Traditiones 54 (1): 135–155 | COBISS: 1.01 | CC BY 4.0 | DOI: 10.3986/Traditio2025540107
How to Stage Soviet Operas in the 21st Century: Navigating 
Russian Music Heritage amidst Revival and Boycott
Magdalena Marija Meašić
Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of Rijeka, Croatia
magdalena.measic@gmail.com
ORCID: https://orcid.org/0009-0008-8713-3549
In the midst of the Russo-Ukrainian war, the 
discussion on “Soviet” operas abroad acquired 
a new dimension. The parallel occurrences of 
boycotting Russian music and the resurgence 
of Soviet Russian music provoke questions 
about the power music embodies, while also 
challenging the notion of music as detached 
from the current political turmoil. This pa-
per frames the complex persona of Sergey 
Prokofiev and his two “Soviet” operas within 
the context of the recent resurgence of Soviet 
operatic productions in Russia.
 ⬝ Keywords: opera, Sergey Prokofiev, Sta-
linism, music heritage, 21st century
Med rusko-ukrajinsko vojno je razpravljanje 
o »sovjetski« operi zunaj Rusije dobilo nove 
razsežnosti. Vzporedno pojavljanje bojkota 
ruske glasbe in ponovni vzpon sovjetske ruske 
glasbe sprožata vprašanja o moči, ki jo glasba 
uteleša, hkrati pa spodbijata pojmovanje 
glasbe kot ločene od političnih dogajanj. 
Članek uokvirja kompleksno osebnost Sergeja 
Prokofjeva in njegovih dveh »sovjetskih« 
oper v kontekstu nedavne ponovne oživitve 
sovjetske operne produkcije v Rusiji.
 ⬝ Ključne besede: opera, Sergej Prokofjev, 
stalinizem, glasbena dediščina, 21. stoletje
Introduction
When discussing music in the context of heritage and tradition, the first thing that 
comes to mind is folk music, perceived as a genuine and accessible collective effort 
passed down from one generation to another. Therefore, Western classical or academic 
music is often not the primary consideration when reflecting on heritage and tradition. 
Nonetheless, the pervasive influence of classical music in shaping national and local 
identities is omnipresent, embodied, for instance, in edibles such as Mozartkugeln 
offered to delighted tourists in Salzburg, or in the romanticized image of Venetian 
gondoliers serenading with Italian operatic arias. Similarly, in Russia, the grandeur 
of classical music, particularly large-scale scenic forms such as opera and ballet, is a 
crucial element of the imperial legacy that continues to thrive on stages in Russia and 
abroad, symbolizing Russian culture in both local and global contexts. Acknowledg-
ing the truth of the previous claim, exploring classical music heritage is essential, or 
at least thought-provoking, as it provides a key to understanding the broader picture 
of Russian cultural heritage and its role in contemporary contexts. Moreso, in current 
times, the Russian heritage of the past has unveiled its unbreakable connection with the 
present in a very tangible way. Namely, the current Russian aggression in Ukraine has 
sparked an uncommon public debate on Russian musical heritage at the global level. 
Magdalena Marija Meašić 
136 |     Traditiones
We find ourselves in a peculiar time when classical music, often viewed as a relic, an 
anachronistic marvel accessible to a limited population, has suddenly become part of 
a broader political discussion.
Given that the scope of this highly intricate topic exceeds the limits of a journal paper, 
the research coordinates were positioned with great precision. To effectively address the 
broad and complex issues related to what and why enters the process of heritagization, 
the decision was made to focus on a single artistic figure as a starting point for a more 
extensive discussion. The composer in question is Sergey Prokofiev (1891-1953), and 
the focus is not on any of his music but specifically on his two Soviet operas,1 Semyon 
Kotko (1940), which portrays the Civil War (1917–1923) in a Ukrainian village, and 
The Story of a Real Man (Povest’ o nastoyashchem cheloveke, 1948), based on the 
story of a real-life Soviet hero, Aleksey Mares’yev (1916-2001), during World War II. 
Despite some scholars declaring the demise of opera and viewing it as detached from 
any contemporary relevance, many are nevertheless opposed to such statements – such 
voices include literary and cultural studies scholar Herbert Lindenberger (2010), and 
also cultural anthropologist and opera studies scholar Vlado Kotnik who contends that, 
in modern times, “the machinery of opera is not only being kept alive, […] but it is 
also growing steadily”, concluding that “the opera system is becoming larger and more 
complex than during its supposed heyday” (Kotnik, 2016: 105).
As early as the 1920s, opera began to be recognized as fertile ground for propagating 
Soviet ideology (Tarakanov, 2005). This led to the genre’s significant transformation 
in what musicologists now refer to as the Soviet or Stalinist opera project of the 1930s 
(see Bullock, 2006; Frolova-Walker, 2006; Vlasova, 2017; Seinen, 2019). Suddenly, the 
criteria for evaluating art began to operate under entirely different norms, and operatic 
authors assumed a dual role, functioning as both artists and ideologists simultaneous-
ly. Of course, the connection between opera and politics/state was well-established 
since the genre’s early days, and extends beyond the case of the Soviet/Stalinist opera 
project and its purported current revival. Political and opera studies scholar Mitchell 
Cohen dedicates his relatively recent monograph to the “political operas”, describing 
them as those that “address politics and political ideas directly or indirectly; or that 
harbour important political implications; or that say or suggest something important 
about the politics of the times in which they were written (and sometimes about our 
own times – or apparently so)” (Cohen, 2017: xiii). However, what happens when the 
political operas in question address political ideas rather explicitly? Furthermore, and 
echoing the latter part of Cohen’s statement, what do these operas reveal about their 
own times, and more importantly, about our own?
1 In the context of this paper, “Soviet opera” refers not only to operas composed during the Soviet era and 
within Soviet territory, but more specifically, it pertains to operas that encapsulate the Soviet grand narrative, 
subjectivity, and historicity. In essence these operas revolve around Soviet topics and subjects.
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The aim of this paper, anchored in the fields of critical heritage and opera studies, 
is to address the ambiguous status of Soviet operas with Soviet themes in the 21st 
century, particularly in Russia. More specifically, it explores the circumstances under 
which the operas originally designed to reinforce Soviet mythology and support the 
construction of a new Soviet historical narrative are performed in contemporary times. 
