Sofia Gubaidulina takes herself terribly seriously. Neither of her two most-admired composers, Webern and Shostakovich, are exactly laugh-a-minute types, although Shostakovich might have suggested some kind of humor had Gubaidulina been amenable. In the hands of most other composers, a work such as Sieben Worte (as in “The Seven Last Words of Christ on the Cross”), scored here for strings, cello, and bayan (a Russian accordion), would look absurd on its face. It’s a credit to Gubaidulina that it takes some time for the work’s conceptual silliness to sink in. The music consists of her typical mix of tonal and dissonant harmony, combined with odd, “avant-garde” noises and performance techniques. What this has to do with her subject matter is anyone’s guess, but it’s awfully well played here by soloists Torleif Thedéen (cello) and Mie Miki (accordion). I certainly respect their effort, and that of the excellent orchestra and conductor, but I also never want to hear the work again. It’s a drag.
The title of Gubaidulina’s Flute Concerto, “…The Deceitful Face of Hope and of Despair”, is no less pretentious, but the music is engaging, at times even captivating. Dedicated to extraordinary flutist Sharon Bezaly, the music alternates dark, threatening gestures with luminous, airy harmonies (a little less reliance on the no doubt unintentionally tacky aural shimmer of wind chimes would have been nice). These elements interact with increasing intensity throughout this 26-minute single movement, and while much of the music is slow and creepy, there are quicker bits that give Bezaly an opportunity to shine. It all winds up sounding like the soundtrack to that famous cult-film trailer “Bambi Meets Godzilla”.
In truth, the flutes (Bezaly also plays the alto and bass members of the family) don’t have all that much flashy stuff to do compared to most concertos; the work probably is best thought of as a tone poem with a prominent obbligato part, a bit like Sibelius’ The Swan of Tuonela. Still, when all is said and done it’s a fine piece, and one that, unlike its disc-mate, repays repetition. Magnificent, typically state-of-the-art sonics round out a package that I can recommend wholeheartedly to Bezaly’s fans. I just wish that the remainder of the program, notwithstanding the excellence of the performances, had turned out to be as musically interesting. Gubaidulina needs to lighten up, or at least acquire a sensitivity to the very real possibility of unwitting self-parody.