Udar — ni! Udar — ni! Udarni, (pia) NO TROMB ONE, v.runchak.b(es)_clari@net, Accord I (is) on = accordion—the author of these works is recognizable by the titles alone (and not just because he literally includes his name in one of them, styled as part of an email address). Volodymyr Runchak can, without exaggeration, be called one of the most renowned contemporary Ukrainian composers.
Paradoxical titles with witty wordplay (in the first title above, the Ukrainian words udar, ni, and udarni mean “a strike,” “no,” and “percussion,” respectively—Trans.), musical works that grow into full-blown theatrical productions, and, of course, a constant drive to set himself in opposition to others—these distinctive features of Volodymyr Runchak’s work attract both performers and listeners.
The Path to Protest
Volodymyr Runchak began composing while studying at the Lutsk Music College—alongside his performance studies on the button accordion. His first “serious” opus is generally considered to be Bachiana (Meditations on the BACH theme), composed in 1979. That same year, he enrolled at the Kyiv Conservatory. In neither interviews nor discussions with researchers of his work does Volodymyr Runchak reveal the name of his composition teacher. Instead, he considers his true teachers to be Bach, Beethoven, Bartók, Schoenberg, Stankovych, and other prominent composers of the past and present.
The lack of “any connection with the teacher—neither on a personal nor professional level” and the grade of “C” on his state exam for Chamber Symphony No. 1 In Memory of Borys Lyatoshynsky (1986) defined the further direction of Volodymyr Runchak’s creative path: protest.
Setting himself in opposition to the so-called “composition department,” he wrote works such as Non-Concerto for Violin and Strings 1 + 16 + … (1997), in which, during the second movement, the soloist does not play at all but only mimics playing for two minutes. Another example is Time X or Farewell — a Non-Symphony for 5 Performers (1998), an allusion to Joseph Haydn’s Farewell Symphony (arguably one of the first examples of actionism in academic music), where the conductor is the first to leave the stage. Or SEXtet (2009), which is based entirely on noise-based techniques—clapping, finger snapping, and humming.
In the 1990s, Volodymyr Runchak attended the Brandenburg Colloquium for New Music, founded by German composer Paul-Hans Dittrich in 1991. The event featured lectures by experimental music composers and performers specializing in this genre. Among them were Dieter Schnebel, Mark Kopytman, Irvine Arditti, and Brenda Mitchell. Reflecting on his experiences, Runchak recalls:
At a Ukrainian festival in 1992, I conducted a piano concerto by the American composer Griffith Rose, who was living in France at the time. The soloist was the Israeli pianist Jeffrey Burns, who was based in Berlin. He knew the German composer Paul-Hans Dittrich, who led these composition courses—and Paul-Hans Dittrich invited me to attend them.
After that, I went every year. The experience was incredible. Everything was new, cutting-edge, engaging, and educational. These courses had a profound impact on my sense of contemporaneity in music.
50 Nonexistent Antisonatas
The witty, paradoxical nature of Antisonatas Nos. 28, 29, and 53 for piano and clarinet (2003) by Volodymyr Runchak reveals itself in virtually every element of the title. It provocatively rejects one of the most “classical” genres—the sonata; it defies the traditional convention of listing the solo instrument before the piano; and, of course, the numbering humorously implies the existence of fifty other antisonatas that do not exist. A closer look reveals that Antisonatas Nos. 28, 29, and 53 is, in fact, a single piece.
The composition begins with a piano introduction in the low register, accompanied by percussive strikes on the body of the grand piano. This unusual soundscape sets the stage for the clarinetist’s entrance, who marches theatrically around the entire stage. Antisonatas is, in essence, an exploration of the instruments’ technical capabilities, seemingly designed to test the performers’ endurance. Here, we encounter both the clarinet’s extremely high timbres and extended piano techniques—such as playing directly on the strings.
The piece reaches its climax when the pianist leaps up from their seat and moves to center stage. The two performers abandon their instruments and begin vocalizing various rhythmic patterns. This “episode instead of development” leads into the third section of the performance, where the clarinetist—defying the monophonic nature of the instrument—plays two clarinets simultaneously, while the pianist explores the percussive potential of both the grand piano and their own body.
The Human Who Plays (Music)
Between 1991 and 2018, Volodymyr Runchak created a series of pieces for various solo instruments, bringing them together into the cycle Homo ludens. In fact, according to the composer, performing each of these works does not require performing the entire cycle—at least, such a performance has yet to take place. The title of the cycle directly references the eponymous work by Johan Huizinga, in which it is argued that the essence of culture lies in play. Volodymyr Runchak, however, gives the phrase a different, more specific meaning: Homo ludens—the human who plays a musical instrument.
