I was delighted to give this talk, expanding upon research I did in April 2020 (see my article, Russian Music: The Romantic and the Soviet) for the Edinburgh Composers' Orchestra, in their series 'Composer Talks'. To find out more about their work, they can be found here.
My interest in the subject of Russian music is very long-standing - as a teenager, I was given the opportunity to play in the orchestra for Shostakovich’s first cello concerto, and since then, my passion for the topic has only grown. I organised a concert in 2014 featuring Shostakovich’s eighth string quartet, wrote two dissertations on the topic, and penned an article on the Second Cello Concerto which was published by the DSCH Shostakovich journal in Summer 2018. Finally, I made the decision in 2019 to move here, and have been based in Moscow ever since!
Before I discuss my research in more detail, I would first like to let you know about my blog, Musicology for Now: why I started it; and what it’s for.
I had a few reasons for starting a blog, not least of which was the lockdown itself! But for me, crucially, it provided an outlet to share work that I was passionate about without certain elements of pressure that come with academic study. My interest in musicology started with my final year dissertation of my bachelor’s degree in music; an ambitious, lengthy piece on Shostakovich and his six concertos. I was so captivated with this research that I opted to go straight into a Masters’ degree in Musicology as soon as I left my undergraduate course. I told myself that if something inspired a real passion in me, and I felt capable of doing it well, then it was worth pursuing. However, I quickly began to feel that my passion was not enough. On the first day of my master’s course, in September 2016, I distinctly remember the topic of discussion. “What is musicology.” As I understood it, it was the academic study of music and its impact on culture and society. Having said this, I do not recall exactly what my professor said was the ‘true’ definition of musicology. As far as I can remember, he spoke in vague terms about its ever-changing meaning, truly leaving me more confused than when I had started. However, I was more than willing to accept that I should not expect to be immediately proficient at a subject I had just begun to study. I wanted to be challenged; I wanted to learn how to enter this area of study and contribute effectively to it. My final dissertation – an essay about Shostakovich, musical anti-Semitism, and musical stereotypes – afforded me the chance to write as passionately as I did for my undergraduate dissertation. After the year of study, I was able to write far more coherently, to present a more solid and consistent argument, to utilise my research in a more nuanced way – all of which I was able to do because of the study of academic musicology.
Undeniably, those seeking to write with authority on a musicological subject must be able to write academically – it emphasizes the need for proper citation, a clear frame of reference, an understanding of your subject matter, and, crucially, an understanding of why your work is important. All these things are vital to the production of unbiased, high quality, and well-sourced material. I expected to contend with these concepts of musicology when I started my master’s study in September 2016. What I found instead was (what felt like) an endless maze of unwritten rules about what is ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’ in musicological writing. I found that the subject was treated more like a science, with exact formulae for good results, rather than a creative outlet. My work had to be completely original, yet sufficiently backed-up by research from pre-existing projects – developing on the musings of others without injecting my own emotion or opinion. For much of the time, it felt like an impossible task. I would leave some seminars with a sense of real, tangible “imposter syndrome”, wondering why I had put myself into this situation in which I felt truly out of place. Was it possible to express an opinion in writing without coming across as biased? If your work centres on one argument, should it not be your priority to uphold that opinion in your writing?
I left academia in 2017 with mixed feelings. I truly do love academic musicology, and I intend to pursue it again soon. Writing academic work about a subject you are passionate about is immensely gratifying, and the pursuit of new knowledge and insight is rewarding. However, there have been times when I have found myself intimidated by the prospect of writing. It’s not the writing itself that deters me; it is the feeling that somehow my work will be ‘wrong’. It is for that reason that I have decided to start my blog – to provide a new, more relaxed outlet for aspiring academics like myself, to trial pieces of writing and enjoy undertaking new research on any topic without academic pressure. The research I will discuss today started in April of 2020, and it was the first major piece of writing I published on my blog, entitled “Russian Music: The Romantic and the Soviet”.
