A few years ago, through Shostakovich’s late a capella choral cycle Loyalty, I discovered the music of the Estonian composer Veljo Tormis. My interest was ignited after reading in the second volume of Sofia Khentova’s Shostakovich biography the following passage about the work’s 1970 premiere:
In addition to Loyalty, the program also included songs by Veljo Tormis—a composer whose work Shostakovich supported.[1]
A few days later, I eagerly returned home from a record store hunt with a BIS CD of the Orphei Drängar[2] singing a selection of works by Tormis.[3] Whatever preconceived expectations about the composer I may have had were immediately shattered by his Incantatio maris æstuosi, the very first work on that disc. A double revelation: of Tormis’ genius; the elemental, shamanistic power of his music—which resounded from my speakers like the sound of the earth itself; as if soil, sea, mountains, thunder, and lightning had erupted into song. His music felt to me frictively new, yet somehow timeless and more ancient than ancient, primeval. It also burst open my ears to the possibilities of choral music itself, a genre I had long ignored in favor of orchestral and instrumental music.
To my surprise, the premiere of Loyalty had elicited the warm approval of a composer who by then had become personally estranged from Shostakovich: Georgy Sviridov.[4][5] In the same review, he also praised Tormis. This prompted me to search through his personal jottings and find whether he had anything else to say about his Estonian colleague. There was, in fact, quite a bit. I translated his remarks and have made them available here.
Often depicted as a reactionary and crank,[6] Sviridov is widely known within Russia for his film and vocal works. He was also an important, if still unrecognized, influence on later Soviet music. The mature work of Tigran Mansurian, Arvo Pärt, and Sofia Gubaidulina, among others, are all marked by radical re-engagement with their ancestral pasts; not as exercises in nostalgia, but as profound explorations which seek to find the new within the ancient. Whether or not they had intended it, they all follow a trajectory that Sviridov had cut for himself beginning in 1950 with his song cycle, Land of My Fathers, and which found ultimate expression in the Canticles and Prayers from his very final years.[7]
Tormis, too, turned to the past; extracting from the depths of Estonian history his dazzling diamonds, to borrow from Stravinsky’s remark on Webern. “It is not I who makes use of folk music, it is folk music that makes use of me,” said Tormis[8]—an artistic credo that could have been uttered by Sviridov. Rebirth, not retreat, was the aspiration for both composers. They poured their most ardent efforts into works for the literal voice of their people; acts which simultaneously asserted national identity, and rejected the modernist internationalist order that prized instrumental music. Nevertheless, Tormis and Sviridov are each highly distinct from the other, for all their kinship, not least in the diverging spiritualities that inform their respective work: paganism in the former, Christian mysticism in the latter. Yet, to borrow Mahler’s simile (by way of Schopenhauer) in describing his and Richard Strauss’ music, they were like “two miners digging a shaft from opposite ends and then meeting underground.”[9] In one of the last issues of Sovyetskaya Muzyka before the collapse of the Soviet Union, the magazine opened with a commemoration of Sviridov’s 75th birthday. The leading tribute was from Tormis:
These anxious times we are living through are often reflected in music that is disturbing, so excessively tense… It strikes me that Sviridov’s music resists this; it bears within itself a new beginning, an ideal.[10]
Likewise, there is within Tormis’ music a similar defiance against despair, akin to Nielsen’s “inextinguishable” life force; a belief that from the ashes of the past, a new world can be born.
To my knowledge, this may be the first time Sviridov’s statements on Tormis have been disseminated in English. They were extracted from Muzyka kak sud’ba (Music as Destiny); a posthumous publication of Sviridov’s personal writings, assembled and edited by his nephew, Alexander Belonenko. These jottings, often fragmentary and evidently written with no consideration for the judgment of posterity, are presented as is. Belonenko’s footnotes are preserved; I have also added to them for the sake of explaining people and terms that may be unfamiliar to Western readers. Some of these writings appear to be drafts for a general indictment of the magazine Sovyetskaya Muzyka that may never have been completed. A number of these have titles, which perhaps were meant to be provisional—these have been retained where originally present. Chapter titles appear within parentheses at the head of each entry. None of these annotations are precisely dated. Any suggested corrections to my translations are welcomed.