The central part of this study, formulated as a case study of Prokofiev’s Soviet operas 
and their contemporary afterlives, employs thematic analysis of data obtained from 
newspaper articles, music criticism, and interviews following recent stagings of the 
operas. This approach was chosen to gain firsthand perspectives and insights into the 
overarching question of this study. The collected data, situated within the context of 
multiple ongoing academic debates, aims to elucidate whether these operas, in light 
of current circumstances, can ever be considered merely as artistic relics; given their 
complex political and ideological implications, and their incorporation into the con-
temporary cultural landscape aligning with current aggressive Russian foreign policies.
Russian aggression and art in current times
In the midst of the ongoing Russian aggression against Ukraine, the question of per-
forming Russian music has become a highly contentious and provocative issue. The 
often conflicting viewpoints and the difficulty in considering nuances when addressing 
specific cases make it challenging to establish a uniform approach for the global musical 
community. The banning of Russian composers and performers began spreading rapidly 
following the fateful events of February 2022 and continues at the time of writing this 
text. For example, the 2nd Karol Szymanowski International Competition in Katowice 
banned the performance of Russian composers, citing “current sensitivities in Poland to 
Russian culture” and as “a gesture of solidarity with the Ukrainian people” as reasons 
(Salazar, 2023). Ukraine’s former Minister of Culture, Oleksandr Tkachenko, called 
for a boycott of Russian culture, including Tchaikovsky, which sparked a range of 
opposing opinions in the West. Many argued that classical music transcends the realm 
of aggressive politics and should be exempted (The Guardian, 2022). Furthermore, 
Tchaikovsky faced another ban, this time by the Cardiff Philharmonic Orchestra (Quinn, 
2022). On the other hand, La Scala’s decision to open a new season in December 2022 
with Modest Musorgsky’s opera Boris Godunov stirred strong opinions and even led 
to protests on the opening night (Bianco, 2023). In Berlin, Russian soprano Anna Ne-
trebko’s return to the Berlin State Opera stage also prompted protests (Jordan, 2023). 
Conversely, the Vienna State Opera firmly supported its Russian artists and did not 
respond to demands for their ban (The Violin Channel, 2022).
In defending the decision to perform Prokofiev’s War and Peace, Serge Dorny, the 
general director of the Bayerische Staatsoper, adeptly addresses the core query echoing 
Magdalena Marija Meašić 
138 |     Traditiones
through the musical world. He begins by acknowledging the polarizing nature of the 
issue while also highlighting the peril inherent in this cultural witch hunt:
Would it not be absurd to banish the entirety of Russian music, the entirety 
of Russian culture from our halls? Of course, the dilemma is evident: If 
we play Russian music, we support Putin’s propaganda, say some. If we 
do not play Russian music, we confirm the image of the Russophobic 
West and therefore also support Putin’s propaganda, say others. We could 
simply replace Tchaikovsky, Shostakovich, Rachmaninoff, Prokofiev 
and their peers, as the repertoire would still be extensive enough – with 
Strauss, Wagner, Puccini, it would not, however, necessarily be any more 
straightforward. Because questions also remain with these composers as 
well. If we set strict standards, we will soon have to remove more from 
our programmes than we would like to. (Dorny, 2023)
These are just a few recent examples, yet they vividly illustrate the emergence of a 
fervent debate, one that remains without a definitive resolution. German musicologist 
Christoph Flamm, specializing in Russian and Soviet music among other fields, provides 
a comprehensive overview of the ongoing boycott of Russian music. He contextualizes 
this movement within the backdrop of 20th-century European political upheavals and 
numerous other cultural bans. Flamm cautions against a blanket approach to boycott-
ing Russian music and advocates for a critical assessment when determining what 
warrants a boycott and for what reasons (Flamm, 2022: 352). Moreover, while Flamm 
emphasizes that many of the composers facing boycott have no direct relevance to our 
contemporary times or to Putin’s Russia, he nevertheless acknowledges the existence 
of compositions that align with and bolster Russian imperialistic, chauvinistic, and 
militant tendencies (ibid.: 353). As stated in his concluding remark:
To say that music is fundamentally unrelated to politics is not only naive; 
it is objectively false. In this regard, a boycott of certain works for moral 
reasons can be absolutely justified, and it contributes to a much-needed 
reflection on the layers of meaning in such pieces, which should also be 
treated as a problematic cultural heritage even in times of peace. (ibid.)
In a separate study, Flamm delves deeper into the enduring European tradition of 
depicting political and military aggression through music, cautioning that “[s]ometimes art 
reveals its ugly side: a twisted grimace of xenophobia and chauvinism” (Flamm, 2021: 22). 
Moreover, he advocates for the role of musicology in unearthing concealed or overlooked 
contexts and subtexts. This, he argues, serves as a vital means against indulging in an un-
informed appreciation of pieces tainted by sentiments of hatred and aggression (ibid.: 21).
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If we adhere to Flamm’s proposed framework, then Soviet Russian music, and opera 
in particular, should be approached with meticulous consideration. It is impossible to 
ignore the fact that Soviet operas, particularly the ones dealing with Soviet topicality and 
subjectivity served to perpetuate the Soviet mythology on the stage, are unambiguously 
permeated by ideology, and reflect Soviet militant and aggressive politics. In an era 
where even figures like Tchaikovsky and Glinka are subjected to scrutiny, one cannot 
help but hold Soviet composers to an even higher critical standard. In her poignant 
article, musicologist Marina Frolova-Walker, being well aware of the new Cold War 
emerging in front of our eyes, advocates for forging an inclusive music history, amal-
gamating the parallel history of the Soviet bloc into a unified historical canon. However, 
when juxtaposed with the question of performance, especially of the operas, the task 
of creating an inclusive music history appears notably less daunting. Because indeed, 
writing history is one thing – but perpetuating history on the stage for a wide audience 
is a very hard-to-overlook endeavour. Furthermore, Frolova-Walker, while not in any 
way condoning Russian aggression towards Ukraine, acknowledges the controversies 
surrounding Russia and the USSR in contemporary academia. She observes: “We see 
also a certain Denkverbot, where particular shades of debate become taboo and anyone 
who deviates from the standard description of Russia as ‘the evil empire’ becomes a 
‘Russia apologist’ or ‘Putin’s useful idiot’” (Frolova-Walker, 2018: 16).
