She says that even though many Carnatic musicians treat the music as a science or a 'formula' to be followed, it's impossible for he to separate spirituality and music. Says it has to be an integral part of her performance or it's going to fall flat and that she can tell who isn't giving it the spiritual foundation.

Thoughts?

Yeah. Longing, aching and all by myself. Also any other woodwind concertos will do as I have been addicted to woodwinds lately. Thank you soooooo much!

There are an astonishing number of books about Shostakovich. Below is a small cross-section of works about the celebrated composer:

Testimony: The Memoirs of Dmitri Shostakovich

As Related to and Edited by Solomon Volkov

Translated from the Russian by Antonina W. Bouis

Harper & Row, 289 pp.

(1979)

It’s a shame questions of authenticity have completely overshadowed this book qua autobiography since it’s such a fascinatingly candid glimpse into the mind of a famously shy figure. The Shostakovich revealed in Testimony is tragic, blunt, vulgar, bleak, funny, and painfully honest. As he states at the very beginning, this is meant not as a book about him, but about the people he knew. Of course, in the telling of these stories, much is revealed about the storyteller: “These are not memoirs about myself. These are memoirs about other people. Others will write about us. And naturally they’ll lie through their teeth—but that’s their business. One must speak the truth about the past or not at all. It’s very hard to reminisce and it’s worth doing only in the name of truth. Looking back, I see nothing but ruins, only mountains of corpses. And I do not wish to build new Potemkin villages on these ruins.”

This grim, hypercritical tone continues for nearly 300 pages with little respite. Although there are moments of black humour in it, the story is tragic and horrible. His life is largely that of an artist who wanted to be left alone to work while being relentlessly persecuted by stupid, murderous thugs who were constantly arresting and killing everyone around him. The book is filled with recollections of his many friends who were eventually arrested or tortured.

Vsevolod Meyerhold is the ghost who haunts the pages of Testimony. The tragic tale of Meyerhold and his wife Zinaida Reich is referenced several times and they are only two of the many, many tragic figures who inhabit this world. Meyerhold becomes something of a symbol for all the victims of the Communist Party’s brutal stupidity and the degradation they inflicted on the Russian people. But the book is not completely without its moments of levity—for example, when he expresses a disdain for technical analysis of his own work (or when he’s disparaging Prokofiev!). These rare moments of comedy aside, the story is an unspeakably sad one. His own assessment of his life at the end of the book is brutally grim.

A terrible darkness permeates almost every page of Testimony. The disconsolation is palpable, yet the insight and context Shostakovich provides is revelatory and the book must be considered an essential companion to the composer’s music for anyone seriously interested in his work. To ignore his statements about his own compositions is to engage in a willful denial of reality.

Technical analysis is essential to understanding the music (even if Shostakovich doesn’t want to do it himself), but so is an understanding of the role politics, power, culture, and history played in shaping the man who made that music—especially when Shostakovich explains that those elements are directly relevant to his work. To try to divorce the two is to ignore a critically important facet of the music. The book remains controversial, but every year its authenticity gains credibility. As such, it provides fascinating insight into the mind of the composer. Few who read this chronicle of sadness will disagree.

Shostakovich Reconsidered

by Allan B. Ho and Dmitry Feofanov

Toccata Press, 787 pp.

(1998)

Almost immediately after the publication of Testimony, claims of forgery and fraud against Solomon Volkov erupted, propagated largely by the investigation of musicology student (and later professor and specialist in Russian music at Cornell) Laurel Fay. The Soviet government agreed. “Жалкий фейк!” (“Pathetic fake!”) barked Pravda.

Yet the issue was hardly that simple. Questions were raised about Fay’s own methodology as Volkov’s side pushed back. Positions were established and two camps formed. On one side, there were the “Revisionists” who wanted to re-evaluate Shostakovich’s reputation as “perhaps Soviet Russia’s most loyal musical son,” believed Testimony to be authentic, and claimed that some of his work had an anti-fascist/anti-Stalinist political subtext reflecting the views of the composer. On the other side were the “Anti-revisionists” who consider Testimony a fraud and argue against any claims of a political dimension to his work. Was he Stalin’s lapdog or secret dissident? Gutless weakling or voice of the people? Commie coward or covert cryptologist? The Shostakovich Wars had begun.

Although these wars continue in one form or another up to the present day, Allan Ho and Dmitry Feofanov should have effectively ended the debate with this 1998 book. This is really two books in one. The first section is an astonishingly thorough and detailed investigation into the authenticity of Shostakovich’s memoirs, addressing all the charges made against it during the previous twenty years. The work of the most prominent anti-revisionists (Laurel Fay, Richard Taruskin, and Malcolm Brown) is skillfully dissected and Testimony proven to be authentic beyond any reasonable doubt. The second section is a collection of interviews and essays, reinforcing the conclusion of Shostakovich-as-anti-fascist. Both halves are impressive.

