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While Russian composers bore the burden of the Soviet regime, music
composition nonetheless survived surprisingly well despite official policies
against modfernism and "formalism." These policies would have destroyed
serious music if completely, continuously and seriously implemented. None
theless, the years 1917-1990 produced three great composers: Sergei Serge
evich Prokofiev (1891-1953), Dmitrii Dmitrievich Shostakovich (1906
1975), and Al'fred Garrievich Shnitke (Alfred Schnittke, 1934-1998). This
study will analyze their strategies for survival and the regime's reasons for
tolerating them.
While not as radical and innovative as some composers in the West, they
each rank among the great composers of the twentieth century. While not as
important to the historical development of music as Stravinsky, Schonberg,
the other Vienna serialists, and Bartok, Prokofiev and Shostakovich would be
ranked by most musicologists among a second echelon of great but more con
servative composers of the twentieth century. This echelon might also include
Sibelius, Hindemith, Ravel, Copland, Vaughan Williams, Poulenc, and
others. More particularly, Shostakovich and Prokofiev are plainly among the
greatest symphonists of the twentieth century, and Shostakovich arguably the
greatest composer of string quartets along with Bartôk. Because he is more
recent, Schnittke is difficult to "rank" or even categorize, but he is one of the
most critically acclaimed composers of the late Soviet period.1
Shostakovich, Prokofiev, and Schnittke each, moreover, developed origi
nal idioms that were at odds with official policy on music - in the case of
Schnittke radically at odds. They nonetheless each managed to have most of
their works performed even in the Soviet Union and made relatively comfort
able livings as composers. Their careers and their music collectively span the
entire Soviet period. They each had to deal with a variety of political condi
tions, and yet each remained productive throughout his life.
memoirs as told to Solomon Volkov launched this debate.2 Some of the dis
putants question the authenticity of Volkov's claim to be reporting the words
of Shostakovich. Indeed, Shostakovich's letters to his friend Glikman, pub
lished in 1993,3 reveal a very different personality from that of Volkov's ac
count Volkov's account was one of several works which attribute anti-Soviet
meanings or programs even to works originally approved and adopted by the
Soviet regime, such as the Fifth and Seventh symphonies. Subsequent ac
counts and other friends and associates of the composer reporting his words
have attributed anti-Soviet or dissident programs to almost all of Shostako
vich's works, but anti-Volkov school remains strong as well.4 All of this has
made Shostakovich one of the most "interpreted" composers in the history of
music, at least with respect to the search for "political" meaning in music.
(The fact that such disparate interpretations have been advanced is in fact a
tribute to the profundity of the music.) While the present study shall oc
casionally refer to this battleground of interpretation, it is not the focus of this
study, which shall attempt to avoid taking sides. Rather the goal is to investi
gate how he survived for almost fifty years (1927-75), and why the regime al
lowed him to publish and have performed many works which did not satisfy
its standards.
Both the Volkov and anti-Volkov schools would agree that Shostakovich
was a survivor and that there are, at various times, divergent tendencies in his
works with regard to the regime's expectations for composers. While Shosta
kovich is generally tonal and uses classical forms (symphonies and string
quartets with movements frequently written in sonata form), much of his
music is dark, pessimistic and highly personal and introspective in tone.
Whatever "interpretation" one attributes to Shostakovich, it would not be dis
puted that while some of his best works enjoyed official acceptance (such as
his Fifth, Seventh, Eleventh and Twelfth Symphonies), many of his works,
such as his Fourth, Eighth, Ninth, Tenth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth and Fifteenth
symphonies and virtually all of his chamber music did not enjoy official fav
or. Some of the latter works were completely suppressed or rarely performed
during Shostakovich's lifetime. But most of his music was performed to
some extent in the Soviet Union dining his lifetime, and the issue addressed
here is how he managed to accomplish that and why the regime tolerated it.
