Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-1975)
Symphony No 11 in G minor, Op 103, ‘The Year 1905’ (1957)
London Symphony Orchestra / Gianandrea Noseda
rec. live 24 November 2022, the Barbican Hall, London
LSO Live LSO0888 SACD [63]
Shostakovich’s Eleventh Symphony is a work which was initially misunderstood by many, perhaps because it was written to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the Russian Revolution of 1917. Praised by the Soviet authorities, it won a Lenin Prize for its composer. So, understandably, a number of people believed it was just a political ‘hack’ work. Furthermore, many were suspicious of what was perceived as its ‘film music’ nature; the work seemed to lack traditional symphonic development, unlike the mighty Tenth. I will confess that initially I inclined to that view; the work seemed rather empty by comparison with its great predecessor in the Shostakovich symphonic canon. But then I began to ponder a bit more deeply. If the work was nothing more than a creation designed to please Soviet apparatchiks, why had Shostakovich chosen to commemorate the abortive revolution of 1905 rather than the 1917 revolution which successfully deposed the Tsarist regime? Furthermore, I came to realise that the way in which Shostakovich weaved into his score a number of Russian political songs which would have been familiar to Russian citizens in 1905 was telling. And whilst the score may have lacked ‘conventional’ symphonic development when compared to the Tenth, the recurrence of these songs and other musical motifs gave the Eleventh much more of a degree of symphonic unity than I had first appreciated. In addition, I came to realise that the symphony lacked the obvious celebratory ‘big finish’ that might have been expected; instead, though the Soviet authorities missed it, there’s a definite ambiguity right at the end. The clinching fact for me, though, came when I read that Shostakovich’s father had been in the crowd that assembled outside the Winter Palace in January 1905 (fortunately, he emerged unscathed). How significant is it, I wonder, that the Eleventh was composed in the immediate aftermath of the suppression of the Hungarian uprising in 1956? So, whilst the Eleventh may not quite match the stature of some other Shostakovich symphonies – I think of the Fourth, Eighth, Tenth and Thirteenth – it is, I believe, a very significant and courageous composition and I’ve come to admire it very much. Consequently, I was delighted to receive this latest instalment of Gianandrea Noseda’s ongoing cycle with the LSO.
The symphony is cast in four movements, which play without a break; each one has a title. These titles, allied to the fact that Shostakovich’s music is vividly illustrative, may well explain why critics of the work have viewed it as programme music. However, in his valuable notes, Andrew Huth reproduces a highly relevant comment made by the composer’s son, Maxim Shostakovich. Maxim says this: “My father did not write programme music in the realistic sense except in films, of course…otherwise his programmes were idealised. He did not write about this war or that revolution, but rather about war and revolution in general, the state of mind and emotion, not facts”. Thus, it seems to me, a conductor who approaches the Eleventh Symphony must ensure that the inherent drama is conveyed but must not make the audience feel that they are just listening to the soundtrack of a movie.
The opening movement, ‘The Palace Square’ presents a particular challenge because, it could be argued, for long stretches nothing much seems to happen. In the first five minutes or so Shostakovich suggests a still, tense winter scene populated by the stoic, peaceful protestors. I think Noseda does this opening section well; the music, paced slowly and patiently, has a glacial, oppressive tension. The LSO’s dynamics are expertly controlled so that it’s only over time that the volume begins to rise. This movement is well managed by Noseda, as it is by Andris Nelsons in a Boston performance released just a few years ago (review). However, there is an elephant in the room in the shape of another LSO performance, conducted by Mstislav Rostropovich in March 2002. This was originally issued by LSO Live but it has now been licensed to the Alto label. Rostropovich’s performance is one which will divide opinion, as, indeed, was the case on MusicWeb. Marc Bridle was very enthusiastic about a reading which he called “ a helter-skelter of emotion and intensity” (review). By contrast, Dan Morgan was much less admiring (review). I have to say that I’m in the Bridle camp, though I acknowledge that the performance won’t suit everyone. Rostropovich is extraordinarily slow in the opening pages and I can best illustrate this by reference to a passage where the flute section introduces the first of the revolutionary songs that Shostakovich wove into the score. The flutes start to play at 5:26 in the Noseda performance; Rostropovich reaches that same point in the score at 7:46. The concentration required by conductor and orchestra to deliver the opening in this way is remarkable but Rostropovich manages it; moreover, he makes the listener hold his or her breath. As the movement wears on, the tempo differences between Noseda and Rostropovich are less marked but even so, the Rostropovich account plays for an astonishing 20:10, compared with 16:01 taken by Noseda.
