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By Olga Fyodorova
…On June 19, 1998, Alfred Schnittke’s Ninth Symphony was proudly
unveiled to the cream of Russia’s cultural society packing the Conservatory
Big Hall in Moscow. That night the composer was to receive the “Slava/Gloria”
award the symphony’s premiere was timed for, but he never showed up much
to the amazement of those present.
“Where is Schnittke?”
“He is seriously ill and is now in hospital in Germany. He’s just had a
new stroke… They say he can neither move nor speak…”
“How did he write this symphony then?”
“Conductor Gennady Rozhdestvensky said at a news conference that Schnittke
is a real hero learning to write with his left hand. He took a whole week
to scribble one tiny note, and still he finally made it! And putting the
notes each on the right line is a real feat. Look, here’s a photograph
of one page of his handwritten notation in the booklet. It’s absolutely
heartrending just to imagine how terribly hard it must have been for him
to write this whole thing down…”
“Yes… the page looks as if written by a toddler who has never put pen to
paper before… How did they manage to make this all out, I wonder?”
“Rozhdestvensky was a big help rewriting the whole score and showing each
page to the composer who looked it through and, using the eye language,
let his friend know whether it was all right or if there was something
wrong in there. In such case, Rozhdestvensly had to go over it again and
find the mistake…”
“Gosh, it must’ve been a real back-breaking job to do that!”
“Exactly! That’s what real friends are for, aren’t they? And now Gennady
Rozhdestvensky will pick up the baton and let us see what it’s all about…
How I wish Schnittke were here with us tonight! His wife is here, by the
way, and she will certainly bring him the recording…”
Alfred Schnittke was born on November 24, 1934, in Engels, a small town
on the Volga River in what was then called the Volga German Autonomous
Soviet Socialist Republic, an area that had been populated by Germans back
in the 18th century. His father was a military interpreter and the would-be
composer spent his child years in post-war Vienna – a wonder city he kept
flashing back to all his life…
Back in Russia, the family settled down in Moscow where Alfred, already
a promising composer, enrolled at the Institute of the October Revolution,
a music preparatory school which now bears his name.
Joyful, driven and fun loving, Alfred was everyone’s darling and remained
so at the Moscow Conservatory which he entered after finishing the IOR.
Attracted by the new musical forms and styles, Schnittke felt exasperated
by the suffocating Stalin-era Conservatory atmosphere where the would-be
composers were steeped exclusively in 18th and 19th century classics and
contemporary music was taboo.
Really, any student caught carrying scores by Stravinsky, Hindemith, Schonberg,
Webern or any other “politically incorrect” composer was immediately thrown
out of the Conservatory.
To survive, Schnittke, like many other gifted young composers, had to
somehow adapt to the no-nonsense reality of the early-Fifties Soviet music.
He started supporting himself with film scoring of which he wrote more
than sixty, and also with teaching. And all that time he kept writing more
serious and important music without any hope his compositions would see
daylight any time soon…
In 1972, Schnittke brought the score of his First Symphony to Gennady Rozhdestvensky,
who was known for his keen interest in everything that was new in music.
Rozhdestvenky literally burned to play it in Moscow but the big shots at
the Culture Ministry wouldn’t allow anything that smacked of what they
saw as formalism in music.
The First Symphony certainly did not fit into the Procrustean bed of Soviet
classicism. It didn’t rip off the 19th century classics or the boy-meets-tractor
pseudo-patriotic format. Instead, it immediately attested to the author’s
predilection for modern art…
Trying to somehow get around the official ban, Rozhdestvensky arranged
for the symphony’s premiere to be held in Nizhny Novgorod, then Gorky.
The word quickly got out and the daring conductor went through a major
thrashing, along with his many colleagues of the city.
It was the start of a long string of problems for both Rozhdestvensky and
Schnittke whose name was now a synonym of artistic dissidence and who quickly
fell victim to an officially orchestrated campaign of vicious badgering.
Tormented and heartbroken, Schnittke kept working on leaning heavily on
the selfless support and devotion of his loving wife and excellent pianist,
Irina.
The reforms initiated by Mikhail Gorbachev removed the curbs that had been
preventing Schnittke’s music from reaching public ear. Feeling invigorated,
he was looking for new musical worlds throwing in occasional elements of
jazz and theater music, resulting in a fascinating mix of medieval choir
music, Russian church chants, pop tunes and tango music…
A seasoned writer of more than sixty film and theater music pieces,
Alfred Schnittke sought the same degree of cinematic clarity
and theatrical imagery also in his instrumental work, which dramatic and
philosophical, remained natural and warm…
Finally in demand, Schnittke now had his music played in the most prestigious
venues and festivals of his music were held in Nizhny Novgorod and in Moscow.
He was now one of the most played contemporary composers around, his symphonies,
operas and chamber pieces extensively performed in Europe and America and
the world’s best musicians lining up to unveil the new works by the
trendy Russian composer.
During the 1980s Schnittke worked like real hard as if feeling he
didn’t have much time left…
Laid low by a series of strokes and heart attacks that hit him through
the 1990s, Schnittke still hoped against hope treated by the very
best Russian and European doctors. There was nothing much, however,
they could do now and, bedridden and confined to his apartment, Schnittke
now made do listening to recordings of his new music and festivals of his
own name…
He still lived to hear the recording of his Ninth Symphony played in the
Conservatory Big Hall in Moscow. Watching the video cassette they had given
him, Alfred saw how the audience went on their feet applauding like mad
as Gennady Rozhdestvensky, who conducted the premiere, came out on stage
holding the score high up in the air…
It was the last premiere Alfred Schnittke witnessed… Less than two months
later, on August 3, 1998, Alfred Schnittke died in Hamburg, Germany.
He was 64… He asked to be buried in Moscow...
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