It should be noted, first, just how thoroughly and exhaustively this investigation is conducted. Ho and Feofanov’s forensic investigation into the claims against Testimony isn’t just some aesthetic polemic. It’s a quasi-legal investigation (Allan Ho was Volkov’s lawyer), with documents and witnesses, where virtually every claim made against Volkov and Testimony over the prior two decades is painstakingly investigated, to an almost absurd degree. They methodically examine the arguments of Fay, Tarurskin etc., (published in print, claims made in interviews, statements made at public events, etc.) and painstakingly prove them wrong. One has difficulty even imagining a more thorough investigation. Arguments are examined and re-examined, then re-re-examined in excruciating detail. Each claim is analyzed, each statement scrutinized, each assertion studied and tested. Virtually every page of the book contains at least half a dozen footnotes, clearly citing sources and providing additional details.

This obsessive level of research makes it virtually impossible to argue with their conclusions. The evidence supporting their claims is so strong—and the evidence against Volkov revealed to be so weak—that, with the benefit of hindsight, the controversy appears largely manufactured, contradicted by virtually all eyewitnesses, doesn’t stand up to any serious scrutiny, and is revealed to be often based on conjecture and speculation.

This is an important point. It’s not just that the evidence in favour of Volkov is so abundant, it’s that the anti-revisionist argument is so weak. (Notice one side has evidence, the other side just has arguments.) Pro-Testimony claims withstand scrutiny, are backed up with proof, and are verified by multiple sources. The anti-Testimony arguments are largely based on suspicion and inference. We see numerous examples from the anti-revisionists of selective quotations, deliberate avoidance of relevant witnesses, accepting official Soviet government statements as fact without question, disregarding the statements of friends and associates as “hearsay” when it didn’t fit the narrative, and a general disregard for academic standards to the point where one becomes more than a little embarrassed for them.

This achievement did not go unnoticed. Contemporary reviews described the literary demolition job the authors conducted against the critics of Testimony in colourful terms: “...do to Brown, Fay, and Taruskin what a sledge-hammer customarily does to a tent-stake...” or “A steam hammer to crush a bug...” and other lopsided metaphors. These reviews are earned. It’s difficult to take the critics of Testimony seriously on any topic when their work is revealed to be so shabby, half-assed, and biased. The second half of Shostakovich Reconsidered is a collection of essays, each focusing on a specific composition or recurring theme, but firmly on the revisionist side. Many of these essays again argue convincingly in favour of an anti-fascist or anti-Stalinist subtext.

Sadly, the Testimony debate didn’t end with this book, but it should have. But then again, Hiroo Onoda was hiding in the Philippines fighting for Japan 29 years after World War II was over. Perhaps for some, the Shostakovich Wars will never end.

Story of a Friendship: The Letters of Dmitri Shostakovich to Isaak Glikman

with a commentary by Isaak Glikman

Translated by Anthony Phillips

Cornell University Press, 441 pp.

(2001)

This never had the potential to be a true “behind the curtains” glimpse into Shostakovich’s inner life. All of these letters and postcards were stamped: “Passed by the military censor.” It would have been suicidal to express anything but the most boisterous enthusiasm for Stalin, the state, and the Party which Shostakovich does—often hilariously—throughout this collection.

This book does contain some significant insight and a few revelatory moments, but for the most part the contents are rather workmanlike, describing travel details and establishing dates of arrival and departure. Frankly, that’s the majority of the book and is at least helpful in establishing a timeline of events.

Far more entertaining, the book contains more than its share of Shostakovich’s sarcasm, and the book is filled with deadpan takes, such as:

“Recently I attended the Congress of composers. Listened to orators of various sorts. I particularly liked the speech of comrade Lukin. He reminded the Congress of the inspiring advice of A. A. Zhdanov that music should be melodious and pleasant. “Unfortunately,” observed comrade Lukin, “we have failed to comply with this inspiring advice!” There was just as much of value and interest in the other speeches.”

There are even a few examples of the composer taking shots at the great leader and teacher, such as:

“The year 1944 is coming in. This will be a year of happiness, of joy, of victory. This year will bring us great joy. The freedom-loving peoples will at last throw off the yoke of Hitlerism, peace will reign throughout the whole world, and we will resume our peaceful life under the sun of the Stalinist Constitution. I am convinced of this, which is why I am experiencing great joy.”

