Alfred Schnittke

I can’t say that I’m particularly familiar with all of Schnittke’s works, but his choral pieces have had a profound impact on me. I find Schnittke is best at his most intimate, and what instrument is more intimate than the human voice?

Concerto for Choir

This is one of the most incredible things I’ve ever heard. Everything about this composition is magical: the text (translated to Russian) is taken from Gregory of Narek, a 10th-century Armenian monk, and the music walks the tightrope of tradition and modernity with perfect balance.

The movements are not officially named but I have labelled them in accordance with what appear to be their most popular, unofficial titles.

The first sound we encounter in O Master Of All Living is a simple, yet cosmic, harmony formed of only two pitch classes: B and F#. The SATB voices are split into two staves each, some holding on to those Bs and F#s, and the sopranos and tenors introducing us to the first easily recognizable motif. Pay close attention to the similar figure in the altos and basses: the descending B-A-G. After a brief breath, an ascending pandiatonic melody built around "G Lydian" shifts to an A♭ minor chord through the common tone of B♮ before erupting into an incredibly beautiful, dissonant chord with F-C as the foundation in the basses. In a Gesualdo-like gesture, the E major that follows smoothly resolves onto an unexpected G minor, all whilst a towering B♭-A♭-G melody is heard in the uppermost voices. It may not be particularly enlightening to uncover what the underlying chords are, but something worth noting is that the first dissonant chord contains three adjacent chromatic pitch classes and, as we will see, such chromatic trichords and tetrachords are a vital element of Schnittke’s music. This outburst translates to "God, creating all out of nothing" and understandably warrants a forte dynamic. A brief passage leads us back to the opening motif, this time transposed to E-B, granting the text a brighter sonority.
Remember that B-A-G motif I told you about? It’s back now, slightly modified in measure 30, harmonized in the basses in rather dense blocks (the thickest is only four notes but its corpulence is amplified due to its register). The texture is gradually lightened by the addition of the higher voices and the shifts between minor and major tonalities, and the text here is full of praise for the Master. After a brief cadence on E♭, the march-like pace is resumed with the addition of a countermelody in the altos and then the sopranos which obfuscates the time signature. Following a staggered ascent, we arrive at the loudest moment so far, a fortissimo suspended chord vocalizing the word "might". The adoring text resumes with a soaring melody in the sopranos, but it winds down before the pace can pick up.
Now comes my favourite part of the whole movement at rehearsal mark 12: "Radiant with greatness, welcome to all, our tireless shepherd, benevolent tsar" is cautiously fleshed out by the tenors and altos above the abyssal, imposing basses, culminating in the B♭-A♭-G melodic gesture we first encountered with that dissonant chord near the beginning.
Another breath-taking progression then resolves the high B♭ down to an A♮ this time, standing above an F in root position. Soon after, your ear will inevitably be drawn to the undulating melody in the sopranos that the basses will steal a couple of bars later, but not before treating us to an intimate passage coloured by the inner voices.
Rehearsal mark 23 starts with an F pedal point in the basses and again builds up to a bone-chilling forte harmony that concludes in the eeriest way. That harmony, in fact that whole section, is absolutely incredible and also quite fitting for the text: "O God, show me in my doubts the path of purity". Following a quasi-antiphonal plea, we reach the ecstatic, paeanic (is that a word?) conclusion in B♭.
After a return to the material from the beginning, the movement ends in B major on the word "salvation".

Do you want more? Don’t worry, there’s still three more movements.

I, An Expert In Human Passions is marked by an unrelenting rhythm above which the altos sing a 3-note chromatic cell. As the remaining altos join in a perfect fourth above, the sopranos flesh out clusters and eventually join in themselves, yet another perfect fourth above; this chromatic ostinato permeates the entire movement. To signal the transition to the next section, the sopranos hold a high F# above the C minor bedding on the word "Earth", and this propels us into a passage with a more urgent harmonic rhythm throughout which the altos still insist on the ostinato. That single bar when the sopranos sing the F# is probably one of the most impactful moments in the entire composition. Just after rehearsal mark 7, all voices switch to crotchets and move in contrary motion, gradually thinning out the texture until only an E♮ remains, as if forcing us to reflect on the words "[This collection of songs I wrote] for the penitent and those enslaved by sin". From rehearsal mark 15 a series of modulations lead us to the cathartic rehearsal mark 19, when the sopranos’ seraphic melisma shines through. The movement ends with a slumbering D-E♭ dyad.