One of the key transactions in the history of Soviet music was the return of
Prokofiev to Russia. Educated at the St. Petersburg Conservatory prior to
World War I, Prokofiev had become with Stravinsky one of the infants ter
rible of early twentieth century Russian music. His Scythian Suite (1916) and
Second Symphony (1924), for example, are so full of harsh dissonances that
they could almost be interpreted as modernist manifestos like Stravinsky's
Rite of Spring (1913). Even in his early period, however, Prokofiev showed
conservative tendencies, as in his First Piano Concerto, First Symphony, and
Third Piano Concerto. Prokofiev, however, left Russia in 1918, to live in the
West, mostly Paris, for the next eighteen years. During this time he continued
to produce many radical and innovative pieces, such as the opera The Fiery
Angel (1927) and Fifth Piano Concerto (1932). Stravinsky of course also left
Russia and remained in the West for the rest of his life.
Prokofiev, however, gradually became dissatisfied with his life as a White
Russian émigré and became alienated from both Western music and radical
modernism. He began ever more frequent visits to the Soviet Union in 1927,
and gradually decided that he wanted to return to his homeland. He returned
permanently in 1936 at the very onset of Stalin's Great Terror and the attack
on Shostakovich. One interpretation of this shortsighted decision is that he
hoped that his music would be better accepted in Russia than in the West, and
that his return to his homeland would thus enhance his reputation.11 Indeed,
his musical proclivities had become more traditional before his return: Lt.
Kizhe Suite (1934) and Romeo and Juliet (1935). His reversion to a more
traditional idiom was thus not simply a product of official pressure, but of his
own spontaneous development. He thus probably developed the misguided
feeling that he could fit his own creative tendencies into the crucible of
Soviet music policy. He may have also simply felt that his creativity would
be "fed" by his native surroundings.12
But by the time Prokofiev returned to Russia, he, like Shostakovich, had
an international reputation that could not be disregarded by the Soviet re
gime. For such a great composer to return to the Soviet Union was of course
a great propaganda opportunity for Stalin's regime, and any obvious repres
sive measures would have certainly attracted international attention.
Prokofiev thus brought with him, on his return to Russian, a mature crea
tive intellect nurtured before the Soviet period and then developed outside
Russia, as well as a well-deserved international reputation. He was thus a
dens ex machina for the development of Soviet music. During his years in
11. See, for example, Franks Maes, A History of Russian Music, from Kamarinskaya to Babi
Yar (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 2002), 322-23.
12. For this development in Prokofiev's music, see Harlow Robinson, Sergei Prokofiev
(Boston: Northeastern Univ. Press, 1987), 234-46.
And yet his triumphs, both official and artistic, also continued. In 1946 he
was awarded Stalin prizes for his Fifth Symphony, Eighth Piano Sonata and
Ivan Groznyi (Part I). His Sixth Symphony was also well received by the of
ficial critics in 1947, although this work is more personal and darker in tone
than the Fifth Symphony. In these works, which are generally ranked among
his best, Prokoviev found an idiom for music that was also acceptable to the
regime.
During the Zhdanovshchina, Prokofiev, already failing in health, took the
attacks on him very personally. Again, one could not know whether such
public attacks were the prelude to arrest and execution. His Seventh Sym
phony, completed in 1951, was harshly criticized by the Composer's Union
after a closed performance in December of that year. It is difficult to under
stand the rejection of this work, which is traditional in its themes and stmc
ture and optimistic in tone. Its rejection perhaps typifies the arbitrariness of
the official standards and the often unpredictable reaction of the regime to
music of its greatest composers. Prokofiev, however, was awarded a Stalin
Prize for On Guard for Peace, and enjoyed two public triumphs in 1952, with
the premier of his Second Cello Concerto, with Rostropovich as the.soloist,
and the public premiere of his Seventh Symphony.13
Summarizing Prokofiev's Soviet years, one sees that most of his works
were accepted and performed, and that he received the highest official awards
for several works. He earned handsome fees for his works. By developing an
original but accessible and fairly traditional idiom, he stayed marginally with
in the officially accepted style. He was willing, like Shostakovich, to contrib
ute an occasional propagandists work. His strong international reputation ob
viously afforded him some protective armor. Arresting him or even silencing
him would likely have led to an international outcry. Relatively few of his
works were suppressed, and even most of these were eventually performed
during the years of the Thaw. On the whole, Prokofiev and the regime, as
with Shostakovich, developed a certain modus vivendi, based largely on Pro
kofiev's willingness to write in a traditional idiom much different from his
earlier radical works and occasionally to adopt a posture of public compro
mise or collaboration.
