Sleeping Forever Beneath the Dry Earth (Part 3)

Shostakovich and his son Maxim on the Moscow-Leningrad express train, in 1962.

This is the third part of my written-but-not-yet-illustrated graphic novel about Shostakovich in the 1960s, entitled Sleeping Forever Beneath the Dry Earth. It gets a bit silly in the middle, and I'm not sorry. I'm not quite sure the end lands in the way I want, so I may revise it a little at some point. If you want to see the bit of Kozintsev's Hamlet that features in this part, click here (you also get a little bit of Anastasia Vertinskaya as Ophelia first). Oh, and a "General" is a type of enormous Soviet steam locomotive developed in the 1950s, but which was no longer in use on the Moscow-Leningrad line by 1964. Enjoy.

(If you've not read the preceding parts, start here)

Part 3 – January 1964

Scene 1

At Leningradsky Station, Moscow.

Nothing can be seen – steam obscures all view. Voices are seen from the steam, but no people at first.

Irina Shostakovich:  Mitya, our coach is… I can’t see you.

Dmitri Shostakovich:  I can’t see anything!

The steam begins to clear.

DS: Is it… no… It is! Irina, a General!

IS: A what?

DS: An unexpected delight! I haven’t seen one for years!

The steam has cleared enough now to see DS staring at the train in amazement.

IS: I’m going to find our compartment.

DS: (To the driver) Hello, excuse me… Why the change of engine?

Driver:  It’s too cold. Diesel’s out.

DS: It’s magnificent!

Driver: Mind out – steam’s coming.

Steam pours out of the engine and the scene is quickly filled with white steam again.

DS: Thank you!

IS: (from beyond) Mitya…

DS:  *cough* I’m coming! *cough* Oh. *cough* Oh dear…

White out.

 

Scene 2

On the train. DS stands at the door of the compartment. Irina is seated.

IS: Mitya… You’re a state! Give me your glasses.

DS: I’ve been steam cleaned! I’m wrinkle-free now.

Irina cleans DS’s glasses.

DS: Oh, it takes me back. If it weren’t for the pain in my legs, I could almost be a young man again, catching a train to an away match in some provincial football stadium.

IS: I’m still waiting for you to take me to one.

Irina hands back his glasses.

DS: Ira! You’ve kept this passion for the beautiful game to yourself.

IS: I’d like to see what it’s like.

DS: You’re too late, I fear. My football days are gone. And besides, when would we find the time?

IS: Shall we ask for tea?

DS: This is like the old days!

IS: Tea, Mitya?

DS: Oh? Oh yes! What a splendid idea.

The train moves off and is seen travelling through the outskirts of Moscow.

DS: Did you pick up Grigori Kozintsev’s letters, Ira?

IS: Yes, Mitya. Don’t fret. I’ve got the musical scenario here.

DS: Yes, I’ll have that, thank you.

DS takes the document and leafs through the sheets of paper.

DS: Look at this… there is a lot of music required here. We’ve got the title sequence to think about, Hamlet’s soliloquy, Ophelia’s death. It’s a lot! Here it just says “Scene with Ghost – seven minutes”. That’s a lot of time to fill.

IS: I’m sure it will be easier when you’ve seen the footage.

A brief pause while DS looks at the scenario.

IS: I could do with that tea now.

DS: Tea and the view of the steam from our mighty locomotive wafting by. There are worse places to be. Do you remember your first train journey?

IS: Yes. From Leningrad to Lake Ladoga.

DS: A summer holiday?

IS: No, Mitya, in 1941. During the evacuation.

DS: Goodness, Irina. I am sorry. I’d quite forgotten myself.

IS: Don’t apologise. I was six. I don’t remember that much. It was crowded. Children cried, though I don’t think I did.

DS: It was frightening enough to us adults. You must have been a brave child.

IS: Used to the terror, I think. You can get used to anything when you’re young. Except the hunger.

DS: Were you with your grandparents?

IS: I was. I didn’t think Grandmother would even make it to the train, but she did.

DS: How strange to think of us both in that city at that time. You know they flew us out? I’ve never been able to board an aeroplane since without flinching at the thought of German artillery trying to pick us out of the sky.

IS: And here we both are, going back, on the train.

 

Scene 3

Later the same day. At the Lenfilm Studio, Leningrad.

Irina and DS are walking with Isaak Glikman

DS: And I’m afraid, Isaak, that I really wasn’t thinking…

IS: Mitya, it’s fine. And you enjoyed the journey so much – that brought me pleasure.

DS: Irina is far more forgiving than I deserve. Thank you, Irishka! I wish you could have seen the engine, Isaak. It was like travelling in the company of an old friend.

IG: I always felt one was fast friends with a steam locomotive, until it gifted you a face full of steam.

DS: I am in the unfortunate position of being able to agree.

They reach the studio entrance

IG: Here we are. (To the security guard) Good afternoon Sasha – Dmitri Dmitrievich and Irina Antonovna are here with me.  Is Grigory Kozintsev in the building?

Sasha: Yes – he’s booked… projection room three. It’s down…

IG: I know the way, Sasha. Dmitri Dmitrievich? Into the labyrinth.

Isaak, Dmitri and Irina make their way along darkened corridors within the film studio.

DS: Ah! It’s barely changed.

IG: I often used to find you here, before the war.

DS: This is a place of many ghosts.

IS: How many caught in the siege, I wonder.

DS: What a dreadful time.

They continue in silence for a while. The studio corridors are quite dark. DS stops to look through an open studio door. When he looks back, Irina and Glikman are nowhere to be seen. He realises he is alone.

DS: Isaak…? Irina..? Ira…? Oh… Oh dear.

DS heads along a darkened corridor, past racks of costumes. He comes to a larger space, which opens up into a gloomy castle hall.

DS: Oh! Elsinore!

DS continues, awed by the scale. Voices are heard in the distance. DS walks on.

DS: Hello? Isaak?

DS wanders through another door, towards the voices. He walks right into a set for a film. There is a crew shooting a scene in a circus, with actors and two dogs which are getting out of control.

Director: Cut! Can’t you keep that wretched dog in shot?

Crew 1: (to DS) Who are you?

DS: Oh I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.

Director: Lights! We’ll reset the scene.

Crew 2: Grab the dog! He’s off!

Crew 1: Which one? Barbos? Or Bobik?

Crew 2: I don’t know! The one running around the set!

DS backs out the door with an apologetic expression. He is again in a darkened corridor. In the distance, there are voices.

Innokenty Smoktunovsky: I can hardly bear to watch it.

Anastasia Vertinskaya: At least you got to do something with your face.

They are leaning against a studio wall, smoking cigarettes.

ISm: Wonderful. You did see the faces he made me pull? And everything I suggested he ignored.

AV: It is Kozintsev’s Hamlet, I suppose.

DS is seen recognising the name of the film as he approaches the pair.

ISm: Let him pull faces, then.

AV: Well I’m coming round to it. It’s very beautiful.

ISm: Hallelujah! Those hours playing with lighting weren’t for nothing.

AV: He probably would have got it done quicker if you hadn’t argued so much.

ISm: So it’s my fault?

DS has reached them.

DS: Excuse me, excuse me, I am sorry…

ISm: Who are you? No one’s allowed here.

DS: I’m so sorry. I was with my wife and my friend Isaak Davido...

ISm: What are you talking about?! We haven’t seen…

AV: Kesha! It’s Shostakovich!

ISm: Good God!

DS: I am sorry, but could you direct me to Grigory Kozintsev’s room?

AV: Yes! Please, follow me.

DS: Thank you – most kind.

AV glares at ISm, who shrugs emphatically.