God Grant Deliverance From Sin was the first of the four movements to be written and probably has the most elaborate structure of them all. Right from the start, quavers set the pace with a pianississimo dynamic, commanding that close attention is paid to what is being sung. What begins as a rather diatonic melody set against a pedal point is quickly expanded to encompass a more chromatic selection of pitches, resulting in clashing minor and major seconds.
Measure 12 presents a very deliberate A major triad on the word "[Let their abundant tears] flow", which reappears shortly after as a springboard to the words "please You" before the individual lines descend to a lower voicing. Immediately after, a solo bass introduces a melody which is handed over to, and expanded by, a solo tenor and then a solo soprano.
At measure 26 we reach perhaps the first passage that truly breaks away from the cluster-like nature of the preceding melodies, although the soprano continues with its disconcerting melody until it seemingly finds its home in measure 29. The movement’s step-wise chromaticism results in some truly odd harmonies, such as the one in beat three of measure 39: that F# in the tenors conspicuously stands out.
The section starting at rehearsal mark 5, with the sopranos’ outbursts centered around D♮ and underneath which the remaining voices sing in a chorale-like setting, serves as a magical moment of repose, and as the singing intensifies the voices produce an astounding sound at measure 53 on the word "grave". This supplication - "Forgive my grave sins, and save me too, O blessed God" -, spanning only 10 bars, is one of the most magical moments of the composition. After the opening melody is reframed in a diatonic setting, a fantastically appropriate forte dissonance is heard in measures 73 and 74 corresponding to "May the pain of my sorrowful lamentations […]".
Jumping ahead to rehearsal mark 12 we encounter one of the most difficult passages in the entire composition: whilst the basses pass a D♮ over to each other, repeatedly singing "mortal fear", the remaining voices flesh out a twelve-part canon, with each line starting a semitone away from the preceding one. And soon after, the summit of the movement? "And if the burden of unredeemed sins pulls the sinner into the abyss", set to an arduous, cascading cacophony is followed by "may he, by the power of the words that You inspired in me, be saved and pardoned forever" in the most splendid homophonic fortissimo.
As the choir concludes "Allow me to bring him back to the sacred faith by the power of the words that You inspired" and the altos continue with the oscillating D-E♭, we approach the finishing line. First the basses and tenors recite the text under the surging sopranos and tenors, and then their roles are effectively reversed in a segment that perfectly ties everything together, and with incredible momentum. These final bars are absolutely stunning in how they resolve the music as well as the author’s plea; just listen to those last ten syllables: "ba-zhest-v’en-na-ju mi-las-t’ju Tva-jej".

In Complete This Work Which I Began, an echo of the first movement’s descending motif makes a shimmering reappearance when the basses join in and also at the first forte dynamic. This movement is profoundly diatonic, and it is not until 20 bars in that we encounter a G7 chord leading into an incredibly emotional C minor passage that then modulates through E and G to B minor. A section similar to the first bars is reprised, although this time arriving at an inverted C major chord that prepares us for the climactic "From Your servant, Amen" denouement in D major - D for Deus. The ending makes me think of church bells, likely an intentional effect given Schnittke’s frequent allusions to them (a striking example occurring at figure 33 in the Concerto for Piano and Strings - itself a nod to Orthodox bell ringing).

What a majestic piece of music.

Psalms of Repentance

This is also, equally, one of the most incredible things I’ve ever heard. Compared to the Concerto for Choir, however, the Psalms of Repentance are, as the title indicates, profoundly more dark. Where the Concerto is venerable, imploring, adoring, the Psalms are austere and terrifying. The texts are from an unknown author of the 16th century and deal with sin, redemption and murder.

Psalm I is exclusively in bass clef and derived almost entirely from chromatic motifs (descending, for the most part - perhaps to represent the fall of man?), and only towards the end does a contrasting melody based on fourths - greater, divine leaps - appear on the word "God". Even the final cadence, with Adam’s begging for forgiveness, is driven by step-wise chromatic motion, with conspicuous word painting in the first voice: "Merciful God, forgive me, I have fallen". You will notice measures 22 and 25 - and even the immediately succeeding ones - are almost identical, and this is because they correspond to Adam’s anaphora, who is weeping at the gates of paradise and is desponding: "Never again shall I see the fruits of paradise. Never again shall I hear the voice of the archangel".

