The well-known paradox of Russia's new freedom is that while no (or virtually no) official-ideological barriers are now placed in the way of the arts, those same arts seem to have lost much of their former social significance. In part this is because of the appalling day-to-day realities of life in a broken-backed economy, in part it is because the equation of 'avant-garde' art with dissidence has dissolved. In such circumstances it is hardly surprising that most of the 'big-name' Russian composers have either emigrated or are spending as much time abroad as they possibly can.
So the formation of a new Association for Contemporary Music, in emulation of its namesake from a former attempt at perestroika in the 1920s, was an act of considerable idealism. Launched in Moscow in 1990 by Edison Denisov its main aims are the promotion of the best new Russian music and the revival of 'progressive' but long-neglected works of the 1920s and 1930s (as on CDs of Mosolov and Roslavets, to be reviewed later). Like IRCAM and its Ensemble Intercontemporain, but unlike the Association's 1920s predecessor, the emphasis is on the chamber repertoire. The feel of much of the music promoted is frankly experimental, aiming to blend spirituality and innovation, and building on a distinctive Russian tradition of post-Webern Liberation Dodecaphony (to coin a phrase) which dates as far back as the late 1950s.
British listeners nostalgic for the years around 1970, when groups like the Fires of London and composers like George Crumb seemed so interesting and important, may find forgotten enthusiasms rekindled. But I fear that ears accustomed to the broader span of recent Western music will find much of Russia's latest rather old hat, embarrassing in its tendency to doodle with emotions and images rather than draw strong structural lines. On the other hand some may find a poetic sensibility here which rings true and is nothing if not distinctive. Somewhere between those two positions, I suspect, lies a fair assessment of a repertoire which is never less than interesting but rarely more than thought-provoking.
The artistic director of the Association's Contemporary Music Ensemble, Yuri Kasparov features both in the Chant du Monde programmes of ''Contemporary Listening'' and in Olympia's series devoted to the Ensemble. The latter disc includes works for symphony orchestra, and in this respect it offers a more varied introduction to his work. Kasparov's main preoccupation seems to be with timbre, be it wailing woodwinds and slide whistles (Linkos, Oboe Concerto), an organ with motor switched on and off Ligeti-fashion (Ave Maria, Oboe Concerto, Credo), prepared piano (Genesis), or woodwind multi-phonics (Variations). In a sense the ear has to 'taste' or 'smell' this music and react to the moment, rather than connecting up with deeper levels of appreciation. And there is an unmistakable sense of self-belief (as opposed to mere opportunism) behind the music's long sensuous lines. Where timbre and texture are more uniform, however, as in Cantus firmus and Invention, a vein of intellectualized agony prevails which seems to me rather less satisfying. The most valuable thing on offer here is a glimpse into the laboratory of the latest Russian music (the pieces on the two discs date from 1988–92), and performances and recordings are well up to Western equivalents.
As much could be said for the discs devoted to Viktor Ekimovski and Alexander Raskatov. Like Kasparov they are of the generation which came to maturity in the 1970s, which is to say after the 'heroic' period of Russian avant-garderie. Neither composer, it seems to me, is of the stature of the preceding Denisov/Schnittke/Gubaidulina/Silvestrov generation, nor indeed of Kasparov. Raskatov I found constantly put me in mind of composers who exploit similar ideas far more effectively—Kurtag, Part, Britten and, at the end of Dolce Farniente, a shameless crib from the end of Crumb's The Voice of the Whale; his Coleridge setting, Let there be night, might well be more convincing had the Ensemble a soprano of the accomplishment of a Jane Manning. Ekimovski is a few years older (born in 1947) and is represented by a broader chronological sample of works. So the Chamber Variations of 1974 helpfully illustrate the kind of anonymous serialism which was just as much a rite of passage for Russians as for so many of their British counterparts; and the disc concludes with the Double Chamber Variations of 1989 which are far more sophisticated but not, it seems to me any more precisely heard.'