 

Scene 4

At the screening room.

Grigori Kozintsev, IS and IG and standing talking. GK is touching IS’s shoulder reassuringly.

AV: Grigori Mikhaylovich, I think we’ve found a friend of yours!

IS: Mitya!

Grigori Kozintsev: Dmitri Dmitriyevich! I was starting to worry that we’d misplaced my favourite composer. I’ve got some stories for you! Are you well? But quickly, did my notes answer all your questions on the musical requirements?

DS: Mm… well…

GK: Ask me anything, please.

While the conversation continues, DS sits with IS, IG and GK. ISm sits behind.

DS: … the ideas are only coming to me slowly.

GK: Trust the pictures. The editor tells me some of them are even quite good.

IS: We have been looking forward to seeing the footage, haven’t we Mitya?

GK: Wonderful. We were just about to look at one more scene then it’s lunch. Did I talk to you about the ghost?

IS: No. We’re ready to be surprised!

GK: Then I think you might like this. (To the technicians) Vanya – roll it.

The Ghost Scene plays.

Film: night time – a clock is seen, with figures revolving. Horses, moving uneasily. Hamlet’s group walk through a creaking wooden door. They step back in surprise. The ghost is seen beside the castle.

HORATIO: Look, my lord, it comes!

HAMLET: Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

Horses bolt into the mist. Hamlet runs up a bank behind the ghost. The ghost moves in front of the castle with Hamlet seen moving behind. DS is seen watching with mouth open. The ghost then moves above the tiny figure of Hamlet. Hamlet addresses the ghost at the water’s edge.

HAMLET: Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go no further.

Ghost: Mark me.

HAMLET: I will.

Ghost: And lend thy serious hearing to what I shall unfold.

HAMLET: Speak; I am bound to hear.

Ghost: So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.

HAMLET: What?

Ghost: List, list, O, list! If thou didst ever thy dear father love--

Ghost seen moving towards frame.

HAMLET: O God!

Ghost: Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.

DS watches, mouthing “most unnatural”.

HAMLET: Murder!

Ghost: Murder most foul, as in the best it is;

But this most foul, strange and unnatural.
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown.

HAMLET: O my prophetic soul! My uncle!

After Hamlet’s reaction, ISm is seen behind DS looking exasperated. 

Ghost: Ay, that adulterate beast,
to his shameful lust
The will of my queen:
But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;
Brief let me be.
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,
And in my ears did pour
The distilment;
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd:
O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!

Ghost’s face seen. Irina now looks in amazement

IS: His eyes! 

Ghost: Fare thee well at once!
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire:
Adieu, adieu! Remember me. Remember me.

The ghost is gone as the dawn breaks 

Hamlet: The time is out of joint: O cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right!

GK: Vanya, stop there.

The film stops and the lights come up.

IS: My goodness Mitya! Did you see his eyes?

DS: The ghost? That shook me, I must say.

GK:  Ready for something to eat?

IG: I’ll go and check everything’s ready.

GK: Thank you Isaak. Shall we?

DS: Wonderful. Irina, something to eat?

IS: (Resurfacing from her own thoughts) Eat? Yes. Lunch. Could it come here? Are you feeling up to the walk, Mitya?

DS: Yes. I feel quite revived by the wonderful footage.

GK: You like it?

DS: Yes – wonderful!

GK: What about Pasternak’s text?

DS: Wonderful! Everything is quite wonderful.

GK looks to IS for assurance.

IS: I’m quite sure Mitya will have a lot more to say when we’ve seen more.

DS: Yes – wonderful. (DS turns to IS) I just hope I can muster that sort of inspiration! I don’t want to disappoint those two great masters who were so kind to give me the job.

GK: (turning back to DS) I confess I haven’t spoken with William of Stratford about it, but I understand that old man Kozintsev’s overjoyed to be working with his favourite composer again.

DS: Let’s just wait until one particular soliloquy is scored. Then we can breathe out.

GK: Don’t dwell. Hamlet cannot be a succession of Great Speeches. Fanfare and portent are for monarchs and circuses, not for questions of conscience.

DS: But isn’t it the heart of the play? Doesn’t it need the most searching music?

GK: I can only speak for myself, but I find my thoughts turn most deeply inward in the most banal of situations – tying my shoelaces, or looking out the train window. At those moments, it’s quiet, and the monologue in my head is a gentle, constant one. An observer would see nothing but the vacancy of thought upon my face.

DS stands to go with GK, but pauses for a moment to steady himself.

GK: Are you ok?

DS: I’m fine. Only, these days conscience and all those other voices are having to share the space between my ears with another which complains loudly of the pain in my legs. Yes, I’ll be just fine. Do you remember, Grigori Mikhaylovich, rushing around these corridors, what, 30 years ago, to find a piano and hammer out some cue? It all seemed easier then. Lighter.

GK: It did. But it’s easy to forget the effort it all cost us, when the sweat’s dried and we’re no longer out of breath. Time seems to dissolve the memory of doubt. And you think “did it really cost me this much before? Surely not.” But it did. More, maybe.

They walk towards the door, and DS stops again. An idea has occurred to him.

IS: Do you want to sit awhile, Mitya?

DS: No, no it’s not that. That clock, at the beginning. Could I suggest something?

GK: Of course.

DS: Just an idea. Leningrad once had fine bells. Your clock, just now, reminded me of that.

GK: Mm. With the figures.

DS: Yes! The King’s court has its fanfares. Perhaps the night has its bells and its own special music. Melodies that call out all the strange and deathly things and that speak too softly to hear in the day. I can feel a tune coming, something that would send a chill of fright and regret down your spine if you were awake late enough to hear it.

GK: This is the stuff! How wonderful to work with you again. Just a minute. Vanya...!

GK leaves DS and IS, to speak with his crew.

IS: See, it’s coming together already.

DS: Being back here stirs a lot of things.

IS: It does.

DS: Do you remember the old bells?

IS: No, not really.

DS: Leningrad was at least for me once filled with friends and… football games. Can this ever have been a happy place for you?

IS: It might still. It’s getting better. I’m sorry, Mitya. We should be concentrating on the music. But I wasn’t expecting that film to make me feel this way. When I saw the ghost’s eyes just now, I thought, with shame, that I can’t remember their eyes. Mother, Father, any of them. I don’t even have a photograph.

DS: Irischka…

IS: I was only six.

IG comes back along the corridor, and sees DS and Irina speaking.

IS: This is indulgent – Anyway, look. Here’s Isaak come back to find us. (calling out) Thank you Isaak Davidovich! (Isaak waves back)

DS: (just to Irina) Ira, it’s important. But you’re right – let’s not get left behind. Knowing my luck, we’d get very lost in this… tomb of a place and I’ve no desire to become one of Lenfilm’s ghosts just yet!

DS and IS head off into the studio corridors towards IG.

On to part 4.

Sleeping Forever Beneath the Dry Earth (Part 2)

Shostakovich, Kondrashin and Yevtushenko after the premiere of
Shostakovich's 13th Symphony in 1962

Below is the second of five parts of my unfinished graphic novel about Shostakovich in the 1960s. If you've arrived here without reading part 1, click here to begin at the beginning.

Part 2 – 1962

DS is in hospital. IG visits.

IG: Are you in to unexpected visitors?

DS: As ever, I make an exception for you, Isaak Davidovich! Alas, you just missed Irina.

IG: I thought I detected a little more colour in your cheeks. Marriage is treating you well.

DS: I find this one much more amenable to my health than the last, present circumstances excepted.

IG: And how pleasant to have a young woman around.

DS: Come now, she has a remarkable intellect, far beyond her years. Please! How rude of me. Just move those books and do sit.