Indirectly, Flamm drew a line between music disconnected from our contemporary 
era and that which might carry some relevance to it. The inquiry arises: What relevance 
does Soviet music hold in our current times? While Prokofiev and several other Soviet 
composers may no longer be alive, and though the tradition of music depicting wars is 
a widespread European convention, is the Soviet Union truly just an entity of the past, 
a remnant entirely disconnected from our contemporaneity? This is a complex query 
requiring a multifaceted approach that extends beyond the boundaries of musicology. 
Notably, contemporary Russia’s drive towards (re-)Stalinization and the strategic 
manipulation of historical memories from the Stalinist era have been extensively 
explored within scholarly circles (see Lipman, 2013; Kolesnikov, 2015; Khapaeva, 
2016) even before the momentous events of February 2022. Considering this context, 
can the apparent resurgence of the Soviet operatic repertoire on Russian stages be seen 
as surprising? Can its symptomatic nature be disregarded?
To succinctly summarize the thoughts and discussions presented thus far, three 
primary critical lenses emerge for assessing the “appropriateness” of certain Soviet 
operas resurfacing in contemporary times. The first lens is the historical-political context, 
encompassing both the original and the contemporary milieu; the second pertains to 
the operatic narrative or theme; and the third revolves around the individual, specif-
ically the composer. While there might be simpler examples to apply to this matrix, 
the deliberate choice here is Sergey Prokofiev and his body of work. Prokofiev’s case 
demonstrates the inherent challenge of determining which compositions and creators 
Magdalena Marija Meašić 
140 |     Traditiones
should be included in the canon, and under what circumstances, more vividly than any 
other Soviet composer. This paper does not delve into Prokofiev’s ballets and operas 
that have already entrenched themselves in the global canon, nor those lacking a dis-
cernible and vivid connection to the totalitarian regime of their time.2 Instead, its focus 
lies in exploring the contemporary fate of Prokofiev’s two operas on a Soviet topic: 
Semyon Kotko (1940) and The Story of a Real Man (1948). Through an examination 
of these works and their recent revival, the following segment of this paper seeks 
to unravel the intricate web of associations evoked by these operatic resurrections. 
Additionally, it aims to illuminate insights into Prokofiev’s artistic persona, Russia’s 
current assertive politics, the role of art in the 21st century, and the nuanced treatment 
of difficult legacies in general.
Prokofiev on the margins
While Sergey Prokofiev is undeniably one of the most celebrated composers of the 20th 
century and requires no formal introduction, his artistic persona and his association 
with the Soviet Union and Stalinism warrant a fresh examination, which is indeed 
receiving attention in current times. In his work, musicologist Richard Taruskin portrays 
Prokofiev as a tragic figure, a victim of the Stalinist regime. He draws comparisons 
between Prokofiev and Mozart (Taruskin, 2020: 450), even asserting Prokofiev as 
the sole 20th-century composer to achieve household name recognition (ibid.: 466). 
However, despite this sympathetic portrayal, Taruskin also acknowledges the moral 
complexity inherent in Prokofiev’s body of work, dissecting the dilemmas it presents 
to contemporary audiences. Detailing Prokofiev’s challenging political circumstances 
and the profound impact of the regime’s constraints on both his artistic output and 
personal life, Taruskin ultimately arrives at the conclusion:
But if we accept the proposition that the drama of Prokofiev’s life was 
an authentic tragedy, does that mean that it transcends moral issues? I 
certainly do not think so. There are many moral implications that com-
plicate the story far beyond the rather simplistic tale I’ve been telling of 
wrong turns and dire consequences. […] Our relationship to his music 
is fraught willy-nilly with moral implications – our problems, not his. 
(ibid.: 465)
2 For instance, prime examples are his ballets Romeo and Juliet, premiered in 1940, and Cinderella, first 
showcased in 1945. While these pieces were influenced by the prevailing Soviet cultural and artistic policies 
of the time, they do not vividly reflect the predominant ideology and artistic doctrine, unlike his two operas 
centred on Soviet themes, which will be further explored within the context of this text.
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Moreover, Taruskin devotes particular attention to Prokofiev’s music created due 
to his Soviet commitments and compositions intended to glorify Stalin and the regime 
(ibid.: 467–468). While Taruskin condemns these compositions as “objectionable”, he 
also acknowledges the fluidity and continuous negotiation inherent in determining the 
onset of objectionability (ibid.: 469). Simultaneously, he recognizes that Prokofiev was 
not the sole composer to craft works in homage to a patron and that such agreements 
echo throughout the annals of European musical history (ibid.: 470). Nevertheless, akin 
to Flamm, Taruskin introduces the element of contemporary influence as a criterion 
into this discourse:
Unless we are historians, we don’t know the Protestants who faced per-
secution under Louis XIV or the conscripts who died for the sake of his 
vanity. But Stalin’s victims or, rather, those who mourn them are still 
among us. It is in part for their sake that I object to hearing Stalin praised 
from the stage of Carnegie Hall, and in particular to see comfortable and 
oblivious people cheering at the end of a panegyric to a butcher because 
Prokofiev has provided it with such a nice package. (ibid.: 471)
Within the landscape of Soviet composers during Stalin’s era, Prokofiev stands out 
as a rare figure who transcends the prevailing mediocrity. His undeniable talent and 
enduring legacy in music history, coupled with the mythologized tragedy he endured 
under the Stalinist regime, can easily lead one to overlook certain aspects of his body 
of work that might be considered morally and ideologically unsuitable in today’s 
context. Moreover, Prokofiev’s identity exists on the margins, or better yet, borders: he 
embodies both the “Soviet” while also being rehabilitated from his “Soviet affiliation” 
within the grand scale of time and history. He represents the national and imperial as 
much as the European, global, and universal. However, Prokofiev’s marginality and 
the ambiguous nature of his Soviet identity can easily be used as justification for an 
uncritical approach to performing his unequivocally Soviet compositions. To delve 
deeper, while the two operas under examination in this paper reflect Stalinist ideals 
of hegemonic masculinity and militarism, the romanticized story of Prokofiev’s life 
makes us believe that he composed these not out of a deep belief in the system, but 
rather almost under duress. How does one reconcile these contrasting elements? And 
if we were to come to terms with the idea that they might be irreconcilable, how 
can we approach performing Prokofiev’s works in the 21st century? Recent revivals 
of Soviet operas, including Prokofiev’s two operas on Soviet topics, demonstrate 
that both classical music and Soviet-era music in particular bear a weighty political 
significance far beyond what might be expected from an art form seemingly shielded 
by the veil of purity, transcending the petty and often violent politics simmering in 
the distant background.