This interpretation is characteristic of the early pieces in the cycle: Homo ludens I for flute (or clarinet or saxophone), Homo ludens II for piano, Homo ludens III, non-stop music for cello.
“In the later works of the cycle,” the composer states, “the concept changed. That is, the performer, in addition to playing the instrument, also takes on the role of a quasi-theatrical character.” This is especially true of the following pieces:
Homo ludens V, interview with a stutterer or 10 minutes (into trumpet) for trumpet,
Homo ludens VI, a pair of anecdotes on a well known subject for trombone,
Homo ludens VII or seven “curved” dances for percussion (one performer),
Homo ludens IX, Nine non random stops for a strolling oboist,
Homo ludens X, capricious violist, caprice for viola.
In Homo ludens V, interview with a stutterer or 10 minutes (into trumpet) for trumpet, the title speaks for itself. (The Ukrainian idiom v trubu, which is literally translated as “into trumpet,” means “wasted.”—Trans.) The composition is built on the alternation of various episodes—noise-based, verbal, and instrumental solo. At the center, of course, is the soloist, who uses both voice and distinctive trumpet techniques to portray a person who stutters. For example, one section features a monologue in which the performer articulates the sounds [r], [t], [k], and [d]. In the final moments of the piece, the soloist, with great effort, finally manages to say what they have been struggling to articulate for the past ten minutes—the composer’s name and the title of the piece.
Volodymyr Runchak approaches the creative process in a comic and satirical way. For example, in the grotesque Homo ludens VI, a pair of anecdotes on a well-known subject for trombone, one of the climaxes is abruptly cut short by a noisy exhalation into the instrument, giving the impression that the performer is exhausted. By the end of the piece, the trombone’s sound is completely replaced by non-instrumental noises: blowing air through the instrument, singing into and out of it, shouting, striking the mouthpiece with the palm, clicking the tongue, and finally, a demonstrative draining of condensation from the valve.
Theater of Satire
In addition to his deliberate rejection of traditional genres and forms—an act of setting himself in opposition to others—Volodymyr Runchak does not hesitate to ridicule openly anything that contradicts his artistic and personal principles. For example, in 2007, he wrote a composition for two saxophones that exists under multiple titles: SAX (tête-à-tête), What Could Be Worse Than One?, and even a note from the composer allowing performers to give the piece any name they choose. However, the most well-known title is Give a Shevchenko Prize to Everyone Who Wants It, or, even more provocatively, Give Two Shevchenko Prizes to Everyone Who Wants One.
Commenting on the work’s title, Volodymyr Runchak emphasizes:
As for the [Shevchenko] Prize, I have long had a great deal of professional and personal skepticism about it. You can see for yourself how many scandals constantly surround it… I have no intention of offending the truly outstanding representatives of Ukrainian art who have received this award, but there are only a few of them, and there are hundreds of prize winners… So, to discredit the award completely, I am in favor of immediately giving every candidate two Shevchenko Prizes.
In the piece, the two performers portray characters vying for a coveted reward. Aggressive, assertive melodies, sharp hisses, and forced, growl-like sounds create the impression of a heated argument. At the same time, the musicians alternately turn their backs and faces to each other. In the central episode, they address the viewer, performing the melody in unison—yet as if in competition.
In 2014, Volodymyr Runchak composed a more global work, so to speak—one that is no longer connected solely to the musical community, but to society as a whole: Slob-Аrt, The Art; To Each His Own for two accordions. (The Ukrainian word zhlob, transliterated here as slob, can be translated as “thug.”—Trans.)
However, as I learned in conversation with the composer, the history of this composition is quite long:
This is my personal protest against the dominance of thuggery in Ukrainian society. I was working on the piece during the Orange Revolution, when the ruling Party of Regions—the party of thugs—with its main thug, Unpresident Yanukovych, became the apogee of thuggery.
The composer adds a remark:
Before the beginning of the piece, a brief theatrical scene is desirable—conceived and performed by the musicians themselves. Its purpose is to depict manifestations of thuggery, insolence, rudeness, arrogance, and other negative human traits present in modern society.
Volodymyr Runchak gives the artists complete creative freedom, ensuring that each performance of this composition differs from the last. Performers are free to eat on stage, talk on the phone, adopt various poses, and wear tracksuits. At the same time, the composer provides specific instructions for the musicians: they must end the first movement with the shout, “No to thugs!,” rise from their chairs to continue playing while standing, or, at a designated moment, stomp the floor.
While showing “thug-art” through the behavior of one of the performers, Runchak also employs a grotesque parody of a folk dance melody, incorporating layers of cluster chants, constant glissandos, and various extended accordion techniques. These elements make the already not very intellectual music more frivolous, even vulgar.
