Tectonics 2026 Artist Profile

Martin Smolka (*1959) studied composition in Prague with Marek Kopelent. Since 1990 his music has been performed in many places in Europe, as well as in North America and Japan. He worked musically with instrumental sounds reminiscent of familiar noises (ship and train sirens, the sound of rain and many others), and these sound reminiscences helped to define the often nostalgic, sometimes grotesque idiom of his music. Later he attempted to give a new life also to elemental musical shapes such as triad or diatonic melody, with use of microtones and other alienations. After baptism in 2006 he wrote numerous vocal pieces on sacred texts. 2012 he was awarded the Prix Prince-Pierre-de-Monaco for his orchestra piece Blue Bells or Bell Blues.

Selected works:

Rain, a Window, Roofs, Chimneys, Pigeons and so…, and Railway-bridges, too (1992) for large ensemble, Walden, the Distiller of Celestial Dews (2000) for choir, Semplice (2006) for baroque orchestra and new music ensemble, Poema de balcones (2008) for 2 choirs, Psalmus 114 (2009) for choir and orchestra, The Name Emmanuel (2017) for choir, Angel Steps (2022) for chamber orchestra.

Tectonics Glasgow 2026

Sun 3 May 2026, 8.00pm - Grand Hall
Until time takes back its gift (7 pieces for orchestra)
(World Premiere, BBC Commission)

On my desk, always in sight, I have a talking drum, African instrument. Its wooden body is shaped like an hourglass, with skin on both the top and bottom. A tangle of strings is stretched between the skins.

I stick and weave various pieces of paper between the strings of the talking drum. Quotes, poems, notes, drawings, all sorts of things. And so the talking drum speaks to me. And it speaks of time, not only through its shape. For a year now, I have also had the text of Seikilos Song there:

“As long as you're alive, shine, don't be sad at all; life is short, time asks for its due.”

The text, originally carved in stone, has withstood the test of time for over two thousand years, but it sounds like it was written today. It's as if those words were meant for me.

So I sat down at the piano and started playing what I like. Without censorship by my compositional intellect. And I imagined the places I love – specific meadows, streams, birds in the sky and their patterns, trees in the wind, passing clouds. And I delighted myself with a light sadness.

I played for weeks and months, and what passed through this sieve (what stood this testlet of time), I carefully transferred into delicate, mostly quiet orchestral sounds. In fact, rather chamber sounds, often only small groups of instruments will play. Let's hope that the musicians who aren't playing will have comfortable chairs.

Martin Smolka