IG picks up the books and sits.

IG: Ah! Another mere babe – Yevtushenko?

DS: A fine young mind, that one.

IG: Along with... Shakespeare... Tolstoy. He’s in exalted company in this little library.

DS: Not perhaps yet on their level, but then, who is?

IG reading from the Yevtushenko book:

IG: “I am terrified/ I feel as old today/ as all Jewish people”. Light reading?

DS: That’s the text for the Thirteenth Symphony.

IG: A symphony now? It grows!

DS: A symphonic song didn’t seem enough. Listen to this – I think you’ll appreciate it.

DS takes the book and leafs through it.

DS: Where is it? Ah… here.  Let me see… “The clergy maintained that Galileo/ Was a wicked and senseless man./ Galileo was senseless.” Yes?

IG: Go on.

DS: “But, as time demonstrated,/ He who is senseless is much wiser.” Do you see?

IG: I’m not sure I do, but do continue.

DS: Of course. “A fellow scientist of Galileo's age/ Was no less wise than Galileo./ He knew that the earth revolved./ But - he had a family.” I nearly laughed aloud at that! No?

IG: Go on, I’m sure I’ll catch on in a moment.

DS: Really, Isaak! It’s quite plain. Anyway. “And he, stepping into a carriage with his wife,/ Having accomplished his betrayal,/ Considered himself advancing his career,/ Whereas he undermined it,” And here we have it: “For his assertion of our planet/ Galileo faced the risk alone/ And became truly great.”

IG: I see, yes. Though Galileo paid a high price.

DS: Yes, but that is the bargain we strike! One doesn’t achieve anything worthwhile by nodding and grinning. And what have we survived, only to speak when spoken to? How many uncounted millions lie without even a gravestone, while we live?

IG: You have a family. I have a family.

DS: Then we move carefully. We move with conscience. But this is a moment to really say something, and at this precise moment I am feeling particularly, and I might add uncharacteristically, brave!

 

Scene 2

At DS’s apartment. Evening.

Friends and colleagues have gathered for a private performance by DS of the 13^th Symphony.

DS stands at a table, away from the others. He looks pensive and leans on the table.

Maxim Shostakovich: It’s filling up in here… Father, a drink?

DS: Ah? Oh, no, Maxim. Actually, yes. Just a small one.

MS pours DS a small vodka and DS chucks it back.

There is a knock at the door.

DS: That’ll be Yevtushenko. Could you let him in? Then we can get on with it.

DS then goes to greet YY.

DS: Yevgeny Aleksandrovich! Thank you so much for coming.

Yevgeny Yevtushenko: I’m honoured beyond all expression.

DS: The honour is ours. This symphony is as much yours as mine! Let me introduce you.

They move to the assembled guests.

DS: My esteemed colleague Kirill Kondrashin.

YY: I’ve enjoyed your concerts often!

Kiril Kondrashin: And I your fine words.

DS: You’ve met Maxim, and I think Irina too, no? Good. Do come and say hello, Ira!

Irina comes forward hesitantly.

Here is my dear friend Isaak Davidovich, and do you know Aram Khachaturian?

AK shakes YY’s hand.

Aram Khachaturian: I was most moved by Babi Yar. At last the silence is broken. Most brave!

YY: Well, my head’s now on the block.

AK: I think Khrushchev more minded to bark than bite. And you gave as good as you got! I don’t remember ever being as fearless.

KK: Yes, the leader seems to have become quite the discerning art lover – did you hear him say he dislikes our generous host’s music and is more of an Oistrakh man?

DS: He must feel most conflicted when Oistrakh plays my violin concerto!

Laughter.

Irina Shostakovich: What was it Khrushchev said about Yevgeny Aleksandrovich?

AK: The leader was giving some of our most talented young artists a public dressing down. Our young hero here spoke out in favour of artistic integrity and the leader retorts “the grave cures the hunchback”! Go on, what did you say?

YY: I replied “No longer the grave, but life.”

MS: Good! I don’t see why a man should be pushed around.

AK: I’m sure you don’t. You’ll understand though if my generation finds our mouths snapping shut in such circumstances through involuntary reflex. Still, Yevgeny, I am impressed by your fortitude in the face of such public criticism.

YY: I’d rather have it said to my face than read about it in the newspaper later.

DS: Believe me, as a veteran of both, I’d say it’s far preferable to learn about it from the paper after the fact!

AK: Dmitri, there will surely be some official criticism of this new symphony.

DS: I do anticipate much valuable reflection on the musical and thematic deficiencies of the piece, it’s true.

AK: And they’re letting the premiere go ahead?

DS: Yes. I am still awaiting Mravinsky’s conformation nervously, however.

AK: He’ll be nervous too. He’s not used to conducting political hot potatoes. Babi Yar is a fine poem with much truth, but it’s hardly the official history.

DS: It’s high time that the Jewish victims were recognised. What’s the point of notoriety if I can’t address the truth?

AK: He will be worried about the consequences for his career. And I wouldn’t blame him.

DS: Are you saying we should back down?

AK: No... I don’t know. But they can make life a lot harder.

DS: And I just nod and grin?

AK: That’s not...

DS: It’s hard to imagine a Gogol or a... Tolstoy sitting at their desk and thinking “how much truth today? Oh I hope they won’t mind if I tell how Borodino really happened.” We go past Babi Yar on the train every time we go to Kiev, and it’s like the poem says. There’s no stone or plaque. Like nothing happened. You know the Nazis told those people to bring all their belongings, to travel. They arrived at Babi Yar in their best coats and shoes expecting a new life. I can’t imagine their pain. And our own government won’t even recognise them.

AK: Dmitri, believe me, I also look to your bravery in awe. I’m afraid 1948 may have fatally compromised my courage.

DS: No, my friend, it weighs on me too. I only hope that what scraps of courage I can muster have done justice to the words, and to the past. Still, Mravinsky will come through, I’m sure. He’s never let me down yet. And bravery is much easier to find in the company of friends. Now, if you’re ready, I’d like to play through the 13^th Symphony. I must apologise in advance for the inevitable deficiencies in the performance. My right hand is still weak and I must warn you all that, despite what you might have heard, my voice will be no match for the men of the philharmonic chorus!  I would like to start by reading Yevgeny Aleksandrovich’s poems. This is Babi Yar: “No monument stands over Babi Yar./ A steep cliff only, like the rudest headstone./  I am afraid./ Today, I am as old/ As the entire Jewish race itself…”

After the performance

DS: Yevgeny Aleksandrovich, could I borrow your ear? Just a moment.

DS pours a vodka and drinks it, and then another.

DS: Well?

 

Scene 3

At the Moscow Philharmonic Hall

Kondrashin sees DS walk past his office.

KK: (calling to the door) Dmitri Dmitrievitch, in here!

DS: Ah! Kirill Petrovich! My apologies – I was caught in a sudden shower.

KK: Let me hang your coat above the heater.

DS: I fear the score caught the rain.

KK: Thank you so much for…

DS: No, thank you! I was quite bereft when I heard from Mravinsky. Now, it ought to be impossible to lose a symphony in a bag…

KK: Believe me – the honour will be mine… bringing another Shostakovich symphony into the world…

(points at some paper in the bag) Is that it?

DS: No, loose paper… Ah. Here. Not too damp. Not yet extinguished, despite the best efforts of someone I had come to rely upon!

KK: Everyone at the Philharmonic was surprised by Mravinsky’s decision. Had he see the score?

DS: Yes, and returned it. Do excuse me; I’ve left wet footprints all over your study!

KK: Please don’t worry. Did he offer any explanation?