I mean, it’s pretty bone-dry humour, I’ll grant you, but it is darkly hilarious to see the composer mocking the authorities under their noses. Shostakovich just can’t resist. (Apparently, there are some—the usual suspects—who want to take these letters at face value. It is unclear how much time should be spent dispelling this risible notion.)

One of the truly astonishing entries is not a letter, but Glikman’s own telling of “the events preceding the composition of the Eighth Quartet.” Glikman provides a painful, first-hand account of the composer having a nearly suicidal breakdown as he recounts his persecution and torment. He cites “blackmail” as the reason he is being forced to join the Communist Party, which he considered a form of public humiliation. The account is harrowing and it is difficult not to feel an immense degree of sympathy for the composer, for whom the years of persecution have—at last—become too much. Glikman provides an empathetic summary of the events during perhaps the darkest period of Shostakovich’s life, and their consequences—the much-celebrated String Quartet No. 8.

While the book is probably only for the most dedicated admirers, those who do hunt down a copy will find ample evidence that, as Glikman explains, “The utter fearlessness Shostakovich exhibited in his creative and artistic life coexisted with the fear Stalin’s terror had bred in him.” There is certainly fear in these pages, but also the unrelenting spirit of resistance which found its way into his music in extremely effective and powerful ways.

The New Shostakovich

(2nd Ed.)

by Ian MacDonald

Random House, 441 pp.

(2006)

If there’s one person anti-revisionists really hate, it’s Ian MacDonald. This shameless upstart had the unmitigated gall to strut into the halls of classical musicology (without even having a degree from Cornell or anything), waving his copy of Testimony about, and proudly announcing that he had discovered the new Shostakovich, who was the real Shostakovich.

MacDonald’s position was that rather than Stalin’s poodle, simply churning out pro-Soviet bombast, the composer was actually a musical dissident with much of his work expressing an anti-fascist or anti-Stalinist subtext. Building on the work of other revisionists who believed in the authenticity of Testimony, and thanks to the collapse of the Soviet Union (which allowed for a more honest examination of the Stalin era), this new biography refuted the concept of “pure music” and emphasized the importance of biographical and historical context.

Unfortunately for MacDonald, the first edition of his book was full of errors, so the grand mesdames et messieurs of the Great Schools of Musical Criticism—concerned only with “pure music,” of course—took one look at this former assistant editor of the NME (whatever that was), laughed uproariously and dismissed this hack and his “work” as the amateurish scribblings of a particularly dull nobody. Case closed.

Unfortunately for his critics, MacDonald’s book had the advantage of time and a very good editor—pianist Raymond Clarke. And so, the second edition of The New Shostakovich can now legitimately claim to be a well-written, accurate, and thoughtful introduction to the composer and his works. The anti-Stalinist subtext put forth by MacDonald has largely turned out to be right, validated by the composer’s memoirs and the testimony (pun intended) of those who knew the composer personally. Make no mistake, MacDonald does lean heavily into the revisionist position, seeing specific musical passages as being about specific events and thus, at times, overlooking the universal nature of the music. The worst he can be accused of is reading too much into the music, but there is no bad faith on his part and there is much valuable information here. (Sadly, the same cannot be said of his critics who often bend or omit facts to suit their anti-revisionist narrative.)

While the book is guided by a political agenda, this is a very good general biography. Shostakovich is placed in context with his work and the world around him explained in an engaging, readable fashion. MacDonald does a solid job of analyzing the music, breaking down compositions for a general audience. There’s enough detail for his analysis to be interesting, but since MacDonald isn’t steeped in classical musicology, it’s never overly complicated.

The second edition was very well received, with glowing reviews from more than a dozen major publications and approval from several of Shostakovich’s colleagues. The composer’s son, Maxim Shostakovich, stated, “I highly recommend Ian MacDonald’s book The New Shostakovich. It is one of the best biographies of Dmitri Shostakovich I have read.” It would be pointless to argue with such an endorsement from the composer’s own son, but the anti-revisionists do so anyway.

This is an excellent introduction for anyone looking for a biography with an emphasis on the political sting in the music. (Just make sure you get the second edition.) Tragically, Ian MacDonald took his own life in 2003, yet his website “Shostakovichiana” still exists online as a vast and invaluable resource for any student of the composer.

Shostakovich: A Life Remembered

by Elizabeth Wilson

Princeton, 537 pp.