Even with Stalin's death, the Zhdanov Resolution remained in force and
the head of the Union of Soviet Composers appointed under Zhdanov, Ti
khon Khrennikov, remained at his post (he would in fact serve into the
Gorbachev period). The post-Stalin period, however, began on a promising
note with Shostakovich's release of this Tenth Symphony, First Violin Con
certo and Fourth and Fifth String Quartets, all written for the drawer during
the Zhdanovshchina. Most critics, even those who do not generally read a
doing so. This incident is typical of the role of the great performers of the
Soviet period in supporting great music. Another example is the unquestioned
willingness of the Beethoven Quartet to perform the composer's works in that
genre.
Shostakovich of course took the suppression of his Thirteenth Symphony
very seriously, but he was not to be dissuaded thereafter from composing
highly personal and contemplative music which implicitly violated the of
ficial guidelines. While the Zhdanov Resolution had been retracted, Khren
nikov made it very clear in his official pronouncements that the regime con
tinued to favor tonal music based on folk and patriotic themes. Pieces that
were somber or "personal" continued to be disfavored. Shostakovich, how
ever, was to' compose no more musical propaganda. He was to live thirteen
more years and compose two more symphonies and seven quartets. He had
by this point become unassailable by the regime, with his international repu
tation ever growing.
The Fourteenth Symphony (1969) was his most obvious rejection of of
ficial guidelines. It consists of musical settings for bass and soprano of poems
by Garcia Lorca, Appollonaire, and Rilke, which focus primarily on the
theme of death. Shostakovich could not have chosen poetic works more cer
tain to strike the regime as bourgeois and decadent. The Fifteenth Symphony
(1972) is a highly enigmatic work which quotes Rossini and Wagner.
The quartets, as always, remained highly personal? As one study puts it,
The same study observes that new themes are "generated by their pre
decessor in a continuing spiral of growth."16 The Twelfth, Thirteenth and Fif
teenth even experiment with tone rows, but only to offset or disrupt tonal
passages. Tile last two quartets were obviously a contemplation of death. His
post 1963 quartets as a whole are remarkable in their exploitation of the var
iety of sound of string instruments. They contain no patriotic and few op
timistic melodies of the type favored by the regime, and are more dissonant
than his earlier works. For its part the regime felt less threatened by such
chamber music. Chamber music generally draws smaller audiences than sym
15. Eric Roscberry, Ideology. Style. Content and Thematic Process in the Symphonies, Cello
Concertos and String. Quartets of Shostakovich (New York and London: Garland Publishing,
1989), 229.
16. Ibid., 268.
18. Boris Schwartz, Music and Musical Life in Soviet Russia. 1917-1981 (Bloomington:
Indiana Univ. Press, 1983), 559.
cludeing the great composers of the classical tradition (Bach, Haydn, and so
on) as well as jazz and other popular music. The premiere of this work would
have probably been totally unacceptable in Moscow, but by going to a
provincial city, Rozhdestvenskii had successfully devised a way to perform a
work by a composer whose every attribute would seem to have been unac
ceptable to the Brezhnev regime.
It was perhaps even more surprising (but again little noticed in the West)
that six months after the premiere of the First Symphony, the periodical
Soviet Music, the organ of the Soviet Union of Composers and the leading
Soviet periodical on music, devoted fourteen pages to various opinions and
reviews of it, all mildly favorable. The contributors included Iu. KOrev, the
editor of Soviet Music, who placed Schnittke's work in the great tradition of
the Soviet symphony. He noted the similarity of the polystylistic approach to
Shostakovich's Fifteenth Symphony, which quoted Wagner and Rossini,
among others. Another reviewer noted that the use of pop music and jazz by
Schnittke was "democratic." At the same time, the initial contributor, whose
review from a Gor'kii newspaper was quoted, observed that some of the audi
ence at the premier were disturbed by the work.19 These reviews were cer
tainly a sign that Schnittke had arrived and received at least some official
recognition. Such lengthy and favorable reviews of a radical work in the
leading Soviet music periodical could have probably only appeared with the
approval of Khrennikov, if not of higher authority.
