SPECIAL SECTION: Leon Theremin, Pioneer of Electronic Art
Light and Shadows of a Great Life: In Commemoration of the One-Hundredth
Anniversary of the Birth of Leon Theremin, Pioneer of Electronic Art
Bulat M. Galeyev
Let the sun shine forever, let me be forever!
---Russian children's song of the Soviet epoch [1].
Five years have passed since Leonardo published my article devoted to the
work of Leon Theremin [2], inventor of what may have been the world's first
electronic musical instrument, the theremin. With its surprising ability
to produce sounds from the ether at the wave of a hand, this unusual
instrument is perceived as miraculous even today. Theremin authored many
other inventions in the field of electronic art, including a television set
and devices for combining music and light.
It is not necessary to duplicate my previous article on Theremin's work or,
for that matter, to duplicate what appears in the following section.
Instead, I would like to devote this introduction to another theme: some
aspects of the unusual life of the great inventor.
When my previous article was published in Leonardo, Theremin was "only" 95
years old. Nevertheless, he was still working actively and we, his
colleagues, were amazed by the childlike clarity of his vision and the
lucidity of his mind. Theremin had begun to make appearances in the West
after many years of obscurity, visiting France, for example, in 1989, and
traveling to the United States 2 years later. Many people living in the West
did not know or believe that he was still alive, and it was with surprise
that they were rediscovering not only the phenomenal, ethereal music of the
theremin, but also the miraculous existence of Theremin himself.
It was around this time that I visited the Netherlands. Franz Evers, of the
Hague Koninslijk Conservatory, asked me to bring photographs of Theremin for
the Conservatory's archive on my next visit. I feigned naivete and asked if
he would prefer that I bring Theremin himself. The reaction was general
surprise and excitement. In early 1993, Theremin and I visited the Hague
[3], where he impressed an audience at the Conservatory with his performance
on the theremin. I was moved by the song he played there---"Let the Sun
Shine Forever, Let Me Be Forever!"---a children's melody that was well known
in the former Soviet Union. Theremin died that autumn.
I found myself writing about him for Leonardo once again, but this time for
an in memoriam article [4]. Theremin did not quite live to see his
one-hundredth birthday, although he was busy investigating problems of
longevity and immortality during the last years of his life. It even seemed
to us, his friends, that he had finally found the legendary fountain of
youth. We who believed he was able to solve any problem were ready to
believe that his longevity would be unlimited when we saw his customary
cheerful smile. Alas, miracles are impossible.
It so happened that the British Broadcasting Company televised the film
Theremin: An Electronic Odyssey, by Steven Martin, two days before
Theremin's death. The film included scenes from Theremin's 1991 visit to the
United States, and made tasteful use of archival footage of Theremin taken
from newsreels dating from 1928--1938, when Theremin lived in America.
Successful screenings in the United States, Europe and Japan fostered a
surge of interest in the electronic art pioneer and his best-known
invention, leading, for example, to the foundation of the Theremin
Enthusiasts Club International (TECI), whose members refer to themselves
(albeit humorously) as "theremaniacs" [5]. Interest in the theremin revived
on the part of both musicians and engineers.
This revival of interest, however, can be traced back even earlier, to the
last years of Theremin's life and his final visits to the West. In 1992, for
example, Albert Vincent Glinsky completed a thesis entitled "The Theremin in
the Emergence of Electronic Music" [6] at New York University. In the former
Soviet Union, Theremin began to make presentations at various conferences
and symposia during the last 10 years of his life, appearing with his
daughter, Natalia, who performed on the theremin alongside her father [7,8]. Theremin's niece, professional thereminist Lydia Kavina, began making
successful concert tours in Europe and the United States in the mid-1980s
[9]. There was an increase in the production of audio recordings of theremin
music, including many pieces composed specifically for the instrument. The
Theremin Center was founded in Moscow in 1992 [10], and other electronic
music studios in Russia also began taking an active part in developing
Theremin's ideas (for further details on such studios, see Music/Science
Forum in the section itself). In Russia, sensational reports on previously
unknown pages of Theremin's life began to be published in the late 1980s and
continue to appear at the time of writing. My own book, Soviet Faust [11],
which was published in Russian in 1995, is based on those materials and on
personal conversations I had with Theremin (I had been unable to publicize
these conversations earlier). If Steven Martin's film is a "view from the
United States," then my book is a "view from Russia." Combined, these two
views provide a kind of Leon Theremin "stereo portrait."
Theremin's ancestors were French. He descended from the Albigo, a clan of
"socialistically inclined" heretics who were routed by Catholic crusaders in
the fourteenth century. His ancestors were scattered around Europe and took
part in many revolutions. One branch of Theremin's genealogical tree
sprouted in Russia. Young Theremin enthusiastically welcomed the October
Revolution, which merged in his mind with the scientific and technical
revolutions he loved. He was fond of repeating a phrase of Lenin's that
supported this view: "Communism is Soviet power plus electrification of the
whole country." It was with delight that Theremin would always remember his
meeting with Lenin in 1922, when the world's first "official" concert of
electronic music was performed in the Kremlin upon the leader's request.
