A Schnittke Reader First Edition Ivashkin Digital Version 2025
A Schnittke Reader First Edition Ivashkin Digital Version 2025
version 2025
https://ebookfinal.com/download/a-schnittke-reader-first-edition-
ivashkin/
A Schnittke reader First Edition Ivashkin
EBOOK
Available Formats
https://ebookfinal.com/download/history-of-economic-thought-a-reader-
first-edition-stephen-medema/
https://ebookfinal.com/download/reading-old-english-a-primer-and-
first-reader-1st-edition-robert-hasenfratz/
https://ebookfinal.com/download/spinoza-s-ethics-a-reader-s-guide-
first-edition-edition-j-thomas-cook/
https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-michael-eric-dyson-reader-first-
edition-michael-eric-dyson/
The Global Social Policy Reader First Edition Nicola
Yeates & Chris Holden
https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-global-social-policy-reader-first-
edition-nicola-yeates-chris-holden/
https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-great-gatsby-c1-graded-reader-
first-edition-f-scott-fitzgerald/
https://ebookfinal.com/download/popular-culture-a-reader-1st-edition-
raiford-a-guins/
https://ebookfinal.com/download/the-viking-age-a-reader-2nd-edition-
angus-a-somerville/
https://ebookfinal.com/download/western-heritage-a-reader-3rd-edition-
hillsdale-college/
A Schnittke reader First Edition Ivashkin Digital Instant
Download
Author(s): Ivashkin, Alexander; Schnittke, Alfred; Goodliffe, John Derek
ISBN(s): 9780253109170, 0253109175
Edition: First Edition
File Details: PDF, 13.35 MB
Year: 2002
Language: english
a s c h n i t t k e r e a d e r
RUSSIAN MUSIC STUDIES
http://iupress.indiana.edu
1 2 3 4 5 07 06 05 04 03 02
C O N T E N T S
I believe I have earned the right to provide this introduction, principally because I
knew personally many of the composers of whom Alfred Schnittke writes, and have
played their music many times.
I have read all of Alfred’s essays with enormous interest and enjoyment. To tell
the truth, even though I was his friend, I did not know that he was capable of such
careful and interesting analysis, that he had such a profound insight into the music
of other composers, and that he found in it so many regular features that were
hidden from others.
It is splendid that Schnittke’s essays and ideas on music are finally being
published.
I was particularly interested in the essay on Stravinsky, whose music I worship.
I remember that Shostakovich was once forced to put his signature to a critical article
on Stravinsky published in Pravda, the central Soviet newspaper. At that time I was
already well acquainted with Stravinsky. In the article it was asserted that Stravinsky,
who was so successful in his Russian period, later suffered a marked decline. . . .
When I was studying with Shostakovich at the Conservatory, I played The Symphony
of Psalms, arranged for four hands by Shostakovich himself, who loved the work. For
many years Stravinsky’s music had been banned in the Soviet Union, but at that
period there was already a certain “thawing out.”
Then I arrived in London, where Stravinsky also was at the time. I met him at a
rehearsal. He was rather like Baba Yaga1 and looked at me with a kind of “nasty”
grin. “I’ve read Shostakovich’s article about me,” he said. Then, in a tone of
bitterness, he added: “Tell your friend that, whether or not he likes what I am doing,
each of us has the right to experiment.” I passed on the message to Shostakovich.
When he heard it, he twitched nervously. By what he composed Stravinsky had
indeed demonstrated his right to experiment—by his paradoxicality, in which
Schnittke detects a special kind of logic. When the aging Picasso was asked, “Are
you still searching for something in your work?” he replied, “No, I have already
found something.” Stravinsky, too, had found something in his music.
