Lectures
Shostakovich and his Sixth Symphony: the Enigma Remains
Pre-concert talk on Shostakovich's "Symphony No 6" for New Zealand Symphony Orchestra
Lecture dates: 1 July 2006 • Auckland Town Hall and 8 July 2006 • Michael Fowler Centre, Wellington, New Zealand
This year we celebrate the one-hundredth anniversary of Dmitri Shostakovich’s birth. Thirty-one years after the composer’s death in 1975, he still remains one of the most enigmatic and controversial figures of twentieth-century art music. While music audiences around the world have accepted and loved his music, musicologists and art-music critics are at a loss as to how to classify his works, or rather, in what context to put them – should they be appreciated purely for their musical merit, or in relation to the specific historic-political climate in which they were created.
We have heard and read harsh critiques by leading figures of modern, avant-garde music, such as French composer and conductor Pierre Boulez. According to him, Shostakovich’s music is less worthy than that of second-rate Prokofiev. Boulez goes so far as to call Shostakovich’s symphonic works “third pressing Mahler”, implying that Shostakovich’s music is derivative, unoriginal and devoid of flavour.
Other extreme views include attempts to present Shostakovich as a dissident, or even some kind of a martyr-saint, which is highly exaggerated, as throughout his life, Shostakovich was something of an official composer for the communist government and enjoyed significant material privileges.
From a more balanced position, one is not inclined to lightly discard art, widely appreciated and enjoyed by audiences around the world, even on the evidence of such a respected musician as Pierre Boulez. On the other side, it seems unwise to evaluate Shostakovich’s (or anybody else’s) music, based on the somewhat sensationalistic assumptions of his political dissidence and martyrdom. After all, if Richard Wagner’s music was never discredited because of the composer’s anti-Semitism, why should Shostakovich’s music be credited on the assumption of his anti-Stalinism (for which there is no proof to begin with)?
During his life Shostakovich said little, if anything, about the way he felt when criticized by the authorities. He never voiced protest to such critiques, quite the opposite – every time the authorities found fault with his work, the composer was quick to repent and to apologize profusely in public, also eager to create works complying with the requirements imposed from above.
In trying to understand why he did so, the opinions split — some say that he was a “petty soul”, an art traitor, a musician without integrity and so on. Others say that he simply HAD to obey, or lose his life. Yet another theory is that while Shostakovich agreed with the authorities verbally, he somehow “encoded” his real, dissident thoughts in his music.
I believe that the truth might be more complex; it might contain elements of what was previously mentioned, plus other factors, one of which could be that Shostakovich, despite his displeasure with Soviet censure, could have been honest in his desire to oblige by creating what was at the time and the place considered “art for the people”. Perhaps such a theory lacks the sensationalism of the ones previously mentioned but, if we are to judge by Shostakovich’s own words, throughout his life the composer was mainly concerned with writing music “for the people”. Let’s also not forget that the attitude amongst artists in the West and the East during the first half of the twentieth century differed drastically — whereas in the West most art-creators of genius behaved (and were revered) as semi-gods, in the East, Russia in particular, they believed (and were believed) to be “only humble servants in the altar of Art”, as pianist Svetoslav Richter once put it.
For a person brought up in a modern democratic society, it might be hard, even impossible to fully understand what it meant to live under communism, especially during Stalin’s dictatorship. I, myself, grew up in a former communist country in Eastern Europe, a satellite of the Soviet Union, and I have directly experienced some of the best and the worst of both worlds. I have also heard first-hand impressions of the terror of the 1940s-1950s, as my maternal grandfather spent eight years of his life in one of the Stalinist work camps for political dissidents.
From my understanding, back then and there, things never seemed as black and white as pictured nowadays in the West. People, artists included, did not simply divide into political dissidents or petty souls. No matter what ideology was being imposed, no matter how twisted it was, it nevertheless was the sole dominant ideology of the day, and one’s refusal to accept it resulted in bringing on oneself isolation, which very few were willing or able to endure. People were taught that individualism was one of the worst sins, and that one should lead a life and create the kind of art that was beneficial to the whole society, not only to selected groups of individuals. As a result, many a conscious person honestly believed that they should strive to create art in a manner most acceptable to the wide audience.
Therefore, to me the idea that Shostakovich could have been honest in his desire to (formally) comply is not unacceptable. Such an idea would even enable us to see a different kind of integrity and respectability to his art. Back to the Sixth Symphony.
Shostakovich’s Sixth Symphony was never very popular, either in the (now) former Soviet Union, or in the West. Some musicologists have suggested that this is because the Sixth has been overshadowed by the two symphonies, written immediately before and after it — namely the Fifth and the Seventh. Here the opinions divide — some say that the Sixth is simply less worthy (which we are not inclined to accept), others – that the political significance of the Fifth and the Seventh is responsible for their larger popularity.
