The Chanting Flute: Uncovering Russian Orthodox and Shamanic Sounds in Sofia Gubaidulina's ...The Deceitful Face of Hope and of Despair (2005)
Phoebe Grace Robertson
Marching parades, patriotic songs, rousing film scores: the nationalist sounds exported by the Soviet regime are immortalized on a scale that those of pre-Soviet nationalism could never be. The advent of sound recording, radio broadcasts, the film industry, and broadcast television, among other technological media, allowed Soviet patriotic celebrations and cinema to be experienced around the world and throughout the USSR.
Sacred music, which had once been the cornerstone of public music-making and of public adoration, fell by the wayside. Two of the genres of sacred music forced underground by Stalin’s policies, and only mildly tolerated in the decades following his death, were Russian Orthodox chant and Siberian shamanic ritual music. Meanwhile, orchestral music thrived, with film scores by composers such as Sergei Prokofiev and Dmitri Shostakovich being well-received as part of Soviet cinema (and its authorities' watchful eyes). The concert music of these composers, however, was the subject of censorship from the Union of Soviet Composers. Most notably, a decree from 1948 left Prokofiev in massive debt up until his death (on the same day as Stalin) in 1953.
Sofia Gubaidulina (1931-2025) rose up together with a new generation of composers. Granddaughter of Muslims, Gubaidulina was born to a Tatar father in the Republic of Tatarstan during Stalin’s first Five Year Plan. Raised by atheist parents, Gubaidulina was a spiritually perceptive child from a young age and soon identified closely with Christianity and the Russian Orthodox Church. During her adulthood, she was baptized into the Church and became fascinated by the sounds of indigenous Siberian shamans. In 1975 she co-founded the improvisation group Astraea with two of her composition colleagues in order to have opportunities to explore the traditional instruments of Siberia and the Caucasus.
In 1978, a group of seven composers were reprimanded by Tikhon Khrennikov, secretary of the Union of Soviet Composers. As one of these so-called “Khrennikov Seven,” Gubaidulina was branded as part of the “Soviet Avant- Garde.” She deplored the term avant-garde, believing it branded music as having flash over substance. One might say that the concept of “substance” is a guiding principle in the work of Gubaidulina, leading her eventually to state that “all my works are religious. As I understand it, I have never written non-religious works.” That is not to say that her compositions are all “sacred music.” Gubaidulina composed predominantly for instrumental ensembles, and Russian Orthodox liturgy bans the use of musical instruments. Her references to sacred music are more abstract, with titles such as Offertorium, Stüfen (“Steps,” for the Gradual), and Alleluia, and including settings of sacred texts, such as the Saint John Passion and Saint John Easter.
Following the increase in violence and crime in Moscow during the collapse of the USSR, Gubaidulina moved to the German village of Appen, near Hamburg. Yet her development of a post-Soviet sound continued as she continued to develop her identity as the product of a Soviet upbringing. Now travelling around the world freely, essentially for the first time, she had the political freedom and compositional demand to compose according to her own desires. This is not to say that she was not doing this before. She never truly succumbed to Soviet censorship attempts—going so far as to have works performed anonymously abroad—but now she could follow her own compositional path with greater fervor than ever.
In the early 2000s, flutist Sharon Bezaly and her spouse at the time, record executive Robert von Bahr, commissioned a concerto for flute and orchestra. The product of this commission is a single-movement concerto for flute soloist (playing flute in C, alto flute, and bass flute) and large orchestra entitled ...The Deceitful Face of Hope and of Despair, premiered in 2005. In this concerto, I propose that Gubaidulina’s flute soloist takes on the symbolic role of leading chants. As such, it acts as “spiritual guide” of the orchestra, leading the audience through both shamanic and Russian Orthodox musical episodes.
To demonstrate the profound impact of the flute’s role on the concerto’s sonic identity and the concerto’s place as an integral marker in concert music representations of post-Soviet sacred sound, I will first survey the styles of responsorial singing that exist in both Siberian shamanic music and Russian Orthodox chant, the persecution and censorship of these faiths and musical styles throughout the Soviet era, and the resurgence of these traditions in the years following the collapse of the USSR. I will then discuss how these musical references function within Gubaidulina's flute concerto as well as the motivations behind their inclusion. After addressing the flute's role as soloist—a stand-in for the chanter in both sacred musical styles—I will propose applications of my conclusions within Russia’s current political situation, as its people continue to seek freedom and authentic self-expression within the artistic and sacred realms, free of political censorship and intimidation.