Magdalena Marija Meašić 
142 |     Traditiones
The cases of Prokofiev’s two Soviet operas
Semyon Kotko, Prokofiev’s first opera centring on a Soviet narrative, although relative-
ly overlooked compared to some of his other theatrical works, maintains a relatively 
enduring tradition of performance both in the Soviet Union and Russia. Premiered 
in 1940, the opera portrays the eponymous protagonist’s return from the front to his 
village, only to confront the post-war revolutionary turmoil, where local detractors 
of the regime and the remaining German troops clash against the Bolsheviks. Unlike 
another contemporary opera, Tikhon Khrennikov’s 1939 V buryu (Into the Storm), 
which prominently features Lenin on stage, the “Soviet” affiliation of Semyon Kotko is 
primarily discernible through its thematic overtones, embodied in the conflict between 
military forces preserving and challenging the newly established socialist rule. As 
asserted by musicologist Nathan Seinen, Prokofiev aimed to create an opera free from 
propaganda, committed to the “timeless values of music and drama” (Seinen, 2019: 23). 
Direct references to the Soviet regime are, thus, relatively scarce: for instance, upon 
his return, Semyon informs the local villagers about the current political situation and 
the activities of the Soviet authorities; the establishment of Soviet rule in the village 
is implied through the presence of a village Soviet, chaired by Semyon’s comrade 
Remenyuk. Yet, despite Prokofiev’s aspiration, the opera nevertheless remains inextri-
cably linked to the Soviet context, reflecting the prevailing ideology and contributing 
to the construction of the Soviet origin myth.
Notably, a revival staged in the Mariinsky Theatre in 1999 by director Yury Alek-
sandrov still enjoys regular performances in St. Petersburg and numerous other Russian 
cities. Intriguingly, the opera’s resurgence was unexpectedly unrelated to any particular 
political anniversary or jubilee; rather, as reported by musicologist Iosif Rayskin, it 
emerged as an autonomous homage to the Russian 20th century (Rayskin, 2014: 56). 
As elucidated by the director himself, and recounted by Rayskin:
History is neither good nor bad – it is our history. It is a story of brothers 
rising against brothers, daughters betraying fathers, of Russian people 
losing their homeland in the bloody turmoil of the Civil War […]. 
Somebody, Aleksandrov recalled, suggested changing the text of “Long 
live Lenin!” and so on. We rejected that idea because it is our chronicle, 
our Richard III. (ibid.)
The production design by Semyon Pastukh and costume design by Galina Solov’yo-
va are still in use as of 2023.3 The brutalist metallic hammer and sickle positioned 
3 The images showcasing the set and costume designs are available for viewing at the following link: 
Mariinsky Theatre. URL: https://www.mariinsky.ru/playbill/repertoire/opera/kotko (accessed 2.11.2023).
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Traditiones     | 143
at the centre-back of the stage, accompanied by red flags bearing the same symbol, 
along with three imposing figures of hanged communists, are now perhaps even more 
menacing than they were in 1999. However, opinions differ on the use of communist 
iconography on the stage. Scottish music critic Gregor Tassie, for instance, does not 
perceive a particular problem with it, remarking: “The scenes with red flags are no 
more disturbing than many operas of the last two hundred years which have political 
themes present” (Tassie, 2021).
Conversely, the first-ever performance of Semyon Kotko by a non-Russian orchestra 
and choir occurred in Amsterdam in 2016. Russian conductor Vladimir Jurowski 
presented to the audience a concert rendition of Prokofiev’s opera, coupled with a 
politically-aware approach to the performance, acknowledging the ongoing turmoil in 
Ukraine. Jurowski concluded the performance by repeating Taras Shevchenko’s poem 
Testament (Zapovit) in Ukrainian language, which, translated to Russian, originally 
appears in the 4th act of the partiture (see Prokofiev, 1960). This choice, as described by 
a certain music critic, resulted in “a deeply moving result. The lady next to me could 
not contain her tears” (Pinedo, 2016). Specifically, as outlined in the program notes, 
Jurowski contextualized his decision to repeat the poem as “a personal dedication to 
ALL people populating today’s Ukraine and Crimea” (Camilleri, 2016).
In contrast to Semyon Kotko, Prokofiev’s final opera, The Story of a Real Man, faced 
a markedly different fate. Premiering in front of a closed audience, it met immediate 
dismissal, receiving only sporadic performances over the years and failing to establish 
itself as an integral piece within the Soviet or Russian repertoire. The opera depicts 
the extraordinary story of Soviet aviation hero and double amputee Aleksey Mares’yev 
during WWII, tracing his metamorphosis toward becoming the Soviet “real man”. As if 
his “initial form” wasn’t already remarkable, Aleksey loses both of his legs in a plane 
crash, is transferred to Moscow where he receives prosthetic legs, learns to walk again, 
and ultimately returns to combat. Aleksey, being a symbol of ideal Stalinist mascu-
linity, and the opera itself, even more ideologically potent than previously mentioned 
Semyon Kotko, appeared excessively ideologically charged for Western performance. 
Additionally, its perceived lack of artistic depth prevented audiences from overlook-
ing its overt ideological connotations, as perhaps occurs in the case of Semyon Kotko. 