DS: Yes. He said one should only conduct ‘pure music’, whatever that is. The musical equivalent of crossword puzzle, I imagine. I have begun to wonder if he was only ever beating time in my 8^th Symphony – No, I don’t mean this! I am sorry. I’m somewhat hurt, that is all.

KK: Quite understandable. A birth is rather easier for the presence of an experienced midwife.

DS: You are no second best though, dear friend! Such a fine job with the Fourth. A fine job!

KK: Thank you! Now, Dmitri, I must warn you that Mravinsky’s departure is not the only issue with which we may have to contend. He’s cautious, but he’s well established. A young singer may react similarly, faced with such… pressures.

DS: Is Nechipailo not committed? Is he wavering?

KK: No no, Victor’s still with us, at present. I mean simply that it would be wise to consider some… insurance.

DS: Do you have another soloist in mind?

KK: Merely an understudy, with your permission. A fine young bass, Vitali Gromadsky. A little untested, but with huge potential. He’s just upstairs, if you’d like to meet him.

DS: Yes, of course…

KK: (Calls out of the door) Maria… Could you ask Gromadsky to join us? (To DS) Really – I hope I’m not pushing you into this.

DS: No. Quite sensible.

Gromadsky appears at the door.

KK: Ah, Vitali. Have you met Dmitri Dmitriyevich?

Vitali Gromadsky: No. You don’t look as old as I’d heard!

DS: Well… I…

KK: Please, sit, Vitali. Dmitri has written a symphony, based on words by Yevgeny Yevtushenko…

VG: Goodness, that’s brave!

KK: …Victor Nechipailo is due to sing the bass solo role at the premiere and we’re just concerned that he may have… other commitments. Would you consider learning the part, as understudy?

VG: Oh yes! It sounds very exciting.

DS: It is a very serious role and I hope…

VG: …though which Yevtushenko poems is it? I read one about anti-Semitism in the Soviet Union…

KK: Yes, Babi Yar. That’s the title…

VG: Bit odd, I thought.

DS: And odd how exactly?

VG: Well, there isn’t any anti-Semitism in the Soviet Union!

DS: Oh really! What nonsense! There is, and it is an outrageous thing and we must fight it. We must shout about it from the roof tops!

VG: Goodness… I didn’t mean to…

KK: Thank you, Vitali. I’ll be in touch very soon.

Gromadsky leaves hastily.

KK: I’m so sorry. How inexcusable!

DS: No, it was unforgivable to snap as I did.

KK: Shall I find someone else?

DS: There’s no time.

KK: In any case, I’ll ask him to apologise.

DS: No need. But this is precisely why we must be brave, to shake people out of that sort of complacency. He’s young. Maybe we owe it to young men like Gromadsky to forgive their ignorance.

KK: But not their rudeness…

DS: (waves the point aside) Being brave means thickening one’s skin. But I grieve – for what we had to learn, and what is so easily forgotten. We can’t blame Gromadsky. He wasn’t there, during the war. Though neither was I – one of the lucky ones, more valuable alive than in the act of dying. I hope you too were spared from the worst.

KK: I had musical duties. I saw things, in Moscow… but I didn’t have to do them.

DS: I thought we’d looked into the blackest mirror and seen ourselves staring back. But there it is: “there is no anti-Semitism in the Soviet Union.”

KK: (points to the score) This will change that.

DS: Perhaps. But to even try I must put so many others at risk.

KK: Every member of my orchestra is with you. Some are nervous, it’s true. But they trust you.

DS: That helps. It does.

KK: Shall we look over the score?

DS: Yes. Let’s! There are one or two issues of balance with which I would very much appreciate your help.

 

Scene 4:

The final rehearsal before that evening’s premiere. DS and YY are in the hall, listening to KK and the Moscow Philharmonic rehearse the Symphony.

DS approaches the podium.

DS: Is there still no word from Gromadsky?

KK: I’m afraid not. I’d like to run the finale, though…

Assistant: (from offstage) Maestro, urgent call for you.

KK: This might be him now.

KK leaves the stage and takes the phone from the assistant.

Assistant: It’s the minister – It’s actually him.

KK: Kondrashin speaking.

Georgi Popov: This is Georgi Popov. Tell me, Kirill Petrovich: how is your health?

KK: Very good.

A pause.

GP: Is there anything that might prevent you from conducting tonight?

KK: No, I’m in splendid form!

GP: And you have a bass soloist?

KK: Yes, a fine singer.

GP: How fortunate for you. And after Nechipailo was required elsewhere at such… short notice. Tell me: Do you have any political doubts in relation to Babi Yar?

KK: No. I think it is very timely and relevant.

GP: And in your expert opinion, could the symphony be performed without the first movement?

KK: That is completely out of the question. It would distort the form of the work, and besides, it is widely known that Babi Yar is set in the first movement. Missing it would, I can assure you, produce a quite undesirable reaction.

Another pause.

GP: Very well. Do as you see fit.

GP slams down phone. KK holds his head in one hand.

Assistant: Is he cancelling the concert?

KK: Astonishingly, no. They really know how to tighten the screws, though. Not a word about this to anyone. And for pity’s sake, don’t mention it to Shostakovich.

As KK walks back to the podium, DS calls up to him from the auditorium.

DS: Kirill! He’s here! Gromadsky’s appeared! He says he’s just come to hear the rehearsal. He’s no idea what happened with Nechipailo!

KK: Vitali! You could not have chosen a better moment to appear.

VG: What’s happened? Shostakovich was too excited to tell me! Where’s your soloist?

KK: He has been transferred to the opera, at short notice, by the Ministry of Culture.

VG: But surely he is needed here! Has someone not informed the Ministry of their mistake?

KK: Oh don’t worry. They are quite aware. Now, would you feel able to sing the part? Only one rehearsal, I know.

VG: Well, since I’m here, why not!

DS and YY return to their seats in the auditorium.

YY: That was uncomfortably close. Are you alright, Dmitri?

DS: More than a little shaken. I think I have had my fill of drama. I’m not sure my heart, weak as it is, can really take any more of it. Still, our trials are small in comparison with those of the souls we are remembering.

KK: (From the stage) Dmitri – We are going to run the symphony from the top when Gromadsky is ready. Do you have any comments on what we’ve already done?

DS: (calling across the hall) No, everything is wonderful, quite wonderful!

KK: And the dynamics at the start of the third movement?

DS: Very fine, my friend, very fine.

Later. The end of the rehearsal.

DS: Well it’s out of our hands now. I’m sorry – I’m still perspiring feverishly.

YY: I thought it was just me.  I wonder if this is what it’s like when the children leave home?

DS: Not so different. As ever, one hopes one has done one’s duties correctly. Though I don’t recall the threat of arrest hanging over my early attempts at parenting.

DS struggles to his feet as they leave the auditorium.

YY: Can I offer you my arm?

DS: Thank you, but no.

DS and YY exit to the foyer.

YY: Are you walking home?

DS: Goodness – no. My legs aren’t up to it. And my nerves are frayed. Our part in the drama is over, yet still my hands tremble. What a wretched partisan I would have made! No doubt our forest hideaway would have been given away by the nervous chattering of my own teeth.

YY: I sometimes think we are partisans for humanity! Though there’s food at home, so no need to raid some Kulak’s barn!

DS doesn’t react.

YY: Poor taste, perhaps.

DS: No, it’s a good joke. I just quiver at how little we can do, without their permission.

YY: They let us get this far.

DS: But will they let the Symphony be heard again? Will they even unlock the hall doors tonight? They do hold the keys. Our great protest against inhumanity might play only to a few lighting technicians. I don’t remember it feeling like this when I was 30.