It is also important to consider that in 1948, the Sixth Symphony was included in the list of music, banned from further performance by the so called Censorship board, together with other works by Shostakovich, Prokofiev and other composers accused of “formalism”. For those who might wonder what formalism meant at that time and place, and what the censorship board considered “art for the people,” perhaps it would be good to say a few additional words.
In the 1920s, following the October Revolution, Vladimir Ilych Lenin proudly proclaimed himself a barbarian, and declared a war on “all isms”, as he called the modern art styles from the early 20th century, such as cubism, futurism and so on. He believed that all art, without exception, should have the potential to be easily digestible, even by groups of factory workers and peasants. Lenin’s idea became a leading tendency, growing even more extreme during Stalin’s regime.
One might ask what music had to be like, in order to be considered accessible to the masses.
Form-wise, the new Soviet music had to be written in the traditions of classical music from the late 18th – early 19th centuries, or in a simple and popular form, such as song, march, waltz etc.; it had to be tonal, to have easily recognizable and singable melodies and to include citations from Russian folklore; everything original, abstract and avant-garde was considered bourgeois formalism.
Now, why the Soviet authorities decided that the style of music making from, say, Mozart’s times was less bourgeois than that of Schoenberg for example is hard to grasp. However, these were the rules of the day, and they did not allow space for any deviations, any such “eccentricities” as, say, a three-movement symphony, or (God forbid) a one-movement concerto.
Soviet art also had to be programmatic, and the prescribed content was predominantly the working class’ and peasants’ fight for establishing communism, as well as other revolution-related events.
The results were tragicomic — in 1939, when in the United States John Cage invented the prepared piano, composed his Constructions in Metal, and claimed (successfully) that all noise is music, in the Soviet Union, Shostakovich’s Sixth Symphony was called strange on the basis of having three movements instead of four and containing some dissonance.
But let’s go back to the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Symphonies.
Like it was earlier said, it has been argued that the Sixth was overshadowed by the other two symphonies, due to their political significance. What does that mean?
In 1937, Shostakovich completed his Fifth Symphony, which was written as an answer to the harsh critique his opera “Katerina Izmailova” had received in the official press the year before. The infamous article in “Pravda” (the official organ of the Communist Party), called the opera “muddle instead of music”, some of the main accusations being the use of dissonance, the lack of melodies and coarse naturalism instead of “true realism”.
This critique was clearly pointed at discrediting Shostakovich’s work and the composer must have been devastated. However, instead of complaining or despairing, he cancelled the premiere of his newly written Fourth Symphony and sat down to write what he announced to be his “practical creative answer of a Soviet artist to just criticism", or the Fifth Symphony — the one that was to comply with all prescriptions of the Soviet censure.
The Fifth Symphony was composed in the traditional sonata form, with four movements following the classical formula. It was abundant with catchy melodies and its overall plan was described by the composer as “a spiritual battle, crowned by victory.”
All of these elements were a recipe for success and, understandably, the symphony was received with exceptional warmth and enthusiasm both by audience and authorities.
Some fans of Shostakovich’s music claim that the Fifth Symphony’s success was due to some “encoded”, secret meaning, depicting the horrors of Stalinism, which the masses understood and were grateful for. Such theory fails to explain the popularity of the symphony with the Soviet authorities or with audiences around the world, unconcerned with Stalinism.
As for the popularity of the Seventh Symphony: when the Second World War broke, Shostakovich was eager to fight, which he was denied by the authorities, in appreciation for his musical talent. He then decided to depict and immortalize the heroism of the Soviet people, particularly the citizens of Leningrad, in a new symphonic work. The dramatic events of 1941 are very clearly pictured in the music of the Seventh – the peaceful pre-war life, the Nazi invasion, the blockade of Leningrad. The symphony itself was entitled “Leningrad”, and for many years it has remained something of a musical symbol of the Soviet people’s resistance against Hitler’s offensive.
After everything said about the Fifth and Seventh symphonies, it is easy to see how the Sixth, with its lack of programmatic content or relevance to any important event or person, was left overlooked and underestimated.
Things would have been much different had Shostakovich kept to his original idea for this symphony, and entitled and dedicated it to Vladimir Ilych Lenin.
It has been said that Shostakovich had a tremendous admiration for Lenin’s persona and always wished to dedicate a work to him. In September of 1938, when the composer announced that he “was anxious to get down to work on his new, sixth symphony”, he described it as a monumental composition for chorus, soloists and orchestra, using the poem “Vladimir Ilych Lenin” by Vladimir Mayakovsky. Later in the year, he mentioned the “Lenin Symphony” in several interviews, expressing his intentions to incorporate in its music yet more literary sources, such as folktales and songs about Lenin.
But when in January 1939, in a radio interview, Shostakovich mentioned the Sixth Symphony “he was just getting to write”, there was no mention of Lenin or any extra-musical content whatsoever; gone were the chorus, soloists, poem and all. In August of the same year, 1939, Shostakovich was quoted in the press, saying: “The musical character of the Sixth will differ from the mood and emotional tone of the Fifth Symphony, in which moments of tragedy and tension were characteristic. In my latest symphony (the Sixth), music of contemplative and lyrical order predominates. I wanted to convey in it the moods of spring, joy and youth.”