When I made the choice to move to Russia in April 2019, I typically received two kinds of responses when I told others of my decision. One kind of reply I would typically get emphasised the more Romantic side of Russian culture – proximity to cultural landmarks like the Bolshoi Theatre and Red Square, home to titans of art: Tchaikovsky; Pushkin; Tolstoy; Rimsky-Korsakov; Nijinsky; Kandinsky; and innumerable ballet dancers, to name but a few. On this side, Russia is seen as an exotic, Romantic place where the arts thrive.
The other kind of reaction, and probably the more common one, centred around the darker sides of Russian history and culture, which since the Cold War have been commonly perpetuated in Western media. This side is plagued by dated stereotypes of Bond villains, cold war spies, food shortages, and depressing architectural landscapes. This is not to say that Russia, even today, is not a place with significant problems echoing these stereotypes – take the recent arrest of political opponent Alexei Navalny, the continued persecution of the LGBT community, and the substantial evidence of covert poison attacks, poverty, and so on. However, having lived here for nearly two years now, I cannot say that Russia is entirely a Romantic or entirely a Soviet country – it exists as a complex amalgam of the two; two halves of a complicated, politically strained country with a rich cultural and artistic history.
One question I was often asked about my decision was simply: “Why Russia, of all places?” Naturally, I had some very easy answers: I have been fascinated by Russian culture for most of my life; my favourite composer is Russian; I wanted to improve my Russian language skills; and so on. But significantly, I was eager to learn more about how people here interact with their cultural history; the lush, Romantic side vs the darker Soviet side. I’ll start today by discussing the difference between these two camps and how they are addressed in modern Russia.
The dynamic that exists between the two main powerhouses of modern Russia – Moscow and St Petersburg – is like the friendly rivalry between Glasgow and Edinburgh: one is seen as the industrial centre; the other as the cultural. Built as a small town in 1147, Moscow was, even up until the 20th century, a very rural city. This contrasts with St Petersburg, which, from its construction in 1703, served as the cultural and imperial capital of the country for over 200 years. Moscow is, nowadays, the more industrious of the two cities: it was historically central to the Soviet government of the USSR; and much of the more imposing architecture reflects Stalin’s influence. Conversely, St Petersburg reflects more of the imperial aspects of Russian culture: it is home to the many Tsarist palaces; and the architecture recalls the romanticism of the 19th century. Simply put, Moscow can be described as the more ‘Soviet’ city, while St Petersburg can be described as the ‘Romantic’ city.
In my mind, this idea coincides with the most familiar styles of art music in Russia: Romantic and 20th century. From the Romantic period, it’s safe to assume that Tchaikovsky is the best-known, while in the Soviet era of the 20th century, composers like Shostakovich rose to prominence during a time of adversity. Although the former is likely to be more familiar to most than the other, both are part of a kind of national pride in Russia. To patriotic Russians, the particularity about the era of music is not so important as the fact that each style is part of a greater and more varied cultural identity – all of which is just to say that both composers are loved and respected in Russian culture. People here are patriotic in many ways – with both their military history and their cultural pride – and I feel that this is reflected in their most famous music. Despite this, there is an inherent contrast in the way these two composers are viewed as Russian cultural icons. To focus on this, I’m going to discuss a few points of interest. Number 1: are people more familiar with the music or the composer; No.2: how are these styles of music understood; and No.3: how are they presented in Russia now?
The Romantic style of Tchaikovsky is easily compared to the Romantic, aesthetic beauty of certain parts of Russia – his music features lyrical, sweeping, and memorable melodies using full, lush orchestration. It recalls the Imperial grandeur of Russian palaces, the glory of Russian military victories, the beauty of the many domed cathedrals, and so on. Arguably, it is Tchaikovsky’s name that comes to mind for most if you are to mention Russian music. This cultural domination that Tchaikovsky holds is by no means undeserved, either; as the first Russian composer to gain international acclaim, it is understandable that he is lauded as the pinnacle of Russian artistic greatness. Most people in the Western world are likely to be familiar with the likes of Swan Lake, The Nutcracker, and so on. This pervasiveness is reflected in the heavy programming bias towards Tchaikovsky that I have observed in my time here – most notably, the frequency of performances of The Nutcracker, which are staged nearly every month in the year in various theatres. The only exception to this was the brief 3-month period of lockdown in 2020; as of Summer 2020, nearly all theatres have been operating at reduced capacity.