“The Way Out of the Abyss Is Up
Death and Birth Are Close By”
Along with irony and satire, Volodymyr Runchak’s works—especially his early works—are characterized by reflections on life, death, and their immediate interaction. Among these works is Messa da Requiem for accordion (1982), one of the composer’s first compositions.
The work consists of seven movements, the first three of which present the main figurative spheres. The first movement is based on a chorale that “breaks down” several times due to layers of dissonance, developing through tempo, rhythmic, and dynamic instability, and culminating in a powerful chordal statement. The second movement is mournful and meditative. Early in his creative career, Volodymyr Runchak shows a desire for actionism—the composer suggests that, at the end of the second movement, the performer recite lines from a poem by the Spanish writer Miguel de Unamuno, translated to Ukrainian by Vasyl Dovzhyk:
Tam, de ye nebo — khmary.
Tam, de ye skeli — hory.
Tam, de ye zlochyn — kara.
Tam, de bez Boha — hore
(Where there is a sky, there are clouds.
Where there are rocks, there are mountains.
Where there is crime, there is punishment.
Where there is no God, there is grief)
The third movement marks the emergence of an ominous and grotesque component with the appearance of a vulgarized pop song. Volodymyr Runchak allows a musician to use any well-known hit, with one condition: it must be played “deliberately rudely, as an example of low-grade, ‘cheap’ anti-art.”
In the next four movements, the material undergoes a kind of “development:” the fourth movement recalls the restrained grief of the second, while the fifth echoes the ecstatic third. The brief sixth movement serves as the work’s culmination. Against the backdrop of a recurring melodic figure, the performer recites the continuation of Miguel de Unamuno’s poem:
Tam, de khvoroba, — liky.
Tam, de doshchi — tam riky.
Shlyakh vid bezodni — vhoru.
Smert i rodyny — poruch.
(Where there is disease, there is medicine.
Where there is rain, there are rivers.
The way out of the abyss is up.
Death and birth are close by.)
The final movement reflects the words “Shlyakh vid bezodni — vhoru” (“The way out of the abyss is up”). After these lines are spoken, the instrument’s sound swells rapidly and—just as quickly—subsides, leaving only a single sustained tone in the high register. It encapsulates the work’s progression: from grief, through a confrontation with the sinister “anti-art,” to enlightenment at the end.
How to Write and Perform Contemporary Music
In addition to composing contemporary music, Volodymyr Runchak has a distinct vision for its performance. He is the founder and director of New Music in Ukraine, a contemporary music ensemble that has been active since 1988—nearly 40 years! The ensemble has premiered hundreds of works.
In numerous interviews, Runchak criticizes the mistaken tendency to isolate contemporary music as something unusual or niche, which he argues leads to a so-called “festival ghetto.” This refers to festivals that focus exclusively on contemporary music, resulting in performances heard mainly by the composers themselves and their close circles. As a solution, Runchak proposes eliminating chronological divisions in programming, instead combining commercially established classics with new experimental works in concert programs.
The core of Volodymyr Runchak’s work is captured in his own words: “It is impossible to squeeze a new idea into an old form; a new idea breaks the old form.” His rejection of formal boundaries, the performative nature of his musical art, and his willingness to experiment—often provocatively, through defiance and even ridicule—have all, to varying degrees, defined the composer’s approach throughout his creative career.
Volodymyr Runchak’s style incorporates a variety of technological ideas from twentieth-century music: extended tonality, cluster technique, polyphony, sonority, minimalism, and aleatorics. However, despite this impressive array of musical concepts, his music is never intentionally complicated. Every performance technique employed by the composer is aimed at communication. His works playfully engage both the performer and the listener.
In the case of the former, the author tests them for technical skill, artistry, and the ability not to be embarrassed when they have to say “God, what’s he waving?” to Runchak the conductor, exclaim “this is hot garbage!” to Runchak the composer, and finally make a suggestion: “I think he’s an asshole!” to Runchak the man. He tests the audience’s ability to perceive this kind of performance—to understand academic music not only through the prism of seriousness, complexity, and elitism, but also through a sense of humor.
Finally, let’s turn to the words of the composer himself:
The aesthetics of contemporary art—and music in particular—allow for everything: musical and non-musical elements, sound and non-sound, theatricalization, the blending of different art forms, and so on. The main thing is that it must be done with talent and skill. (I’m not speaking about my own work here, but rather offering a general perspective on the issue.) My works include many of the elements I’ve mentioned. A contemporary composer writes for today’s performer and listener, so there can be no limitations on the means of conveying musical energy.
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Very cool! Thank you for introducing me to a new living composer.