DSCH Journal
DSCH CD Review
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String Quartets No. 1 in C major, opus 49; No. 2 in A major, opus 68; No. 3 in F major, opus 73; No. 4 in D major, opus 83; No. 5 in Bb major, opus 92; No. 6 in G major, opus 101; No. 7 in F# minor, opus 108; No. 8 in C minor, opus 110; No. 9 in Eb major, opus 117; No. 10 in Ab major, opus 118; No. 11 in F minor, opus 122; No. 12 in Db major, opus 133; No. 13 in Bb minor, opus 138; No. 14 in F# major, opus 142; No. 15 in Eb minor, opus 144.
Shostakovich: String Quartets—complete
Rubio String Quartet: Dirk van de Velde (violin 1), Dirk van
den Hauwe (violin 2), Marc Sonnaert (viola), Peter Devos (cello).
Brilliant Classics 6898/1-5. DDD. 5-CD set, TT 6:18:16.
Disc 1: Nos. 2, 8 and 13; Disc 2: Nos. 3, 7 and 9; Disc 3: Nos. 5, 11
and 12; Disc 4: Nos. 4, 6 and 10; Disc 5: Nos. 1, 14 and 15.
Recorded at Church in Mullem, Belgium, April-September 2002.
Shostakovich: Complete String Quartets
Shostakovich String Quartet: Andre Shishlov (violin), Sergei
Pishchugin (violin), Alexander Galkovsky (viola), Alexander Korchagin
(cello).
Regis RRC 5001. DDD. 5-CD set, TT 6:19:17. Also available separately
as RRC 2028 (2-CD set, TT 2:34:49)[a], 2029 (2-CD set, TT 2:31:26)[b]
and 1024 (1 CD, TT 73:02)[c].
Disc 1[a]: Nos. 1, 3 and 4, Two Pieces for String Quartet, Elegy and Polka, Sans opus D (mislabelled opus 36); Disc 2[a]: Nos.
2, 5 and 7; Disc 3[b]: Nos. 6, 8 and 9; Disc 4[b]: Nos. 10, 11 and 15;
Disc 5[c]: Nos. 12, 13 and 14.
Recorded in Moscow 1980-85[a], 1978-85[b], 1980-88[c].
Shostakovich: String Quartets (Complete)
Éder String Quartet: György Selmeczi (violin 1),
Péter Szüts (violin 2), Sándor Papp (viola), György
Éder (cello).
Naxos. DDD. 6 CDs, only available separately: 8.550972, Vol. 1:
Nos. 4, 6 and 7, TT 60:19; 8.550973, Vol. 2: Nos. 1, 8 and 9, TT
60:57; 8.550974, Vol. 3: Nos. 3 and 5, TT 60:21; 8.550975, Vol.
4: Nos. 2 and 12, TT 60:36; 8.550976, Vol. 5: Nos. 14 and 15,
TT 61:46; 8.550977, Vol. 6: Nos. 10, 11 and 13, TT 60:45.
Recorded by Phoenix Studios, Budapest, at the Unitarian Church, 1-4 December
1993 (Vol. 1); 14-17 February 1994 (Vol. 2); 6-9
March 1995 (Vol. 3); 28-31 March 1995 (Vol. 4);
1-4 September 1996 (Vol. 5); 29 April-4 May 1996 (Vol. 6).
It was Shostakovich's good fortune, among numerous bad ones, that his string quartets did not have to wait long for public performance. Even as he was writing his First Quartet in 1938, renowned performers such as the Beethoven and Glazunov Quartets were eagerly waiting in the wings for the ink to dry. The Beethoven Quartet became a staunch devotee to the cause, offering public performances of each new quartet as it was written, undeterred by the political intrigues that plagued the composer, let alone the suspicions that surrounded the appearance of any new chamber work. The Beethovens' sometimes poetic, more often prosaic style may not have produced the most stimulating performances. Yet in return for their abiding loyalty, Shostakovich granted the premiere performances of each of his quartets after the first to them, except the last.
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Shostakovich was also fortunate to live long enough to see, as firsthand witness no less, his string quartets gain similar advocacy outside Russia. In the year of his death, 1975, the Fitzwilliam Quartet became the first Western ensemble to record the entire cycle (Decca 289455776-2). With their lyrical intensity and high degree of musical intelligence, they join the Borodins in providing the most durable set of performances to have emerged during Shostakovich's lifetime.
