Along with Alfred Schnittke and Edison Denisov, Sofia Gubaidulina was among a number of highly talented Soviet composers who were kept under wraps during the Brezhnev years. There is certainly no way that she can be considered an example of Proletarian Realism. She has been described as a respecter of cultural and religious traditions. Judging by her music, her religion and philosophy are quite eclectic. There is no doubting its sincerity and depth of vision. Although she was born in Russia and has lived most of her life there, she is not Russian. She is a Tatar.

Gubaidulina is a highly ascetic composer. Melodies of a any consequence are rare, and there is not usually a rhythmic pattern that amounts to a beat. Rather, Gubaidulina uses mainly texture and color to get her musical ideas across. Not surprisingly, the sounds are on the edge of silence. Sometimes they cross the line so that the sound has been nullified. There is a tendency for the sounds to seem to emerge from the primordial expression of the Creative Divinity, the syllable OM for Hindus, the Logos for Christians. There are compositions where the music struggles to rise above the primordial sound and does not succeed the first time and it has to try again. It should be a sign of hope for the listener that although music can break down completely, the source for renewal is Infinite and indestructible. Music can always rise from its own ashes.

Not surprisingly, Gubaidulina has written for some unusual instrumental combinations. The range extends from monochrome colors of the Flute Quartet and the Bassoon Concerto (scored for bassoon and lower strings only) to the rich tapestries of the full orchestra. Silenzio is scored for violin, cello, and banyan, which is a Russian classical accordion. The banyan is a naturally loud instrument while the two strings are not. Therefore, the banyan is, for the most part, unnaturally soft, which adds to effect of keeping the piece on the edge of sound. In fact, in the first movement, all one can hear of the banyan is the soft movement of air through the instrument, with no notes sounding. High notes on the keyboard, when played softly, have an eerie, transcendental effect in combination with the strings. As with many other of her works, Gubaidulina does not mind aiming for a mystical level of consciousness.

It is tone color that divines Gubaidulina's Third String Quartet into two main sections. The first is all pizzicato, the second almost all arco. This first section, featuring a short motif that is repeated through several registers, is rather contemplative at first, but then it builds in intensity with an increase of strings plucked against the fingerboard. When, finally, the strings are bowed, the short motif of the first section is gradually stretched into a broader melodic line. The music becomes calmer as it goes on and it reaches a serene conclusion.

The High Tightrope Dancer for violin and piano also achieves a similar two-part structure through tone coloring. In the first section, the pianist plays directly on the strings without ever touching any of the keys. The violin plays highly agitated figures while the piano begins with soft scratching on the strings and then becomes more and more percussive until the lowest strings are struck very hard with tone clusters. There is a long pause, and the piece recommences. At last, the pianist plays soft, mostly triadic chords on the keys, and the agitated figures are transformed into more expansive ones. The vertigo of the first section gives way to a sense of freedom from gravity.

Offertorium for violin and orchestra captures the spirit of the two composers that Gubaidulina says are her two greatest mentors: J.S. Bach and Anton Webern. It is based on the theme of the ricercar from The Musical Offering which Webern orchestrated so skillfully. There is a series of free variations on the theme during which the theme is progressively dismembered by taking off the first and last remaining notes each time, until the theme has been made a holocaust offering. There follows a period where the music seems lost and is searching for a new identity. Then the theme returns in one of the most uncanny passages written in the late twentieth century. The theme is transfigured and so is the whole aura of music surrounding it. It sounds a bit like a hymn, but it avoids any of the usual cadences that go with hymns so that, although the music has begun to sound almost tonal, it floats above any possible tone centers. This is the inner light of the Transfiguration in sound.

Gubaidulina has written a symphony that is roughly 35 minutes long, has twelves movements and no themes. As with so many other works of hers, it is texture and color that provides the structure and, in this case, the symphonic dialectic. The dialectic is set up in the first two movements which provide a kind of exposition. The first movement consists of nothing at all but D Major triads, scattered about in various registers and instrumental combinations. Except that it all dips down to a chord in D-flat, which sets up the second movement. One could say that the second, equally brief movement has everything BUT triads. It is mainly characterized by rising chromatic figures. Harmonic triads and melodic chromaticism then, provide the elements of development and thematic transformation which does amount to a full symphonic scope. The two elements are as fruitful as two contrasting themes in a classical sonata design for generating a symphonic dynamic. Although one's initial impression is that the triads might represent transcendent goodness and the chromaticism earthly evil, it quickly becomes apparent that it is not so simple. The triads become agitated at times until they sound more like agents of instability than of the stability we expect of triads. On the other hand, the chromatic figures have intense, dark moments, and then calm down to a contemplative level. A series of loud gong strokes at various timbres accompanies the chromatic motif and then, when the motif calms down, the gong strokes are repeated much more softly. The eighth movement is by far the longest and is flanked by the two shortest. In the first of the flanking movements, the rhythm associated with the triads is played by the string players hitting the strings with the back of their bows. So the triadic notes do not sound. In the other flanking movement, there is a bit of rumbling in the bass percussion and the conductor makes a few gyrations that can't be seen on a recording. The eighth movement has the most involved development where the two basic elements keep coming up against each other. At times it sounds like a struggle between good and evil, as similar contrasting textures do in some works of Edison Denisov. On the whole, however, I hear more of a sense of a struggle and yearning for synthesis. The tenth movement again consists of triads only, but this time in G Major. The eleventh movement features the chromatic element. But now it sounds mostly untroubled. The final movement develops the elements again, alternating between intense confrontation and an embrace of opposites. The symphony ends on a soft high-pitched triad that asks questions rather than resolving any harmony. In the midst of this irresolution, the universe sounds more friendly than not, and it can be trusted even if it does not give out many answers.