Given the recent heat wave we in eastern North America have been enduring, I can certainly see some value in considering a symphony that sits firmly in the dead cold of winter.
There are two works of music which inevitably make me feel the icy chill of perpetual winter whenever I hear them. One, not surprisingly, is Vaughan Williams' Sinfonia Antartica (his seventh symphony). The other is Shostakovich's monumental Symphony # 11 in G Minor, Op. 103 "The Year 1905."
This huge work in four movements, lasting over an hour in performance, was scorned as a socialist potboiler by many Western critics when it first appeared in 1957. That reaction undoubtedly owed much to the still-powerful memories of the Joseph McCarthy period. Today, it's possible to look at it in a more detached light, relatively free from political interference.
As so often with this composer's works, the Eleventh Symphony likely conceals multiple layers of meaning. Outwardly, it commemorates the January 1905 massacre outside the Tsar's Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, an event which set in motion the forces that eventually led to the successful Communist revolutions of 1917, the overthrow of the royal family, and the formal creation of the world's first ostensibly Communist country.
But is that the music's only meaning? It has been suggested, not without strong supporting evidence, that it may also have been intended as a requiem for the composer's own generation of the Russian people, who had suffered through not just two world wars, but also two violent revolutions and the Stalinist purges. Or perhaps it represented Shostakovich's revulsion at the invasion and crushing of Hungary the year before the symphony's completion.
Whatever the truth of Shostakovich's intentions, the music has a remarkable directness and almost cinematic vividness that -- to more than one critic -- have suggested film music blown up to symphonic proportions. That is certainly a part of the music's remarkable attraction, but only a part.
As so often with this composer, there's a great deal more to the story. Just as important is the inclusion in the score of no less than nine genuine revolutionary and prison songs. The texts of these songs (not sung here) frequently condemn dictatorial oppression, a clear signal of the possible hidden agenda behind the work. As we would expect, these songs adhere to simple tonal frameworks, and lend the symphony as a whole a much more conventional tonal landscape than found in many of the composer's major works. This fact alone serves to make the music one of his most approachable symphonies. But do not confuse "approachable" with "unsophisticated."
The symphony has four movements, directed to be played without pause or interruption. The music's chilling character is very much to the fore in the long, quiet first movement, depicting "The Palace Square" -- the scene of the violence to come. The strings play long, sustained notes with occasional shifts to different chords. Ominous drum rhythms are heard as if in the distance. Flutes play a melody of a song which may originally have been sprightly, but in this context sounds sad to the point of being funereal. This ice-cold opening section will be repeated at several points during the symphony, the entire opening passage thus serving as a unifying motto for the work as a whole.
The second movement is the most "cinematic" of the entire score, a multi-section depiction of the actual events of January 1905. It begins with rapid, restless figures in the lower strings over which an equally restless melody depicts the assembling crowd in the square. As the music gains volume and intensity, the restlessness turns to anger and twice builds to a raucous climax. Snare drums and a sudden shift in tempo to allegro herald the arrival of the soldiers. The rapid tattoo of the snare drums and the panic-stricken wind and brass fanfares all too clearly depict the fusillade unleashed on the terrified crowd. The abrupt breaking off of the drumbeats reveals the chilly winter music of the symphony's opening once again, and the movement ends in a landscape of frozen terror.
The third movement, titled In Memoriam, uses the melody of a song written shortly after the massacre in tribute to the victims. It opens with what seem random plucked notes on the low strings, but these gradually assemble themselves into a bass pattern under the sombre melody -- the whole then taking on the character of a funeral march. A new and even more funereal theme is heard on the low brasses, and from this emerges a slow crescendo in which the entire orchestra joins. The music erupts into a thunderous climax with beating drums marking out all but the first beat of each bar. Massive chords recall a fanfare-like figure heard during the massacre. Slowly the music dies down again, and the memorial song is heard once more, bringing the movement to an end in the same character as it began, with a pensive, elegiac air.
The finale rudely interrupts that reflective ending with an explosive burst of energy which soon transforms into a kind of fast march driven by a moto perpetuo of stamping bass notes in unvarying time values. Within that march are embedded phrases from several of the folk songs. The opening explosions repeat several times, punctuating the march. The climax is marked by the loudest repetitions of the movement's opening phrases, now played over long held notes on cymbal and side drums, until the music pulls up short and collapses one last time into the wintry opening bars of the symphony.
When the music rouses itself again, we reach -- in the final coda -- the real reason this movement is called The Tocsin ("alarm bell"). Deep strokes on bass drum and tamtam underlie the sound, an obsessive galloping rhythm sounds repeatedly on the snare drum, and brazen fanfare chords are accompanied by a repeated three-note figure on the tubular bells.
Here, more than anywhere else in the symphony, I feel that Shostakovich's underlying thought diverged sharply from his outward, ostensible programme for the symphony. What alarm exactly was the composer sounding with his tocsin? And how relevant is it today?
Ironically, after the early abuse heaped on this piece, the Eleventh has in the last decade become the most-performed Shostakovich symphony in Toronto. This is mainly thanks to the National Ballet of Canada, which has now staged John Neumeier's ballet Nijinsky three times, each time for 5 or more performances. Nijinsky ballet uses the symphony complete and uncut for its long second act. In addition, the Toronto Symphony Orchestra has programmed the work twice, as well as performing it on tour in Europe, and recording it for CD and online downloading.
