The New Babylon - Kozintsev, Trauberg and Shostakovich

Dimitri Shostakovich's first film score, for the 1929 film by Grigori Kozintsev and Leonid Trauberg, The New Babylon (Novyy Vavilon). The film makers were part of a co-operative known as FEKS (the Factory of the Eccentric Actor) that thrived on the daring new possibilities offered by film as an artistic medium,  thriving on futurism and the avant garde. The subversive spirit of the 1920's squeezed into political orthodoxy.

Like the film makers, Shostakovich was young and idealistic : this was his first commission for the movies. (the score to be played live at screenings). Cinema was a truly innovative art form, in that it appealed to mass audiences who might not otherwise have been drawn to “art”.  By the standards of the day, The New Babylon was daring. By working on it, the youthful Shostakovich was right in the centre of what was artistic avant garde in Soviet terms. He didn’t have the relative luxury composers in the west had, of conducting and teaching. He needed the movies to make a living. What is intriguing is how much film influenced the development of his music.  Thus the brassy militaristic marches, interposed by manic crowd scenes, chreographed to highlight excess and abandon.

The film celebrates the Paris Commune, dutifully showing images of downtrodden workers, capitalist degenerates, effete officers, healthy peasants and other stereotypes. The plot is simple: the downtrodden rise up against the system with some vague idea of “getting rid of the bosses” but are soon crushed by the military. The acting is banal. The heroine uses one pained expression for every purpose. It’s a relief when she suddenly falls out of the plot, her place taken by a minor actress who really can act, so much so that her personality seems to enliven the screen, even if she’s long dead and forgotten.


This being a propaganda film, the plot doesn’t bear analysis. One moment the washerwomen struggle with weariness. Once they’re told they’re free they suddenly wash with such hysterically manic vigour they get soaked through in the process. If only it were that simple….. The climactic scene is one where the communards and the bourgeoisie face each other in a stand-off. Of course the communards are supposed to be expressing contempt for the depraved ways of the capitalist class, proving their moral superiority and ultimate victory. Perhaps it’s the bad acting again, but the distinct impression I got from the scene was that the actors playing the communards would much rather have been enjoying sinful hedonism.  Perhaps the film was banned because it portrayed the degenerate capitalists with too much glee. They may be a drunken lot with rotten teeth, but they sure seem to have a good time. At least they get to do it in satins and lace. Indeed, the decadence is portrayed with such historical detail that in one brief shot, I’ll swear I saw why the Can Can was so scandalous! Mixed messages, then, in this film.


Shostakovich's score is a delightful riot of witty set pieces, such as the Marseillaise and variations thereon, Can Can music and a maudlin Tchaikovsky piano solo to match the onscreen scene where a communard plays an instrument consigned to the barricades. Moreover, there are obvious “scenery” effects, such as gunshots, the trundling of carts, cannonades and so on. Subtle this isn’t. Someone somehow managed to edit film and music in such a way that they are perfectly synchronised.  When I first saw the restored fim, back in 2006, I wasn't too impressed by the cinematography, but re-watching after all these years, I appreciate it a lot more for what it is.  We're all puppets, the film seems to suggest, caughtup in situations beyond our control.

Vladimir Jurowski : John Foulds Dynamic Triptych, Shostakovich 11

“Revolution in the Head" strange title for the concert by Vladmir Jurowski and the London Philharmonic Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall, London, featuring John Foulds’s Dynamic Triptych and Shostakovich Symphony no 11 "The Year 1905".  Jurowski's Shostakovich is always good, and he's done this particular symphony many times, but this performance was extraordinary - valedictory, tender, and intense committed. Frankly, we can never get enough of performances like this, and of Jurowski's characteristic intelligence and world-vision. I'll miss his short discussions which go way beyond the score, to the very essence of human creativity.

But why "Revolution in the head" ? Not the obvious connection with the insurrections of 1905, but  what they may or may not have foretold. A few years back there was a quiz through which you could figure out what type of revolutionary you'd have been at the time. It was so erudite and so detailed that the only people who got it would have been historians, but my goodness it was accurate !
What of John Foulds’s Dynamic Triptych op. 88 (1929)? Foulds has cult status and attracts exaggerated claims. Dynamic Triptych is readily accessible, as it deals with three basic elements of composition : mode, timbre and rhythm, each developed with playful inventiveness.  Even humour - listen out for the off the wall sound in the second section when the whole idea of timbre melts away, almost as ethereal as a theremin. The soloist here was Peter Donohue, with whom Sakari Oramo recorded the Dynamic Triptych with the CBSO fourteen years ago.

On the radio, Donohue says that Foulds's' reputation as a composer of light music affected his reception, but Foulds's' World Requiem (1919-21) is hardly light music. More worrying is the idea that Foulds was eclipsed by Schoenberg and American composers, though Ives and Varèse then were marginal figures.  The fact is that composers had been experimenting with new approaches to modality, timbre and rhythm for quite some time.  As for the Orientalism that so inspired Foulds, that too was nothing new.  Orientalism isn't just about the orient but the promise of intriguing new ways of expression. In Germany, the Idea of the East inspired Goethe, Beethoven, Mozart and of course Mahler, Zemlinsky and others.  In France, contact with other civilizations influenced art, poetry, music to an even greater extent. In Italy, think Puccini, and in Russia, think Stravinsky. Even if one were to restrict comparisons only to British music, we have the examples of Gustav Holst, Samuel Colderidge-Taylor, Delius, Sorabji and Benjamin Britten.  And of course Ralph Vaughan Williams and others studying the modes of earlier western tradition.  British music isn't "pastoral" or insular, however much some might prefer it to be. Why blame Schoenberg (and Americans) when so much else was going on ? Foulds’s' Dynamic Triptych isn't that "strange" either when you consider what else was being written in the explosion of creative freedom of the 1920's and 30's. Perhaps Foulds’s' time will really come when he's appreciated not as an oddity but in the context of his time.

Semyon Bychkov Czech Philharmonic Orchestra Prom : Smetana Tchaikovsky Shostakovich

Semyon Bychkov conducts the Czech Philharmonic - credit Marco Borggreve for the Czech Philharmonic

Just as the Second Night of the BBC Proms 2019 was the real First Night of the Proms in terms of musical quality, (Please read my review here),  Semyon Bychkov's Prom with the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra was probably the real Last Night of the Proms, since the official Last Night of the Prom is party time, when everyone has a good time, enjoying lighter fare, and so it should be !  But Bychkov and the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra reminded us that good music, well performed, represents the vision of Sir Henry Wood. The Last Night we know now only dates from Malcolm Sargent.

Bychkov's appointment as Chief Conductor of the Czech Philharmonic was unexpected, though it was clear that the government and the management wanted someone who would please the public, recording companies, foreign organizations and the Ministry of Culture. (Please read what I wrote at the time).  Given that the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra's reputation is based on its unique mastery of Czech repertoire, this signalled a departure.  Not without precedent : In 1991, Gerd Albrecht the then governement imposed on the orchestra, hoping that that would increase its international profile and sell more records. Though Albrecht was a very great conductor, the match was not made in heaven. Controversially, the orchestra was split into two. The Prague Philharmonia (PK) still thrives and is very good.  If the governemnt again wanted a big name and recording contracts, that's what they have with Bychkov. His advantage was that Decca sponsored Bychkov's Tchaikovsky Project, "Beloved Friends", which has been around for years. He conducted the Project with several different orchestras many times (including at the Barbican, a good series with Kiril Gerstein, but which somehow didn't sell despite massive advertising).  Bychkov took the Czech Phil on a highly publicized tour of The United States (with two stops in non-major venues in London and Vienna).  Not really an "international" tour.  Bychkov is good (though his WDR Köln were somewhat uneven) , but he's developed iunto a truly great conductor of repertoire closest to his heart -Tchaikovsky, for example, and Russian repertoire, and outstanding opera.

