<i>Such Freedom, if Only Musical: Unofficial Soviet Music during the Thaw</i> (review)

During the late 1980s and early 1990s, interest in the music of the post-Shostakovich generation of Soviet composers escalated in the West. Alfred Schnittke, Arvo Pärt, and Sofia Gubaidulina were at the head of those composers represented at numerous music festivals and special broadcasts. Since this interest blossomed before the demise of the Soviet Union in 1991, this music initially had a special cachet. Amid claims that it had been banned in the Soviet Union and the composers themselves the victims of persecution by the late Secretary of the Composers’ Union, Tikhon Khrennikov, and even by his effective “deputy” Rodion Shchedrin, it had a unique aura of mystique. The furore surrounding Khrennikov and Shchedrin in this hostile climate— which inevitably grew more heated after 1991—resulted in some rather aggressive exchanges with Western journalists and scholars, and it is only very recently that cautious words of praise for Khrennikov and the difficult role he played have been voiced (see for example Simon Morrison, The People’s Artist: Prokofiev’s Soviet Years [New York: Oxford University Press, 2008]). But following the collapse of the Soviet Union came another collapse: that of passionate interest in the “banned” and persecuted culture of the former communist bloc. Concurrently, the equally passionate dedication to that culture within Russia and its satellite countries also waned. A notable round table discussion printed in the journal Muzykal’naya akademiya (March 1999) saw the composers Andres Mustonen and Alexander Bakshi and the pianist Aleksey Lyubimov lamenting the lack of public interest in new music concerts and the loss of the sense of excitement that had so enervated such events in recent years. Many of the composers and performers who had created the rich vein of what Peter Schmelz calls “unofficial” music during the Thaw years and beyond emigrated to the West as soon as possible, either before or after 1991. Only a handful of those early pioneers are either still alive or have remained in Russia. Other young composers have, of course, come to the fore, and there are now numerous successful contemporary music groups active in Russia (in Moscow, notably Vladimir Tarnopolsky’s New Music Studio, Yury Kasparov’s Moscow Contemporary Music Ensemble and, in a very different mold, Vladimir Martynov’s Ensemble Opus PostH; in St Petersburg, “eNsemble,” affiliated to the Pro Arte Insti tute). But for a time in the post-1991 economic and cultural collapse, the mass exodus of talent—comparable to that in the years immediately following the 1917 Revolution—made exciting music-making extremely difficult in Russia, and a strong Russian contemporary music scene has taken time to develop and to form its own aesthetic terms and agendas. Schmelz’s study is a true milestone in Western research into this field. In the first place, he has taken a huge body of repertoire that is in ever-present danger of sinking from public view in the West and brought it forcibly to scholarly attention. As in order to allow “individuals to speak for themselves” about their American years (p. xi). In lieu of a bibliography, she provides a list of archives she accessed. While this approach enables Crawford to convey the individual flavor of her characters’ voices, her heavy reliance on these documents leads to a considerable number of factual errors and distortions. Mis remembered or anecdotal information, biased views, and myths are often uncritically adopted. Editorial errors, however, are few. Attractively illustrated with rare photographs, the book may be of interest to musicians, music lovers, and students of the cultural history of Southern California, yet it should be read with awareness of its shortcomings. Sabine Feisst Arizona State University