YY: There is risk in what we do. How else did you expect it to feel?

DS: It didn’t tug so forcefully on my remaining life. Oh, but this is silly.

YY: It is?

DS: Yes. I am here, trembling with fright when you are the one who broke the silence. Without your bravery, we wouldn’t be here at all.

YY: Yes, I suppose so. But you’ve transformed it into something else now, something beyond my imagination.

DS: Only so much trilling around your fine words.

YY: No, I won’t hear that. I hesitated when you asked for my thoughts, in your apartment. But only because I wanted to hear it whole before telling you what it meant.

DS: Really? I’m afraid I took your hesitation to mean something else.

YY: There’s feeling in the music that I don’t even know how to express. I can only borrow someone else’s words to find any comparison. I thought of Prince Andrei, peaceful and tender and wounded on the field at Austerlitz. “How is it I did not see this sky before? How happy I am to have discovered it at last!”

DS: “All is vanity, all is delusion. There is nothing but stillness, peace.”

DS lifts his hand to YY’s arm.

DS: Thank you, Yevgeny Aleksandrovich. Thank you.

On to Part 3.

Sleeping Forever Beneath the Dry Earth (Part 1)

Here's something I finished writing two years ago - the text of my graphic novel about Shostakovich in the 1960s. I don't know if I will ever finish the drawings; life at the moment gives no opportunity to tackle it. The thought of it sitting unread is bad, though, so here it is, if you want to read it. This is the  first part of five. There may be typos ahead; there are certainly a few spots I'd like the change. But I'm pleased with it. 

Read it now, because I might change my mind and remove this soon.

(The pic above is by me, and the pic a little down from here is one of the drawings I've actually done for the first few pages)

Sleeping Forever Beneath the Dry Earth

Part One – December 30^th 1961

Scene one

Street scene, outside DS’s Moscow apartment

Maxim Shostakovich: (from within the building) Father, Isaak Glikman’s here with the car.

Inside. We see DS’s glasses on a table, and Maxim’s distorted image in the lens.

Father?

DS puts on his glasses. He goes to the piano and lifts his hand to the cover of his Fourth Symphony, which is on the music stand.

MS: Do you want me to bring the score?

DS: Mm? No, thank you Maxim. It’s all still up here. (taps head)

DS opens the score and puts his hand to the opening line of music. He picks out a few notes on the piano.

MS: Father, Glikman will be starting to panic. The car?

DS: Don’t worry, I’m coming, though the Fourth Symphony has waited a quarter of a century so I hardly think another few minutes will matter.

 

Scene two

At the Great Hall of the Moscow Conservertoire. DS, Isaak Glikman and Maxim Shostakovich are entering the hall.

DS: My goodness, Isaak Davidovich! So many people. It’s like a public execution.

Isaak Glikman: Come now. Save the gallows humour for the music. Ah, we’re seated here, I think.

DS: Good. Just where everyone can see me. But not too close to the Composer’s Union. Small mercies, I suppose.

IG: Oh dear. I think Khrennikov has spotted us. And Apostolov’s with him. Do you think they’ve been drawn here by lust for the blood of a more talented composer? I’ll head them off…

DS: No need. One may as well take one’s medicine.

Tikhon Khrennikov (head of the Composer's Union) approaches, with Pavel Apostolov (another composer) just behind.

Tikhon Khrennikov: Ah, Dmitri Dmitrievich! We are all so… impatient to hear this long lost masterpiece!

DS: As am I, Tikhon Nickolayevich! Though I am quite sure it will disappoint…

TK: I fear so – we have all made such advances since that time. It is good to be reminded of this from time to time.

Pavel Apostolov: Though you could have made the lesson a bit shorter, Dmitri Dmitrievich!

IG: Forgive us, gentlemen. We must take our seats now. The orchestra is ready to tune.

Aside to DS as Khrennikov and Apostolov leave:

IG: It is remarkable… Khrennikov’s found a follower even more idiotic than himself.

Kirill Kondrashin (the conductor) enters and the orchestra is seen playing the music.

One hour later. Full page view of the hall and audience, with thought and speech bubbles all around:

What a cacophony!

I feel I’ve aged ten years from the fright!

That ending. How utterly bleak.

Of course, his music now is much more appropriate to the times than that.

Why doesn’t Dmitri Dmitrievich write music of such force and power today?

I feel as though my ears have been assaulted!

Remarkable – like no music I’ve heard before.

No wonder he pulled it from performance all those years ago. He’d have been shot!

DS: Now the torture begins, Isaak. Pray that I don’t fall into the first violins.

DS appears on stage with Kondrashin and the orchestra.

Kondrashin: Remarkable music, Dmitri Dmitrievich! As fresh as if the ink were still wet on the page!

DS: Oh no, my friend. You and your wonderful musicians made up for the many shortcomings.

DS bows.

Scene 3

Outside the hall, IG and MS get into the car. The driver, Mischa, is in the front.

IG: Oh dear, I think your father has been swamped by admirers. And he so loves admirers.

MS: Mischa, could you go and rescue my father, please? Believe me – he would be forever in your debt.

When they are alone in the car:

MS: Isaak, I just cannot believe what I just heard!

IG: I can. Imagine what it’s like for an old hand such as me. I never thought I’d hear such music again.

MS: I saw the score, but hearing it is something else! That ending will haunt my dreams, I’m sure of it. How can he have turned away from that complexity and vision?

IG: Now Maxim, you know your father had to make difficult choices. In the 30s, we all did…

MS: I know. Yes, I know.

IG: And he did try. Has he ever told you what happened after Lady Macbeth?

MS: No, he doesn’t really speak about the past. My mother told me about the Pravda review…

IG: Yes – he was at a railway station when he read that. I saw him soon after – he was still shaking with fright. Maxim, you still have to be careful what you say now, but friends don’t disappear in the night any more. That review scared us all, but still he pressed on. Did you know that the Fourth Symphony was rehearsed several times before they finally convinced him to drop it? He worked on it for months and months after Lady Macbeth closed and all the time I thought I would grow grey with worry. I think he still believed that different rules applied in the concert hall and the opera house. But they didn’t. He never told me all the details, but I heard he got a visit one afternoon from some men who told him in no uncertain terms to drop the whole thing. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t got the hint earlier, but he did eventually.

MS: I wonder what we lost, though.

IG: Ha – it’s much better to be grateful for what we didn’t lose. Speaking of which, here he comes now.

DS gets into the car.

DS: I thought I’d never escape! Thank goodness for Mischa – compliments, Mischa! My saviour.

IG: I’m sorry – we lost sight of you as we left.

DS: I’m not surprised. I was mobbed and I looked for you but without success. Mischa prised me away from a young man who had a remarkable theory about the Symphony’s finale representing the vanquishing of the motherland’s enemies! I’m glad to see the minds of the young as creative as ever.

IG: Did Khrennikov accost you? I half expected him to goad that fool Apostolov into shrieking during a quiet part and ruin the recording.

DS: Yes, he hunted me down. Of course, I agreed with him wholeheartedly that my more recent music shows admirable restraint in comparison with the formalist excesses of my earlier works. Naturally, all the other composers agreed too – how perceptive and generous they are. Mischa, let’s go home. There is a distinct lack of vodka here.

The car travels through Moscow.

MS: Were you pleased with the performance, father?

DS: Yes, yes! All very fine.

IG: Did it sound as you remembered it?

DS: Indeed!

A short silence.

IG: Forgive me. I feel quite overwhelmed by the Symphony. I remember a little of those rehearsals a quarter of a century ago, and do you remember playing the piece for Klemperer at the piano?

DS: I do. I prefer to not dwell on what has been, though.

