DSCH 17 Shostakovich CD Reviews - Suite on Finnish Themes

Suite on Finnish Themes (1939)[a]; Symphony for Strings, op. 118a[b]; Chamber Symphony, op. 110a[c].
Juha Kangas, Ostrobothnian Chamber Orchestra, Anu Komsi (soprano)[a], Tom Nyman (tenor)[a].
BIS CD-1256. DDD. TT 58:20.
Recorded Kaustinen Folk Art Centre[a]/Kaustinen Church[b,c], Finland, October 2001.
[a]World premiere recording.

It is remarkable that intrigue should have surrounded the premiere of the Suite on Finnish Themes, but such was the fate of this morsel of Shostakovich confectionery when it was unveiled at a Finnish music festival at Kaustinen last September.

With this new BIS issue, Shostakovich admirers worldwide have a chance to listen to this controversial work, one whose reputation far outweighs its purely musical stature. That is neither to belittle the Suite nor the Finns' reaction to its premiere. On the contrary, it demonstrates how music and politics are sometimes inextricably intertwined, how something as innocuous as this set of seven folksong arrangements can have such far-reaching effects.

DSCH subscribers who have read issues Nos. 15 and 16 will be familiar with the historical background to the Suite, written in 1939 in the shadow of the Sixth Symphony and the Great Terror, and anticipating Stalin's aggression against Finland. Victor Dvortsov's article in DSCH No. 15 provided a detailed account of each movement as discussed by Russian musicologist Arkady Klimovitsky, who described the introduction as "the only openly tonal movement", suggesting a work that might provide some harmonic excitement.

Listening to the Suite for the first time quickly dissipated such anticipations. This is no From Jewish Folk Poetry despite its political implications. In fact, one might say this Suite would have been the right sort of response had Shostakovich really wanted to write a folk-based composition to satisfy his critics in 1949.

Lest I digress, the interesting parallel between the two is that, like the Jewish songs, this set is cast entirely in minor keys and shares some of the later cycle's bittersweet sentiment. For a work that is supposed to celebrate friendship between two nations, there has got to be some irony in this.

The Suite lasts no more than eleven minutes. As Dvortsov observes, the choice of key signatures makes for awkward and unsatisfying listening in the overall scheme of things, giving the impression of parts strung together haphazardly, without much thought.

The work opens with an instrumental introduction on the folksong Feast Days are For Lads Like These. Here with "full" ensemble (a string quintet, a wind trio, trumpet, piano and minimal percussion) it sounds a little like the composer's threadbare stage or film scores of the 30s, wry and a little tongue in cheek, a mock pompous Musorgskian parody that is overly earnest.

The square march, full of unisons and pseudo-classical harmonies is contrasted with slithery woodwind lines that characterise Shostakovich's music from the period (for example the clarinets in Lady Macbeth as noted by Esti Sheinberg). It is all too brief, and the hanging coda leads almost too expectantly to the second movement, Giocoso.

This strident song for soprano sets the formula that will repeat itself throughout the Suite: a perfunctory introduction of about four bars followed by the folksong in rudimentary, barebones harmonisation. Here (as elsewhere) Klimovitsky's descriptions are slightly exaggerated when he says it "has much in common with the scherzos of Shostakovich's instrumental cycles." In reality, it is a simple march-like song opened with a jester's trumpet and curtain-raising tambourine.

If anything, the blandness of this music is the flavour to relish. Shostakovich refuses to colour the music any more than required, and the pigments he leaves out are almost as telling as those he paints in. We have witnessed the thick, rich textures that the composer is capable of summoning from, say, a string quartet, but here we are presented with almost comical caricatures (a quality also noted by Finnish composer Henrik Nordgern in Helsinki Sanomat in June 2001). Once again, it seems that Shostakovich has short-changed a commission, and I suspect that this is more deliberate than expedient.

The third song turns out to be the hidden gem, a brief instrumental interlude on a folksong that, the notes suggest, would have been somewhat controversial if sung. In response to the silent lyrics, which speak of sadness and a yearning for peace (hardly the sort of thing to keep spirits up in a newly conquered land), Shostakovich creates a touching piece of music that brims with nostalgia and deep sorrow. It breaks through the superficial veneer of the rest of the Suite like a clown removing his mask.