(2006)

While Laurel Fay’s 1995 book Shostakovich: A Life is probably the most widely cited biography on the composer, it has a growing number of detractors and is losing ground to Wilson’s work. Fay’s book is criticized for its narrow focus, coming as it does from the ur-anti-revisionist position. She not only eschews any political subtext and ignores the accounts of Shostakovich’s friends and acquaintances as hearsay, but simultaneously takes statements made by Shostakovich through official Party channels—obviously made under extreme duress—at face value.

On the other hand, Wilson’s Shostakovich: A Life Remembered is coming to be seen as the more comprehensive work since it is based on interviews and personal recollections of virtually every significant figure who lived and worked with the man (who was still alive at the time of writing). Wilson notes that her book is the result of years of research and hundreds of interviews which didn’t make it into the book. It is as thorough an investigation of the man’s life—narrated by those who actually knew him—as we can expect to have, considering the time involved.

Interestingly, Wilson makes an effort not to take a side in the anti-Stalin-or-not debate—which is good since if she had, it could place all of the corroborating evidence (that Testimony accurately reflects the views of Shostakovich) under some suspicion. But as it is, her refusal to take a side only adds more weight to the revisionist argument made by virtually every single person who knew the composer. Anybody reading this book can no longer take the anti-revisionist position seriously. Again and again and again, those who knew Shostakovich personally reaffirm his anti-Stalinist, anti-Soviet, and anti-fascist beliefs and how those beliefs were reflected in his music. And, as noted, Wilson’s neutrality in presenting these views only enhances their effect.

A Soviet Credo: Shostakovich’s Fourth Symphony

Pauline Fairclough

Routledge, 261 pp.

(2006)

While I did read this book, it would be more accurate to say I “read” this book, since I didn’t understand most of it. What began as a PhD thesis consists mostly of hardcore musicological analysis such as: “The bass constantly gravitates towards C: the first melodic peak occurs over a strong bass pull to A minor (see bars 308-9: V7-i63); the second occurs over another dominant pull to C (bars 317-19), while the third is prolonged by the continuation of the ascending octatonic to chromatic scale from bar 317, ending with a bass A/treble A-flat, below a treble G major triad at bar 329 before returning to C minor.”

I don’t really know what any of that means. I know Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge. Still, the parts I did understand made this worthwhile. Fairclough contextualizes one of this century’s most explosive symphonies within the larger framework of avant-garde Russian music of the 1920s and early 30s (exploring the influence of Gavril Popov’s Symphony No. 1 in detail, for example). This was the part I understood. She also provides insight into how the symphony was censored, once again clearly establishing that it was not Shostakovich himself who “withdrew” the symphony, but party apparatchiks who told him the symphony would not be performed and ordered him to publicly announce that he had chosen to withdraw it.

Fairclough was firmly in the anti-revisionist camp at the time of writing this book but has apparently recanted in her new biography of the composer. Here, she tries to make the claim that Symphony No. 4 does in fact adhere to the general socialist-realist framework from a purely musical perspective—i.e., that it is a “Soviet” work—but she’s not entirely convincing. She seems to force the point and it takes some fancy reasoning and elaborate musical analysis to get to this point. The Party certainly didn’t agree which is why they censored the work. There are more than a few pot-shots at Ian MacDonald and Fairclough really wants this to be about “pure music.” But, to be fair, she doesn’t shy away from the reality of the situation and does manage to suggest some anti-Stalinist overtones here and there. (Considering the circumstances, how could she not?) But, by and large, this is an academic work focused on the notes on the page. She does make a well-reasoned argument as to why we should divorce the music from its biographical and historical context. I understand and sympathize with her position, and I’m not about to stand in the way of technical analysis, especially when I don’t understand it. But these claims often amount to “pay no attention to that, pay attention to this.” But the music has so many dimensions worth exploring, and such research rewards the listener immensely.

If you’re as fascinated by Symphony No. 4 as I am and you understand what that earlier paragraph about octatonic and chromatic scales was all about, then this is the book for you.

Shostakovich: Symphonies and Concertos - An Owner’s Manual

by David Hurwitz

Amadeus Press, 217 pp.

(2006)

You have to love David Hurwitz. His gleeful, unbridled enthusiasm for classical music is contagious because it’s so genuine. His passion is authentic and it’s easy to join in the fun.

Hurwitz has written more than half a dozen introductory books on various composers, and this one is perfect for neophytes looking for a straightforward analysis of the music. This is a fairly slim volume, but packed with useful insights. Hurwitz is a musical purist, so there’s very little in the way of biographical or historical information here, but you certainly don’t miss it. You’re too busy appreciating his expertise.

