The music of Dmitri Shostakovich has always been controversial,
in different ways. This Soviet-era Russian composer
was the master of the big picture, creator of large
and complex works which summarised the human condition,
but also often seemed to be difficult and unapproachable.
He had an especially complicated relationship with the
state authorities: at times lauded and honoured for
''affirmative'' music which could portray Soviet glory,
and at other times threatened and reviled for being
too pessimistic. And this also affected perceptions
of him in the international music scene.
Thus, in the West,
Shostakovich was typically seen as a dissident composer,
whose music could be interpreted as an implicit critique
of the Soviet system. Indeed, such analyses proliferated
and became not only the norm but also almost mechanical
in their approach, with certain symphonies being programatically
interpreted as describing particular events, or suggesting
his discomfiture with the yoke on his musical creativity
imposed by the state.
In a sense, therefore, appreciation of Shostakovich
the composer was very strongly determined by Cold War
sensibilities in the West. When that particular conflict
disappeared from the public consciousness, so to some
extent, did interest in his music.
Yet there is now a quite a Shostakovich revival, as
people realise that the intricate dissonances, sharp
percussion, evocative lyricism and complex use of instrumentation
that characterise Shostakovich's work actually have
much broader relevance. It emerges that Shostakovich
was a composer who captured the human condition in a
way that remains startlingly contemporary. It may be
that his music speaks to us even more eloquently today,
in a world where so many certainties have evaporated
and apocalyptic visions of various kinds dominate the
spirit of the times.
All this came to mind during a recent performance of
Shostakovich's Eighth Symphony by the Boston Symphony
Orchestra. The concert itself was probably emblematic
of the ways the world has changed since Shostakovich
wrote his symphony in the summer of 1943. Within a splendid
concert hall in the WASP heartland of Boston, a highly
skilled orchestra consisting substantially of people
of east Asian origin was conducted by a north European
(the Finnish conductor Paavo Berglund) for an audience
dominated by East European migrants rather than local
residents of many generations standing.
Just before the performance of Shostakovich, the orchestra
had accompanied a young violinist making her local debut,
a remarkably talented young German-Czech woman called
Julia Fischer, who played a violin concerto by Jean
Sibelius. This was much more predictable programming,
a satisfying rendition of a well-known romantic work,
by a beautiful and accomplished musician. (It is increasingly
the case, because of the convoluted yet inexorable workings
of the international classical music industry, that
the acclaimed violinists of today are inevitably attractive
young women who combine formidable musical talent with
great physical allure. What this means for all the promising
young men - or indeed the older and fatter men and women
- who play the violin, we do not really know.)
But while the Sibelius concerto was given a lyrical
interpretation, it did not create the frisson of excitement
and tension that can be associated with this music.
And the subsequent performance of the Shostakovich symphony
revealed why: clearly, the orchestra and conductor had
been holding back some of themselves in the first piece,
in order to give their all to a most intense, dramatic
and deeply felt elaboration of this very powerful work.
Much of Shostakovich's best known and most effective
music was written during the Second World War, and this
Symphony too belongs in that category. It is less famous
than the previous Symphony, No. 7, known as the ''Leningrad''
which is widely regarded as portraying the Soviet overcoming
of the Nazi siege on that city. The Seventh Symphony
is commonly interpreted as being essentially positive
and triumphant in its approach. The Eighth Symphony,
by contrast, is described as a darker exploration of
the horrors of war, which has been compared to Picasso's
famous painting ''Guernica''.
In fact, even to describe this Symphony only in terms
of war and violence would be misleading, since it encapsulates
much greater complexity and embraces much more in affective
terms. Certainly, it is not exactly a pleasant experience
to hear this music, although it can be deeply moving
and uplifting as well. But the nervous energy, the insecure
but insistent rhythmic patterns, the frenetically violent
passages interspersed with ironic or tragic statements,
and the final conclusion with solo flute playing gently
above barely audible strings, make this an unforgettable
experience.
It was obvious that this music had deeply captured the
imagination of the conductor and all the orchestral
players – and it turned out, of the audience as well.
The profundity of emotion devoted to the performance
was unmistakable and infectious. What is it about such
music which makes it so apparently appropriate as a
metaphor for our times, which speaks so movingly to
people even in such peaceful and untraumatic places
as the city of Boston in the rich and developed United
States?
It could be that this music has so much impact because
it captures not only our fears and concerns but also
our doubts, and musically expresses those complex shades
of perception which we find so difficult to put into
words. In the first movement of this symphony, for example,
Shostakovich creates a sense of excitement that makes
the listener participate in what then builds up into
oppressive violence, and the resulting feeling of being
overwhelmed by forces beyond our control is all the
more disturbing because of the uneasy sense of our earlier
complicity.
The thematic centre of the symphony is a vivid and horrifying
danse macabre that burns into the brain as an indictment
of war, and also of other forms of aggression. Yet even
after its compression there is no real peace, only the
bleakest of tranquilities. This is music full of grief
and yearning, with no answers and no certainties other
than rather depressing ones.
It is interesting, then, that, finally, it was this
wrenching music which found the greatest appreciation
and resonance in such a crowd. It suggests that the
consciousness of being at the edge of an abyss is what
increasingly defines a lot of public and private sentiment,
in the ruling country of the world.
|
