The Concerto For Bassoon and Low Strings by Sofia Gubaidulina - A

University of Iowa
Iowa Research Online

Theses and Dissertations
Spring 2011
The Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings by

Sofia Gubaidulina: a performance guide
Jacqueline May Wilson
University of Iowa
Copyright 2011 Jacqueline May Wilson
This dissertation is available at Iowa Research Online: https://ir.uiowa.edu/etd/1109
Recommended Citation
Wilson, Jacqueline May. "The Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings by Sofia Gubaidulina: a performance guide." DMA (Doctor of
Musical Arts) thesis, University of Iowa, 2011.
https://ir.uiowa.edu/etd/1109. https://doi.org/10.17077/etd.3xrgytzj
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THE CONCERTO FOR BASSOON AND LOW STRINGS BY SOFIA GUBAIDULINA:
A PERFORMANCE GUIDE
by
An essay submitted in partial fulfillment

of the requirements for the
Doctor of Musical Arts degree
in the Graduate College of
The University of Iowa
May 2011
Essay Supervisors: Professor Benjamin Coelho

Assistant Professor Jennifer Iverson
Copyright by
JACQUELINE MAY WILSON
2011
All Rights Reserved

Graduate College
The University of Iowa
Iowa City, Iowa
CERTIFICATE OF APPROVAL
____________________________
D.M.A. ESSAY
______________
This is to certify that the D.M.A. essay of
has been approved by the Examining Committee for the essay requirement for the Doctor
of Musical Arts degree at the May 2011 graduation.
Essay Committee: ______________________________________________________

Benjamin Coelho, Essay Supervisor
______________________________________________________
Jennifer Iverson, Essay Supervisor
______________________________________________________
Nicole Esposito
______________________________________________________
Andrew Parker
______________________________________________________
Jon Winet
To Christopher
ii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Neither this document nor many of my successes would be possible if not for the
efforts of Professor Benjamin Coelho. I am grateful and humbled to have found such a
teacher and mentor. His support and guidance have been invaluable. I am indebted to Dr.
Jennifer Iverson for her assistance in advising this essay. Her encouragement and
direction has improved my critical thinking, deepened my musical understanding and
served as a constant motivation. I would also like to thank my committee members,
Professors Nicole Esposito, Andrew Parker, and Jon Winet, for offering their time and
efforts to my essay.
I would like to thank bassoonists Sergio Azzolini, William Davis, Stéphane
Lévesque, Jeffrey Lyman, Valeri Popov, and Milan Turkovic for agreeing to lend their
time and expertise to this document in the form of interviews, as well as Sujie Kim, Nora
Epping and Martina Pratsch for their help with obtaining and translating these
correspondences. I gratefully acknowledge Sarah Culpepper for her advice in developing
the scope and depth of my analysis. I am extremely grateful to G. Schirmer Inc. for
granting me the following permissions:
CONCERTO FOR BASSOON AND LOW STRINGS

By Sofia Gubaidulina
Copyright © 2001 by G. Schirmer, Inc. (ASCAP)
International Copyright Secured. All Rights Reserved.
Reprinted by permission.
• Mvt. 1: mm. 1-24, 28-29, 42-47, 54-58, 64-66, 85-90, 101-107, 113-115, 121-122,
139, 153-158, 185-189 and 211-216
• Mvt. 2: mm. 1-9, 10-19, 21-29, 36-37, and 46-47
• Mvt. 3: mm. 23-27, 65-80, and 130
• Mvt. 4: mm. 1-5
• Mvt. 5: mm. 68-80, 105-111, 126-136 and 158-169
iii
I would like to express my gratitude to my family and friends for their support. I have
been blessed with a father, mother, and brother who are a constant source of
unconditional love and for whom I am immeasurably grateful. I am thankful for the
support of my father and mother-in-law who have welcomed me into their family with
open arms. Finally, I thank my husband Christopher for being my greatest source of
strength, love, and encouragement.
iv
TABLE OF CONTENTS
LIST OF TABLES vii
LIST OF FIGURES viii
CHAPTER
I. INTRODUCTION 1
II. HISTORICAL INFORMATION 4
Sophia Gubaidulina, Composer 4

Brief Biography 4
Compositional Style 7
Valeri Popov, Dedicatee 9
The Composition of the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings 10
Bartolozzi Instigates New Compositions for Woodwinds 13
Content of New Sounds for Woodwind 17
Monophonic Possibilities 17
Multiphonic Possibilities 18
III. ANALYSIS OF FORM 20
Movement 1 26
Movement 2 45
Movement 3 52
Movement 4 58
Movement 5 63
IV. PERFORMANCE GUIDE 74
Rhythmic in Alternative Notation 75

Notated Rhythmic Crescendo 75
“As Fast As Possible” 76
Irrational Rhythms 78
Extended Techniques 80
Flutter-Tongue 81
Multiphonics 83
Glissando 88
Oscillated frai denti 90
Ambiguous Notations 92
quasi “clamore” 93
“ridendo” (alla saxofono) 95
V. CONCLUSION 98
v
APPENDIX A. INTERVIEWS 101
William Davis 101

Valeri Popov 103
Jeffrey Lyman 106
Milan Turkovic 109
APPENDIX B. PERFORMANCE HISTORY 112
APPENDIX C. TRANSLATED FINGERINGS 114
APPENDIX D. TRANSLATED TERMS 121
BIBLIOGRAPHY 122
vi
LIST OF TABLES
Table 3.1: Formal analysis of movement one 25
Table 3.2: Description of accompaniment activity in the transition to the nested

development of movement one 38
Table 3.3: Formal analysis of movement two 46
Table 3.4: General contour of orchestral expanding and contracting figures in

movement two 46
Table 3.5: Formal analysis of movement three 52
Table 3.6 Form chart of extended technique usage in movement four cadenza 59
Table 3.7 Formal analysis of movement five 63
Table B.1: Commercial recordings of Gubaidulina’s Concerto for Bassoon and

Low Strings 112
Table B.2: Performances and premieres of Gubaidulina’s Concerto for Bassoon

and Low Strings 112
Table B.3: Other known performances of Gubaidulina’s Concerto for Bassoon

and Low Strings lacking specific information 113
vii
LIST OF FIGURES
Figure 2.1 Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 2,
mm. 28-29, Multiphonic employing Bartolozzi fingering chart 16
mm. 36-37, The linking of single sound to multiphonics 16
Figure 3.1: Form chart according to the analysis of Enzo Restagno 23
Figure 3.2: Form chart according to the analysis of Enzo Restagno, modified
according to the findings of Jonathan Powell, illustrating nested
sonata form 24
Figure 3.3 Form chart of exposition proper illustrating nested sonata form
details 25
mm. 1-20, Introduction 28
mm. 21-24, “Hero’s theme” 29
mm. 28-29, Increased rhythmic activity in orchestra 31
mm. 42-47, Delay of orchestral repetition of soloist’s material 32
mm. 54-58, Orchestral embellishment of soloist’s material 33
mm. 64-66, Celli enter in rhythmic unison with the bassoon 34
mm. 85-90, “Crowd theme” 36
mm. 101-104, Return of “hero’s theme” 37
viii
mm. 105-107, Development of “hero’s theme” 38
m. 139, The “beating” 40
mm. 153-158, Transition to theme II 42
mm. 185-189, Theme II 42
mm. 211-216, Reiteration of D4 reinforces mixed meter 44
mm. 1-9, First statement of ritornello 48
mm. 21-29, Ascending inward contraction of third ritornello 51
m. 23, Bass solo 54
mm. 24-27, Developmental combination of “hero’s theme” and
“crowd’s theme” 54
mm. 65-80, Development of second movement ritornelli 56
m. 130, Close of third movement 58
mm. 1-5, Bassoon cadenza 60
mm. 3-5, Development of “swinging” motive 65
ix
mm. 68-80, Return of “beating” material 67
mm. 105-108, Failed attempted return to “hero’s theme” 68
mm. 126-131, Recapitulation of the “battle” 70
mm. 132-136, The hero cries out as he is consumed 71
mm. 158-169, Close of the work: the hero is defeated as the crowd
rises to victory 73
mm. 106 (bsn), Rhythmic crescendo 76
mm. 121-122, As fast as possible 78
mm. 113-115, Irrational rhythms 79
mm. 28-29, Triangle note-head to indicate multiphonic 85
mm. 46-47, Trilled multiphonics 88
mm. 5, Glissandi 90
mm. 5, Oscillated frai denti 91
Figure 4.8: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 4,
mm. 5, quasi “clamore” 93
x
Figure 4.9: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 4,
mm. 5, ridendo “alla saxofono 95
Figure C.1 Fingering chart key 114
Figure C.2: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 2,
m. 29, Multiphonic fingering 114
m. 37, Trilled multiphonic fingering 115
rehearsal 5, beat 1, Multiphonic fingering 117
xi
m.159, Multiphonic fingering 120
xii
1
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
When Bruno Bartolozzi published his treatise New Sounds for Woodwind in 1968,
composers worldwide were inspired to create new compositions which incorporated
extended techniques, performance procedures that permit the exploitation of monophonic
and multiphonic possibilities which cannot be obtained by traditional techniques.1 Since
extended techniques have become an inevitable requirement of the contemporary
performer, becoming more and more commonplace as the twentieth century progressed.
However, it seems that Bartolozzi’s original complaint against the general pedagogical
reluctance to incorporate these techniques into a standard woodwind curriculum, or more
specifically bassoon curriculum2, has been met with continued resistance over the past 42
years. Too often, performers learn extended techniques only when and if they are
required to perform them, resulting in a small number of largely self-taught musicians
who specialize in extended techniques and a large number of performers deficient in and
ignorant of an entire genre of repertoire.
Historically, the bassoon has not been overwhelmingly favored by the “great
composers” as a solo instrument3, many of whom have preferred to compose concerti and
sonatas for the piano, violin or cello, and prefer to focus on the bassoon within the
orchestral setting.4 However, following the Second World War, the bassoon repertoire
1
Sergio Penazzi, Metodo Per Fagotto (Milano: Edizioni Suvini Zerboni, 1972, 1.
2
Bruno Bartolozzi, New Sounds for Woodwind (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 90.
3
Hui-Hsin Huang, “Bassoon pedagogy of orchestral excerpts: Teaching interpretation in excerpts through
the study of recordings” (D.M.A. diss., University of Cincinnati, 2004), 2.
4
Though there are exceptions including the concerti of Mozart, Weber, and Vivaldi, many of the
composers whose solo works have entered into the standard repertoire such as Beethoven, Brahms, and
Shostakovich employed the bassoon primarily as an orchestral instrument.
2
has grown with many solo and chamber compositions by extremely celebrated
composers such as Luciano Berio (Sequenza XII, 1995), Elliott Carter (Retracing, 2002,
Au Quai, 2002), and Sofia Gubaidulina, whose multiple compositions for bassoon have
expanded the repertoire significantly.
However, bassoonists whose educational experience has lacked exposure to the
modern aesthetic will have considerably more difficulty learning these works, should
they develop an interest in performing them. Inexperience with executing extended
techniques, with atonal aesthetics and compositional techniques, and even in
comprehension of the scores themselves often makes these post-war pieces seem an
intimidating and overwhelming endeavor for the perspective performer.
Though composed a mere 30 years ago, the Concerto for Bassoon and Low
Strings by Sofia Gubaidulina has already established itself as an essential part of the solo
bassoon repertoire, as demonstrated by its illustrious performance history (see Appendix
B). This work, being both of a large magnitude and composed by a celebrated composer,
has been met with great enthusiasm in the bassoon community. Certainly, and perhaps
more so than any other work in the solo bassoon repertoire, the Concerto for Bassoon and
Low Strings is rich in its formal and narrative structure. Due in part to the work’s unique
instrumentation, however, performances of this work are rare and almost entirely on the
professional level. It is to the benefit of all advanced bassoonists though, to be aware of
and familiar with this work. When studied at the appropriate level, this score has the
potential to provide students with a better understanding of twentieth century music and
some of its stylistic components which include atonality, extended techniques, alternative
notation, and indeterminacy. On a broader level, students gain exposure to a work of
great musical sophistication and interpretive interest.
The challenge, however, lies in the fact that many students have not been exposed
to twentieth century elements thoroughly enough to navigate their way through such a
3
demanding work. Additionally, the score contains many ambiguous elements; no
program notes are provided, and the preface of the score explains a very limited portion
of the non-traditional markings to come. Thus, the performer is given little relative
guidance from the score itself. This document will seek to reconcile this deficiency in the
form of a performance manual intended to guide the performer who is largely unfamiliar
with or inexperienced in the modern repertoire of the twentieth century and the world of
extended techniques as they navigate their way through the score. By way of analysis and
performance suggestions, this guide will endeavor to acquaint prospective performers
with the work’s narrative structure, non-traditional notations and extended techniques in
hopes that they might be inspired to study and perform one of the true masterpieces of the
solo bassoon repertoire.

4
CHAPTER II
HISTORICAL INFORMATION
In this chapter I will survey general historical information regarding the
composition of the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, seeking to acquaint the reader
with the characteristics of Gubaidulina’s compositional style as well as her musical
environment and influences at the time of the work’s creation. Additionally, background
regarding the work’s dedicatee, Moscow bassoonist Valeri Popov, premiere, and
reception history will be presented in effort to provide the reader with the factors and
events surrounding the composition of the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, and
the context in which they occurred.
Sofia Gubaidulina, Composer
Brief Biography
Sofia Gubaidulina was born in Chistopol in the Tatar Republic, one of the
territories of the former Soviet Union on October 24, 1931. From childhood, Gubaidulina
encountered many cultural influences, being raised by a Muslim father and a Russian
Orthodox mother. Additionally, Tatarstan is a region known for the diversity of its
population which includes ethnic Russians, Taters, Chuvashes, Mordvinians, Udmurts,
Mari and Bashkirs.5 This allowed her to be influenced by both Eastern and Western
society, both of which greatly influenced her compositionally.6
Gubaidulina’s musical education began at the Kazan Conservatory from which
she graduated in 1954 and studied under the tutelage of Grigory Kogan (piano) and
5
“Population: The Republic of Tatarstan,” Department of Foreign Affairs to the President of the Republic
of Tatarstan, accessed January 30, 2011,
http://www.tatar.ru/?DNSID=56aae9bba9b77b02a3ad91f659cd6a21&node_id=1401.
6
Jefferson T. Campbell, “The ‘Duo Sonata for Two Bassoons’ by Sofia Gubaidulina: A Formal and
Performance Analysis with Comments on Extended Techniques, Contemporary Notation and Gubaidulina's
Style” (D.M.A. diss., The University of Nebraska-Lincoln, 2003), 12.
5
Albert Leman (composition). She began her graduate studies in composition the same
year at the Moscow Conservatory with Nikolay Peyko. Additionally, Gubaidulina formed
an influential friendship with Philip Herschkowitz, a former pupil of Anton Webern’s
from Vienna who resided in Moscow during the 1950’s. It is a common misconception
that she, Schnittke, and Denisov studied composition privately with Herschkowitz,
though Gubaidulina asserts that she was never his student.7 Herschkowitz did, however
introduce Gubaidulina and many of Moscow’s young composers to the Second Viennese
School, and engaged the young composers in discussions regarding the scores of Bach
(who would become one of her most significant musical influences)8, Mozart, Beethoven
and Mahler.
As Gubaidulina’s unique musical voice began to take shape compositionally, it
was met with resistance by the conservatory’s faculty.9 They were specifically concerned
about the incorporation of her Russian Orthodox religious beliefs into her compositions.
She received great encouragement however from Vissarion Shebalin (with whom she
would study until 1963), and the great Dmitri Shostakovich who famously advised the
young composer to “continue on your own, incorrect way.”10
These disputes over Gubaidulina’s compositional style did not dissolve upon her
graduation from the conservatory in 1959. She became a member of the Composer’s
Union in 1961, but opposition plagued her compositional career. Consequently,
Gubaidulina spent the following years pursuing avenues which would allow for musical
7
Vera Lukomsky, “Sofia Gubaidulina: ‘My Desire Is Always to Rebel, to Swim against
the Stream!’,” Perspectives of New Music 36 (1998): 5-41.
8
Jeffrey Lyman, “After Shostakovich, What Next?: New Russian/Soviet Music for Bassoon,” The Journal
of the International Double Reed Society 23 (1995): 53-67.
9
Campbell, “The ‘Duo Sonata for Two Bassoons’,” 13.
10
Michael Kurtz, Sofia Gubaidulina, trans. Christoph K. Lohmann (Bloomington:Indiana University Press,
2007), 45.
6
experimentations. She first worked as a freelance composer of scores for films such as
Blacksmith the Magician (1968), and Stories About the Space (1973), and from 1969 to
1970 worked at the Moscow experimental studio for electronic music. Additionally, the
Astrea improvisation group, of which she was a member from 1975 to 1981, allowed the
composer to experiment with alternative timbres through their use of folk and ethnic
instruments. Still, the objection to Gubaidulina compositionally came to a head in 1979 at
the Sixth All-Union Congress of Composers when Tikhon Khrennikov placed an official
boycott on her and six other composers (Edison Denisov, Viktor Suslin, Vyacheslav
Artyomov, Elena Firsova, Dmitri Smirnow, and Alenander Knayfel). This group
subsequently became known as the “Khrennikov Seven.”11 Khrennikov’s objection to
these composers was seemingly incited by the growing fascination in the West with the
music of the non-conformist Soviet avant-garde.12 Though Gubaidulina’s spiritual
inclinations were certainly not keeping with communist ideals, it is uncertain why she
was included in the ban. According to Michael Kurtz, Khrennikov’s specific oppositions
to and selection of these seven composers in particular remains unclear:
In retrospect, it is difficult to understand why Khrennikov chose precisely these

