WHEN SHOSTAKOVICH MET THE FRENCH REPUBLICAN GUARD
Jacques
di Vanni
As has become the tradition in its public musical activities, the Paris-based Association Internationale Dimitri Chostakovitch chose the fresco-laden splendour of the Grand Amphithéâtre de la Sorbonne as venue for their January 2002 concert, subtitled "Un Autre Chostakovitch" ("A Different Shostakovich"). Yet while the venue might be have been familiar, the principal protagonists were far from the predictable - no less than the French Republican Guard, in full ensemble ie. in grand Symphony Orchestra format.
And so to the works: Patriotic Poems? Commemorative Cantatas? Solemn Soliloquies? Not at all! It may have been tough on Puvis de Chavannes' marbled heroes, but the evening belonged to humour - Shostakovich's humour: typically corrosive, biting; and to matinee-jazz, musical-hall, all very much in the vein of the 1920s and 30s epoch of swing, Soviet style.
A splendidly original programme then, and one that called upon the individual talents of Elena Vassilieva (soprano), Alexei Martynov (tenor) and instrumentalists Claude Zibi and Bruno Maurice, on guitar, banjo and accordion.
The repertoire was clearly not the daily fare of the Republican Guard musicians, but any thought of stiffness or awkwardness on their part was speedily dispelled by the lively Russian conductor Vladimir Ponkin. Throughout the evening the very visible pleasure the players clearly took was duly conveyed to the receptive audience who responded equally enthusiastically.
The "show" began with the early Two Pieces by Scarlatti for wind ensemble and timpani, op. 17 (1928), a "revisitation" by Shostakovich of Italian-cum-Spanish baroque style and in the same spirit and indeed same epoch of Stravinsky's reorchestration of Pergolesi that features in his ballet Pulcinella; or for that matter in the mould of Prokofiev, mimicking Haydn in his Classical Symphony. Next, the First Jazz Suite (1934), with its (in)famous Waltz (courtesy of TV advertisements). Of course, this "jazz" has little in common with the "true" jazz of the era: a fact that prompted certain "aficionados" of the genre to jeer at such works that issued from the stable of "serious" composers. Criticism of this kind apart, this is truly the pinnacle of twentieth century's Shostakovich-meets-Offenbach music!
Next to three movements from the (original) Suite for Jazz Orchestra no. 2 (1938): "Scherzo", "Berceuse" and "Serenade", in a version for solo wind instruments realised by Gerard McBurney from original sketches. The inherent humour here is somewhat more restrained - not surprising if one takes into account the historical context - the midst of Stalin's terrifying Purges.
The final work before the interval was the recently premiered and deliciously lyrical Seven Arrangements on Popular Finnish Melodies (1939), with Elena Vassilieva and Alexey Martynov. Sung in Finnish, the short work projected an air of folksy emotion, albeit with a rather evident "displaced" allure.
Following the interval the sequence continued with the La Fontaine-inspired Two Fables by Krylov, op. 4 (1922) written by the young Shostakovich at sixteen and still a student at Petrograd Conservatory. "The Ant and the Grasshopper" as well as "The Ass and the Nightingale" clearly suited Vassilieva's humouristic streak in this short work that displays, for the first time in Shostakovich's repertoire, his hallmark sense of the comically ironic.
More humour with more animal capers, this time embodied in the music for a short cartoon film The Silly Little Mouse. op. 56 (1939). Thus the stage was adorned by Aunt Cat, Aunt Piggy, The Mouse, Aunt Duck and several other costumed characters, conveyed by a group of young singers (students of Vassilieva) in a manner that was reminiscent of the early opera The Nose op. 15 (after Gogol, premiered in 1931 but then banned, until a new production in 1974).
The final firework in this colourful concert display came in the shape of four extracts for orchestra from Hypothetically Murdered, op. 31 (1931), music that emanated from a collaboration Shostakovich undertook for an avant-gardist music-hall production, destined to oblivion until Gerard McBurney's judicious reconstitution and reorchestration of a number of its constituent parts. Shostakovich à la Kurt Weill and his Threepenny Opera? Yes! The performance stirred maestro Ponkin into quitting his podium, buzzing around the orchestral desks in impromptu gestures of energetic encouragement and mock cues.
With the exception Krylov Fables and the First Jazz Suite, all the works comprised French premieres. The public ovation spoke for itself, as did the broad smiles on the faces of the assembled Guard.