I like to recall how Schnittke wrote his Concerto for Three. It was his sixtieth
birthday, and I asked him to compose something to celebrate it. “Perhaps I should
write something for those who play my music most,” he said, “and in that case it will
be something ‘for three’2 —for you, [Gidon] Kremer, and [Yuri] Bashmet.” As a
subtitle for the concerto he wrote “Rostropovich will provide,”3 because I commis-
sioned it. When he had finished it, he said, “The three of you will be wildly
successful,” and he wrote the minuet that we were to play as an encore. That minuet
is an example of the “polystylistics” of which he speaks in his essay. The music may
remind you of Lully, but it has to be put in one key. Each instrumentalist plays a
beautiful melody. But the chords that form the harmonies always sound inappropri-
ate. The three players, with the exception of the one playing the melody, seem to
have gone wrong and lost each other. This is precisely where beauty lies. . . . When
Schnittke analyzed polystylistics, he was doing so for his own work.
In his essay on timbres Schnittke refers to the music of Prokofiev and Shosta-
kovich. This reminds me of my student days, when I tried to introduce one of my
close friends, who later became a well-known singer, a mezzo-soprano, to Proko-
fiev’s music. This was for a concert at the Hall of Columns at the House of Unions
[Dom Soiuzov] in Moscow. I had confessed to Prokofiev that I had a “star turn” and
asked him to listen to the radio broadcast of the concert. He was pleased to do as I
asked. The next morning I hurried round to see him. “I heard your ‘star turn’,” he
said. “It was remarkable, amazing. . . . I was particularly taken by what she sang as
an encore, [Grieg’s] ‘Solveig’s Song’—her voice sounded just like a clarinet!” This
anecdote is connected with the idea of timbre and the remarkable timbral instru-
mental thinking of Prokofiev. One of his favorite instruments was the tuba. “How
wonderful it is,” he used to say, “when the tuba softly plays a low note! I have the
impression that there is a beetle sitting on the note, and I listen to the note, then pick
up the beetle, and move it onto another note.”
In Prokofiev’s music one finds more timbral effects connected with nature than
in any other composer. In Peter and the Wolf, for example, the clarinet is the cat-
instrument. And its rapid passages are like the cat climbing a tree. In the sound of the
clarinet there is cat fur and fluff. Or—I do not want to offend bassoon-players—but
when I hear a bassoon it always reminds me of the old grandfather [in Prokofiev’s
Peter and the Wolf ]. And if the grandfather is cunning, then it has to be the bassoon!
Timbral colors evoke various associations. What can be more birdlike than a flute?
And the wolf is depicted with the tripled timbre of the French horn!
Schnittke writes, “[A]n infinitely differentiated scale of interpolating sonorities
that move one to the next and that include every imaginable richness from the world
of sound can be conceived only in theory. . . . [O]nly a more or less precisely
graduated illusory scale is possible . . . [dependant on] the individuality of the
composer, the individuality of the instrumental ensemble selected, and the indi-
vidual relationship of the performer and his instrument.”4
This is perfectly true. All my life I have tried to achieve a variety of timbres. Of
course, I have studied composition and conducting, and this has helped me consid-
erably. But in practice the three factors listed by Schnittke are always embodied in
the actual and potential performances of music. We performers are remembered
only thanks to the music we play and how far we understand that music. Naturally
what perhaps matters most to us is intuition, but we nevertheless also have to try to
penetrate the depths of the music with the help of analysis. One must admit that in
his analytical essays, Schnittke has clearly penetrated to depths inaccessible to the
vast majority of musicians. It seems as if for his analysis he used a laser and an
electron microscope, but in fact it was simply his genius!
Mstislav Rostropovich
May 1999
4. From Schnittke’s essay “Timbral Relationships and Their Functional Use: The Timbral Scale”
(Chapter 22 in this volume). —ed.
Foreword by Mstislav Rostropovich ix
In The Bible as Literature (Oxford University Press, 1990), John B. Gabel and Charles
B. Wheeler refer to the “two ends of a spectrum of possibilities in translation”
designated by the terms, coined by translation theorists, “formal correspondence”
and “dynamic equivalence” (p. 243). In the former the emphasis is on “the form of
the original,” in the latter on “the reader’s ability to understand readily.” They add
that those involved in beginning any translation project “must decide for them-
selves whether to favor the demands of the form or the needs of the reader.”
