Shostakovich : Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, Op. 47: Finale

Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, Op. 47: Finale

Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-1975)

Perhaps no important composer in the history of music was more swept up in the political and social upheavals of his lifetime than Dmitri Shostakovich. A witness to the Bolshevik Revolution fought in the streets of his native Saint Petersburg, as a precocious boy of 19 Shostakovich sprang to international fame overnight with the appearance of his First Symphony, and soon was treated as the darling of the new Soviet state, reach a highpoint of brilliant success at the age of 28 with his opera Lady Macbeth Of Mtsensk, which was performed around the world, But this triumph was swept away when Josef Stalin attended a performance of the opera, and was outraged by the music’s dissonant style, as well as its raw emotion and unbridled eroticism. Within a few days Pravda published a furious attack upon the opera (probably written by Stalin himself), and the work was withdrawn immediately, not to be heard again anywhere for nearly 30 years. A powerful Fourth Symphony, was also withdrawn without a public performance. The young composer quietly waited for a knock at the door in the middle of the night----the mid-1930s was the age of the worst Stalinist terror. After a couple years spent in near-seclusion, Shostakovich surfaced with a 5^th Symphony, which turned out to be the triumph of the composer’s life. The authorities were delighted, blithely unaware of the irony underlying the composer’s own description of the work as “a Soviet artist’s reply to justified criticism,” and for years the symphony was proclaimed to be the embodiment of Soviet ideals. But years later, Shostakovich declared that this was all a façade---the entire work was a long cry of pain and protest. Speaking of the outwardly festive character of the finale, Shostakovich said bitterly, “it’s as if someone were beating you with a stick and saying, ‘Your business is rejoicing, your business is rejoice,” and you rise, shaky, and go marching off, muttering, ‘Our business is rejoicing, our business is rejoicing.’”

Nevertheless. the finale of the symphony stands as a 20^th century example of the kind of dazzling Russian folk idiom is heard in the fast finales of Tchaikovsky’s symphonies. The opening is unforgettable: over pounding drumbeats, the brass thunders out the main theme, the sort of strident tune which (despite the composer’s terrible inner rage at his situation) cannot but seem utterly “Soviet” in character!) This sweeps on to a towering climax, there emerges a secondary theme of yearning and pleading tenderness. For all the outward “celebratory” character of the music, alert ears will detect a tension and stress lying just beneath the surface, even as the music attains a state of glassy, eerie calm, mostly confined to the strings of the orchestra. The drumbeat stealthily returns, and the music returns to the power and “public festival” mood of the opening. Yet the main theme doesn’t return in its original form, now heard in longer notes, more forceful, even menacing, as the music presses on to emerge in the brilliant glare of the coda: a blaze of thundering drumbeats, repeated notes in the strings, brass fanfares. The Soviet authorities heard it as a paean of praise to the state – audiences can find it a thrilling deluge of instrumental colour – attentive ears will understand the meaning of that astonishing description given by the composer himself.

GPYO concert