In the intervening decades the number of ensembles that have taken on the complete cycle has grown to include, among others, the Brodsky, Manhattan, Emerson, St. Petersburg and Sorrel Quartets. Those who feel that the Borodins (early or late) and the Fitzwilliams have uttered the last word in the repertoire have some catching up to do. Rather than lament the passing of a bygone era of more authentic performing styles, we find among these newer cycles, especially the three under consideration, some of the finest renditions of this music on disc. We do live in fortunate times.
The Shostakovich String Quartet, founded in 1966, claim the greatest longevity of the three ensembles in this review, as do the recordings of their cycle, which date from the late 1970s and 1980s. They can be counted upon for their intense, tautly knit engagement with the music, both at its extremes, when it falls most naturally into their provenance, as well as at its means. They can be seen as inheritors of the stoic, precision-oriented style of the Beethoven Quartet as well as of the bold and biting flair of the Borodins. Their style is ideally matched to their recorded sound image, where closely placed microphones situate the listener at the very centre of the music making. In that regard they are earnest and up-front to a fault. Their serious manner may at times overlook the lighter side of the music, which is not to say that they lack humanity in its delicate pages. The Shostakovich Quartet comes in especially strong in the later quartets, where their intimate familiarity with the idiom's complex emotional terrain pays off quite handsomely.
The Éder String Quartet, formed by graduates of Budapest's Liszt Academy in 1973, offers some of the most elegantly conceived performances of this repertoire. Their ensemble work rests on a foundation of strongly enunciated rhythms and illustrious dynamic contours. These attributes help to lay out the music's formal architecture with ingratiating clarity. Individual members, first violinist and cellist especially, stand out for the character they bring to their solo passages. The Éder Quartet does a particularly fine job of teasing out the multiple complexions that arise when themes of divergent character and mood are set against each other, as in the finales of the Third, Fifth and Tenth Quartets. They exemplify how such moments can draw a listener in and pull an entire movement together. They are by no means tame in the harsher moments, and are the most ready to recognize and extract the inevitable element of humour in this repertoire.
The Belgian-based Rubio Quartet, the relative newcomers, have been in existence since 1991. Though they lack the technical polish of the Éder and the Shostakovich Quartets, the strength of their cycle rests on its lyrical individuality. The fluency of their approach is supported by the spacious ambiance in which their recordings take place, in contrast to the parlour room acoustic of the Éder recordings and quite opposite to the tight miking in the Shostakovich Quartet. The cello in this arrangement occupies the largest headroom, fine for the most part, except in isolated moments when the microphone seems a tad out of reach. These quibbles become vanishingly small in light of the more significant contributions of the Rubios. By immersing themselves into the nuances of articulation and phrasing, they manage to reveal details that one hears nowhere else. They will at times raise an eyebrow with fresh turns, as in the opening movements of the Third, Fourth and Ninth Quartets. At other times, as in the finale of the Fourth Quartet and the slow movement of the Fifth, their gambits yield impressive returns.
No string quartet worth its salt embarks upon so formidable a cycle without a creative vision and a willingness to take risks. Enter three worthy ensembles. Rather than uniform success, one encounters peaks and troughs, revelations and near misses that make these three journeys all the more interesting.
Quartet No. 1. A modest first instalment for Shostakovich, one whose charms are well assimilated by each ensemble. The Rubio Quartet have a cordial way with the first two movements, whose gentle lyricism receives a slightly warmer reception with the Shostakoviches. In the mercurial pages of the final two movements, the Rubios most cheerfully invoke the fleeting spirit of Mendelssohn. The work is just as well suited to the Éders, who, with irresistible good humour, miss none of the music's details.