MS: But father – think of the possibilities.

DS: Paths not taken, Maxim. They are closed to us now.

 

Scene 4

The car pulls up outside DS’s apartment.

DS: A drink, Isaak Davidovich?

IG: Seems in order.

DS paces the living room.

DS: Maxim, could you see if there’s anything in the cupboard to drink? 

IG: It’s over now, Dmitri Dmitrievich. You could at least sit down. What is it?

DS: My goodness. Standing on that stage was even worse than usual.

IG: But it was a triumph! And much deserved.

DS: Maybe, but not by me. It says my name on the parts, but that’s music from another lifetime. Since you mentioned it, yes, I do remember Klemperer. He was so enthusiastic about the Symphony. It seemed at that moment that anything was possible.

IG: Trust me – it only seemed that way. You look awfully pale.

DS: They all looked at me on stage, the great composer of such visionary, wild music. I looked around for that composer too. He isn’t here anymore.

IG: I won’t hear it!

DS: But I’m serious! What happened to that young man? What have I done in the past 20 years to equal that?

IG: …

DS: No, you’re too kind, but I don’t want a list.

Maxim enters with drinks.

MS: Father, for you…

Hands DS a shot of vodka

DS:  Thank you… just what I need.

DS drinks.

DS: Forgive me, Isaak. Quite enough melodrama for one night.

IG: Quite alright. A gulf of time and so much else separates us from our younger days. I feel it too.

MS: My goodness! What a mood has descended.

DS: I felt like the ghost at my own feast! That music was written by these hands, but with youth on their side. These days, when I write a slur or even a stem, the line wobbles as though I’m at sea.

MS: I think you’re being rather silly, father. When we heard your 8^th Quartet, last year, my friends wouldn’t stop talking about how wonderful and wise it was.

DS: Wisdom so often councils against. It never throws caution to the wind.  Anyway, listen to me! I’m pining for a past we were lucky to outlive. And after tomorrow, a new year! What a thing.

IG: 1962… we are explorers!

IG knocks back the last of his vodka

DS: I am sorry… having dragged you back here I find I would rather sleep. Would you stay here tonight, Isaak? I feel I’d like to know you’re nearby.

IG: Of course.

DS: Thank you. Maxim, would you mind making up the spare bed up, please?

 

Scene 5

A little later. IG lying in a dark room. The door opens and lets in a wedge of light.

DS: Isaak…

IG: Yes?

DS: Oh good – I was worried you might already be asleep.

IG: Not with the coda of your Fourth Symphony still ringing in my ears.

DS: What if I never write anything like that again?

IG: Then you will be a composer of many remarkable works whose voice will nonetheless resound down the ages.

DS: But what if there were great things to be done, if only I hadn’t been so cowardly?

IG: To do great things, first you must live. I would not call that cowardly.

DS: I worry so often that I will die.

IG: We will all die… You do know that?

DS: But die soon. There’s still so much to do.

IG: There is. And I have no fear of you leaving us anytime soon. But sleep and a little less vodka will help. Good night Dmitri Dmitrievich.

DS: Good night Isaak Davidovich.

Quiet for one panel.

DS: Isaak?

IG: Yes?

DS: Do you think I could write a symphony like that now?

IG: You have many more wonderful symphonies in you, though I think they will surprise us… and you.

DS: I hope so. In truth, the Fourth seems better than some of my more recent symphonies. Anyway, good night.

IG: Good night.

Read part 2 here.

Who gives a Schmidt?

Who cares if it's the right guy? It's all Schmidt anyway

Classical music gossip blogger Norman Lebrecht has been laying into Austrian Composer Franz Schmidt (1874-1939) in The Critic:

“A former cellist in Mahler’s Vienna Opera orchestra, Schmidt was an embittered Austrian whose constant resentments isolated him from the mainstream. In his last year of life, he became an enthusiastic Nazi. He is regarded by the Vienna Philharmonic as part of their symphonic heritage and several leading conductors evince enthusiasm for his four symphonies.”

He goes on:

"I decided to sample [Berliner Philharmoniker Music Director] Kirill Petrenko’s passion for his 1933 fourth symphony in the hope of achieving enlightenment. To my regret, enlightenment came there none.

“The symphony is relentlessly regressive. It opens with a statement that could be mistaken for early Bruckner, or even Schumann, and it evolves within a restricted sound jacket, as if Mahler and Strauss never existed. There is a brief swipe of Mahler six minutes into the first movement, but Schmidt gets over it, settling into wish-washy swathes of Tristanesque Wagnerisms. I am neither intrigued much by his monologue nor moved at all. I am not even much annoyed by it. This is music that is going nowhere. It is, needless to say, dazzlingly played and with pinpoint precision by the Berlin Philharmonic, but to what end? It’s like asking a Michelin-starred chef to make you a burger. Hold the pickle.”

To what end? Schmidt composed his dark, sorrowful Fourth Symphony as a requiem for his dead daughter.

Also, the idea that Schmidt was an “enthusiastic Nazi” isn’t supported by any evidence; in fact, a number of people have gone out of their way to note that, despite the fact that he once gave a Nazi salute, Schmidt doesn’t seem to have been particularly interested in the Nazis at all. Evidence for this comes from the comments of Lebrecht’s own blog; a few weeks before this derisory review of the new recording of the Fourth Symphony from the Berliner Philharmoniker, he’d taken a swipe at Deutsche Grammophon for releasing Paavo Jarvi’s new CD set of Schmidt’s 4 symphonies with the Frankfurt Radio Symphony Orchestra, repeating the Nazi claim in the process. Below the line, Georg Tintner’s widow Tanya weighed in, commenting:

“It is very dangerous to claim ex cathedra that “this guy was a nazi supporter” when you really don’t know. I quote from a letter my husband (Georg Tintner) wrote to another conductor who was about to give a performance of Das Buch mit sieben Siegeln: ‘You asked me whether Franz Schmidt was a Nazi or not. In difficult times many things are not either black or white. I try to answer this question as well as I can. The doctor of Franz Schmidt, who was also a brilliant violinist, was perhaps his best friend for many years. They played chamber music together and Dr Adler (I think that was his name) looked after him till he died. This man was a Jew. I also know that Franz Schmidt helped some of his Jewish students and friends to get out of Austria. These are the positive sides. But unfortunately Franz Schmidt wrote a cantata in homage of Hitler. It is very fortunate that he died before finishing this piece. The Universal Edition holds the manuscript of the unfinished work and refuses (in my opinion wisely) to publish it. So what can you say? One thing is clear to me, that he certainly did not expose himself more incriminatingly than for instance Hans Pfitzner, whom I also adore.’

Georg Tintner was a renowned Bruckner conductor, born in Austria in 1917, who fled the country in 1938 because he was Jewish. He hardly makes Schmidt sound “enthusiastic” about Nazism.

There’s more, though.

Lebrecht cites the work’s “regressive” language as among its failings. It’s certainly not avant-garde for its time and could very easily be described as conservative for 1933, when it was written. It’s also wonderful, but that’s another point. Does it open “with a statement that could be mistaken for early Bruckner, or even Schumann”? Absolutely not. The First Symphony, from 1899, does, but the Fourth begins with a doleful trumpet solo that could never be mistaken for Bruckner or Schumann.

So here’s what I think happened. Lebrecht received a copy of Paavo Jarvi’s new Schmidt cycle, gave it a cursory hate-listen, and then stuck on the Berliner 4^th shortly afterwards and snorted at how shit he thought that was too. Then, when he fired off his review, he got the symphonies mixed up and didn’t bother to go back and check.

Oh, and the review is headed by a picture of French composer Florent Schmitt, and Schmidt is spelled “Schmit” in the pull-quote.