The second movement, ‘The 9th of January’ is where the real drama in the symphony occurs. As the crowd moves towards the Winter Palace – and the waiting array of troops on duty to protect the Imperial residence – the pace quickens. Noseda is excellent and maintains very firm control even as the musical frenzy increases. He and Rostropovich – and Nelsons too – have a broadly similar approach. At 11:54 in the Noseda performance the character of the music changes significantly; the confrontation between the crowd and the troops becomes inevitable. The starting point is a furious, hyper-urgent string fugato, taken at a swifter pace than the preceding tempo. In his Boston recording, Nelsons takes this passage at a frenetic lick. When I reviewed his recording, I thought his approach was amazingly dramatic; now, I’m less sure. It seems to me that Nelsons is over-excited. Noseda adopts a slightly steadier pace but yields nothing to Nelsons in terms of urgency. The slightly slower pace means that the LSO can articulate the music even more forcefully than their equally superb Boston rivals; it also means that I hear a greater tone of menace in the Noseda performance. At 14:38 (Noseda) Shostakovich unleashes the full might of the percussion section; from the graphic music it’s clear that the troops have attacked the crowds. The LSO make a frightening sound hereabouts. In Rostropovich’s hands this passage is overwhelming; everything is punctuated by almighty thwacks on the bass drum. Dan Morgan thought the bass drum was excessive but I think the super-sized sound adds to the sense of a desperate melee. The racket is cut off abruptly (16:06 in Noseda’s performance) and the very suddenness of the glacial hush that follows is chilling; you can almost see the bloodstained snow, with bodies scattered around. Noseda brings this off very well indeed.
Andrew Huth makes an important point when he remarks (and I paraphrase) that the first two movements have a vivid descriptive quality while the remaining two are reflections on what has happened. That’s especially true, I think, of the third movement, ‘In memoriam’. The principal subject is a revolutionary song, ‘You fell as heroes’. This is played by the viola section against the sparsest of accompaniments. Interestingly, Shostakovich had made use of this melody nearly twenty years earlier, as the Funeral March for his music for the 1938 film, The Great Citizen. The long, winding melody is played most expressively by the LSO violas. There’s equal expression in Nelsons’ Boston performance but his violas sound more ‘present’; I prefer the way the tune is presented, with a slightly veiled quality to the instruments’ tone, on the Noseda recording. I like his pacing very much it is an important factor in demonstrating that Shostakovich was mourning – and respecting – ordinary people, a theme to which he would return in the ‘In the Store’ movement of his Thirteenth Symphony (1962). Rostropovich’s treatment of the tune is on an altogether different level. He has it played very slowly indeed and the sound of the violas is very withdrawn. I can best illustrate the tempo difference by mentioning that the second melodic idea, which takes over from the viola tune, is a solemn elegy, intoned by the brass, which proves to be the foundation for the movement’s climax. This idea first appears at 5:21 in the Noseda recording but at 6:39 under Rostropovich. Slava’s rendition of the viola theme is moving and memorable but I wonder if Noseda isn’t more natural. Noseda manages the growth to the movement’s extended climax – and the climax itself – very successfully; after this, a moving viola-led reprise of ‘You fell as heroes’ takes us to the end of the movement.