seven names. The works of other, equally nonconformist composers such as Pärt,
Schnittke, and Silvestrov had also been performed, and one has to assume that
Khrennikov was either completely or largely unfamiliar with the works of the
seven he named. Perhaps his ghostwriter simply liked the number seven, or
perhaps it is mere coincidence that the list includes all six composers on the
program of the first concert in Cologne as well as Edison Denisov, whom
Khrennikov suspected of having conveyed scores to the West. Envy and
competitiveness aside, this had nothing to do with music. It was all a matter of
communist ideology: any act of personal freedom was seen as an affront to the
system.13
11
Jennifer Denise Milne, “The Rhythm of Form: Compositional Processes in the Music of Sofia
Gubaidulina” (Ph.D. diss., University of Washington, 2007), 15.
12
Kurtz, Sofia Gubaidulina, 145.
13
7
In 1985 Gubaidulina was first allowed to travel to the West, at which time her
compositional renown began to blossom. Violinist Gideon Kremer’s numerous
performances of Gubaidulina’s 1980 composition Offertorium for violin and orchestra
garnered much international attention for the composer.14 Subsequently, noted musicians
such as the Kronos Quartet, the Arditti Quartet, Friedrich Lips, Mark Pekarsky, Simon
Rattle, Mstislav Rostropovich, Gennady Rozhdestvensky and Vladimir Tonkha began to
program her works.15 Since her permanent relocation to Germany in 1992, Gubaidulina
has emerged as one of the most celebrated contemporary composers, garnering her
commissions and premiers with the world’s top orchestras and making her the subject of
much scholarship, of which Valentina Kholopova, Michael Kurtz, and Enzo Restagno are
the most noted.
Compositional Style
Gubaidulina identifies three periods represented in her mature compositions:16
The first period spans approximately 1965 to the early 1980’s. During this time,
Gubaidulina was captivated by timbral concepts (perhaps because of her involvement
with Astrea). Many of her works include unusual instrument combinations, examples of
which include the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings (1975), In croce (cello and
bayan,1979), and Music for Harpsichord and Percussion Instruments (1972). Traditional
forms and genres such as the sonata and concerto are often incorporated into her works of
this period, but she often treats intervals (as opposed to themes) with structural emphasis.
In the second period, approximately 1980 to 2000, Gubaidulina became interested in
14
Karen Campbell, “A Russian Composer’s Path to Freedom,” Christian Science Monitor, August 27,
1997, http://www.csmonitor.com/1997/0827/082797.feat.music.1.html (accessed January 4, 2011).
15
Valentina Kholopova. “Gubaydulina, Sofiya Asgatovna,” In Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online,
http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com.proxy.lib.uiowa.edu/subscriber/article/grove/music/11911 (accessed
April 27, 2009).
16
Milne, “The Rhythm of Form,” 19.
8
numerology, and rhythm, often using rhythms as formal dictators. Specifically, her
characteristic integration of the Fibonacci sequence into her works begins at this time.17
Though she had experienced uncomfortable pressure because of the spiritual resonances
in her music since the 1960s, it is around 1978 when Gubaidulina begins to incorporate
openly religious concepts and titles in her works. St. John Passion (for chorus and
orchestra, 1999), into which both the gospel of John and the book of Revelation are
incorporated, and Seven Words (for cello, bayan, and orchestra, 1982), inspired by the
last seven words of Christ on the cross, are prime examples. The governmental censure of
Gubaidulina followed this religious “coming out” closely, in 1979. In addition to spiritual
themes, large scale works from this middle period such as Stimmen . . . Verstummen . . .
(Symphony in 12 movements, 1986) and Pro et contra (for large orchestra, 1989)
showcase a fascination with symphonic textures.18 The use of religious and spiritual
concepts does not wane in the third compositional period (2000’s to present), but the
composer does begin to experiment with new or different compositional processes.
Recently, Gubaidulina has shown a penchant for the use of quarter-tones. What is
interesting is that each subsequent compositional period is not a marked change from one
style to another, but rather an addition to her established stylistic identity; for instance,
odd instrument combinations abound throughout her entire oeuvre, and the Fibonacci
sequence popular in her second period continues to be integrated into recent
compositions.
Despite the division of her works into these periods, there are many indentifying
characteristics which have remained present throughout Gubaidulina’s compositional
17
The Fibonacci sequence, named after Leonardo of Pisa, is an integer sequence beginning with 0 and 1 in
which each subsequent number equals the sum of the previous two. It begins 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, etc.
18
Joseph Williams, “Discontinuous Continuity?: Structural Analysis of Sofia Gubaidulina's String
Quartets” (M.M. thesis, University of Cincinnati, 2007), 21-22.
9
output, noted for its coalescence of both the traditional and the avant garde.19 Examples
of Gubaidulina’s signatures include the use of dichotomy, non-standard and extended
techniques, silence, large-scale forms, and a harmonic language which synthesizes
diatonicism, chromaticism, atonality, and microtonality.20 Her works have also been
characterized by some, and perhaps criticized for, their episodic, and somewhat
discontinuous nature.21 Having established the broad outlines of Gubaidulina’s
compositional career and œuvre, let us now turn to the particulars of the Concerto.
Valeri Popov, Dedicatee
Internationally renowned bassoonist Valeri Popov was born in 1937 in Moscow
Russia to a musical family. His father was a famous trumpet player with the State Radio
Symphony Orchestra. Initially, the young Valeri followed in his father’s footsteps and
played the trumpet, but he switched to the bassoon in 1957, because as he says, “I just
liked it”.22 By the time he began his studies at the Moscow Conservatory with Professor
Roman Pavlovich Terekhin in 1960, he was already quite active as a professional
bassoonist, having joined the Opera-Symphony State Radio and Television Orchestra in
1959. In the years following his career included a position with the USSR State
Symphony Orchestra (1962), and he won multiple international competitions (Leningrad
1963, Budapest 1965). In 1986 he was bestowed the title of the People’s Artist of the
Russian Federation. In 1988 Popov expanded his performance career to include the State
Symphony Capella and in 1990, the Moscow Contemporary Music Ensemble.
19
Williams, “Discontinuous Continuity?” 9-15.
20
Kholopokova, “Gubaydulina, Sofiya Asgatovna,” In Grove Music Online.
21
Williams, “Discontinuous Continuity?” 1.
22
Valeri Popov, personal interview, September 23, 2010.
10
Popov’s pedagogical career began in 1971 when he joined the faculty of the
Moscow Conservatory, a post he still currently holds. Throughout his career he has been
sought after as a clinician and judge the world over. Popov has several publications to his
name, including original compositions for bassoon (Exercises for the Perfection of
Bassoon Playing, Zimmerman, 1993), editions of solo works (Six Sonatas for Bassoon
and Basso Continuo by François Devienne, Zimmerman, 1995), and collections of
orchestral excerpts (Tchaikovsky: Excerpts from Ballets and Operas, Zimmerman, 1993).
Despite Popov’s impressive career as an ensemble musician and pedagogue, he is
known primarily as a soloist. Popov’s versatility as a performer of all styles, Baroque to
Modern has resulted in an expansive career that includes concerto engagements with the
world’s top orchestras, and numerous recordings spanning the entirety of the bassoon
repertoire. Popov’s mastery of the bassoon and particularly his self-taught command of
extended techniques has served to expand the bassoon repertoire greatly, having inspired
numerous works from some of the twentieth century’s greatest musical minds including
Yury Levitin, Sofia Gubaidulina, Elena Firsova, Lev Knipper, Edison Denisov, and
Alfred Schnittke.
The Composition of the
Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings
Despite being the dedicatee of numerous new works, Popov asserts that, while an
enthusiastic performer of new music for the bassoon:
I never, ever commissioned works for bassoon from any composer. Those
composers who heard my playing in concerts and recitals wanted to write music
for me; including Sofia Gubaidulina….I did not commission this work [the
Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings] from Sofia Gubaidulina. She came to me
and suggested this work, and I agreed. It was very interesting for me.23
23
11
Thus began a musical collaboration the result of which would yield not only the Concerto
for Bassoon and Low Strings, but also the Duo Sonata (1977) for two bassoons and Quasi
hoquetus (1984) for viola, bassoon, and piano, all dedicated to Popov.
Because much of Russia’s musical activity is concentrated in either Moscow or
St. Petersburg, composers and performers of the highest caliber have convenient access to
one other.24 Thus, Gubaidulina’s compositional research included careful observation of
Popov both in concert and during his studio classes at the Moscow Conservatory, where
she could analyze his sound, movement, personality, and posture. Popov recalls:
She used to come to me asking questions about [the] possibilities of my

instrument. I used to show her what sound could be produced and what techniques
could be employed…Sofia felt my personality very well and followed her
feelings.25
It is through these observations that Gubaidulina began to elide the bassoon’s sound with
Popov’s personality:26
I had never heard a bassoon with such a voice and was literally bewitched by the
musician’s artistry. I attended all his concerts and class lessons at the Moscow
Conservatory, where he taught. Gradually, I began to penetrate into the essence of
the instrument itself, to understand it like some character in a play. It was then
that the idea came to me to surround the “personality” of the bassoon with low-
register strings- double basses and cellos. The interactions between the soloist and
the surrounding instruments are complex, contradictory, as in a dramatic scene
full of action. The concerto includes moments of reconciliation and hostility,
tragedy and loneliness.27
Certainly one can hear in Gubaidulina’s concerto the introspection and aggression
she describes above. These were achieved in part with the incorporation of various
extended techniques for both bassoon and orchestra, inclusions which excited Popov:
24
Olga Haldey, and Tama I. Kott, “Russian Music for Bassoon and Large Ensemble After WWII,” The
Double Reed 32 (2009): 85-96.
25
26
Haldey and Kott, “Russian Music After WWII (Cont.),” 66-78.
27
Valentina Kholopova and Enzo Restagno, Sofiia Gubaidulina: Monografiia: Interviu
Entso Restano (Moscow: Kompozitor, 2008), 71.
12
“From a technical point of view, the piece with its variety of sounds, double notes, trills,
and glissandi, was a sensational expansion of the bassoon’s possibilities- something
entirely new for Moscow.”28 The piece was not celebrated by all, however. The
Commission for Chamber and Symphony Music was divided when the piece was
presented for consideration to be performed at the 1975 annual congress of the Moscow
Composers Union.29 Gubaidulina’s former teacher Victor Peiko advocated for the work,
while Serafim Tulikov (Moscow Composers’ Union President), and Evgeny Makarov
(Composers’ Union Artistic Council Chair) vehemently objected to the work. In fact, it
was at this meeting in which Makarov’s infamous comment “This branch [Gubaidulina]
must be hacked off!” was made.30
According to Tama I. Kott and Olga Haldey, the pressure to either conform or
rebel was perhaps increased because of the expectations the Composers Union would
have certainly placed on the concerto, considered (like the symphony, or sonata) to be an
“academic genre” in which composers exhibit their formal training “in their use of
tonality, sonata form, and a traditionally adversarial relationship between the soloist and
the orchestra.”31 Gubaidulina was certainly aware of the expectations placed on the genre
of the concerto, perhaps demonstrated by the fact that prior to 1990, Concerto for
Bassoon and Low Strings was the only work to include “concerto” in the title despite her
many compositions for soloist and orchestra. As Haldey and Kott explain:
28
Kurtz, Sofia Gubaidulina, 116-117.
29
30
31
Haldey and Kott, “Russian Music After WWII,” 85-96.
13
Large public works, such as a concerto…..invited a much higher level of scrutiny

from the Soviet musical establishment prior to their performance and publication.
They had to be evaluated against an elusive and constantly shifting ideal of the
‘true Soviet music’- the ideal that the authorities aimed to project both internally
and outside Russia’s borders.32
The Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings was premiered on May 6, 1975 under
the direction of Pyotr Meshchaninov in the Hall of the Composers Union. Popov recalls
the premiere as having been met with great enthusiasm.33 He recalls: “It took from me
about two weeks [to learn]…The conductor was Petr Meschaninov, Sofia’s husband, he
knew the score and Sofia’s demands very well.”34 Despite the apparently successful
premiere, controversy followed subsequent performances. Denisov’s attempt to include
the work in his concert series of new works by Moscow composers was denied seven
times before it was permitted.35 Since the early 1990’s, the work has been performed
numerous times by Popov and others who have cemented the work’s importance to the
modern bassoon repertoire.
Bartolozzi Instigates New

Compositions for Woodwinds
One important facet of twentieth century musical style is the continually
expanding palette of sounds available for composers to exploit. Perhaps as a result of the
compositional trends involving electronic music during the 1940’s and 50’s, composers
became increasingly interested in expanding the spectrum of sounds for acoustic and
traditionally orchestral instruments. Experimental sound production excited some
performers such as bassoonists Sergio Penazzi and Donald Christlieb, who began
32
Haldey and Kott, “Russian Music After WWII,” 85-96.
33
34
35
14
researching alternative timbres as early as the late 1950’s.36 Indeed, the compositional
interest in these techniques was such that John Cage included bassoon multiphonics
(referred to as “motor sounds”) into the score of his 1958 composition Concert for Piano
and Orchestra.37 Despite this increasing interest, there was no regulation of these
techniques, established record of the bassoon’s technical capabilities, notational system,
or fingering chart. Composers wishing to make use of extended techniques for woodwind
instruments had no conventional references with which to acquaint themselves, and
performers had no instruction beyond personal experimentation.
With the help of Sergio Penazzi (who would later go on to publish his own
highly-successful chronicle of the possibilities for bassoon-specific extended techniques,
The Bassoon- Other Techniques: New Sources of Musical Expression)38, Bruno
Bartolozzi published his influential treatise New Sounds for Woodwind in 1967, a detailed
method which provided descriptions and instructions for the performance of extended
techniques on the flute, oboe, clarinet and bassoon. The innovations in New Sounds for
Woodwind inspired performers and composers alike, resulting in an increased output of
compositions for woodwinds with extended techniques:
After 1967 a great change took place as the “new music” began to use the very
techniques that Bartolozzi outlined in his method…. With this new notational
system in place, composers could feel free to include these new techniques into
the repertoire without the burden of discovering fingerings for themselves or
relying on performers to discover or obtain them on their own.39
36
Charles Herbert Lipp, “New Compositional Techniques for the Bassoon” (D.M.A. diss., University of
Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 1982), 54.
37
Lipp, “New Compositional Techniques,” 54.
38
Bartolozzi, New Sounds for Woodwind, 2.
39
15
Following the publication of New Sounds for Woodwind, contemporary music saw a
surge in the compositional output for woodwind instruments incorporating the extended
techniques delineated by Bartolozzi, as illustrated by Gubaidulina’s interest in Popov and
composing for the bassoon. Jefferson T. Campbell contends that New Sounds for
Woodwind was responsible for the sudden compositional interest in woodwinds; inspiring
composers to begin to “… realize the potential tonal output for woodwinds.”40
It is unclear whether Gubaidulina extensively referenced New Sounds for
Woodwind, but the score of the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings bares several
clues that the composer was familiar with at least some strategies given in the Bartolozzi
text. The most obvious is the use of Bartolozzi’s fingering chart to notate multiphonic
fingerings within the score (Figure 2.1). Gubaidulina also suggests that performers
consult New Sounds for Woodwind when preparing the multiphonics called for in the Duo
Sonata for Two Bassoons, composed just two years after the Concerto for Bassoon and
Low Strings in 1977.41 Both the triangular notation, which represents all instances of
multiphonics within the score, as well as the horizontal lines which extend from them to
indicate approximate duration can be traced to Bartolozzi who states: “The duration of
notes is in proportion to the length of the horizontal line attached to the stem of each note
and the volume is indicated by the thickness of the line. Variously shaped notes are
used….to indicate different tone colours.”42 Additionally, Gubaidulina also adopts the
exercise presented within New Sounds for Woodwind which instructs performers to link
single sounds to multiphonics in the second movement of the work (Figure 2.2). Though
not explicit, several other potential resonances with Bartolozzi’s text can be seen in the
Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, including Bartolozzi’s suggestions to composers
40
41
42
16
to use only previously discovered fingerings, and his insistence on composers working in
close collaboration with a performer.43
Figure 2.1: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 2, mm. 28-
29, Multiphonic employing Bartolozzi fingering chart.
37, The linking of single sound to multiphonics.
If Bartolozzi’s main priority in New Sounds for Woodwind was to enhance the
resources of the contemporary composer, its secondary goal was to advocate for the value
of experimental, twentieth century music and extended techniques amongst performers.
Indeed, within the text many of the notes for performers are more philosophical than
instructional. Many times throughout the text Bartolozzi stresses the importance of
extended techniques being incorporated into the conservatory private lesson curriculum44,
43
44
17
and the dedication required of the contemporary performer to “free themselves…from the
rules of traditional instrument usage”45 in order for these techniques to become organic:
This will become a natural outlook to those who, in the future, can be initiated
from the beginning of their studies in the new techniques which, being nothing
other than a consequential development of traditional ones, can only be of benefit
to the performers. It remains to be seen how this conviction will spread, and how
slow preconceptions and ingrained habits will be to die.46
Bartolozzi also asserts that it is the “more adventurous instrumentalists” whom will direct
their efforts toward searching for new sounds and away from categorizing them as ugly
or unpleasant.47
Content of New Sounds for Woodwind
New Sounds for Woodwind is comprised of several chapters, each of which
describes a non-traditional performance technique (including suggestions for execution,
notation, acoustics, etc.) or the combination of multiple techniques simultaneously
(multiphonics containing microtones, for example). Each of the sound possibilities
provided fits into the categories of monophonic or multiphonic possibilities, as set forth
by Bartolozzi. In the following summary, I will describe the extended techniques that
Bartolozzi introduces and that also appear in the score for Concerto.
Monophonic Possibilities
Bartolozzi describes monophonic possibilities as “emitting the same sound with
timbres of considerable diversity, thus permitting the performance of melodies of tone
colour with either a single sound or sounds of different pitch.”48 These can include but
are not limited to same notes with different timbres (classified as “closed” or “open”,
45
46
47
48
18
“light” or “dark”), effects controlled with the lips (vibrato, oscillations, and half-
oscillations), and special monophonic effects such as portamento, acciaccatura-
portamento, glissando, and pedal keys. Additionally, a lengthy discussion of quarter and
microtones is presented, including a detailed fingering chart. Of the techniques presented
in this section, timbric variations, oscillations, and glissandi appear within the score of
the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings.
Multiphonic Possibilities
Bartolozzi’s research of multiphonics (which he calls “sound amalgams”) is
perhaps the most extensive and frequently-referenced portion of the book. Bartolozzi
classifies multiphonics as “the generation, at one and the same time, of a number of
frequency vibrations in the single air column of an instrument.”49
In addition to concisely stating the function of multiphonics, Bartolozzi discusses
processes of adjusting embouchure and air pressure to produce certain multiphonic
sounds, providing illustrations within the fingering chart to indicate such required
adjustments. Though for bassoonists, Sergio Penazzi’s The Bassoon- Other Techniques:
New Sources of Musical Expression has become the more frequently-consulted source
since its 1982 publication, New Sounds for Woodwind made widely available for the first
time specific fingerings with which composers could include multiphonic chords within
their works.50
The preceding review of the historical context in which the Concerto for Bassoon
and Low Strings was composed has revealed Gubaidulina’s early professional struggles
with the Composer’s Union due to her non-conformist compositional style. Certain
elements of this style, specifically her fascination with creating new timbres though
49
50
Lyman, “After Shostakovich, What Next?” 53-67.
19
unusual instrument combinations, fueled by her inspiring encounters with bassoonist
Valeri Popov explain Gubaidulina’s fascination with the bassoon during the 1970’s. In
the wake of the publication of Bruno Bartolozzi’s revolutionary treatise New Sounds for
Woodwind, the composer now had the tools with which to fully explore the bassoon’s
timbral possibilities and expressive potential in the form of extended performance
techniques. In the following analysis we will examine how the compositional devices set
forth by Bartolozzi, Gubaidulina’s compositional style, and, when applicable, the work’s
historical context manifest themselves into the score of the Concerto for Bassoon and
Low Strings, working to portray the work’s form.