In the introduction to the correspondence between Sviridov and his friend Mieczysław Weinberg, Belonenko notes that Tormis figures prominently in the over 2,000 letters that survive in the former composer’s archive.[11] One hopes that the Estonian’s side of this musical communion will eventually be heard.
My sincerest gratitude to Dr. Mimi Daitz, the preeminent scholar on Tormis. Her interest was the impetus for these translations of Sviridov’s writings.
***
(From “Notebooks 1972–1980”)[12]
Boris Tchaikovsky[13] and Alexei Nikolayev[14] do not make their artistic journey alone. They follow the arduous road of searching for artistic truth; being dissatisfied with ready-made techniques, regardless of whether they rehash classical methods or brand new clichés: dodecaphony, serialism, or others; pretentious terms vaunted by some musicians, who therefore blow them like dust into the eyes of gullible listeners, who sometimes really fall for the idea that they [musicologists] have been initiated into the profound mysteries of art. But it has been known for long that it is ultimately not a matter of the artist’s style, but of his power, the depths of his expression, and the brilliance of his own language.
From what I know (and, of course, I do not know everything), I would like to name wonderful works such as the vocal cycles by Leningraders: Valery Gavrilin’s[15] Russian Notebook and Evening, Vadim Veselov’s[16] April Songs, and Roman Ledenev’s[17] cycle to verses by Nekrasov, as well as Boris Tchaikovsky’s orchestral works and quartets!! Otar Taktakishvili,[18] who has had great success in the field of oratorios, the premiere of whose opera [The Abduction of the Moon] is awaited with great interest.
The choral music of Veljo Tormis—a remarkable example of the New Style! Anybody who has heard the monumental choruses of this composer… [Editor’s note: The sentence was left incomplete.] An artist of exceptional magnitude was created in Estonia, who managed to till from the deepest layers of the folk music soil of the Estonians, Livonians, Setos, and others. He revived their ancient runes, making of them a priceless contribution to Estonian music and, therefore, world culture.
I remember how this outstanding musician who had just received the [USSR] State Prize—it must be said, by unanimous approval—was commemorated with a perfunctory, dry, unenthusiastic, and purely officious article in Sovyetskaya Muzyka. That same issue, the editors published a colossal discussion about another composer and his new work.[19] Without saying so explicitly, the magazine editors made clear what they think and what kind of music they consider more valuable, interesting, and important for the development, for the destiny of Soviet music! [Editor’s note: This is followed by a torn page.]
***
(From “Notebooks 1978–1983”)[20]
A magazine [Sovyetskaya Muzyka] that actively promotes values of dubious merit. It has failed to bring together a wide range of composers and failed to draw great musicians. Working composers, whose voices would be critical, are not heard. Small wonder. Because most of the important topics are addressed by the editorial staff themselves; people who lack the competency to resolve the very issues they raise.
The notion of “nationality” has vanished from the magazine. The belief that art is popular, practical, and needed urgently has totally disappeared. These are of scant interest to the editorial board. Yet these remain as the fundamental challenges of all of our music and art. And serious people are extremely concerned about the fact that serious music is increasingly ceasing to be a popular phenomenon. People utterly estranged from the depths of real people’s lives… [Editor’s note: the sentence is incomplete.]
Chekhov: “Alien to the spirit and lives of our native folk… they look upon us as dull foreigners.”[21] These words can be entirely attributed… [Editor’s note: the sentence is incomplete.] Their idea: the “dodecaphonization” of our music, especially Russian music. Only this belief is hoisted aloft and saluted… [Editor’s note: the continuation of the sentence is cut off.]
