in the left hand. This also gives an important clue that the composition itself is an attempt to utilise the rules of the twelve-tone system, while retaining some semblance of tonality. Sort of an oxymoron. In the right hand, are the next three notes, this time spread horizontally, but nonetheless a D minor chord in the second inversion. Following that is a C-sharp minor, second inversion, paired with a Cmaj7 sans third. The resulting impression from the structure of that single bar, is as mentioned connected to the rules of twelve-tone composition, although structured in a way that makes it more bi-tonal in character, with a heavy emphasis on the minor second interval. With this in mind, the performer should be able to retrace the subject in the following variations, such as the retrograde variation starting in bar 4, or the way the same harmonies are utilised, but in different inventions, exemplified in bar 30 of the piece. Prelude No. 19 Kirkjuklokkan (Church Bells) is also the result of inspirational guidance from Mr. Sassebo Haaland. The requirement posed was: “Find a theme with restricted creative opportunities.” After some contemplation, he arrived upon the recognisable notes of the Westminster Quarters, made famous not only by Church bells, but also doorbells and public service announcements around the world.
The music itself is a treatment of that subject material, utilising some of the same tools as in No. 19, albeit this time in a melodic context, with conscious
experimentation of making smaller ‘motifs’ from the material.
Some of the preludes again, are of a more philosophical or artistic character. These aspects are clearest in pieces like Ormurin, Ið Dárar (The Charming Serpent), where a ‘pure’ choral motive suddenly gets interrupted by the misterioso theme, representing chaos.
From there, the chaotic clusters become more and more prominent, until completely overshadowing any semblance of the original ‘Order’-theme, up until the final bar, where a full cluster is held in the pedal, while the player quietly presses a pure B major chord before lifting the pedal, allowing the piece to dissolve onto pureness, or order at the end of chaos. This prelude appears to me as a representation of the philosophical development Jósef has expressed over the years I have come to know him, ideas that we have discussed in countless dialogues. It deals with ideas of the purity in order, in a balanced choral, yet, the element of chaos is – and in my opinion, necessarily so – present in that order. However, chaos becomes overwhelming, and the foundation of order upon which one once stood is difficult to find. The finale of the piece to me represents finding that balance, making order out of chaos.
Another prelude with a similar artistic quality is No. 7 Gylti Skuðurin (The Golden Ratio). Gathering inspiration from the works of Bela Bartók, Jósef decided to experiment with a variety of ways to insert the golden ratio into music. The most accessible way in which this has been done has to do with the structure of the piece itself. With the music being 34 bars, we find that the marked climax of the piece should happen in bar 21, with 13 bars to spare (21/13=~1.615). This crowning moment is marked with a massive A major chord, indeed in bar 21. In conversation, Jósef emphasised the way the form lends itself to a gentle build-up, and a short ‘tail’ after the climax. Another notable feature of the piece is that both melodic – as well as rhythmic sequences – are derived from the phi- sequence of the golden ratio: 1.618033.... If we firstly deal with the rhythmic sequence, that is straight-forward enough. In the first bar, we see two minims, both representing 1. Then we have a group of two crotchets, followed by a crotchet triplet, those two groups representing 2 and 3. Then a bar with a quintuplet, and semiquavers, representing 5 and 8. At this point we are far enough in the sequence to take 8/5=1.6, and see that we are approximate to the golden ratio in terms of rhythmic groupings.

As for the tonal portion, it is based upon the golden ratio (mentioned above) itself. We start from the first A, being a reference. The second A is equivalent to 1, then the crotchet group of A-F# is equivalent to 1.6, the triplets then are 1.61, and skipping the quintuplets, we arrive at the semi-quavers, A-F#-A-A-Pause-C#-C#-D, representing a more recognisable sequence of 1.6180332, with zero being represented as a pause. The other feature of the prelude is the use of the pentatonic scale, as well as the employment of a percussive technique on the underside of the piano. Neither of these are directly related to the golden ratio, but Jósef explained the connection as art evident in nature. That is, natural harmonics as a result of the percussive technique, combined with the fact that the pentatonic scale is present in natural harmonics. Jósef has often mentioned his fascination with the pentatonic scale being present in more or less every tradition of music, simply because it occurs in natural harmonics.
Before concluding, I would like to spend a moment to guide your attention towards the pieces that are not necessarily technical in any sense, but rather a result of Jósef sitting down in a certain mood and writing down his feelings in a stream of consciousness. No. 22. Zacharias, named after his grandfather, is one example of this, but I will devote this paragraph to No. 18, Sálarmessa (Requiem), composed in memory of his late grandparents, who passed away suddenly over the course of the Summer in 2017. It starts off with a soft subject in the high register, an effect I usually associate with the sensation of floating. Curiously, the performer is also given the option of improvising the first five bars on a given figuration. While it is possible to argue that the performer should be given freedom in that regard, I would recommend an attempt to create that same light floating sensation of the original composition. The upbeat to bar 6 should undoubtedly be played, thus, the performer should bear in mind that there should be a link between the parts. As the piece moves on, it becomes clear that it is cyclically bound to the opening motive, but as it progresses, it builds up into a climax in bar 27, after which the piece slowly dies out. Notably, this prelude was composed for, and performed during his grandfather’s funeral in October 2017. The music was written during an outpouring of emotion at the time. Now, with the incentive to improvise the opening of the piece, and with the basic structure of the piece itself, I can easily imagine a situation where the performer can take the opening five bars improvised and do the same for the rest of the piece, keeping the general shape of the piece in mind. If not for a performance, at least to give oneself a taste of letting a modest motive speak for you.
As a finishing remark, observing the composition of the piece you now hold in your hand, has been a journey into the shaping of an artist. Watching from the outside, Jósef has confessed difficulties encountered underway, and enthusiastically remarked how and when he overcame certain obstacles. In periods, the process has been smooth and flowing, while at other times it appeared as if the goal was nowhere in sight, with a rough road ahead. To me, the crowning moment was when Jósef performed the piece in its entirety, concluding the hard work of previous months. In this text, I have attempted to give an impression of the creative influences for many of the pieces, focusing on some of the common denominators. However, each prelude will have a distinct character, and thus, I urge the performer to find their own voice in the music. Sometimes, it can be an idea to interpret the clues the composer has left in the music, but oftentimes, you might find success in simply letting the music speak directly to you.
-Simen Christian Kalbakk-Bøhler September 2018