It is clear to me that this style of music is far more prevalent in the way that Russia presents itself to the rest of the world. Take this extract from the extensive ‘culture’ section of the official website for the Embassy of the Russian Federation to the United Kingdom, which hails not only Tchaikovsky, but most major Russian musical figures of the Romantic period, as well as their famous affinity for Romantic ballet:
“Every staging of “Eugene Onegin” and “The Queen of Spades” by Tchaikovsky, “Boris Godunov” by Mussorgsky, “Tsar’s Bride” by Rimsky-Korsakov and “Prince Igor” by Borodin is a remarkable cultural event. Russian opera singers and musicians are world-famous. Opera fans of Paris, London, Berlin, Milan, and New-York applauded to Feodor Chaliapin. Great Russian conductors Valery Gergiev and Vladimir Spivakov are today’s idols of classical music fans all over the world. Classical ballet came into Russia in the 18th century. By the end of the 19th century the national school of ballet had finally formed. It has concentrated achievements of the best ballet schools of the world and enriched their [sic] with Russian national dance traditions.[1]”
A friend of mine with whom I discussed this, who was born and raised in Moscow, described the music of Tchaikovsky as “an essential thing to learn about in school,” commenting that “children for generations have been growing up listening to his pieces.” I would argue that there are few people in modern Russia who are unfamiliar with the sound of Tchaikovsky.
Of the 20th century Soviet era, perhaps the best-known composer is Shostakovich. He is renowned for his Neo-Classical/Modernist style and his use of short yet distinct musical themes – the most famous of which is that based on his initials – DSCH (in German notation – D – Es – C – H translates as D – E-flat – C – B-natural). He is also recognisable for his use of quotation in music.
Despite Shostakovich’s fame within Russia, I have seen far fewer scheduled performances of his work than of Tchaikovsky and have observed some interesting discrepancies in the information available. As an example of this, the Moscow State Philharmonic website during the lockdown period advertised 83 upcoming concerts featuring the music of Tchaikovsky between April 2020 and May 2021. Yet, for concerts featuring music by Shostakovich for the same period, there were just 23 concert performances scheduled.
Of the 83 concerts featuring Tchaikovsky, symphonic and ballet music dominated the schedule with 34 performances, the majority of which were ballet scenes, predominantly (predictably) The Nutcracker and Sleeping Beauty. Of the 23 concerts featuring Shostakovich, chamber music and symphonic music were most popular, with varied string quartets dominating the chamber section. However, Symphony No.7 ‘Leningrad’ was the most regularly performed work of Shostakovich’s at 3 scheduled recitals.
This all led me to believe that, perhaps, Shostakovich was simply not as well-known here, just as in the United Kingdom. Indeed, this seemed confirmed to me when I looked again at the website for the Embassy of the Russian Federation to the United Kingdom. Although it comments extensively on the cultural significance of Tchaikovsky and other Romantic greats, it says only the following of 20th century music:
“Great masters of Russian avant-garde of the 20th century have brought priceless contribution into the world [sic] art.”
Such a significant lack of information is certainly noteworthy – no names mentioned, no works cited. Yet in conversation with Russian friends, both in St Petersburg and Moscow, I found a complete contradiction to my original theory: Shostakovich is widely renowned, and undoubtedly recognised as a figure of cultural significance. Indeed, one Russian friend of mine compared the two, stating, “Both Tchaikovsky and Shostakovich are extremely well-known and loved [in Russia].” So, what is the reason for this discrepancy in both performances and information available?
It is worth considering, firstly, that Shostakovich’s music can often be perceived as complex and inaccessible. I have written on this aspect of the composer’s work in the past, and it is certainly true that his characteristically unusual and dark musical themes, sense of disjointedness, and irresolute conclusions can certainly impact the commercial appeal to audiences, compared with a piece as universally appealing as ‘The Nutcracker’.