Absolute Schmidt-show.

Review: "Some" rather than "The" essential Joe Hisaishi

Dream Songs: The Essential Joe Hisaishi

Decca

Decca’s double album of Joe Hisaishi film music isn’t quite as essential as is claimed on the cover, but contains enough good stuff to justify a listen. The best comes from a session Hisaishi recorded with the London Symphony Orchestra back in 2010, not previously released outside Asia. The LSO’s playing is as sumptuous and tight as you’d expect, with a selection of familiar pieces from Miyazaki Hayao’s films and some more unusual items, such as Water Traveler from an unfamiliar 1990s Japanese film about kid samurai. Leader Roman Simovic is luxary casting in the Kiki's Delivery Service violin solos. The LSO’s strings give the heft needed to do justice to Hisaishi’s trademark sound and sweeping melodies; elsewhere in the collection, which is a hodgepodge of recordings from lots of sources, the playing is less compelling. Hisaishi himself plays the piano on many of the tracks, but his hard and rhythmically rigid playing left me wondering what a more accomplished pianist might make of some of the ballades. There is, however, plenty for a Hisaishi fan to enjoy.

Bach in a time of Coronavirus

What can violinists do when they're stuck at home? Julia Fischer's solution? Call some friends and record a joint Bach Chaccone, of course. In a Facebook post, she and her colleague explained:

I had the idea to do a "quarantine version" of Bach's Chaconne together with some other violinists. Here's what Augustin Hadelich says about how it started: "In early April, I was talking to my friend The Official Julia Fischer, and she told me about an idea she had during this quarantine: what if she played the first 8 bars of Bach's Chaconne and then asked friends and colleagues to record the other variations? I immediately jumped on board, and volunteered to compile the videos from everybody, and now the video is ready! Other members of the "cast" include (in order of appearance): Renaud Capuçon, Klaidi Sahatçi, Alexander Sitkovetsky, Nicola Benedetti, Andreas Janke, Daniel Röhn, Lisa Batiashvili, Lena Neudauer, James Ehnes, Stefan Jackiw, Rudens Turku and Vadim Gluzman! (And everyone plays more than once) It was really fun to work on something together, and this video will make for a lovely memory of this strange time in which we are living!"

Watch the complete performance(s) below:

Main image is a screenshot from the video. Images are used under the principle of "fair use" for the purposes of review and study, and will be removed at the request of the copyright holder(s). Read an extract from my article for The Strad magazine about Shostakovich's violin music, including interviews with Julia Fischer and Vadim Gluzman, here.

"A society performing their national myth" - Sir David Pountney on his production of Prokofiev's War and Peace

WNO War and Peace (Photo: Clive Barda)

When Welsh National Opera returns to the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, this week, they bring with them a real rarity – a production of Prokofiev’s mightiest operatic undertaking, and perhaps his greatest disappointment. Prokofiev conceived of his setting of Tolstoy’s War and Peace as a contribution to the Soviet war effort at a moment, during WW2, when Russians were finding themselves living out a national drama of Tolstoian proportions. Prokofiev’s adaptation grew in scale, from a compressed narrative of 11 scenes – first performed in 1945, one month after the final victory against Germany – to a two-evening epic, which Prokofiev would never see staged in its entirety. A souring political climate in 1947 and 1948, culminating in the infamous denunciation of composers including Shostakovich and Prokofiev, put paid to the composer’s hopes of seeing the opera produced and he died 5 years later – on the same day as Stalin – bitterly regretting its failure.

Veteran opera director Sir David Pountney first brought War and Peace to WNO in 2018 and it now transfers to London for two special performances. Pountney’s production places the novel’s characters into a Nineteenth Century setting, but has Soviet wartime soldiers and personnel, from Prokofiev’s own day, watching and participating in the action. During the opera’s second half, which focuses on the Napoleonic war episodes, Pountney uses battle scenes from Sergei Bondarchuk’s epic 1960s film, projected behind the set, to evoke the novel’s action and to broaden further the commentary on Russian retelling of War and Peace. 

I spoke to David Pountney ahead of the London performances about his production of the opera, and about his broader experience with Russian culture. 

Sir David Pountney during rehearsals for WNO's War and Peace (Photo: Jimmy Swindells)

AM: When did you first come to Russian opera and culture?

DP: Well, I used to go with my parents regularly to the theatre in Oxford and when it came indeed to the opera, my parents actually took part in something called “music camp”, which was basically a way of people taking holidays during the war. They met in this farm house near Newbury and made music, and there was quite a lot of really good musicians there. And I remember, in 1952, they did a performance of Fidelio, for the Coronation, and I vividly remember sitting in an angle of the beam of this barn, and hearing Floristan singing his aria. I also remember the members of orchestra digging the pit, which not many orchestras would do now! Then my parents took me to see Boris Godunov at Covent Garden, I remember, a couple of years later when I was seven or so. So I had plenty of contact with opera from a relatively early age. 

And was it Boris Godunov that sparked an interest in the Russian side of things? 

I’ve no idea. I remember it was a last-minute decision to go and we got a couple of seats in a box above the orchestra, above the brass, which I remember was very exciting. I became a trumpeter, by the way. 

You’ve been associated with a lot of projects related to East-European and Russian music. Did you travel much to the Eastern Bloc before 1991? 

I did. I went to St Petersburg in the 70s – Leningrad as it was, obviously, then – because I was going to do a production of [Tchaikovsky’s] Queen of Spades in Kassel, and I decided that since so many of the locations are actually existing, I thought I’d better go and see these locations. It was a terrible mistake because the stage is nothing about real locations. For one thing, real locations tend not to fit on the stage, like mountains and things like that. I actually directed an opera at the Komische Oper in East Berlin during the 80s, before the Wall came down. And I spent some time in Poland and quite a bit of time in Czechoslovakia, as it then was. So I knew my way around the Eastern Bloc quite well.

When you came to working on Prokofiev’s War and Peace, how did you make sense of the different versions that exist?

I knew [Scottish musicologist] Rita McAllister, because she and I had worked on [Prokofiev’s] The Gambler together many years ago and I knew that she’d done this reduced “original” version. I thought that since that meant reducing it in some way, that that might make it more performable for us. So I started a conversation with Rita about that, and of course we ended up doing something of a hybrid really, because it turned out that from a purely pragmatic point of view, there were too many good things that weren’t in the original version, like the Ball Scene, for example, and it seemed a pretty dumb idea to do War and Peace without the Ball Scene. So we ended up creating a kind of hybrid version, which I think Rita was not terribly pleased about in the end, because she’d done all this research and wanted something that kept close to her research, but I think it was a practical solution. 

Do you happen to recall any significant portions that didn’t appear in your version? It’s my impression that the Kirov/Mariinsky version runs another 40 or 45 minutes.

Well that’s right – you’d have to look up and compare the versions. There’s a lot of choruses. The Bolshoi version, for example, has a terribly tedious long chorus at the beginning of it - a chorus to the Tsar on his birthday, which is very much better left out. And there are of course innumerable warlike choruses and that kind of thing. I think the version that we got is pretty good. Some people might complain about the “comic” ending, which is the original ending, and of course we slightly had our cake and ate it by giving the Soviet ending as a curtain call, if you remember that.

Well, it’s so glorious that you can’t not have it – such an incredible tune. 

It’s a good tune, yes.

Yes. Now, in a sense, the opera is a massive compression of the source material – it has to be. What is the effect of going from an enormous novel to a four-hour opera on the characters in it?

