In the twentieth century, the arts worked against.
Poetry worked against rhyme and metre. Fine art worked against painting and
representation. Novels worked against story-telling. Music worked against
tonality. And yet the mood of the twenty-first century, it seems, is not to
work against – but intelligently with.
Tonal music, argues Alexander Feht, should not be left to pop, just as
rhyme shouldn’t be left only to greeting cards. There is power here, as well as
pleasure. The natural mathematical relationships of frequencies, the meaningful
symbols found out by the busily connecting human brain, the original and
harmonious: these remain.
Indeed, they do. It’s not that listening to Feht’s music is easy – rather, it’s
impossible not to listen. Equally, it’s impossible to think of anything else
while its complex, delicate, and powerful structures play out. Anyone who’s
ever been gripped by passionate emotion or frozen in a moment of hypnotic,
silent realization cannot fail to fall still – avid, attentive, listening.
This was the discovery made with Demon, his first album. Its seventeen
songs dip into the different cycles of Feht’s extensive oeuvre, with lyrics
drawn from Pushkin, Shelley, Lermontov, and Poe, among others. Arion:
Pushkin Songs enters deeper into Feht’s music, with a complete 2-CD cycle
of works set to Pushkin’s lyrics. For English listeners not yet acquainted with
the great Russian poet, the liner notes provide helpful translations. The
music, however, supplies what no transliteration into English words can ever
do: the musicality and complex wealth of Pushkin’s verse.
Both Demon and Arion are performed by Nikolay Dorozhkin, the
tenor, and Sergey Chechyotko, the pianist. Whatever the ease with which one is
swept into Feht’s music, its performance is technically exacting. For years,
the composer scouted for performers who would not only grasp the music’s
character but meet its demands. Dorozhkin’s brilliant voice and rare skill,
Chechyotko’s vast knowledge and virtuosity, at last brought the complex
compositions to fruition.
It’s no surprise, then, that the same two perform Feht’s next collection, The
Prophet, based on the work of Mikhail Lermontov. This Russian Romantic is
often compared to Byron, both in their discontent with their societies and the
legacy of influence that each left behind. The titular poem addresses exactly
this: a prophet who preaches love and truth is hounded from the towns to starve
in the deserts – whereupon the old men point him out as living evidence of his own
A similar note is struck in the title of Feht’s first collection. A “demon”,
in Russian, is both the familiar demon of theology and a precise literary trope
– a bitter man dissatisfied with the world. Both Pushkin and Lermontov wrote
poems titled Demon, in this sense, and Rubinstein gave the same name to
his opera. Feht’s cultural background gives him the exact concept for his life
Siberia, at the height of the USSR, Alexander Feht was the first child born in
the new Akademgorodok – “academy town”. Its harsh climate and remote location
discouraged established scientists. Instead, an extraordinary mix of new
graduates and free thinkers came, drawn by opportunities denied them in the
cities. Among these was Alexander Feht’s father, a mathematician known for his
anti-Soviet activity. In the brief ottepel, or thaw, after Stalin’s death, once
unthinkable free discussion flourished in the new town. And a three-year-old
began learning the violin.
The freedom couldn’t last: the thought-police returned. At Feht’s music
college, he was expected to compose works glorifying Party and government. He
refused. Like Lermontov’s novice in the poem Mtsyri, he preferred dangerous
freedom to servitude. He graduated, despite this refusal, by winning awards in
competitions he entered anonymously.
victory was Phyrric. Qualified but unsubservient, Feht couldn’t work as a
musician. He did construction work. He was a night guard. He wrote poems in
private without hope of publication and composed his music without hope of
performance – only his closest friends even knew all this existed. How much
easier to join the old men than insist on vision of truth and justice! But the
Soviet compromises sickened him.
Married with a child, however, he needed to supplement his ditch-digger’s
income and translation filled the gap. Without a translator’s diploma, he could
only work illegally through middlemen. Once, he was given a classified US Navy
document – the young anti-Soviet poet and draft dodger translating US military
papers for Soviet authorities. He deliberately mistranslated the critical
In the US, Feht worked as a translator to support his family, and was
finally free to build his reputation as a composer. At last, he brings into the
open what he’d worked on so secretively all those years, a music whose
intensity speaks of harsh experience but whose beauty prevails.