Shostakovich: Sonata for violin and grand piano, Op.134 (1968)
Andante
Allegretto
Largo
In that this sonata was born right at the beginning of the composer’s final period of creativity, it and the viola sonata can together be seen to embrace a larger “swan-song”, in the context of his whole output – particularly since they are so closely related in form, content, and deployment of forces. In fact, the three movements of each sonata correspond almost exactly in tempo: Andante/Moderato, Allegretto/Allegretto, Andante/Adagio – with near-identical metronome marks. Clearly this layout bears little relationship to that of any of the string quartets – significantly, it is far closer to the two concertos (for cello and violin respectively) of 1966/7. Since both sonatas (with “grand piano”) are conceived on a big scale – “concerto-sonatas”, as it were – this is quite natural and proper.
The violin sonata was intended as a 60th birthday present for David Oistrakh – who thus did very well out of the composer for this particular anniversary: the second violin concerto had been produced the previous year to celebrate the occasion – but Shostakovich had got his sums wrong: he was a year too soon! He wrote, “I wanted terribly to finish it in time for David Oistrakh’s sixtieth birthday, which was in September. I wanted to tie it up with a pink ribbon and give it to him as a gift. But, alas, I was too late. It took me three months to compose the sonata, and I have only just completed it”. Oistrakh was joined by the composer Moisei Vainberg (dedicatee of Quartet No.10) for a private hearing at the Composers’ Union on 8th January 1969; but for the premiere itself – at the Bolshoi Hall of Moscow Conservatoire, on 3rd May – the great Sviatoslav Richter was the pianist. An LP recording was issued of this concert performance which, apart from its other exceptional qualities, displays a quite astonishing level of accuracy for a live rendition.
The sonata was begun in August 1968, almost immediately after the completion of the 12th quartet. That work’s breaking away from tonality moves a stage further here, in that the absence of a recognisable tonal centre is reflected in the dropping of the usual key description from its title. The first movement initially suggests a passacaglia, the ground theme of which consists of a twelve-note row with a little tail, immediately followed by its inversion. The violin then enters with an expressive counter melody, after which the roles are reversed – but neither theme is completed: rather, each is allowed to follow its own instinct which, in the case of the violin line, is to increase the overall resonance of a persistently hollow texture by gathering open strings and double-stops. The meandering nature of the music at length slips into a quasi second subject, which is more recognisably rhythmic; there is even a flirtation with tonality, as if to persuade the listener that D major is the inevitable complement to the opening note row – which at least had begun on the note G. To complete the circle this row returns pianissimo: almost in unison, but blurred by overlapping syncopation. Out of this emerges a mysterious and fantastic sonority, made up of unearthly shifting harmonies on the piano, over which delicate semiquavers, high on the violin E string, descend like snowflakes. Piano trills pick out a 4th – the principal interval of the original row – assisted by a sul ponticello tremolando version on the violin, this rebuking the efforts of other rows to establish themselves.
The extraordinary conclusion of this opening Andante, harmonically and emotionally unresolved, eventually returns to round off the final Largo, emphasising the oblique nature of the sonata as a whole; but not before a spacious and grandly conceived passacaglia has exploited an impressive range of thematic permutations. This finale had begun with a declamatory introduction which, rather like the corresponding passage in the finale of the second string quartet, later becomes actively involved with the variations themselves. Here, the passacaglia could be seen as the fulfilment of expectations aroused by the very opening of the sonata – the reader/listener may recall this had promised to be a ground theme, but chose a different course. However, this genuine ground bears more than a superficial resemblance, in that it also begins on – and revolves around – the note G, as well as placing a considerable emphasis on the now-familiar interval of a 4th; even the little tail of the original note row is recalled. The first section of the movement sees the statement of the ground theme in austere pizzicato; an initial group of variations transforms the disjointed nature of this theme (there seem to be almost as many rests as notes!) into more lyrical music, with increasingly vibrant textures wherein double-stops again contribute effectively. Having at length returned, more or less, to its starting point the theme now slips up a semitone, immediately sprouting an important new counter melody – which proves to be another note row. Hereafter, the two themes are developed simultaneously in variations which gain in complexity, until first the piano, then the violin, has the field to itself: the former plays the ground bass in thunderous double-octaves, surrounded on all sides by melismatic figurations based on the counter-melody. When its turn comes the violin adds a tremolo accompaniment to the two themes, a passage which would cause no problems to any player who has mastered Paganini’s sixth Caprice! At the height of the frenzy the piano bombards its partner’s virtuosic display with the dotted rhythms of the introduction; the tumult then gradually subsides, to make way for the afore-mentioned reprise of the first movement’s conclusion – now tinted with the finale’s own motifs.
Amid the surrounding atonality the central Allegretto pitches single-mindedly into E flat minor, moving “correctly” to the dominant for its second subject. Should this movement seem marginally less interesting than its companions, this is possibly because it cannot quite match their startling originality. The driving “protest” scherzo is a long familiar Shostakovich type, but there is nothing routine about its treatment here. Additionally, the composer made no mistake in taking full advantage of the virtuoso resources available to him: swirling triplets (recalling a passage in Quartet No.12), flamboyant double-stopping, and pounding rhythms maintain the excitement and momentum at fever pitch; yet uncommitted (or technically inadequate) performances have been known to bring the stature of this movement into question. But assuredly not so in that magnificent and visionary first performance (and recording) by Oistrakh and Richter!
This essay (together with an upcoming companion on the viola sonata) was originally intended for a BBC Music Guide on Shostakovich’s Chamber Music (which series was abandoned before this volume reached publication). It may be thought more detailed – descriptively and analytically – than others so far available on MusicWeb; but it is to be hoped that it will whet the appetites of avid readers.
© Alan George
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