Being a pragmatic man, Lenin was attracted to Theremin's idea for using the
remote triggering of sound signals to create alarm systems. This
alarm-system version of the theremin concept was made top secret. Another
invention of Theremin's that was unusual for the time---a large-screened
television set [12]---was also made top secret after it attracted the
attention of the military and the Narodny Komissariat Vnutrennich Del (NKVD)
in 1927 (known as the NKVD in the 1920s and 1930s, this agency later became
the Komitet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopasnosti [KGB]). It was in this way that
Theremin forged relationships with the Soviet secret service that were to
drag on for many years. Theremin earned the right to devote himself to his
favorite field---electronic art---but under the condition that he would be
the obedient assistant of the Soviet government.
In 1928, following triumphant tours of Europe and the Soviet Union with his
"radio music" (often combined with light and scents [13]), Theremin was sent
to the United States on a business trip. His task was double. Its first,
legitimate component was to engage in creative work and start a business
selling his inventions. Its second, covert side was handed down from the
Soviet secret services: he was to obtain information on U.S. innovations in
military technology and to find out which side the United States would take
in the event of world war. Theremin was convinced that he caused no harm to
the country that he had come to like and that seemed to appreciate him as
well. It is difficult to find a field of activity that he was not engaged in
while he lived in the United States. He invented a new model of theremin
called the "terpsitone," which generated sound not merely in response to the
movement of the hand, but from the dancing movement of the whole body. He
also created new kinds of alarm systems that would be responsive to viewers'
actions. And behind the scenes, he met secretly with Soviet secret service
agents. Theremin's "American adventure" is full of dark and uncertain
episodes (it would be interesting to find out how much the U.S. Central
Intelligence Agency knew at the time about the secret activities of the
prominent inventor and millionaire). Martin's film informs us, for example,
that Theremin was kidnapped by the KGB and returned to the Soviet Union by
force in 1938. However, Theremin told me that he made the decision to leave
the United States himself, being anxious about the impending war. In any
case, one should bear in mind that he gave different versions of some
episodes in various interviews over the years, perhaps as a result of his
age but doubtlessly due to the degree of discretion he was allowed. Theremin
was a "man of legend," and all appearances seem to indicate that many
episodes of his life will remain legends forever.
What is certain is that Theremin found himself in prison, then in prison
camp, then in prison-type top-secret scientific and research institutes
after his return to the Soviet Union. Incredibly, while still in prison,
Theremin was granted the most prestigious Soviet scientific award, the First
Class Stalin Prize (the Soviet analogue of the Nobel Prize) in 1947. He was
rewarded for having created the "Buran" bugging system, which was designed
for tactful, remote, contact-free surveillance of American and French
embassies by means of detecting window-glass vibrations from distances of
300--500 m. (Recent reports in Russia have revealed that Beria, former head
of the KGB, used Theremin's inventions to listen in on Stalin himself.
Theremin preserved the results---unique magnetic-tape recordings of Stalin's
voice---for many years, keeping them in his own home until they finally
crumbled to dust with age [14].)
Equally successful was another of his devices, this one produced in 1945.
That year, pioneers (Soviet boy scouts) in red neckerchiefs solemnly
presented a gilded eagle, emblem of the United States, to American
ambassador A. Garriman. The eagle was to hang on the wall of the
ambassador's room for several years while a little, special "gift" from
Theremin---a "bug"---functioned inside it. Because it functioned without
cables or batteries, even a special team of American technicians imported
from the United States by officials of the American embassy in Russia could
not find it for a long time. It was not until 1960 that the astounded
Americans decided to discuss what they had found in the 1950s, demonstrating
the listening device at a United Nations Security Council session. It was
Theremin's second great benefit performance in the United States, the first
being his triumphant concert at Carnegie Hall in 1929. (It was only recently
that this information was published in the Russian press [15]).
I asked Theremin the same question many times: "Everything you have done is
very interesting. But the fact is that the KGB could use the devices you
created to monitor ordinary people such as me. Did you ever think about
this?" His answer never failed to shock me: "I didn't care. My task was to
reduce noise when operating the device."
Little information is available concerning the 20 years of Theremin's life
subsequent to 1947. Unbelievable as it may seem, he returned voluntarily to
the KGB after his release in 1947, continuing to work for them until 1966.
Theremin apparently felt himself already comfortless upon becoming free.
After I met him in the 1970s and we became friends, I asked him, "What were
you busy with all that time?" He evasively answered, "I made various useful
things." However, he also said that he succeeded in restoring a theremin and
arranging electronic music concerts for secret servicemen at Lubianka [16] while he was working there.