In attempting to put Alfred Schnittke’s words into English I tried as far as
possible to position myself at about the mid-point of this translation spectrum,
conscious, on the one hand, of the need to let him speak or write for himself in his
own somewhat idiosyncratic and often highly technical way and, on the other, of the
impossibility of allowing him to do this when he was not talking or writing in
English and was not therefore readily accessible to the potential reader of this book.
Schnittke’s Russian was, perhaps like his music, something of a law unto itself. In
trying to express ideas that were often profoundly original, he used a language in
which any considerations for smooth stylistic elegance were secondary to his
anxiety to achieve maximum precision and subtlety of analysis. I have therefore
largely resisted any temptation to oversimplify his often complex ideas in the
interests of a reader who might find them too difficult to digest. Schnittke made few
concessions to the vast majority of human beings, whose minds tend to move much
more slowly and less penetratingly than his did.
I am fully conscious of the fact that my efforts to do justice to both writer and
reader were doomed not to succeed and that there are places where I was led into
compromises that may well not satisfy either. But putting Schnittke into English has
inevitably and rewardingly taken me closer to him, and I am profoundly grateful to
have had the opportunity to gain deeper knowledge of one of the most remarkable
human beings of the twentieth century. To Alfred Schnittke and to his readers in
English I acknowledge and apologize for the shortcomings of my work, but, even
secondhand and in inadequate translation, the composer’s stimulating ideas and his
stature as a world figure are too important not to be made accessible to those who
know no Russian.
John Goodliffe
I N T R O D U C T I O N
A Man in Between
Alfred Schnittke died in Hamburg on 3 August 1998 following a fifth stroke; he had
been fighting this fatal illness since 1985. His funeral in Moscow on 10 August 1998,
attended by thousands of people, was a tribute of honor and admiration to the
greatest Russian composer since Shostakovich. “The last genius of the twentieth
century,” according to the Russian newspapers and, belatedly, Russian officialdom.
With Schnittke’s music we are possibly standing at the end of the great route
from Mahler to Shostakovich. Schnittke intensifies all their contrasts and articulates
the strong ambivalence of their music. He drives this powerful post-Romantic
tradition toward the very extremes of the late twentieth century, our fin de siècle.
Shostakovich gave unique expression to the thoughts and feelings of those genera-
tions of Russians whose fate it was to live under the yoke of totalitarian power.
Schnittke is often called the “man in between.” A strong pulse of latent energy is
undoubtedly inherent in both their musics, and extreme pessimism is common to
both: many works by Shostakovich and especially Schnittke are “dying,” dissolving
in the world, fading into the distance of time. Indisputably, all of this has to do with
time. Those wishing to listen to Schnittke’s music in the future are by no means
bound to feel all these concrete, time-connected features. But they will undoubtedly
absorb the intense energy of the flow of the music, making it part of their being, part
of their thinking, and part of their language.
Schnittke is a “man in between” different traditions. “Although I don’t have any
Russian blood,” said Schnittke, “I am tied to Russia, having spent all my life here. On
the other hand, much of what I’ve written is somehow related to German music and
to the logic that comes out of being German, although I did not particularly want
this. . . . Like my German forebears, I live in Russia, I can speak and write Russian far
better than German. But I am not Russian. . . . My Jewish half gives me no peace: I
know none of the Jewish languages, but I look like a typical Jew.”
Schnittke was one of the most prolific composers of the twentieth century.
His works are an established part of the standard repertoire for orchestras, chamber
groups, and soloists. In the 1970s and 1980s he enjoyed extraordinary popularity in
Russia. “His music used to be our language, more perfect than the verbal one,”
wrote one Russian critic. When Schnittke’s music was to be performed in Moscow,
Leningrad, or Novosibirsk, concert promoters used to warn the police in order to
prevent overcrowding and chaos. All performances of his music were important
events for Soviet listeners, for in it they found spiritual values that were absent from
everyday life during the endless years of “terror,” “thaw,” “cold war,” and “stagna-
tion.” In the West, especially during the 1980s and 1990s, his music was widely
performed, from Germany to the United States, from South America to New Zea-
land. His works have also been recorded on more than one hundred CDs from many
different companies.