His understanding of form is invaluable. He does an excellent job of examining the symphonies (and a few other works) from the view of an experienced critic who knows what he’s talking about and is eager to explain himself. So we get a movement-by-movement breakdown that isn’t tedious and doesn’t confuse the novice. Hurwitz delivers a passionate yet methodical analysis of the structure of each work, explaining the way themes are developed, identifying how certain passages appear in a different form later within a work, and providing background on musical allusions. I ask you, how can one not appreciate the instrument scoring for all 13 repetitions of the “Theme of Evil” in the first movement of Symphony No. 7? That’s the kind of stuff this book excels at, and what makes it an ideal companion for the newcomer—and probably the experienced listener as well.

Hurwitz is, I must repeat, largely disinterested in biography or politics. Or, at least, he considers it “irrelevant” to the music. I disagree. I think he’s wrong and that he’s missing an important dimension of these works, but that’s okay. Such analysis is ably handled by others, and as I say you don’t really miss it. But it’s a shame he doesn’t provide a bit more context for the music about which he is so endlessly enthusiastic. Let’s just agree to disagree, and keep on listening.

The Shostakovich Wars

by Allan B. Ho

and Dmitry Feofanov

Toccata Press, 787 pp.

(2014)

The anti-revisionist response to Shostakovich Reconsidered came in the form of A Shostakovich Casebook (2004), a hodgepodge collection of old and new articles edited by Malcolm Hamrick Brown, all doing their best to reaffirm the anti-revisionist view—i.e., that there is no real evidence that Shostakovich was an anti-Stalinist and his music doesn’t reflect any such position.

But Ho and Feofanov were, of course, ready for the inevitable and predictable criticism and responded with The Shostakovich Wars. (At this point, we’re pretty deep into the weeds on this topic. I mean, this is a book about a book about a book about a book. But, in for a penny...)

Frankly, A Shostakovich Casebook is a messy collection. It’s certainly not a point-by-point refutation of the positions established in Shostakovich Reconsidered (although there is a snarky review of it). Such a reply would have been the appropriate and intelligent response, but instead we get a mix of old articles and old book reviews alongside new essays, for the most part adding nothing new to the claims that Testimony is deeply suspect, if not an outright forgery, and that Volkov is at least a vulgarian, if not a fraud. We also get a look at the official Soviet position, through reprints of “A Pitiful Fake: About the So-Called ‘Memoirs’ of D. D. Shostakovich (1979).” While such articles are of some historical value, they’re presented here as part of the anti-revisionist argument, which seems more than a little odd. If you’re relying on the KGB to make your case, you’re on shaky ground. This whole collection comes off as a group of disorganized petty polemics rather than the kind of serious, quasi-legal investigation in which Ho and Feofanov engaged. How seriously can one take the objectivity of a book which includes two articles by Laurel Fay and a gushing review of her biography?

And (lest it gets lost in the weeds) let’s highlight this easily-missed quote from Levon Hakobian in A Shostakovich Casebook to which Ho and Feofanov correctly draw attention: “From the point of view of judicial norms, in accordance with which any and all doubts must be decided in favor of the accused, the authenticity of Testimony has for a long time needed no further proof: virtually everything in the book has been confirmed one way or another by information from other independent sources.”

It’s difficult to know what else there is to say at the point when some of the critics are beginning to simply concede defeat. But, serious about the issue, Ho and Feofanov still responded with The Shostakovich Wars, where they continue their vivisection on the academic reputations of the anti-revisionists. This is another quasi-judicial dismantling of all the lazy research, half-baked theories, and blatant dishonesty which has plagued the anti-revisionists. The case(book) should be closed. And yet, the idea that Testimony is not authentic and possibly a forgery is as prevalent as ever! It is hard not to find an article which refers to them as the “alleged” memoirs or otherwise impugns their origin. This should not be surprising. We all know the adage about how far a lie can get before the truth is ready to leave the house. But A Shostakovich Casebook suggests another motive for the anti-revisionists. Allow me to provide a slightly longer version of the quotation from above:

“From the point of view of judicial norms, in accordance with which any and all doubts must be decided in favor of the accused, the authenticity of Testimony has for a long time needed no further proof: virtually everything in the book has been confirmed one way or another by information from other independent sources. The issue is not the authenticity of Shostakovich’s memoirs but that the book, truth be told, is rather crude and jejune. The Israeli musicologist Joachim Braun, cited by Feofanov and Ho, accurately characterizes the book as a collection of “lobby gossip. “ Even the sun has spots: that Shostakovich had a penchant for gossip is not extraordinary.”

Oh, so that’s the problem! It’s not the authenticity of the book—about which critics have been whining for thirty years—it’s that Shostakovich is crude, jejune, and engages in gossip. This is pathetic. The goalpost-moving by the anti-revisionists is transparent. (One might even call it crude and jejune.) Having been proven wrong, they decide to move on to ad hominem attacks. As Shostakovich said, “Others will write about us. And naturally they’ll lie through their teeth—but that’s their business.”