Boris Tchaikovsky, Otar Taktakishvili, Valery Gavrilin, Veljo Tormis—the greatest masters, the pride of our multinational culture. Their work has been for many years systematically silenced and intentionally denigrated by the magazine. It has been many years since one could find such names as Shalva Mshevelidze[22] and Anatol Bahatyroŭ,[23] the towering representatives of multinational Soviet music—classics of their respective nations—who did much to cultivate the flowering tree of Soviet music.
Works which exist only by profiteering from a famous literary source or major historical figure. The value of such music is very doubtful. Discourse about the intensity or the revelation of its content is not broached. A very superficial illustration of a stage scenario, without penetrating into the inner world of the actors.
Indeed the very idea itself—glossing over a great novel with its unfathomable content—would not occur to a serious artist. It speaks only of the writer’s fecklessness in understanding the work of a great writer. The music itself is not stylistically independent. It is eclecticism at its purest; sometimes, ostensibly, emphasized consciously, which does not deny the composer a kind of wit, but also does not make this music artistically necessary and convincing. Its thematic material—the foundation of music—is almost invariably weak. It is precisely thematic material which distinguished Mozart from Salieri.[24]
***
Why I Resigned From the Editorial Board of Sovyetskaya Muzyka
A Note
(From “Notebooks 1978–1983”)[25]
There are major shortcomings in the magazine’s work; bias in its coverage of the creative process, the road of Soviet music; which pits the editorial board against public opinion. Boris Tchaikovsky, Otar Taktakishvili, Valery Gavrilin, Veljo Tormis, Alexei Nikolayev, Yuri Butsko,[26] Anatol Bahatyroŭ, Shalva Mshvelidze. Orotund anecdotal praise of its own: Rozhdestvensky, while on another of his tours in the Soviet Union, gives a show; essay by Lev Mazel—on Glinka!!![27] Total cluelessness. Magazine.
Those at the head of the editorial offices have been working there for decades. As musicians—they are weak. Whatever creative potential they may have is insignificant and was used up a long time ago. Inability to unify the creative energies of the Union, to attract actively working composers to participate, with the desire to solve the most difficult challenges in our musical culture. Articles and reviews written by the editorial staff are trivial and unjust.
***
Editorial Board of S[ovyetskaya] M[uzyka]
(From “Notebooks 1980–1983”)[28]
People who know how to edit skillfully. They can insert or delete a word here and there and radically alter the meaning. An article is given a title that changes its significance or deliberately suppresses engagement or diminishes the subject in question. Affixing labels. Instead of publishing an article by a critic who expresses one point-of-view, followed by another with a different perspective, in short, to start a conversation, discussion, etc., nothing of the kind occurs. Yet, at the same time, it is all there. The board tries to diminish another's article to its own views, its own assessments. For this reason, an editor is engaged who—it must be admitted, with skill and sometimes subtlety—grinds down the critic’s thoughts to those prevailing in this chummy and tightly-run office. A crafty and organized quasi-musical gang. Hemingway called these sorts of people “lice that crawl between the pages of New York magazines.”[29]
The magazine advances a policy for the sake of a small coterie of composers. Because of this, the work of a number of major and actively working composers are deprecated and even swept under the rug. For example: Boris Tchaikovsky, Veljo Tormis, Otar Taktakishvili, Alexei Nikolayev, Andrei Eshpai,[30] Valery Gavrilin, composers from the Byelorussian SSR and other republics.
All of this is presented in a highly biased way; the creations of “its own” people are splashed on the front pages. Articles dedicated to “lesser” composers stew in the magazine’s files for years. With respect to its editing: it must be said that they have such masterful editors who can “correct” articles in such a way that they acquire new meanings their authors had not even conceived of. The title is changed, after which its meaning, and expression disappear, etc. When reprinting articles from elsewhere in their pages, the staff makes arbitrary changes to them, reducing everything to their house views, forged in a self-satisfied editorial environment. Despite the fact that a good half of the staff has moved along to other countries over the years, with the editorial board transforming as a result, this has had no impact on the staff’s prevailing views on all musical problems.
The problems of Russia’s classical heritage, etc. remain totally neglected. Meanwhile, recent decades have seen surging interest in this important matter from musicologists and especially young people. Indeed, the classics of the 19th century have great possibilities, etc.