xiv Introduction
During the so-called “Khrushchev Thaw” in the USSR of the early 1960s,
Schnittke became interested in absorbing new compositional techniques and in
finding new sound perspectives. By contrast, the 1970s was a time for retrospective
analysis of stylistically different idioms (exemplified in Schnittke’s well-known
polystylistic Symphony No. 1) and for trying to find new meanings for the old roots
(in, for example, the musical hermeneutics of the Concerto Grosso No. 1 or the Violin
Concerto No. 3). Finally, from the late 1970s, Schnittke began to expand the space of
his music. He wrote symphonies, concertos, and the so-called “Faust Cantata, seid
nuchtern und wachet. . . .” Later, between 1986 and 1994, he completed his major
works for stage: the ballet Peer Gynt (1986) and the operas Life with an Idiot (1991),
Gesualdo (1994), and Historia von D. Johann Fausten (1983–1994).
Schnittke’s nine symphonies reflect the various aspects of human history. The
first, third, fifth, and seventh are concerned with historical and cultural entities. The
second, fourth, sixth, and eighth symbolize religious or spiritual experience. Schnittke
tries to find a new shape, a new angle, but remains within the true symphonic
tradition. With him the tradition of the great European dramatic symphony comes to
some kind of conclusion, yet in many respects he still keeps the tradition alive, for one
may certainly detect the influence of German culture, German forms, and German
logic. But, at the same time, he virtually destroys the symphonic tradition by revealing
its erosion. In this respect, he is more the irrational Russian “destroyer” than the
precise German craftsman.
Many of his ideas came from his work as a film composer. (He composed
soundtracks for sixty-six films.) For Schnittke, “incidental” and “serious” music
coexisted and interpenetrated each other. Inside the “neoclassical” frame of the
Concerto Grosso No. 1 (1977), one finds the transformation of a cheerful song-
chorale of Soviet schoolchildren, a nostalgic atonal serenade, quasi-Corellian allu-
sions, and, finally, “my grandmother’s favorite tango which her great-grandmother
used to play on a harpsichord” (Schnittke’s own words). In the Concerto Grosso, as
in many of his other compositions, Schnittke uses fragments from his film scores.
Speaking about this work, Schnittke said, “One of my life’s goals is to overcome the
gap between ‘E’ (Ernstmusik, serious music) and ‘U’ (Unterhaltung, music for enter-
tainment), even if I break my neck in doing so!”
Schnittke’s late compositions are enigmatic. Their textures become very ascetic,
and the number of notes is reduced. However, the latent tension increases, and the
meaning of his last few compositions is to be found between the notes rather than in
the musical text itself. The actual musical language becomes “tough,” dissonant,
discordant. It is definitely not easy-listening music. At the first performance of the
Symphony No. 6 at Carnegie Hall, almost half the audience left before the end.
However, those who remained were enthusiastic.
In considering Schnittke’s output, one might recall Charles Ives’s saying: “Na-
ture creates valleys and hills, and people build fences and attach labels.” No one
knows how long it may take before Schnittke’s compositions are seen properly as an
integral part of musical history. However, it is clear that he did express the very
essence of the hectic and dramatic twentieth century, and that he pushed music out
of its “local” isolation by bravely demolishing all artificial fences.
Introduction xv
Schnittke—The Writer
It is hard to believe that Schnittke was writing articles on music all his life! His first
publication appeared in the main Russian musicological journal, Sovetskaia Muzyka,
in the late 1960s. He was continually analyzing the music of his fellow composers. It
is truly amazing that, although he was so busy with his own music, he always found
time to listen to the music of his contemporaries, to speak at conferences and
seminars, and to publish analytical articles. The very last speech he made was the
keynote address at the Prokofiev festival in Duisburg in 1990.
He had a tremendous number of social contacts and loved polemical arguments.
For instance he was always ready to get seriously involved in discussions on how to
teach harmony. He was also always prepared to defend those of his friends who were
accused of “modernism” or “formalism.” Schnittke’s archive is full of sketches for all
sorts of speeches, talks, lectures, and letters (including letters that were never sent).