Quartet No. 2. The Shostakoviches show how assertively yet eloquently they can drive a point home with the Overture's heavy rhythms and husky sonorities, while the Rubios push their way through in rather rustic fashion. The Éders' strategy is more about the process of ascent as they underscore, with strength and elegance, the movement's roomy exchanges of tension and relaxation. The three performances draw their principal distinction from the rhapsodic violin solos in the Recitative and Romance. The Éder's first violinist, György Selmeczi, establishes an illustrious, if somewhat untroubled, conversational rapport with these passages in his fluent execution. Quite different are the darkly expansive solos of the Rubio's Dirk van de Velde, which breathe deeply with bittersweet reflection. Different again are the sternly mournful tones evoked by the Shostakovich's Andre Shishlov, who conveys a sense of travail in his head-on interpretation. Each ensemble brings the movement to a point of high intensity. The Rubios continue to pursue the quartet's wistful tones, now muted, in the following Valse, while the Shostakoviches draw a taut line. The mighty Theme with Variations receives an impassioned reading from all. The Rubios display an affinity for the individual colouration in each variation while the Shostakoviches harness the diversity within in a more tightly cast net. Midway between them are the Éders, who turn out an impeccably balanced performance that moves purposefully, even as it focuses on the movement's rarefied complexions.
Quartet No. 3. Shostakovich's "quartet suite" presents a classic exercise in lyrical interpretation. In the lively dance steps of the opening Allegretto, the Éders take to the ballroom floor with Mozartian elegance. In contrast, the athletic bounce preferred by the Shostakoviches turns the movement's double fugue into a rousing parlay of team precision. The Rubios, for their part, personalise their performance through a more elastic application of tempi. The catch-your-breath pauses and ritardandi that they place at the sectional junctures of the opening movement are executed with style and civility, as are the pregnant pauses, with due gravitas, at the start of each passacaglia statement of the fourth movement. The Shostakoviches again take well to the music's rugged hills as they bear down tooth and claw on the heavily accented third movement. They also show their sensitive side in the masculine-feminine exchanges of the following passacaglia. In the fifth and final movement, the Rubios' violin and cello solos, early on, glide with airborne grace; their final violin solo most touchingly captures the wounds of memory. But the ever-changing complexions of this and other rondo finales of Shostakovich are something of a specialty of the Éder Quartet. Though they enter the movement with a relatively fast tempo, they take in a fuller spectrum of moods and emotional states. Their galumphing cello theme, for example, enters with a jolly grin as wide as Falstaff himself; and before they bring the work to its poignant conclusion, they approach and hold the tender pause mid-movement with a beautiful sense of timing.
Quartet No. 4. In the first and last movements the Rubios exhibit the kind of collective imagination that best represents their cycle. In the final, weight-bearing Allegretto, W. Mark Roberts, in his review (DSCH 10) of a separate release of this performance, found the Rubio Quartet lacking in "Semitic sinuosity" in a movement that "tends to drag". I respectfully disagree on both accounts. I found that the Rubios' Hebraic evocations more than meet expectations. They even surpass the Shostakoviches and in this case, the overly poised Éders. Yes, their pauses may be extravagantly long. But with their slower tempi, heavily accented downbeats, and cantorial inflections, the Rubios get a firm grip on the rhythmic moorings and lead the music to its noble destination. While their rendition of the Andantino movement is not as feeling as it could have been, they again place their individual stamp on the opening Allegretto, turning what is usually a brief, ceremonious curtain raiser into an expressive river of sonority. The Fourth Quartet also receives fine performances by the other two ensembles. The Shostakoviches take a hearty tack with generously flowing lines, rapturous crescendi and a vigorous, well-steered finale. The architectural approach of the Éders is marked by rhythmic firmness throughout. They prefer lively tempi, with the exception of the slow, throbbing strains in the Andantino, a rare heart-on-sleeve moment for Shostakovich.
Quartet No. 5. The Borodins and the Fitzwilliams provide outstanding examples of how to meet the opening movement's high demands. For one thing, they push the antagonistic sonata subjects to their necessary extremes. The otherwise resourceful Shostakoviches fall somewhat short of reaching the same goals, even with their razor-sharp edges and pinpoint attacks. The fluid motion of the Rubios offers a more consolidated impression, yet they, too, could place a little more stress on the first subject's grinding rhythmic gears. In their favour, the arrival of the Ustvolskaya theme in the central climax it is well marked. It is the Éders who offer the most engaging version of this movement, thanks to their meticulous management of its competing thematic areas. All three ensembles offer fine versions of the Andante. The Shostakoviches display particular sensitively with the soft shimmer of light they admit at the centre of the movement. In one of their high points, the Rubios take this music to a completely different level. The Andante as stilled, impassioned, meditative trance has never before, I dare say, been so beautifully consecrated. The Rubios and the Shostakoviches do particularly well in capturing the accumulating winds of the final Moderato, leading to a rousing return of the Ustvolskaya theme.
