Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-1975): Symphony no.5 in D minor, op.47
The life and work of Dmitri Shostakovich are inextricable from the imposed Stalinist regime ever present in Russia in the early to mid twentieth century. Any analysis of his symphonies is fraught with peril: the same movement heralded as a triumphant celebration of communist ideologies by his contemporaries is now universally regarded as a powerful and subversive stance against the very people he was writing for; a forced exultation, “as if someone were beating you with a stick and saying your business is rejoicing, your business is rejoicing”. He exemplifies art’s need to be appreciated within its context.
To be a Russian in the late 1930s meant living a life entirely constructed and revolving around fear. Stalinism worked as terrorism: the regime inflicted fear for the sake of inflicting fear itself. It was impressively and horrifyingly successful. People were not only scared of their government, but of each other as well. Deep mistrust was planted by persuading the public to denounce their fellow citizens as enemies of the state. Because, to justify oppression, the state had to have enemies. When they did not exist, the state made its own people the enemy, whether or not the allegations had any basis at all. In this environment one ceased to live, merely to survive. In a country spanning two continents, every man became an island.
It was in this bleak world in which Dmitri Shostakovich read a scathing review of his beautifully experimental and satirical opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk on 28th January 1936. That review, although officially anonymous, was thought by all to be written by Stalin himself; the article, entitled ‘Chaos instead of Music’, threatened ‘very bad’ consequences if he didn’t abandon his pessimistic, avant-garde style (with haste). The effect of these few words is nearly impossible to quantify. Shostakovich was immediately shunned by almost everybody he knew. People crossed the street to avoid him. He was listed in the press as an enemy of the people. To know him was dangerous; to associate with him, near-suicidal. His brother-in-law, mother-in-law and uncle were all taken away. Shostakovich was not yet thirty. He had little money and his wife was pregnant. He kept a small suitcase packed for the time when the expected arrest would come.
In reaction to his attack, Shostakovich instantly withdrew his Fourth Symphony from rehearsals, fearing that the cynical introspection would prove far too unpalatable for the consumption of Russian officials. On the basis of this knowledge, the Fifth’s palpable air of protest is all the more admirable.
The opening motif of the first movement sets the precedent for the rest of the symphony: a rising interval immediately invalidated by a falling one, a juxtaposition of aspiration and exhaustion. The canon between the upper and lower strings trudges beneath a deeply melancholy melody in the first violins, building towards a brief climax before the bassoons and basses repeat the first motif, in a leaden and grotesque augmentation. We are thrown into a world in a constant battle of melancholy and mechanism. The second subject is defined by the habanera rhythm in the accompanying strings: a subtle tribute to Bizet’s “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle”, from Carmen. Conductor Vladimir Spivakov theorised that this may be a comment on love in a communist society. After all, what space is left for love in the well oiled machine of Stalin’s regime? The apparent sonata form is rudely interrupted by the central section: a grotesque march. It gathers in speed as more and more people join in and you feel that this machine’s inexorable journey towards catastrophe cannot be avoided. The state is gathering all before it and marching everybody off into a world devoid of humanity. Shostakovich resists and, in what appears as a superhuman act of will, a huge unison restatement of the opening sad and personal theme, this time fortissimo and liberated, brings the march to a halt. Perhaps it is possible to withstand a regime’s oppression; perhaps there could be freedom after all. But at the climax the marching rhythms fight back and it appears that they are the victors after all. As the army departs you hear their distant fanfares and all that is left of the people’s resistance is a lonely weeping violin solo. Maybe that will be enough. Certainly the battle is not yet over.
The Scherzo is one of the most bitingly satirical movements Shostakovich has ever penned. Opening with heavy-footed, sunken dance rhythms, the expected dance-like character isn’t immediately apparent. Shostakovich subverts this with a trite and excessively saccharin violin melody, which is usurped by the orchestra, transforming it into a galumphing parody of itself.
The Largo is the emotional core of the Fifth Symphony, and its power lies in its poignant melodies. Shostakovich chooses to exclude the brasses. Wistful cries from the oboe, a sobbing upwelling of notes from the clarinet, and a brief comment from the flute follow before the whole orchestra comes together, amidst quivering string tremolos, in heart-wrenching sadness. The pain is unbearable at times but it is not unhappy music, just deeply, deeply sad. If it is at all possible to pay tribute to every one of the seven million executions that it is estimated that Stalin ordered between 1935 and 1941, Shostakovich has done so. After all the anger and sorrow the overriding but unanswerable question is ‘Why?’.