Secondly, I would argue that familiarity with Shostakovich is generally based more on the composer as a person than from familiarity with his music. There has always been a cultural fascination with what I will refer to as the ‘tortured artist’ – the creative enigma who overcomes great suffering to produce their art. Some classic examples include Vincent van Gogh, Beethoven, or Sylvia Plath. This concept is problematic for several reasons, but from the perspective of Shostakovich it is particularly intriguing. Most people can recall that Vincent van Gogh painted ‘Starry Night’, that Beethoven wrote ‘Für Elise’, and that Sylvia Plath wrote ‘The Bell Jar’: these works are almost synonymous with the artists themselves. But for Shostakovich, it seems to me that his musical works are far lesser known. As my friend put it, from a Russian perspective:
“It seems that people often have no idea what Shostakovich’s music sounds like. They know the face, the name, the fact that Stalin liked his music.”
The familiarity people have with Shostakovich’s music is often linked with the oppressive nature of the circumstances under which it was written. For instance, among his most famous orchestral pieces are his opera, ‘Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk’, his Symphony No.5, and his Symphony No.7 ‘Leningrad’, all of which are highly politically charged. Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk gained notoriety after a scathing review in the Soviet newspaper, Pravda, in January 1936, following an infamous performance which Stalin notably left mid-way through. This led to the composer being publicly denounced by the Soviet authorities for the first time. The fifth symphony is widely regarded as the composer’s subsequent “response to just criticism”, and much of this piece’s fame comes from the idea that the sincerity of this claim has been widely disputed, as the fifth symphony was (and is) alleged to be a disguised criticism of the Soviet government. For decades, musicologists have debated in particular the resolution of the finale – while Soviet critics at the time regarded it as the “formation of a Soviet personality”, there have since been disputes over the sincerity of the apparently joyful finale. The seventh symphony, ‘Leningrad’, was Shostakovich’s response to the siege of Leningrad in 1941. It is renowned both for its performance in the city under dire circumstances, and as a symbol of resistance against totalitarianism and militarism. In 1942, after worldwide broadcasts of the work, the composer even featured on the cover of Time magazine, presented as a heroic firefighter.
In the image, the fact that he is a musician appears entirely secondary – as there is only a faint line of notation behind him – most prominent is his stoic image, a symbol of the musician as a fighter in the war effort rather than an independent artist - this is further exemplified in a cartoon of him from the time.
I’d next like to discuss an interesting point of evidence for Shostakovich’s current reception in Russia. This can be seen in the Zaryadye Hall concert series honouring the composer for his 115th birthday. Starting in February 2021, the Zaryadye Hall in Moscow began a complete cycle of all 15 of the composer’s symphonies. I would like to take a little time to discuss the information available and the programme order as I have seen it so far. I’d like to be clear as well that this is not a definitive statement on all Russians’ reception of all Soviet music, but it is a good example and a clear reference point. Firstly, it is important to consider how the concert hall approaches the topic of Shostakovich as a composer. Having been to two of these concerts so far, I have gained some interesting insights. Upon entrance to the main reception, images of Shostakovich from various famous photographs can be seen – as well as even a small statue of him, alongside other Soviet-era musicians. Interestingly, mirroring the apparent message of the Time magazine cover, these images are rarely of him as a musician, and place more emphasis on his somewhat pained expressions.
For both concerts, neither paper programme has provided adequate notes to accompany this, which might have seemed odd – but they would be holding talks from musicians before the concerts, in Russian, and there was information available on the website, which I sought out. The biography of the composer is rather limited, commenting only briefly on his “difficult relations with the Soviet regime” without imparting too much detail. This is to be expected from a general biography. It is in the information given on individual pieces where interesting discrepancies start to be found. To do so, it is worth looking at the order that the symphonies have been programmed, starting with the first concert on 17th February 2021.
17th Feb: Symphony No.9
26th Feb: Symphony No.12
11th March: Symphony No.15
18th March: Symphony No.11 ‘The Year 1905’
8th April: Symphony No.10
18th April: Symphony No.4
20th May: Symphony No.14
25th June: Symphony No.3
20th September: Symphony No.8
22nd October: Symphony No.6
4th November: Symphonies No.1 & 2
18th November: Symphony No.13
1st December: Symphony No.5
And finishing the series on the 24th of December: with Symphony No.7 ‘Leningrad’.