How had Schnittke achieved this recognition? Indeed, everything about
him would have seemed to work against him. He was half Jewish and half
Volga German, two of the pariah nationalities of the Soviet Union. He spoke
German with his family in his youth. In the first phase of his career, roughly
the sixties, he had experimented extensively with twelve-tone music, which
had been anathematized repeatedly by the Party. In the second phase of his
career, of which the First Symphony is a part, he became a polystylist. The
First Symphony, one of his most famous works in this style, would have
struck even a Western critic in 1974 as a radical work. He never wrote any
patriotic or propagandists oratorios, as had Shostakovich and Prokofiev. He
was never awarded a Stalin or Lenin prize, nor did he earn any substantial
fees through the Composers Union for his serious music, as had Shostakovich
and Prokofiev. And of course he started out with no international reputation
to help him deal with the Soviet regime, as had Shostakovich and Prokofiev.
Unlike Shostakovich and Prokofiev, however, he was to find a way to have
his works performed and to survive economically outside the officially spon
sored channels. How had Soviet Russia given birth to such a musical icono
eventually to compose over sixty film scores. He became much sought after,
and earned a comfortable living from this work, which he apparently enjoyed.
During the sixties through the eighties, there were of course many great tal
ents in the Soviet film industry, including Mikhail Romm, Andrei Tarkovskii,
Elem Klimov and Nikita Mikhailkov. The atmosphere in the industry was
much more tolerant than in other arts, and a director was judged in part on the
commercial success of his films. This industry employed Schnittke so regu
larly that he did not have to worry about earning fees or royalties through the
Composers Union.22
Schnittke later acknowledged a great debt to his experience in writing film
scores. He realized from this experience that the "the gap between the labora
tory 'top' of music and the commercial 'bottom'... had to be bridged."23 He
realized that he had to look for a "universal" musical language. The early
seventies thus saw the beginning of Schnittke's polystylistic compositions,
most publicized of which was the First Symphony. There were also obviously
changes in official policy. Those familiar with the sixties and seventies in
Soviet literature are generally surprised to learn of the much more liberal at
mosphere in Soviet music. Khrennikov presided over a relative liberalization
in Soviet music policy. The signs of this liberalization had become unmistak
able by the early seventies. As noted above, Shostakovich had abandoned the
official style and greatly expanded his musical vocabulary after 1963, and
this had certainly helped to soften things up for other composers. Stravinsky
had visited the Soviet Union in 1962, and on his death in 1971, Soviet Music
published a laudatory obituary. Khrennikov himself had experimented with
duodecaphony in 1971. By 1977 the old school musicologist Boris Iarustov
skii conceded that modernism was triumphing.24
Official statements of music policy by officials like Khrennikov continued
to follow the old party line, and occasional attacks and sanctions continued.
For example, in 1978 Iurii Liubimov, whose theatrical productions at the Ta
ganka Theater had become very important cultural events in the seventies,
planned a production of Tchaikovsky's Pique Dame at the Paris Opera. Al
though not qne note of Tchaikovsky's music was to be changed, Schnittke
composed some harpsichord music to be played at intervals during the per
formance. Before the production could open, it was attacked in Pravda, and
had to be cancelled. Even this, however, created much favorable publicity for
Schnittke, and it was said that most of his subsequent concerts sold out.25
The survival of great music under the Soviet regime can thus be explained
as a product of many factors, like most complex historical phenomena: a
strong tradition of musical culture from the tsarist period, the strong reputa
tions of Prokofiev and Shostakovich established before the excesses of the
Stalin years, occasional relaxation of the effort at control and censorship, a
desire on the part of the regime to exploit its great composers, increasing tol
eration after 1974 and, most of all, the resourcefulness of the composers
themselves in finding strategies for survival.