Gubaidulina’s Violin Concerto (2007)
is the most fascinating gem on this
disc. It is one of her latest works
and reflects her most original and versatile
compositional style. Its nucleus resides
in crystal clear structures, whimsical
waywardness and a startlingly inventive
sonic spectrum. We have it all: the
frightening underworld with its obscure
subterranean corridors, ghostly night
creatures, smoking sinter coves and
distorted sierras. There is also the
opposite side: the eternal serenity
of a murmuring brook, the soft cushion
of fluid melodies and harmonies and
all packed into a great variety of contemplative
layers. It grows and evolves until gradually
derailed. Unforeseen roads appear, obstacles
suddenly pop up, enigmas are created
but are finally and confidently resolved.
Images of human suffering, vivid in
their almost sacred bareness, float
into perspective before finally dissolving
into Gubaidulina’s cosmic metaphysics.
For her, contrasting elements comprise
positive ingredients of form far beyond
the boundaries of the twelve equally
valued tones within the traditional
octave. She does not feel committed
to solely the major or minor third,
the fourth or fifth or sixth. Instead
she draws on the resources of the quarter
tone to create tension and solution
- the kind of model explored by Charles
Ives, Krysztóf Penderecki and Alberto
Ginastera. Gubaidulina
thinks in terms of motions which are
neither interrelated nor dependant on
each other. They criss-cross without
any recognition, alien structures in
the hemisphere or under the surface,
always limned in meticulous form. Calculated
coincidence?
Much
of her work contains mystical and religious
sub-elements, literary references (for
instance to the poetry of Marina Tsvetayeva),
or the improvisatory ingredients and
rituals stemming from the folk songs
and their instruments from Central and
East Asia. This goes back to 1975, when
she founded the ‘Astreya’ ensemble,
together with Victor Sushlin and Vyacheslav
Artyomov. This was the impetus for accelerating
a wealth of experiments in instrumental
sounds and timbres from ‘another world’,
sculptured from its traditional rites
and obscure time elements.
This
is music piled high with a variety of
ambiguous abstractions, metaphorical
layers, shimmering transformations and
– maybe most important of all – that
strikingly missing home-sweet-home feeling.
These frequently leave the listener
somewhere along the road between ominous
darkness and enlightened serenity. The
tremendous frictions between the cruel
and painful accumulations in the real
world and the almost transcendental
guise of her deep religiosity immerse
us in an incredibly expressive soundscape
with all the characteristics of acoustic
ecology.
Gubaidulina
is neither a romantic nationalist nor
a post-modern recycler of patterns and
forms. The kaleidoscopic stubbornness
of her ‘language’ cannot possibly entail
that rather easy and comfortably sounding
‘music of the spheres’, that endlessly
murmuring diatonic patchwork through
which for instance her colleague Arvo
Pärt, our contemporary Palestrina, still
attracts large audiences. Her musical
roots are in the non-conformist movement,
the artists’ reactionary response to
Stalin’s Socialist Music for the
People doctrine, strongly influenced
by Edison Denisov (1929-1996) and Alfred
Schnittke (1934-1998). Denisov adored
mathematical formulas, which he coupled
with Arnold Schönberg’s atonality and
its metric complexities, before finally
finding Bach’s and Anton Webern’s ‘mathematics
of beauty’. Schnittke’s early stage
of composing focused on serial and aleatoric
models. From the seventies he developed
his famous collage technique, a multiple
style approach accessing the kind of
musical travesty that makes his music
so fascinating. What all these Russian
composers had in common was the necessity
to write film and theater music to pay
the rent and keeping ‘their’ music for
their own, as work in progress, in their
spare time.
Gubaidulina
summarized her musical credentials in
just a few lines: “To my mind the ideal
relationship to tradition and to new
compositional techniques is the one
in which the artist has mastered both
the old and the new, though in a way
which makes it seem that he is taking
note of neither the one nor the other.
There are composers who construct their
works very consciously; I am one of
those who ‘cultivate’ them. And for
this reason everything I have assimilated
forms as it were the roots of a tree,
and the work its branches and leaves.
One can indeed describe them as being
new, but they are leaves nonetheless.
Seen in this way they are always traditional
and old. Dmitri Shostakovich and Anton
Webern have had the greatest influence
on my work. Although my music bears
no apparent traces of it, these two
composers taught me the most important
lesson of all - to be myself.”.
Her
first Violin Concerto, subtitled ‘Offertorium’
or Жертвоприношение
in Russian, was composed in
1980, with revisions in 1982 and 1986
and was dedicated to Gidon Kremer who
took it around the world. Her new second Violin
Concerto (quite a different work from
the first) was in fact initiated
by the late Swiss conductor and maecenas
Paul Sacher (1906-1999). He asked Mutter
what she would have in mind as a musical
gift. It turned out to be a commissioned
work to be composed by Sofia Gubaidulina.
It came to the world as In tempus
praesens, the latest in a long row
of commissioned works by Sacher, ranging
from Witold Lutosławski’s Chain
II (1985) to Wolfgang Rihm’s Violin
Concerto ‘Time Chant’ (1993).