A wonderful performance, geared around Bychkov's strengths, the Czech Philharmonic playing with animated enthusiasm.  Acknowledging the orchestra's grand traditions, Bychkov started with extracts from Smetana's The Bartered Bride - the Overture and three of the dances : the opera in miniature. Wonderfully vivid,  bursting with energy. Though the plot is folkloristic, there's far more to the opera than pastoral kitsch . It's an explosion of  energy and high spirits  : the burgeoning of Spring and new growth (which is why marriage matters to peasants).  The lovers see off those who willl trade them off : they remain uncowed and independent.  Bychkov's tempi were fast, and he kept pushing, forcing  his players forward.   They are so good that they didn't miss a beat. Just as dancing is a physical workout, so should this music evolve.  The tension between punch and lyricism was suitably tight, emphatic timpani setting a strong pulse, from which the freedom  of the dance figures flew.  At moments the brass had an almost "alpine" atmosphere -  there are mountains in Bohemia, and the peasants are hardy.

With the Letter Scene from Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin, Bychkov was in home territory. In concert performance, the soloist Elena Stikhina was impressive enough, but the orchestra excelled.   Bychkov has conducted Tchaikovsky's Francesca da Rimini, with them in the past.

More core Bychkov repertoire with Shostakovich Symphony no 8 ("Stalingrad") Op  65 (1943) another very good performance, the orchestra playing with great alacrity : sharply defined staccato, drum rolls and brass fanfares, crashing cymbals, a forbidding hum in the strings. The cor anglais rose like a spectre, like smoke from the ruins of battle, ominous strings (celli, basses, later violins and violas) groaning in its aftermath.  The Allegretto and Allegro function as scherzos. In the first, impish figures screamed, and woodwinds rushed into manic dance. In the second, whirring sounds, pipes and pistons, evoking at once an infernal machine, yet also, perhaps a sly reference to the relentless state machinery of the Stalinist era - the worship of technology in Soviet Realism taken to extremes.  Hence the mock gaiety of the brass and percussion, in mimicry of  military parades. A restrained, but moving finale, the "hollow" nature of the brass reflecting the "machinery" that  had gone before.  Perhaps this will be a new direction for the Czech Philhramonic Orchestra. But pray that they don't lose what they do best of all, even if it's not "international-friendly".

John Storgårds Modern Impressionism - Rachmaninov, Shostakovich, Tarkiainen

John Storgårds and the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, Prom 22, with Rachmaninov, Shostakovich and Outi Tarkiainen's Midnight Sun Variations. Storgårds kept up standards at the BBC PO during a  fallow period under Juanjo Mena, so it was a bit of a surprise to see he didn't get get named Chief Conductor. Fortunately, Omer Meir Wellber is pretty good, as his Haydn Creation Prom last week demonstated - I loved its flair ! Storgårds remains Chief Guest at the BBC PO. The orchestra was sounding very polished and alert.  

A good Rachmaninov Isle of the Dead. Though this piece is often described as "romantic" it's more Romantic, in the sense that it connects to concepts of Romanticism - symbolism, the unconscious, alternative reality.  Rachmaninov knew the series of illustrations by Arnold  Böcklin, made in the 1880's , depicting an island rising from the sea. Its cliffs are so steep that nothing quite like this can exist in nature : Landscape painting, this is not, by any means.  This is the Island of the Dead, perhaps on the river of Lethe, as in ancient myth, through which the dead are rowed b y a mystery boatman.  The island is uninhabited : the white shrouded figure is en route to the Underworld.  Böcklin’s image was inspired by a dream. Any Freudian will note : images of death, and rebirth together, and a sense of inescapable doom. Storgårds's approach emphasized the mood of strange foreboding.  In the quiet rhythms, one might imagine oars, steadily making their way through the waters,  and in the sudden swell of the strings, the cliffs looming above, the descending figures a reminder that life is fragile.  Though the surfaces in the rock like, Storgårds focussed on the shifting textures rather than the architecture, creating the piece as an almost-impressionistic wash of colours and strange harmonies. It's worth remembering that Rachmaninov was a contemporary of Claude Debussy and of Stravinsky. 

In the context of this particular Prom, though, the connections included Sibelius, particularly his Symphony no 4, with its brooding darkness. After the previous night's all-Sibelius Prom (please read more here) Storgårds conducted the London premiere of Outi Tarkiainen's Midnight Sun Variations. The publishers Edition Wilhelm Hansen Copenhagen quotes the composer that the work is "about the light in the arctic summer night, when the northern sky above the Arctic Circle reflects a rich spectrum of infinitely-nuanced hues that, as autumn draws near, are once again veiled in darkness; when Europe’s biggest and most unpolluted wildernesses, the tundra and dense coniferous forests mystified by Jean Sibelius in his last large-scale work, Tapiola (1926), are bathed in countless shades of light. The work begins with a sparkling ray of sunshine: the orchestra radiates and rises, playfully traces its round and goes back to the beginning again. Solitary wind solos soar above the orchestra, softly proclaiming the peace of the summer night to answering sighs from a horn. A new beginning finally emerges in the strings: a chord beating with rugged primitive force that fills the whole space with its warmth. This sets off a pulse of constantly remixing chords that ultimately fires the whole orchestra into action, until the strings break away, ascend to the heights and impart maybe the most important message of all". 

Although it's inspired by landscape, this is as much inner landscape as external. I liked this piece because it works as music on its own terms, from within, rather than created from preconceived concepts.  Undulating swathes of sound, evoking spatial distance, layers of detail, providing texture and colour.  I thought  of Kaija Saariaho, but Tarkiainen's palette is closer to the natural colours of Lapland, than to Paris.  Life there must be simpler and more down to earth.  The swathes of sound swirl, evoking perhaps a sense of parallel reality, where past and present, seen and unseen might co-exist.  At eleven minutes Midnight Sun Variations does not outstay its welcome, a mistake some composers make when they're trying too hard. I like this spareness,like the fragility of life in a tough climate. A surprisingly good companion for Rachmaninov  Isle of the Dead ! 

Shostakovich's Symphony No 11 in G minor 'The Year 1905' is a public piece, which won Shostakovich the Lenin Prize. The subject matter
is unashamedly patriotic, commemorating the December Revolution which was suppressed but entered the political mythology of that Soviet State. There's nothing in principle wrong with propaganda music, but much of the appeal of this symphony lies in the way it plays on emotions to whip up excitement,  and the avoidance of doubt.  With its vivid images, it feels like the soundtrack for a movie.  on closer listening, though, it's as much atmospheric as belligerent. Storgårds approaches it as a tone poem, emphasizes the subtler aspects. Muffled drums, long, flowing lines that could be anything - gunsmoke, the earth,  the Russian "soul", whatever, but effective on purely musical terms. Impressionism on a grand scale . A perceptive approach, different from the technicolor extremes some still associate with Shostakovich, but ultimately more rewarding. 

Klaus Mäkelä at Bergen Philharmonic - why you need to know

Klaus Mäkelä, photo : Harrison Parrott

The Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Klaus Mäkelä, livestreamed from Norway, with   Beethoven Piano Concerto No. 5 "Emperor" with Javier Perianes, and Dmitri Shostakovich Symphony No. 10.  The Bergeners are always worth listening to and you really can't get enough of Beethoven, but the surprise here was Klaus Mäkelä. Who? you might ask.  I hadn't heard of him til this Bergen concert and was surprised to find out how good he is.  But even more shocked to learn his age. 

