Dmitry Shostakovich (1906–1975)
Violin Sonata, Op. 134 • 24 Preludes, Op. 34 (arranged for violin and piano)
Aside from both featuring violin and piano, together with the common denominator of their composer, there might not seem to be much of a connection between the two pieces featured on this recording. Yet between them these illustrate crucial if complementary aspects of the music of Dmitry Shostakovich. When focussing, moreover, on the theatrical projects of his earlier years and the symphonic works which came afterwards, it is easy to forget the importance of his piano and chamber music as a repository for some of his most abstract and personal ideas.
By the time of his 24 Preludes—composed, in the order in which they were published, during the winter of 1932–33—the urge to shock has been transmuted into a desire to entertain. This is not to say these pieces, which follow the same tonal order as that found in Chopin’s Op. 28 Preludes (from C major and A minor through to F major and D minor), are at all unorthodox in content; rather their expressive surprises come not from any abrupt juxtaposition but from more subtle contrasts between preludes and across the sequence viewed as an integral entity.
Arrangements of individual or groups of preludes soon gained currency (chief among them a powerful orchestral version of No. 14 (in E flat minor) by Leopold Stokowski). The present recording utilises the transcription of the complete cycle for violin and piano as commenced by the violinist Dmitry Tsyganov then completed by the composer and pianist Lera Auerbach. Tsyganov (1903–1992) was for 44 years the first violinist of the Beethoven Quartet, which gave the first performances of all but the First and Fifteenth of Shostakovich’s String Quartets, and his versions of 19 of these preludes were praised by the composer as sounding more idiomatic in this guise then even the piano originals. Auerbach (b. 1973), who also made transcriptions of all 24 preludes for viola and piano, as well as for cello and piano, arranged the other five preludes for violin and piano in 2000 so that the full set could be heard in this effective guise.
The harmonic piquancy of No. 1 is followed by the gangling motion of No. 2 and the mainly gentle pathos of No. 3. Following the Bachian fluency of No. 4, the boisterous No. 5 cavorts up and down both instruments, while No. 6 is a study in typically Shostakovich humour. The placid No. 7 finds contrast with the quixotic gait of No. 8 and the hectic rhythmic motion of No. 9, before No. 10 exudes a bittersweet harmonic touch. No. 11 sounds a note of slapstick, and the lyrical No. 12 pre-echoes ideas found in the First Piano Concerto [Naxos 8.553126].
No. 13 links its teasing theme with a repeated-note idea in the bass, in total contrast with the glowering emotional fervour of No. 14. No. 15 duly lightens the mood with its effervescent high spirits, then No. 16 has an insouciance more usually associated with Prokofiev, before No. 17 evinces rapt poetry that accords easily with Chopinesque precedent. No. 18 is lively and playful, whereas No. 19 fairly enchants with its lilting barcarolle gait, then No. 20 is all energy and confrontation. No. 21 is a good-humoured ramble, while the ruminative poise of No. 22 more obliquely evokes Chopin. The limpid intermezzo of No. 23 heads directly into the clipped humour of No. 24, thereby ending this cycle on a note of deftest understatement. Shostakovich here reaffirmed his commitment to an inherently abstract mode of composing.
The Cello Sonata [8.557722] consolidated this abstract thinking soon after in 1934, whereas Shostakovich’s latter two string sonatas were both products of his last decade, with the Violin Sonata one of his most uncompromising pieces. Ironic, perhaps, that its genesis came about as if by accident, when the composer delivered his Second Violin Concerto [8.550814], intended as a 60th birthday present for David Oistrakh, a whole year early in 1967. He subsequently made good this error with the Violin Sonata—composed from August to October 1968, then premiered in Moscow by Oistrakh with Sviatoslav Richter on 3 May 1969 (an earlier runthrough by Oistrakh with the composer is almost the last archival evidence of Shostakovich as pianist, as his polio-related condition was making it increasingly difficult for him to play).
The work begins with an Andante (originally entitled Pastorale) of an expressive restraint that is reinforced yet also undermined by the fractured discourse between these instruments. The piano commences with a fragmentary idea that is presently complemented by the violin’s more linear response, growing in intensity and given extra plangency by sparing use of multi-stopping. Next comes a more animated passage (almost dancelike were it not for its stylised inflexibility), before the dialogue comes almost to a halt. From here the first theme emerges, interrupted by a passage with the violin playing sul ponticello. Although the second theme reappears, the music cannot shake off the chill atmosphere now firmly established, and the movement closes uncertainly amid repeated-note piano phrases and spectral violin gestures.
The Allegretto (originally, and aptly, entitled Allegro furioso) is among Shostakovich’s most abrasive and dissonant scherzos. From its angry initial confrontation of violin and piano, the movement moves purposefully on to an idea of grimly sardonic humour, then to an extended passage in which the constituent motifs from both themes are aggressively hurled from one instrument to the other. At the centre, the first idea is once more taken up, now accumulating in intensity towards its climactic restatement and moving to a conclusion of grating defiance.
The Largo (originally entitled Variations on a Theme) which closes the work is also the last occasion on which Shostakovich used the form of a passacaglia, a sequence of variations on a theme frequently confined to the bass register, to structure an entire movement (not forgetting the passacaglia at the centre of the finale of his Fifteenth Symphony [8.572708]). The theme itself is stated starkly by both instruments at the beginning, before the first variation begins with unaccompanied pizzicati on the violin. The piano makes its entry in the more flowing second variation, before the tempo increases markedly during the third. The fourth variation brings a more expressive dialogue, presaging the detached gestures of the fifth and the lyrical restraint of the sixth. The capering seventh variation once again brings an increase in tempo, continued in the eighth and ninth while the movement builds in cumulative intensity towards explosive cadenzas for piano then violin. Near the apex of what is the eleventh variation, the piano reintroduces the passacaglia theme and the instruments unite in a statement of heartfelt anguish. The final three variations gradually disperse the accumulated emotion, after which the passacaglia theme is heard on piano for a final time. The spectral violin writing from the end of the first movement now steals in to end this movement in a mood of disquieting calm.
Richard Whitehouse