Consequently, the opera never graced Western stages. Yet, its reception in Russia had 
not markedly differ until quite recently. In recent decades, the concert version of the 
opera was staged in 2002 in Mariinsky Theatre under the baton of Valery Gergiyev.4 
Interestingly, Gergiyev is an avid supporter of Vladimir Putin and was recently dubbed 
“Russia’s most powerful classical musician” (Ross, 2022). Furthermore, in 2005, albeit 
in fragmented form, the opera was performed in the Saratov Opera and Ballet Theatre, 
4 More information on performances of the opera in Mariinsky Theatre can be found on the following link: 
Mariinsky Theatre. URL: https://www.mariinsky.ru/about/exhibitions/prokofiev125/povest_1948 (accessed 
2.11.2023).
Magdalena Marija Meašić 
144 |     Traditiones
directed by Andrey Sergeyev and conducted by Yury Kochnev,5 commemorating the 
60th anniversary of the Soviet WWII victory (Kovalevsky, 2005). However, the opera 
was staged in its full version for the first time in 2015 in Vladivostok at the Primorsky 
Stage of Mariinsky Theatre.6 It was directed by Irkin Gabitov and conducted by Anton 
Lubchenko as part of the Na Strazhe Mira festival,7 celebrating the 70th anniversary of 
the Soviet WWII triumph. As elaborated by Vladimir Moroz, who sang the main role:
It is impossible to imagine a more noble theme for an artist than the 
defence of the homeland. We all live thanks to our grandfathers and 
great-grandfathers. And throughout life, we must carry our gratitude to 
them for this feat. We have something to be proud of, something to tell 
our children. This opera is another tribute to the heroes who defended 
the homeland from invaders. (Sholik, 2015)
The 2015 performance of the opera abounds in melodramatic patriotic references 
and distressing visual imagery. It is difficult to remain indifferent to scenes where 
Aleksey, injured, crawls through a pile of lifeless frozen bodies, or when he, frightened 
and psychologically tormented, pleads with doctors for mercy during the amputation.8 
Prokofiev’s portrayal of masculinity, or the ideal “real man” that Aleksey strives 
toward becoming, is characterized by superhuman resilience, indomitable will, and 
ultimate sacrifice in the fulfilment of one’s duty. The opera’s didactic nature, educating 
the audience in correct performance of both masculinity and patriotism, has not di-
minished in contemporary revivals; rather, the political backdrop against which this 
operatic revival is positioned reinforces the message even more strongly. I interpret 
this performance as a deliberate effort to draw on historical legacies to legitimize and 
motivate current military endeavours, thus creating a bridge between past sacrifices 
and present undertakings.
According to a certain journalist’s review after the premiere, Prokofiev’s opera 
is “highly relevant because it is essential to introduce the young generation to our 
Russian heroes”, but also that “[w]e are duty-bound to tell the youth about individuals 
like Mares’yev, as it is crucial to instil a love for one’s country” (Neshchedrin, 2015). 
Additionally, another journalist emphasizes the pressing need to bolster patriotic 
5 Although information about this performance taking place can be found on the theatre’s website (see 
Saratov Academic Opera and Ballet Theatre. URL: https://www.operabalet.ru/playbill/?y=2005&m=12&d=6, 
accessed 2.11.2023), more information can be found in various news articles found online. See, for instance, 
Kovalevsky (2005).
6 Until 2016 known as Primorsky Opera and Ballet Theatre.
7 In English “On Guard of Peace”.
8 The whole performance can be watched on YouTube, see: @Anton Lubchenko. 2020. S. Prokof’yev. 
Povest’o nastoyashchem cheloveke. Primorskiy teatr operï i baleta, A. Lubchenko. YouTube, 18 November, 
duration 2:11:21. URL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cr4o75y41CI (accessed 20.7.2024).
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sentiments within contemporary Russian society, highlighting the immense ideological 
potential inherent in the operatic genre:
Strengthening the patriotic dimension in the public life of our country 
requires a corresponding artistic representation. […] Opera as an art 
form is much more conservative and upholds the ideological front with 
compositions created during the era of the great Soviet style, which in 
recent decades have fallen into undeserved oblivion. (Khaknazarov, 2015)
In an interview, Gabitov explained his motivation to pursue staging of this almost 
forgotten opera by Prokofiev. He articulated his aspiration to work on Prokofiev’s three 
war operas, Semyon Kotko, War and Peace, and The Story of a Real Man, as follows: 
“Completely different wars, but everywhere there is the Russian person, the Russian 
spirit, Russian culture, and Russian national worldviews as they have been formed over 
two to three hundred years”. When prompted to elaborate on the meaning of the “national 
worldview”, Gabitov explained: “It is love for the Motherland, it is selflessness, it is 
self-sacrifice. That’s what Prokofiev’s last opera and its hero, pilot Aleksey Mares’yev, 
are all about.” Responding to why this opera now, Gabitov added: “To know that one 
can live a second life, return to duty, even if misfortune has shattered you! What it 
takes is to be a person with inner strength! A real person! Russian!” (Zhzhenova, 2015).
However, the celebration of the 70th jubilee extended beyond the staging of Prokof-
iev’s The Story of a Real Man. Gabitov also staged Kirill Molchanov’s Zori zdes’ tikhiye 
(The Dawns Here are Quiet) at the Tsaritsyn Opera Theatre in Volgograd.9 Molchanov’s 
opera was also performed in a concert version at the Mariinsky Theatre, conducted by 
Zaurbek Gugkayev.10 Notably, this opera continues to be performed, firmly establishing 
itself within the repertoire. Recently, in January 2023, it was performed in a concert 
version to commemorate the Day of Full Leningrad Liberation from the Siege of Nazi 
Troops.11 Another interesting case is Krïm (Crimea), inspired by Marian Koval’s opera 
Sevastopol’tsï (People of Sevastopol), directed by Yury Aleksandrov and staged in fateful 
2014.12 This production is presented in an unusual genre described by the director as 
an “opera-rally”. While preserving the music, Aleksandrov completely reworked the 
score, dividing the narrative into three temporal layers: the Crimean War, World War II, 
and the present day, integrating contemporary events in Ukraine (see Vol’gust, 2014). 
9 See Tsaritsyn Opera. URL: https://www.tzaropera.ru/repertoire/opera/24-a-zori-zdes-tikhie (accessed 
2.11.2023).
10 See Mariinsky Theatre. URL: https://www.mariinsky.ru/playbill/playbill/2015/2/8/3_1900 (accessed 
2.11.2023).