***
Magazine
(From “Notebooks 1981–1982”)[31]
…but, in fact, the magazine’s editors are without a doubt fighting against our musical traditions. This is certainly done much more subtly, skillfully, and cleverly than 50 years ago; back when in Za proletarskuyu muzyku [For Proletarian Music] the critic Lev Lebedinsky[32] called Sergei Prokofiev a “fascist,” and Rachmaninoff’s music was referred to by him as “fascism in a priestly cassock.” But, indeed, the current heads of the journal are the heirs of RAPM[33] or LEF.[34] They are motivated by the same idea, in support of empty technical skill; art as a sermon of evil and immorality.
<...> [Ellipsis per source.]
Leading the editorial board are experienced and wily people. Composers are neatly divided into “their own” and “everyone else.” The former are praised effusively. For many years there were almost no opposing views in the magazine. Generally speaking, these articles [in support of “their own”] are published without oversight from the editorial board.
The burning problems of the classics (classical art, both in Russia, as well as its fraternal republics) finds almost no representation in the magazine. Therefore, the rupture with classical tradition is intentionally widened.
Instead, it focuses on aggressively promoting domestic dodecaphonism (Schoenbergianism). All the while, art that develops national folk traditions is systematically humiliated. This includes the work of outstanding living masters, the pride of Soviet music—for example, Boris Tchaikovsky, Veljo Tormis, Otar Taktakishvili, Valery Gavrilin. I am not going to reveal the authors [who support the magazine’s views and denigrate opposing ones], but if it comes right down to it, well-known writers can be named. Those running the editorial office have become utterly brazen in their leniency [to such writers]. Not even one of their articles has ever been challenged.
***
(From “Notebooks 1987 [I])[35]
We have forgotten to rejoice in each other’s successes—Gavrilin, Tormis, the anniversary concert of Boris Tchaikovsky (commemorating the composer’s 60th birthday), to which none of the Union’s leaders showed up. Group interests swept over the activities of the Union leadership (organizations of the RSFSR, Leningrad).
***
(From “Notebooks 1987 [I])[36]
USSR [State] Prize Committee.
Take the masters, not the functionaries: Nesterenko,[37] Ernesaks,[38] Tormis, Boris Tchaikovsky, Gavrilin, Eshpai (?), Svetlanov;[39] but not Petr[ov],[40] Pakh[mutova],[41] Shch[edrin],[42] and Khren[nikov].[43]
Who passes judgment on a composition? It should not be bureaucrats, but masters. The system—in bad shape. Why are there no major Soviet writers [on the prize jury]: Bykaŭ,[44] Zalygin,[45] Belov,[46] Rasputin,[47] Nosov?[48]
***
On Tormis
(From “Notebook 1988”)[49]
1.) As if in Estonia for the first time. A school [of composers] related to Saint Petersburg. Saar[50]—an excellent, inspired Romantic; Kapp[51] and Eller.[52] Tubin.[53] Ernesaks and more younger composers: Tamberg,[54] Rääts,[55] and Tormis.
Before me on the table are records of Tormis’ music.[56]
notes
[1]: Khentova, Sofia (1985). Шостакович. Жизнь и творчество [Shostakovich: Life and Works] (in Russian). Volume 2. Moscow: Советский композитор [Soviet Composer]. Page 375.
[2]: Male choir based in Uppsala, Sweden; founded in 1853.
[3]: Tormis, Veljo (2012). Curse Upon Iron: Works for Male Choir by Veljo Tormis. Orphei Drängar, Cecilia Rydinger Alin. Stockholm: BIS Records. BIS-SACD-1993. (Super Audio CD).
[4]: Shostakovich, Dmitri (2016). Ekimovsky, Viktor (ed.). Dmitri Shostakovich: New Collected Works. VIIth Series: Choral Compositions. 85th Volume: Loyalty. With a critical commentary on the history of the score and explanatory notes on the holographs by Maria Karachevskaya. Moscow: DSCH Publishers. ISMN 979-0-706427-15-7. Page 38.