20
CHAPTER III
ANALYSIS OF FORM
In the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, the opposition of soloist and
orchestra is used to illustrate the work’s narrative structure. Gubaidulina has described
the work as a theatrical display in which “the bassoon represents a lyric hero; the ‘low
strings’ personify a ‘low’ and aggressive crowd, which destroys the hero.”51 This model
has been thought by some to mimic the present-day composer and a contemptuous
public.52 In a more specific biographical reading, others have implied that perhaps the
narrative structure of the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings symbolizes
Gubaidulina’s personal struggle with the Composer’s Union. 53 However, though the
composer has acknowledged that the hero is conceived of as an individual, perhaps an
artist, she does not publically assign any biographical representation within the work. 54
Beyond the biographical resonances, Gubaidulina’s vanquished hero fits within an
archetype frequently used by twentieth century composers. Enzo Restagno provides Bela
Bartok’s Bluebeard’s Castle and Dmitri Shostakovich’s Five Satires Op. 109 as examples
in which the hero is not battling a villain, but rather struggling to overcome the “hopeless
banality of everyday life.”55 According to Gubaidulina, the vanquished hero archetype

has been connected to and manifested within the genre of the concerto throughout her
oeuvre:
51
Enzo Restagno, Gubaidulina (Turin: Edizioni di Torino, 1991), 134-135.
52
53
54
Lukomsky, “‘The Eucharist in My Fantasy’,” 29-35.
55
Restagno, Gubaidulina, 134-5.
21
The concept of the concerto…has changed drastically since the 19th century. In
particular, the concept of a hero (personified by the soloist) is now completely
different. The soloist is no longer a hero in the same sense as in the classical and
romantic concertos. At that time, the hero was victorious: an outstanding
individual, a winner in an unequal competition. The main presumption was that
the hero knows the absolute truth, knows where to lead the crowd. Accordingly,
the typical musical concept was the opposition of the soloist and the orchestra,
which represented such dramatic oppositions as a hero and a crowd, a hero and an
army, an orator and an audience. In the twentieth century these concepts have
become irrelevant and anachronistic, as has the concept of the victor. In the
twentieth century the situation is quite different: the hero is disappointed in
everything, nobody knows what the truth is. And contemporary composers need
to search for new concepts, for new interpretations of soloist orchestra relations. I
too am searching.56
Regardless of whether one invests in the biographical reading or the vanquished
hero archetype, knowledge of the narrative structure of the piece has the potential to aid
the performer interpretatively. The decided turn from the traditional leading and
supporting roles of soloist and orchestra respectively changes the hierarchy of the parts.
In the Concerto, the soloist often opposes the orchestra, even engages in a battle with it,
which results in an implied equality or even submissive relationship between soloist and
ensemble. In a narrative in which the hero struggles against being overwhelmed and
suppressed, so too the soloist will struggle against being overcome and interrupted by the
angry crowd of celli and basses.
The narrative scheme of the Concerto can be further developed by formal
analysis. Critics, theorists, and composers throughout history have attached special
narrative significance to instrumental forms, and to sonata form in particular. According
to Mark Evan Bonds, the most common technique of instrumental musical interpretation
during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries was through assigning a program
of some kind. Whether through association with a poetic text or a narrative,
programmatic interpretations from this time put forth effort to elucidate instrumental
56
Vera Lukomsky, “‘The Eucharist in My Fantasy’: Interview with Sofia Gubaidulina,” Tempo 206 (1998):
29-35.
22
music’s “meaning”.57 Bonds goes on to describe early attitudes toward assigning
programmatic analyses to absolute music:
…that the music at hand does convey a meaning of some kind, and that
intrinsically musical events, including the elaboration of the work’s central idea
(for example, the repeated return of a rondo’s main theme) can be related to extra-
musical scenarios.58
Composers too have often left little distinction between absolute and program
music.59 According to Ian Bent, composers are often drawn to specific genres for their
potential for narrative depictions:
Action, narration, story-telling, depiction of tangible objects: these are all pursuits
which may lead a composer to become a practitioner of opera, of dramatic
overture, or the programmatic symphony.60
The following analysis will guide the performer through the work’s formal and
thematic construction in order to aid the performer in understanding and portraying the
narrative role of the soloist as the vanquished, challenged hero. At the largest level, Enzo
Restagno describes the form of the whole Concerto as a sonata form. Here movements
one, three and five act as the structural container of each major formal section—
exposition, development, and recapitulation respectively.61 Two intermezzi comprised of
related material, movements two and four, interrupt each of these sections, as illustrated
in Figure 3.1:
57
Mark Evan Bonds, Wordless Rhetoric: Musical Form and the Metaphor of the Oration (Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1991), 169.
58
Bonds, Wordless Rhetoric, 170.
59
Bonds, Wordless Rhetoric, 173.
60
Ian Bent, Music Analysis in the Ninteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 289.
61
23
Figure 3.1: Form chart according to the analysis of Enzo Restagno
While this structural reading is certainly fruitful, it benefits from some minor
modifications. For instance, according to Jonathan Powell, each formal section,
exposition, development, and recapitulation, are not uniformly self-contained within the
confines of the first, third and fifth movements respectively62. Rather, the exposition and
development extend into the subsequent sonata form movement, as illustrated in Figure
3.2.
62
Powell, liner notes, Gubaidulina: Works for Bassoon.
24
Figure 3.2: Form chart according to the analysis of Enzo Restagno, modified according to
the findings of Jonathan Powell, illustrating nested sonata form.
Additionally, further analysis of the exposition reveals that the first movement is a
nested (or embedded) sonata form containing exposition-development-recapitulation
structure on a lower level (Table 3.1). In terms of the entire Concerto, however, this first
movement sonata form acts simultaneously as the first “theme” (theme I) of the entire
work. Thus, the nested sonata form of movement one acts as a formal indicator on the
micro level to illustrate the core of the narrative’s plot; this sonata form narrative is then
projected on the macro level throughout the rest of the work (Figure 3.3).
25
Rehearsal Number Formal Function Description

Beg. to 1 Introduction Unaccompanied bassoon, use of ic1, ic2
1 to33 Exposition Proper
Theme I (nested sonata form)
1 to23 Nested Exposition
1 to 10 Hero Theme (A) Bassoon-dominated homophony characterized
by the staggered restatement of the soloist’s
pitch material in the orchestral accompaniment.
10 to 13 Transition Variations of orchestral accompaniment that
challenge and shift melodic importance from
the soloist to the orchestra.
13 to 17 Crowd Theme (B) Pizzicato dotted rhythm as dominant voice
within orchestra-dominated texture of
rhythmically independent polyphonic layers.
17 to 23 Transition Failed attempts to return to hero’s theme which
are thwarted by increasingly active interruptive
statements of the crowd theme.
23 to 27 Nested Development
23 to 25 The” battle” The dotted rhythms of the crowd theme are
stated in tutti rhythmic unison in the strings,
with the bassoon presenting secondary
“protesting” figures.
25 to27 The “beating” Layers of non-metered, independent parts
employing pizzicatos and col legnos in the
strings. Juxtapositions of the protests and
weeping of the hero are illustrated on a grand
staff in the bassoon.
27 to 28 Nested Recapitulation (of Unaccompanied bassoon, use of ic1, ic2
Introduction)
28 to 33 Transition to Theme II Ascending stacked of intervals in uneven
rhythm.
33 to 3 (Mvt. 2) Exposition Proper Bassoon ostinato outlining a G-major triad
Theme II presented in mixed-meters of eighth-note
equivalence.
Table 3.1: Formal analysis of movement one
Figure 3.3: Form chart of exposition proper illustrating nested sonata form details
26
The narrative manifests itself in compositional devices as well as formal ones. For
example, Gubaidulina often introduces an idea that eventually results in musical
saturation and pervades the entire work; this process will be hereafter referred to as
“introduction-to-saturation.” Overwhelmingly, instances of introduction-to-saturation
occur during formal transitions, perhaps a musical illustration of the ever-growing
momentum of the crowd. According to Powell,
As with many of her works, small cells of material-themselves simple in character

and which, in this case, are the series of seemingly aphoristic phrases heard at the
very beginning on the bassoon- are built up into a mosaic like texture of
interrelationships which still retains the intonational character of its ingredients.63
Another device that Gubaidulina frequently uses is to introduce an apparently secondary
idea that gradually gains significance until it dominates the musical environment. This
“growth-to-dominance” of subordinate or challenging materials encapsulates the
orchestra’s role in the piece—initially, the orchestra remains secondary and
accompanimental to the soloist, but in the course of the work, grows to dominate and
ultimately defeat the soloist. Having now a sense of the large-scale picture of the work
with regard to both narrative and formal processes, let us turn to a close analysis of each
movement.
Movement 1
The longest and most substantial movement of the work opens with
unaccompanied bassoon. Here the bassoon plays monophonically within a piano
dynamic, stating short melodic fragments separated by rests, which results in a
transparent texture. Initially, these statements are somewhat static, beginning with a
simple sustained pitch that is then followed by an isolated interval. As the introduction
progresses however, each subsequent bassoon statement becomes longer and more active,
eventually employing in a single phrase the entire range of the bassoon and climaxing on
63
Powell, liner notes, Gubaidulina: Works for Bassoon.
27
a forte dynamic (Figure 3.4). This represents the first instance of introduction-to-
saturation which in this case may be interpreted as a foreshadowing of the events that are
to unfold over the course of the work. That is to say, the increasing activity and saturation
of the musical space foreshadows the increasingly oppressive crowd that will converge
on the soloist. An examination of the intervallic content of this section reveals the regular
use of stepwise motion connected by leaps. Interval classes one and two64 will go on to
play a key structural role in this work, an example of the composer’s tendency at the time
to place formal emphasis on specific intervals rather than melodic lines.65
64
According to Miguel Roig-Francoli’s Understanding Post-Tonal Music, (New York: McGraw-Hill,
2007): 47, “interval class” refers to the single category in which an interval and its equivalent inversion are
placed within unordered pitch-class space. Interval class one (ic1) contains m2 and M7 (and their
compounds) while interval class two (ic2) contains M2 and m7 (and their compounds). Interval class will
hereafter be abbreviated as “ic.”
65
Lukomsky, “’The Eucharist in My Fantasy',” 29-35.
28
Figure 3.4: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 1, mm. 1-20,
1
Introduction
The nested exposition commences at Rehearsal 1, wi

with
th the presentation of what I
will call the “hero’s theme” (Figure 3.5

3.5). Throughout this analysis, the use of the word
“theme” is not to be interpreted liter
literally, as it is not necessarily melodic material (or lack
thereof) which defines the respective structural sect

sections,
ions, but rather their textures. In
I this
case, the bassoon-dominated

dominated hom
homophony relates to the presentation of soloist-as-hero.
soloist
Referring to this section as the hero’s theme attempts simply to identify this characteristic
textural setting as the first main idea of the exposition, relating it to its place in the form.
29
24, “Hero’s theme”
In the hero’s theme the bassoon line preserves the use of ic1 and ic 2 seen in the
introduction; however, here octave displacement is employed creating an extremely
disjunct line. The orchestral accompaniment, perhaps the section’s most distinguishing
feature, is a syncopated restatement of the bassoon’s pitch content with each voice
sounding a different note in staggered sul tasto entrances. Each string player’s subsequent
sustaining of his/her pitch gradually results in a sound mass cluster, which the bassoon
soloist floats atop in quarter note durations.
As the section progresses, the orchestral accompaniment continues to use
staggered restatements of the soloist’s pitch material, but with numerous variations. For
example, at measure 29 (Figure 3.6) not only are the strings much more rhythmically
30
active than the bassoon, but many different durations are used among the voices
(sixteenth notes in cello 1, triplet eighth notes in cello 2, eighth notes in cello 3 and 4 )
creating a rhythmic polyphony within the accompaniment. Soon after, the staggered
reiteration of the soloist’s statement at Rehearsal 5 (Figure 3.7) is delayed, and in fact is
not initiated until Rehearsal 6 when the soloist has already moved onto new material.
These almost instantaneous deviations from the initial unobtrusive and complimentary
accompaniment seen at Rehearsal 1 perhaps illustrates the first demotion of the hero as
the crowd (orchestra) begins to turn away from rather than to him. Jeffrey Lyman refers
to this string accompaniment as “indignant mocking, leading ultimately to a battle
between soloist and orchestra.”66 Indeed, beginning at Rehearsal 8, it is apparent that the
soloist is being challenged, foreshadowing the reversal of control to come in the
following theme. The hero’s short fragments stated at soft dynamics seem simple in
comparison to the orchestral echoes which are more active, employing rhythmic
accelerandos, longer phrase lengths, and changing timbres (Figure 3.8).
66
31
28
29, Increased rhythmic activity in orchestra
32
42
47, Delay of orchestral repetition of soloist’s material
33
58, Orchestral embellishment of soloist’s material
The transition from the hero’s theme begins at Rehearsal 10 as exhibited by a
marked change in the orchestral accompaniment. The orchestra’s material becomes
increasingly less related to the bassoon, and ever more dominant in the texture. For
example, at Rehearsal 10 the four celli enter in rhythmic unison with the bassoon rather
than following after the soloist in staggered entrances as previously seen (Figure 3.9).
Furthermore, these celli sound the first four pitches to be played by the bassoon
melodically, so that the soloist must now echo the orchestra’s pitch material rather than
introduce pitches and motives as the leader. These cello lines ultimately dissolve into a
tapestry of individual parts in polyrhythm where only one of the cello’s pitches relates to
the bassoon part; cello 1 states the hero’s line in retrograde. As we approach the second
theme, or characteristic texture, the soloist breaks away into an unaccompanied recitando
34
line (three measures before rehearsal 13). Two short fragmentary statements in the first
and second contrabasses foreshadow the impending second theme.
66, Celli enter in rhythmic unison with the bassoon
The second characteristic texture of the nested exposition, from here on referred
to as the “crowd theme” begins at Rehearsal 14 (Figure 3.10). This section is
characterized by its use of the pizzicato dotted rhythm that is passed among the basses
and eventually settles solely into the first bass part, which the composer stresses “is
imperative to emphasize”.67 This pizzicato bass motive is juxtaposed against polyphonic
67
Sofia Gubaidulina, “Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings,” 1975, (Hamburg: Edition Sikorski, 1975),
13.
35
layers in the other parts; the bassoon is an occasional participant in the polyphony. The
use of whole and half steps pervades each of the layers either in step-wise motion or
interlocking sequences. Each of the layers is rhythmically independent of one another,
another instance of introduction-to-saturation stemming from the polyrhythmic texture
first seen at Rehearsal 10.

