Ukrainian Music, Waiting for its Time

With no end in sight yet for the ongoing Russo-Ukrainian War, it is hard to imagine what the cultural landscape in North America and Europe will look like in a hypothetical postwar. Almost immediately after the March 2022 invasion of Ukraine, countless “thinkpieces” sprouted that declared, to the effect, that everything good one ever enjoyed in Russian classical music was actually “Ukrainian”[1] (or, failing to contrive that result with facts at hand, its origins intentionally confused).[2] How effective this will be in the long-term is unclear, but calls for a boycott[3] or “quarantine”[4] on Russian music seem to be having some success, if notable cancellations of performances of some of its classics are any indication.[5]

Ukraine abounds with superb composers, whose works are unheard of outside their homeland; not because of Russian “chauvinism,” but for no better reason than the fact that the few people who care about classical music elsewhere cannot be bothered to play or listen to anything unfamiliar. It can also be hard for Westerners to grasp what is intrinsically “Ukrainian” or “Russian” in music; a consequence of the longtime intertwined political and cultural histories of Russia and Ukraine, which resulted in the relatively late flowering of Ukrainian art as a thing unto itself. My own discovery of Ukrainian music happened in my teenage years, when I was still new to music. At the time, I carried around a copy of the Naxos catalog like a Bible, peering at the various unfamiliar names contained therein, which provoked my intense curiosity.

One of those names which captivated me was Borys Lyatoshynsky, whose symphonies were listed as being available under Naxos’ sub-label, Marco Polo; sold at full price and, therefore, out of the reach of my allowance. Visits to Moby Disc in Pasadena, however, turned up inexpensive second-hand recordings of some of his symphonies, which I immediately grabbed upon finding. Ukrainian musicians are justifiably proud of Lyatoshynsky and his music; his later works are among the most unique, even strange in postwar Soviet music. Although a constituent republic of the Soviet Union, the Ukrainian SSR developed a musical culture distinct from the Russian SFSR, whose composers tended to be dominated by the models of Shostakovich and Prokofiev. Lyatoshynsky’s mature music, on the other hand, has no contemporaneous Russian equivalent or immediately discernible influence, apart from that of Scriabin. Even of this there is only a faint trace; his music subsumed by Lyatoshynsky into a wholly personal idiom. The first work by Lyatoshynsky I ever heard, the Symphony No. 4 from 1963—partially inspired by a visit to the city of Bruges in Belgium[6]—was unlike anything else I had heard in Soviet music. Death-haunted, with a coda introspective unto caliginous, it is mystifying why there has been no great effort, even after March 2022, to incorporate this and Lyatoshynsky’s other works into the mainstream. It is a truly great creation, without need of piggybacking onto trendy contemporary causes, that portends some later developments in Soviet music, including that of his student, Valentin Silvestrov.

Silvestrov’s music has understandably seen a modest surge of interest since 2022. Like a lot of the first generation of Soviet composers to come to maturity after World War II, he followed Andrei Volkonsky into the underground avant-garde movement, then a few years later made a seemingly unexpected shift right into the past, loosely in the direction (but not the manner) of Georgy Sviridov. Like the older composer, Silvestrov was not interested in stylistic regression, but in the “past” as a catalyst for renewal of the present and, in a unique wrinkle, as object. Whereas Sviridov, Veljo Tormis, or Tigran Mansurian delved into the ancient, Silvestrov built the foundation of his new music from the more recent past of the 19th century; observing its tropes and gestures, taking them apart, and at his best shaping them into new, vital, and unexpected forms. His Symphony No. 5—which I discovered in 1996 thanks to a Gramophone review by David Fanning, who called it “the finest symphony composed in the former Soviet Union since the death of Shostakovich”[7]—is like a Tarkovsky film distilled into sound; a celebration of the act of creation, lament for time’s inexorable tread, and meditation on the “endingness” of this transient life.

A much more recent discovery for me is Vitaliy Hubarenko, whom I learned about by reading obituaries for the Russian soprano Galina Pisarenko. One of the highlights of her career was her performance of Hubarenko’s Tenderness (Nyezhnost), a one-act mono-opera composed in 1971, based on a short story by Henri Barbusse. Its tale of a woman’s break-up with her romantic partner—as conveyed through her letters to him—and ultimate suicide[8] scandalized Soviet audiences at the time; Sviatoslav Richter was among its detractors.[9] Pisarenko’s performance won success for Tenderness.[10] Regrettably, neither Pisarenko’s nor the premiere recording sung by Valentina Sololik have ever been available outside of their original Melodiya LPs; to my knowledge, the opera has never been commercially recorded after the 1980s. This, and Gubarenko’s other operas, would be valuable additions to the repertoire. Tenderness, in particular, with its compelling blend of urbanity and raw expressivity, not to mention economical means (aside from a soprano, it only needs either a chamber orchestra or piano)[11] would make it an invaluable addition to the operatic repertoire that, if given the chance, could become a staple for musicians, producers, and audiences alike. 

