YEVGENY
SVETLANOV
No Shostakovich specialist in the
manner of a Mravinsky, a Kondrashin or a Rozhdestvensky, Yevgeny Svetlanov
will nevertheless be remembered as a steadfast exponent of certain of
the composer's works, such as the Fifth and Seventh Symphonies, which
remain, quite rightly, core recordings of the past century. Broadly apolitical
in his attitude to the State Machine of the 1950-60s and unsubtly evasive
during the 1970-80s, he nevertheless remained firmly in the mould of an
Soviet-educated, highly gifted musician. In the 1990s he carved out a
unique niche for himself in the new world of post-Perestroika music-making.
Svetlanov was born in Moscow
on September 6th, 1928. He studied piano with Mariya Gurvich, composition
with Mikhail Gnessin and Yuri Shaporin and conducting with Gauk. After
graduation (Gnessin Institute and Moscow Conservatory) he joined the staff
of the Bolshoi, becoming principal conductor from 1962 to 1964. In 1965
he was appointed music director of what was to become "his" U.S.S.R. State
Orchestra - up to his very inglorious departure in 1999 (this was ostensibly
due to his too-infrequent presence in the Russian capital). In 1979 he
became principal guest conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra - one
of a number of prestigious positions he enjoyed, post-Thaw.
His rise to the upper echelons of the Soviet performing elite did not always meet with the approval of the contemporary performing fraternity. Take Galina Vishnevskaya's description of his accession to the post of chief conductor of the Bolshoi, for example:
"... And so far as Central Committee
members are concerned, no one is irreplaceable: where there's a swamp,
there'll be devils to live in it. Within a few days a decree was posted
in the theater office announcing that Melik-Pashayev and Pokrovsky had
been discharged from their positions at their own request, and that Yevgeny
Svetlanov and Iosif Tumanov had been appointed chief conductor and chief
stage director, respectively. For the Bolshoi it was an utter catastrophe.
Melik-Pashayev found himself the subordinate of a novice conductor, an
uncouth and irrational man...
The Young Svetlanov
Regardless of his artistic potential,
the conductor who is appointed to the post of chief conductor at the Bolshoi
is immediately proclaimed the first and incontestably the best, and must
conduct performances of the Theater's 'treasures': Boris Godunov, Prince
Igor, The Queen of Spades, Aida, and so on. This repertory had belonged
to Melik-Pashayev but was now claimed by Svetlanov, a young petty tyrant
who had greedily fallen upon power and, in his high post, was able to
punish or pardon others at will. With the support of the Central Committee
and Furtseva he elbowed his way onto the pedestal, trying to shove Melik-Pashayev
aside, and gradually deprived the venerable conductor of the productions
he had created."
A committed composer (indeed, he was to remain frustrated at the modest level of regard held for his own creations), his most notable works included a Symphony (1956); the Siberian Fantasy for Orchestra (1953), the Piano Concerto (1951) as well as incidental music for plays and film scores.
He received no shortage of honours and awards: he was made a People's Artist of the USSR in 1968 and was the recipient of a Lenin Prize in 1972 as well as the Order of Lenin in 1978. A "Soviet State Prize for Creative Achievement" followed in 1983. On his 70th birthday, in 1998, post-Soviet Russia awarded him the "Order for Meritorious Services to the Nation." He was also awarded a Paris Grand Prix for his recording of the complete Tchaikovsky symphonies.
In 1998 the DSCH Journal met up briefly with him during a European tour with his (renamed) Russian State Symphony Orchestra, in Lyon, France. Bordering on the semi-conscious through fatigue after a dourly epic performance of Mahler's 9th Symphony, the crumpled figure nevertheless drew himself up, forever on guard, to answer the questions of a young Westerner, relatively oblivious to past times - hard and now even harder - endured by this invited maestro.
Appropriately the first question referred to the music of Mahler, and its influence on Shostakovich's symphonic output. Svetlanov had no prior knowledge of the questions; nevertheless he pounced upon both interviewer and interpreter, seizing the question by the throat, glaring at me with reddened, grey-ringed eyes:
Svetlanov: It has become the custom to make out that Mahler's music finds its echoes in Shostakovich's works - an idea reinforced by Shostakovich himself who wrote about Mahler's influential role in some of his compositions. Personally, I hold a different point of view. I wouldn't even consider this question as being important. It's possible of course that something of Mahler does find its way into a work or two of Shostakovich - but in a quite insignificant way.
External influences are perhaps stronger in certain of the humorously grotesque elements of Shostakovich's music: but this could be said also of composers other than Mahler. All this to say that I consider Shostakovich's musical language to be very much his own. In the same way that you can recognise his music after just a few bars, so you can with Mahler's works, as well as other great composers.
DSCH: When did you meet Shostakovich for the first time?
Svetlanov: In 1949. This was when I showed him my newly-completed cantata, Songs of the Fatherland. He was very attentive and gave me a lot of very useful advice. I was naturally overjoyed. After this we remained in contact on a regular basis right until his death. I performed much of his output - although you know I listened to much more of his music than I ever performed.
DSCH: Did Shostakovich ever give you any advice when you performed his works?
Svetlanov: So many times I tried to provoke him into giving me hints as to how his music should be performed - but I never succeeded. He was the only composer who always assured me that "Everything is perfect. Everything is marvellous. You must perform the music as you feel you need to." The single exception occurred when we were performing his Fifth Symphony - the finale. I asked him whether the metronome markings, which indicated an increasing tempo, were to be interpreted exactly this way.
"Please." He replied. "Please take no note whatsoever of all those tempo indications. Play as you wish, because - I understand nothing. You see, when I was younger it was in fact my friends who wrote down the tempi. So play as you feel is right, just as you want to!"
DSCH: What is your view of the "double meaning" theories as applied to some Shostakovich's works? The Seventh, for example, which it seems was begun long before the Nazis besieged Leningrad, and the Eleventh Symphony, which may have sought its inspiration equally from contemporary Hungary?
Svetlanov: Once again, I have to say that I do not agree with this approach. In my view all that he wrote - it was entirely and sincerely from the heart. Of course I often hear the theories - that he composed secretive, double-intentioned works. And many critics can, and have made their careers from this kind of thing.
Indeed the debate could well last eternally - but I don't want to be a part of it. I am absolutely persuaded that Shostakovich was first and foremost an honest man, in his life he was a man of crystal purity - and that all that he wrote is of this same crystal purity, be it the Fourth Symphony or the operetta Moscow Cheryomushki, the Thirteenth Symphony or The Songs of the Forest [sic]. They are all marvellous pieces.
DSCH: How, then , would you describe Shostakovich - the man, his personality?
Svetlanov: It would be easier for his close friends, his family, to answer this question. For me Shostakovich was an example that we should all follow - in all he did and stood for.
A quarter of an hour later this grand old man of the Soviet conducting school was to be seen scuttling off in the direction of the orchestra bus, his bustling wife alongside, clutching a hopelessly small canvas bag out of which was spilling the night's tails. Off, then, to the next ports of call, to make more music - music with an inner vision and direction that were unique to him.
Svetlanov died on May 3rd, 2002,
aged 73, in Moscow.