Our planet is probably not completely sane if the military industry can
succeed in transforming an artist into a James Bond and a musical instrument
into an alarm system. I ask the reader to make an allowance for Theremin,
whose suffering far outweighed his guilt. But while we might pity him, one
could also envy Theremin for the happiness he attained in his fantastically
impossible life.
Upon publishing my first article in Leonardo 20 years ago, Frank Malina
warned me that there should be "no politics" in his journal. But how can we
be rid of politically charged subjects in the case of Theremin, whose life
and creativity themselves were a mixture of war and peace, music and the
KGB, love and politics? How should we explain, for example, the following
fact of his curriculum vitae? It was not until 1991, when the Soviet Union
had crashed ignominiously, that Theremin entered the Communist Party. When I
asked him why he chose to do this, he answered, "I promised Lenin I would!"
According to his explanation, he had tried to enter the party many times
before, but was continually rejected. Being a descendant of the Albigo and a
man of honor, he fulfilled the promise as soon as the opportunity arose,
even though 70 years had passed.
Many scientists faced Faustian problems in the twentieth century.
Oppenheimer and Sakharov settled these problems in their own ways. Leon
Theremin---musician, physicist, inventor, spy and scientist for the
KGB---chose his own way, although it was a risky one, and succeeded at
making "various useful things" throughout his long life. It was not until
after his death that I came to understand that it was his favorite
work---making "useful things"---that served as a fountain of youth for him,
helping him live for nearly a century under incredible conditions. His life
remains a legend, an enigma. Theremin's forced service to the Soviet Union
will be forgotten, but history will preserve his clear gaze, his
indefatigable desire to solve insoluble problems and, most certainly, the
theremin, which will be known not only as the original electronic
instrument, but also as a graceful and elegant symbol of the emergence of
electronic art.
In the final scene of Goethe's Faust, Faust must give his soul to
Mephistopheles according to their agreement. But Goethe made a different
decision, instructing angels to sing: "This worthy member of the spirit
world is rescued from the devil: for him whose striving never ceases we can
provide redemption; and if a higher love as well has shown an interest in
him, the hosts of heaven come and greet him with a cordial welcome" [17].
The result was that angels succeeded in taking the "immortal part of Faust's
soul" and carrying it away from under Mephisto's very nose. I would like to
believe that if angels exist, they also carried away the "immortal part of
the soul" of our Soviet Faust---perhaps even together with his Communist
party card and the description of his "Cathode Electromusical Instrument."
It is this very description of the "Cathode Electromusical Instrument,"
written by Theremin himself, that opens our special section. This document
is followed by articles by two of Theremin's relatives: his niece Natalia
Nesturkh, who presents a survey of the Soviet followers of Theremin, and her
daughter Lydia Kavina, a professional thereminist who discusses her own
experiences with the instrument. A Music/Science Forum section features
short texts on the development and propagation of Theremin's ideas in the
West and in Russia, including information on various Russian groups
practicing electronic music and light-music. There are reviews of my book on
Theremin; A. Glinsky's 1992 thesis; Steven Martin's film; a demonstration
video by Robert Moog; and recently published Russian books on electronic and
computer music. Two bibliographies and a discography will be of special
interest to those wishing to explore the subject further.
Translated by Vladimir Chudnovsky.
Acknowledgments
I am very grateful to the editors of Leonardo for supporting our initiative
to publish this jubilee Theremin special section, and especially to Grace
Sullivan for her patient work with us. My deep thanks to our translator, my
colleague Vladimir Chudnovsky, who translated many of the section materials
and all of the correspondence with authors and the Leonardo editorial staff.
And, indeed, my best thanks to Kazan State University Computing Center,
which provided us with free e-mail access, without which no cooperation with
Leonardo would be possible.
Editor's Note
Lev Sergeyevich Termen changed his name to Leon Theremin when he came to the
United States in 1928. The instrument known in Russia as the "termenvox"
gained recognition in the U.S. as the "theremin." Previous theremin-related
publications in Leonardo have used both styles of referring to the
instrument and the inventor, tending toward adopting the Americanized
versions of the names as the instrument became more well known in the United
States. Russians Lydia Kavina and Natalia Nesturkh, members of Theremin's
extended family and contributors to this special section, prefer to use
"theremin" in order to restore the trace of the inventor's French heritage.
Unlike their American counterparts, however, their terms blend the French
version of the given name with the Russian idiom that provided the first
linguistic home for both inventor and instrument; thus, they refer to "Lev
Theremin" and the "thereminvox."
For simplicity and consistency's sake, we have chosen to even out these
subtle differences and make the usage consistent throughout most (if not
entirely all) of this special section. Not surprisingly, given the fact that
we are publishing in English, the anglicized versions of the names have
prevailed; however, we would like to draw the reader's attention to the fact
that this shift has occurred rather than passing it off as another
incidental cultural occlusion. It is our hope that, despite the
Americanization of names, no points of view or versions of events will have
been Americanized for publication here.
