Schnittke's Symphonic
Prelude of 1993 begins with a confident,
almost civic theme. As the trumpets
blaze, the thought comes to mind that
we are in Fanfare for the Common
Man, or Shostakovich Festive
Overture territory. This impression
is reinforced when the strings set off
on what, for one moment, sounds as if
it might develop into a fugue.
Of course, being Schnittke,
all these notions are way off beam -
or, perhaps more accurately, are placed
deliberately in our minds by the composer
precisely in order to subvert them.
After its first complacent statement,
the theme is gradually 'deconstructed',
its tight intervals eventually being
spread out over several octaves by the
violins before the black final chord.
There are similar processes at work
here to those of (K)ein Sommernachtstraum
of 1985; but where the earlier piece
is fundamentally playful, this prelude
is utterly dark, nightmarish even. It
is also a brilliant example of Schnittke's
highly personal handling of the orchestra,
with its 'limitless' possibilities (to
quote the composer).
Symphony no.8, premiered
in 1994 by the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic
Orchestra under Rozhdestvensky, develops
many of these same ideas, starting with
the striking trombone solo that commences
the work, ranging over more than three
octaves. At the heart of the five-part
structure is the central Lento,
a slow movement which occupies getting
on for half of the total length of the
symphony.
All through the work,
there are echoes of Schnittke's great
symphonic predecessor and compatriot
Dmitri Shostakovich. This may not seem
surprising; yet that influence is rarely
felt as clearly elsewhere in Schnittke's
music. Such elements as the piccolo
solo towards the end of the first movement,
the achingly expressive violin lines
in the Lento, or the little imitative
phrases in woodwind in the same movement,
underline this connection. On the other
hand, the thick tonal clusters which
blur the expressive lines are entirely
Schnittke's own. Indeed, the final gesture
of the symphony is a radiantly soft
cluster, consisting of all the notes
of a C major scale piled on top of each
other and stretching upwards over more
than three octaves; a stunning conclusion,
and reminiscent of the ending of Arvo
Pärt's Credo. This symphony
is a remarkable piece; gloomy, yes,
but you don't go to Schnittke if you're
after a barrel of laughs (usually!).
The disc closes with
For Liverpool, composed, as you
might imagine, for the Royal Liverpool
Philharmonic Orchestra, who gave its
first performance in 1995 under their
chief conductor at the time, Libor Pešek.
Beginning with a brass chorale, and
an arching phrase for the horns, it
features a theme whose rhythm corresponds
to the words "For Liverpool".
Schnittke also employs electric guitar
and bass guitar - used, maybe, as an
oblique tribute to certain other Liverpudlian
musicians? Who knows; perhaps I'm being
fanciful, as these instruments do crop
up elsewhere in his music, and here
sometimes have a continuo-like function.
The Norrköping
players make a superb job of playing
all this terrifyingly original and disturbing
music. It's not just that they are equal
to its huge technical challenges; they
project it with imagination and powerful
characterisation, and for this, the
conductor Lü Jia - who is I believe
Chinese by birth, but don't quote me
please! - must take an enormous amount
of credit. By any standards, this is
an outstanding disc.
Gwyn Parry-Jones
Norrköping Symphony Orchestra/Lü Jia