Quartet No. 6. The relatively carefree Sixth Quartet, with its concentration on lyrical finesse over conflict, presents few interpretive problems. In the first movement the Éders best capture the ebullience of the first subject's rising parallel thirds and the reposeful exhalations of the second subject's open cadences—all this while bringing the music toward an effective central drama. The Shostakoviches' nervous edge, on the other hand, places the listener on alert from the opening bars as they fiercely, if rather humourlessly, drive the point home. The Rubios' only manage to gain a tentative hold on the contrasting elements of the first movement. All three ensembles manoeuvre well through the lyrical pastures that follow. The Shostakoviches offer a heavy-handed account of the second movement that captures some but not all of the songful smiles that abound in the Rubios' corner. The Rubios again redeem themselves with the uncommon tenderness they bring to the following Lento. All bring the work to a sunny conclusion.
Quartet No. 7. The Éders' performance falls somewhere in between the ultra-tense Shostakoviches and the less urgent Rubios in this most compact of Shostakovich quartets. In the opening Allegretto, the Éders' pizzicato section seems to whisper more of the music's inner secrets while the Rubios pointed accents combine polish and vigour when they're least expected. If the Rubios conjure the most fragrant, otherworldly distillation of the central Lento, the Shostakoviches' evocation of ice and steel is just as effective. However, neither matches Gyorgy Éder's chillingly sinister cello solo mid-movement, leading the music down yet another wonderfully uncharted path. Each of the three performances will raise hackles during the furiously accented fugue in the final Allegro, with the most fearsome hackle-raising being perpetrated by the Éders and the Shostakoviches. When calm returns in the final section, the Éders again walk the delicate line between the more sunny-leaning Shostakoviches and the wistful Rubios.
Quartet No. 8. The Eighth Quartet, with its myriad self-quotations, offers a straight-to-the-point mixture of pathos and volatility in what was intended to be Shostakovich's farewell to life. The Rubios assemble a decent performance, yet the passages that call for brute force, such as the crucial declarations of the final movement, fall better into place with the bolder strokes of the other two ensembles. In elevating the work's distraught pages to fever pitch, the Éders take the lead with their heart-racing pace and lacerating attacks. The second movement has never had a more explosive reading; while in the fourth movement they pounce, panther-like, upon the three recurring hammerstrokes of fate to stunning effect. The Shostakoviches also invoke merciless agitation, with close microphone placement that plunges the listener face-first into the fray. Their performance, again benefitting from the intimate acoustic, achieves nobility in capturing the composer's utter desolation in the two Largo movements that form the work's bookends. The personal connection of the Shostakoviches with the tenderness and despair of these sections is nothing short of profound.
Quartet No. 9. As if born of a single, joyous breath, the five attached movements of the Ninth Quartet alternate between light and dark with some of Shostakovich's most charismatic lyricism. All three ensembles score high points in the departments of colour and continuity. The Rubios do so with a poetic vision. In the opening Moderato con moto, they invoke a Nielsen-like nature experience of wonder tinged with melancholy. With fleeting tempi, they bring a mythic dimension to the gypsy-inflected Allegretto and its nympholeptic solos. The Shostakoviches, on the other hand, find a little menace. They stir up turbulence in the opening movement in places where the Éders remain subdued. The Éders and the Shostakoviches join the jamboree in the Allegretto with pumping rhythms, the latter with an aggressive edge that leaves the music smiling through gritted teeth. As emblems of memory and frozen time, metaphysically speaking, the Adagio's breakaway sequence of pizzicato chords takes on varied forms. In the Rubios the chords float liquid-like in the undulating lyrical stream; in the Éders they reverberate with a piercing edge. Most impressive are the Shostakoviches who, reminiscent of the Borodins, take a dramatically slow tempo and throw emphasis on their thunderously plucked strings. In the final movement, the Rubios outdo the Éders by a few shades of drama, while the Shostakoviches go for higher stakes with bold, stunning gestures.