Born in 1996, he's still only 22 yet he's Principal Guest Conductor at the Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra and has just been appointed Chief and Artistic Advisor of the Oslo Philharmonic Orchestra.  So have a listen to the link here. Weather conditions seem to have messed up the video, but the audio is clear.  He conducted Shostakovich 10 at Gothenberg a few months ago, and has the measure of it.  A very stylish, refined reading, which is OK. Shostakovich does not need to be craggy and violent. It's the music that counts, not the persona.  From what I've been reading Mäkelä himself is pretty stylish, too - likes sharp suits asnd is clearly fashion-aware.  That alone should enrage the kind of listeners who on principle are determined to hate anyone young, successful and non-butch macho, which says more about their own insecurities than about those whom they hate. This guy has potential.  It's hard to tell from one concert but he seems to have the gloss of Nézet-Séguin, but greater depth and a willingess to take informed risks.  Management is Harrison Parrott, who have a lot lined up for him in the near future.

Shostakovich Michelangelo Songs : Goerne, Honeck, Finnish Radio Symphony

Manfred Honeck conducted the Finnish Radio Symphony (Radion Sinfoniaorkesteri) in Shostakovich Suite on Verses of Michelangelo Buonarroti op. 145a (Matthias Goerne, soloist) and Mahler Symphony no 1 livestreamed on Finnish Radio's Areena HERE. Goerne has been singing these Shostakovich songs for years, most recently in the voice and piano versions (with Andsnes, Schhmalcz and Trifonov) so it was good to hear him sing them again with full orchestra, which he's also done, and in the full eleven-song version.

Brooding strings and percussion introduced the first song Istina (Truth) in which Michelangelo states the need for an artist to have integrity, whatever his lords or patrons might prefer to hear. The authority in Goerne's delivery, his timbre as solid as the rock which Michelangelo the sculptor turned into art.  Thus the contrast with the sensuality of Utro (Morning), where the poet describes his lover's golden tresses, garlanded by flowers. Michelangelo's sculptures are so vivid that they seem to pulse with life. Fingers press, making indentations on the marble as if it were living flesh.  Beneath the smooth surface, these sculptures seem to throb as though muscles and blood vessels throbbed within.  thuis the exclamation "What, then, would my arms do" inviting the viewer/listener into the physical experience.  A flute introduces Lyubov (Love) suggesting intimacy, elusive piping figures suggesting lightness, even whimsy, in contrast to the darkness in the vocal line.  Beauty grows when it unites with the heart, and becomes immortal.  Michelangelo, being an artist, lives eternally in the works he left behind.  And so to the expansive long lines in Razluka (Separation) which express distances, in time and in space. The poet cannot live without love, and dies, leaving the memory of his devotion as a pledge. Goerne's voice softens to tender near sotto voce, as if cherishing the miracle of creation, the last phrase held so it floated into stillness.

In Gnev (Wrath) the mood changes, and the orchestra seems to flare up : violent chords, with sharp edges, trumpets, bassoons and trombones : a very masculine rage, ideally suited to the ferocity Goerne can express when needed. The text refers to the way Christ's message is distorted and abused. Chalices are turned into swords and helmets and Christ's blood sold like a commodity in the marketplace.  And thus to Dante, whose visions of heaven and hell inspired great literature, but who was forced into exile, "for his splendour blazed too brightly for common eyes", as Goerne declaims in the next song Izgnanniku (In exile), the curving vocal lines lit by metallic percussion, timpani and baleful low brass and strings.  The orchestra swells, then falls silent around the singer, and surges again like a chorus.  Goerne sings the last line tenderly : "No  man equal, or greater was ever born".  Christ and Dante, visionaries, persecuted for what they believed in. The sharp dissonances in Tvorchestvo (Creativity) suggest hammerblows : the sculptor doggedly chipping away. Alarums and crashing cymbals, shining brass and winds, and metallic bells, suggesting the triumph of art over base material.  In Night (Noch') Strozzi marvels at a statue: can the angel be stone, if she seems asleep ? A somnolent postlude to Stnerf (Death), where the strings seem to pulsate, like a human body at rest, trumpets calling as in nightwatch.  In Bessmertie (Immortality), the poet reflects. Through what he has created, the artist lives on, his art inspiring those who understand his work.  The piping flute duet of Lyubov (Love) returns : love is a force of life, brightly carrying on the torch.  Goerne's voice grows firm and full, buoyed up by conviction. Powerful chords in the orchestra, a moment of stillness broken by staccato suggesting the hammerblows in Tvorchestvo (Creativity).  Since Goerne hasn't recorded Shostakovich's Suite on Verses of Michelangelo Buonarroti this performance from Helsinki with Honeck should be treasured.  As a bonus, there's an interview with him on the broadcast where he speaks about the piece. 

An enjoyable Mahler Symphony no 1 from Honeck and the RSO. What a good orchestra this is ! There are connectiond that could be made between Shostakovich Suite on Verses of Michelangelo Buonarroti and Mahler's First Symphony. Indeed Goerne has a programme in his repertoire which deals specifcally with the connections between Mahler's Early Songs and this particular set of Shostakovich songs. Please read more HERE, it's good.  For example, the idea of Titans, which gets sneered at because the tage was not used by Mahler himself. But Mahler and his contemporaries knew their classics better than modern audiences do. They would have known about the race of Titans who were very strong, but venal, and were supplanted by proper Gods. Base material turned into art, just as Michelangelo would have done.  Not in this performance though which emphasized the Spring like aspects of the symphony and its youthful spirit 

Not Hollywood - Eisenstein October LSO Barbican

Tonight at the Barbican the London Symphony Orchestra provides live soundtrack for Sergei Eisenstein's silent movie October - Ten Days that Shook the World presented by Kino Klassik in a new edition of the film made in 2012.  The LSO will be playing the original music, composed by Edmund Meisel (1894-1930), not the better known music by Dmitri Shostakovich written for the revival of the film for the 50th anniversary of the revolution.  This performance is significant because Meisel was an extremely important figure in the very early years of cinema, writing scores for several films, including Eisenstein's Battleship Potemkin and Arnold Fanck's The Holy Mountain and other works still being unearthed.   Hollywood most certainly didn't dominate early film and music, for early film was decidedly not "Hollywood".

Meisel was connected to experimental film makers like Walter Ruttman who created Lichtspiele, using the medium of film as if it were pliable, like painting, to create abstract works. Think Cubism as movie.  See clips of Ruttmann's early work here.   Ruttmann's Lichtspiele were Like music! . They were made in co-operation with Hanns Eisler, who wrote music to be played live as the films were screened.  So again, the concept of music combined with film before the technology to make sound movies was even possible.  Eisler's contribution to music and to film goes much further than agit prop.  Yet again, he's a reminder that there's more to cinema than Hollywood, even in Hollywood.

 Meisel also wrote the music for Ruttmann's Berlin : Symphony of a Great City one of the most important films of its era, still an icon.  Why a symphony of a Great City?  Early film makers thought in terms of music, often describing scnes as "acts" as if music drama.  Ruttmann's film isn't narrative, but literally a portrait of the city, filmed on the streets, real people, real events, lovingly observed. The raw shots were edited and ordered much in the way that the sounds of an orchestra are put together by a composer writing music.  The subject is the city itself, the drama the drama of urban life.   Ruttmann employed innovative techniques  like odd angles and perspectives, expanding the idea of visual expressiveneess.  

Berlin : Symphony of a Great City is more than a movie, it embodies the concepts of modernism in art, film and music. It's not a film in theusual sense of a narrative motion picture.  Multiple, diverse images are used like themes in music.  They're layered and juxtaposed
like musical ideas. The images are grouped in several main "movements"that as a whole follow a trajectory from morning to night. A snapshot of the life of the city. Please read my analysis of this wonderful work HERE, describing the structure and individual images some of which aren't readily obvious.

