Sofia Gubaidulina

Was born in Chistopol in the Tatar Republic of the Soviet Union in 1931. After instruction in piano and composition at the Kazan Conservatory, she studied composition with Nikolai Peiko at the Moscow Conservatory (till 1959), pursuing postgraduate studies with Vissarion Shebalin. She was active as an independent composer, based in Moscow since 1963. In 1975, together with Vyacheslav Artyomov and Victor Suslin, she founded OAstrea1 Ensemble, which specialised in improvising on rare Russian, Caucasian and Central Asian folk instruments. In 1992 she emigrated to Germany and settled near Hamburg. She has received top awards at composers1 competitions in Rome (1975, for the orchestral work Stufen) and Monaco (1987). Her honours also include The Koussevitsky International Record Award for cd recordings of the violin concerto Offertorium and the Symphony Stimmen... verstummen... (1991), the Premio Franco Abbiato (1991), the Heidelberg Künstlerinnenpreis (1991), the Russian State Prize (1992), the Ludwig Spohr Prize of the City of Brunswick (1995), the Japanese Praemium Imperiale (1998), the Prize of the Léonie Sonning Music Foundation in Copenhagen (1999), and the Polar Music Prize in Sweden (2002).
Sofia Gubaidulina is now regarded as one of the leading representatives of new music. This is reflected in numerous prestigious commissions from the bbc, the Berliner Festwochen, the Library of Congress, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the New York Philharmonic and Radio France. Her music has been released on the dg, Chandos, Philips, Sony Classical, bis and Berlin Classics labels. She has broad literary interests. In her music she makes ample use of ancient Egyptian and Persian poetry, as well as the verse by Marina Tsvetayeva and the Chuvash poet Giennadi Aiga, with whom she feels a particular spiritual affinity.

Selected works (since 1980): The Garden of Joy and Sorrow for flute, harp and viola (1980), Descensio for three trombones, harp, harpsichord/ celesta and celesta/piano (1981), Perception for soprano, baritone (speaking voices) and seven string instruments, set to poems by Francisco Tanzer and excerpts from the Psalms (1981/83/86), Rejoice, sonata for violin and cello (1981­88), Hour of the Soul, music for percussion, mezzo-soprano and large orchestra (1976­82), Offertorium, concerto for violin and orchestra (1980/82/86), Seven Words for cello, bayan and strings (1982), Hommage a Marina Tsvetayeva, suite in five movements for a cappella choir, set to poems by Marina Tsvetayeva (1984), Quasi Hoquetus for viola, bassoon (or cello) and piano (1984­85), In the Beginning there was Rhythm for seven percussionists (1984), Et exspecto, sonata for bayan solo (1985), Letter to the Poetess Rimma Dalos for soprano and cello (1985), Stimmen... verstummen..., symphony in 12 movements (1986), String Quartet No. 2 (1987), String Quartet No. 3 (1987), Hommage a t. s. Eliot for soprano and octet, set to t. s. Eliot1s Four Quartets (1987­91), Witty Waltzing in the Style of Johann Strauss for soprano and octet (1987), Two Songs on German Folk Poetry for (mezzo)-soprano, flute, harpsichord and cello (1988), String Trio (1988), Answer without Question, collage for three orchestras (1988), Jauchzt vor Gott for mixed choir and organ (1989), Pro e contra for large orchestra (1989), Hallelujah for mixed choir, treble voice, organ and large orchestra (1990), Aus dem Stundenbuch for cello, male choir and female reciter (1991), Even and uneven for seven percussionists (including one playing harpsichord; 1991), Silenzio, five pieces for bayan, violin and cello (1991), Can you hear us, Luigi? Look at the dance a simple wooden rattle is performing for you for six percussionists (1991), Lauda for alto, tenor, baritone, reciter, mixed choir and large orchestra (1991), Night in Memphis, cantata for mezzo-soprano, male choir and chamber orchestra set to ancient Egyptian texts (1968/88/92), Tatar Dance for bayan and two double-basses (1992), Meditation on the Bach chorale OVon deinen Thron tret ich hiermit1 (bvw 668) for harpsichord, two violins, cello and double-bass (1993), And: The Festivities at their Height for cello and orchestra (1993), String Quartet No. 4 (1993), ...Early in the morning, right before walking... for three
17-stringed and four 13-stringed Japanese kotos (1993), Now Always Snow for chamber ensemble and chamber choir, set to poems by Genadi Aigi (1993), In Anticipation for saxophone quartet and six percussionists (1994), Ein Engel... for alto and double-bass to a poem by Elsa Lasker-Schüler (1994), Aus den Visionen der Hildegard von Bingen for alto (1994), Zeitgestalten for symphony orchestra (1994), Music for flute, strings and percussion (1994), Concerto for Viola and Orchestra (1996), Quaternion for four cellos (1996), Gallows Songs (a 3), 15 pieces for mezzo-soprano, percussion and double-bass set to poems by Christian Morgenstern (1996), Gallows Songs (a 5), 14 pieces for mezzo-soprano flute, percussion, bayan and double-bass set to poems by Christian Morgenstern (1996), Sonnengesang for cello, chamber choir and percussion (1997), Ritorno perpetuo for harpsichord (1997), In the Shadow of the Tree for koto, bass koto, zheng and orchestra (1998), Two Paths (dedicated to Maria and Martha) for two solo violas and orchestra (1998), St. John Passion for soprano, tenor, baritone, bass, two mixed choirs, organ and large orchestra (2000), Passion and Resurrection of Jesus Christ according to St. John for soprano, tenor, baritone, bass, two mixed choirs, organ and large orchestra (2000­01), Risonanza for three trumpets, four trombones, organ and six string instruments (2001), Reflections on the theme b-a-c-h for string quartet (2002), Mirage: The Dancing Sun for eight cellos (2002), On the Edge of the Abyss for seven cellos and two waterphones (2002), The Rider on the White Horse for large orchestra and organ (2002), The Light of the End for large orchestra (2003).

