many times over. What Shostakovich supposedly said here is, “I couldn’t write an apotheosis to Stalin. I simply couldn’t. I knew what I was in for when I wrote the Ninth [meaning the bitter 1948 denunciation], but I did depict Stalin in the Tenth. I wrote it right after Stalin’s death, and no one has yet guessed what the Symphony is about. It’s about Stalin and the Stalin years. The second movement, the scherzo, is a musical portrait of Stalin, roughly speaking. Of course, there are many things in it, but that is the basis.” Later on, when asked about programmatic content, he replied in his typically non-committal fashion, “In this composition I wanted to portray human emotions and passions….let people listen and guess for themselves.” The symphony begins with an extraordinarily long, Mahler-like movement, which contains roughly half of the music in the work, and which seems to paint the picture of a bleak, barren and ruined landscape, perhaps psychological, perhaps real. It is one his greatest and most chilling creations, and has prompted many to wonder if there was anything religious about, but when Shostakovich was once asked if he believed in God, he replied, “No, and I am very sorry about it.” Nevertheless, he maintains to a phenomenal degree a continuous tension and sustained intensity, based on a haunting and almost funereal bass line. One of the opening themes is a quote from a song which was written in 1952, based on a Pushkin poem which begins with the words “What is in my name?” In total and almost frightening contrast, there follows a brutal, hell-fire scherzo, only four minutes long, but full of a searing intensity which is almost unbearable to listen to, and which is, in the words of Robert Markow, “…the musical equivalent of a tornado ride through hell.” The third movement, which may be considered the emotional and philosophical core of the symphony, is another Mahler-like utterance, a dark and mysterious nocturne which bears some autobiographical content. For the first time there appears a motif, D-Eb-C-B, which is a musical code for the composer’s name written in German. Along side this there is another theme, E-A-E-D-A, which, again in code, spells out the first name of an Azerbaijani pianist and composer named Elmira Nazirova, who studied with Shostakovich in 1947, and who provided him with a romantic but chaste inspiration for a number of years, including an extended correspondence during the time the Tenth Symphony was being written. The finale begins with one of the longest slow 28
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introductions in any symphony, but whose ominous, foreboding mood is suddenly lifted by the appearance of a sprightly theme, very dance-like in nature, which continues to the end of the symphony, and which tries to lift the severe tone of all that has gone before with an unexpected cheerfulness. As the movement comes to an end, the timpani hammers out the four-note Shostakovich motif, and the work sweeps to a powerful and hairraising conclusion, seemingly asserting the composer’s triumph over the soulless, dehumanizing regime he had to endure for so many years. In short, the Tenth Symphony is a devastating portrait of what life was like under Stalin’s heel, not just for the composer but also for millions of his fellow countrymen. In the words of writer Ray Blokker, “Here is the heart of Shostakovich. In this work he opens his soul to the world, revealing its tragedy and profundity, but also its resilience and strength.” Finally, as the esteemed English conductor and Shostakovich authority Mark Wigglesworth once wrote, “… there is no sense of relief at the end of this work, just a triumphant assertion that, despite the continued presence of tyranny, an individual with a strong enough spirit can survive. Only Shostakovich can be so optimistic, pessimistic and ultimately realistic in one work without any sense of contradiction. It is what makes all of his symphonies such vital chronicles of the 20th century.”
Concerto in D major for Piano (Left Hand Alone) and Orchestra MAURICE RAVEL
B. March 7, 1875, Cibourne, France D. December 28, 1937, Paris
Premiered January 17, 1933 by pianist Paul Wittgenstein with the Paris Symphony Orchestra conducted by the composer. Scored for three flutes (3rd doubling on piccolo), two oboes, English horn, E-flat clarinet, two B-flat clarinets, bass clarinet, two bassoons, contrabassoon, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, tuba, timpani and four percussionists (bass drum, cymbals, snare drum, tam tam, wood block, triangle), harp, and strings (approx. 19 minutes).
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uch of the significant left-hand piano music written in the 20th century owes its existence to the Austrian-born American pianist Paul Wittgenstein (1887–1961), who lost his right arm at the Russian front during World War I. Determined not to let this injury destroy his musical life, Wittgenstein developed an
extraordinary technique with only his left hand and used his family’s wealth to commission one-handed piano works from notable composers, including Richard Strauss, Serge Prokofiev, Benjamin Britten, and Maurice Ravel. Ravel found the challenge of writing for one hand particularly stimulating. His remarks preceding the premiere reveal an ambition to write a substantial piece, despite the digital limitations of the soloist: “…[the soloist’s limitation] poses a rather arduous problem for the composer…which is to maintain interest in a work of extended scope while utilizing such limited means. The fear of difficulty, however, is never as keen as the pleasure…of overcoming it.” The concerto’s grand and serious tone is evidenced by Ravel’s choice to use a fullsized orchestra: triple woodwinds, including a contrabassoon and English horn, and a full complement of brass and percussion. The work is in a single movement, and follows a slow–fast–slow pattern whose design might be best described as one sonata encased inside another. The opening evokes a mysterious atmosphere by using the lowest possible instruments of the orchestra: the contrabasses playing their open strings, and a solo contrabassoon. The latter instrument’s melody presents two important motives: a dotted rhythm that will eventually grow into the first theme, and a descending third that will become important in the center of the work. The introduction gradually grows in intensity and brightness, acting as a giant upbeat to the soloist’s entrance, which after a cadenza introduces the first theme. The solo piano soon offers a brief and lyrical second theme, and the orchestra and soloist join together in a transition that quotes the opening dotted rhythm. The transition leads to the arrival of a fast section in a fast 6/8 time. Ravel claimed that the section was inspired by jazz, and the use of altered thirds and a lowered 7th might suggest jazz influence, though present-day listeners might hear a stronger influence in Ravel’s love of Spanish music. A brief and playful melody in duple time follows, played by the high woodwinds and accompanied by the soloist. The middle section is an extended meditation on the descending third introduced at the opening. This is spun out into a theme that gradually builds in texture and activity; eventually the initial theme from the fast section becomes the accompaniment. A return to the slow section features an extended piano solo that touches on the lyrical theme from the opening and leads to a triumphant conclusion.
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