Perhaps most notably, it seems that the programme is very deliberately out of order. While it is expected that the two most famous symphonies, 5 & 7, would be reserved as the ‘grand finale’ pieces at the end of the season, it is perhaps more interesting to consider two of the ‘underdog’ works in Shostakovich’s repertory. By that I mean pieces that are less well-known and, crucially, that were received poorly at the time of their premiere in the Soviet era. To do this, I will consider Symphonies 8 & 9. Both works were written during the era of World War 2 – in Russia this is referred to as ‘The Great Patriotic War’ – No.8 in 1943; No.9 in 1945. For context, the Russian victory in the ‘Great Patriotic War’ is arguably the most celebrated historical event in the entire country, with Den’ Pobeda (Victory Day) – May 8th – being the most anticipated public holiday in the year. On this day, there is a parade through red square, tanks roll through the city (even past my own windows!), planes fly in formation, and most workers are given the day off as a public holiday. You do not need to go far in Moscow to see a war memorial of some kind – these are only outnumbered by those of Lenin. Statues and streets commemorating various generals and military victories are also easy to find. It would be expected, then, that the symphonies written by someone as renowned as Shostakovich at this important time should be highly popular – even performed annually. They are, however, among the most rarely performed of the composer’s many symphonies.
The Ninth Symphony, as a name, evokes a certain familiarity with works of a very grand scale – take, for instance, the Ninth Symphonies of Beethoven, Bruckner, or Mahler. Written as a celebration of Soviet victory in the Second World War in 1945, Shostakovich initially planned for his Ninth to be a similar work of grandeur – for a chorus, orchestra, and soloists – about the greatness of the Soviet people, about the Red Army liberating the Soviet Union from the ‘enemy’ (this was planned in 1944). However, after dropping work on the composition for a few months, then completing it by August of 1945, the completed work took a far different tone. The result is a work which, by comparison to its predecessors – the 8th and 7th symphonies – is light and humorous. For context, the entire 9th symphony is shorter than the first movements alone of symphonies 7 & 8, at around 28 minutes. It is also worth noting here the use of the key of E flat major – often referred to as the most heroic key (consider, for instance, Beethoven’s Eroica symphony, which is in this key). It is possible that this is a deliberate link to the key of C Minor, the relative minor of E flat major, which is used in the eighth symphony – a way of perhaps connecting the two pieces. More likely in my view, however, is the possibility that Shostakovich used this key somewhat facetiously, given the tone of the ninth as a whole. It seems that this jovial mood was not the tone with which the Soviet officials were hoping to project their victory – it was denounced by a leading musicologist of the time, Izrail Nestyev, who wrote:
[It is] a light and amusing interlude between Shostakovich's significant creations, a temporary rejection of great, serious problems for the sake of playful, filigree-trimmed trifles. But is it the right time for a great artist to go on vacation, to take a break from contemporary problems?
It was similarly criticised abroad – a 1946 telegram scathingly wrote that Shostakovich “should not have expressed his feelings about the defeat of Nazism in such a manner”. The work was considered by 1948 to be a pivotal point of his infamous second denunciation. So, it seems to me that the reason for this works unpopularity is in line with how Russia treats its victory in World War 2. It would certainly be hard to imagine a piece as jovial as this to be a fitting soundtrack to a parade of tanks in the eyes of Russian authorities. Or, perhaps the sentiment that remains around this work is similar to that of Nestyev – that it is ‘ an amusing interlude between more significant creations’ – therefore, perhaps in their eyes, not worth programming as often. Interestingly, the note on this piece on the website for the Zaryadye series does not mention the many denouncements and poor treatment the composer received as a result – it merely says the following:
Shostakovich, like Beethoven, conceived his symphony as a grandiose canvas with a choral finale, but the result was a miniature work no more than half an hour long. Its premiere took place in November 1945. The grace and classical harmony of Shostakovich's Ninth Symphony make one recall the symphonies of the Viennese classics and SS Prokofiev's “Classical Symphony”. The author himself described his essay as “a sigh of relief after a gloomy hard time with hope for the future.”
This may at least partly explain this symphony’s placement at the start of the series – almost like getting it out of the way, or perhaps opening with a light symphony, though devoid of context.