The abrupt, loud opening of ‘The Tocsin’ comes as something of a shock. Much of what follows is a brisk march. Andrew Huth describes this as music in an “heroic march style”. I’d respectfully challenge that; the music seems to me to be strident, increasingly frenetic and, in fact, rather desperate. To me, it’s almost a caricature but I can see, though, that the Soviet authorities might have been deceived in 1957. Noseda has the LSO in full cry here and together they build a mighty climax after which Shostakovich achieves a coup de théâtre. At 8:21 he abruptly returns to the glacial, chill music of the symphony’s very opening and the song ‘Bare your heads’, which has already featured prominently in the symphony is mournfully intoned by the cor anglais. The instrument plays the song as an extended solo and it’s a very striking moment: the message of the song, and its appearance here, goes way beyond mourning ordinary Russians slaughtered by Tsarist troops; surely, Shostakovich is here paying tribute to the oppressed Russians – and perhaps Hungarians – of his own time? The melody is ideally suited to the cor anglais and the poignancy increases when the melody goes up the octave. The LSO’s Jerémy Sassano is memorable here. But if you listen to the Rostropovich performance you will hear something extraordinary. He takes the music at a very slow pace indeed, thereby making it a deeply moving threnody. You’ll get some idea of how expansive he is when I tell you that the cor anglais solo takes 4:23 in the Rostropovich performance, whereas Noseda’s account of it lasts for 2:45. Is Rostropovich too slow? Perhaps, but in the overall context of his reading of the symphony it works for me and his cor anglais player (Christine Pendrill?) is surpassingly eloquent. Once past these moments of sorrowful reflection, the music gathers speed and energy and the symphony hurtles towards its conclusion. Here, I suspect, the Soviets thought they were getting the expected heroic conclusion; but were they? Perhaps that would have been true if Shostakovich had provided a conventional coda in G major; instead, G minor is asserted in a way that is much more ambivalent, even subversive. Noseda and the LSO provide a tumultuous but dark conclusion. In some performances the conductor ensures that the final tam-tam crash and tubular bell stroke resonate on after the rest of the orchestra has stopped playing; that doesn’t happen here. Once again, Rostropovich provides a different view. His way with the last few minutes is dark, menacing and thunderous, his bass drum making a telling, ominous contribution. And at the end, the sound of the tam-tam and bell does continue – and for quite a long time. In his hands, there can be no doubting that Shostakovich has not written a banal Communist Party-pleasing ending.
Returning to Noseda, I think his account of the Eleventh Symphony is very successful and the LSO plays superbly for him. This is arguably the finest of his Shostakovich recordings that I’ve heard to date. I’ve kept referencing Rostropovich for a reason, though. He was close to Shostakovich and surely had insights into what the composer was seeking to convey in his music. Moreover, like Shostakovich, the great cellist-conductor knew what it was like to be out of favour with the Soviet authorities though, unlike Shostakovich, Rostropovich eventually left the Soviet Union (in 1974) and lived in the West until the collapse of the Soviet Union made it possible for him to return to Russia in 1990. Thus, I’d contend, he’s very well placed to convey the meaning of his friend’s music. In his performance of the Eleventh there are places where he probably goes too far but he does present a deeper, even more troubling vision of the score than Noseda, for all his excellence, attempts. If you’re collecting the Noseda series you should most certainly add this fine performance to your collection but try to hear Rostropovich as well. I’ve referred a few times to expansive speeds on the part of Rostropovich. Overall, his performance plays for 72:24, whereas Noseda takes 63:07, very close to the 62 :39 taken by Andris Nelsons.
The concert at which this performance was recorded was reviewed for Seen and Heard by my colleague Colin Clarke. Like me, he found more in the Rostropovich performance and it’s only fair to say that he seemed less impressed by Noseda’s performance than I was.
The Noseda recording has been engineered by Classic Sound, LSO Live’s regular partners these days. They’ve produced excellent sound which has the wide dynamic range which this work needs; the recording has great impact. Andrew Huth’s notes are very helpful.
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Previous review William Hedley
Reviews of earlier instalments in the Noseda Shostakovich cycle
Symphonies Nos. 1 & 5 review
Symphony No. 4 review
Symphonies Nos. 6 & 15 review
Symphony No. 7 review ~ review
Symphony No. 8 review ~ review
Symphonies Nos. 9 & 10 review ~ review ~ review