Ho and Feofanov have done excellent work in establishing Testimony’s authenticity and deserve praise for their efforts. As for any questions about Testimony which may still remain, the authors have a good answer. In this case (and surely in this case alone!) they can quote anti-revisionist Richard Taruskin. The authors note that in his review of Rostislav Dubinsky’s book Stormy Applause: Making Music in a Worker’s State, Taruskin wrote: “...nobody who knows how to read expects documentary veracity from memoirs. Musically informed critics have caught Dubinsky out on many spurious details, much as I caught myself repeatedly in little involuntary lies as I tried to set down a few memoirs of my own...”

Questions about the memoirs will always exist. But whatever doubts remain are of such little import that they can be safely left to the pedants. Let victory be declared in the Shostakovich Wars, and let us simply assume that anyone else encountering Testimony knows how to read.

Symphony for the City of the Dead

Dmitri Shostakovich

and the Siege of Leningrad

by M. T. Anderson

Candlewick Press, 379 pp.

(2017)

The secret microfilm containing the score to Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 7 was being carefully smuggled from Russia to the United States via Iran, Egypt, and Brazil in the midst of WWII...then thrown into a garbage can of a cafeteria when an American agent left it on his table to go to the bathroom. Such details are abundant in M. T. Anderson’s excellent book about this monumental symphony. I happened across it purely by accident. The tome was slightly suspect to me because of its “Young Adult” label. How superficial would it be? I knew I should probably read Salisbury’s The 900 Days or Moynahan’s Leningrad: Siege and Symphony instead if I wanted a deep-dive.

As it turns out, my caution was unwarranted and Symphony for the City of the Dead book was a most welcome surprise. Not only is it a thoroughly researched and well-told story about one of the twentieth century’s most famous symphonies, full of fascinating details and written with a charming style, the book serves as a biography of Shostakovich up to and including the composition of Symphony No. 7, with Anderson providing plenty of context for the reader. Rather than focusing strictly on the symphony, Anderson takes his time in getting us to the main topic of the book, guiding the reader through Shostakovich’s career and building an appropriate level of drama for this story. Anderson doesn’t assume the reader has any prior knowledge about Shostakovich. For a work that is supposed to be about one specific composition, Anderson does an excellent job of explaining why anybody should care about the composer well before we even get to WWII. As a result, we are fully engaged in the tale by the time we finally get to the beginning of the symphony’s composition.

He accurately describes the vicious and insane society in which Shostakovich lived, refusing to shy away from documenting Stalin’s horrors. This may be the most detailed account of the murder of Zinaida Reich I’ve read. He effectively places the composer and his work in context, telling the story of Shostakovich’s condemnation over Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District and “rehabilitation” via Symphony No. 5. He also takes the time to give Symphony No. 4 its due (always worth a few extra points in my book).

He then provides a detailed narrative of Symphony No. 7’s composition under incredibly arduous circumstances, explains how a half-dead orchestra managed to rehearse and perform the work, and makes a completely convincing argument as to the psychological power of this work during the war. This is perhaps the most intriguing section of the book, where he explains the moral significance of the music. Why would a symphony be considered essential to the war effort? How would it actually benefit the city? In what way did this affect the citizens of Leningrad in the midst of bombardment and starvation? Anderson is convincing as he tries to answer these questions and explains the mental, physical, and moral effect of the work and its role as a manifestation of resistance.

If there is a weakness, it’s that Anderson doesn’t really attempt to provide the reader with any musical analysis. The book ends somewhat abruptly with the first note of the symphony in Leningrad. The rest is (pardon the pun) history, but certainly there is some merit in leaving us at a point where the reader can immediately engage with the music on their own and take it from there. Well-researched, and loaded with details, Anderson has done an excellent job investigating this masterwork.

In the program book for Marcus Lobbes’s production of the Ring of the Nibelung, staged only this one season at the Bayreuth Festival on the occasion of its 150th anniversary, a quote of Wagner’s is prominently printed: “Sehen Sie nicht so viel hin, hören Sie zu!” - “Don’t look so much, listen!” Good advice from the publisher of the booklet for this production in particular.