[5]: Discussion of the relationship between Shostakovich and Sviridov, still mostly unknown outside of Russia, is outside the scope of this essay. In the early years of their relationship, however, Sviridov was Shostakovich’s protégé; by the 1940s, the latter, uniquely, treated the younger composer not as a student, but as a colleague of equal standing. In a letter to the arts critic Isaak Glikman dated December 9, 1949, Shostakovich, without irony, referred to Sviridov as “one of the greatest composers of the twentieth century.” He goes on to lament how the younger man was wasting his “huge talent” on account of alcoholism, an addiction that was eventually overcome. (See: Glikman, Isaak (2001). Story of a Friendship: The Letters of Dmitry Shostakovich to Isaak Glikman, 1941–1975. Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press. ISBN 0-8014-3979-5. Pages 38; 247, note 27; 247–248, note 33.) It suffices to say that their relationship was mutually significant for their careers and revealing of their respective personal outlooks.
[6]: Robert Craft’s acrid objurgation (“steady, solid, unhurried (all euphemisms for ‘boring,’ of course, but I am at least trying)” is a classic example, which set the tone for much of Sviridov’s later reception in the West. (See Craft, Robert (1972). Stravinsky: Chronicle of a Friendship, 1948/1971. New York City: Alfred A. Knopf. ISBN 0-394-47612-3. Page 200.) Professional evaluations from peers in Russia have been more equitable, although not invariably so. Andrei Volkonsky, for example, described Sviridov as a hyper-nationalist CPSU party hack who produced music as if on order for the GUM department store. (See Dubinets, Elena (2010). Князь Андрей Волконский. Партитура жизни [Prince Andrei Volkonsky: Score of Life]. Moscow: Рипол-классик [Ripol-Classic]. ISBN 978-5-386-02153-5. Pages 333–334.) Sviridov’s relations with bureaucrats were often strained and he was never a party member withal. (Sviridov, Georgy (January 26, 1977). Georgy Sviridov to Valery Zarubin. Private collection.)
[7]: Sviridov was preceded in this respect by Anton Webern, whose knowledge of what was later called early music informed his own work. Although Sviridov repeatedly excoriated “dodecaphonism” and “Schoenbergianism” in his personal jottings, he expressed great admiration for Webern; singling him out as the only one of the Second Viennese School who composed “living” music, while dismissing Schoenberg and Berg as “outdated” and “ordinary (Romantic).” It is tempting to speculate if Webern provided a model of artistic development for Sviridov, however divergent their backgrounds and conclusions were. (See Sviridov, Georgy (2002). Belonenko, Alexander (ed.). Музыка как судьба [Music as Destiny] (in Russian). Moscow: Молодая гвардия [Young Guard]. ISBN 5-235-024440-0. Page 199.)
[8]: Daitz, Mimi (2004). Ancient Song Recovered: The Life and Music of Veljo Tormis (2nd ed.). Tartu, Estonia: University of Tartu Press. ISBN 975-9916-27-095-0. Page 85.
[9]: Carr, Jonathan (1997). Mahler: A Biography. New York City: The Overlook Press. ISBN 0-87951-802-2. Page 115.
[10]: Tormis, Veljo (December 1990). “К 75-летию Георгия Свиридова” [“On Georgy Sviridov’s 75th Birthday”] (in Russian). Sovyetskaya Muzyka [Soviet Music]. 625 (12). Page 1.
[11]: Sviridov, Georgy; Weinberg, Mieczysław (2023). Belonenko, Alexander (ed.). Мечислав Вайнберг и Георгий Свиридов: переплетение судеб [Mieczysław Weinberg and Georgy Sviridov: Interwoven Destinies] (in Russian). Saint Petersburg: Композитор [Composer]. ISBN 978-5-7379-1029-7. Page 8.
[12]: Sviridov 2002, pp. 116–117.
