The icons of Orthodoxy play a prominent role in the music of John Tavener. The composer finds inspiration in the divine gaze of the saints, in the simple renderings of figures, and in the sharp angles of gestures. This inspiration has driven him to compose a large body of sonic iconography, so to speak—musical works whose power is to be found in their resolute structures, bold colors, and simple contours. In many of these works, there is an element, either implicit or explicit, of ritual. In the case of his Ikon of Saint Cuthbert of Lindisfarne, from 1986, no actual rite is enacted. But fragments and suggestions of ceremony pervade the work, which is itself built upon a stylized liturgical framework.

This framework is an adaptation of the Byzantine canon, a poetic form dating from the seventh century in which hymns are divided into musically and metrically autonomous odes. Though independent pieces, they are traditionally connected by a common mode. Their texts usually employ simpler language than that found in other liturgical poetic forms, and are usually comprised of thoughts and entreaties that, though related, do not combine to form any sort of narrative.

In the preface to his score, Tavener emphasizes that his Ikon does not strictly adhere to the rules of the Byzantine canon, though it borrows its sense of trajectory and structure; it is, in effect, a modern icon of an ancient poetic form, as well as a musical rendering of its eponymous saint. Each text refers to, but does not relate in detail, a specific incident in the life of St. Cuthbert. Mother Thekla, the sagely Abbess at Normanby who collaborated with Tavener on this and numerous other works, insisted that she not be credited for the text in the published score. Still, her fleeting images and evocative allusions give the work much of its density of expression and its sense of cryptic, meditative devotion; it is almost like a prayer consisting entirely of abstract thoughts that are captured in the moment before translation into language.

The accounts of St. Cuthbert's life provide numerous poignant images: his all-night vigils, sometimes praying in neck-deep sea water; the miraculous field of grain he harvested from barren soil; the well, dug in dry ground, that brought forth water. These scenes (or rather, Thekla's allusions to them, which would probably be lost on the uninformed listener if Tavener had not provided brief explanations and hints in the preface) create a kind of mobile, strung together by a chordal invocation that serves as a refrain: "Holy Father, Cuthbert of Lindisfarne, pray to God for us."

Tavener's score depends on the textural nuances and voicings that distinguish the various sections of the work. The Ikon is almost entirely homophonic—that is, devoid of counterpoint or staggered entrances—so the timbral difference between, say, a bass duet and a men's quartet, is a subtle but crucial one. His lines are gracefully carved with blunt tools, many of which are familiar in Tavener's oeuvre. The opening "Irmos" begins on a low C, then proceeds in a horizontally symmetrical pattern, the upper voice's peaks mirroring the lower voice's valleys with intervallic exactitude; this device appears later in the "Kathisma" section, as well as in the "Kontakion." The eight "Troparions," which form the bulk of the work, proceed entirely in lush parallel sixths. The refrains that separate every "Kontakion" and "Troparion" are given in solemn homophony, with three drones underscoring a single melodic line. The result is a work built of spartan structures and fixtures that leave plenty of room for the profound meanings conveyed by their texts.

© All Music Guide

Portions of Content Provided by All Music Guide.
© 2008 All Media Guide, LLC. All Music Guide is a registered trademark of All Media Guide, LLC.