Chronic laziness on the part of the musical establishment, which will be happy to return to things as they were once Russians and Ukrainians finally lay down their arms, will very likely continue to produce nothing more than lip service instead of any meaningful dissemination of Ukrainian music. It is, after all, a lot easier and cheaper to simply rebrand Tchaikovsky,[12][13] Prokofiev,[14] and even Bortkiewicz as “Ukrainian,”[15] or just ignore them, than to commit to any substantive action like searching for actual Ukrainian composers to play, let alone program and cultivate new audiences for. What this cynicism implies about the nominally pro-Ukrainian policies of Western governments in general is something for political scientists and historians to discuss.

Notes

[1]: Swed, Mark. (May 12, 2022). “Commentary: What is Ukrainian music, and what does it say about the war?”. Los Angeles Times. URL: https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/story/2022-05-12/commentary-what-is-ukrainian-music-and-what-does-it-say-about-the-war. Retrieved February 21, 2024.

[2]: Collin, Molly (July 6, 2022). “After an Invasion, Ukraine’s Cultural Legacy Comes to Light”. San Francisco Classical Voice. URL: https://www.sfcv.org/articles/feature/after-invasion-ukraines-cultural-legacy-comes-light. Retrieved February 21, 2024.

[3]: Tkachenko, Oleksandr (December 7, 2022). “As Ukraine’s culture minister, I’m asking you to boycott Tchaikovsky until this war is over.” The Guardian. URL: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2022/dec/07/ukraine-culture-minister-boycott-tchaikovsky-war-russia-kremlin. Retrieved February 21, 2024.

[4]: Stiazhkina, Olena (May 16, 2023). “Great Russian Culture: Canceling, Boycotting, Quarantine”. TORCH. Oxford Research Center of the Humanities. URL: https://www.torch.ox.ac.uk/article/great-russian-culture-cancelling-boycotting-quarantine. Retrieved February 21, 2024.

[5]: Mazelis, Fred (April 24, 2023). “New York Philharmonic will not perform Shostakovich’s Leningrad Symphony”. World Socialist Web Site. URL: https://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2023/04/24/fudh-a24.html. Retrieved February 21, 2024.

[6]: Ter-Mikaelian, Marina (1994). Lyatoshinsky: Symphony No. 4, On the Banks of the Vistula, Lyric Poem (booklet). Ukrainian SSR State Symphony Orchestra, Igor Blazhkov; Ukrainian Radio and Television Symphony Orchestra, Viktor Sirenko, Fedor Glushchenko. Russian Disc. Page 2. RD CD 11 062.

[7]: Fanning, David (October 1996). “Silvestrov: Symphony No. 5. Postludium”. Gramophone. 881 (74). Page 65.

[8]: (September 22, 2017). “Моноопера Губаренко «Нежность»” (“Hubarenko’s mono-opera, Tenderness”) (in Russian). Музыкальные Сезоны [Musical Seasons]. URL: https://musicseasons.org/gubarenko-opera-nezhnost/. Retrieved February 21, 2024.

[9]: Matusevich, Alexander (January 25, 2009). “Долгий разговор с юбиляром: К «бриллиантовой» дате Галины Писаренко” (“A Long Conversation on her Birthday: On Galina Pisarenko’s Diamond Jubilee”) (in Russian). OperaNews.ru. URL: https://www.operanews.ru/pisarenko.html. Retrieved February 21, 2024.

[10]: Bulanov, Sergei (February 2, 2019). “Нежность: К 85-летию Галины Писаренко” (“Tenderness: On Galina Pisarenko’s 85th Birthday”) (in Russian). Музыкальная жизнь [Musical Life]. URL: https://muzlifemagazine.ru/nezhnost/. Retrieved February 21, 2024.

[11]: Musical Seasons 2017.

[12]: Turner, Amanda (April 15, 2022). “Tchaikovsky’s Ukrainian heritage should be celebrated.” The Guardian. URL: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2022/apr/15/tchaikovsky-ukrainian-heritage-should-be-celebrate. Retrieved February 21, 2024.

[13]: Collin 2022.

[14]: Ibid.

[15]: Croonen, Jasper. “A Concerto for the Left Hand… and for Ukraine: Illia Ovrachenko Plays Bortkiewicz”. La Monnaie. URL: https://www.lamonnaiedemunt.be/en/mmm-online/2664-a-concerto-for-the-left-hand-and-for-ukraine. Retrieved February 21, 2024.

