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The symphonies of the Bulgarian composer-conductor Emil Tabakov (b. 1947) explore the darker side of the human spirit in monumental scores as austere as they are powerful, his language sitting somewhere between Shostakovich, Varèse, Pettersson, and Simpson in it's fierce, explosive energy and elemental drive. His Tenth Symphony (2018) opens with the first of many wild outbursts that occasionally give way to islands of uneasy calm. The inconsolable sorrow of the slow movement finally boils up into an epic passage of colossal anger. By way of contrast, the scherzo opens in a mood of mischievous humour that soon spirals into a swirling, headlong, white-knuckle ride. Like the first movement, the finale sets off with the untrammelled power of a raging flood; it abates only briefly, to reveal a blasted landscape suggesting Kafka's 'There is hope - but not for us'. The Symphony is prefaced here by a dignified, deeply felt symphonic essay for strings, an epitaph for lost love.