The first minute and a half of the enchanting Psalm II is sung by a solo tenor against a D-A hum. In a bright, contrasting section, the remaining voices join in to reinforce Adam’s determination to "walk among the meadows of [the] garden of delights". Alone again (naturally), the tenor "[roams] the world, shunning man and life’s temptations". The sopranos and altos re-enter with their coiling melodies that conclude with a stunning dissonance on the word "your", but that works surprisingly well as a dominant chord of sorts leading into the closing chorale-like setting, which is one of the most incredible moments of the entire composition: "You have delighted me with earthly blessings. Deprive me not of Your heavenly kingdom". The contrary motion of the sopranos and altos in the penultimate bar is sublime. None of the individual notes are unusual (the melody in the sopranos for example only spans one octave and essentially moves up the scale), but they are masterfully arranged and also unexpected given the tone of the music so far, and you can’t help but feel ecstatic by the stentorian tutti voicings and speech-like rhythms.

Psalm III has a confessional quality to it. The roving melodies and canonic imitation between the sopranos and tenors create a truly dejected mood that permeates the whole Psalm. Halfway through, the voices erupt into a forte admission intended to stand out: "I am not at one with God’s Church. I scorn the dictates of my spiritual father". The ending is equally bleak, with the voices surrendering themselves to beg the Lord for the chance to repent. As to whether this chance is granted, the concluding harmony says it all…

IV is so bright and full of hope in comparison to the previous three, and it is also the first Psalm in which the closed-mouthed "mmm"s are absent. Measure 36 is the densest and most agitated moment in this short Psalm, and it crowns the words "Ponder the eternal torment which awaits the sinners".

The canon at the tritone that starts off Psalm V grants it an almost mocking tone. The text appears to taunt mankind and its mortality, and Schnittke’s writing here could not be more apposite, as a murky, pessimistic gloom permeates the vagrant music. Are we to submit to our “eternal torment”, to our “setting sun”, to our “fading daylight”? Is this what the music wants? Everything becomes clear in the final eleven bars, when the voices address Christ directly. You will hear the preparatory dominant chord before “Christ, by the prayers of she who gave birth to you, deliver our souls”. This is one of the most ethereal moments of the entire composition, and it takes us by complete surprise. These bars unfold like an eagle spreading its wings: first the C minor transfigures itself into a C major, then it catches its breath, turns upon itself, takes a final breath, and leaps into - I repeat - one of the most hair-raising moments you will ever experience. What are you focusing on? The high F? Maybe the G in the next measure supported by the cavernous E in the basses? The inner voices? I bet that sculpture-like high B in the sopranos, caressed by the descending triads, has you frozen in place. Take another listen.

Psalm VI deals with fratricide. An ascending canon in the altos is overtaken by one in the sopranos, resulting in a terrifying clamber with different voices poking out in clashing minor and major seconds, screeching down to a unison D#. Repeatedly do the voices then beg the elder brother to spare them - the younger - in a superbly written section that is woven, initially, in a dissonant G minor. The canonic imitation between the two voices that follows is all the more poignant if we are able to hear them as the voices of the two younger brothers.

VII is fantastic. Its interrogative tone is truly overwhelming, and a particularly oppressive moment occurs at measure 40 as the voices feebly fade on the words “foul-smelling filth”. Another favourite moment of mine starts at measure 64, when the voices recite “You do not keep the commandments of your heavenly Creator” and convey a tone of disappointment, which is especially noticeable in the last two bars as the Cs and Gs collapse to Bs and F#s, as if pulled down by the weight of their sins. And now comes the terrifying rehearsal mark V: “You dwell in everlasting sin”. Whilst the basses wander chromatically, the sopranos and altos conclude their phrases with profane leaps that must be exhaustingly difficult to sing accurately, and the other voices don’t have it any easier with the relentless accretion in measures 81 and 82… The writing from measure 83 is, needless to say, spectacular (reminiscent of rehearsal mark Q), and I love the contrast between the harmonies in measures 86 and 87: the triplets in measure 86 are wonderfully wicked, and the way they are purified by the quartal harmony on the word “Christ” is simply glorious. Do you want another bonkers harmony? Measure 90, beat four, on the word “me” - effortless writing that mimics tectonic plates shifting. Just listen to how Schnittke not only harmonizes the text (granting us sanctuary with the occasional suspensions), but also how he paces the text in the final bars “[Deliver me] from eternal, bitter torment”.