The finale treads the fine line between sincerity and cynicism, also giving us the only concrete evidence of Shostakovich’s attitude when writing the symphony. In the period between the withdrawal of his Fourth and the writing of the Fifth, Shostakovich privately set a series of poems by Alexander Pushkin to music. The most notable of these is the poem ‘Rebirth’:
An artist-barbarian with his lazy brush
Blackens the painting of a genius
And senselessly he covers it with
His own illegitimate drawing.
But with the passing years, the alien colours
Fall off like threadbare scales;
The creation of the genius emerges
before us in its former beauty
Thus vanish the illusions
From my tormented soul
And in it appear visions
Of original and innocent times.
The appropriateness of this poem isn’t hard to miss. Shostakovich directly ‘quotes’ this in this movement, giving a slither of concrete evidence free of interpretation. As the harps play, it seems there is a possibility of surviving, the rebirth of a whole people is not an impossible utopia. Time has passed, the lies of the Stalin regime have finally crumbled, the truth has emerged. Shostakovich saw the future and was brave enough to depict it, however cryptically he needed in order to survive. In this sense the coda of the work is a victory but it is a victory against Stalin, not for him. Music’s innate ambiguity was to be Shostakovich’s saving. There is no way he would have been able to pretend to give Stalin the upbeat ending he insisted on in any other medium. Stalin demanded exultation. ‘What exultation could there be?’ Shostakovich is quoted as saying in Testimony, his memoirs.
It’s recorded that the premiere received a 40 minute standing ovation. Many of the audience were in tears. Fundamentally they were tears of gratitude that someone had had the extraordinary courage and ability to write about their times in a way that was true but also permissible. They had a voice after all. The repeated notes that end the work are shocking. That they are repeated 252 times is a sign that Shostakovich knew the battle would be a long time in winning. He knew there would be millions more deaths before the truth was discovered. Listening today to the music it is hard to imagine how anyone could have been taken in by Shostakovich’s double speak. Perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps even Stalin realised that on this occasion he had been outwitted and had no choice but to let the people’s champion get away with it. With this work Shostakovich was able to usher in a cease-fire. Unfortunately, it was not to last long.
Matthew Igoe, Divisions
We are pleased to announce that the tickets for our Choral and Orchestral concerts are now on sale.
On Sunday, 10 March at 1500, KES/KEHS Symphony Orchestra plays Jean Sibelius: Violin Concerto op.47 in D minor. In the second half, the Choral Society will give W.A. Mozart: Requiem in D minor, KV626 with Rosy Henegan, Lucia Kirchhof, Arun Ramanathan and Joseph Ward as soloists.
On Monday, 11 March at 1930, Sergei Rachmaninov: Symphony no.2 op.27 in E minor is played by KES/KEHS Symphony Orchestra.
You can book tickets by visiting:
Thursday 8 February 2018 at 13.10
Ruddock Performing Arts Centre
Peter Raven, euphonium
Rhea Suribhatla, bassoon
Piano trio: Renee Chang, violin; Enoch Cheung, cello; Lauren Zhang, piano
works by Kummer/Mead, Newton, Bozza, Saint-Saëns and Rachmaninov
This recital is presented jointly with King Edward VI High School for Girls
There has been speculation that there is, somewhere in the world, a mobile safe haven for violas. Its existence has since been confirmed, as the viola tribe manifested itself in the form of the Cecil Aronowitz International Viola Competition at the Birmingham conservatoire during the penultimate week of November. Violists and other supporters flocked from far and wide to listen and participate in a week of masterclasses, recitals workshops and, of course, the main event: the international competition itself.
Several members of symphony orchestra headed down on Monday to get a piece of the action: Naina played in a masterclass with Timothy Ridout and later joined the rest of the merry band in a workshop hosted by the Absolute Zero (temperature, not skill) viola quartet – yes, viola quartets do exist. The workshop was an amusing time where arrangements for viola ensemble were played and new techniques picked up. They also watched Round 2 of the competition.