Early audiences were often more used to music than movies, and several early films unfold as "movements". The full title of Nosferatu is Nosferatu : eine synfonie des Grauens, "a symphony of horrors". But Berlin : Die Sinfonie der Grossstadt develops the idea on a grand scale. Because it's abstract, much more detail is possible, and thus more possibilties of interpretation Truly "modern" art.  

And of Eisenstein's October ? It, too, was innovative, inspired by the new Soviet Union's brief fascination with futurism before Stalinist conservatism froze the tundra of Russian creativity.  Kaput to the dreams of the revolution and ideas of new art !  Shostakovich's score is thrilling, but Meisel's connects more to the spirit of the era,

Like Ruttmann, Eisenstein uses film like painting, creating collages and images applied in  painterly ways.    A statue of the Tsar is seen outlined against the sky. It's torn down by diagonal ropes.  A crowd cheers, arms raised heavenwards. Scythes are seen, en masse. Close ups of soldiers faces, grinning, then suddenly, we're in an ornate palace, with elaborate mosaic floor tiles. Cut to angular shots of heavy machinery, to images of starving children dwarfed by huge columns of stone, to shots of a crowd waiting, at night for a train. "Ulyanov ! It's him !"

Diagonals fill the screen, shaking up flat, "natural" order.  Flags and banners wave, crowds march, individuals lost in orchestrated movement.  Gunshots are fired. Suddenly the tightly packed march disintegrates,figures running wildly across a huge city square.  Cannons, horses fallto the ground, crippled.  The gates of a huge bridge open, magnificent abstract lines : but a horse is impaled in the machinery; the modern age versus the past, in one horrific image. In a palace, the Provisionalgovernment  gathers. Officials walk up and down grand staircases, pre-dating the works of M C Escher.  Hurried footsteps, leading nowhere.When the words "For God and country" appear in subtitles, we see, notOrthodox depictions of God but alien Gods - primitive sculptures,Buddhas, Gods so primitive and atavistic that they can't be identified.Tanks arrive to crush the revolution. What we see are rolling tracks, machines of destruction  terrifying because they are impersonal.  Close ups of guns and individual bullets : the proletariat will fight back.

The bridge across the Neva is raised again,  but a ship- with fourimpressive funnels. We see sailors, and cadets marching, as the massive
gates of an imperial palace are pulled shut.  A  half naked woman cavorts on the billiard table of the Tsar.  What's going on ?  Through a
collage of images,   Eisenstein recreates the tension and uncertainitythat people must have felt in the upheaval.  This is cinematic techniqueas art, not unlike the fractured visuals of Cubist painting.

The Bolsheviks mobilize. Eisenstein shows images of hands operating telegraph machines, of armed men rushing up and down staircases, men with bayonets. swathed in smoke.  A ravaged looking woman looks up at a marble sculpture : without explicit dialogue, is Eisenstein suggesting the idea of redemption through the high ideals that art can symbolize ? Or something completely different ? Because the nature of art is notnecessarily specific, but the opening up of possibilities. Foir all we know, that's why Stalinists needed conservative "realism" where no-one needs to think.

The army declares for Bolshevism: a forest of bayonets. Wheels are turning, the machine surging ahead.  Machine gun clips fire, and
cannons, in such rapid sequence that the images hardly have time toregister.   Troops swarm into the palace, ascending the marble
staircases : we can "hear" the sound of their boots in short, sharp images.  The Revolution is won ! we see the faces of clocks mark the
moment, in Petrograd, in Moscow, around the world.

Czech Philharmonic Ochestra - Hrůša Shostakovich Mahler 4

The Czech Philharmonic Orchestra's 122nd season opened with Shostakovich and Mahler, conducted by Jakub Hrůša.  Interesting background to this concert, given the recent announcement of Semyon Bychkov as Chief Conductor.  Memories are still fresh of last year's opening concert where Jiří Bělohlávek conducted a golden, autumnal Mahler Das Lied von der Erde  (read more here)  uniting the Czech Phil's characteristic style with  Mahler, who was born in Bohemia, but was not a Bohemian composer.  Hrůša conducted the Czech Phil's memorial to  Bělohlávek in June. With Bychkov, the orchestra's management may be seeking a new style  that will appeal to record companies and foreign audiences, and might make good business sense, but Hrůša represents the Czech Phil's unique heritage.

An elegaic quality, then, for Shostakovich's Violin Concerto no  1 in A minor op 77. Leonidas Kavakos created the haunting violin line in the Nocturne so it suggested intense sadness, surrounded as it is with bassoons, low winds and strings.  It's not festive, but there was something firmly resolute in the way the violin line developed, illuminated at the end by harps.  The scherzo is a battle of wits between the violin and various instrumental groups in the orchestra, underpinned  by fast-flowing figures: energy defying repression, angular shapes growing fiercer til they cut off suddenly.  The dark resonance the Czech Phil does so well came to the fore in the Passacaglia, the tuba leading as if in a funeral procession. As the orchestral sounds grew muffled, the violin continued, alone . Kavakos played with firm assertiveness, not afraid to stress the harsher, angular moments in the bowing.which give this section such personality. Thus the burlesque took on demonic character.  Hrůša whipped the orchestra into wild, frenzied dance, so Kavakos’s playing seemed to fly free. Freund Hein, the fiddler of Fate !  An excellent introduction to Mahler's Symphony no 4 where the violin serves a similar function.  Of course Shostakovich was influenced by Mahler but it's delimiting. I wish people would stop using lazy clichés instead of listening and thinking.  There is a strong flavour to this piece which draws on Russian traditions which don't connect to Mahler at all.

A sprightly opening to Mahler Symphony no 4, which emphasized its fresh, vernal nature.  The instruction "ohne Hast" doesn't mean slow but rather "without rush".in order that we might relish  the joys of the present, which inevitably cannot last.  The sleighbells and sprightly figures suggested youthful energy.  Since we know what is to come, this enhances meaning. We can hear the children in the final movement as they once were, making their loss all the more poignant. Hrůša defined the dance-like figures, making connections to the Ländler to come.  The children might even be dancing to a Dudelsackpfeiffer: innocence, not sophistication, is of the essence.   The horns defined "winds" of change and a change of mood but the third movement, marked Ruhevolll,  is the real transition, a purgatory in which the issues of death are resolved into a more perfect "heavenly life".Thus the calm but determined pace and the repeated "waves" of sound.  Horns and winds here were impressive, coloured in Dvořák hues.  Maybe I've been listening to too many Stabat Maters lately, but the connections are perfectly relevant and valid in the context of Mahler's Fourth.   An excellent  climax, timpani pounding, horns blazing, the strings shining, the harps adding heavenly light, the sustained woodwind lines calling out into space.     

In Marta Reichelova, the Czech Philharmonic have a gem of a soloist.  She has a very distinctive voice, balancing sweetness with the enthusiastic boyishness Mahler said he wanted in the part. She's still very young, so retains a natural innocence with just a hint of vulnerability that's very endearing.  She cares about the words she sings.  The child in the song may be dead but he or she hasn't lost its love of the simple pleasures of life.  Better Reichelova's genuine child-like charm than blandness, any day !

Jurowski's Pillars : Stravinsky, Shostakovich, Britten Prom

Stravinsky and Shostakovich with Vladimir Jurowski and the London Philharmonic Orchestra. This Prom was typical of Jurowski's genius for intelligent, musically astute programming : Stravinsky's Funeral Song at one end, and Shostakovich Symphony no 11, two pillars,  with Britten's Russian Funeral as supporting buttress, with Prokofiev's Violin Concerto no 1 in D between them. When even Vladimir Putin worries about planetary catastrophe we should need to think how and why we got into a world where some people admire nutcases with nukes.