Symphony No.8 was written in 1943 and performed in November of the same year. It echoes the ‘fate’, or ‘tragedy to triumph’ idea of other C Minor works – such as Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony, or Beethoven’s 5th symphony – both of which are considered among the finest works of the respective composers’ repertory. Why, then, does Shostakovich’s work seemingly fall short in the public eye? Firstly, if the resolution of Shostakovich’s fifth symphony is unclear, then that of the eighth is far more so. It has a decidedly bleak tone, particularly in the finale, which meant it could not easily be propagandised as the seventh and fifth were. Rather than the prodigal triumph of Beethoven’s work or resurrection of Mahler’s, in the work of Shostakovich, according to David Haas, it feels more like the ‘protagonist’ (the cor anglais and bassoon) has “merely survived” by the end of the work. When Shostakovich was denounced in 1948, the work was tabled, banned for eight years, and finally ‘rehabilitated’ and performed in 1956. Interestingly, while some of the symphonies programmed in the Zaryadye series have been given historical notes on their website, such as the 5th, 10th, and 7th symphonies, the 8th symphony’s descriptor is very vague. It says:
“On the Soviet culture scene, Dmitry Shostakovich is one of the most significant, if somewhat controversial, figures. Of course the controversy is not about his unique music style, for his oeuvres are within the frameworks of noble classical tradition, but about the composer’s troubled relations with the Soviet powers that be. Some critics believe that he’s “one of the most loyal sons of Soviet Russia”, while others hail him as a real hater of Soviet system.”
To me, the lack of triumphalism, heroism, or victory in this work is part of the reason for its scarcity of performance. Russia is a place very fond of celebration – of victories both militarily and culturally. In my observation, it feels as if the question is: Why parade the desolation of the realities of Soviet life when you could celebrate the victories? Why have a statue, figurative or otherwise, to something you do not want to remember?
I believe that this all gives an interesting insight into the role of Soviet era music in modern Russia. I would argue that the discrepancies in programming and information available is due, at least in part, to the fact that Russia seems to want to present itself both culturally and politically as a Romantic, exotic country, rather than a grim, Soviet landscape, with which many in the west wrongfully associate Russia. Politically, it cannot be contested that Russia presents as a country of military strength – my argument here is that culturally, it often aims to do the same. In other words, Shostakovich’s most celebrated pieces in Russia became famous not for the music itself, but rather the magnitude of the circumstances under which they were written and performed. Shostakovich’s fame and popularity may therefore stem from an admiration of the concept of the ‘tortured artist’, of the notion of triumph over adversity. It is interesting to consider this in contradiction to the public reception of Tchaikovsky. He is undoubtedly better known for his music than his life. His struggles with homosexuality, personal loss, and depression, are rarely (if ever) commented on in Russia.
Much like it is important to me that Russia is recognised as a place of both dark Soviet history and stunning Romanticism, I would argue that it is important that the concept of the composer and their music be viewed as one entity, rather than being two separate ideas. For instance, I would say that the reason for Shostakovich’s music sounding dissonant and unpleasant is better understood when viewed from the lens of the circumstances under which it was written, and/or the events depicted in the music, just as his image and fame as a Soviet hero is better understood upon listening to his music in detail. As Lydia Goehr writes in ‘Political Music and the Politics of Music’: “Ideally, music's function is to help bring about a better world, by presenting the world as it is.” Thank you very much for listening, and I would welcome any questions you may have about anything that I have said.
Recommended Bibliography:
Fay, Laurel: Shostakovich: A Life (1996)
Wilson, Elizabeth: Shostakovich: A Life Remembered (1994)
Haas, David: Shostakovich's Eighth: C minor Symphony against the Grain in Bartlett (ed) Shostakovich in Context.
Glikman, Isaac: Story of a Friendship: The Letters of Dmitry Shostakovich to Isaak Glikman 1941 – 1975 (2001)
Fairclough, Pauline: Dmitry Shostakovich: Critical Lives (2019)
Hurwitz, David. Shostakovich: Symphonies and Concertos: An Owner's Manual (Unlocking the Masters series) (2006)