Well, I think there is a very considerable degree of simplification, no question. I guess the character who is not entirely simplified, but which it’s most difficult to realise is Pierre. What you don’t get at all are the periods of his fairly grotesque misbehavior, his sort of “hooray-Henry” past history. So you meet Pierre at a point at which he’s already become rather sensitive and complex and the sort of “Boris Johnson” version of Pierre, which you do get in the novel, is missing entirely.

Do you think the libretto does a good job of compressing the novel?

On the whole, I think it does. As it inevitable for Russians undertaking this exercise, I think they were a little too faithful to the novel. Virtually all of the dialogue is actually taken from the novel. And I think sometimes they’d have been better off writing it themselves. Sometimes the libretto is actually not very clear because they’ve lifted sentences from the novel without the huge background buildup to that sentence that the novel has.

Were there moments as a director that you felt you had to underscore in a certain way in order to convey the importance of a moment or piece of information?

What is missing, quite badly missing – and I don’t think I was successful or found a way of putting this into the opera – is the way in which Natasha is erotically captivated by Anatole Kuragin. The whole description of her going to the theatre and having Anatole stare at her eyes the whole time, or stare at her tits, basically, is all missing, and so I think you do have a feeling in the opera that you’re not quite clear how it was that one minute she was dancing ecstatically with Prince Andre and then the next minute she’s running off with this cad. It’s unexplained in the opera, I think.

WNO War and Peace: Lauren Michelle as Natasha and Mark Le Brocq as Pierre
(Photo: Clive Barda)

And is it a problem that characters disappear for a long time? Were you aware of that problem when you were working things out?

You mean Andrei? Of course, Natasha disappears totally.

Yes, and we spend a long time with Kutuzov in the second half – necessarily of course – but I guess that means we’ve left a lot of the characters behind while we’re with the war.

I mean, it is odd that they didn’t somehow deal with what happens to Pierre and Natasha after. It’s not entirely clear in the novel either, but you’re definitely left with a feeling that they’re about to get together.

And on to this, we have something of a framing device – Tolstoy appears in your production and Pierre assumes his mantel at the very end.

Absolutely.

When you’re coming up with something like that, do you have to make a careful calculation about how much time you give to an idea like that?

Well, I think in this case you can only see how much time there was. I couldn’t have given any more time to it really – there weren’t opportunities. So it was really a question of whether it was possible to read that idea in the amount of time available.

You decided to produce it in English rather than Russian – what informs a decision like that?

Actually, very simply, that in the piece you have over 60 named roles, so the idea that you have all these people performing away for over three hours in a fog of incomprehension is a problem. Of course, people are professionals and they learn what is being said to them, and the top principals will obviously put a lot of effort into that, but nonetheless you are hearing something you learned somewhere – “that’s what he’s saying to me in this bar”, rather than actually hearing what he’s saying to you in this bar. So I think there’s an incomparable generation of stage energy and feeling and emotion coming from that fact that everybody understands what everybody’s saying. In an opera that is about collective experience, it would have made it much less intense from the performers’ point of view if they were struggling to remember what they once looked up the chap singing at them was actually saying. I think this is an aspect that is not sufficiently discussed when people are talking about so-called linguistic authenticity.

But does this need to be decided on a case-by-case basis, rather than a blanket rule one way or another?

Yeah, right. I mean, no one needs to know exactly what’s being said in La Traviata.

This production needed to fit into a least 4 different theatres. Does that have an effect on the decisions you make about what goes on on the stage?

Yes, obviously. We could only contemplate doing it because we knew we could do it with a smaller group of people because there were fewer of the huge choral numbers. There wouldn’t be dressing room facilities in those theatres for those numbers of people, so you’d have to be hiring porta-cabins, or having them change on a bus or something. So, I mean, there were definitely practical considerations. 

And you made use of some preexisting set as well, from Ian Bell’s In Parenthesis [produced at WNO in 2016]. Was that a similar kind of consideration?

Well, actually, that was more idea-based, because when I was thinking about what this War and Peace would feel like, I had the idea of it of being a sort of collective narrative, as though a society were performing their national myth, rather as we might reenact Dunkirk, or the Battle of Britain, or whatever. In order to achieve that one would need something like a kind of amphitheater, in which the characters could both perform and be an audience, and having thought about that for a short while, I realised that I’d actually got that set in the cupboard. I didn’t need to redo it.  

Some of the press coverage at the time raised an eyebrow at some of the contemporary resonance of an emboldened Russia. Was that something that you thought about, amidst all of these glorifying choruses at the end of the opera, that it could in a sense be Russia in 2018 or 19?

Well, or course, not least because the whole Novichok thing came along quite some time after we’d decided to do it, and also because we were involved with the Russian ambassador in one way or another in an actually unsuccessful attempt to find an oligarch who help fund the enterprise. But of course, we were aware of that and the fact is in the events that inspired this opera, the Soviet Union was our ally. We’d certainly have had a hell-a-lot harder job beating the Germans if the Soviets hadn’t been largely doing it for us. 

In the context of the Russian and Soviet canon, how important do you think this opera is?

I think it inspired Prokofiev to write some of his most eloquent and lyrical music, so it’s sort of inherently a “popular” opera really, once people thought of going to it. I think it responds to the tradition of the artform, particularly as set out by Verdi, as an expression of the state on stage, which has become increasingly rare amongst contemporary operas, which tend to focus on other things. So it’s a kind of grand element in the operatic tradition, and I think it has three or four wonderful characters in it, wonderful operatic characters, quite beautifully realised by Prokofiev. I think it’s very worth keeping in the repertoire.

Welsh National Opera's War and Peace will be performed on Tuesday 23rd and Wednesday 24th July 2019 at The Royal Opera House, Covent Garden.

My thanks to Sir David Pountney for the interview and to Welsh National Opera for the use of the photographs.

100 years since the birth of Galina Ustvolskaya

Today marks the centenary of the birth of the composer Galina Ustvlskaya, in Petrograd (now St Petersburg) in 1919. After studying composition with Shostakovich during WW2, she developed one of the most singular voices of Twentieth Century music - a truly distinctive sound at once fragile and brutal. It was my very considerable privilege last year to speak to a number of people who knew her and worked with her, including the film maker Josee Voormans, the pianist and composer Reinbert de Leeuw, the pianist Alexei Lubimov and the violinist Patricia Kopatchinskaja. You can read a the full article, entitled The Inner Mountain, at Van Magazine.

The image accompanying this post shows Josee Voormans with Galina Ustvolskaya during the filming of Voormans's documentary Scream Into Space, an essential starting point for anyone interested in this remarkable Russian musical figure. The photo is used with kind permission of Josee Voormans.

Read my article on Shostakovich violin music in the current Strad - Interviews with Fischer, Kremer, Gluzman

It began with a fascinating conversation with violinist Vadim Gluzman in Amsterdam, last year. We spoke about Shostakovich's violin music for two hours, ahead of his performance of the Second Violin Concerto with Riccardo Chailly and the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, and you can read some excerpts of that discussion in a feature article in the Mary 2019 issue of The Strad, out now.

I was then lucky enough to speak with Gidon Kremer and Julia Fischer about their experiences with Shostakovich - in the case of Kremer, his memories of meeting the man himself. It wouldn't have been possible without the generous help of all three superstar soloists, along with Anja Rauschardt and Sonia Simmenauer, who were kind enough to put me in touch with two of my interviewees. It was also made possible by Bryan Rowell of the DSCH Journal, who kindly gave permission for the use of some translations made for the journal, and Elizabeth Wilson, whose own research informed the article also. I'm also grateful to Charlotte Smith at The Strad for her help and encouragement.

UPDATE: You can read a substantial chunk of the article here. Go on. Treat yourself.