Quartet No. 10. Three strong performances are given in the Tenth Quartet, a work highlighted by Shostakovich's most barbaric essay for four solo strings, the second movement Allegretto furioso. The tight, thrusting jabs of the Éders rattle as many rafters as those by the hard-hitting Shostakoviches. In each case, dissonances roar and repetitions burn with corrosive friction. The Rubios sacrifice some of this cathartic urgency, but their broad, heaving phrases and shrieking double-stops bring on a measure or two more of human anguish. In the ever-shifting planes of the opening Andante the Rubios mollify their tense and sombre gestures with an occasional spot of warmth, where the Éders and the Shostakoviches build a stronger sense of foreboding. The Shostakoviches take on the third movement Adagio with particular sensitivity. Each of the three ensembles manoeuvre quickly and gracefully through the rich thematic tapestry of the final Allegretto, with the Éders again being especially sensitive to the movement's ever overlapping moods.
Quartet No. 11. Here, the disarmingly straightforward thematic material and the short, epigrammatic nature of the seven movements provide yet another fresh path: string quartet as fairytale. The parameters may seem simple but they are hardly simplistic. In the first, second, and final movements, mirth and melancholy are interwoven so delicately they become indistinguishable, leaving the interpreters' court wide open. The Shostakoviches take a direct approach. They are sombre and straightforward in the outer pairs of movements, hard-hitting in between. They could stand to lighten up a bit, given their abrupt, poker-faced glissandi in the Scherzo. Underlying sadness pervades the Rubios' performance, as evidenced in their ironically-tendered Scherzo. The sadness is fully realised in their moving Elegy (the technical strains on the first violinist in the Etude's scurrying figures are unfortunately audible). It is the Éders who take the most enchanting route through these seven movements. Their Introduction has an eloquent, storytelling quality, primarily due to the lyrical gifts of their first violinist, György Selmeczi. Their whooping glissandi and brisk tempo in the Scherzo reach for the fantastic element inherent in the music. Their spasms in the following Recitative descend like lightning bolts; their Elegy is saturated with sadness. And in the Conclusion they bring just enough whimsy back into the mix.
Quartet No. 12. This is the one that makes the rest seem easy, judging by the hit or miss quality of past and present performances. A nearly impenetrable opening movement is followed by a multipart second movement that embodies one of Shostakovich's most remarkable feats of thematic synthesis. Interpreters may be forewarned. The Rubios demonstrate that a pensive, uniformly low-keyed approach in the opening Moderato, whose thematic areas resist interaction and climactic release, leaves the music rather grey and static. They raise hell in the following Allegretto and are fine, if somewhat episodic, in bringing out the nuances and crests of the passages that follow. The colourful, persuasive Éders take a more directed route. In the first movement they lift the scalewise material toward ardent peaks. They apply discerning rubati to the faster waltz sections, where phrases are pulled and twisted every which way. They also delve into the stormy portions of the Allegretto with gale wind force, successfully bringing home the sentimentally transformed themes. It is the Shostakoviches, however, who claim mastery over this work. In the opening movement the jaded humour they find in the fragmentary waltz sections contrasts well with their well-realised scalewise theme, which is played with such glowing warmth and broad tempi, it is laid down as a cornerstone of the performance. In the labyrinthine Allegretto, the Shostakoviches impress with the breathing room they bring to each of the sectional transitions. The intensity with which they pull together the movement's divergent episodes into a compelling sequence of events is also impressive. When the scalewise material returns in its final appearances, one strongly senses a return to the centre of gravity previously established.
Quartet No. 13. Shostakovich's only experiment with palindromic form gives us one of his bleakest, most macabre visions: a chattering, jazz-inflected dance of death encased in a grim double-lined vault of numbing ruminations. The opening and closing organum-like sonorities, in a Medieval structure no less, seal off any possibility of comfort or consolation from the outside world. In this one-movement slow-fast-slow arrangement, matters of pace and tension come to bear most acutely. In the outer sections all three ensembles capture the overwhelming sense of sorrow with passionately drawn arcs, the Éders with stabbing accents, the Rubios with broad, internalised tones. Yet so much hinges on the tempo and tenor of the central jig. Here the Éders lack the necessary tautness to embody anything more than a whimsical respite from the surrounding darkness (they're in good company: the rendition by the Beethoven Quartet falls short for the same reason). The Rubios extract far more from the work with their sharply defined contrasts. Their centrepiece is a bracing quickstep whose seizure-like flicks and twitches animate a state of tumultuous physical and emotional distress. In its context it elicits a disturbing combination of pity and astonishment on the part of the listener. It also establishes the necessary polar extremes. And then there are the Shostakoviches, who from the very opening bars press their shoulders against the clock. The Shostakoviches are remarkable in being able to intensify each of the work's various episodes and at the same time preserve a natural sense of continuity between them. Listen to their pointillistic dissolution before the jig, the sharpness of their wooden taps, the sweeping inevitability of their torturously spastic jig, their lacerating accents in the outer portions. Even the manner in which the solos in the jig's aftermath are allowed to recover and reflect, unrushed, is an intensification of what came before, as is the final searing note—Shostakovich's answer, if it hasn't already been noted, to Edvard Munch's painting The Scream, rendered here in all its existential anguish.
