MUSIC . Suite Spot

Agitprop Props

Peter Burwasser on Classical


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Published: Oct 18, 2006

The intensity of the Dmitri Shostakovich centennial, at least here in Philadelphia, is astonishing. Every major performing organization, including the Philadelphia Orchestra, the Philadelphia Chamber Music Society, the Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia and dozens of smaller ensembles, are packing their seasons with music of the 20th-century Russian master. I don't have hard numbers, but the scope of involvement seems on the level of a Mozart celebration (it's 250 next year for Wolfy). At the orchestra, it is a tie, with seven works of each composer for the whole season.

At this vantage point in cultural history, it is not hard to understand the appeal of Shostakovich, who died in 1975. His music is highly personal, at times idiosyncratic (especially in his spare, often bleak late music), but above all else, it is deeply, intensely expressive. His most frequently performed work is undoubtedly the Fifth Symphony, which is now as much a part of the standard repertoire as Beethoven. I cannot recall attending a live performance of this great work of art — and I have heard it live many, many times — at which the audience did not leap to their collective feet at the extraordinarily stirring conclusion. Two performances in particular stand out; the 1975 concert by the Boston Symphony Orchestra conducted by Mstislav Rostropovich at Tanglewood, when the news of the composer's death was announced from the stage, and a concert several years later under the baton of the composer's son, Maxim, who held the score aloft after the concert, in order to deflect the glory of the moment to the composer.

Shostakovich cemented his position as a major figure at the age of 19, with his wondrous First Symphony, which, by the way, was given its American premiere at Broad and Locust, care of Mr. Stokowski. But his reputation was severely buffeted during the course of his career, both at home and abroad. It is hard to think of another composer in history whose career was so linked to his times. In the Soviet Union, he was a national hero and a leading figure in the official arts establishment, and yet he was humiliated with public denunciation in 1936 and 1948, and routinely battled with the commissars and censors. At the same time, many in the West considered much of his work to be Communist agitprop. After his death, revisionists would claim that he was a secret anti-Communist after all, and that his music is filled with clues as to his true feelings. It is a fascinating debate which is far from resolved.

It is a debate, however, which has been spun off to the realm of academia. The broader public has the magnificent music, which, it may now be safe to say, will be with us for the ages.

(p_burwasser@citypaper.net)