[13]: Boris Alexandrovich Tchaikovsky (1925–1996): Russian composer and pianist (no relation to Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky). He was a close friend of Sviridov, with whom he had a common friend in Mieczysław Weinberg.
[14]: Alexei Alexandrovich Nikolayev (1931–2003): Russian composer and teacher.
[15]: Valery Alexandrovich Gavrilin (1939–1999): Russian composer, ethnomusicologist, and teacher. After enduring a difficult childhood, his musical talent gained notice. Well known in Russia for his vocal music and the television ballet Anyuta.
[16]: Vadim Fyodorovich Veselov (1930–1990): Russian composer. In 1960, he was hired as an editor for the Leningrad branch of the state music publishing house, Muzyka.
[17]: Roman Semyonovich Ledenev (1930–2019): Russian composer and teacher.
[18]: Otar Vasilisdze Taktakishvili (1924–1989): Russian composer, musicologist, conductor, and teacher of Georgian descent. The opera mentioned was awarded a Lenin Prize in 1982.
[19]: The composer Sviridov is referring to is Alfred Garrievich Schnittke (1934–1996). Sovyetskaya Muzyka published in its October 1974 issue an article on Tormis by Natalya Zeyfas, “An honest and principled artist.” In the same issue, there was also a series of articles beneath the headline “Discussing Alfred Schnittke’s Symphony [No. 1].”
[20]: Sviridov 2002, pp. 282–283.
[21]: Imprecisely quoted from memory from Chekhov’s diaries.
[22]: Shalva Mikhailovich Mshvelidze (1904–1984): Georgian composer, ethnomusicologist, and teacher.
[23]: Anatol Vasiljevič Bahatyroŭ (1913–2003): Belarusian composer and teacher.
[24]: Sviridov’s remarks are aimed at musical polystylism.
[25]: Sviridov 2002, p. 288.
[26]: Yuri Markovich Butsko (1938–2015): Russian composer. Associated with the novaya folklornaya volna (“new folkloric wave”). His works during this period were influenced by Orthodox chant, albeit refracted through a prismatic postmodern sensibility.
[27]: It is unclear what Sviridov is referring to here. Lev Abramovich Mazel (1907–2000) was a prominent Russian musicologist and professor at the Moscow Conservatory. Although Sovyetskaya Muzyka published a number of Mazel's essays on Glinka and his music—including “Brief Notes on Glinka’s Romances” in 1958—they did not publish any during the late 1970s, when these remarks were written.
[28]: Sviridov 2002, p. 324–325.
[29]: Misquoted from memory. Hemingway’s original from The Green Hills of Africa (emphasis highlighting the origin of Sviridov’s remark mine): “A country, finally, erodes and the dust blows away, the people all die and none of them were of any importance permanently, except those who practiced the arts, and these now wish to cease their work because it is too lonely, too hard to do, and is not fashionable. A thousand years makes economics silly and a work of art endures forever, but it is very difficult to do and now it is not fashionable. People do not want to do it any more because they will be out of fashion and the lice who crawl on literature will not praise them. Also it is very hard to do. So what? So I would go on reading about the river that the Tartars came across when raiding, and the drunken old hunter and the girl and how it was then in the different seasons.”
[30]: Andrei Yakovlevich Eshpai (1925–2015): Russian composer, pianist, and Red Army veteran of paternal Mari descent.
[31]: Sviridov 2002, pp. 354–355.
[32]: Lev Nikolayevich Lebedinsky (1904–1992): Russian music critic and musicologist. In the 1990s, he became better known for his friendship with Shostakovich, as recounted in Elizabeth Wilson’s Shostakovich: A Life Remembered. The closeness and length of this friendship have been disputed by the composer’s widow, Irina. A number of his assertions have also been refuted by scholars, including the editors of the ongoing New Collected Works edition of Shostakovich’s music from DSCH Publishers.