The Robin Ireland evening recital included one of his own works, Pairings II for two viola, a Bach Chaconne (played with a baroque bow), Seven Preludes by Shostakovich and Six pieces from Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet. A magical and inspirational performance by one of the viola greats.
All in all, it was an informative and fun experience – maybe next time we’ll be competing for real! … or not.
Gabriel and Junias Wong
Friday, 3 November 2017
Ruddock Performing Arts Centre
Adam Romer, viola
Margaret Cookhorn, bassoon and contra-bassoon
Tom Redmond, horn
As a musician, I was delighted to find out that representatives of the CBSO would be coming to see us! When I was younger, I saw people from the CBSO on YouTube and they helped me massively with improving as a bassoonist. I enjoyed seeing the viola, the French horn and the bassoon and finding more about each of the instruments. I particularly enjoyed the bassoon duet as well as the tunes that we all knew on the French horn and some amazing pieces on the viola that had a lot of emotions – one moment happy, the next sad. It was great to explore how the French horn turned from a hunter’s horn to something as complicated as it is now and how the colour impacts the sound, how the bassoon and the contrabassoon can go really low and quite high as well and also how the viola can be plucked and bowed. I also learnt how all instruments make their sound: vibration, and how they make it, from reeds to bows to mouth buzzes. It was a really interesting and hard to beat Friday afternoon activity!
Ben Woodward (Shell)
On 18th September, our AP100 ensemble performed during the launch of the King Edward’s School’s accessibility campaign in a bid to secure permanent need-blind admission to the school.
The programme was:
Arcangelo Corelli (1653-1713): Suite for string orchestra
Johann Pachelbel (1653-1706): Canon
Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971): Concerto in D
ii. ARIOSO: Andantino
iii. RONDO: Allegro
The 2017 Jazz Evening was held on Sunday, 25 June. Senior Swing Band was joined once more by Joe Thompson and Robert Rickenberg for workshops and performances.
An old boy of the school, Joe is house pianist at the Ivy in London, and brought to King Edward’s his characteristic blend of wit and musicianship. You can read more about him at: www.joethompson.london.
Our soloists included Lily Gain, Eva Neville, Molly Thompson, Satish Vaze, Altay Gardiner, Matt Madden, and Nathan Cornish.
It is a year since our performance of ‘Romany Wood.’ Led by King Edward’s School, this project connected pupils from 15 diverse schools, making it possible for the 800 participating children to perform together on-stage in Birmingham’s Symphony Hall, raising money for Birmingham Children’s Hospital. A cheque for £1323.50 was presented this term by the Chief Master to Tanita Mistry of the hospital, supporting the wonderful work done there.
You can see a gallery of Mr. Ash’s photographs documenting the Romany Wood project here:
The concert is presented jointly with King Edward VI High School for Girls
Gustav Mahler: Biography
‘I am thrice homeless, as a native of Bohemia in Austria, as an Austrian among Germans, and as a Jew throughout the world. Everywhere an intruder, never welcomed.”
Gustav Mahler was born in 1860, one of 14 children of non-practicing Jewish parents, who ran a tavern in Kaliste, Bohemia. From an early age he displayed precocious natural musical talent, copying folk songs on the piano. As a young child, he would follow the local Regiment of soldiers around, playing his accordion.
Gustav as a child
His childhood was deeply traumatic. Nine of his siblings died young. As a result, he was painfully aware of death from an early age. His father was violent towards his mother and the other children. Once, when his mother and father were arguing, the young Gustav ran out of the house in tears, only to find a folk band playing jaunty songs. It is said that this contrast so shocked him that the creation of a funeral march from a folk song would come to be a hallmark of his compositions.
At 15, Mahler won a place at the Vienna Conservatory to study piano and composition. He became transfixed by the music and ideas of Richard Wagner. He never met Wagner because he couldn’t afford to see any of his operas. However, he did attend some concerts by Bruckner, who became his mentor, despite being openly anti-Semitic. Wagner did inspire Mahler to become a great conductor, which in this period developed from a simply timekeeping role, to one of interpretation and direction.