A reassuring sensation is felt throughout VIII that is only momentarily defied at rehearsal mark D, during an ascending segment marking the words “Be sorrowful only when you have sinned”, leading to briefly-held clusters that contrast with the relatively triadic writing that came before. Unlike some of the previous Psalms, this one ends rather modestly.

IX returns to the mood of the earlier Psalms, with an unsettling texture permeating the entire Psalm formed by the return of the closed-mouthed "mmm"s. The solo tenor’s introduction captures our attention right from the start, and when the sopranos and altos take over we are treated to some of Schnittke’s best writing: unisons split out to form conventional harmonies in unconventional surroundings, and also to form dissonant clashes and turbid passages. The creeping melodies and stumbling rhythms continue until rehearsal mark L, signalled by tritone glissandi. This condemning section increases in tension and scorn until the defeated voices submit to wretchedness - not even the attempts at pure harmonies on the word “God’s” in measure 80 can escape the sinful pull of the ubiquitous C# in the basses, perhaps representing the dishonest, doomed lifestyle of the monks described in the text. Some incredibly doleful lines follow, such as those from measures 93 to 97. These eventually lead us to the zenith of the piece, the fortissimo “Christ, our God, our Lord and heavenly master, grant us patience”; the three bars corresponding to “Khriste Bozhe nash” are so simple yet so magical. The Psalm ends in true Schnittke fashion.

The cycle of Psalms will soon come to an end. Maybe this is why Schnittke treats us to the rhythmic restlessness of Psalm X. I really like the passage starting from measure 23, particularly the shifts in intervals between the tenors and basses. Measures 37 and 38 feature a wonderfully eerie contrary motion lull which is counterbalanced moments later in measures 40 and 41 by some truly outlandish harmonies: what are the tenors doing?! Are you hearing those C♮-F♮ protrusions? The whole climb until that D chord in measure 53 is impeccable. Listen out for the twisted entry into measure 68! Schnittke’s ability to have us crawl through dense sections only to greet us with large, open harmonies as soon the tension becomes too much is remarkable.

“I came into this vale of tears as a naked infant, and naked I shall leave it”; a solo tenor recites the text of Psalm XI over a hum held by the basses. “What a marvel, how we all pass in the same way from darkness to light and from light to darkness”; the soloist is now accompanied by another tenor a major second way. Eventually joined by altos and sopranos, they continue: “From our mother’s womb with a crying into the world. From the sorrowful world into the grave”; words relating to light, tears and sorrow are sung in high-pitched laments, and words relating to the grave and the end are set to murky clusters. “Tears at the beginning, tears at the end”, now sung in lamenting clusters. Two whole-tone chords coat the word “temptation”, portending the final sound of the Psalm. The quartal harmony that follows ends on a bitter A♭, for “these [dreams, shadows, temptation] are the beauty of everyday life”. “Alas, alas” is set to four descending whole-tone chords, as is the word “life” in its descending 7/8 wail. A spiralling vortex begins immediately after, exclusively in whole-tone blocks with the exception of a repeated octave F-E gesture on the second syllable of “like”. What are the final words of Schnittke’s Psalms of Repentance? “Like flowers, like dust, like shadow, it [life] passes”. The closing harmony - a corrupted Picardy third? - is imbued with an absolute sense of dread of the unknown that lies ahead…

XII is wordless and because of that, as well as everything that has come before, it is perhaps the most impactful. Even without words it is still a delicacy. But is this final Psalm truly wordless? Or are we, earthly creatures, simply incapable of deciphering what is being sung by these ethereal voices? I love listening to music, or even conversations in foreign languages, and not understanding what is being said. Under the right circumstances, being surrounded by these unknown sounds can invoke a marvellous sense of wonder and awe. Based on Psalm XI, we can infer that XII represents something greater. Death? Salvation? Nothingness? Which one is it? Maybe the answer lies in the music itself. The sound of the end is a D major chord with an added E♭. As I mentioned when discussing the Concerto for Choir’s final movement, D stands for Deus, so this may give an indication as to what XII is about. As a side note, if one wanted to be diligent (or pedantic), the addition of that E♭ to the D major chord would be essential (the letter S is often mapped onto an E♭ in musical cryptograms due to German nomenclature). Actually the E♮, which is obviously right there (dEus), could also be seen as essential. I do find it quite funny that Schnittke, who loved chromatic motifs, didn’t include that E♮ to form a chromatic trichord. Wait, but there’s also an F# and an A♮ in the final harmony, so by that logic should Schnittke have added the thirds and fifths of both the E♭ and E♮ major triads? This is getting messy… Anyway, what was I saying? Ah yes. I have no idea what Schnittke’s intention was with this final, wordless Psalm. Reflection? Eternal repentance? To depict the passing to an afterlife? Perhaps… As for what it means to me, I think I will keep that to myself.