[33]: The Russian Association of Proletarian Musicians (Rossiyskaya assotsiatsiya proletarskikh muzykantov): creative union founded in 1923. Later closely aligned with Prokoll or the Production Collective of Students of the Moscow Conservatory (Proizvostvenniy kollektiv studentov Moskovskoy konservatorii). Disbanded by official decree along with all other Soviet creative unions in 1932.
[34]: The Leftist Front of the Arts (Leviy front iskusstv): avant-garde artist collective founded in Petrograd in 1923. Among its founding members were Vladimir Mayakovsky, Sergei Eisenstein, and Alexander Rodchenko. Later, through the support of Osip Brik and Leon Trotsky, a namesake magazine was founded. Interpersonal disputes and official criticism led to the collapse of the collective and magazine in 1929.
[35]: Sviridov 2002, p. 399.
[36]: Sviridov 2002, p. 412.
[37]: Yevgeny Nesterenko (1938–2021): Russian bass singer and teacher. Premiered many songs and song cycles, most notably by Shostakovich and Sviridov.
[38]: Gustav Ernesaks (1908–1993): Estonian choral conductor and composer. Shostakovich dedicated Loyalty to him, a work whose existence he did not learn of until the composer unexpectedly phoned him with news of its completion.
[39]: Yevgeny Fyodorovich Svetlanov (1928–2002): Russian conductor, composer, and pianist.
[40]: Andrei Pavlovich Petrov (1930–2006): Russian composer, best known domestically for his film scores.
[41]: Alexandra Nikolayevna Pakhmutova (born 1929): Russian composer, pop songwriter, and pianist. Many of her most famous songs were co-written with her husband, Nikolai Nikolayevich Dobronrabov (1928–2023).
[42]: Rodion Konstantinovich Shchedrin (born 1932): Russian composer and pianist.
[43]: Tikhon Nikolayevich Khrennikov (1913–2007): Russian composer and pianist. Best known in the West for his tenure as general secretary of the Union of Composers of the USSR; a position to which he was appointed in 1948 and held until the collapse of the Soviet Union. In Russia, however, he is also known for his songs and film scores.
[44]: Vasil Uladzimiravič Bykaŭ (1924–2003): Belarusian writer, political dissident, and Red Army veteran.
[45]: Sergei Pavlovich Zalygin (1913–2000): Russian writer, editor, engineer, and environmental activist.
[46]: Vasily Ivanovich Belov (1932–2012): Russian writer, poet, dramatist, and political activist. In the late decades of the Soviet Union, he was a prominent figure in the crypto-nationalist derevenskaya proza (“village prose”) literary movement.
[47]: Valentin Grigoryevich Rasputin (1937–2015): Russian writer and environmental activist. An adherent of the derevenskaya proza movement.
[48]: Yevgeny Ivanovich Nosov (1925–2002): Russian writer and Red Army veteran. Also a follower of the derevenskaya proza movement.
[49]: Sviridov 2002, p. 472.
[50]: Mart Saar (1882–1963): Estonian composer, organist, and ethnomusicologist. Attended the Saint Petersburg Conservatory, where he studied with Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, Anatoly Lyadov, and Alexander Glazunov.
[51]: Eugen Kapp (1908–1996): Estonian composer and teacher.
[52]: Heino Eller (1887–1970): Estonian composer and teacher. A crucial figure in 20th-century Estonian music.
[53]: Eduard Tubin (1905–1982): Estonian composer and conductor. After the Soviet annexation of Estonia in 1944, he fled to Sweden, where he settled permanently. Despite his exile, he subsequently visited his homeland a number of times.
[54]: Eino Tamberg (1930–2010): Estonian composer, sound engineer, and teacher.
[55]: Jaan Rääts (1932–2020): Estonian composer, teacher, and pianist.
[56]: Start of an article on Tormis. The LPs and works Sviridov were referring to have not been identified.
![A skin-deep smile for skin-deep music: Tikhon Khrennikov’s moment in the spotlight in the film The Train Goes East (1947). [Wikimedia Commons]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5c51fcd9ee17597b31cebc1f/1573721181692-HU4P8EF7P4EC3M1D0EHL/IMG_7875.jpeg)