A Lesson from Bortkiewicz

On our way back from our first trip up north to San Luis Obispo, my wife and I made a brief stop in Santa Barbara for lunch. As we approached our exit, we saw the overpasses approaching our destination festooned with Ukrainian flags. Shortly before we made the turn to our destination, in fact, there was a street corner that had probably at least about two-dozen such flags of various sizes planted about. It was the spring of 2022, war-euphoria was running high and, as a result, all kinds of bellicose sentiments—hysterical and cynical, often expressed simultaneously—proliferated. Cultural chauvinism of the likes not seen since the days of “freedom fries” had returned with a vengeance.[1] The kind of atmosphere that could contrive the arrest of a Karl Muck no longer seemed to belong to a remote past.[2]

Whatever good there is in Russian culture, one typically hears now, is actually Ukrainian.[3] Anything that remains is best to be put under “mental quarantine.”[4] Occasionally these tendencies clash, as seen in the continuing debate about the museum in Kiev honoring Mikhail Bulgakov; a native son opposed to Ukraine’s independence.[5][6] These came to mind recently while listening to a forthcoming CD of chamber music by three “Ukrainian masters”; its program illustrative of the simplistic, if perhaps well-intended revisionism that currently shows no signs of abating.

On the face of it, the music of Sergei Bortkiewicz seems to be an odd battlefield for proxy cultural wars. Born to Russian and Polish aristocrats in the city of Kharkov, then part of Russia, Bortkiewicz was a talented pianist whose music briefly gained notice, before revolution and two devastating world wars led to its consequent oblivion for several decades. At its best, such as heard in the Violin Sonata, Op. 26 included on this album, Bortkiewicz’s sub-Rachmaninoffian music is attractive and gently entrancing, if not necessarily the ultimate in authorial distinction. 

Given that modern Ukraine is still in the process of nation-building, Bortkiewicz has understandably been appropriated as a notable figure in the development of its academic music—an outcome that would have mystified the composer himself. As studies by Jeremiah A. Johnson[7] and Ishioka Chihiro[8] have demonstrated, Bortkiewicz identified as Russian, his music a product of Russia and its culture. He was hostile to the notion of Ukraine apart from Russia, as his remarks on the Ukrainian language, recorded in his memoirs, testifies:

[It] is simply a dialect of Russian, its differences comparable to that between High and Low German. Why nationalist renegades insist that Ukrainian is its own language and must be used in South Russia I will never understand.[9]

Bortkiewicz throughout his life referred to his homeland as “Little Russia” or “South Russia,”[10] among many now deprecated terms that continue to resonate with partisan undertones; at one point he called it “the so-called Ukraine.”[11] He was also considered Russian by his colleagues and, unpropitiously, by the NSDAP; disastrous for a musician whose career, already in decline by the 1930s, took place mostly within German-speaking lands. To his chagrin, fellow Russian émigrés often considered him not one of their own, not even Ukrainian, but Polish because of his mother’s ancestry.[12]

Like Rachmaninoff, whom he admired,[13] Bortkiewicz fled his native land from the Bolsheviks, never again to return. Formerly a teacher at the Kharkov Conservatory, he was designated by the authorities of the short-lived Ukrainian People’s Republic of Soviets as a “bourgeois” and fired from his post. Unable to work and stripped of his property, Bortkiewicz’s later hatred of Bolshevism and socialism hardly comes as a surprise. Compounding his woes amidst the chaos that erupted from the October Revolution and Russian Civil War, his mother died—a devastating personal loss. Decades later as an exile in Vienna doubly estranged from his homeland, physically and culturally, his grief-saturated fury is palpable in portions of his memoirs that condemned the 1917 reforms of the Russian language as perversions that he likened to the “cacophony” of atonal music, and blamed an “immature” Russian civil society incapable of meeting the ideals of its culture for the collapse of the empire sustained by the House of Romanov.[14]

A man of mixed heritage, who identified entirely with one nation, but whose music (including works titled with “Russian” descriptors) is permeated by the influence of another he routinely denigrated,[15] his legacy now bitterly fought over: “Bortkiewicz” is practically a synecdoche for the blood feuds that continue to fester in Eastern Europe, even over matters that may seem befuddlingly trivial to outsiders. Whether he would have cared to acknowledge it or not, the composer was very “Ukrainian” after all; albeit in an unexpected sense peculiar to his birthplace, its complex history of overlapping and competing ethnic communities, and in spite of those who wish to sequestrate his bequest wholly for their preferred team.