Stravinsky's Funeral Song was revealed in December last year in St Petersburg, where it had lain undiscovered for over 100 years.  For more background and its significance, please read my article Lost No More : Stravinsky Funeral Song.  Gergiev conducted that performance in a superlative programme connecting Stravinsky with Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov, whose funeral it marked. These connections are important, because the piece on its own is so short that its impact won't be appreciated out of context.  Gergiev linked it to Rimsky-Korsakov The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh and to Stravinsky's The Firebird, a wonderfully unified concept, which Jurowski is doing too at the Royal Festival Hall in February 2018, in a slightly different programme. Mark your calendars.   Combining Stravinsky and Rimsky-Korsakov is musically litterate and satisfying, but for this performance, Jurowski had to fulfil the rigid Proms diktats about dates and nationalism.

Before the Shostakovich symphony, though, Jurowski programmed Benjamin Britten's Russian Funeral (1936), which sets the hymn "You fell as Heroes" commemorating the massacres of the protesters of 1905, which Shostakovich was to incorporate into his Eleventh Symphony in 1957. Earlier this Proms season, we heard Britten's Ballad of Heroes, which has long been misunderstood because listeners can't get past the idea that being anti-war doesn't preclude protest in other forms. The ballad was written after the Spanish Civil War - it's not a call to battle, but a mark of respect for those killed and a protest against oppression. Please read my piece on it HERE.   Hearing Britten before Shostakovich in this context emphasizes the idea of universal struggle against oppression, wherever it might happen, or when. 

 Stravinsky's Funeral Song is about one man and highly personal, while Shostakovich's Symphony no 11 marks the death of multitudes. In 1905, people were massacred on the streets of St Petersburg. Twelve years later, the Tsar was overthrown for good.  Thus the scale of the piece, which not only marks the deaths of 1905, but also the end of Old Russia and the beginning of the New.  Thus the mute stillness of the First Movement "In the Square of the Winter Palace" with its ominous rumblings, and trumpet calls, which gave way to the the more abstract "soaring" theme, rising above the frozen ground, so to speak, as tension gradually rose with percussion defining a  staccato growl.  . Perhaps we can imagine the walls of the palace looming in the solid rising figures but these could also symbolize impenetrable forces of repression.Against these, the winds of change  blow when the strings fly into action, screaming in swirling, wayward lines.   Jurowski's sense of form keeps the scene in sharp definition.

Jurowski conducted with military precision,  contrasting the violence of the attack and the chaos it sliced through.  Thus the eerie silence from which the Funeral Elegy emerged : people are lying dead, but their voices will be heard above.  If anything, Jurowski's control was even more impressive here, allowing the strings and winds to wail, without compromising into insincere sentiment.  Utterly justifying  the connection between this symphony and Stravinsky's Funeral Song.  A magnificent finale, where the angular repetitions march forwards with ferocity.  Though Jurowski, by  nature, is a gentle person, he can be intensely passionate when he needs to be, as truly spiritual people often are.  Where once the soldiers marched on the people, the people now march forth in triumph.  Fanfares can be banal, but Jurowski's clear minded intelligence doesn't degenerate.  The heart of this finale isn't the noise, but the quiet cor anglais and bass clarinet themes. Eventually the Elegy returned, the tocsin bells tolling  clearly above the tumult.  the music breaks off suddenly - the struggle isn't over.  La lutte continua ! everywhere and at all times. Including the present.  

Between the two pillars and supporting buttress of Jurowski's programme, Stravinsky's arrangement of Song of the Volga Boatmen and Prokofiev: Violin Concerto No 1 in D with  Alina Ibragimova, ratherb diluting the overall impact, but that's the Proms for you.

Prokofiev's Cantata for the Twentieth Anniversary of the October Revolution - Gergiev Prom

Sergei Prokofiev's  Cantata for the Twentieth Anniversary of the October Revolution, Op 74,  with Valery Gergiev conducting the Mariinsky Orchestra and Chorus. One Day That Shook the World to borrow the subtitle from Sergei Eisenstein's epic film October : Ten Days that Shook the World.  Prokofiev's Cantata was dynamite in many ways. It's an explosion of sound so overwhelming that it needs to be detonated in a performance space as vast as the Royal Albert Hall for full effect. It was also dynamite  because it was modern in musical terms, while purporting to celebrate increasingly regressive Soviet values.  For a while, the Revolution espoused progressive ideas like futurism and modern art,  Eisenstein was probably able to get away with radical innovation ten years after 1917. Twenty years later, Prokofiev was not so lucky. His Cantata was suppressed until Prokofiev and his nemesis Josef Stalin had died, ironically within days of one another.  Now, a hundred years after the Revolution, we can perhaps assess its impact on Russia and the world.  And with Gergiev and the Mariinsky Orchestra and Choir, we probably had the best possible interpreters.  

Eisenstein's film, made ten years after the Russian Revolution of 1917, depicted ten critical days in the struggle, starting with the return of Lenin, culminating with the creation of a new Soviet government dedicated to ideals of peace and equality.  Prokofiev's Cantata unfolds in ten sections, highlighting themes in the revolution, some with explicit texts, others in more cryptic orchestral form. Prokofiev prefaced the Prelude with a quote from Marx and Engels A Communist Manifesto, "A Spectre is haunting Europe, the Spectre of Communism".  Marx and Engels, though, were writing in 1848 when communism was no more than theory.  Prokofiev, on the other hand, had personal experience of what a communist revolution could mean.  One wonders if he's praising the system or hinting at something darker.   

In the second section, the choirs intone "Philosophers have simply explained the world in different ways. The point is to change it". Another equivocal statement that can be read in different ways. Perhaps the setting hides a clue to meaning. Male and female chorus members sing lines that overlap one another,  propelled by strict rhythm like the pounding of machinery.   Rising anthems in the orchestra suggest patriotic pride, but they're cut apart by an Interlude with jagged angles, and ominous crashing percussion. Perhaps we're in some huge, infernal machine.  In the section titled "Marching in Closed Rank", the voices in jerky lockstep, the rhythms are even more pronounced, highlighted with crashing cymbals and brass.  The text quotes Lenin,"...we are singling ourselves out as a special group who have chosen the path of struggle, not the path of compromise". 

Yet Prokofiev follows this with a tiny Interlude of  haunting quietness before the voices return, the women apart from the men.  The revolution has started but its outcome is by no means certain.  Thus rushing, frantic figures, passages where the singing is so fast that, with less articulate voice, the line might collapse. Psychologically true: Trumpets call, metallic bells are beaten. We even hear the hint of ships' bells underlining the reference to "Kronstadt, Vyborg , Revel" (where the Navy mutinied).  We even hear the wail of a klaxon - a touch of Edgard Varèse? Though it's probably a natural response to the images of machinery and violence.  The suggestion of gunfire hangs heavily over the orchestra.

Victory, at last? The women's voices sing a serene hymn, whose sweeping lines mihght evoke traditional hymns of harvest.  The men's voices join in.  ""The machinery of oppression has been toppled". Yet still Prokofiev paints mechanical processes into his music - the regular tread of machines and processes, the singers clapping their hands in joyless rhythm, the percussion section stamping their feet.  A single voice rises from within the closed ranks of the men's choir.  "We need the measured tread of the iron battalions of the proletariat". The combined choirs sing a secular hymn of unquestioning obedience to Lenin and his values.  The words quote Stalin, whose loyalty to Lenin might not have been as pure as the text suggests.

A section marked "Symphony" follows - flying figures, trumpets and flutes leading forward, the suggestion of pipes and drums, then a semi-pastoral melody, the strings singing as if they were describing fields of corn and a bumper harvest.  But grim ostinato intrudes: the timpani growl and the orchestra flies off again in frantic tension.  Perhaps in this extended section, with its sophisticated textures and inventive contrasts, Prokofiev is expressing that which cannot be voiced in a totalitarian society.  The choirs return, singing in unison, men alternating with women, singing a chorale to words by Stalin, praising the Constitution of the Soviet Union. But in a totalitarian state, constitutional procedures don't guarantee a thing. You could end up in a gulag, as Lina Prokofiev discovered.