I love the Psalms and the Concerto equally.

Requiem

If you’ve enjoyed Schnittke’s choral works so far, you may also enjoy his Requiem, written for a unique combination of instruments including pitched percussion, electric guitar, electric bass, drums and, of course, mixed voices. As you might expect, the Requiem is serious and sober, but it is not as intimate or imposing as the two works discussed above.

The opening movement’s quasi-tranquil mood contrasts with the Kyrie’s chromatic theme and pounding rhythms.

The Dies irae aptly maintains the wrathful energy which only ever so slightly ebbs in the middle section to allow the sopranos’ frenzied melody to take center stage.

The incredibly sinister Tuba mirum crowns itself as one of the highlights of this Requiem.

Schnittke’s Lacrimosa setting is magnificently stunning.

The Sanctus features a great melody that would feel out of place if it weren’t for the bass accompaniment - it’s probably one of my favourite movements of the Requiem.

Clusters in the organ can be found throughout the work, and they take on a weeping quality in the Agnus Dei.

The Credo progresses with promise until it reaches one of the most frustrating moments of Schnittke’s output: towards the end, after the fortissimo section, after the guitar’s B♭s, after the bass’ arpeggios, and after the straight-but-effective drum playing, we have the chance to erupt into what could be one of the most sensational moments of the composition, and then as of bar 52 everything comes crumbling down due to the puzzling writing in the drum kit. Why are those rests there? And why does it drop out completely?! Why do the drums drop out for two whole bars?! It infuriates me.

Songs of War and Peace

This composition is based on folk songs from former Soviet states.

Golden Grass on Ancient Burial Mounds patiently introduces us to a beautifully arranged folk melody.

The modal melody, and even the arrangement, of My Heart Moans Bitterly, sitting over a C# in the lower register, is incredibly Bartókian. For example rehearsal mark 54, when a descending C-B♭-A-G is set over the persistent lower C# octaves, suggesting a partially octatonic collection. Even the fourth phrase ends with what Elliott Antokoletz (in the context of Bartók’s music) labels a Z-cell: G#-G♮-D♮-C#.

Three Sacred Hymns

The beauty of these hymns lies in their simplicity.

The canons of the first culminate in a wonderfully tense resolution.

As soon as we hear the first notes of the second hymn, we know that we are building up towards a C minor chord, and Schnittke does not disappoint. The minor sixth in the sopranos and tenors lands on an E♭ that leads powerfully into the F of the next bar.

The longest of the hymns is the third and corresponds to the Lord’s Prayer. From measure 29 the text reads "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil". The word "temptation" aptly ends in measure 34 on a diminished chord and prior to that, in measure 30, we encounter another passionate ascending E♭-F in the sopranos, this time enhanced by the basses. In measure 38 we begin to hear "For Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever" and the sopranos once again steal the show with their entry on an F minor chord, emphasising the word "kingdom". Bizarrely, but fascinatingly, the voices seem to falter on the word "power" in measure 41, due to the altos (and some tenors) holding on to their F-B♭ in beats three and four (the second syllable of "power") and also due to the basses’ descent, but this is craftily counterbalanced by the bright E♭ to C major motion on the word "glory". How does Schnittke set the final "Amen"? With an ingenious G7 to E♭ resolution.

Voices of Nature

A very quiet, atmospheric composition bordering on micropolyphony… kind of?

Minnesang

I like to think of this one as a companion to Rautavaara’s Katedralen.

Canon in Memoriam Igor Stravinsky

As you might guess from the title, this is a poignant composition for string quartet. The canon itself is rather explicit and easy to follow, making this piece all the more effective. The main notes are derived from Stravinsky’s name: iGor FEDoroviSCH StrAvinSky = G, F, E D, E♭, C, B, E♭, A, E♭, and can be heard in full at the end of the piece.

Stille Nacht

This arrangement can initially come across as gimmicky, but I quite like it. Its simplicity and the unexpected evaporation of the melody make it work rather well.

