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TIME: Almanac 1995
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<text id=94TT0299>
<title>
Mar. 14, 1994: The Arts & Media:Music
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1994
Mar. 14, 1994 How Man Began
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
THE ARTS & MEDIA, Page 100
Music
The Sound Of Russian Fury
</hdr>
<body>
<p>Against all odds, the spiky, eclectic music of Alfred Schnittke
is enthralling--and terrifying--audiences worldwide
</p>
<p>By Michael Walsh--Reported by Daniel S. Levy/New York
</p>
<p> There is something so tenebrous, so portentous, so downright
antagonistic about Alfred Schnittke's music that it is almost
a wonder anybody either performs it or listens to it. In Schnittke's
dark, Russo-Germanic artistic universe, strings do not soar,
they brood; woodwinds do not chirp, they protest; brass does
not shine, it glowers. Created in the caldron of Central Europe,
his music speaks of epic battles and terrible defeats; it is
Kutuzov and Napoleon at Borodino, Von Paulus at Stalingrad.
Why, then, is it suddenly so popular?
</p>
<p> Not, of course, popular in the Michael Jackson sense; you won't
see the Concerto Grosso No. 4 turning up on MTV. But no living
composer of so-called serious music exerts so much hold on the
imagination and loyalty of his interpreters as does the reclusive
Schnittke, 59. Performers from the old East bloc such as violinist
Gidon Kremer, a fellow Soviet emigre, cellist-conductor Mstislav
Rostropovich and conductor Kurt Masur have been championing
his works for years. Now, it seems, the rest of the world is
catching on.
</p>
<p> "His music reflects not only his own life, it reflects ideas
about life and death, just as the greatest composers have always
had," notes Masur, who has known Schnittke personally since
1974. Masur last month led the New York Philharmonic in the
world premiere of Schnittke's spare, incantational Symphony
No. 7, which the orchestra commissioned at Masur's insistence.
</p>
<p> That performance was part of a veritable Schnittke festival
in the U.S. in recent weeks. Among the highlights: the American
premiere of the composer's second piano sonata by pianist Boris
Berman, the American debut of his Symphony No. 6 in Washington
under Rostropovich's baton, and conductor Leon Botstein's North
American premiere with the American Symphony Orchestra of Schnittke's
Faust Cantata, an oratorio version of an opera in progress.
Against all odds, Schnittke is among the most commissioned of
living composers.
</p>
<p> Schnittke's rise to prominence is a tribute to his artistic
integrity. His slight frame, perilous health (he has suffered
two strokes and a heart attack) and diffident demeanor mask
a revolutionary sensibility. As an iconoclast in a country of
enforced artistic conformity, Schnittke represented for many
of his Soviet countrymen a kind of artistic glasnost long before
Gorbachev made it permissible. Stylistically unpredictable and
resolutely uncompromising--there are no "Socialist Realist"
elements in his music, no compositions celebrating factories
at work or peasants at play--Schnittke's music is fundamentally
deconstructive. It uses the past as raw material for the present,
often referring to or quoting directly from Bach, Mozart and
other Germanic composers and then tearing them apart in a destructive
analytical frenzy that would have terrified Freud. "I attempt
to compose symphonies," Schnittke wrote in a program note to
his Third Symphony, "although it is clear to me that logically
it is pointless."
</p>
<p> Born in the central Russian town of Engels, Schnittke, half
Jewish and half German, had the misfortune to belong to two
of the old Soviet Union's least favorite ethnic groups. But
he was luckier than most; his father, a journalist of Russian-Jewish
extraction who was born in Germany, was posted to Vienna in
the mid-1940s. The family moved to Moscow in 1948, where the
bilingual Alfred began his studies at the Moscow Conservatory.
</p>
<p> Schnittke has been a resident of Hamburg since 1990, but his
music remains inseparable from his native milieu in its anxiety,
its foreboding, its confusion and its fury. The cacophonous,
almost pugnaciously eclectic First Symphony stunned Soviet audiences
in 1974 with its melange of Gregorian chant, jazz, Baroque and
Romantic references. The ominous Fifth Symphony (1988) is sufficiently
Baroque in form that Schnittke also calls it his Concerto Grosso
No. 4, although its content is stark, nearly tragic. And the
1992 opera, Life with an Idiot, is the most potent satiric Russian
opera since Shostakovich's The Nose.
</p>
<p> The comparison with Shostakovich points up the reason for Schnittke's
appeal. Like his great forebear, Schnittke has dealt with unremitting
horror by creating an internal, personalized musical world in
which salvation, though elusive, remains possible. Unlike Shostakovich,
who was finally ground down by Stalinism and had to express
his rebellion in a private musical code, Schnittke has lived
to see the end of overt artistic oppression. Grim as his music
can be, it is never hopeless; relentless as it sometimes is,
it is never despondent. Schnittke's compositions are a challenge
to modern Central European history, one man's potent protest
against not only the ugly present but also the even uglier recent
past. As the century staggers to a conclusion, Schnittke suddenly
seems to speak for us all.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>