11 Mariinsky Theatre. URL: https://www.mariinsky.ru/playbill/playbill/2023/1/27/3_1900 (accessed 2.11.2023).
12 More on Yury Aleksandrov’s artistic biography can be read on the following link: St. Petersburg Opera. 
URL: https://www.spbopera.ru/en/troupe/yuriy-aleksandrov (accessed 2.11.2023).
Magdalena Marija Meašić 
146 |     Traditiones
Aleksandrov conceived the idea amid the turmoil in Ukraine, emphasizing that the 
performance entry would be free, asserting that “you can’t sell tickets for a rally” 
(Tsinkler, 2015). Aleksandrov also staged Yuly Meytus’s Molodaya gvardiya (The 
Young Guard),13 premiered in 2016, and Vano Muradeli’s Oktyabr’: 17-ogo (October 
the 17th) in 2017 to commemorate 100 years since the Revolution.14
What these operatic revivals are reinforcing are, first of all, the continuous my-
thologisation of the Soviet/Stalinist past, second of all, the revival of that same past, 
and third of all, the continuity with it. In earlier work, Kotnik asserts that opera 
functions as “an interpellation system, which transforms myth into reality, art into 
spectacularity, and society into rituality”, and it is capable of “dispersion of modern 
mythology in relation to society” (Kotnik, 2004: 335). Namely, Kotnik acknowledges 
opera’s universal mythological and mythologizing potential, asserting that even when 
reflecting contemporary themes, operas retain a degree of “mythical” quality, noting 
how the audiences perpetually participate “in operistic reanimation of this ‘mythical 
context’” (Kotnik, 2004: 325). Naturally, the cosmogonic myth, in case of Soviet opera, 
is not set in a distant and hazy ahistoric realm, but in 1917, while the myths of heroes, 
instead of figures such as Hercules or Prometheus, oftentimes follow real-life heroes of 
the regimes. Indeed, in Soviet narratives, historicity and mythology, instead of being 
antonyms, suddenly merge into the same concept; although set in contemporary times, 
and although highly historically charged, Soviet operas have a pronounced mythological 
quality. Cultural policy scholar Ruth Bereson approaches opera as a state-legitimising 
ceremonial ritual, “a symbol of the continuity of governments”, and “an integral part 
of state ceremonial” (Bereson, 2002: 3). However, when viewed within the broader 
context of the Stalinist and Soviet operatic revivals, as well as a potential tool of estab-
lishing historical continuity with the totalitarian regime of the past, to echo Bereson’s 
approach, Prokofiev’s “Soviet” revival loses its benign appearance. Upon closer ex-
amination of the artistic quality present in some of the operas, it becomes evident that 
art wasn’t the primary, or even a significant determining factor in selecting what gets 
access to the contemporary stage. The dominant criterion was ideology, the ritualistic 
perpetuation of history on stage for a broad audience. The objective extended beyond 
the celebration and commemoration of significant Soviet anniversaries and history; 
it also aimed to establish connection between Soviet past and the position of present 
Russia in a broader geopolitical context.
13 Interestingly enough, Meytus (1903-1997) was an Ukrainian, and the opera The Young Guard is originally 
written in Ukrainian language.
14 Another version of the title found in online sources is Oktyabr’ 17.
How to Stage Soviet Operas in the 21st Century: Navigating Russian Music Heritage amidst Revival and Boycott
Traditiones     | 147
Soviet opera as a difficult heritage?
It is difficult to approach the heritage of Soviet opera in one singular way. While the 
musicological instinct leans towards examining the score in search of answers when 
addressing the issue of present-day Soviet operatic revivals, the key in disentangling 
this intricate trend turned out to be the mere act of acknowledging that music and 
artistic expression play a minimal role. Instead, it is politics, memory, and power that 
wield significant influence. Therefore, adopting a mindset that transcends the confines 
of a single discipline, recognizing Soviet operas primarily as heritage, and delving into 
critical heritage studies, which grapple with the “complex questions of the power that 
heritage entails and produces” (Lähdesmäki et al., 2019: 2), could propel us closer to 
comprehending the current resurgence of Soviet opera on the Russian stages.
As asserted by heritage studies scholar Laurajane Smith, heritage is “a cultural 
and social process, which engages with acts of remembering that work to create ways 
to understand and engage with the present” (Smith, 2006: 2). The same sentiment 
echoes in Rodney Harrison’s definition of heritage, which he describes as “an active 
process of assembling a series of objects, places, and practices that we choose to hold 
up as a mirror to the present, associated with a particular set of values that we wish to 
take with us into the future” (Harrison, 2013: 4). Furthermore, Harrison emphasizes 
the significance and immediacy of delving into heritage by asserting that, “heritage is 
primarily not about the past, but instead about our relationship with the present and 
the future” (ibid.: 4), further defining it as “a set of attitudes to, and relationships with, 
the past” (ibid.: 14). As explained by Gustav Wollentz, heritage plays a role “within 
a landscape for negotiating the meaning of the past in the present” and serves “as an 
incentive for tracing continuity and/or discontinuity and contributing with a sense of 
belonging and/or disassociation for individuals, while at the same time directing such 
incentives towards the future” (Wollentz, 2020: 1–2).
We could perceive Soviet operas as benign sons de mémoire,15 intended to aid 
remembrance and serve as a conduit linking us to the past; as mere artefacts encap-
sulating the outdated socialist realist doctrine, Soviet history, the totalitarian regime, 
meticulous control of artistic production, artistic negotiations, and, for some composers 
like Prokofiev, real-life tragic human destinies. Perhaps we could approach them as 
perplexing curiosa too burdened by ideology to be frivolously displayed on global 
stages. However, despite this perspective, as previously discussed, since these operas 
are indeed staged and manipulated as a tool in Russian mnemonic politics, linking 
Soviet militaristic grandeur to present-day martial activities in Ukraine, their status 
requires thorough re-evaluation.