When he was teaching at the Moscow Conservatory (1961–1974) he wrote
articles on Prokofiev’s and Shostakovich’s orchestration that were published in
Russia in the 1960s and 1970s.
Some of Schnittke’s writings on music are, in fact, summaries of his own
analyses of Western music: he was constantly analyzing all sorts of music. In the
early 1970she wr ote eleven analytical essays for a collection on the subject of the
technique of modern composition. The purpose of this collection was to help
students and listeners to gain a better understanding of the music of Ligeti, Berio,
Stockhausen (at that time still very little known in the Soviet Union), as well as the
music of Bartók, Stravinsky, and Webern. This collection, however, was never
published. At the proof stage, officials at the Ministry of Culture decided to cancel
the publication, which seemed to them too “avant-garde.” Thus, these eleven essays
are published for the first time ever in this volume. Some of them Schnittke used
later for his research talks, in particular for his talks on Stockhausen and Berio at the
Moscow Conservatory and at the Composers’ Union in the 1970s.
One of his most important essays—on Stravinsky’s paradoxical logic—was
written for the collection I. F. Stravinskii: Stat’i i materialy [I. F. Stravinsky: Articles
and Materials], published in Moscow in 1973. After Stravinsky’s visit to Russia in
1962, a Russian translation of Conversations with Igor Stravinsky (written with Robert
Craft) was published in the Soviet Union in 1971, but only in extensive excerpts. It
was a time when Soviet officials were trying to change the official “image” of
Stravinsky in Soviet Russia. Instead of being referred to as a “hooligan” and
“composer with no musical talent whatsoever” (as he was frequently described in
official Soviet textbooks on music history published in the 1950s), Stravinsky started
to be called a truly Russian composer.
Schnittke was always interested in Stravinsky’s music. His comments on Stra-
vinsky’s latest compositions (The Flood, Threni, Cantata) are particularly interesting.
Schnittke was engaged in a search for a hidden tonality in Stravinsky’s serial works,
but he never published any results of this analysis.1 Fortunately, his essay on Stravin-
1. Stravinsky’s scores with Schnittke’s remarks may be seen at the Schnittke collection at the
Centre for Russian Music, University of London. —ed.
xvi Introduction
sky is published in the present volume. It shows not only Schnittke’s ideas on
Stravinsky but also the “paradoxical” principles that we can clearly detect in his
own music.
Schnittke was a very good friend, with the ability to listen and to respond to
other people’s needs. His essays on Edison Denisov, Sofia Gubaidulina, and Giya
Kancheli, and on various performers, speak for themselves. They show Schnittke’s
special gift for listening to his friends’ works and finding the most essential features
in their compositions. Giya Kancheli often says that Schnittke understood his music
better that Kancheli himself.
Some of the texts published here were originally presented as talks. One of them,
“Polystylistic Tendencies in Modern Music” (given at the Moscow International
Music Congress in 1971), reflects Schnittke’s own experience, as he was engaged in
writing his “polystylistic” Symphony No. 1. Schnittke’s address on Prokofiev (at the
opening of the Prokofiev festival in Duisburg, Germany, 1990) was his last public
address. In it he summarized some of his ideas on the development and progress of
music (in which he did not believe!). Also included are personal recollections of
Prokofiev’s last public appearance at the première of his Sinfonia Concertante, and on
Prokofiev’s funeral in March 1953 (which coincided with Stalin’s funeral).
This volume presents Schnittke’s most important articles and talks, together
with selections (in Chapter 1) from conversations we had between 1985 and 1994.
(The complete book of these conversations was published in Russia in 1994, and in
Germany in 1998.) When Schnittke talked about music, what he said was so nearly
perfect that it could be published practically without any editing. He spoke as if he
were writing! I tried to preserve the “presence” of his own “voice” and “intonation”
in the text of our conversations.