36
85
90, “Crowd theme”
At Rehearsal 17 there is a return to the characteristic texture and pitch
restatements of the hero’s theme

theme. The bassoon leads once again, and the strings’
staggered echoes restatee the bassoon’s lin

line in retrograde, with the apex E5
E forming the
point of exchange between the bassoon’s statement and the strings’ retrograde
37
elaboration (Figure 3.11). Though it seems the bassoon has momentarily regained his
position as leader, the accompaniment usurps his authority once again at Rehearsal 18;
the first beat of the soloist’s material has been already presented in the previous beat of
the first cello, while the rest of the pitch content is vertically presented on the last eighth
note pulse of measure 106 before quickly disbanding into the polyrhythmic layers of the
crowd (Figure 3.12). The hero and crowd are further integrated at Rehearsal 19 when the
bassoon is echoed in polyrhythmic layers. Thus, the progression of the accompaniment in
the successive statements at Rehearsals 17, 18 and 19 increasingly features the
polyrhythmic crowd at the expense of the bassoon soloist (Table 3.2). This summation of
hero’s theme and its increasingly dominant orchestral accompaniment functions as a
closing section to the nested exposition, and makes way for the forthcoming nested
development.
Figure 3.11: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 1, mm.
101-104, Return of “hero’s theme”
38
105-107, Development of “hero’s theme”
Reh. 17 Sustaining of accompanimental echoes which conclude with polyrhythmic

layers.
Reh. 18 Tutti eighth note which quickly proceeds to polyrhythmic layers
Reh. 19 Immediate use of polyrhythmic layers
Table 3.2: Description of accompaniment activity in the transition to the nested
development of movement one
The transition to the nested development begins

ins at Rehearsal 20. Polyrhythmic
layers are constantly stated in the celli. This polyrhythmic activity is juxtaposed against
rhythmic unison statements in the contrabasses, which often incorporate extended
techniques, such as harmonics, tremolos, and glissandi.. The bassoon begins in rhythmic
unison with the fourth cello

cello, though
ough its pitch material is transposed by half and whole
steps. By the third measure of the transition, however, the bassoon

n becomes increasingly
unpredictable,, protesting the overtaking crowd in a seemingly improvised,

improvised non-metric
virtuosic display.
39
The nested development commences at Rehearsal 23 in which the dotted rhythm
of the crowd theme is stated in tutti rhythmic unison in the strings. Lyman asserts that
this section is representative of the “battle”68, with these rhythmic unisons perhaps
symbolizing the marching of the crowd into combat. The bassoon’s activity is greatly
diminished; only “vain attempts to protest with high pitched frullato69 sustained notes”70
remain. With each subsequent statement, the bassoon’s ascent in pitch and increasing
intensity translate as increasing desperation. This section dissolves suddenly at Rehearsal
25 into a non-metered section comprised of independent parts (Figure 3.13). Restagno
refers to this section as the “punishment” (hereafter called the “beating”), a moment of
annihilation in which the pizzicatos and col legnos in the strings are representative of the
beating of the hero.71 These independent lines of the beating continue, indicated in the
score by a wavy line that extends from the non-metered sections in the orchestra and
serve as an indicator to the performers to continue improvising in this fashion. Here the
composer employs a grand staff for the bassoon, separating the active objections from the
trembling trills. These trills gain momentum and, as the soloist is defeated, eventually
saturate the texture as the soloist wails a continuously trilled stepwise descending line.
The orchestra then mocks the hero’s theme texture, a particularly salient instance of
introduction-to-saturation.72
68
69
Frullato is Italian for flutter-tongue.
70
71
72
40
Figure 3.13: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 1, m. 139,
The “beating”
41
Immediately following is a period of monophonic bassoon reflection that is
reminiscent of the introduction with its unaccompanied texture and stepwise motions; but
this monophonic solo also exhibits the beating and trauma that the hero has endured in its
use of flutter tongue. This return of introductory material serves as a short recapitulation
within the nested sonata form. The traditional expectations of sonata form indicate that a
restatement of the first theme, not simply a return to opening material, is required to
constitute a recapitulation. However, Charles Rosen asserts that twentieth century
composers often interpret sonata form freely:
After Brahms, sonata form provided a loosely constructed model, a pattern that
gave free access to the imitation of the classics. The scheme of exposition,
development, and return was a useful one, and it could be variously interpreted. In
general, it was considered a variant of ternary form…Recapitulation is conceived
here not as resolution but as a free return of the opening material. By the twentieth
century, often the only thing that distinguishes sonata form from a strict ternary or
da capo form is its freedom.73
Rehearsal 28 embarks on a gradual transition from the nested sonata form and
into theme II with introduction of new material which undergoes a series of rhythmic
manipulations. The bassoon and first cello are set in a duet that foreshadows the
upcoming theme: the first cello is comprised almost exclusively of half-step intervals that
are treated with octave displacement. The second and third celli join four measures later
in an accompaniment of simplified related pitch material (Figure 3.14). The bassoon

strikes all of these pitches simultaneously with the first cello, but adds upward gestures of
perfect and augmented fourths (ic5 followed by ic6) that introduce new pitches. The use
of syncopated entrances, dotted quarter notes, and triplet figures in the solo bassoon
gradually introduces the eighth-note-driven mixed meter of theme II. Simultaneously, its
intervallic content is eventually reduced to thirds, making way for theme II’s triadic
nature. At the same time, the poco glissando sempre which was introduced in the solo
73
Charles Rosen, Sonata Forms (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc, 1988), 403.
42
cello at Rehearsal 28 becomes inc

increasingly more present and spans wider intervals.
Sustained glissandi such as these will ultimately become the characteristic
accompaniment of theme II. All of these events

events:: a move to triadic harmony, incorporation
incorporatio
of syncopation, and integration of the glissandi, are examples of the introduction-to-

introduction
saturation which has permeated the movement.
153-158, Transition to theme II
185-189, Theme II
43
Rehearsal 33 establishes the arrival of theme II. Though the character of theme II
is drastically unlike any previous material, many of its distinguishing qualities were
introduced seamlessly over the course of the preceding transition (Figure 3.15). Theme II
is a decided shift from the previously seen material of theme I. It is diatonic, presenting
only the pitch classes G, B, and D (a G-major triad) in a pervasive ostinato, and can be
recognized as thematic in the traditional sense because of its melodic contour.
Additionally, though theme II is presented in mixed-meters, the eighth-note equivalence
across the employed meters creates a sense of pulse. These eighth notes are grouped into
various “two plus three” combinations. The ever-changing meter is reinforced with the
reiteration of the D474 which sounds only on the downbeat of each measure (Figure 3.16).
This irregular pulsation juxtaposes nicely with the polyrhythms and rhythmic variation of
theme I that created a lack of perceptible tempo overall. One interpretation of the
harmonic simplicity and repetitive nature of theme II is that it reflects the confined nature
of the recently defeated and hypnotized soloist, now deprived of any individuality, in
spite of the homophonic texture.75
74
Within this document, all pitches are named according to scientific pitch notation as set forth by the
Acoustical Society of America.
75
44
211-216, Reiteration of D4 reinforces mixed meter
45
In theme II the strings return to their traditional accompanimental role, using most
notably the glissandi from Rehearsal 28. Additionally, the dotted rhythm of the crowd
theme is restated in the fourth cello and ultimately passed to the first bass at the end of
the movement. This introduction of a new thematic idea just prior to the end of the
movement and which continues on at the commencement of the third movement as if no
break in its presentation had occurred, reveals itself to be theme II of the greater sonata
form, thus asserting the idea of a nested sonata form functioning as theme I.
Movement 2
The first intermezzo, or movement 2, bears a Baroque influence with its use of
ritornello form, as outlined in Table 3.3.76 Here the orchestral ritornello statements are
characterized by their use of tutti rhythmic unison, sound mass dissonance, the use of
stepwise or chromatic motion, and soft dynamic. Over the course of each ritornello, the
intervallic range between the voices is expanded and contracted on either side of the short
bassoon entrances. Table 3.4 presents an illustration of the various wedge shaped
contours and general range of the orchestral ritornelli. As in the first movement, the
traditional roles of form are challenged. Whereas traditionally the orchestral ritornelli or
“little returns” serve simply as connective material between active solo passages, here the
orchestra is given the primary role. The ritornelli encapsulate the rhythmic and harmonic
activity of the movement. Likewise, the bassoon serves only to connect adjacent
statements of the ritornello. Though each bassoon statement does become increasingly
more active, they are always extremely minimal compared to the orchestral statements,
being only comprised of a single sustained pitch and/or multiphonic. As the bassoon part
constitutes a nominal part of the musical activity within the movement, the following
analysis will focus principally on the orchestral ritornelli.
76
46
Measure Number Formal Function Description

Beg to 8 Ritornello 1 Initial statement of the aggregate from cello 1
remains static while the lower voices ascend
toward their pitch, B2
8 to 9 Solo 1 Suspends pitch B2
10 to 18 Ritornello 2 Initially expands downwardly in microtones from
continued suspension of B2, with subsequent tutti
descent to pitch, C2
18 to 19 Solo 2 Suspends pitch C2
20 to 28 Ritornello 3 Initially expands upwardly from continued
suspension of C2, with subsequent tutti ascent to
pitch, Bb3.
28 to 29 Solo 3 Suspends pitch Bb3, followed by a multiphonic
30 to 36 Ritornello 4 Tutti statement spanning a wide range contracts
inwardly in a wedge shape to pitch F#2.
36 to 37 Solo 4 Suspends pitch F#4 that leads directly into a
multiphonic that is sustained initially, then trilled.
38 to 45 Ritornello 5 Tutti statement ascends as it contracts inwardly and
arrives on pitch B3.
46 to 47 Solo 5 Suspends pitch B3 that leads directly into a
multiphonic followed by two trilled multiphonic
statements.
47 to End Ritornello 6 Tutti sul ponticello tremolos in which interlocking
compound melodies descent toward a dissonant
cluster.
Table 3.3: Formal analysis of movement two
Table 3.4: General contour of orchestral expanding and contracting figures in movement
two
47
The activity of the narrative in this movement is significantly decreased and
hence the movement seems more reflective than developmental. The sound mass clusters
can be considered an interpretive reflection of the crowd or “masses;” numerous
individual parts are perceptively present, yet indiscernible from one another. Throughout,
the crowd moves in rhythmic unison, asserting its power and force when united.
Comparatively, the bassoon is a secondary and faintly heard voice that seems to be
largely unnoticed by the crowd throughout the movement.
The piece begins with the first statement of the orchestral ritornello (Figure 3.17).
The orchestra’s initial vertical sonority establishes harmonic tension almost immediately,
since it is a complete statement of the aggregate, achieved with the employment of
double stops in all but the third bass. As the ritornello progresses, each voice gradually
and independently ascends, decreasing the pitch content until all voices converge on the
single pitch class B. As all other voices drop out, the first cello sustains its pitch,
overlapping with the first entrance of the soloist, sounding a B2.

48
1
First statement of ritornello
The second ritornello begins at Rehearsal 1 with all voices in unison on the pitch
B2.. From here each subsequent rhythmic statement descen

descends
ds in stepwise motion from the
49
B2 in microtones, creating an ever-expanding figure. The range of each of these
statements increases by one quarter-tone with each rhythmic reiteration. The largest
intervallic range of five and a half quarter-tones is reached on the last eighth note of
measure 13. From here, the individual parts descend at varying rates, continuing the
previous descent of the line in motion of palindromic contraction. This ritornello
statement concludes with all voices uniting on the pitch C2, passing the pitch to the
bassoon.
The third ritornello repeats the expansion and contraction of the previous
ritornello, but lacks its palindromic exactness. Here the intervallic range expands as the
first celli ascend from the pitch C2 in stepwise motion until the downbeat of measure 21
by which time the voices have expanded to a range of a six semitones. On the next
rhythmic reiteration string sections are subdivided into individual parts in order to present
all the pitches of the aggregate. From here an ascending inward contraction to the next
solo entrance takes place, ending on the pitch Bb3. That is to say, as the pitches rise in
register overall, the rate at which they ascend is varied, resulting in a reduction of the
range between the two parts, which eventually unite in unison, as illustrated in Figure
3.18. This convergence includes some initial skips and leaps, but becomes increasingly
regulated as it approaches its end. The subsequent bassoon entrance also bears some
modification; in addition to the continuous sustained pitch of the previous solo passages,
a multiphonic is included and leads into the next adjacent ritornello.
The fourth ritornello, which begins at rehearsal three, is a constant contraction
comprised of two main parts. In the first part, the outer voices approach each other by
contrasting means to form a wedge shape: the first cello descends chromatically while the
third bass ascends with a combination of steps and skips. The inner parts contain
elements of both approaches, employing both half-steps as well as ascending and
descending leaps throughout. The second part of the ritornello is marked by the use of
50
harmonics. Here the parts continue to congregate, the first cello descending while the
third bass ascends, both in half-step motion. The inner parts mirror this motion,
employing quarter-tones and pitch repetition in order to maintain the dwindling range.
This ritornello ends on the pitch F#2, which is passed from the first bass to the bassoon.
The bassoon part continues to be embellished, transforming seamlessly from the single
pitch to a multiphonic, and finally to a trilled multiphonic, mirroring the increasing
intricacies of the ritornelli.
In the following fifth ritornello double stops are employed in the celli to create
polyphonic layers of nested contracting structures which combine to create an
overarching wedge shape to the entire ritornello. At Rehearsal 4 each voice’s double
stops move in parallel motion to one another. As the line ascends, the bottom voice of the
cello double stops and the basses incorporate leaps, eventually closing the gap between
the two entirely. From here the seven string voices continue their ascent, which
concludes with staggered arrivals on the pitch B4. The subsequent bassoon entrance is
again elaborated, now leading from the single pitch to a multiphonic and finally two
trilled multiphonics which contain more dynamic color and contrast than previously seen
in the movement.
At Rehearsal 5, the incorporation of extended techniques into the bassoon part
seems to influence the following sixth ritornello in which sul ponticello and glissandi are
incorporated into the orchestra. Whereas previously the double-stops had allowed two
lines to sound simultaneously from a single instrument, here compound melodies of
alternating descending figures are employed.77 These compound melodies are passed
from the celli to basses who conclude the movement with a pianissimo descent to a
dissonant stacking of three ic1’s.
77
For example, in measure 48, cello 1’s pitches are: Eb3, B2, D3, Bb2, Db3, A2, and C3.
51
21
29, Ascending inward contraction of third ritornello
52
Movement 3
At the beginning of movement three, theme II, which was introduced at the end of
the first movement, continues from the preceding material as if the second movement had
never occurred. Theme II continues until the Rehearsal 3, where the development section
of the large-scale sonata form takes over.
The large scale development that occupies movement three can be divided into
two primary structural sections that are connected by a transition, as illustrated in Table
3.5. Interestingly, both of these sections draws primarily (but not exclusively) upon ideas
presented in the second movement. Here again traditional expectations of sonata form are
thwarted, since neither theme I nor theme II are the primary source of developmental
material. Drawing upon material from the first intermezzo further illustrates Rosen’s
assertion of twentieth century composers’ free interpretation of sonata form.78 It also
illustrates that movement two is not functioning solely as an unrelated intermezzo, but as
a source of thematic material for the development section which operates outside the
realm of the work’s greater sonata form.