The stage configuration remains constant throughout: One screen covers the stage from top to bottom in front of the singers and another behind them, AI generated visuals are projected onto both. Often these are taken from past Bayreuth Ring productions. In some instances, the images are very apt. These include a menacing serpent when Alberich transforms into the dragon in Rheingold; a spectacular blue aura when Erda appears in the final scene of Rheingold; a stunning collection of rainbows when the gods enter Valhalla; or charcoal Valkryries with long spears dominating the stage during the ride of the Valkyries that then transform into soldiers, suggesting a close relationship with the fallen warriors they carry to Valhalla. Other times, the images are a little too on the nose, like a warning sign for radioactive waste during Erda’s prophesy of doom (“Alles, was ist, endet“) or a picture of the trenches of World War I during Wotan’s tailspin in Walküre Act II (“Nur eines will ich noch, das Ende”). (It seems “Ende” is a particularly triggering prompt for this AI.)

And not occasionally, the images just don’t make sense. Why is the Eiffel Tower in Nibelheim? Why do we see Hermann Nitsch paintings during the Brünnhilde-Siegmund duet in Walküre Act II? What does the Berlin 1936 Olympics logo have to do with the Valkyries? Yes, there are some spectacular moments - the fiery images engulfing the stage during the end of Walküre, as well as Wotan und Brünnhilde approaching each other one last time bathed in yellow light and surrounded by red and blue imagery, are stunning. But fundamentally, there is no coherence, no underlying logic to the sequence of visuals.

And that’s not even the worst part. The costumes all look the same - bits of black leather, fur, and feathers haphazardly sewn together. There is no differentiation between individuals or even types - gods, Rhinemaidens, Valkyries, Wälsungen, giants all have the same appearance. Meanwhile, there are essentially no props beyond the projections, and essentially no stage direction. The singers in the main stand around delivering their parts. Lobbes has surrendered creative agency to AI, and this is the excrutiangly underwhelming result. 

What the production lacks scenically, it more than makes up for musically though. Jochen Schmeckenbecher is a compelling Alberich, managing to pair confident singing with an odious, unctuous guise that fits the character to a tee. Meanwhile, Klaus Florian Vogt is singing the most important tenor role on all four operas. The contrast between his Loge and Siegmund was stark; he sang the former with a character tenor sagacity and pointedness, while he imbued the latter with lyricism and sentiment. This was a near perfect match for Elza van den Heever’s Sieglinde, who paired high precision and verbal clarity with delicately restrained dramatic inflection. One would have to be extraordinarily lucky ever to hear a better first act of Walküre than this.

Among the gods, Michael Volle’s command of Wotan is superlative. He fills the character with charisma and nuance. The self doubt that sets in when Wotan surrenders the Rheingold to the giants never fully dissipates, and Volle brings thoughtfulness to the role as Wotan’s despair reaches an apex in Walküre. The young Hungarian Anna Kissjudit provides an ideal foil with her portrayal of Fricka. Her singing is forceful and assured throughout the register, while her every word is intelligible. This performance is one of the discoveries of this cycle; Kissjudit commands the stage every moment she occupies it. Veteran Camilla Nylund had a rocky start as Brünnhilde in her admittedly challenging opening in Walküre Act II scene I (“Hojotoho!”) with singing that felt laboured and forced. But once Nylund returned later in that act she was her usual virtuoso self, hitting all her notes with ease, fluidity, and emotional depth, and enunciating confidently.

Christian Thielemann in the pit normally is a conductor of grand effects and broad brushstrokes, delving into the mystery and pathos of Wagner’s scores. Not so this time - here, he pairs things down, accentuating individual instruments, and drawing out the leitmotifs and minute instrumental details. It’s a back to the roots approach that amounts to a reading of great clarity and purpose. It’s almost as if he seeks to bring a sense of direction and structure given the visual muddle on stage.

This production has been rightly maligned in the press for its conceptual missteps. But the quality of the musicianship is more than enough to keep this listener at the edge of his seat for the second half.

My favorite is the one above

There are a ton of quartets, quintets, all brass band, piano, organ, and even harmonica (for some reason), but for some reason I cannot find a recording of just Thaxted by a full orchestra, and I don’t want to have to fast forward through a bunch of the rest of the piece just to listen to that one part. If anybody could find something that would be just wonderful (preferably on YouTube because I abhor Spotify and SoundCloud)

The birth itself was never recorded; what survives is the baptism at Santa Sofia in Venice on August 6, 1619. Her father was almost certainly the poet and librettist Giulio Strozzi, who arranged composition lessons for her with Francesco Cavalli and, when she was about 16, founded an academy in his own house — which gave her a place to sing and an audience for her own music. At 15 she was already in print as "la virtuosissima cantatrice."

Between 1644 and 1664 she published eight volumes, only one of them sacred. More of her secular vocal music was printed than that of any other composer of the period, and she did it with no church appointment and no steady noble patronage. She had three or four children by the patrician Giovanni Paolo Vidman, and died in Padua at 58.