Passion and Resurrection of Jesus Christ according to St. John
Sofia Gubaidulina1s Passion and Resurrection of Jesus Christ according to St. John was composed in two parts, for two separate occasions.
The St. John Passion was a commission from the International Bach Academy in Stuttgart for a work to mark the 250th anniversary of the death of J. S. Bach and was premiered in September 2000; the St. John Easter followed two years later, in response to a commission from North German Radio, and was given its first performance in Hamburg in March. But they form part of the same inspiration: Gubaidulina knew when she wrote the Passion that the Easter would have to follow.
The St. John Passion was her response to OPassion 20001, a project instigated by the conductor Helmut Rilling in which four composers ­ deliberately chosen from different cultures ­ were asked to attempt
a work in a musical form which is more readily identified with Bach than with any other composer. All four did rather more than simply ape in their own style what Bach had already done. In Deus Passus, the St. Luke Passion of the Project, the German Wolfgang Rihm took
a text by Paul Celan that allowed him to elevate ­ if that is the word ­ human suffering to that of the suffering of God [...]. The Argentine Osvaldo Golijov introduced folk rhythms from Latin and South America and a dark-skinned Jesus into his Pasión según San Marco. The Hunan-born, New York-based Tan Dun responded with a Water Passion after St. Matthew which, taking water as a universal symbol for humanity, blends Bachian elements with oriental musical traditions in an extended study of timbre. Gubaidulina likewise went back to her own roots, fusing the solemnity of Russian Orthodox ceremony with the drama of the Biblical Passion from the Gospel of St. John, and superimposing an account of the Apocalypse from the Book of Revelation; indeed, the two topoi are dovetailed together throughout both the St. John Passion and the St. John Easter.