I should like to express my sincere thanks to John Goodliffe for his wonderful
translation of the often complex and difficult texts. And a very special “hero” of this
publication is Professor Malcolm Hamrick Brown, founding editor of the series
Russian Music Studies. Together with Jeffrey Ankrom (formerly music editor at
Indiana University Press), Professor Brown has devoted an enormous amount of
time and energy to editing this book, going far beyond what one might expect of any
ordinary editor. Using his considerable skill, insight, and specialized musical knowl-
edge, he has helped to produce the clearest and most expressive English equivalent
of what Schnittke said or wrote. The editor would like to express deepest thanks to
The Leverhulme Trust (UK) for sponsoring his research work at the Alfred Schnittke
Archive, Goldsmiths College, University of London.
I hope that this book, the first to present Schnittke’s own ideas in English, will
help to promote a better understanding of his life and work, and that its readers will
thus be enabled to share his many original and brilliant ideas on the development of
culture.
Alexander Ivashkin
London, December 2000
c h r o n o l o g y
1934
Alfred Garryevich Schnittke born 24 November in Engels (Boronsk), capital of the
Autonomous Soviet Republic of the Volga Germans, established by Lenin after the
Revolution of 1917. His German-speaking Jewish father, Harry (Garry) Viktorovich
Schnittke (1914–1975), is a journalist and translator. His mother, Maria Iosifovna
Vogel (1910–1972), a Volga German, teaches German at school and later edits the
correspondence section of the German-language newspaper Neues Leben, published
in Moscow. Alfred’s grandfather, Viktor Mironovich Schnittke (1886–1956), and
grandmother, Thea Abramovna Katz (1889–1970), are originally from Libava (now
Liepaya) in Latvia, which was part of the Russian Empire from 1795 to 1918. Their
ardent revolutionary Communism causes them to flee from Russia to Germany in
1910. Born and brought up in Frankfurt, Harry Viktorovich Schnittke speaks Rus-
sian with a strong German accent. In 1927 Alfred’s grandparents return to the USSR
and settle in Moscow. Alfred’s first language is so-called Volga German, which was
brought into Russia by the Germans in the eighteenth century. Stalin’s terror
increases in the Soviet Union. Writer Maxim Gorky declares new principles of so-
called “socialist realism,” hailing Stalin as a “Great Leader.”
1941
April–May: Schnittke is sent to Moscow for auditions at the Central Music School for
gifted children, a branch of the Moscow Conservatory. Germany invades the Soviet
Union on 22 June. Schnittke returns to Engels, which he describes as “a city of fences
and sheds,” and remains there throughout the war. On 28 July Stalin orders the
dissolution of the Republic of the Volga Germans. All Volga Germans go into exile,
some to Siberia, others to Kazakhstan. Harry Schnittke is able to prove that he is a
Jew, and he and his family are therefore permitted to stay in Engels.
1945
Harry Schnittke obtains a position in Vienna on the staff of the newspaper Öster-
reichische Zeitung, published by the occupying Soviet forces in Austria. Coming back
to Engels on holiday, Harry tells Alfred about Kurt Weill’s The Threepenny Opera.
Alfred hears Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 7 on the radio.
1946
The Schnittke family moves to Vienna. Alfred plays an accordion given to his father.
His enthusiasm for the instrument is later revealed in his first large-scale composi-
tion, the Concerto for Accordion and Orchestra (1948–1949). Alfred begins music
theory and piano lessons. Writes his first composition, a piano piece in A major
(reused in his music for film cartoons).
xviii Chronology
1946–1948
Attends numerous concerts in Vienna (especially Beethoven, Schubert, and Bruck-
ner). Sees operas by Mozart, Wagner, Leoncavallo, and Mascagni. Vienna becomes
Schnittke’s primary cultural homeland. These two years in Vienna determine the
basic criteria of his future tastes in music; the Viennese idioms of Mozart and
Schubert will become an essential part of his musical language.
1948
The Schnittke family returns to Russia, settling in the small village of Valentinovka,
near Moscow, where they rent a small ugly wooden house. Schnittke starts his
Concerto for Accordion and Orchestra (lost). Andrei Zhdanov, Stalin’s spokesman
for “Communism in the Arts,” accuses Prokofiev, Shostakovich, and others (such as
the poet Anna Akhmatova and the satirist Mikhail Zoshchenko) of “formalism.”