Mahler was fascinated by the writings of philosophers such as Goethe and Nietzsche. He also enjoyed German folk stories and used them in his compositions. Des Knaben Wünderhorn (‘The Youth’s Magic Horn’) contains some of the folk-tales that inspired Mahler’s songs as well as themes in his First Symphony.
Mahler became a highly regarded conductor and opera master in Leipzig, and later in Vienna, then the centre of the musical world. Yet it was not until the age of 29 that he finished his first symphony.
The ‘Blumine’ movement (1888)
This was originally the second movement of Mahler’s first symphony. It was written before the symphony itself and inserted for the first three performances. After the critical setback the work suffered, the ‘Blumine’ (meaning flowers) movement was dropped. It begins and ends with a lyrical cantalina from the trumpet interspersed by haunting melodies from the oboe to create a ‘living picture’ of ‘lovers exchanging their tender feelings in the stillness of night’ (in the words of a reviewer at the time). Mahler described the piece as a ‘sentimentally impassioned… love episode’. It is hard to tell why it was dropped, perhaps Mahler wanted to conform to the normal, four-movement structure of a symphony. He himself sometimes loved it, and sometimes thought it too sentimental. But even cut, it remains a fantastic piece of music, showing a lighter side of Mahler in contrast with the more serious symphony.
“The kiss” Painted by Gustav Klimt, an artistic associate of Mahler’s
Symphony no.1 by Gustav Mahler
“A symphony must be like the world. It must contain everything. “
Mahler’s first symphony was, for him, a bringing together of all that he had done in his first 29 years. It incorporates material drawn from his earlier work, and a number of motifs from composers who influenced him: for example, the motifs from Liszt’s ‘Dante’ symphony in the fourth movement. It might be considered to be a musical autobiography of his youth, characterized by the juxtaposition of the beauty of nature and the innocence of folk tales with the grim reality of the startling child mortality rate at the time. Unfortunately, his audience didn’t understand what he was trying to say. What really put them off were his programme notes, which suggested some sort of mythical story. Later, however, he changed it to a symphony with no programmatic strings attached and took out the ‘Blumine’ movement, creating a more conventional, and less confusing piece which achieved much greater acclaim.
This movement emerges from silence with a pianissimo sustained A in the strings ranging over seven octaves, the violins using harmonics for the highest registers. Two-note cuckoo-calls in descending fourths and awakening fanfares on clarinets and trumpets create what the first programme notes described as ‘the awakening of nature from a long winter’s sleep’. Perhaps imagine mist creeping over the hills as the first of the sun’s rays begins to appear. Woodwind and brass continue to develop this like a dawn chorus, then a ‘nature theme’ of descending fourths is played:
As nature awakes, we hear a chorale-like theme from the French horns followed by an ominous chromatic ascending sequence from the basses and cellos. There are more cuckoo-calls, this time breaking into a joyous and carefree theme derived from another of Mahler’s works, a song cycle entitled ‘Songs of a Wayfarer’. Mahler loved country walks, where he could find peace in the serenity of nature. In fact, in later life, he would take to composing inside specially built huts in his favourite spots of natural beauty. Apparently he could often be seen walking to his hut in the morning with two little kittens poking their noses out of his pockets.
Gustav in the mountains
In the development section, Mahler brings the music back to the atmosphere of the beginning. At the close of this section, the ‘inferno theme’ of the last movement appears (more on that later) which drives dissonance into what would otherwise be an idyllic and jovial movement. This is suggestive of Mahler’s internal striving and search for meaning. It also showcases his extraordinary emotional connection to his music, that switches from carefree joy to inconsolable grief in a heartbeat. This evokes Mahler himself, a man dogged by existential fears and racial prejudice from those around him, and haunted by memories of childhood trauma, sibling deaths and domestic violence. In nature, he finds a refuge from his troubles. The ‘wayfarer’ theme returns with brass fanfares adding to a colourful exuberant climax.
This is a minuet and trio movement, although the minuet is replaced by a traditional Austrian folk song called a ‘Ländler’. This movement relates to Mahler’s other refuge, particularly in childhood, of folk stories and songs. These provided a welcome escape from the troubled world around him and influenced his later compositions. This movement also creates a lively atmosphere described at the time as ‘the village pub’, which Mahler, who grew up in one, would have known well. This pub, however, seems to be an idealized place viewed with childlike innocence.