So is Prokofiev's  Cantata for the Twentieth Anniversary of the October Revolution glorious propaganda? And, if so, for whom and for what purpose? In musical terms it's a lot more sophisticated and subtle than the blatantly crude texts suggest.  Was Prokofiev playing a dangerous double game? We may never know, but the Cantata is a lot more than kitsch  

Prokofiev's Cantata received its first public performance in 1966.  The following year, the Soviet Republic marked its 50th anniversary with a reissue of Eisenstein's October: Ten Days that Shook The World. A new soundtrack was added, specially written by Dimitri Shostakovich. It';s thrilling stuff,. These thoughts absorbed me while listening to  Gergiev and the Mariinsky Orchestra perform Dimitri Shostakovich Symphony no 5 in D minor, written at the same time as Prokofiev's Cantata  This was a wildfire hit with the regime, rehabilitating him in their good books.  Throughout his career, Shostakovich played cat and mouse with the system, not always in the best interests of his music.   This performance was so good that Gergiev rehabilitated it for me: it's not usually my favourite., but this was good.  Gergiev's  also a champion of the music of Galina Ustvolskaya.  Initially, she was in Shostakovich's inner circle but eventually their paths turned apart.  Ustvolskaya's music was so uncompromising that it compromised her status in society.  Who knows what Prokofiev would have made of her?  The Prokofiev that might lurk within this Cantata, that is. Keeping Prokofiev and Shostakovich apart,  Tchaikovsky's  Piano Concerto No. 3 in E flat major with soloist Denis Matsuev.

Shostakovich plays Shostakovich

Russia Day, but this year marked by a crackdown on protest and opposition.  So back to the dark days of 1941, with Shostakovich alone, without orchestra, playing an extract from his Symphony no 7.

More than a sum of parts : Jurowski, Berg, Denisov, Shostakovich

Vladimir Jurowski, Patricia Kopatchinskaja, London Philharmonic Orchestra,  photo : Sven Lorenz, Essen

Vladimir Jurowski and the London Philharmonic Orchestra with Patricia Kopatchinskaja presented Alban Berg's Violin Concerto.  Kopatchinskaja, Jurowski and the LPO recorded Stravinsky's Violin Concerto and Prokofiev's Violin Concerto no 2 nearly four years ago, and the disc is a best seller, for good reason. Sine Berg's Violin Concerto is perhaps even more popular, the prospect of  hearing it with Kopatchinskaya, Jurowski and the LPO at the Royal Festival Hall was hard to resist. Hopefully, it will be released at some stage. In the meantime, listen to the repeat broadcast on BBC Radio 3. 

But this concert was also memorable because it connected Berg's Violin Concerto with Edison Denisov's Symphony no 2 and Shostakovich's Symphony no 15. Jurowski has a genius for devising programmes that are greater even than the sum of their parts.  Anyone can put a programme together; very few can do so on this level.  Please read my review of  Jurowski's Kancheli, Martinů and Ralph Vaughan Williams concert.  This evening's inspired combination drew out the  more esoteric levels from all three pieces, absolutely justifying  the theme "Belief and Beyond Belief". Although so much about South Bank marketing is gimmick, Jurowski's "Belief and Beyond"  is genuinely well thought through, and adds considerable depth to this year's series of LPO concerts.  By no means is the term Belief limited to conventional, organized religion.  The concept of Belief  informs the whole way we respond to the human condition, even when we don't believe in fixed concepts.  Jurowski's programmes relate to much wider ideas of spiritual and intellectual questioning.  Comic book rigidities go against the grain of creative expression.

Edison Denisov's Symphony no 2 (1996) is typical Jurowski territory: stretching boundaries. Although Denisov lived under Stalin, Khrushchev and Brezhnev, he didn't conform. His perspectives were modern and international. He learned from Debussy, Messiaen, Boulez and Stockhausen and eventually was able to move to Paris, where his music was supported by IRCAM.  Denisov's Symphony, written after he'd moved to Paris, inhabits a world of shimmering almost micro tonality,  sounds blending yet separate, like fluids of different densities flowing together. The voice of a violin emerges from the complex confluences, then  a group of low winds, then a murmur of bassoons and a rumble of percussion.  Swirling figures, very high tessitura, creating forward thrust, broken by staccato cross-currents. Harps and gunfire, I thought.  Savagely angular discords, and the music stops dead. Perhaps literally. Denisov was seriously ill  and passed away six months later.  On the broadcast, Jurowski says there's a quotation from a bassoon solo in Tchaikovsky's Pathétique,  transposed for double bass.

In programmes as esoteric as Jurowski's, it's wise to beware of clichés. Following the obvious idea that Berg's Violin Concerto represents Manon Gropius who died aged 16, South Bank marketing plays up the "Memory of an Angel" aspects of the piece. But Berg, being Berg, is cryptic, hiding behind surface appearances. Kopatchinskaja reminds us of Albina, Berg's secret love child, whom he never really knew. Listen to Kopatchinskaja sing the Carpathian (not Austrian) folk song Berg quotes in the piece! Her singing voice is sweet and bird like, which enhances what the piece represents.  When she plays, she defines the part with strong, affirmative poise. The melody is bittersweet, yet undaunted, even when the orchestra storms around her.  Disquieting shapes in the violin part and crashing chords in the orchestra: this isn't  dewy-eyed sentimentality but something far more profound.  Tonality hovers on the point of breaking and then dissolves, when no more can be said.  The quote "Es ist genug", is a reference to Bach. Jurowski understands that Berg, even at his most passionate, uses structure with the clarity of a mathematical mind. Puzzles and patterns are integral.  Hence the innate  power of this piece, and this very strong performance.

Shostakovich's Symphony no 15 starts with exuberance, rushing forward into quirky march with references to Rossini's William Tell.  Is Shostakovich thinking of military oppression or slyly satirizing music for the movies? Perhaps both, for this symphony is in many ways Shostakovich's memoir.  Was he a puppet in an insane toy shop, or was he pulling  strings?  The poignant Adagio might be a reflection, but, like Berg, Shostakovich can be enigma.  The single chord progressions suggests isolation, yet the violin takes up the pattern, leading the orchestra in a dance that is deflated by  typical Shostakovich raspberries.  Though the protagonist may be alone, he's surrounded by other voices.  The orchestration lets many individual instruments have their moment.  This symphony might be an ironic parody of film, unfolding in different scenes, with quotations from Shostakovich's own work and others.  Thus the dramatic chorale of percussion, complete with crashing gongs.  Yet the underlying melody flows, its way lit by unearthly celesta and xylophone.  A thoughtful performance,  highlighting the many individual sections in this excellent orchestra. Definitely a concert that was more than the sum of its parts.

Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk is back !

Welcome return of Shostakovich Lady Macbeth oif Mtsensk with Eva-Maria Westbroek and Christopher Ventris,  conducted by Mariss Jansons, available for a limited time on Opera Platform. All good stagings connect to the music and ideas in an opera but in this famous classic, from 2006,   Jansons' conducting is so powerful that the physical settings seem to dissolve in the abstraction so the music dominates. This production (Martin Kušej, Dutch National Opera, Amsterdam)  won't please those who think opera "must" be decorative, but it's an excellent example of how abstract musical ideas can find visual expression.  The violent staccato and dissonaces in Shostakovich's score come alive, bristling with tension and violence. In orchestral passages, the stage disappears in a thunderstorm of flashing bright lights against darkness, replicating the angularity in the score. You wouldn't want to be prone to seizures.

 Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk is not a decorative opera. It's a savage cry of protest, against the oppression of women, against closed-minded communities, against repression of all types.   Staccato passages scream and low brasses and winds moan with baleful malevolence. Even while Katerina lives in comfort, chill winds from Siberia blow invisibly around her.  The Ismailov business is built on tight control. When then workers are left to their own devices, they break into mob violence.  The rape scene comes almost right at the beginning - violence against women symbolizes weakness, not strength. Real men don't need to beat up on others to get ahead. Shostakovich's testosterone thrusts are indictment, not glorification. These men are scum because they can't be men in any healthy way. In the libretto, it's clear that Sergei fancies Katerina because she stands up to bullying.  Trolls  aren't constructive: they need to destroy because they can't create.  Zinovy Borisovichs is impotent but he's a good man. He doesn't play games.  Hence  the bittersweet anti-romance in the cocky flute melodies round Sergey and the distorted bombast in  Boris Timofeyevich's music.  Thus, too, the maddening, circular rhythms when the mob intrude, thrusting in every direction.  The solo violin, in contrast, suggests demented resolve.  And so  Boris dies in slow diminuendo.  The crowd scenes are meticulously choreographed, suggesting a kind of orchestrated turmoil. 

Nothing much seems to happen in the long orchestral passage in the second act, but the music functions as an invisible backdrop. As we watch Jansons conduct, we can "hear" the events which are unfolding after Boris's death.   Katerina's still in a box, trapped in a frame without walls, yet there's strange beauty in the orchestration, suggesting wide open spaces, small, twinkling figures shining like starlight.  The staccato now trudges grimly forward.  The scene where Boris's ghost curses is shrouded in darkness, so we pay attention to the elusive violin melody. Although Westbroek and Ventris spend time groping each other in their undies, there's more desolation here than lust.  Zinovy lies dead, out of sight. Shostakovich's music for the police officers is brilliantly malevolent, underlining the anti-authoritarian message implicit in the opera.  When the police invade the wedding, Jansons conducts the multiple cross-currents with clear definition. No partying for Sergey and Katerina.  We're off to Siberia. Now the whole cast are stripped to their undies. Everyone's exposed. If the chant of the chorus sounds vaguely like religious chant, there may well be a reason for that.

Jansons' conducting was matched by the high standards of singing. Westbroek "owns" parts like this. When the Royal Opera House did Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk in 2004, Katarina Dalayman sang the part very well, but on balance I think Westbroek's hapless earthiness extends characterization. In London, Ventris exuded sexual magnetism, effectively stealing the show. Unfortunately in this Amsterdam production, filmed two years later, he's not called on to do much.  It's a wasted opportunity since he can do the role extremely well when called on.  Anatoli Kotsjerga sings Boris. Kušej's production isn't nearly as visual as Richard Jones's production for London.  Without Jansons, Westbroek and Ventris, I wonder how effective it would be? Yet it's been revived several times since 2006.  So it's nice to hear the original again. (It's been on DVD for ages.)


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Metzmacher Elbphilharmonie K A Hartmann Shostakovich

At the Elbphilharmonie, Hamburg,  Ingo Metzmacher conducted the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra in a programme that might have seemed innocent when it was planned but nowe is disturbingly prescient: Karl Amadeus Hartmann Symphony no 1 "Versuch eines Requiem" with Shostakovich Symphony no 11 "The year 1905", both completed at the height of the Cold War, but with very different perspectives.

The Elbphilhamonie broadcast this concert internationally, online, a harbinger of good things to come. Hamburg invested heavily in the project, realizing that its potential is far greater than for the city alone. While the Philharmonie Berlin is primarily a home for the Berliner Philharmoniker (though other orchestras use it), the Elbphilharmonie could be a game changer, affecting the whole demographic of the business.

This concert also showcased the hall's superb acoustic (read more here).  Anton Webern's Sechs Stücke für grosses Orchester op. 6 (1909) opened the concert. A large orchestra is needed, not for volume, but for extended palette.  Webern sought to express "Klangfarbenmelodie": myriad details of colour and tonality.  Hence the markings "sehr langsam", and "sehr mäßig", unhurried traverses that let the music unfold, revealing subtle shading.  Metzmacher's tempi were by no means slow, but meticulously well judged.  I hardly dared breathe lest the spell be broken. Exquisite playing: a single chord on  harp, muffled drumstrokes, a triplet on bassoon, all perfectly in place and in cohesion. The Viennese are taken for granted in standard repertoire, but here they were revealed as infinitely better musicians than popular cliché might suggest.  On the wide platform of the Elbphilharmonie, there's a lot of space between players, so they're not constrained by being cramped together. They can probably listen to each other for one thing. Sound moves ambiently with this extra "breathing space", quite a distinctive feature of this new auditorium. 

Gerhild Romberger photo Rosa Frank, Vienna Philharmonic

Ingo Metzmacher is the conductor of choice when it comes to K A Hartmann. He's recorded the complete symphonies and with such insight that it's essential listening for anyone interested, not just in Hartmann but also in his period.  Hartmann began this piece in 1936 as a response to the increasing madness of the Third Reich. The first movement is a miserere based on the poem I Sit and Look Out by Walt Whitman. "I sit and look out. upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all oppression and shame"  – men and women suffering, domestically and in war, and tyranny, a famine at sea where sailors cast lots as to who should be killed and eaten that the others might live a little longer.  Yet perhaps the true horror is that the poet can observe but not act. " I sitting, look out upon,/ See, hear, and am silent."  The soloist was Gerhild Romberger, whose powerful, dark timbre articulated suppressed anguish. She's one of the most interesting in her Fach, since she also conveys tenderness and sympathy.  In 2014 I heard her sing O Mensch in Mahler's Symphony no 3 with the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra,  truly plaintive, as if she were weeping for the death of the old world and giving birth to the new. Hartmann doesn't set every word in the poem, but his orchestration leaves us in no doubt what's happening. An explosive introduction, a fusillade of trumpets, trombone and percussion: horrors intruding on the isolation of the solo voice.

The second movement "Frühling" references Whitman's When Lilacs last in the Dooryard Bloom'd, mourning the assassination of Lincoln and the American Civil War, but the text is oblique, using the image of a falling star to express the idea of loss.  Hartmann's setting is even less wordy, avoiding Whitman's syntax, which is even trickier in German.  Despite the barrage of sound in the introduction and background, what stands out is the passage where the piano plays quietly, its fragile memory evolving into "starlight" in the strings and winds, the wavering line then taken up by soprano trumpets.  Violin and cello dialogue in the opening theme of the third movement, the piano mediating between them. Gradually, other sections in the orchestra join in – oboes, bassoons and tuba and the strings in succession. The tam tam crashes : reminding us that this relative harmony cannot last.

"Tränen " sings Romberger three times, reflecting the first line of Whitman's Tears.  "O, Wer ist dieser Geist?" she cries, and an apparition materializes in the orchestra, brass blaring, strings screaming, timpani crashing. Romberger's lines growling at the bottom of her register, rise suddenly to the top: she isn't fazed, but totally in control. Again, a quiet passage on piano introduces an unearthly mood. "O, Schatten!" sings Romberger with tenderness.  The shade seems stilled in the light of day.  Metzmacher shapes the long orchestral lines so they pulsate with ominous menace,  gathering strength to strike again.  The night falls. Romberger sings "Tränen", as if falling into hypnosis.  Muted bassoons  then screaming chords of alarm.