A May 2022 op-ed by Mark Swed in the Los Angeles Times was typical—both of the delirious pro-Ukraine mood at the time and his writing in general—in that it managed to get the facts right, yet entirely miss the point:[16] political boundaries and identities are things often imposed in spite of reality, especially in Eastern Europe; a hard lesson the Archduke Franz Ferdinand learned along with the rest of the world one fateful day in Sarajevo. Acceptance of the other, including that within ourselves: there is entangled within Bortkiewicz, his music, and its legacy, another lesson—if we choose to listen.

Notes

[1]: Stolberg, Sheryl Gay. (March 12, 2003). “Threats and Responses: Washington Talk; An Order of Fries, Please, But Do Hold the French”. New York Times. URL: https://www.nytimes.com/2003/03/12/us/threats-responses-washington-talk-order-fries-please-but-hold-french.html.

[2]: Burrage, Melissa D. (2019). The Karl Muck Scandal: Classical Music and Xenophobia in World War I America. University of Rochester Press. ISBN 978-1-58046-950-0. Page 171. (The tale of the hapless German conductor’s eventual arrest, internment, and deportation—a result of nationalist paranoia, xenophobia, personal intrigues, and a servile press—continues to have a familiar ring.)

[3]: Swed, Mark. (May 12, 2022). “Commentary: What is Ukrainian music, and what does it say about the war?”. Los Angeles Times. URL: https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/story/2022-05-12/commentary-what-is-ukrainian-music-and-what-does-it-say-about-the-war.

[4]: Stiazhkina, Olena. (May 16, 2023). “Great Russian Culture: Canceling, Boycotting, Quarantine”. TORCH. Oxford Research Center of the Humanities. URL: https://www.torch.ox.ac.uk/article/great-russian-culture-cancelling-boycotting-quarantine. (That the authoritarianism and, therefore, bloodlust for the sake of a “good cause” implicit in this text—to say nothing of its explicit reduction of an entire civilization as verminous and irredeemably destructive Untermenschen—are increasingly mainstream sentiments ought to give pause, whatever one’s sympathies in the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine.)

[5]: Harding, Luke. (December 31, 2022). “‘Propaganda literature’: calls to close Mikhail Bulgakov museum in Kyiv”. The Guardian. URL: https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2022/dec/31/mikhail-bulgakov-museum-kyiv-calls-to-close

[6]: (June 3, 2023). “Kyiv culture war leaves famous Russian writer red-faced”. France24. Agence France-Presse. URL: https://www.france24.com/en/live-news/20230603-kyiv-culture-war-leaves-famous-russian-writer-red-faced.

[7]: Johnson, Jeremiah A. (October 2016). “Echoes of the Past: Stylistic and Compositional Influences in the Music of Sergei Bortkiewicz”. University of Nebraska—Lincoln: Student Research, Creative Activity, and Performance—School of Music. 114. URL: http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/musicstudent/114.

[8]: Ishioka, Chihiro. (June 15, 2017). “セルゲイ・ボルトキエヴィチ研究 〜自筆資料に基づく生涯・音楽観・ピアノ作品の考察〜”. [“A Study of Sergei Bortkiewicz: His Life, Musical Views, and Piano Works Based on the Manuscripts”]. (in Japanese). [Doctoral dissertation, Tokyo College of Music]. URL: https://tokyo-ondai.repo.nii.ac.jp/records/1080.

[9]: Ibid, p. 97.

[10]: Johnson 2016, p. 18.

[11]: Ibid, p. 5.

[12]: Ibid, p. 26

[13]: Ibid, p. 75.

[14]: Ishioka 2017, p. 98.

[15]: Johnson 2016, p. 42.

[16]: Swed 2022. (With respect to Swed, never one to pass up a chance to say a whole lot of nothing, his op-ed is a characteristic also-ran of pre-determined opinions—which arrive to him fourth-hand after being regurgitated and accepted as consensus by other approved commentators—topped with a frosting of factual errors that one never quite knows whether they are borne from laziness or are calculated piques intended to wake up his readers, whom he otherwise would leave snoring. Among the latter is the statement that Stravinsky’s mother was “Ukrainian.” She was not, but Gavriil Nosenko, the composer’s maternal uncle by marriage, was. Nosenko was also, incidentally, the father of Igor’s cousin Yekaterina, who later became his first wife. Claims of Stravinsky’s “Ukrainian” ancestry are relatively recent. See Walsh, Stephen. (1999). Stravinsky—A Creative Spring: Russia and France, 1882–1934. New York City: Alfred A. Knopf. ISBN 0-679-41484-3. Pages 6; 552, note 17.)