Beg. to 3 Theme II Continuation and conclusion of
overarching sonata form
exposition.
3 to Development
3 to 9 Section 1 Development of ritornello form
of movement 2: alternation of
solo bass passages and orchestral
tutti sections.
9 to 16 Transition Use of extended techniques
16 to End Section 2 Development of tutti rhythmic
unisons of movement 2.
Table 3.5: Formal analysis of movement three
78
Rosen, Sonata Forms, 403.
53
The first main section of the development begins at Rehearsal 3 and develops the
ritornello form of the second movement by alternating solo and ensemble passages. The
solo statements are presented in the double basses, first as a solo (Figure 3.19), then a
duet, and finally a trio. Each of these solo statements are cadenza-like and reminiscent of
the protests of the hero from the first movement. The orchestral passages incorporate
elements of both the hero and crowd theme as illustrated by Figure 3.20. Here each
fragmented statement combines varying rhythmic durations characteristic of the crowd’s
theme with the staggered overlapping entrances evoking the hero’s theme. Later in this
section, the orchestral passages employ the wedge-shaped expansions of the second
movement, reinforcing the connection to ritornello form. The lack of accompaniment and
improvisational character of the bass solos contrasted against the dense texture of the tutti
ensemble passages makes development of the ritornello form easily perceptible to the
listener.
The transition to the second main section of the development begins at Rehearsal
9. This transition does not appear to draw material from anywhere previous in the work,
but does make extensive use of the concept of introduction-to-saturation which
permeated the entire first movement. The transition employs three main layers; the celli
sustaining pianissimo notes in the lower register, the first bass reiterating fast harmonic
pitch bends with quickly expanding dynamics, and an indeterminate glissando in the
second bass in which the composer only assigns approximate pitches. Subsequent layers
are added and removed, beginning with the ricochet glissandi79 which appear at
Rehearsal 10. As the transition progresses, the celli abandon their sustained figures and
reenter with the ricochet glissando which is also adopted by the first double bass. Thus,
79
A technique in which the bow is cast onto the string resulting in a succession of rebounds while the left
hand simultaneously executes a glissando by sliding a finger evenly across the length of the string.
54
the glissandi that began as a secondary idea in a single voice now inundates the entire
texture of the work,, an instance of growth

growth-to-prominence.
Bass solo
24
27, Developmental combination of “hero’s theme” and “crowd’s theme”
The second main section of the development proper begins at Rehearsal 16. This
section draws upon material from the second movement, incorporating the tutti rhythmic
unisons of the orchestral ritornelli

ritornelli,, as seen in Figure 3.21. In this context, the tutti’s are
developed with the inclus

inclusion of ricochet, and rests. The pitches of the tone clusters are
55
tightly packed, which mimics the tension established in the second movement. As this
section progresses, each of the respective voice’s pitches ascend, alongside an ever-
present crescendo. The texture also becomes denser as this section increases, with the
incorporation of double stops at Rehearsal 19, and triple stops at Rehearsal 22.
56
65
80, Development of second
nd movement ritornelli
57
At Rehearsal 23 the firmly established sense of tempo dissolves with the lack of
meter and incorporation of rhythmic crescendi. This deterioration of tempo functions just
as the previous indeterminate material had: as a transition to the next formal section. The
transition begins with the orchestra at its highest dynamic level thus far in the movement.
Periodic sforzandi color the dense texture, which is comprised primarily of stepwise
motion, but includes some leaps, and many changes in direction. The work continues in
this way as the dynamic level is reduced back to piano. At Rehearsal 26, the basses
maintain their use of indeterminate rhythm while the celli integrate the short pitch bends
seen in the previous transition. Whereas previously these pitch bends were presented as a
solo in the first bass within a homophonic texture, here all celli employ the use of pitch
bends, both ascending and descending to create a dissonant polyphony of tone clusters.
At Rehearsal 27, the two layers switch, with the basses taking over the glissandi and the
celli returning to their previous indeterminate rhythm, now in pizzicato. Just before the
conclusion of the movement all voices return to ametric rhythmic crescendi in pizzicato,
ending without ritardando or cadence. Figure 3.22 illustrates this continuity, an
implication that the large-scale sonata form will continue in the movements to come.
58
Close of third movement
Movement 4
Before the large-scale sonata form of the work can continue, it is interrupted by
the second interlude, the fourth movement. The fourth movement contains the return of
the hero, who showcases a cadenza which functions as a soliloquy on the happenings of
the previous three movements. In this cadenza, all previously used extended techniques
employed throughout the work are combined (Table 3.6) into an emotional outpouring of
anguish, as seen in Figure 3.23.

59
Rehearsal Number Motive/Technique Employed

Beg. to 1 quasi “swinging” : descending dotted motive
1 to 2 Con aggression comico: disjunct staccato motive
2 to 3 Pedal key timbre trills
3 to 4 Staccato articulations on isolated eighth notes
4 to 5 Pervading half-step trills
5 to 6 Multiphonic melody
6 to 7 Ascending melody highlighted with pitch-bending
7 to 8 Repeated glissandi statements followed by a frai denti oscillation
8 to 9 quasi ”clamore” : unspecified interpretation
9 to 10 “ridendo”( alla saxofono): Imitation of saxophone laugh technique
Table 3.6: Form chart of extended technique usage in movement four cadenza
60
1
Bassoon cadenza
61
The movement begins with the unaccompanied bassoon playing a quasi
“swinging” motive; a sequence of sixteenth notes slurred into a dotted eighth note in half
step relations which collectively descend by a fifth, either perfect or diminished (ic5 or
ic6). This fragment will be the subject of elaboration and extension later in the
development proper. At Rehearsal 1, the bassoon is still playing traditionally, but the lack
of time and meter creates an improvisatory feel that is characteristic of cadenzas. At
Rehearsal 2 the composer calls for lateral movements with a finger on the E key. Though
this effect is essentially what we now know as a “timbre trill”, Bartolozzi refers to it as a
“pedal key.”80 “Pedal keys” produce a slightly different effect, as the same key (one not
otherwise employed during the passage) is used to alter every pitch. The result is not in a
dramatic timbral change throughout the passage but an alternation between “open” and
“muted” sounds. Rehearsal 4 employs the use of pervading trills. While a trill is a
commonly used technique, a lack of space, half-step interval, and low register produce a
bee-like buzzing effect.
In the second half of the cadenza the extended techniques become more frequent,
extreme and dramatic. Whereas multiphonics had previously been used in isolation, at
rehearsal 5, Gubaidulina quite ingeniously constructs a melody from multiphonic sounds,
treating them expressively with such terms as legato and tenuto. Rehearsals 6 and 7 deal
primarily with short glissandi or “pitch-bends”. This technique is first used ornamentally,
to color the climax of each motive (the Bb3 and D4, two and four measures after
Rehearsal 6, respectively), giving the performer almost three beats with which to bend
the pitch “with sentimental vulgarity.”81 As the piece proceeds to Rehearsal 7, both the
activeness of line and speed of glissando are significantly increased to the dramatic grand
pause just before Rehearsal 8. The speed of the glissando, combined with the use of pitch
80
81
Gubaidulina, “Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings,” 48.
62
repetition (always C5 to Db5), ever-increasing crescendo, and extreme high register
establishes tension which comes to a climax just before Rehearsal 8. Here the performer
is instructed to place their teeth on the reed and execute a jaw oscillation on a D5 which
leads into an indeterminate marking at Rehearsal 8. Placing one’s teeth upon the reed
results in dramatic, high-frequency vibration, which sounds buzzier than traditional
playing, is much louder, and has less predictability and control. This aural sensation is
enhanced by the oscillation that accompanies it as it leads directly into the an ambiguous
graphic marking. The only direction supplied for this marking is “clamore” or
“clamorously.” Suggestions for interpretation of this marking are addressed in the
following chapter. Rehearsal 8 is the instance in which our hero has apparently reached
his breaking point. Following this, an imaginative and entirely new technique (not
addressed in Bartolozzi) magnificently illustrates that he has seemingly lost his mind.
Rehearsal 9 bears the marking “ridendo,” the verb form of the Italian ridere which means
“to laugh.” The composer offers further clarification by saying this should sound alla
saxofono that is, imitating the “laugh technique” commonly seen in the saxophone
repertoire.82 The resulting aesthetic is quite unique, sounding very much like
simultaneous laughter and weeping, adding to the manic unfolding of the narrative.
Sense of tempo is restored at Rehearsal 10 with the return of the orchestra. The
bassoon presents a repetitive low melody comprised entirely of stepwise motion which
gives the impression of d minor. This melody is accompanied by polyphonic layers in the
strings, the staggered entrances evoking the hero’s theme. As the pervasive ostinato-like
bassoon melody proceeds to the movement’s conclusion, the orchestra’s material
82
The saxophone laugh is a short, glissando-like manipulation of the embouchure meant to imitate the
quality of human laughter. Further discussion of this technique appears in the following chapter).
63
continues and ascends in the context of a dramatic crescendo which persists until it is
“terminated sharply”83 and the end of the movement.
Movement 5
The fifth movement marks both the end of the piece and the conclusion of the
overarching sonata form stated in the first and third movements. Here the development
continues from the point at which it left off in the third movement, with the orchestral
layering of ametric rhythmic crescendi, but quickly embarks on a gradual transition to the
recapitulation. The formal activity to be discussed in this section (e.g., development,
transition, and recapitulation) are shown in greater detail in Table 3.7.

Beg. to 2 Development Conclusion of second section
2 to 26 Transition to recapitulation Return and development of quasi
“swinging” motive, eventual
incorporation of “beating” material.
26 to End Recapitulation Many previous themes used
26 to 27 The “battle” Orchestral tutti statements of the
“battle” material, protests of hero
presented in the bassoon.
27 to 29 “ridendo” (alla saxofono) Extended return of saxophone laugh
29 to 32 quasi “swinging” The hero is rebound by the quasi
“swinging” figure.
32 to End Coda The crowd celebrates their victory
with a dramatic crescendo as the
hero is defeated.
Table 3.7: Formal analysis of movement five
The transition to the recapitulation of the greater sonata form is begun at
Rehearsal 2. Figure 3.24 illustrates the return of the quasi “swinging” motive which had
previously occurred in the fourth movement. Just as the development had previously
drawn upon material from the first interlude (movement 2) as opposed to themes from the
83
Gubaidulina, “Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings,” 50.
64
exposition, extracts from the second interlude, the cadenza of movement 4, are now
employed. The return of material from the cadenza is easily perceptable to the listener as
the initial statement at Rehearsal 2 is an exact repetition of the quasi “swinging” motive,
used previously in movement 4. However, what was previously used as a mere fragment
within the context of an intricate cadenza is now expanded and treated thematically, an
instance of growth-to-prominence. As the work proceeds on from Rehearsal 2, this
motive is developed into longer statements separated by one to three measures of rest.
Furthermore, though the rhythmic integrity of the motive is maintained as it is presented,
instances of octave displacement, fast dynamic shifts, use of the instrument’s entire
range, and frequent changes of direction are employed as alterations to the increasingly
disjunct melody. Jeffrey Lyman suggests that the repetition of this passage represents the
crowd’s obstruction of the hero whose expression is “bound by a banal rhythmic
figure.”84 Underneath the quasi “swinging” motive the orchestra continues on with the
layers of ametric rhythmic crescendi that serve as a secondary and accompaniment role to
the bassoon.
84
65
Figure 3.24: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement
ovement 5, mm. 3-5,
3
Development of “swinging” motive
The movement continues on in this fashion until Rehearsal 14. Here the orchestra
begins to deviate from the layers of indeterminate rhythm with the ggradual
radual return to a
more regular sense of tempo. This begins in the first cello whose rhythms are aligned
with, though admittedly not complimentary to, the soloist. At Rehearsal 15 the bassoon
line becomes increasingly more active, employing less and less space between
subsequent fragments until the melo
melody
dy unfolds as a largely continuous ostinato. It is also
at Rehearsal 15 that the first and second basses depart from the previously established
texture with sustained archo col legno ricochet,

het, which harkens back to the “beating” of
the exposition (Figure 3.25

.25). This gradual incorporation of the “beating” material
continues as the work progresses, both expanding in length, and including more
orchestral voices. This instance of introduction-to-saturation also serves as a transition to
the recapitulation properr in which the hero will finally meet his demise. As the orchestra
regains its dominance

ance over the soloist with the “beating” figures and increased dynamic
66
presence, the weakening of the hero is evident. Though the soloist continues with its
previous material, it becomes increasingly fragmented throughout the course of the
transition, eventually being reduced to nothing more than a single eighth note.
Furthermore, though the hero attempts to assert himself with a forte dynamic,
decrescendi follow almost immediately, illustrating the hero’s increasing fragility.

67
68
80, Return of “beating” material
68
Rehearsal 22 bears an attempt to return to the hero’s theme, which though
evocative
ive texturally with its sustained, staggered entrances, ultimately fails to conform to
the material of the soloist, perhaps representing the ultimate failure of the hero in the
scope of the narrative (Figure 3.26

3.26). This reading seems confirmed as the bassoon
basso
restates fragments from the cadenza, a return to his emotional breakdown, though it is
now lost amidst the texture of the ever

ever-increasing dynamic of the crowd.. The orchestra
seems to overtake the bassoonist’s cries as it states polyphonic layers interspersed

intersp with
remnants of the “beating”

g” motive
motive.
105-108, Failed attempted return to “hero’s theme”
Figure 3.27 illustrates the onset of the recapitulation of the larger sonata form
which occurs at Rehearsal 26

26. Here the crowd descends on the hero with
ith an exact
69
repetition of the “battle” material from the exposition. This “organized assault”85
represents the destruction of the hero, whose frullato screams are covered by the crowd.86
The “battle” material continues until the hero cries out with the “ridendo” alla saxofono
figure of the cadenza. His cries are unheard or unheeded, as he is consumed by the
fortissimo ensemble (Figure 3.28).87
85
86
87
70
Figure 3.27: Gubaidulina,

ulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 5, mm.
126-131, Recapitulation of the “battle”
71
132-136, The hero cries out as he is consumed
72
The hero’s submission is illustrated by the recapitulation of the quasi “swinging”
motive, as he is rebound by the repetitive figure. The return of this material is brief,
leading directly into the coda of the work. The hero finally gives up at Rehearsal 32,
demonstrated with the low trills that lead into a sforzando pianissimo multiphonic.
Following this final bassoon statement, the hero is defeated permanently as the crowd
rises to victory, growling in tremoli rhythmic unisons within the presence of
simultaneous crescendo and accelerando. The work concludes as the hero is finally
knocked down with a final terrifying Bartók pizzicato (Figure 3.29), a violent technique
that parallels the violent nature of the crowd.88

Through the use of an overarching sonata form structure, Concerto for Bassoon
and Strings depicts the story of a vanquished hero. The hero and bassoon soloist is
introduced at the beginning of the work and throughout the course of the first movement,
is challenged, beaten, and mocked by the crowd within the context of a nested sonata
form. The crowd asserts their new found dominance in the second movement intermezzo
as each of their tutti ritornello statements repeatedly overpowers the minimally-present
soloist. The supremacy of the crowd continues to be demonstrated in movement three,
during which the orchestra develops previously presented material, and the bassoon
remains almost entirely inactive. It is in the fourth movement, the second intermezzo that
the hero laments his fate by way of a cadenza comprised almost entirely of extended
techniques. This emotional outcry is answered by the crowd in the fifth movement in
which the overarching sonata form is concluded with a recapitulation of the beating, an
act which defeats the tortured soloist once and for all.
88
73
158-169,
169, Close of the work: the hero is defeated as the crowd rises to victory
74
CHAPTER IV
PERFORMANCE GUIDE
The Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings is certainly a challenging work, and
the presence of the modern aesthetic, extended techniques and indeterminacy within the
score have the potential to alienate prospective and capable performers from learning the
work. While there is a fair amount of assumed knowledge as well as ambiguity within the
score, it is nonetheless a very accessible work for the proficient student or professional
bassoonist. Bassoonist Stéphane Lévesque asserts: “I feel that Sofia Gubaidulina's music
is not defined by the use of extended techniques, and the few extended demands in this
piece are definitely within reach of advanced players.”89
What follows is an investigation into the ambiguities and alternate techniques
contained within the score that seeks to inform and guide the performer first encountering
the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings. A close examination reveals that many of the
apparently intimidating complexities are really reflections of a very flexible and highly
expressive score. It follows that performances can be enormously varied, flexible, and
exceedingly personal. Internationally celebrated bassoonist Milan Turkovic, whom has
worked with the composer in preparation for performance, recounts that Gubaidulina is
“very open to personal decisions of the soloist!”90 The following performance and
practice suggestions reflect a combination of insights, including: previous scholarship on
the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings as well as other works by Gubaidulina;
resources regarding the execution of twentieth century performance techniques; an
examination of the performance history established though analysis of recordings; and
89
Stéphane Lévesque, personal interview, December 11, 2010.
90
Milan Turkovic, personal interview, October 2, 2010.
75
interviews with renowned bassoonists Valeri Popov, Sergio Azzolini, William Davis,
Jeffrey Lyman, Milan Turkovic, and Stéphane Lévesque.
Rhythm in Alternate Notation
Issues concerning rhythmic interpretations occur primarily within the first
movement, and fall into two main categories; unspecific rhythmic devices (such as a
rhythmic crescendo), and irrational rhythms (such as a quintuplet). With unspecific
rhythms “both composer and performer make choices, resulting in [music] that may
differ every time the work is performed,”91 while an irrational rhythm is “any rhythm that
involves dividing the beat into a different number of equal subdivisions from that usually
permitted by the time-signature.”92 The unspecific and irrational rhythms cultivate a
sense of metric instability, and as such, seem to serve the narrative by enhancing the
frantic quality of the hero as he is challenged and finally overcome. Indeed, their
appearance is for the most part confined to Rehearsals 18 through 26, when the orchestra
begins to dominate, engage in battle with, and ultimately conquer the soloist. Therefore,
one performance suggestion is to interpret these figures in a seemingly improvisational
manner in order to illustrate the hero’s loss of control. Now that I have defined these
devices, I will provide suggestions for their execution in the following sections.
Notated Rhythmic Crescendo
At Rehearsal 8 the first of several instances of rhythmic crescendo occurs within
the bassoon part. This is a twentieth century compositional device that indicates the
gradual speeding or slowing of a series of pitches.93 Of the execution of these figures,
Jefferson T. Campbell states that they should not “…be evenly spaced, but should fill the
91
Donald Jay Grout and Claude V. Palisca, A History of Western Music (New York: W.W. Norton &
Company, 2001), 776.
92
Carl Humphries, The Piano Handbook (San Francisco: Backbeat Books, 2002), 266.
93
David Cope, Techniques of the Contemporary Composer (New York: Schirmer Books, 1997), 158.
76
entire measure in which they are placed.”94 This direction is applicable to both the metric
and ametric instances of rhythmic crescendo that appear within the score.
This procedure is indicated within the rhyt

rhythmic
hmic barring of the notes. All affected
a
pitches are connected by a straight beam

beam, as in the traditional beaming of eighth notes,
with a second beam connecting the pitches diagonally throughout the duration of the
technique either in a crescendo or decrescendo shape. This practice allows for the
slowing or quickening of a single part or parts independent of the rest of the ensemble,
resulting in a self-contained
contained accelerando or ritardando notated through beaming rather
rath
than in prose.
The execution of these figures depends greatly on their context. For instance,
Rehearsal 18 (Figure 4.1)