Quartet No. 14. After the formal experiments of the previous two quartets, Shostakovich returns to traditional paths in the Fourteenth. Or so it might seem. Within its classical demeanour and more stable tonality one discovers a chessboard of perplexing contrasts. Our ensembles provide three superb interpretations. The first movement works well at the lively clip chosen by the Rubios, though some of the intricate juxtapositions in the development section seem a bit squeezed in. The cello solos within are given ample room, both temporally and acoustically, but in the faster passages some of the notes almost get lost in the room's ambiance. The movement acquires a more sculpted form with the nuances and argumentative peaks provided by the Éders. And from their buoyant opening bars to their cellist's longing cries of despair, it is the Shostakoviches who pry apart the movement's rapidly changing facets with the most communicative force. In the Adagio the dialogue between violin and cello in their communion of grief and despair elicits fine playing from each of the three ensembles. The Rubios provide the most expressive platform for the movement's peak statement, located square and centre, a feature that bears fruitful resonances when the passage reappears in the final movement. There, the moody patchwork is traversed well by each ensemble with the most astute contrasts again being delineated by the Shostakoviches.
Quartet No. 15. Shostakovich's final installment in the cycle takes us into the leanest textured, most gestural, and grief-stricken depths of his catalogue. Here the element of atmosphere plays a role unmatched in the cycle. Add to that the self-imposed constraints of tempi and dynamics—the work's six connected Adagios rarely raise their voice above the level of piano—and we enter a whole new world of interpretive parameters. It is the Éders this time who place the greatest emphasis on the contrasts within, though not always to the best ends. Their quick, piercing darts in the "Ligeti" sections of the Serenade provide good foils for the interceding waltz fragments. Throughout the work, however, I found the Éders' energetic presence a bit too canny. In the Epilogue, for example, their assertive trills leave the music rather earthbound. The more subdued comportment of the Rubios and Shostakoviches, for example their gentler bow attacks, in the sombre lines of the opening Elegy, better invoke the music's succumbed state of being. In the Serenade the Ligeti-like crescendi of the Shostakoviches are not the sharply pointed stabs of the Rubios, yet their unswerving vibrati, like the edges of a serrated knife, only deepen their cutting power. The Éders make good in the Nocturne's haunting viola solo. But the movement's infinitely wandering sadness receives a more sympathetic treatment in the hands of the Rubios and Shostakoviches. The frantic trills of the Shostakoviches in the Epilogue are just as effective as those of the ghostly kind of the Rubios. Here the Rubios' slithering violin solos, though not technically perfect, add to the chilling impact. In each case the atmosphere is charged with anxiety and mystery, conjuring up a spectre of death as terrifying as that found in the last two symphonies.
The Two Pieces for String Quartet (not to be confused with the opus 11 Two Pieces for String Octet) are well vetted by the Shostakoviches and provide a charming filler for the first disc in their set. The first piece, Elegy, consisting of a string of melodic morsels from Lady Macbeth, is sensitively rendered with the vocal qualities of their source very much taken into consideration. The second piece is a setting of Shostakovich's famous Polka from The Age of Gold. For anyone who has lamented a performance of this acid-laced pastry that did not make the most of every last one of its twisty turns, then this classic tour-de-force edition is for you.
The calibre of the accompanying notes for these releases calls out for an audit of the genre. The anonymously written essays that accompany the Éders' discs offer the only respectable musical commentaries, with enough technical and descriptive details to be of assistance to the informed listener. While print size and format are compressed to near microfiche proportions, Naxos have wisely chosen completeness in the limited space afforded. The chattering notes in the Regis set by James Murray (who opines that the Seventh and Eighth Quartets are Shostakovich's "most successful excursion into this genre") are more concerned with historical background than the actual music. The breezy essays in the Rubio set by Yves Senden are rather simplistic and superfluous.
Louis Blois
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