Interview with Andris Nelsons : Stalin’s influence on Shostakovich

The marvelous German violinist Christian Tetzlaff joins Andris Nelsons and the BSO for Beethoven’s peerless Violin Concerto, which, through its lyricism, intensely musical virtuosity, and expansive scope elevated the genre of the violin concerto to ambitious new heights. Shostakovich-a Beethoven devotee-purportedly wrote his Symphony No. 10 as a response to Joseph Stalin’s death in 1953. Considered one of his finest, most characteristic orchestral works, the musically and emotionally rich Tenth seems partly to have been an exorcism of his conflicted personal feelings toward the Soviet dictator.

For self-preservation and to support his family, Dmitri Shostakovich was forced for much of his career to subjugate his social/political ideology to the dictates of Stalin. But while he was churning out a body of public music that Soviet authorities would consider appropriate to a Stalinist agenda, he was also composing a very different, intensely personal style of music for himself. When Stalin died in 1953, Shostakovich and other Soviet artists were finally allowed the freedom to make their true creative expression public. Just four months later, Shostakovich began writing his powerful, enigmatic Symphony No. 10, celebrated as one of the first major works of art created in post-Stalinist USSR, becoming a symbol in the country of cultural awakening following the demise of Stalins relentless oppression.

Brahms – Symphony No. 4, Op. 98 | Bavarian State Orchestra, Carlos Ludwig Kleiber


Johannes Brahms – Symphony No. 4 in E minor, Op. 98, 1885 | Bavarian State Orchestra, Bayerische Staatsorchester München, Carlos Ludwig Kleiber, 21.X.1996.

00:00 I Allegro non troppo
13:44 II Andante moderato
25:29 III Allegro giocoso – Poco meno presto
31:51 IV Allegro energico e passionato – Più allegro

That Brahms initially approached the Symphonic form with trepidation is fairly evident from the chronology of his works. It wasn’t until the age of 43 that he completed his First Symphony. Indeed, the composer’s output to that point suggests a conscious process of self-education. A number of smaller-scale orchestral works, including the Variations on a Theme of Haydn and the proto-symphonic Piano Concerto No. 1, suggest preparation for what Brahms clearly saw as the elusive of compositional enterprises. He was to meet the challenge with a skill and individual spirit, one of Classicism refracted through the prism of high Romanticism, that led many to pronounce him heir to Beethoven.

Brahms’ Fourth Symphony (1885), his last, provides with its serious tone, striking complexities, and inspired construction a fitting valedictory to his work in this genre. That its impact was immediate if initially puzzling is clear from the account by the biographer Max Kalbeck of its first run-through (at two pianos) for a small and distinguished audience: “After the wonderful Allegro… I expected that one of those present would break out in a loud ‘Bravo.’ Into his blond beard [conductor Hans] Richter murmured something that from afar would be taken as an expression of approval…. The others remained persistently quiet…. Finally Brahms grumbled, “So, let’s go on!” and gave a sign to continue; whereupon [eminent critic Eduard] Hanslick heaved a sigh and quickly exploded, as if he had to relieve his mind and yet feared speaking up too late: ‘For this whole movement I had the feeling that I was being given a beating by two incredibly intelligent people….'”

Each of the movements bears the distinct stamp of the composer’s personality. The first begins with a theme in E minor based upon the interval of a third, which also provides a structural and motivic foundation for the remainder of the work. There is a notable sense of unrest from beginning to end, and the tragic, even fatalistic atmosphere is further and stunningly underlined by the final, minor-key plagal (IV-I) cadence. The second movement, which opens with a brief, melancholy sort of fanfare, gives way to the quietly accompanied winds in perhaps one of the loveliest of any of the composer’s themes, granted particular plangency through the use of the flat sixth and seventh scale degrees borrowed from the minor mode. This material is gradually developed into soaring, tutti lyricism that fades into ethereal quiet. The third movement, a lusty, stomping, duple dance, proved so popular in Brahms’ lifetime that audiences constantly demanded that it be repeated. The last movement is perhaps most notable of all, cast as it is in the “archaic” Baroque form of a chaconne — variations over a ground bass. The chaconne’s subject is in fact a slight modification of that used by Bach in his Cantata No. 150; though deceptively simple — essentially an ascending minor scale segment from the tonic note to the dominant, then a leap back to the tonic – Brahms uses this skeleton as the basis for an increasingly elaborate and thematic harmonic framework. From its first presentation, which is not as a bass line, but as a theme in the winds, Brahms gradually weaves some 34 variations that steadily build in intensity, as though in defiance to the oppressive, insistent rotation of the ground. The final variations lead directly into an ending which reconfirms the weight of tragedy and pathos borne by the first movement.

[via Saori Kanemaki]