Tikhon Khrennikov is appointed head of the Union of Soviet Composers by special
decree of Stalin and retains this position for more than forty years. At the Union’s
first congress, Khrennikov declares, “Formalism went deeply into the music of
Prokofiev, Shostakovich, and many other composers.”
1949
In August Schnittke auditions for the October Revolution Music College in Moscow
(now the Schnittke Music College and Institute). He becomes a student in the
Choirmasters’ Department. This is his only chance to study music; now almost
fourteen, he has had very little performance and musical training. He reads Thomas
Mann’s Doktor Faustus for the first time, which is to have a major impact on his life
and music.
1950–1952
Starts regular private lessons in music theory with Iosif Ryzhkin. Regular piano
classes under Vassily Shaternikov, along with fellow students such as Rodion
Shchedrin, Karen Khachaturian, and Yuri Butsko. Discussion of Skriabin, whose
music is officially banned at the time. As a pianist Schnittke performs Haydn,
Mozart, Chopin, and Grieg. LPs first appear in Soviet Union, and Schnittke borrows
many records.
1952
Schnittke is present at the first performance of Prokofiev’s Sinfonia Concertante in
Moscow on 18 February—the last public performance at which Prokofiev was
present. It is played by Mstislav Rostropovich and conducted by Sviatoslav Richter.
1953
Stalin and Prokofiev both die on 5 March. Schnittke is unable to attend Prokofiev’s
funeral because millions are thronging Red Square to say farewell to their dictator.
While at college he completes his first orchestral score, Poem for piano and orchestra.
Chronology xix
1954–1955
Begins to study scores of Schoenberg, Webern, Berg, and Stravinsky, and later of
Kodály, Hindemith, and Orff. Only now are scores by these composers available in
the USSR. Among his first compositions at the Conservatory (which include cham-
ber works, piano pieces, choruses, and songs) are a sonata for violin and piano, a
sonata for piano, and a suite for string orchestra.
1956
Following its Moscow première on 4 February, Schnittke is greatly influenced by
Shostakovich’s Violin Concerto No. 1. Makes plans to write his own violin concerto.
Later that month the twentieth congress of the Soviet Communist Party openly
condemns Stalin’s methods amid sensational disclosure of his crimes. In March
Schnittke marries Galina Koltsina, a musicologist and fellow student at the Conserva-
tory. Their marriage is to last three years. In October Soviet troops invade Hungary.
Schnittke finishes a symphony (No. 0), a student effort in what was to become one of
his favorite genres; it is greatly influenced by Stravinsky. Receives his first official
commission (one of the very few he would be given): Three Choruses. One of the
choruses is performed and recorded on LP, conducted by the Conservatory’s tradi-
tionalist rector, Alexander Sveshnikov.
1957
Completes his Violin Concerto No. 1, the first of a long sequence of compositions for
the violin. From this time on the most important ideas in Schnittke’s music fre-
quently appear in violin concertos or sonatas. He later revises his score twice (final
version, 1963).
1958
Graduates from the Moscow Conservatory. His graduation piece—an oratorio,
Nagasaki—is criticized by the Composers’ Union for “modernism.” Shostakovich
writes in support of Nagasaki, which is recorded for radio transmission abroad, but
not within the USSR. Schnittke starts postgraduate studies at the Moscow Conserva-
tory, remaining there until 1961.
1959
Composes Songs of War and Peace, a cantata based on modern folk tunes that he found
in the Conservatory’s archives. This is to become his first published composition (in
1964).
xx Chronology
1960
First performance of Songs of War and Peace in the Great Hall of the Conservatory.
Afterward Shostakovich shakes Schnittke’s hand, pronouncing the cantata “a re-
markable work.” Composes Piano Concerto No. 1 and a string quartet (unfinished).