It is important to remember these words when reading other musicians’ analysis and descriptions of the Sixth Symphony, also when listening to the music itself, as this is the single explanation of the work offered by its composer.
Before we discuss any of the ideas that Shostakovich (arguably) attempted to convey in his Sixth Symphony, according to numerous music theorists, let’s say a few words about the form of the work.
The Sixth Symphony was constructed in three movements, which by some music critics has been found strange. It has been said that the lengths of this symphony’s movements were disproportional, the first one being longer than the remaining two altogether. I myself don’t find the three-movement structure strange in any way and, to my opinion, the two shorter, fast movements balance the first one, slow and long, quite well.
Unlike the more conventional way of alternating fast-slow-fast movements, the symphony opens with a Largo and ends with two fast movements in succession, the first of which is a dance-like scherzo-Allegro in 3/8, and the second — a breathless, impetuous Presto in 4/4, reminiscent of a madly excited, humorously sped-up gallop. The first movement contrasts strongly with the other two.
These are the bare facts about the work, not getting into describing each theme or its development in detail.
Now, the performers’ interpretations will always differ, which is only normal, but the difference in the critics’ interpretations of the Sixth Symphony are astonishing, especially in their contrast with Shostakovich’s own description of the work.
One thing about the Sixth symphony that always baffled Western critics is the sharp contrast between the first and the remaining two movements. Western art historians were so used to the idea of development, as applied within a musical work or between the movements of a cycle, such as a symphony, that they failed to take into consideration the fact that contrast, rather than development, had always been a specific characteristic of Russian classical music, such as that of Mussorgsky and Tchaikovsky. The contrast and seeming lack of connection between the three movements of the Sixth so much bothered music critics that they went to great lengths, trying to find some “encoded” unifying idea.
One of the interpretations, inspired by the need of finding such unifying idea, is that the symphony depicts the duplicity of life in the Soviets during the 1930s – or the difference between that which was visible on the surface and that which lay beneath. According to this interpretation, the misery, discontent, despair and oppression felt by many and kept inside were expressed in the first movement, which has been described as dark, tragic and mournful. A lyrical rubato theme in flute solo, found in this movement, is said to possess “oriental character”, as if meant to be a smartly encoded allusion to Stalin’s persona. The two fast movements are said to present life, as seeming on the surface, picturing the infamous communist parades, and even a circus! If we are to trust the music critics supporting this interpretation, the music in the two fast movements is intentionally vulgar, ugly, and empty, as if to convey Shostakovich’s supposed distaste for the falseness of the joy, outwardly manifested by the masses.
Other interpretations claim that the symphony depicts the life and attitude of a single person, whose existence is sad and miserable, but he has to put on a mask, and pretend to be happy and excited with the “wonderful new life”.
Such explanations are indeed very interesting, or, at the least, very romantic. What their authors might have overlooked is that life during communism might not have been so utterly and absolutely miserable and oppressive; it might, perhaps, have had some good sides to it. If most people loathed Stalin and the atrocities he committed, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they hated their lives. And what about Shostakovich’s own description of the work?
When I first quoted Shostakovich’s words relating to the Sixth Symphony, I mentioned that we should keep them in mind and not discard them, simply on the presumption that everything the composer said had a double meaning. And the reason I said this is: every time I listen to the Sixth Symphony, without thinking of any pre-existing interpretations, the music leaves me with impressions similar to those described by Shostakovich himself: the first movement sounds contemplative, introspective and serious, with lyrical moments, and the following two movements picture joy, spring and youthfulness, in a somewhat Prokofiev-like, humorous manner. I fail to hear ugliness, vulgarity, farce, tragedy and duplicity.
It might be the recordings I’ve heard. It might be that, having grown up under communism, I read its language differently than others. It might be that, not having actually myself lived through Stalinism, I am not able to hear “the secret, encoded meanings”. But there is an ever-so-slight possibility that such secret meanings (at least in the case of the Sixth Symphony) were not intended; that such meanings have simply been assumed and presented as sensational and intriguing to the sympathetic audiences.
At this point, with the information we possess (or rather do not possess), neither I, nor anyone else could claim to be able to present the full, correct description of this work’s meaning, except the music itself.
Shostakovich once said: “I consider it absolutely superfluous to follow the example of a number of composers, who take the line of least resistance and always try to decode the content of their compositions with extraneous definitions drawn from some related field of art. I cannot describe the content of my music with any means other than those with which the music is written.”
So, in the end, my only piece of advice in listening to Shostakovich’s Sixth Symphony, or any other piece of music for that matter, is: free your minds and open your hearts, and let the music convey its meaning directly to you.
© 2006 Tzenka Dianova. Use by permission only.