15 Could be translated as “sounds of memory”. Analogous term to Pierre Nora’s (1989) lieux de memoire.
Magdalena Marija Meašić 
148 |     Traditiones
As explained by historian David Hoffmann, the Soviet regime crafted a historical 
account of World War II to unify the populace and validate its governance. Putin’s 
government later revived specific parts of this narrative to strengthen patriotic sentiment 
in modern Russia (Hoffmann, 2022: 3). Hoffmann even goes as far as proclaiming the 
memory of World War II as “a pillar of Russian official culture and a centrepiece of 
national pride” (Hoffmann, 2022: 1). Once contextualized as a vessel of ideology in 
current Russian WWII commemoration politics, especially amid the ongoing conflict 
in Ukraine, even Soviet operas by Prokofiev, who successfully solidified his place in 
global music history, take on a new and deeper significance. As discussed by William 
Logan and Keir Reeves:
Governments encourage particular memories and provide rituals and 
venues for memorialisation, which may be benign if such actions promote 
the development of tolerant states and societies based on human rights. 
In many cases, however, state authorities engage in retelling history, 
inventing traditions and celebrating heritage in ways that serve their 
own interests, which are often as crude as maintaining a grip on power. 
(Logan, Reeves, 2009: 2)
Specifically, Logan and Reeves address the concept of “difficult heritage”, focusing 
on sites that represent distressing or shameful events from a nation or community’s 
history. As one of the pioneers in the concept of difficult heritage, Macdonald defines 
it as “a past that is recognised as meaningful in the present but that is also contested 
and awkward for public reconciliation with a positive, self-affirming contemporary 
identity” (Macdonald, 2009: 1). Following this definition, Prokofiev’s Soviet body of 
work cannot be inherently considered difficult, especially from the Russian standpoint, 
as it doesn’t pose a difficulty in constructing a “positive, self-affirming identity”. To 
add on Taruskin’s earlier quote in the text (Taruskin, 2020: 465), could this perceived 
difficulty be exclusive to our perspective rather than inherent to Russian understanding? 
Despite the inclination to label Prokofiev’s Soviet operas, or Soviet operas as a whole, 
as part of difficult heritage, the present dynamics within the Russian commemorative 
framework suggest they are less “difficult” and more of a “triumphant” heritage. Mac-
donald’s idea of the “identity-affirmative nature of heritage-making” (Macdonald, 2009: 
2) holds a dual perspective: while the “liberal” world and its perceptions regarding 
what fits into the global canon may have dismissed Prokofiev’s Soviet works, in Russia, 
these compositions firmly align with the prevailing political and ideological climate, 
as evidenced by recent revivals. Is the categorical suppression of heritage, as observed 
in Western contexts, the sole approach to articulating a critique?
In a thought-provoking article intriguingly titled ‘Who’s Afraid of Socialist Realism?’, 
musicologist and cellist Alexander Ivashkin provocatively asserts: “Soviet music still 
How to Stage Soviet Operas in the 21st Century: Navigating Russian Music Heritage amidst Revival and Boycott
Traditiones     | 149
exists, whether they like it or not. The Soviet period lasted for only seventy-three years, 
but it made an important impact on post-Soviet and Western culture, and on Western 
understanding of Russian culture” (Ivashkin, 2014: 448). While it is essential to consider 
Ivashkin’s statement in its proper context – acknowledging that the socialist realist af-
terlives he mentions are deeply intertwined with music and aesthetics – it nonetheless 
prompts reflection. The issue at hand does not appear to be socialist realism or Soviet 
music per se – at least not entirely – but rather the nature of the afterlives these cultural 
forms assume in contemporary times. Imperial remnants, whether manifested in objects, 
practices, values, or, as in this case, opera (encompassing all these aspects), persist in our 
present, subtly or overtly influencing contemporary cultural trajectories. In the current 
climate, where Soviet imperial afterlives are perhaps more pronounced and potentially 
menacing, one is left to ponder the most appropriate response to them. Although the 
prevailing approach to these cultural remnants, particularly in music, currently seems 
to be one of boycott, the recent work of Alexander Raskatov, a composer of Russian 
descent, Soviet upbringing and an international career, suggests an alternative path.
Namely, in the same article, Ivashkin also references Raskatov and his opera 
Sobach’ye serdtse (A Dog’s Heart) commissioned by The Netherlands Opera House 
in Amsterdam and premiered in 2010. Raskatov’s opera, notable for its polystylistic 
nature, employs “Soviet” genres such as revolutionary songs and chastushka16 to create 
a soundscape for Mikhail Bulgakov’s 1925 satire of the Soviet revolution (Ivashkin, 
2014: 444). In this context, the sounds associated with the Soviet era are utilized as 
auditory relics, serving to bridge historical space and time while being imbued with 
symbolic significance. A rather recent opera by Raskatov, Animal Farm first premiered 
in Amsterdam in 2023, written after Orwell’s eponymous allegory of the Soviet and 
Stalinist regime, resonates even more critically in contemporary times as his previously 
mentioned work. As explained by the opera’s director, Damiano Michieletto:
The opera has the possibility – including for the many people working 
together on a performance – of being a mirror of society, and it can take 
a critical look at the society. My dream is that we will succeed in finding 
a language which ideally unites words and music, as they did at the end 
of the 16th century when opera was invented. And I’d like to see us find 
a socially and politically focused view, as they did in ancient Greece. 
Ultimately, I’m excited by stories which relate to the world we live in. 
(Láng, 2023: 24)
16 A traditional Russian folk genre that deals with topics such as private life, community life, and politics. 
Although the tradition dates back to before the Revolution, it gained immense popularity during Soviet times.
Magdalena Marija Meašić 
150 |     Traditiones
Raskatov further solidifies the connection to the Soviet past through the libretto. 
For example, he incorporates quotes from prominent Soviet figures such as Stalin, 
Trotsky, and Beria, explaining this choice by noting: “When Orwell wrote his book, 
he did not have all the knowledge we have today about the early years of the Soviet 
Union” (Van Tongeren, 2023: 64). Furthermore, the opera, dedicated to Dmitry Shos-
takovich’s widow, Irina Antonovna Shostakovich, references and reminisces the sounds 
of Russian and Soviet classics, Prokofiev and Shostakovich included, as pointed out 
by dramaturge Sergio Morabito (Morabito, 2023: 17). Moreover, conductor Alexander 
Soddy highlights the parallels between Raskatov’s work and Shostakovich’s famously 
denounced opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk District, particularly “in terms of irony, 
social polemics and political satire” (Soddy, 2023: 28). 