Muffled snare drums introduce the Epilogue, a prayer "Bitte", and a return to the apocalyptic traumas of the first movement.  Here the text comes from Whitman's Pensive on Her Dead Gazing, where Mother Earth looks upon corpses in the battlefield. No Valkyries, no Valhalla.  The vocal line is intoned, not lyrical, Sprechstimme, not song.  Then, suddenly, Romberger unleashes her full mezzo power. in a long wail of protest.  Her line becomes incantational again.  "O meiner Toten" she sings. Relentless, repeating figures in the orchestra, then a cataclysmic explosion, the echoes of which carry on into silence. I've written about Hartmann many times – search this site – because in so many ways he's more than "just" a composer but a prophet who intuited the trauma of existence and realized that music is can express human decency even in the presence of evil.  His Symphony no 1 (completed in 1955 towards the end of a long career) bears the subtitle "Versuch eines Requiem", towards a Requiem because the horrors aren't over, and may yet get worse than we can possibly imagine.  No time yet for the resolution of a requiem.  Much respect to Metzmacher, who knows Hartmann's music so well and why it is vitally important. Congratulations too, to the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra and the Elbphilhamonie for having the courage to do this piece when feel-good superficiality might be more popular.

Hartmann's Symphony no 1 and Shostakovich's Symphony no 11 were completed at about the same time in the mid 1950's, but the two pieces are radically different.  While Shostakovich had to be careful not to annoy the Soviets, he was a public figure, unlike the far more uncompromising Galina Ustvolskaya, who had to play along with the regime to survive. His Symphony no 11 is a public piece, which won him  the Lenin Prize and great popularity.  The subject matter is unashamedly patriotic, commemorating the year 1905 and the December Revolution which was suppressed but entered the political mythology of that Soviet State. There's nothing in principle wrong with propaganda music, but much of the appeal of this symphony lies in the way it plays on emotions to whip up excitement,  and the avoidance of doubt.  Metzmacher and the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra gave a suitably magnificent account, so vivid and full of drama that you could forget that, at heart, this is cinema music as opposed to, say, reflective art.   Is it a soundtrack to an invisible movie? Perhaps we're supposed to suspend judgement and thrill to the images of violence and turbulence.  But where do such feelings lead? After hearing Hartmann, it's not so easy to blank things out. 

Eunuch Shostakovich The Nose, Royal Opera House

In  DmitriyShostakovich The Nose at the Royal Opera House, London, it wasn't just Kovalov's nose that got cut.  This production was a mutilation, The Nose as Eunuch, the opera stripped of its vital, creative essence.  In Gogol's original story, Kovalov is a "collegiate assessor", a petty bureaucrat who passes judgement, based on surface values. His Nose, however, has other ideas and runs away, taking on a life of its own, more adventurously led than its supposed owner's.   The nose of a person's face defines their outward appearance.  Kovalov's nose shows him up for what he is, or isn't.  And, by extension, the whole social order.  The Nose is not comedy, it's savage satire. Miss that and miss its fundamental, pungent purpose. No excuses. Shostakovich is hardly an unknown composer. Moreover, The Nose,was created at a time of exceptional artistic freedom in the early years of the Revolution, when the Soviet dream represented ideals and progressive change. Futurism, expressionism, modernity, Eisenstein, Bulgakov, Mayakovsky.  Shostakovich was only 20 when the piece was written, still full of courage and hope. But even those who don't know the background have only to pay attention to the music to get it.

Shostakovich's score explodes with inventiveness and zany experiment.  It begins with a fanfare and the roll of drums, like Grand Opera, but opens onto mundane scenes in mundane lives.  David Pountney's translation respects the image of smell. Something's off , rotting perhaps, even though we can't see it.  Despite the exuberant scoring  deliberately more circus than High Art, The Nose parodies the rich tradition of Russian opera. There's relatively little singing, and what there is is shrill and distorted, closer to Sprechstimme than to aria.  Significantly, some of the best music for voice lies in the choruses, who represent the "ordinary" masses, and in the vignettes for subsidiary characters, all of them characterized with great gusto.  The Nose may also be the Royal Opera House's tribute to John Tomlinson, who will never sing again but can still hold an audience spellbound by his incisive acting in multiple roles, a good foil for Martin Winkler's Kovalov, whose  identity remains constant throughout proceedings. Part of this story is about Kovalov's supine personality, in contrast to the vivacious spontaneity of his Nose, who doesn't give a stuff about propriety and the right way to do things.  Winkler's a good singer, which made his performance piquant.  The innate authority in Winkler's voice suggested that there might, somehow, be depth in Kovalov, if only he wasn't so repressed.  The vignettes were also well performed : honours to the ever popular Wolfgang Ablingrer-Sperrhacke, but also to the sturdy regulars of the ROH company, without whom the ROH would not be what is is.  The choruses, needless to say, were superb.

The extremes in Shostakovich's score should also alert any listener to the true nature of the piece.  The famous Percussion interlude pounded violently: it might suggest Kovalov's approaching nightmare, or perhaps the tension the Nose feels as it's about to break way.  Words would be superfluous. This isn't "comfort listening". Ingo Metzmacher's conducting was idiomatic and utterly expressive. The angular, jagged edges in this music are absolutely part of the meaning of this opera, as are the bluesy distortions, especially in the brass, where the lines of convention are eroded. Horns  and trumpets blowing raspberries, just as The Nose treats Kovalov with jaunty irreverence.  Wonderful playing from the Royal Opera House orchestra, who sounded as though they were having a wonderful time, escaping, like The Nose, from standard repertoire.  Shostakovich's instrumentation is deliberately bizarre. Famously, he employed a Flexatone, a kind of whirring saw whose wailing timbre suits the craziness in the plot. He also uses a xylophone, a balalaika, a whistle and castanets, and weaves these in well with the rest of the orchestra. The high woodwinds, for example, chuckle and chatter in frantic staccato, the strings scream. This manic instrumentation reflects the plot, too, in its depiction of the variety and diversity of life beyond Kovalov's narrow horizons.

Wild as the music is, it would be a mistake to assume that undisciplined playing would be in order. Quite the contrary.  Metzmacher pulls the wildness together so the colours stay vivid, and the players operate in relationship to each other. Again, this precision reflects the dance element in the opera, so very much a fundamental to its meaning.  The Nose was created for the Mariinsky and its excellent corps de ballet.  Dancers can't do free for all, or they'd collapse in an unco-ordinated heap. The tightness of Metzmacher's conducting gave them firm support so they could do their artistic thing, knowing they could rely on the pulse in the orchestra. Absolutely fabulous choreography (Otto Pichler) and wonderfully executed dancing from the members of the Royal Ballet.  Who can forget the chorus line of high-kicking Noses. The Nose itself was Ilan Galkoff.  For me, the high point was the ensemble of Eunuchs, a flamboyant drag act.  I loved their physicality: the animal energy in those limbs expressing the freedom the Nose represents!

Wonderful performances all round: the Royal Opera House at its best.  The disappointment, though, was the banality of the staging,directed by Barry Kosky. Presenting Shostakovich, and especially The Nose as feelgood West End Song and Dance Act is a travesty, a total denial of everything the piece stands for.  Kosky is popular because he gives punters what they want, nice things to look at without engaging their minds.  Obviously there's a market for that, but it's a betrayal of The Nose and everything it stands for.  The Nose isn't specifically Russian or Soviet, though those elements are relevant, but its primary focus is on the way society operates through group think , based on shallow surface appearances.  So what do we get ? A Nose dedicated to unquestioning superficiality.  All those wonderful individual performances but built on the dead heart of a clueless concept.  Audiences  assume Regie means costumes, and updating, but what it really means is whether the visuals contribute to the expression of meaning. Kosky's The Nose is bad Regie because it ignores the basic ideas behind the opera, its music and its composer.  We live in times when artistic integrity doesn't count for much and mob populism rules.  So a lot more is at stake than just opera.  All directors have their signatures, just like conductors and singers make an individual stamp.  Kosky's reminds me of Tracey Emin's unmade bed.  Wildly popular, but who needs the whiff of stale emissions and sordid self obsession?  We've all "been there" but most of us grow up and  do other things. But the punters like it, so it must be art.  That is why, for me, Eunuch The Nose was a deal breaker.