In
tempus praesens runs out of steam
in a mere thirty minutes, ending in
the silence of mortality. It is the
kind of silence which is an integral
part of the music and should have the
effect of causing audiences to refrain
from instant loud applause. It is the
culmination of a relentlessly driving
force which is consistently led by the
solo violin in a supremely drafted pursuit
by an orchestra shorn of its violins
- to expose the contrast!. It finally
resolves in that striking high tutti
note that has more thrilling effect
than Mahler’s famous sledge-hammer blows,
or the vehemently driven religious knockouts
of Galina Ustvolskaya (1919-2006). It
is all about timing and about building
up that incredible tension, leaving
it up to the soloist to make the most
of the physical exercise that is required
to make the most of the piece. I recall
what Shostakovich once said: “When I
look back, I only see corpses and ashes.”
One might also find reminiscences of
Berg’s Violin Concerto in the War Symphonies
of Shostakovich. There is no warm or
friendly smile here, there are no delicacies
to dwell upon, it is all steel. It is
as if the gates have opened into a post-apocalyptic
world in motion with a frenzied incisiveness
that gives this score incredible weight
and zest. In this maddening desperate
abyss we have to go through the various
stages of lament and utter darkness,
inevitably and unmistakably ending up
in the ambivalence we meet so often
in Gubaidulina’s music. There uncertainty
or indecisiveness reigns, with nothing
affirmative.
The
concerto was premiered in August 2007,
played by Mutter, with the Berlin Philharmonic
under the baton of Sir Simon Rattle,
in the composer’s presence. Gubaidulina
had already closely followed the preceding
rehearsals. However, contrary to the
tendencies of so many other composers,
hardly a single note needed to be changed
or a single tempo adjusted. It has always
been that way: she composes at her desk
knowing perfectly well how the music
should sound in the real world. No conductor
needs to tell her which notes or lines
are playable or how it should sound.
Anyone who has enjoyed the privilege
to closely watch her observations during
rehearsals must have been impressed
by her absolutely unshakable belief
in her own creations. She never compromises,
her music is entirely hers and no one
else’s.
This
new recording shows Mutter at the very
peak of her musical and technical abilities.
She has been through the complex piece
during a great number of rehearsals
and performances, and this definitely
pays off. It is compelling to hear how
she thrillingly catches the thrust of
the music’s rhythmic drive and the ample
richness of the scoring of the solo
part. The music makes for a brilliant
mix of exuberant display and fully controlled
structure. Cripplingly difficult transitions
are simultaneously and feverishly engaged
to convey the full expressive measure
of this piece. Mutter easily copes with
the muscular acrobatics of the composer’s
string writing, and delivers crystal-clear
phrasing and shaded dynamics from each
and every corner. She is wonderfully
supported by Gergiev and the LSO. This
is all about the illumination of gloom
and doom, passionately shaped with the
kind of monolithic power that boils
up from the music itself. It is neurotic
at times, but is consistently treated
in a multi-linear fashion. The virgin
listener meeting Gubaidulina’s spectacular
utterances for the very first time will
find this extremely impressive.
Gergiev
has, throughout the years one of the
most important advocates of Gubaidulina’s
music. He makes the most out of the
scurrying rhythmic figurations within
the episodic structure, the final bars
curiously and abruptly arising from
those long stretched chordal blocks
and dense harmonic textures. The LSO’s
playing is just glorious, with a strong
unanimous pulse and intense characterization,
bringing out the terrible beauty of
Gubaidulina’s orchestral writing in
one great stretch. But, as I have said,
major praise must go to Mutter’s unbelievably
clean and pure tone and phrasing, as
she simultaneously focuses on the inward
depth of this glowing piece of contemporary
music. Mutter portraits the work with
throbbing clarity and rarely heard harmonic
vitality. She vigorously meets the score’s
challenges and unfailingly catches its
drama.
Pairing
this work with Bach’s two violin concertos
cannot be more than a bonus. The delightful
light playing and masterly skilled separation
of notes (Mutter is clearly using a
light baroque bow to suit the purpose)
reflect authenticity practice. That
said, we already have this music in
so many great performances, authentic
or not. Gubaidulina’s Offertorium
would have been a much better choice.
Mutter defends her Bach by referring
to Gubaidulina’s strong connections
with the composer, in particular the
mathematical qualities which bind his
and her work. Even so, this does not
change the fact that In
tempus praesens is worlds apart
from these two Bach concertos.
I cannot banish from my mind the suspicion
that lack of ample preparation and rehearsal
time drove her to Bach instead. Let’s
be honest: Gubaidulina’s first Violin
Concerto would have been the
perfect match.
The
spacious recording is impeccable, clean
and clear, attaining demonstration quality.
A very slight criticism would be that
the solo violin has been rather forwardly
placed. Then again we need to realize
that we simply cannot see what
we hear.
Aart
Van der Wal
www.opusklassiek.nl