The case of Raskatov’s recent oeuvre, dedicated to the critical examination of Soviet 
and Stalinist histories, illustrates an alternative use of music – specifically opera – in 
addressing political crises. Interestingly, Raskatov also engages with Soviet afterlives, 
however, not by summoning them to promote a narrative of historical continuity or to 
celebrate the grandiose aspects of the Soviet and Stalinist past, but rather as a caution-
ary tale. His work serves to reveal the dangers of repeating the history, thus offering a 
critical reflection on the past and its implications for the present.
Conclusion
The resurgence of the Soviet operatic oeuvre on contemporary Russian stages is 
deeply intertwined with contemporary commemorative policies, dangerous utilization 
of historical narratives, and, subsequently, the conflict in Ukraine. The contemporary 
Russian cultural and political landscape vividly demonstrates how music can be actively 
wielded for political and ideological agendas. It illuminates how the music of a bygone 
era can be repurposed in constructing national identity, nurturing patriotic sentiments, 
and strengthening the continuity between Soviet and Russian martiality.
However, the relevance of Soviet and Russian music extends beyond the operatic 
revival. The various afterlives of Soviet music, whether through the resurgence of 
nearly forgotten Soviet operatic works on Russian stages or the provocative reinterpre-
tations in Alexander Raskatov’s recent compositions, alongside the boycott of Russian 
music, all point toward one direction – toward the power of the cultural and musical 
capital, unveiling it as a potent tool of agitation. The operas mentioned, regardless of 
their treatment of the Soviet past, demonstrate that the genre is not merely a cultural 
artefact detached from contemporary issues. Instead, they actively contribute to the 
construction of parallel and opposing cultural narratives. The contrasting treatments 
of musical heritage – its erasure in some contexts and revival in others – demonstrate 
that classical music is not merely a relic of the past or anachronistic ritual, but a potent 
How to Stage Soviet Operas in the 21st Century: Navigating Russian Music Heritage amidst Revival and Boycott
Traditiones     | 151
and relevant vessel of power in the present, participating in and shaping global political 
and cultural discourse.
It is important to keep in mind that the process of negotiation surrounding heritage 
reflects less on the past itself and more on our present circumstances and the landscape 
within which these negotiations unfold. This text, serving as a cautionary narrative, 
aligning with the perspectives of Taruskin (2020) and Flamm (2021), advocates for 
a critical approach in determining what, and under what circumstances, should be 
presented to a wide audience. It warns against perceiving music as purely ethereal, 
devoid of semantic layers that may harbour, at times, perilous ideologies. This intricate 
network of boycotts and revivals underscores another critical point: Soviet music in the 
contemporary world is far from being merely a historical relic. While some remnants 
of a distant chauvinist past may subtly permeate today’s operatic stages and concert 
halls – echoing Taruskin’s earlier sentiments – the influence of Soviet regime and its 
legacies is more pronounced than one might hope, and so are the uses of the past within 
the contemporary state policies. To reference Ivashkin’s thoughts, we do not have to 
be afraid of socialist realism, Prokofiev, Soviet, nor Russian music – the real danger 
pertains to the nature of afterlives this music is given.
Acknowledgement
This project has received funding from the European Research Council (ERC) under the 
European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme (Grant agreement 
No. 101002908).
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glasbena dediščina med oživljanjem in bojkotom
Namen članka je preučiti status glasbe in glasbene dediščine, zlasti »sovjet-
skih« oper Sergeja Prokofjeva, v kontekstu rusko-ukrajinske vojne, ki se je 
začela leta 2014 in stopnjevala leta 2022. Kompleksnost Prokofjeve osebnosti 
na presečišču različnih nacionalnih, političnih, ideoloških in umetniških poti 
osvetli izzive (ne)promoviranja in (ne)izvajanja umetniških del v določenih 
okoliščinah. Članek se ne poglablja v estetiko in umetniško kakovost kot meril 
za ocenjevanje primernosti dveh sovjetsko obarvanih oper Prokofjeva, Semjona 
Kotka (1940) in Zgodbe o resničnem človeku (1948), temveč ju postavlja v širši 
okvir trenutnega sovjetskega, zlasti stalinističnega opernega preporoda, ki ga 
je bilo mogoče opaziti po izbruhu konflikta. Argument proti domnevi, da je 
nedavna oživitev Prokofjeva posledica resnične želje po ponovni predstavitvi 
njegovega zapostavljenega opusa širokemu ruskemu občinstvu, je podprt z novo 
in nenadno aktualnostjo nekaterih drugih sovjetskih oper v zadnjih letih. Poleg 
tega je ponovni vzpon sovjetske in stalinistične ikonografije, glasbe in pripovedi 
v ruskih gledališčih lahko tudi znamenje ustvarjanja povezav med sovjetsko 
preteklostjo in nemirno sodobno rusko politično pokrajino. Sovjetske opere s 
tega stališča niso več omejene na področje umetnosti ali glasbenih artefaktov, 
How to Stage Soviet Operas in the 21st Century: Navigating Russian Music Heritage amidst Revival and Boycott
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temveč so instrumentalizirane kot veliki nacional(istič)ni rituali, ki ohranjajo 
sovjetsko preteklost na odru za širše občinstvo. Medtem ko vključevanje tem, 
kot so vojne, politika in zlorabe, v zahodne opere ni nič nenavadnega, imajo 
obravnavane sovjetske opere novo razsežnost, ko so dejavno uporabljene za 
podporo zgodovinski kontinuiteti, občutku nacionalne identitete in pripadnosti 
ter kot didaktično orodje, ki občinstvo poučuje o pravilnem izvajanju patriotizma. 
Ker je proces dediščinjenja aktiven, razkriva več o odnosu do preteklosti kot 
o preteklosti sami. Skladno s tem nedavne oživitve nekaterih oper Prokofjeva 
nimajo veliko opraviti s samim Prokofjevom ali domnevno kakovostjo njegovih 
dveh sovjetskih oper, temveč v veliki meri služijo političnim ciljem v sodobni 
Rusiji in obsežnemu spominjanju na stalinistično veličino v sodobnem ruskem 
političnem diskurzu.