The movement begins with the jolly Ländler, which is repeated in its normal format, then developed into an orchestral style with plenty of brass that builds to a full orchestral finish. Next comes the trio; a more traditional lilting waltz, contrasting nicely with the raucous jollity of the landler. Here we hear a typical romantic waltz in the style of Strauss, who was a contemporary of Mahler. After the trio, the Ländler returns, building as before to a triumphal ending, crowning the first half of the symphony majestically.
The third movement represents all the distress and suffering of the world that grievously affects the Hero, presumably Mahler himself, and his struggles to reconcile pain and suffering with his world-view.
It begins with a funeral march using the tune ‘Brother Martin’ (Frère Jacques) in a minor key as a round. It opens with that rare and magnificent of things, a double bass solo, and then moves through the orchestra in a haphazard manner, using unexpected tone colours, for example the high notes from the double bass. This ironic formation of a funeral march from an otherwise jolly folk song may have shocked Mahler’s audience into starker grief. He magnifies the irony further by following on with an Eastern European ‘Klezmer’ section, with a contraption known as a Mahler machine (a combination of a bass drum and cymbals), and syncopated wind tunes. This parodies the existence of both joy and suffering in the world, and exemplifies Mahler’s struggle to reconcile the two.
After this section, it seems that Mahler will return to the funeral march, but instead he moves on to a lilting elegy comprised of another tune from one of his song cycles, this time for the grief of those close to other people who are suffering. Mahler then goes on to create a fused union of the three themes that travels to a slow mournful ending, with the interval of a fourth that underpins the whole symphony left alone at the end.
by Jacques Callot
This is a woodcut depicting the funeral of a hunter conducted by celebratory animals. Mahler tried to use this in his first programme notes to convey some of what he was trying to achieve. Unfortunately, it only confused the audience because they were expecting happy animals instead of the grisly exploration of suffering that Mahler was trying to convey.
The fourth and final movement exemplifies the clash of the good, represented by ‘paradiso’ themes, and the evil, represented by themes of the ‘inferno’ after the 14th century epic poem by Dante Alighieri. The Hero finds himself beaten down by the ‘inferno’ but in the end the ‘paradiso’ wins out, portraying a victory for good in a world filled with evil and suffering.
It begins immediately after the third movement with a drawn out ‘cry of a deeply wounded heart’ following on from the grief of the previous movement. This ends the focus on the Hero’s emotions for now, and we ‘zoom out’ to the spiritual battle raging around him.
It is into this that Mahler brings the ‘inferno’ (Italian for Hell). It is represented by a motif from Liszt’s Dante Symphony:
The ‘Inferno’ motif triplet
Mahler also uses Liszt’s ‘sign of the Cross’ motif:
In the major key this is used to represent ‘paradiso’ but also, in the minor key, in the ‘inferno’.
Many of Mahler’s contemporary audience would have recognized these themes and understood his design to show the conflict of good and evil.
These are built up to a huge brass climax before morphing into a more lyrical tune without losing any of the ‘inferno’ atmosphere.
A middle section harks back to the earlier ‘inferno’ themes, however, the Hero appears to be followed by the ‘sign of the cross’ theme in the major key. But this is soon replaced by the ‘inferno’ rising once again. However, the ‘victorious’ motif portraying the Hero, returns, this time fortissimo, as if victory is in sight. This marks a daring, abrupt modulation up a tone into D major, of which Mahler said, ‘This passage has no equal”.
The victory motif itself is a modified, victorious version of the nature theme from the first movement.
The passage includes a motif made from the ‘sign of the cross’ added to the ‘Dresden Amen’ used by composers including Mendelssohn and Wagner, who used it to create a decisive effect in Parsifal. This creates a massive fanfare, banishing the inferno and claiming the day for the ‘paradiso’.
After this victory, we are reminded of the first movement, with a short section taken from it, representing and therefore giving honour to the Hero’s childhood, reminding us of the awakening of nature and of all that is alive and good.
The last section creates a magnificent finale out of the ‘paradise’ themes, combined with a few quiet echoes of an ‘inferno’ left far behind, building to a magnificent, triumphal end to this spectacular work.
Nathan Cornish, Fifths