Open Writing

Dmitri SHOSTAKOVICH (1906 – 1975)

Symphony No. 7 “Leningrad” op. 60 (1941)

Can any symphony have had more chequered history than this one? Yes, probably, but it does take some beating. Shostakovich may have been less than enamoured by the Uncle Joe and his Supreme Soviet, but he loved his country to the extent that, as soon as another loveable old rogue (Uncle Adolf) threatened his home he went straight round to his local recruiting office. Fortunately, for posterity at least, he was considered to be a short-sighted drip (from the active military service point of view) and instead ended up doing service as a voluntary fire-fighter (in itself hardly a job best suited to “short-sighted drips”).

The legend of the birth of this symphony is the stuff of spy-stories. It was composed amid the horrors of the siege of Leningrad, where (it is said) its composer defied the air raids to continue his task. Its value as both propaganda-piece and contribution to the Allied war effort was immediately recognised by the Soviet authorities (who, it must be said, had thus far failed abysmally to comprehend anything of his), and so the score was microfilmed and smuggled, presumably at appalling risk, to the West. Almost overnight, no doubt aided by the titles given to the movements, it became an icon of the war against fascism.

Within a few years the rot set in. Bartok squeezed a biting parody of the infamous “Nazi March” into his Concerto for Orchestra. However, this was not so much a comment on the music itself as on what Bartok saw as the over-hyped media-dotage it “enjoyed”. Once the war was won, and the West became increasingly suspicious of the Soviet, then the backlash against the music began. It was “recognised” for what it “really” was – banal, bombastic, over-inflated, poster-painted commie propaganda of the worst sort (was none of the millions who had previously feted it embarrassed at having done so?). Moreover, multitudes of learned scholars oozed out of the woodwork and onto the band-wagon to condemn it as ill-conceived, over-scored, badly structured – you name it: for any and every reason, this was bad music, and concert promoters dropped it like a hot brick. Before long, it suffered the same fate in Russia, though for entirely different reasons.

It wasn’t until after the appearance of Solomon Volkov’s controversial Testimony, which started a rash of re-appraisals, that the Seventh began to undergo a process of rehabilitation. It now seems to be far more sensibly evaluated as a “flawed masterpiece”, though whether it “represents” Shostakovich’s feelings about his country and the threat of the invading Nazis, or his country and the threat of its own totalitarian regime, is still a bone of contention. Absolutely brilli-bump, I reckon. Through all this almighty how’s-your-father, the one thing that hasn’t changed one iota is the music itself! When I first heard it about forty years ago (oh, gawd, is it that long?), as a teenager utterly ignorant of its history or meaning, I was bowled over by this symphony. Now, when I hear it, as a “middle-ager” less than ignorant of its history or meaning (“true” or otherwise), I am still bowled over by this symphony. Not that I wish to seem in the least bit biased, you understand! Of course, this begs the now-common question: is an understanding of Shostakovich’s motives and codings a prerequisite for the appreciation of his music? The short answer is, emphatically, “no” – though it does help a bit.

Over the years, I have heard a good many different performances, ranging from Toscanini’s pioneering “off-air” recording (with sound quality that redefines the adjective “execrable”) through the rugged Berglund recording with which I choose to live, taking in more recent views expressed by such as Wigglesworth, to the extraordinary experience of the Slaithwaite Philharmonic under Adrian Smith (the recording of this performance I made myself, with sound quality that redefines the adjective “mediocre”!). I think I can safely say that the WDRSO and Rudolf Barshai give as fine a performance as any I’ve heard – not perfect, mind, but then is anything?

They give us a good, sturdy opening, forthright and assertive but without the belligerence it often gets. This is important, isn’t it? If we are to accept Shostakovich’s scheme, this music equates to “care-free workers in the fields and factories”, presumably in the halcyon days of the first three symphonies. Barshai underpins this approach by keeping the softer music light: the flute warbles happily, the woodwind chorale is rich and restful, and the idyllic violins get as near to dancing as makes no difference. The “Nazi” march, which can be viewed as a vast “introduction” to the volcanic development (and is thus very nearly as much of a “rude interruption” as in Bartok’s subsequent skit), becomes all the more aggressive by contrast. Listening on headphones, I got the feeling from slight changes of tone and perspective that the two snare drums were sharing the duty in the earlier stages (or was this an accident of editing of different takes?). Strangely, Barshai doesn’t make as much as I’d expected of the harmonic clashes of violins and horns in the accompaniment, but otherwise he builds the disaster with almost cinematic dramatic flair. Like most, he speeds up a bit towards the climax, but then refuses to exaggerate the broadening out, and keeps the pressure on. In the aftermath, the flute has lost its warble, and the chorus of woodwind sounds drier. I don’t think this is accidental.

The second movement (again!) finds a near-ideal tempo, lolloping daintily. The oboe in the second subject sounds appropriately fruity, complementing some soulful cellos. Plaudits must go to the palpably straining clarinet in the central episode where Barshai tautens the tempo, but not too much. Interestingly, the brass and drums at the climax are almost romping, as Barshai resists the temptation to get vicious. Quite right, too! Shostakovich, initially inclined to call this movement “Reminiscences”, was I think harping back rather further than the climax of the first movement. The creamy bass clarinet and fluttery flutes are a delight, as is the finely graduated fade at the close.

By this token, Barshai prepares for the opening of the third movement, softer-grained than Berglund, and yielding to great tenderness in the strings, and a flute that really sings. The fast core of the movement, whilst not as fast as some, lashes out and packs some wicked punches from the WDRSO horns, with the bottom end of the brass tramping in army boots – a vivid image of a peaceful people aggravated by an invader (whether from without or within!). Having endowed the “Spanish-flavoured” passage with thunderous excitement, Barshai goes on to bring out some truly foreboding percussion parts right at the end, subtly enhancing his preparation of the finale.

Opening mysteriously, but threaded with an immediate sense of purpose, Barshai’s finale is a tour de force. He builds the first climax majestically, and with a real feeling of expectancy, so that when the cymbals clash, the effect is electrifying. The ensuing “jolly tune” is given added edge by the unusually evident carpet of pulsating drums. The prayerful central passage literally throbs with emotion, helped by some impressive horn trills. As I am by now coming to expect, Barshai’s grip on the long final crescendo is sure, so that when the denouement arrives it packs a terrific wallop. The triumphant reprise of the main subject of the first movement finds the added brass antiphonally distinguished – a very effective touch – whilst the final chord, emerging out of the sudden blackness of gathering storm-clouds, is actually capped by the orchestra. Normally, this either just “holds on” or (perish the thought!) falls limp by comparison. Not so here!

I had some suspicions that this might have been taken from live performances, as there are some “noises off”, though I hasten to add that there’s nothing to write home about. The recording is excellent, full and wide-ranging and with little congestion in the more bruising episodes. The playing is magnificent, and the interpretation (as I’ve suggested) provides sufficient food for thought to seriously worry the “hackney-mongers”.