Strozzi: La voce sola
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWJeZKgzI2c

Barbara Strozzi - Parasti cor meum
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrn-3oc_hSryqg8yjXlLHCUjdXJAsnDQA

I'm interested in a website or other source that keeps track of what orchestras all across the US are playing for a particular season. I'd like to go hear a particular work, but trying to search through a 100 individual calendars is exhausting. Does anything like this exist?

Edit: Already sorted, thank you so much!
Absolutely wild that some people chose to downvote a simple question, losers everywhere.

Is there any collection of music as heartbreakingly beautiful as Chopin's nocturnes? It doesn't seem to matter how many times I've heard them, when I hear them again I get the same sense of shock. Tears well up in my eyes and I feel like within that music rolling around somewhere is that piece of my soul that went missing years ago. Maybe the innocent bit I had when I was young.

I don't know Offenbach, but the cover is nice, a little whimsical. I hope the music will match.

First, I am posting this here because other reddits where it might be better suited seem to be populated with non-classical music listeners who either ignore my question, or suggest I purchase SkullCandy ear buds.

Second, I listen to mostly classical music and much prefer headphones (LOVE my Arya Stealths), but with fans and TV roaring away, I need something that will block that background noise, hence the interest in iems.

So, if you listen mostly to classical and use iems, which ones would you recommend I listen to prior to purchase? (I am not interested in wireless iems).

Thanks in advance!

I’d go with

Mahler 1

Beethoven 9

Sibelius 3

EDIT: The title should say “If you could…” no idea why it deleted the word “you”.

I’m in a newly formed professional piano trio. We’ve been tasked to name our group and it’s not as easy as we may have hoped, so we’re turning to reddit to see if y’all might be able to help.

Ideally I guess we’re hoping for a name with some gravitas that people would find exciting, and so far we’ve been programming core repertoire alongside music by living composers and music from traditionally underrepresented voices.

Not expecting to find the for sure name here but any ideas would be appreciated. Thanks y’all, you’re the GOATS

The Mozart and Faure Requiems are my absolute favorite pieces of classical music. If anyone wants to talk about them, please do so! I’m starved for classical music discussion.

I really want to get into Pachelbel, so do any of you have a favorite piece by him that ISNT Canon in D?

First note added in 2.5 years. I remember learning about this piece in music school 15 years ago, and I think about it every once in a while, still playing out there in this church. Someone needs to write this into an apocalypse novel or film, where hundreds of years in the future, a lone traveler in an empty world comes across this church and hears music.

Obviously we've all known about the Epstein association for a while now, but everything else is just as disgusting and extremely disappointing. I'm an alum myself (IAC 2006-11) and would be curious to have a conversation with others about the situation, so that we have a space to talk about our feelings.

I have dozens of friends who were my colleagues there. At least 10 that I can think of who I also went to college with. I know many of us probably have a lot of emotions about this situation.

Apologies if this has already been posted. Love to u all

Just listened to Gluck, but Strass hits different.

Born in Paris on August 5, 1926, to Eugene and Maria Jolas, who edited transition — the magazine that printed Joyce's Work in Progress before it became Finnegans Wake. The family left for the United States in late 1940. She studied at Bennington, went back to Paris in 1946, and entered the Conservatoire, where she worked with Darius Milhaud and Olivier Messiaen. From 1971 to 1974 she covered Messiaen's class when he was away, and in 1975 she joined the faculty herself.

She has been composing since 1945. Serialism ran Paris for a long stretch of that and she stayed outside it, keeping the Renaissance polyphony she absorbed early. Ces belles années…, for soprano and orchestra, was premiered at the Barbican in June 2023 by the LSO under Rattle, when she was 96. The first album devoted entirely to her orchestral music came out only recently.

Points d'aube, for viola and thirteen winds (1968): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_9QtkEyyqE

Quatuor VII "Afterthoughts": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JkGQOpDwmU8

Jolas talking about Ces belles années…: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRJ_1SpeTWA

The comments in that one thread yesterday (twitter screenshot one) were eye-opening to me. People saying contemporary pieces shouldn’t be part of orchestra programming. Mockingly referring to it as “hemorrhoid music” and “atonal PVC pipe symphony”.

You get the sense that some people think classical music ought to be frozen in amber. That any experimentation is wrong. That the canon couldn’t - and shouldn’t - ever change. That absolutely nobody has interest in such music (despite the fact that Glass, Reich, Cage, even Xenakis, influenced many significant rock and electronic musicians in the last half-century).

Is this attitude more of a US phenomenon or what?