1961
Enters the Composers’ Union with Poem about Space (inspired by Yuri Gagarin’s first
space flight) for electronic instruments, including the theremin, an instrument
invented in 1920 by Lev Theremin (1896–1993) and already used by composers such
as Varèse and Ives. Shostakovich sharply criticizes the piece for its “old-fashioned
modernism.” After completing his postgraduate studies, Schnittke is invited to
teach at the Moscow Conservatory (until 1971). On 4 February he marries the pianist
Irina Katayeva, his former private student. In August a wall is built in Berlin to
prevent defection from East to West.
1962
Schnittke is now on the verge of becoming an “official” composer as the Ministry of
Culture commissions an opera, The Eleventh Commandment, for the Bolshoi Theater.
It is played for the Board of the Bolshoi Opera, but is not accepted for performance.
He is then blacklisted by the Composers’ Union and remains so until the mid-1980s.
In October the Cuban missile crisis brings the United States and the USSR to the
brink of war. The “Khrushchev Thaw” results in the publication of Alexander
Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, which is praised even in the
official newspaper Pravda. The film industry offers the only chance for Schnittke to
make a living, and he writes the first of sixty-six film scores. Much of their material
is also used in his serious compositions.
1963
Luigi Nono visits Russia as a member of the Italian Communist Party. He meets
Schnittke, Edison Denisov, Sofia Gubaidulina, and other young Russian composers,
and tells them about the most recent Western music. Schnittke begins his “serial”
period. Dedicates Violin Sonata No. 1 to Mark Lubotsky.
1964
Serial compositions: Music for Piano and Chamber Orchestra and Music for Chamber
Orchestra. End of the “thaw” following Khrushchev’s dismissal as Head of the
Communist Party. Beginning of “stagnation” (until 1985) under Leonid Brezhnev.
1965
First performances abroad. Music for Piano and Chamber Orchestra is played at the
Warsaw Autumn International Festival in September. Universal Edition buys rights
to the work and becomes one of Schnittke’s two principal European publishers (the
other being Hans Sikorski in Hamburg). Music for Chamber Orchestra is performed in
Leipzig in November.
Chronology xxi
1966
First commission from abroad: Violin Concerto No. 2 is written for the Jyväskylä
Festival in Finland, and performed by Mark Lubotsky on 12 July. From now on,
performances of Schnittke’s works at major European festivals become more numer-
ous.
1967
First performance of String Quartet No. 1 by the Borodin Quartet on 7 May. In
September he travels to Warsaw for the first performance of Dialogue for cello and
chamber ensemble. Mikhail Bulgakov’s novel The Master and Margarita (written in
the late 1930s, and very important for generations of Soviet intelligentsia) is pub-
lished for the first time in Moscow.
1968
Begins working with Andrei Khrzhanovsky, director of film cartoons, one of which,
Glass Harmonica, marks the beginning of Schnittke’s “polystylistic” period. Music
from Glass Harmonica is used in Quasi una Sonata (Violin Sonata No. 2) and the
Serenade for chamber ensemble (both 1968). The orchestral piece Pianissimo (based
on Franz Kafka) is premièred at the Donaueschingen Festival. Publication of
Solzhenitsyn’s Cancer Ward.
1969
Starts work on Symphony No. 1 (completed 1972) while simultaneously working on
a film documentary The World Today (music from the film is used in the Symphony).
Between now and 1972 he writes thirteen other film scores. Alexander Solzhenitsyn
is expelled from the Writers’ Union.
1971
Composes Concerto for Oboe, Harp, and Strings (performed in Zagreb in 1972). The
ballet Labyrinths is staged in Moscow. Writes analytical essays on the music of
Bartók, Webern, Ligeti, Berio, Stockhausen, and Nono (never published in Russia).
His paper “Polystylistic Tendencies in Modern Music” is presented at an interna-
tional music congress in Moscow.
1972
Sudden death of his mother. Dedicates Piano Quintet (completed 1976) to her
memory. Starts work on Requiem. A new, simpler style now prevails in his music.
1973
Schnittke’s important article “Paradox as a Feature of Stravinsky’s Musical Logic” is
published. Mstislav Rostropovich leaves the USSR.
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
Oceanography - Workbook
Third 2022 - Center
Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.
ebookfinal.com