4/24/20

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Sofia Gubaidulina (1931- )

The piece which I decided to write about today very well may be another addition to the “how does this exist?” list. Tatar-Russian composer Sofia Gubaidulina grew up under the Soviet regime, meaning that her eclectic (and sometimes downright bizarre and strange) aesthetic was rejected by the state. In her younger years, however, she was encouraged by Dmitri Shostakovich to continue pursuing her style which would lead into a form of escapism from the political atmosphere of her native Russia. Today’s piece, Concerto for Two Orchestras, which was composed in 1970 is a perfect example of this strange unity of genres in a brilliantly strange style which doesn’t aim to ever be taken too seriously. While the title may be in reference to Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra (which was a work I selected to talk about in a post on the April 10), today’s piece certainly possesses some similarities in terms of virtuosity and orchestration.

Concerto for Two Orchestras is about 10 minutes long and is scored for full orchestra and jazz band. The work begins with very atonal introduction, setting the scene to be some sort of academic contemporary piece, but within only the span of 12 measures, that material collapses into something that could be described as “a funky beat.” The rhythm section kicks in, accompanied by occasional sighing soprano or interjection from the orchestral strings sections. This remains quite playful, but with the addition of more and more instrumental voices, the texture builds and erupts into outburst from the trumpets which seems to lead back to a similar atmosphere as the beginning. This quickly reveals itself to be another of Gubaidulina’s rouses, as just when the texture seems to have settled into “thin contemporary orchestral writing,” the piece flips the switch back to “funky jazz band.” This time, the material develops further, allowing the saxophones and brass to make several melodic statements before reaching another breaking point. Here, Sofia Gubaidulina turns the listener’s attention away from the funk and back to atonalism, but again flips the switch back. This third entrance of the jazz band is perhaps the most outrageous of them all, in no small part due to the electric guitar and recurring brass punches (that later ascend up chromatically with each iteration). Here, in this third section, Gubaidulina finally builds up to marrying the symphonic orchestra with the jazz band, going quickly between dramatically romantic string writing and funky brass. This section continues to build, eventually reaching a point in which the chaos boils over and reveals a reference to the very beginning of the piece. The piece sits in that setting a little longer this time, only beginning to crescendo again with the entrance of the flute and string clusters. The piece then builds up one final time, opening up into one spectacularly satisfying climax. Between the passionate and dramatic strings layered against the jazz band at full blast, there is not much to dislike - that is, after you understand and accept the boldness and chaos of it all. And after that, the texture is whisked away, revealing a pure B minor triad that floats there as if to make you question whether what you just heard was real or just some elaborate fever dream. Perhaps that is a bit over the top, but before this piece, I could never imagine such a fusion of styles. In truth, even sometimes after I listen to Concerto for Two Orchestras I cannot imagine it.

In looking back over that previous paragraph, I must admit that I may have gotten a bit over-excited about the musical analysis for this piece. In my own defense, however, I would like to really drive home the piece of how strange this piece is. Just like the pieces from the last two days, I believe that Concerto for Two Orchestras is remarkable if not only for just how different it is from almost all other pieces in the western canon of music. As a Tatar-Russian composer who grew up in Soviet Russia, Sofia Gubaidulina is perhaps one of the last people you would expect to compose something this, and yet she does as a rejection of the Soviets’ socialist realism. Plenty of Gubaidulina’s works have a more serious tone (including my other favorite work by her, Stimmen... Verstummen..., a 12-movement work written in 1986 in which the conductor motions before a silent orchestra at the climax), revealing her own views on human transcendence and mystical spiritualism. Yet, even her more serious works remind me of just how great Concerto for Two Orchestras is at tricking the listener and simply just having fun. The piece serves as a reminder that not all classical music is serious, and can be written for no reason at all. If a composer invests the time in writing a piece and it is successful at captivating an audience (for any reason), then that composer is really achieving all they can ask for. So even though I may have said that Gubaidulina may have been the last person you would expect to write a piece this strange, she’s also truly the only one that could have written it exactly as we hear it now.

Concerto for Two Orchestras (as well as Failing and Become Ocean) may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but as I encourage with every piece I write about, give it a chance. The work is so incredibly unique, and serves as a reminder that some music is written just to sound (or be) fun. Below I have linked a video with the score of the piece. When listening, just remember that the style in which this woman composed music was so experimental that her own government “black-listed” her pieces. And yet in light of that and all of the socio-political turmoil of the Soviet Union, Gubaidulina went out and wrote a piece as fun and loving as this.