1) takes place within the context of a regular tempo and meter.
The figure must, therefore, occur over the course of one quarter note so as to conform to
its temporal environment. At Rehearsal 22 however, the bassoon soloist is playing in a
non-metrical context. Consequently

onsequently may interpret this rhythm in a more improvisational
fashion as no synchronization with the other parts is necessa

necessary.
Figure 4.1: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 1, mm. 106
(bsn), Rhythmic crescendo
As Fast as Possible
Several times in the first movement, beamed
beamed-together
together fragments bear a diagonal
slash mark through the first note in the group (Figure 4.2). David Cope defines this
94
Campbell, “The ‘Duo Sonata for Two Bassoons’,” 54
54-55.
77
notation as indicating that these fragments are to be played “as fast as possible.”95 While
both Davis and Lyman concur with this reading, several others interpret the marking to
imply an inherent freedom to the interpretation as well. Bassoonist Azzolini, for instance
plays these fragments as improvisations in a free rubato96. Likewise, Lévesque, while
being sure to pace the overall passage in such a way that maintains cohesion with the
orchestra, interprets this marking “freely, sometimes quickly, other times by highlighting
some melodic or harmonic material which I deemed interesting.”97 Bassoonist Turkovic
also acknowledges both the brevity and improvisational nature of the marking,
understanding it as “Fast, without a rhythm relating to other parts of passage.”98
95
Cope, Techniques of the Contemporary Composer, 158
96
Sergio Azzolini, personal interview, October 27, 2010.
97
98
78
122, As fast as possible
Irrational Rhythms
According to scholar Kurt Stone:
Conventional notation is…severely limited by its bipartite system of note values,

a system which operates with only one single geometric progression for all
primary durations: 2, 4, 8, 16 etc. As soon as a rhythm deviates from these simple
divisions and multiples, as soon as a division merely becomes tripartite, one must
resort to makeshift devices…99
Some of the “makeshift devices” of which Stone is speaking appear from Rehearsal 19 to
Rehearsal 20 (Figure 4.3) of movement one. In this excerpt, we see barred together
rhythms that are designated with a particular rhythmic ratio. Stone identifies two primary
99
Kurt Stone, “Problems and Methods of Notation,” Perspectives of New Music 1 (1963): 9-28.
79
trends in the use of irrational rhythms, both of which occur wi

within
thin this excerpt; those
“toward uncompromising exactitude and predictability” and those “toward chance.”100
113
115, Irrational rhythms
Let us first examine the irratio

irrational
nal rhythm of 5:4, which represents the trend
toward exactness. This ratio means that the bracketed portion (in all cases within this
work, one quarter note duration) is to be dividing into five even parts (sixteenth notes)
which are to take place over the course of what would otherwise be four even divisions of
the beat (sixteenth notes). Most classically

classically-trained
trained musicians will find this relationship
comparable to that of an eighth

eighth-note triplet figure occupying the space normally filled by
100
Stone, “Problems and Methods of Notation,” 99-28.
80
two eighth notes. This 5:4 relationship is commonly referred to as a “quintuplet” and is
occasionally encountered in the standard repertoire, both solo and orchestral. Full
comprehension and control of this rhythm is required in this passage, as it appears both
complete and with the incorporation of rests. Charles Wuorinen presents the following
suggestion for the successful execution of irrational rhythms:
Memorization of these relations is easily accomplished by practice, in which the

largest common subdivision between the "irrational" and the "basic" beat is
counted (e.g., quarter-note quintuplets practiced by counting quintuple
subdivisions of the unaltered quarter note, with articulations every four counts).
Such practice leads to the memorization of relations between given speeds, such
that ultimately it becomes irrelevant to speak, say, of "septuplets" in a given
"tempo"; one really thinks of speeds related as 7:4, and plays accordingly. Such
memorization is no more difficult than that which permits us to discover a speed
related to a "basic tempo" as 2:1, e.g., to play 8th notes in 4/4.101
The 7:4 ratio does in fact come into play on beat one of Rehearsal 19. However,
this figure differs from the exact 5:4 figures in its use of rhythmic crescendo and thus,
trend toward chance. Like the following instances of 5:4, this figure occurs in one beat,
but is executed unevenly, with the frequency of notes accelerating into the next
subsequent beat. The performer first learns the excerpt by treating all figures with
rhythmic exactness (disregarding the rhythmic crescendo), in order to establish rhythmic
understanding and certainty, and then applying the rhythmic crescendo as they are able,
spacing each of the seven notes unevenly throughout the entire beat.
Extended Techniques
Throughout the work, extended techniques are integrated into the bassoon part
only as the hero’s position is compromised. The linking of new sounds with the hero’s
demise suggest that extended techniques function as compositional tools to illustrate and
exploit the work’s narrative. Indeed, the particular extended techniques that Gubaidulina
employs are salient for illustrating the narrative: violent and aggressive flutter-tonguing
101
Charles Wuorinen, “Notes on the Performance of Contemporary Music,” Perspectives of New Music 2
(1964): 10-21.
81
represents the protests of the hero as he is battled and beaten, and howling trill figures
mimic wailing as he is defeated in the first movement. This narrative function of
extended techniques is reinforced in movement four, the hero’s emotional outcry, in
which almost no traditional playing appears. If extended techniques illustrate the hero’s
emotional struggle, then the performance would certainly benefit from a poignant,
intentional, and perhaps programmatic delivery to those passages. Jeffrey Lyman views
the work’s narrative structure as such:
I believe there is an inherent narrative in the work, one that pits the individual
against “the masses” or against some kind of collective force that is trying to
musically and psychologically defeat the soloist. I see this more as a kind of battle
than as a traditional dialogue between the soloist and the accompanying ensemble.
Without that dynamic in the performance, I do not understand the work, so it is an
additional responsibility, in my opinion, for the soloist to convey this
interpretation in the course of any performance.102
Flutter-tongue
One of the most frequently used extended techniques in the Concerto for Bassoon
and Low Strings is flutter-tonguing. Flutter-tonguing is one of the more commonly used
extended techniques and its use is not restricted to so-called “modern” works.
Compositional use of flutter-tonguing began in the late 1800s and was used by composers
such as Richard Strauss and Igor Stravinsky. Flutter-tonguing is often a difficult
technique to execute on the bassoon due to the penetration of the reed into the oral cavity.
Because the act of flutter-tonguing occurs in front of the tip of the reed, there is less space
within the mouth to perform the technique for players of reed instruments then for players
of brass instruments or the flute who can achieve the flutter-tonguing effect with relative
ease. Sergio Penazzi asserts:
102
Jeffrey Lyman, personal interview, August 31, 2010.
82
It is difficult to achieve on the bassoon, a good flutter-tongue effect of the type

common to the flute and brasses because the bassoonist must perform two actions
simultaneously: he must exert pressure on the reed with his lips in order to
maintain the pitch and at the same time flutter his tongue against the
opening….This is true for all instruments played by inserting a reed or
mouthpiece directly between the lips.103
Indeed, the technique’s difficulty on reed instruments has caused some to question
whether flutter-tonguing is realistic on reed instruments. However, oboist Jacqueline
Leclaire, renowned for her mastery of extended techniques, contends that the proposed
impossibility of flutter-tonguing on some wind instruments is erroneous. She further
declares: “One also hears that flutter-tongue is genetic, i.e. one can either flutter or one
can’t. This is absolutely incorrect.”104

This belief in a so-called genetic inability to flutter-tongue most likely comes
from the misconception that the ability to roll ones r’s (as in the Spanish language) is a
requirement for the successful execution of flutter-tonguing. In fact, there are two
technical approaches to flutter-tonguing: in the first and most common case, the
performer trills his/her tongue, as if rolling their r’s. This free upward and downward
flapping of the tongue in front of the reed creates the growling effect. It is with this
method that the protruding of the reed into the mouth is the principal issue, as many
players find difficulty in executing the rolling of the tongue without making contact with
the reed.105 According to bassoonist Jefferson T. Campbell, this method of flutter-
tonguing is most effective in the high register of the bassoon.106 For those who are not
capable of creating a rolled ‘r’ sound, there is a second technical approach that occurs at
the throat. In this second method, “a guttural, growling sound is made with the throat
103
Sergio Penazzi, The Bassoon- Other Techniques. New Sources of Musical Expression (Milano: Ricordi,
1982), 60.
104
Jacqueline LeClair, “Flutter-tongue,” The Double Reed 33 (2010): 106-108.
105
106
83
(similar to gargling with mouthwash).”107 This approach is often difficult to initiate while
playing, particularly at a soft dynamic. Campbell suggests beginning the flutter with a
“k” sound in the back of the throat, as opposed to a “t” sound that engages the tip of
tongue, in order to increase the responsiveness of the method.
Regardless of which approach is used, a performer who has no prior experience
with flutter-tonguing will require some time and practice before being able to execute the
technique with control and immediate response. Charles H. Lipp presents the following
practice suggestions in order to establish and refine the ability to flutter-tongue: “Try
initiating the flutter-tongue with very little reed at the embouchure (lips), despite the poor
tone quality; the “r” should roll quite easily. Gradually reinstate the reed into normal
playing position.”108 Oboist Jacqueline Leclaire suggests a similar approach of gradual
incorporation:
Pretend you are about to say “cat” and flutter from there. First, flutter with reed
alone on bottom lip, fluttering over the mouthpiece. With comfort, gradually start
to direct the flutter into the reed, but without embouchure. Repeat with reed on
instrument. With comfort, gradually form a normal embouchure while retaining
your flutter-tongue.109
Multiphonics
Simply stated, a multiphonic is the playing of multiple tones on a traditionally
monophonic instrument. On wind instruments, this occurs when a fundamental fingering

is altered in order to create several simultaneous tube lengths, thus sounding up to six
pitches as a “chord.”110 The playing of multiphonics often requires an alteration not only
107
108
Charles Herbert Lipp, “New Compositional Techniques for the Bassoon” (D.M.A. diss.,
University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 1982), 24.
109
Leclair, “Flutter-tongue,” 106-108.
110
Gardner Read, “Extending the Tonal Resources of Wind Instruments: Some Contemporary Techniques,”
Music Educators Journal 63 (1976): 50-55.
84
of the fingering, but also of the embouchure and air stream, as each multiphonic fingering
will vary greatly in resistance level, volume, balance, and timbre. Additionally,
harmonics, microtones, and trills can be incorporated into multiphonic chordal structures.
In the following section, I will address three areas of multiphonic usage: unaltered
multiphonics, the linking of single sounds to multiphonics, and trilled multiphonics.
Multiphonics are featured throughout the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings,
appearing in movements two, four and five. The generous use of multiphonics suggest
their popularity in the twentieth century modernist repertoire in general,111 as well as the
influence of New Sounds for Woodwind, which was undoubtedly the most detailed and
widely used method addressing multiphonics in use at the time.112 In particular,
Gubaidulina’s apparent familiarity with Bartolozzi’s book is illustrated in the composer’s
choice of fingerings charts and notation. Throughout the score, multiphonics are notated
with either a “white” (as seen with whole and half notes in traditional notation) or
“black” (as seen with quarter or eighth notes in traditional notation; Figure 4.4). In New
Sounds for Woodwind, Bartolozzi identifies the use of triangle shapes as note-heads to
indicate non-traditional sounds:
In general, conventionally shaped round black notes indicate normal tone

colours….there are other notes of different shapes which are associated with
various tone colours and harmonic sounds….the duration of sounds is indicated
by the length of the horizontal line attached to the stem of each note, so that the
‘rhythm’ of the phrase is derived from the proportions of the spaces between one
note and another. Obviously, no meter is present.113
111
Read, “Extending the Tonal Resources,” 50-55.
112
113
85
29, Triangle note-head to indicate multiphonic
Above each triangle, a fingering is written. The six vertical circles in off-set
groups of three illustrate each of the six finger tone-holes of the bassoon, and numbers
which appear to the right or left of the tone-hole diagram to indicate which keys (thumb
and/or pinky) are to be pressed. Herein lies the main ambiguity of the score; no fingering
chart appears within the score to indicate the corresponding keys to their respective
numerical assignments, nor does the composer or publisher indicate which source was
consulted in the acquisition of these fingerings. They are in fact the key assignments
made by Bartolozzi in New Sounds for Woodwind. However a prospective player who
does not have preexistent knowledge of the influence that New Sounds for Woodwind had
on woodwind composition in the twentieth century would not know where to look or how
to interpret the fingering charts that appear within the score. A revised fingering chart
which converts each of the Bartolozzi fingerings within the score into universally
understood illustrations appears in Appendix C. Gubaidulina employed Bartolozzi’s
fingering systems within others of her works114 without reference, as well, perhaps
indicating an assumed knowledge of the significance of the renowned text.
The performer who is not yet acquainted with the execution of mulitphonics will
likely have issues with the required fingerings. The playing of multiphonics requires the
performer to learn seemingly new fingerings, many of which are complicated and
involved eight or more fingers. However, comfort with new multiphonic fingerings is
114
86
increased when they are related back to the fundamental fingering from which they were
modified. For example, the first multiphonic which appears in the work occurs in the
second movement at Rehearsal 3 (Figure 4.4). This fingering calls for all six tone holes to
be covered and for the F and B-flat keys to be pressed. Rather than viewing this as an
entirely new fingering, players should identify this multiphonic as an F2 with the B-flat
key added. Relating outwardly complicated and new fingerings back to what is already
familiar to the player will significantly increase the brevity and ease with which players
learn multiphonics. As a practice technique, Theodore J. Lapina suggests alternating
between the fundamental fingering and the multiphonic fingering in order to engrain the
technique.
Establishing certainty in multiphonic fingerings is especially important for the
performer as the often drastic changes of embouchure and air unique to each multiphonic
will likely be the most challenging aspect of executing them with ease.115 Bartolozzi
gives graphics that indicate lip pressure, air pressure, or embouchure placement in his
book. However, Gubaidulina does not include these graphics in her score notation. This is
not especially problematic as each of these factors will vary greatly by player and
instrument. However, establishing one’s unique muscle memory for each of these
fingerings and their corresponding embouchure placement, lip and air pressure is
essential.
Within New Sounds for Woodwind Bartolozzi presents the possibility of the
linking of monophonic and multiphonic sounds.116 This technique is applied in the
second movement at Rehearsal 5 when a fundamental tone B4 (which Bartolozzi calls the
monovalent tone) slurs directly into a multiphonic (the polyvalent tone). This instance
115
Niall O'Loughlin, “Painful Beauty,” review of New Sounds for Woodwind, by Bruno Bartolozzi, The
Musical Times 109 (1968): 39.
116
Bartolozzi New Sounds for Woodwind, 45.
87
(the only of this technique to appear in the work) is particularly idiomatic technically, as
the multiphonic fingering is a modification of B4 fingering. Only one element of the
fingering must change: the addition of the covering of the D3 tone hole. Modifications of
air and embouchure, however, must be made in order to link single sounds to sound
amalgams. For this particular sequence Bartolozzi suggests a relaxing of the embouchure,
calling for its lower placement toward the base of the reed to be shifted to the middle of
the blade. Of linking fundamental tones to multiphonics Bartolozzi states:
It is obvious that lip and breath control are of paramount importance. In fact,
slight modifications of embouchure, lip pressure, and air pressure are such
determining factors in the formation of these new sounds that it can be stated
categorically that no satisfactory results can be obtained until the performer has
acquired a considerable sensitivity of embouchure and breath control and is able
to modify these at will, without hesitations and with complete accuracy….In
short, the player must discover the lip sensations for each type of sound for
himself and learn to use just the right lip and air pressure required in any given
situation.117
The special effect of trilling multiphonics appears twice within the second
movement, at Rehearsals 4 and 5 (Figure 4.5). Though to the performer this may seem
like the addition of another complication into an already sensitive technique, Bartolozzi
asserts that the trilling of multiphonics “does not present any particular difficulty.”118
Because each trill is merely the addition or removal of finger or keyholes of the principal
multiphonic fingering, no modification of the air or embouchure should be required.