There are two works of music which inevitably make me feel the icy chill of perpetual winter whenever I hear them. One, not surprisingly, is Vaughan Williams' Sinfonia Antartica (his seventh symphony). The other is Shostakovich's monumental Symphony # 11 in G Minor, Op. 103 "The Year 1905."
This huge work in four movements, lasting over an hour in performance, was scorned as a socialist potboiler by many Western critics when it first appeared in 1957. That reaction undoubtedly owed much to the still-powerful memories of the Joseph McCarthy period. Today, it's possible to look at it in a more detached light, relatively free from political interference.
As so often with this composer's works, the Eleventh Symphony likely conceals multiple layers of meaning. Outwardly, it commemorates the January 1905 massacre outside the Tsar's Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, an event which set in motion the forces that eventually led to the successful Communist revolutions of 1917, the overthrow of the royal family, and the formal creation of the world's first ostensibly Communist country.
But is that the music's only meaning? It has been suggested, not without strong supporting evidence, that it may also have been intended as a requiem for the composer's own generation of the Russian people, who had suffered through not just two world wars, but also two violent revolutions and the Stalinist purges. Or perhaps it represented Shostakovich's revulsion at the invasion and crushing of Hungary the year before the symphony's completion.
Whatever the truth of Shostakovich's intentions, the music has a remarkable directness and almost cinematic vividness that -- to more than one critic -- have suggested film music blown up to symphonic proportions. That is certainly a part of the music's remarkable attraction, but only a part.
As so often with this composer, there's a great deal more to the story. Just as important is the inclusion in the score of no less than nine genuine revolutionary and prison songs. The texts of these songs (not sung here) frequently condemn dictatorial oppression, a clear signal of the possible hidden agenda behind the work. As we would expect, these songs adhere to simple tonal frameworks, and lend the symphony as a whole a much more conventional tonal landscape than found in many of the composer's major works. This fact alone serves to make the music one of his most approachable symphonies. But do not confuse "approachable" with "unsophisticated."
The symphony has four movements, directed to be played without pause or interruption. The music's chilling character is very much to the fore in the long, quiet first movement, depicting "The Palace Square" -- the scene of the violence to come. The strings play long, sustained notes with occasional shifts to different chords. Ominous drum rhythms are heard as if in the distance. Flutes play a melody of a song which may originally have been sprightly, but in this context sounds sad to the point of being funereal. This ice-cold opening section will be repeated at several points during the symphony, the entire opening passage thus serving as a unifying motto for the work as a whole.
The second movement is the most "cinematic" of the entire score, a multi-section depiction of the actual events of January 1905. It begins with rapid, restless figures in the lower strings over which an equally restless melody depicts the assembling crowd in the square. As the music gains volume and intensity, the restlessness turns to anger and twice builds to a raucous climax. Snare drums and a sudden shift in tempo to allegro herald the arrival of the soldiers. The rapid tattoo of the snare drums and the panic-stricken wind and brass fanfares all too clearly depict the fusillade unleashed on the terrified crowd. The abrupt breaking off of the drumbeats reveals the chilly winter music of the symphony's opening once again, and the movement ends in a landscape of frozen terror.
The third movement, titled In Memoriam, uses the melody of a song written shortly after the massacre in tribute to the victims. It opens with what seem random plucked notes on the low strings, but these gradually assemble themselves into a bass pattern under the sombre melody -- the whole then taking on the character of a funeral march. A new and even more funereal theme is heard on the low brasses, and from this emerges a slow crescendo in which the entire orchestra joins. The music erupts into a thunderous climax with beating drums marking out all but the first beat of each bar. Massive chords recall a fanfare-like figure heard during the massacre. Slowly the music dies down again, and the memorial song is heard once more, bringing the movement to an end in the same character as it began, with a pensive, elegiac air.
The finale rudely interrupts that reflective ending with an explosive burst of energy which soon transforms into a kind of fast march driven by a moto perpetuo of stamping bass notes in unvarying time values. Within that march are embedded phrases from several of the folk songs. The opening explosions repeat several times, punctuating the march. The climax is marked by the loudest repetitions of the movement's opening phrases, now played over long held notes on cymbal and side drums, until the music pulls up short and collapses one last time into the wintry opening bars of the symphony.
When the music rouses itself again, we reach -- in the final coda -- the real reason this movement is called The Tocsin ("alarm bell"). Deep strokes on bass drum and tamtam underlie the sound, an obsessive galloping rhythm sounds repeatedly on the snare drum, and brazen fanfare chords are accompanied by a repeated three-note figure on the tubular bells.
Here, more than anywhere else in the symphony, I feel that Shostakovich's underlying thought diverged sharply from his outward, ostensible programme for the symphony. What alarm exactly was the composer sounding with his tocsin? And how relevant is it today?
Ironically, after the early abuse heaped on this piece, the Eleventh has in the last decade become the most-performed Shostakovich symphony in Toronto. This is mainly thanks to the National Ballet of Canada, which has now staged John Neumeier's ballet Nijinsky three times, each time for 5 or more performances. Nijinsky ballet uses the symphony complete and uncut for its long second act. In addition, the Toronto Symphony Orchestra has programmed the work twice, as well as performing it on tour in Europe, and recording it for CD and online downloading.
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