Piano Quintet

An incredibly oppressive and personal work written after the death of Schnittke’s mother.

The piece begins with a three-note chromatic motif that Schnittke described as a "sigh". Schnittke’s creativity shines in his treatment of the material.

The second movement is a sardonic waltz that recurringly decomposes into a tragic shell of itself.

Quarter tones permeate the third movement, which is based on a motif reminiscent of that of the first. Towards the end the piano interrupts with an absurd A♭ major chord derived from Schnittke’s initials.

The fourth movement is the most unpredictable of the five owing to the explosive rhythms and dissonant strides of the piano that gradually unfold.

The heart-breaking lullaby theme that the piano introduces in the final movement can be seen as the foundation of an "inverted passacaglia", around which the strings revisit material from the previous movements.

String Quartet No. 1

An inventive and modern-sounding string quartet based on a tone row. I love the trill segment of the first movement just over halfway through (rehearsal mark 16), and the third movement is brilliant in how the monologue eventually dislocates itself into a four-way dialogue.

String Quartet No. 2

Schnittke’s String Quartet No. 2 is absolutely chaotic and I love it. I was surprised to discover that the quartet is based on Russian Orthodox liturgical chants.

The quartet begins with a four-part semitonal canon in harmonics, with each voice entering one pitch class below the previous one. Vagrant melodic lines levitate above blunt harmonies, madden, and then settle down in time for the agitato that is to follow.

I hope the second movement will take you aback as much as it did me. Can you believe it’s based on a hymn?! This should become more apparent by rehearsal mark 13. The “folk” episode at rehearsal mark 16 is superb and rather danceable. What SPECTACULAR mayhem!

If you don’t believe that hymns are the building block of this composition, perhaps the third movement, specifically the opening viola and cello duet, will convince you. This sweet, deceiving sobriety doesn’t last, however, and the deranged tensions resurface to deafen us in a fortissississimo climax.

The reticent fourth movement keeps us on our toes, fearful of what lurks ahead; the inherently soothing qualities of the hymns are suppressed as echoes of the previous movements swarm them. Then, as if their work here were complete, the strings leave us with the harmonic effects that began the piece.

What a tour de force.

String Quartet No. 3

This quartet is truly a remarkable piece. Stitched together by quotes of music giants - Orlando di Lasso, Beethoven and Shostakovich - the entire string quartet can be viewed as a journey through history. Schnittke said “I wanted these three figures, separated by centuries […], to meet. It is, in general, a kind of constant: the breaking of time, to overcome its unidirectionality and thus bring all times together”. Certainly one of his most idiosyncratic compositions.

Concerto for Piano and Orchestra

One of Schnittke’s earlier pieces and very different from the others discussed so far. The first movement is drivingly rhythmic, the second features some of Schnittke’s most impressive, delicate and magical writing, and the third is simply great fun.

Concerto Grosso No. 1

What a disturbing, impulsive composition this is.

The first movement is lugubrious, tragic, beautiful and cohesive.

Then, out of nowhere, the second movement decides to break away completely from its predecessor in the most puzzling way imaginable. Are you hearing this?! It will soon mutate into a scornful statement of itself. Even the airy melody at rehearsal mark 6 is twisted. I suppose you now understand why Schnittke’s music is at times labelled polystylistic. This polystylism was not dishonest, and in fact Schnittke viewed it as a succession to serialism, as a necessity to reflect the reality of his time, and also as the reconciliation between his concert music and his successful career as a film composer.

The mood of the first movement returns in the third. Schnittke wrote the opening section so well that the strings sound like a submerged pipe organ. The violin soloists, which will be the focus of the following movement, build the orchestra up to an abhorrent climax. That was incredible!

The fourth movement sounds like it has been excised from the third, and it is only at the very end that the violins undergo a true transformation leading into the rondo.

Remember the bizarre second movement? Well, the fifth movement now reprises the same stylistic madness with clear references to the opening movement. The Intermezzo interrotto of Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra seems like child’s play in comparison to this.

The main theme of the first movement (the minor seconds) feels like it’s a galaxy away. The final movement reminds us how we got here, but not without threating us with the theme of the second movement - sul ponticello - shortly before the end.

This is one of Schnittke’s best and most unique works. What unsurmountable creativity he possessed.

That’s it for now. до свидания. (I bet you’re still in awe of the Concerto for Choir)