Bartolozzi stresses that the trilling of multiphonic fingerings can be executed with
“extreme agility” and should be no different then the trilling of a fundamental tone.119
Indeed, each of the trilled multiphonics which appear within the score require only the
opening and closing of a single key. Converted fingerings for these multiphonic trills can
117
Bartolozzi, New Sounds for Woodwind, 46-51.
118
119
88
be found in Appendix C. When practicing multiphonic trills, the player may wish to first
sustain the principal multiphonic with clarity and ease before initiating the trill. As the
required muscle memory for each principal multiphonic becomes more firmly
established, the sustained portion can be progressively shortened and eventually
eliminated according the player’s interpretational wishes.
47, Trilled multiphonics
Glissando
Surprisingly, Gubaidulina included glissandi in the bassoon part of the Concerto
for Bassoon and Low Strings though New Sounds for Woodwind declares this technique
to be impossible on the bassoon. Three instances of glissandi can perhaps be related to

her collaboration with Popov. Indeed, bassoonists were acquainted with this technique in
1975 when American pedagogue Christopher Weait published an article on pitch bending
in the Journal of the International Double Reed Society, if not before as a result of
personal experimentation.120 All of them occur over half-step intervals in the latter half of
the work; two in the fourth movement (Rehearsals 6 and 7) and one in the finale
(Rehearsal 24). Charles H. Lipp considers a glissando to be “a sliding tone that has
120
Christopher Weait, “Pitch Sliding on the Bassoon,” Journal of the International Double Reed Society (3)
1975: 38-39.
89
specific starting and ending points and passes through all intermediate points.”121 For
intervals as small as these, there are two primary approaches a performer might take to
producing a glissando: using the embouchure, or using the fingers. Embouchure
manipulations can produce a glissando of a half step with relative ease, providing that the
glissando is began by relaxing the embouchure and dropping the tongue and jaw.122 The
player must then simply maneuver the embouchure in much the same way that they
would raise or lower a pitch if it were to be flat or sharp depending on the direction of the
glissando, but perhaps in a more exaggerated manner in order to achieve a true half-step
interval. When performing a glissando with the fingers, Cheryl K. Kelley provides the
following instructions:
The fingers must move very slowly and evenly when covering the holes or lifting
them from the holes. The performer must be sure that the fingers are not bent and
are slightly stiffened. The bassoon may be used to brace the hands. This will help
to achieve the even and slow movement.123
Kelly also suggests that in order to maintain the desired steadiness in the bending of the
pitch, contrary movement with the embouchure may be desired. Congruently, most
sources agree that combining both embouchure manipulation and delicate finger
movement provides the player with the most variables with which to manipulate the
glissando figure.
The composer calls for glissandi to occur over three intervals: B-flat3 to A3, D4
to C-sharp4, and C5 to D-flat5. Glissandi from B-flat3 to A3 and D4 to C-sharp4 which
occur at Rehearsal 6 of the fourth movement (Figure 4.6) require the release or addition
of relatively few fingers and should be able to be executed with relative ease. The
121
Lipp, “New Compositional Techniques for the Bassoon,” 35.
122
Stanley Duris Petrulis, “A Stylistic and Performance Analysis of Three Contemporary Compositions for
the Bassoon Which Use New Performance Techniques” (D.M.A. diss., Indiana University, 1977), 50.
123
Cheryl K. Kelley, "Twentieth Century Bassoon Techniques" (M.M. thesis, University of
Nebraska-Lincoln, 1978), 23.
90
performer must take care to maintain control over these glissandi,, however, as they last
almost three beats in duration and therefore will be more challenging to change the pitch
in a continuous and even manner. The disparities between the C5 to D-flat

flat5 fingerings
which occur at Rehearsal 7 in the fourth movement are a little more dramatic, making an
even glissando finger between the two full fingerings slightly problematic. The performer
may wish to execute this glissando by simply lifting the E3 tone hole, employing an
alternative fingering.. The performer must also pay careful attention to the rhythmic
proportions of each of these repeated C5 to D

D-flat5 glissandi,, which alternate between
quarter, eighth, and sixteenth
eenth-note durations. These reiterations serve
ve to create great
tension as the climax of the cadenza (Rehearsal 8) is approached,, tension which is
particularly effective when the performer is loyal to the varying speeds and lengths of the
subsequent glissandi in this section.
Figure 4.6: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 4, mm. 5,
Glissandi
Oscillated frai denti
The only instance of oscillation appears in the work just before Rehearsal 8 in the
fourth movement (Figure 4.

4.7) and is combined with frai denti (teeth on reed) technique.
According to Bartolozzi: “…oscillations (by increasing and relaxing lip pressure)

91
produce fluctuations in intonation above and below the mean true pitch.”124 In order to
successfully combine each of these respective techniques, the performer must first have a
firm understanding and control of their execution. Whereas normally oscillations would
be performed with the lips, here the teeth are the primary source ooff manipulation. The
following quote by Sergio Penazzi provides suggestions for producing an oscillation on
the bassoon which can be applied to this passage, provided that instructions pertaining to
lip motion are modified to be executed with the teeth

teeth:
To play a higher or lower oscillation, start by producing a steady sound and

follow a given graph using a continuous, even motion of the lips on the reed. By
exerting the correct amount of lip pressure on the reed and with proper breath
support (the role of the breath is essential) excellent results may be achieved.125
Oscillated frai denti
By incorporated frai denti technique, or the placement of the teeth directly onto
the reed blade, the pitch manipulation of the oscillation becomes more pronounced.
Placing one’s teeth upon the reed enhances the sounding pitch into a metallic buzzing,
but requires careful control. It is a common mistake for the performer to use too much
verticall pressure with the teeth causing the reed to stop sounding all together. Also,
because the oscillation just before Rehearsal 8 employs the teeth as well as the lips, its
execution must be modified from nor

normal oscillations accordingly.
cordingly. In fact, the teeth are
a
124
Bartolozzi, New Sounds for Woodwind
Woodwind, 24.
125
Penazzi, The Bassoon- Other Techniques, 58.
92
the primary source of manipulation. Placing one’s teeth toward the bottom of the blade
(near the first wire) will assist in successful production of the oscillation, without
stopping the vibration of the reed as this is the thickest part of the blade.
Ambiguous Notations
In all of the following instances, some element of musical interpretation is
intentionally omitted by the composer to be realized by the performer. Many ambiguous
elements are incorporated throughout the entirety of the Concerto for Bassoon and
Strings in both the solo and orchestra parts. Many of these instances appear in the form of
non-metric passages which allow for an ad libitum, cadenza-like interpretation of pacing
within the given excerpt. The non-metered “protests” of the hero and simultaneous
improvised repetitions of the “beating” which occur at Rehearsal 25 in the first
movement, are examples of these particular instances. Certainly, these non-metered
passages are vital to the projected dramatic effect of the narrative but they are not
especially difficult. Execution of non-metered and ad libitum passages is simply a matter
of improvised rhythmic variation, a technique which can be convincingly portrayed by
any student who has studied ad libitum playing and need not be addressed further. There
are however, two ambiguous markings within the score that are perhaps completely
original to Gubaidulina’s piece. To further complicate matters, these new markings are
not explained within the preface of the score. In the following sections, I will provide the
elucidation required for the prospective performer to perform these techniques.

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quasi “clamore”
quasi “clamore”
An envelope-shaped graphic (Figure 4.8) appears at Rehearsal 8 in the fourth
movement. The only direction supplied for this marking is “clamore” or “clamorously”.
How one interprets this marking is perhaps the move definitive and personal element of
an individual’s performance of the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings. To gain
perspective on how this “clamorous” marking has been interpreted, I examined multiple
recordings by prominent professional bassoonists. In dedicatee Valeri Popov’s
recording,126 which is often thought by most to be authoritative, he executes this marking
as a loud flutter-tongue: “With maximum stress of the embouchure, I fulfill the frullato
without teeth, of course, only on the lips.”127 While certainly acceptable, this
interpretation is relatively simple when compared to subsequent interpretations.
Considering the interpretive freedom implied by the new, undefined marking, subsequent
performers have taken the mark to further dramatic extremes. Stéphane Lévesque, for
example combined multiple extended techniques, resulting in an increased uniqueness
and complexity to the marking:
126
Jonathan Powell, liner notes, Gubaidulina: Works for Bassoon.
127
94
…for ‘clamore’ I chose to illustrate a loud, desperate cry by continuing to bend

the pitch, then switching to a flutter (with a) multiphonic sound, with as much
throat ‘grunting’ as I could get without losing the multiphonic.”128
This combination of extended techniques and noise-like timbres serves to increase the
untamed quality of what is certainly the climax of this movement, and perhaps the entire
work. William Davis chose to draw upon registral extremes for dramatic effect, executing
the marking as a “long and very loud high G [G5].”129 Perhaps the most provocative
interpretation of this marking occurs on Harry Ahmas’ recording with the Lahti Chamber
Orchestra.130 Ahmas set a new precedent for this mark by interpreting its’ “clamore” as a
blood-curdling vocal scream (without bassoon). The anguish of an oral scream is
certainly fitting to the narrative. This is the point in which our hero has assumedly
reached his breaking point. Reputedly, the composer was initially taken aback by this
interpretation, but ultimately came to accept and even encourage performers to consider
this approach.131 Much like the composer, Milan Turkovic has considered and
implemented a number of different “clamore” interpretations into his many performances
of the work: “Clamore, according to [Gubaidulina] can be just noise of any kind. Once I
played as loud as possible a non-existing fingering, another time I yelled (without
bassoon).”132
From the wide variation in professional performance practice, it is clear that there
is no right or wrong answer regarding the interpretation of the “clamore” graphic of the
fourth movement. The inclusion of an undefined marking presents the performer with the
128
129
William Davis, personal interview, October 12, 2010.
130
Sofia Gubaidulina, “Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings.” Gubaidulina: Bassoon
Concerto, Detto II, Concordanza. Lahti Chamber Ensemble, Osmo Vänskä, cond.; Harry Ahmas, bassoon;
Ilkka Pälli, cello (BIS CD-626, 1993).
131
132
95
opportunity to interpret this climactic passage with as much freedom and expressivity as
they deem fitting. Whether an emphasis is placed on theatrical displays, as with the
Ahmas recording, or on creating unique timbral sonorities, as with Lévesque’s
interpretation, all performances examined appeared to agree that the dramatic extremes to
which this marking is taken should reflect the climactic nature of the narrative, and the
fragile, perhaps broken emotional state of the hero.
“ridendo” (alla saxofono)
“ridendo” (alla saxofono)
This unique technique appears at both Rehearsal 9 in the fourth movement and
just before Rehearsal 28 in the fifth movement, and is indicated with a unique graphic of
triangle-shaped note-heads bisected by a curved-line (Figure 4.9). Though the precise
interpretation of this mark is not specified in any foreword or supplemental information
to the score, most professional performers interpret this marking to be a glissando-like
pitch manipulation (using embouchure) that follows the contour of the triangle note-
heads. Jeffrey Lyman calls attention to the importance of the composer’s use of the terms
“ridendo” and “alla saxofono” regarding these not as merely indications of character, but
as a specific direction to imitate the well-known laughter effect commonly used in the
saxophone repertoire.133
133
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Though exact execution of this technique will vary between the two instruments,
examination of the production of the saxophone laugh has the potential to inform the
performer and increase the technique’s effectiveness in performance. In Walter M. Eby’s
discussion of the saxophone laugh, he stresses the vitality that the technique must imitate
as much as possible human laughter. In Eby’s Scientific Method for Saxophone the
following criteria are designated for the successful execution of the saxophone laugh134:
-Breath: When producing the natural laugh, observe that a deep breath is gulped
down into the lungs immediately preceding the first outburst. Try to laugh with a
shallow breath and you will once realize the feebleness of the attempt. You must
have plenty of breath. The same is true of the saxophone laugh.
-Articulation: The best articulation for producing the saxophone laugh is ‘guh-
ah,’…It is, in fact, a single articulation but with two inflections, the first inflection
being guttural, while the second is open….The tongue is not used at all in
producing the saxophone laugh except the extreme back part of the tongue, near
the root….The articulation is really produced at the opening of the throat, the ‘ah’
as well as the ‘guh’ and as you study and practice, you will observe that the root
of the tongue strikes against the end of the soft palate. The mouth proper is not
used at all, in producing the laugh, except as it becomes the passage way for the
articulation and breath.
-Reed Pressure: Considerable pressure of the lower lip against the reed is
necessary in producing the articulation and increases noticeably as the articulation
advances from the ‘gu’ to the ‘ah’. In other words, more of less pressure of the
lower lip against the reed is required all the time while the laugh is being
produced, with more pressure on the second part of the articulation than on the
first.135
Though not all concepts of this saxophone-specific technique will apply for
bassoonists, it is valuable to be educated in the origins of the composer’s model. Indeed
many of Eby’s specifications seem to be echoed by performers of this work. For example,
Eby remarks that the high range is best for proper execution of this technique. Similarly,
many of the bassoonists interviewed agreed that this technique is best produced on
pitches in the upper register, as they are the most malleable and easily manipulated.
134
Walter Eby, Eby's sScientific Method for Saxophone (New York: Walter Jacobs, 1922), 286-291.
135
Eby, Eby's Scientific Method for Saxophone, 286-291.
97
William Davis remarked upon considerations of articulation associated with this
technique. All triangles are filled-in (or “black”), implying a relatively fast duration based
on previous specifications, but as Davis points out, they are not all connected.
Accordingly, Davis placed rest-like spaces between the separated notes and slurred
between the connected ones.136
The presence of these extended techniques and non-traditional notations within
the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings need not detract potential performers from
learning the work. None of the performers interviewed were provided instruction of such
techniques in their formal education. Even Popov, who originally inspired and premiered
the work did so without the aid of instruction or treatise, not even New Sounds for
Woodwind.137 Thus, the interest in extended techniques as a self-directed inquiry is
something that has been inherent to the work since its inception—for both the composer
and the performer. Additionally, as a result of the highly original and innovative
professional performances examined within this performance guide there are currently
numerous references available to the prospective performer in the form of various
commercial recordings, public performances, articles, and reviews.
136
William Davis, personal interview, October 12, 2010.
137
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CHAPTER V
CONCLUSION
Works from the twentieth century sometimes carry a stigma that they are
simultaneously technically difficult and lacking in tonal interest. Bartolozzi was correct
in his suspicion that the world of woodwind pedagogy would be reluctant to incorporate
the study of extended techniques as a vital and compulsory part of the standard
curriculum. Indeed, many students have little to no interest in exploring works of the
modern aesthetic. The unresolved dissonances and unusual timbres found in the
repertoire of the twentieth century are often off-putting to a new listener and require
repeated exposure. It is vitally important then, that instructors strive to combat these
initial reactions, for as the course of Western music changes, so must the pedagogy. As a
musician in the twenty-first century, it is nearly impossible to avoid extended
performance techniques or the modern aesthetic completely. What were once thought of
as ‘experimental techniques’ for ‘specialists’ are now standard expectations for
professional performers. Resource books and methods with which to approach these
techniques are now readily available on all instruments, yet many student’s experience
with modern scores are limited to when they are required to encounter them, leaving
them deficient in an entire musical realm and style. Many teachers would find it
unacceptable for a student to be entirely uninformed of Baroque music simply because it
is not their personal taste, so too must this approach be taken in respect to modern music.
The benefits of studying and performing works of the modern aesthetic however,
go beyond musical comprehensiveness. Many of these works require the utmost musical
maturity and stage presence for convincing execution. Composers of the twentieth
century regularly incorporate techniques such as choreography, acting, singing, electronic
manipulation, improvisation, and disjointed instrument use into their works. Theatrical
99
displays such as these can be used as a pedagogical tool with which to help students
portray their performances convincingly, and overcome their inhibitions, which will
ultimately improve their musicality as it pertains to all historical styles.
Within any historical period of music pedagogues seek to select repertoire that
contains characteristic traits of the style in question in order to familiarize students. It is
when such works also contain exceptional musical worth that they cement themselves
into the standard repertoire. Certainly, not all works of the twentieth century which
incorporate extended techniques possess equal musical value. Perhaps most problematic
regarding music of the modern aesthetic is the fact that not enough time has passed to
explicitly show which works will maintain their significance. Thus, the importance of the
compositions of the past century must be evaluated critically.
The preceding analysis suggests that the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings is
a work of considerable sophistication, which effectively uses both form and extended
techniques to engage and portray the work’s narrative. With guidance, an advanced
student performer is fully capable of performing the work and all extended techniques
required therein. In fact, the work presents a unique pedagogical opportunity to address
concerns of musical expression beyond common-practice tonality. Exposure to the
Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings at the student level has the potential to acquaint
young bassoonists with extended techniques, reasonable both in amount and execution.
Moreover, the student can apply the extended techniques in the context of a mature,
theatrical, and highly musically expressive landscape.
The Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings places what are often thought to be
opposing musical approaches—programmatic depictions of the work’s narrative structure
and the modern aesthetic—alongside one another. This marriage has the potential to
reveal to students the depth of musical expression possible in atonal twentieth century
music. Undoubtedly, students will benefit from studying a work that is so musically rich.
100
With the aid of this performance guide, hopefully the Concerto for Bassoon and Low
Strings will begin to receive the enthusiastic attention from pedagogues that it deserves,
and that it already has from the world’s leading performers.

