Sofia GUBAIDULINA (b.1931)
Dialog: Ich Und Du (2018) [22:28]
The Wrath of God (2020) [17:01]
The Light of the End (2003) [24:15]
Vadim Repin (violin: Ich und Du)
Gewandhaus Orchestra/Andris Nelsons
rec. December 2019 (Dialog: Ich und Du) May 2021 (Wrath of God) June 2021
(Light of the End), Gewandhaus, Leipzig
Reviewed as a digital download from a press preview
DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON 486 1457
[63:44]
I will begin by wishing Sofia Gubaidulina, surely the world’s greatest
living composer, a very happy 90th birthday! Rather than resting
on her considerable laurels, this album of recent music is testimony to her
continuing vitality and questing spirit. It also demonstrates her
unwavering commitment to her chosen creative path, come what may.
Dialog: Ich und Du, written for the violinist Vadim Repin, is, in effect,
her third violin concerto, though it is not in any sense a violin concerto
in the Romantic mould. Whilst it confronts the soloist with ferocious
technical challenges, there is precious little opportunity to show off. As
the name suggests, it takes the form of a dialogue between violinist and
orchestra that would seem to mirror the relationship between God and man or
perhaps God and Gubaidulina. Whichever of those is the case, (the programme
notes included are unclear on the subject), it is clearly a difficult
relationship. The orchestra is craggy and severe for most of the piece, for
all the violin’s entreaties.
Most of Gubaidulina’s music involves a process of disruption aimed at
putting the listener into an altered state where a different kind of
listening is possible. This might involve an unusual combination of
instruments, extremes of pitch (high or low) or sometimes lengthy passages
of uncompromisingly severe music as a kind of preparation for the
revelations to come. Gubaidulina’s spiritual path is not an easy one. She
has been quoted as saying that, for her, composition is prayer and
it is clear that, for her, praying involves great struggle to achieve
communion with God. I presume that for her, given her great faith, this
struggle is as worthwhile for her spiritually as it is musically for the
listener. I personally find her compositions move me both musically and
spiritually.
Neither Ich und Du nor the Wrath of God arrive at any kind of spiritual
release. The former seems to dramatise the impossibility of Martin Buber’s
‘I and Thou’ relationship with God. Soloist and orchestra seem to move
initially in different, drifting orbits with little in common between them.
As the piece proceeds, the moments when they approach seem to generate
great tension and dissonance. This leads to an extraordinary passage where
the accompaniment is reduced to a mighty banging on drums. Again it is
unclear whether this is a severe deity or the sinner knocking that the door
might be opened onto him (or her)! It reminded me of the even more
unflinching music and faith of Galina Ustvolskaya, the famous Lady with the
Mallet.
This section seems to allow the two protagonists to draw a little closer,
though the music remains tense and uneasy. The solo violin takes up the
lamenting tone of much of the earlier orchestral material whilst the
strings sigh along in massed densely dissonant chords. The soloist becomes
increasingly animated in response, soaring right to the top of its
register. The orchestral chords seek to suffocate it, but the long held
high note persists even after a vast crash on the tam tam before sliding
even further into the stratosphere. This is the closest this piece gets to
consolation: a persistence in the face of adversity, seeking the divine on
high. We realise that everything that has gone before was in preparation
for this briefest of moments, this simplest of musical gestures. Our
perception of the whole piece is altered by this defining event.
Repin is an ideal interpreter and the Gewandhaus under Andris Nelsons play
their part in the dialogue ably. DG’s production is, as would be expected,
superb.
The Wrath of God, composed alongside Ich und Du, offers even less
reassurance, depicting God’s anger at man’s failings. It was developed from
a movement from Gubaidulina’s oratorio, On Love and Hatred, and the
composer is currently working on expanding it with a second movement. As it
stands, it is dedicated “To the Great Beethoven” and at one point it quotes
the first subject of the first movement of Beethoven’s 9th. As
reviewers of its premiere noted, it has more than a touch of Shostakovich
about it in its brooding, majestic opening. This music alternates with
quieter, more mystical material. This latter style is very familiar from
earlier pieces by Gubaidulina yet, unlike earlier pieces such as
Offertorium, it offers no relief from the development of the brass-led
music of the opening which, presumably, is intended to evoke the
inescapable nature of God’s wrath.
Obviously there are no alternative recordings to compare with these
performances, but I did feel that Nelsons’ accounts were a little lacking
in bite, particularly in this work. They are expertly prepared and the
orchestra play at the level one would expect for such an illustrious band
but it all seems to lack something in terms of wildness. The climax of
God’s wrath, led in by a militant side drum and topped off with ringing
bells and thundering drums, is suitably awe-inspiring but I still can’t
help feeling there is more to this piece than we get in this recording.
Gubaidulina’s music should sound like the struggle over the fate of her
eternal soul but it sounds just a fraction tame here. The piece concludes
with fierce joy and the Beethoven quotation I mentioned earlier but no easy
resolution. Indeed the final impression is rather like one of those forced
joyful finales Shostakovich was required to write.
The Gewandhaus come into their own in the third piece on the programme
which reflects a much less severe side to Gubaidulina’s art, but
consequently it is a much stranger piece. It is also the oldest piece
included, dating back to 2003.The music hinges on a musical symbol which
pits a melody using a conventional harmonic scale against the same melody
written using a 12-tone scale. This is intended to portray the
irreconcilability of nature with what Gubaidulina calls “real life”. This
generating musical idea is given its clearest expression about halfway
through when the two melodies are played together in a duet between the
horn and the cello.
As a listening experience, this work is less astringent than that might
suggest. Even the duet mentioned is more poignant than ferocious. Much of
the writing is extremely delicate and brilliant. I found myself wondering
if these sections are meant to conjure up the fecundity of nature.
Gubaidulina has spoken of the inevitability of pain emerging from the clash
between man and nature and that pain does emerge out of the elaborate,
filigree textures, anchoring the piece emotionally. The conflict takes the
piece to a higher level achieving an ecstatic, harp festooned climax at the
end before disappearing upwards, rather like the end of Ich und Du, but this
time much more beatifically and in a shimmer of tinkling bells and high
strings. This is Gubaidulina at her most approachable.
The three pieces on this disc produce a very satisfying programme and,
whilst I don’t think I would choose any of them as an introduction to the
profound world of Gubaidulina’s music, they do provide a glorious window on
to this latest period in her remarkable career. It may be her birthday but
it feels as if it is we listeners who have received the presents.
David McDade
