Program Notes

Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-1975)

Symphony No. 10, Op. 93 (1953)

Scored for 3 flutes and piccolo, 3 oboes and English horn, 3 clarinets and bass clarinet, 3 bassoons and contra-bassoon, 4 horns, 3 trumpets, 3 trombones, 1 tuba, timpani, percussion and strings

In 1934, Shostakovich’s mighty opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk had its first performance. Praised by critics and the public, within two years it had received nearly 200 performances all over the world, and in 1936 was enjoying three consecutive productions in Moscow alone. In January of that year, Joseph Stalin decided to see this high-profile work for himself. The dictator stormed out before the final scene and two days later the opera was denounced as dangerous to the cultural future of Russia.

Thereafter, Shostakovich had to walk a thin line between his artistic integrity and pandering to the Stalinists. He was, for the rest of his life, a composer who was closely watched, and found himself in and out of favor. He struggled to continue working, and to continue to see performances of his music, but the struggle became a losing battle when, in 1948, the notorious Congress of Soviet Composers passed the so-called “Party Resolution.” These men, led by Tikhon Khrennikov censured many of the leading Russian composers of the day including Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Myaskovsky and Khachaturian. Khrennikov called their music "pointlessness... noisy mud instead of real musical innovation". Shostakovich was able to produce little of value after that, being forced to withhold his best works until a time when the Congress’ stranglehold was slackened.

On March 5, 1953, Joseph Stalin died. The furor over his death and the regime-change that followed caused an unexpected slackening of artistic control, and the men who were chastised suddenly found themselves on a much longer leash. Shostakovich, therefore, must have felt a new freedom of expression when he put his Tenth Symphony to paper in the summer of that year.

The Tenth Symphony shows just how much the composer had been holding inside over the years, and displays not only deep expressive depths, but also pure, raw emotion. Rage, frustration, hatred, sorrow, resignation, and finally joy and hope are freely revealed within its pages. Its construction is masterful, its themes sincere and penetrating and its impact is overwhelming. There are times when one feels that Shostakovich has lost control of his deep-seated feelings, and others where it is obvious that there is a sly, calculating mind carefully controlling the proceedings. It is considered the greatest of Shostakovich’s symphonies.

The work is dominated by the musical notes D, E flat, C, B, an acronym for the first letter of his first name and three letters of his last in German notation (DSCH). This musical fingerprint (found in numerous Shostakovich works) appears in various guises in all four movements of the symphony and serves as a unifying factor throughout.

The first movement opens with a long, ominous introduction in the basses, supported by the cellos. The music becomes slightly more lyrical with the introduction of a solo clarinet, but the initial dark character maintains its hold over it. Soon the sadness gives way to full-blown rage, which finally burns itself out, and slowly, regretfully, retreats. The return of the solo clarinet brings some relief, but the accompanying cellos and basses maintain the underlying solemnity. Then, a solo flute begins a quiet, but rhythmically lively theme accompanied by pizzicato strings. The theme becomes a typically sardonic Shostakovich waltz, alternately rising and falling in intensity. The development section begins with the same ominous uncertainty that opened the movement, but soon makes use of all three of the themes heard thus far, becoming a shattering force, overwhelming in its relentless intensity. Just when it seems the raging inferno will burst, the music comes full circle, and returns, almost unwillingly, to the brooding melancholy of its opening.

The shattering force that permeated the middle of the first movement is now given full control in the rhythmically brutal scherzo. Its unquenchable concentrated violence was said by the composer to be a portrait of Stalin. “Of course,” Shostakovich said, “There are many other things in it, but that is the basis.”

The third movement confronts us with a dark and mysterious foreboding. As if exhausted by the carnage of the previous movement, it is slower and relatively mild by comparison. Though an underlying lyricism is present, the music still refuses to be consoled, and a starkly militaristic feeling pervades the whole. Its march-like rhythm, with the addition of triangle and snare drum, is claustrophobic and leaves one with the uncomfortable impression of an unwanted, controlling presence. Then, as if to confirm the foreboding suspicion, the music explodes in a terrifying outburst, taking over the opening theme of the movement with an unexpected show of force. Now that the awesome potential of this musical power has been revealed, it retreats once more into hushed apprehension.

The finale opens, as the first movement did, with a slow introduction, which, as it progresses, seems for the first time to let in some light; only a sliver at first, still feeling cautious, uncertain, afraid. But once the waters have been tested, an unexpected allegro, actually joyful in its vivacity, takes over. The ominous bass theme of the first movement insinuates itself into the whole, but is now controlled rather than controlling. The middle section allows the previous violence and fear to have a final say, but it is not allowed to dominate as it did before. Soon a minor skirmish for control seems to be going on between the contrasting themes, but in the end the unrivalled forces of victory win out, and the symphony ends with a cry of triumph.