101
APPENDIX A.
INTERVIEWS
Author’s Note: As part of my research efforts in researching the Concerto for Bassoon
and Low Strings I conducted interviews with professional bassoonists who have
performed or recorded the work including Sergio Azzolini, William Davis, Stéphane
Lévesque, Jeffrey Lyman, Valeri Popov, and Milan Turkovic. Of those interviewed
William Davis, Jeffrey Lyman, Valeri Popov and Milan Turkovic consented to allow
their questionnaires to be printed in full and are this contained in the following appendix.
General Questionnaire:
Responses from William Davis
Preparing the work
1. How long did it take you to learn the piece?
About two months.
2. How much of your personal practice was dedicated to score study?
About 80%.
3. Did you refer to Bruno Bartolozzi’s New Sounds for Woodwind when preparing this
work?
Yes, for the fingering notations.
4. Did you refer to any recordings or readings in your preparation? Whose?
Yes. Popov’s mostly.
5. Do you consider Popov’s recording to be authoritative? Did you refer to it in your

preparation?
Yes, although I felt free to interpret as I wished. Yes.
6. Was your preparation of this piece aided or guided by a private teacher (bassoon or
twentieth century specialist)?
No.
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Performance
1. How much time did the ensemble have to rehearse?
About six weeks for the performance at the University of Georgia. Probably less for the
performance at a conference in Brazil, although I am not sure just how long they
rehearsed before I arrived.
2. How were those rehearsals divided, regarding time with and without the soloist?
I came for the final rehearsals.
3. Did you play off of the score? Memorized?
No, I used the solo part. No.
4. How many performances and when/where?
Two performances, both in 2001: (1) at the University of Georgia and (2) at the XIII
ANPPOM Congress, Escola de Musica da Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais, Belo
Horizonte, Brazil. Also recorded on a commercial CD entitled Bassoon Fireworks, ACA
Digital Recording Company CM20084, 2003.
5. Did you sit or stand for your performance? If stood, did you sit or leave the stage for
extended orchestra-only passages?
I stood. I sat.
Interpretation/Execution:
1. In general, how did you interpret the “ridendo” (alla saxofono) marking?
I held a pitch briefly, then bent it down. Rhythmically, I put space between the separated
"notes," and played the connected ones faster and without spaces.
2. How did you decide which fingerings, and pitches to use?
I played pitches that approximated the highness/lowness indicated. I used fingerings that
produced the best downward slide.
3. Was your manipulation of the sound executed with your fingers, embouchure or a
combination?
A combination. I lipped down and gradually slid L1 and/or R1 over the holes to help
produce the best effect.
4. In the bassoon cadenza (movement 4), two unusual directions are given: frai denti and
quasi “clamore”. How did you interpret/execute each of these? Obviously, the quasi
“clamore” notation is aleatoric, did you determine ahead of time how you were going to
execute this marking, or was it spontaneous?
103
Bend the pitch as indicated. I placed my teeth on the reed and went up to a long and very
loud high G. I determined it ahead of time.
5. How did you interpret/execute the diagonal slashes through note stems as seen in mm.
121-122 (movement 1)?
I played these as quickly as reasonably possible.
Pedagogy
1. Do you include the instruction of extended techniques in your private lesson

instruction? At what level to you introduce these techniques?
Yes. I introduced them in group sessions which included all of my UGA students.
2. Were extended techniques part of your music education or something you discovered
on your own/taught yourself?
I basically taught myself.
Other
1. What do you feel to be the biggest challenge of the work?
Shaping the overall musical presentation. Of course, this requires knowing the string
parts well in order to make the solo part fit in correctly and effectively. Confidence with
the special effects and the extreme upper register is required as well.
2. Would you consider yourself an enthusiast or specialist of twentieth century/Modern

music?
Yes.
Performer Specific Questionnaire:

Responses from Valeri Popov
Background Information
1. Can you describe you music education? Who did you study with? Where did you
attend school?
I was graduated from the Moscow Conservatoire. I studied bassoon with professor
Terekhin.
2. How did you come to play the bassoon?

I just liked it.
3. How did you become interested in new music?

104
I am interested in any music, from Renaissanse to modern, I love any good music, some
modern music is good.
4. Were extended techniques a part of your formal music education? Did you use any text
or treatise to learn extended techniques? Bruno Bartolozzi's New Sounds for Woodwind
perhaps?
I know this book. But all techniques I made by myself.
5. What compelled you to begin commissioning new works for bassoon? How did you
decide who to approach to commission a new piece?
I never ever commissioned works for bassoon to any composer. Those composers who
heard my playing in concerts and recitals wanted to write music for me, including Sofia
Gubaidulina.
Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings
1. When you commissioned the Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings from
Gubaidulina, did you discuss or request any specifics regarding the scope of the work
such as duration, genre, extended techniques employed, etc.?
I did not commissioned this work to Sofia Gubaidulina. She came to me and suggested
this work, and I agreed. It was very interesting for me.
2. It is well known that while composing this work Gubaidulina would come observe you
at the Moscow Conservatory. Did she ask you any specific questions?
Yes, she did. She used to come to me asking questions about possibilities of my
instrument. I used to show her what sound could be produced and what techniques could
be employed.
3. Gubaidulina has said that she connects you with the work so much that it was hard for
her to encourage others to play it. What aspects of your playing/style/approach/sound do
you think she incorporated into the work and how so?
Sofia felt my personality very well and followed her feelings.

4. Was Gubaidulina present at rehearsals while you were learning the work? Did she have
any specific notes or directions which you think would be valuable to share?
The conductor was Petr Meschaninov, Sofia’s husband, he knew the score and Sofia’s
demands very well.
Preparing the work

It took from me about two weeks.

105
One hour a day from my daily three hours practice.
Performance
Six rehearsals.
I used the score.
I stood and did not leave the stage during the concert.
4. How would you describe the audience’s reception of the premiere of the work?
Enthusiastic.
To play as on the saxophone.
2. Did you avoid or include diatonicism? Why or why not?
I did not, this is atonal music.
combination?
Combination.
With maximum stress of the embouchure, I fulfill the frullato without teeth, of course,
only on the lips.
121-122 (movement 1)?
Isolation of the first, lower notes.

106
Pedagogy

I don’t have private lessons. I teach at the Conservatoire, the college and the school. I
introduce such techniques to those of my pupils and students of any age who has an
ability to understand me and to follow my instructions.
Responses from Jeffrey Lyman
Preparing the work
I can’t really recall, as I began to study it long before I had actually confirmed any
performances. I believe I first obtained a perusal score of it from G. Schirmer in the
summer of 1991, then performed it at the University of Michigan with the Contemporary
Directions Ensemble (H. Robert Reynolds, conductor, March 4, 1994) as one of my three
Dissertation Recitals, and performed it again at the University of Iowa with the Center for
New Music (David Gompper, conductor, 1995?).
Nearly equal to solo part study: the piece cannot be understood from the bassoon part
alone, as it is truly an “integrated” solo part. No portion of the bassoon part is without its
reaction in the string parts, and vice versa. I believe I learned the solo part from the score,
and only played the solo part in actual performance in order to keep from having multiple
stands.
work?
Not specifically: I only used that text if there were problems achieving the multiphonics
notated in the score/solo part. I preferred using Sergio Penazzi’s Metodo per Fagotto as a
reference.
Yes. The original Melodiya recording by Popov (brought to me from Moscow by

Professor John Wiley of the University of Michigan) and the Ahmas recording on the BIS
label.
5. Do you consider Popov’s recording to be authoritative?
In some ways, of course I had to assume there were aspects of the performance that were
directions from the composer and so I tried to remain faithful to that recording when I
had questions and could not answer them on my own. Did you refer to it in your
107
preparation? When there were issues of interpretation, I sometimes used the Popov
recording as a model, and at other times used my own ideas.
I had the guidance and assistance of Professor Glenn Watkins, musicologist at the
University of Michigan, who translated part of the Enzo Restagno biography of the
composer, and by Laurel Fay, musicologist at G. Schirmer, who forwarded questions of
mine to the composer. I also had a conversation with Milan Turkovic, who at the time
was the only bassoonist I knew who had performed the work, and he gave me some
suggestions on specific passages. My private teacher at Michigan at the time did not
perform much contemporary music, and consequently outside of regular lesson meetings
that included hearings of this piece, most of my time spent working on it was with the
two ensembles or was spent collecting information on my own. I tried to learn as much of
Gubaidulina’s music as I could, and in the early 1990’s there was great interest in her
music, so there was a rush of recordings that were appearing at about the time I was
learning the piece.
Performance
I can’t recall.
I can’t recall, but of course the string movement was done without me.
Off the solo part and the score.
See earlier in this questionnaire.
I stood, but sat during the third movement (strings only) and stood again to play the
fourth and fifth movements.
I assumed it was meant to sound like the “laugh” sound that is a well-known effect on the
saxophone. The word ridendo is vitally important in this direction, as alla saxofono
would be meaningless without the context provided by the other word. You should also
be aware that this direction is different in the original Russian/Ricordi score that I was
using for these performances. In that score, the word used is riso, and there is no “alla
108
saxofono.” The later direction must have been a clarification made by the composer in
response to questions by performers.
2. How did you decide which fingerings, and pitches to use?
I improvised the passage, but typically played in the highest register, as the pitches were
much more easily bent to achieve the laugh effect.
combination?
Embouchure only.
The glissandi from high c to high d flat that precede these markings were played with
increasingly louder dynamics, and with very fast changes of fingerings to achieve the
short glissandi. This then prepared me for the change of embouchure to putting my teeth
directly on the reed at the high d, and I forced that raucous sound into as much of an
instrumental scream (clamore) as I could manage. At that time of my first performance,
the Ahmas recording had just been released, and the musicologist Laurel Fay (mentioned
above) told me that she and the composer listened to the recording together. At that time,
I was told that the composer was NOT happy with the vocal scream used on that
recording. However, subsequent information I’ve received indirectly from the composer
quotes her as saying that she now tells bassoonists it can be played either as an
instrumental or vocal scream. I never did a vocal scream, but made as much noise as I
could to follow the high d played with the teeth.
121-122 (movement 1)?
I took these to mean that the fragments were to be played quickly.
Pedagogy

Yes. When I determine it is appropriate for the student.
I discovered them partly on my own, partly by hearing other friends experiment with
them. My private teachers never introduced the effects to me: I was always the one to
bring music with these effects to my lessons. The closest I ever got to these effects in
lessons were in an unaccompanied work I played in my lessons with Bernard Garfield,
but the effects in that work were limited to brief glissandi, and did not include
multiphonics or any of the effects you are asking about in this work.
109
Other
I believe there is an inherent narrative in the work, one that pits the individual against
“the masses” or against some kind of collective force that is trying to musically and
psychologically defeat the soloist. I see this more as a kind of battle than as a traditional
dialogue between the soloist and the accompanying ensemble. Without that dynamic in
the performance, I do not understand the work, so it is an additional responsibility, in my
opinion, for the soloist to convey this interpretation in the course of any performance.

music?
Other people consider me to be so. I think I give equal attention to new music as I do to
old music.
Responses from Milan Turkovic
Preparing the work
First time ca 3 month (doing other things as well!!), with each performance it became
less.
Can’t say in percent...The start was just reading, followed by instrumental work.
work?
No, absolutely not.

Just the one of Popov.
5. Do you consider Popov’s recording to be authoritative? Did you refer to it in your

preparation?
Yes I did as he had worked it with Gubaidulina. Later I had the same chance to work with
her.
No.
110
Performance
Can’t say anymore, each time different.
Ca. 2 : 1
From solo part.
Premieres in Vienna, Amsterdam, Salzburg, others in New York, Bregenz (Austria),

Portland Oregon.
Standing, sitting down in the strings only part.
1. In general, how did you interpret the “ridendo” (alla saxofono) marking? How did you
decide which fingerings, and pitches to use? Was your manipulation of the sound
executed with your fingers, embouchure or a combination?
I made sure not to treat these matters in a particular mode and repeat them every time.
Gubaidulina is very open to personal decisions of the soloist! With fingerings and pitches
I had to experiment each time (also depending on the reed). Fingers and embouchure
always work together well.
Clamore, according to Gubaidulina, can be just noise of any kind. Once I played as loud
as possible a non existing fingering, another time a yelled (without bsn).
121-122 (movement 1)?
Fast, without a rhythm relating to other parts of passage

111
Pedagogy

How can I answer that? I have a 15 year old genius who plays anything including
Gubaidulina with ease, others will want to do the piece only once they have finally got a
job ...
Yes, but not for everyone, just for the ones who have that particular talent.
Other
Not so much technical details but the creation of a big magic "line" stretching over a half
hour ca

music?
I would hate to be called a specialist for anything but as a performer trying to be as

universal as my talent allows
112
APPENDIX B.
BRIEF PERFORMANCE HISTORY138
Performer Ensemble Label Catalog # Year

Harri Ahmas Lahti Chamber Orchestra BIS B0000016KA 1993
Sergio Potsdam Chamber Academy Capriccio 67139 2005
Azzolini Records
William n/a ACA Digital B0000DG02F 2003
Davis
Valeri Russian State Symphony Chandos Digital CHAN9717 1999
Popov Orchestra
Rino New Music Studium Arts Music B0000634L0 2003
Vernizzi
Table B.1: Commercial recordings of Gubaidulina’s Concerto for Bassoon and Low
Strings
Performer Ensemble Date Notes

Harri Ahmas Lahti Chamber Orchestra (Finland) 1993
William Davis University of Georgia 2001
XIII ANPPOM Congress Escola de 2001
Musica da Universidade Federal de
Minas Gerais (Brazil)
Stéphane Lévesque McGill University 2005 Montreal
Premiere
International Double Reed Society 2009
Conference, Birmingham, UK
Ottawa Chamber Music Festival 2010
Jeffrey Lyman University of Michigan Contemporary 1994
Directions Ensemble
University of Iowa Center for New 1995
Music Ensemble
Valeri Popov Moscow Contemporary Music Ensemble 1976 World Premiere
Table B.2: Performances and premieres of Gubaidulina’s Concerto for Bassoon and Low
Strings
138
This is not an exhaustive list.
113
Performer Location Notes

Sergio Azzolini Italy Repertoire for 2003 tour
Berlin
Milan Turkovic Vienna Regional premiere
Amsterdam Regional premiere
Salzburg Regional premiere
New York
SBregenz, Austria
Portland, Oregon
Table B.3: Other known performances of Gubaidulina’s Concerto for Bassoon and Low
Strings lacking specific information
114
APPENDIX C.
TRANSLATED FINGERINGS
Figure C.1: Fingering chart key
Figure C.2: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 2, m. 29,
Multiphonic fingering
115
Trilled multiphonic fingering
116
117
Figure C.8: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 4, rehearsal
5, beat 1, Multiphonic fingering
118
119
120
Figure C.13: Gubaidulina, Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings, movement 5, m.159,
121
APPENDIX D.
TRANSLATED TERMS
Senza metro: without meter
Con aggressione comico: with comic aggression
Con paura: with fear
Seriamente: seriously
Con sentimentalita volgare: with vulgar sentimentality
Disperatamente: desperately
frai denti: teeth on the reed
clamore: clamorously
ridendo: laughing
alla saxofono: saxophone-like
zunehmend verkatert: more and more hangover
mesto: sad
lúgubre: lugubrious
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BIBLIOGRAPHY
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The Concerto for Bassoon and Low Strings by

Copyright 2011 Jacqueline May Wilson

This dissertation is available at Iowa Research Online: https://ir.uiowa.edu/etd/1109

Follow this and additional works at: https://ir.uiowa.edu/etd

Part of the Music Commons

Jacqueline May Wilson

An essay submitted in partial fulfillment

Essay Supervisors: Professor Benjamin Coelho

JACQUELINE MAY WILSON

All Rights Reserved

This is to certify that the D.M.A. essay of

Jacqueline May Wilson

Essay Committee: ______________________________________________________

direction has improved my critical thinking, deepened my musical understanding and

served as a constant motivation. I would also like to thank my committee members,

I would like to thank bassoonists Sergio Azzolini, William Davis, Stéphane

correspondences. I gratefully acknowledge Sarah Culpepper for her advice in developing

granting me the following permissions:

CONCERTO FOR BASSOON AND LOW STRINGS

strength, love, and encouragement.

LIST OF TABLES vii

LIST OF FIGURES viii

II. HISTORICAL INFORMATION 4

Sophia Gubaidulina, Composer 4

Rhythmic in Alternative Notation 75

William Davis 101

APPENDIX C. TRANSLATED FINGERINGS 114

APPENDIX D. TRANSLATED TERMS 121

Table 3.1: Formal analysis of movement one 25

Table 3.2: Description of accompaniment activity in the transition to the nested

Table 3.3: Formal analysis of movement two 46

Table 3.4: General contour of orchestral expanding and contracting figures in

Table 3.5: Formal analysis of movement three 52

Table 3.7 Formal analysis of movement five 63

Table B.1: Commercial recordings of Gubaidulina’s Concerto for Bassoon and

Table B.2: Performances and premieres of Gubaidulina’s Concerto for Bassoon

Table B.3: Other known performances of Gubaidulina’s Concerto for Bassoon

Figure 3.1: Form chart according to the analysis of Enzo Restagno 23

Figure C.1 Fingering chart key 114

composers worldwide were inspired to create new compositions which incorporated

extended techniques, performance procedures that permit the exploitation of monophonic

and multiphonic possibilities which cannot be obtained by traditional techniques.1 Since

extended techniques have become an inevitable requirement of the contemporary

reluctance to incorporate these techniques into a standard woodwind curriculum, or more

required to perform them, resulting in a small number of largely self-taught musicians

ignorant of an entire genre of repertoire.

expanded the repertoire significantly.

However, bassoonists whose educational experience has lacked exposure to the

they develop an interest in performing them. Inexperience with executing extended

techniques, with atonal aesthetics and compositional techniques, and even in

intimidating and overwhelming endeavor for the perspective performer.

bassoon repertoire, as demonstrated by its illustrious performance history (see Appendix

professional level. It is to the benefit of all advanced bassoonists though, to be aware of

notation, and indeterminacy. On a broader level, students gain exposure to a work of

great musical sophistication and interpretive interest.

demanding work. Additionally, the score contains many ambiguous elements; no

performance suggestions, this guide will endeavor to acquaint prospective performers

solo bassoon repertoire.

In this chapter I will survey general historical information regarding the

with the characteristics of Gubaidulina’s compositional style as well as her musical

the context in which they occurred.