Both works are rituals which, at least in part, use a stylised, highly formal language that Gubaidulina intends should eschew the subjective; they form an immense diptych presenting a passage from dark to light, from the betrayal and death of Christ to the glory of the Resurrection. The formality was her response to the cultural hurdles she had to overcome in welding together two traditions as disparate as Bach1s Lutheran dramas and Orthodox dogma without doing violence to either, as she explained in a note for the premiere of the St. John Passion:
ORight from the start, I was aware of the particular difficulties involved in writing a Passion in Russian. The tradition of the Russian Orthodox church does not allow the use of instruments ­ neither in church services nor in other ecclesiastical rituals. No external, technical mediator between man and God ­ only your voice and a candle in your hand. However, the most important thing is that there in no tradition of performing a Passion in Russian church services. To the Russian way of thinking, the Oart of representation1 was always considered secondary to the Oart of direct experience1. And ecclesiastical custom avoids any reference at all to representation by persons, to anything of a theatrical nature.1
Gone, then, were Bach1s Christus, his Evangelist and the other Ocharacter1 who bring his two Passions to quasi-operatic life. But Gubaidulina did find a way forward, one that did not upset the percepts of her Church: OThe narrative of Christ1s suffering ...can be
a remarkably calm report performed with composure (as is only fitting for an ecclesiastical ritual).1
That left her with a problem, though. Throughout the St. John Passion ­ and later the St. John Easter ­ the bass intones the events of Christ1s death and resurrection in a manner that very literally courts monotony; already it requires the Western listener to abandon his cultural baggage outside the concert hall and respond to the music more as
a mystic experience than as an intellectual endeavor. Gubaidulina1s solution was to cross-cut St. John1s Gospel with his namesake1s vision of the Apocalypse ­ intersecting the linear-temporal with events occurring outside time, as she sees it, with St. John1s eschatological visions giving ultimate meaning to Christ1s death and resurrection.
The cross, as image or metaphor, has appeared repeatedly in Gubaidulina1s music: sometimes explicitly, as in In croce (1983) for cello and organ (or bayan, the Russian accordion); sometimes in musical gestures. In the Passion and Resurrection of Jesus Christ according to St. John, the Ocross1 formed by the two intersecting musics of the Crucifixion and the Apocalypse is also, the composer explains, Oemphasised in the orchestra: sustained notes on one instrument are intersected by another playing glissandos; the points of intersection are accented each time1.
The orchestra used is a large one, with only minor variations between the two scores: four flutes (two doubling piccolo, the other two playing alto and bass flute ­ and low flute tremolos are a recurrent sonority); only one each of oboe and bassoon; three Wagner tubas (but no horns), four trumpets, three trombones and a bass tuba; six percussionists for the St. John Passion and eight for the St. John Easter, playing a huge array of instruments, among which chiming sounds are prominent; organ, amplified piano (the player is sometimes required to stroke the strings, producing a mysterious effect that is half sigh, half breath of wind) and, in the Passion only, a synthesizer; strings (Gubaidulina specifies 16 first and 14 second violins, 12 violas, 10 cellos and eight basses). The soprano soloist is also occasionally amplified. Chorus 1 is a semi-chorus 24 voices strong; Chorus 2 is a full contingent requiring 80 singers. Yet despite these enormous forces ­ which emphasise lower, darker colours ­ Gubaidulina very rarely deploys them all at once, keeping them in reserve for the moments of maximum impact.
She extended the double-helix design of the St. John Passion in the Easter, deliberately fashioning other parallels between the two parts, not least in the central figures of Peter (in the Passion) and Thomas (in the Easter), each exhibiting his weakness three times, Peter in denial, Thomas in doubt.
[...] The St. John Passion is subdivided into two, the first seven numbers forming a vast prologue to the central event of the Crucifixion covered in the remaining four. All 11 numbers, too, switch their focus between Heaven and Earth: Nos. 1, 6, 9 and 11 (respectively, OThe Word1, OLiturgy in Heaven1, OA Woman clothed with the Sun1 and OThe Seven Bowls of Wrath1) occur in Heaven, and Nos. 2­5, 7 and 10 (OThe Washing of the Feet1, OThe Commandment of Faith1, OThe Commandment of Love1, OHope1, OBetrayal, Denial, Flagellation, Condemnation1 and OEntombment1) take place on Earth.
If these multiple interconnections (and there are many others) suggest
a work of considerable complexity, it is nevertheless relatively easy to follow: Gubaidulina takes care that her musical paths are well signposted. The story of the Crucifixion is essentially static, monodic, anchored on the barely inflected recitatives of the bass, with the other soloists ­ tenor and, eventually, baritone and soprano ­ taking the other parts of narration.

St. John Passion
The first five parts of the St. John Passion are almost entirely based on St. John Gospel. With No. 6, OLiturgy in Heaven1, where the soprano and baritone enter for the first time, we pass to the Book of Revelation. Its opening passage perhaps comes closest to the sound we expect of Russian choral music ­ with its exultant cries from the massed voices under the peeling of bells, we are not so very far from the Coronation Scene of Boris Godunov. But then we hear one of Gubaidulina1s Ocross1 sounds (listen for the trilling glissandos) and, amid fanfares and bells, the baritone announces St. John1s terrifying vision of the Book of Seven Seals. [...]
No. 7, portraying the betrayal and sentencing of Christ, is plainly an earthly business and we return to the Gospel according to St. John, with addenda from Hebrews and Isaiah.
No. 8, OThe Road to Golgotha1 (which at some 20 minutes is the longest single movement in either work), is both Crucifixion and crucifix in Gubaidulina1s design: this is where the layers intersect most forcefully, bringing them together for the most complex passage in the Passion. Initially, the two choruses act, at last, as Bach1s turba (Ocrowd1), the semi-chorus crying out in recognition of Christ1s sanctity, the full chorus angrily denying it. Gradually, the music piles up into a powerful polyphonic texture as the two Oworlds1 ­ time and timeless, horizontal and vertical ­ collide, producing a profusion of those tell-tale glissandos in a welter of sound.
The final three movements of the Passion bring a brief burst of excited power at the vision of OA Woman Clothed with the Sun1, the solemnity of the entombment (which returns us to the text of St. John Gospel), and a ferocious conclusion in OThe Seven Bowls of Wrath1, as the seven angels pour their pestilences on the world; all that is left is the Word, Oand Word was God1.

Martin Anderson
(from the programme book of bbc Proms 2000)