It is beyond doubt that in this one instance the composer is lavishing the folksong with his craftsman's touch, opening with a beautiful introduction of eventide shades, sighing plaintively as the two-stanza song is taken, first by the mournful clarinet in the chalumeau register, then by the flute against pizzicato lower strings and luminous upper strings.

In a Petrushkan turn of events, this brief moment of solidarity is broken by the piano's brash introduction to the fourth song. Again the barebones, square formula returns: a rudimentary intro on piano and tambourine that tries to be sophisticated but fails (one is reminded of the Pianists in Saint Saens' Carnival of the Animals) frames the stanzas where Prokofievan clarinet arpeggi and pizzicato strings give the minor-key song a sense of mock cheeriness.

This ends unceremoniously (literally stops in its tracks) to make way for the inverted introduction of the fifth song, where the unison string declamation sounds more like a coda than an intro. Is Shostakovich pulling a musical joke? If he is, it is discreet enough not to insult the music or its origins. The accompaniment to this moderate stroll has a Musorgskian simplicity and naturalness that is charming, with a wink of the eye.

The sixth song breaks the monotony that threatens to set in with its metrical variations. In the style of a stately gavotte with a feigned grace that stumbles on a calculated extra beat, this cheeky song of skirt-chasing gets a small dose of Shostakovich's infamous sense of humour - although a Tchaikovskian touch, reminiscent of the limp in the second movement of the latter's Pathetique, is discernible.

The grand finale, if it can be called that, stands firm for the banality of the work. Again the Petrushkan piano jumps in with a simpleminded arpeggio introduction that bursts forth after each stanza. The verses repeat mechanically to pizzicato strings without any perceptible variation except to speed up on the last stanza (here Klimovitsky's "three stanzas in precise repetition and variation" might better be described as just "precise repetition") whereupon the Suite finishes with a conspicuous absence of any sense of finality. Without a flourish, the painful exercise is simply extinguished as if closing the cover on the score with one swift shut, leaving any sort of glorious affirmation out in the cold.

Such is this 11-minute curiosity, a premiere that while insubstantial is nonetheless intriguing. It either begs more questions or total indifference. The singers put in their best, giving the lyrics the lift and lilt that Shostakovich otherwise refuses to, while Kangas and the fabulous Ostrobothnians give the music more than it probably deserves.

In the end, whether you snub the Suite or, more inconceivably, are enraptured by its questionable charm, that brief moment where Shostakovich shows himself in the middle slow movement is an inspired piece of writing that surely deserves to be heard and repeated, at least as an encore piece.

While the Suite is a trifle, and you are unlikely to be hit by the desire to return to it frequently, Kangas and the Ostrobothnians make the experience worthwhile by delivering two of the hottest readings of Barshai's Tenth and Eighth Quartet orchestrations that I have ever heard.

The Ostrobothnians are indeed a world-class ensemble; with marvellous precision they embrace both the brutal toughness and the deep tenderness of these pieces with equal conviction. From the nocturnal delicacy of the opening movement of the op. 118a (on the dark Tenth Quartet), you will not expect the sheer terror and brutality of the ensuing Allegro furioso with its hammering rhythms and fearsome sequence of donkey-bray chords. Kangas outdoes Turovsky (Chandos CHAN 6617) in this opus, and particularly in this movement, where the latter sounds laboured and plodding in comparison to the Finn's agile virtuosity.

The following passacaglia movement shows deep sensitivity and poetry, full of little nuances that sing out from an ensemble whose members are fully attuned to each other and to the music. The Ostrobothnians have an extensive palette that ranges from the requisite bleached white tones and diaphanous silky textures to terrifying, rosin-scraping blows.

The Ostrobothnians' sheer power and delicacy come to no better spotlight than the op. 110a, an unforgettable performance which plays to the hilt the entire arc of emotions from the whispered opening "DSCH" to the gale force of terror of the Jewish dance. It is in stark contrast to the Moscow Chamber Orchestra's uniformly bleak performance on Delos (DE 3259; reviewed in DSCH No. 14). Where the latter fail to string together the disparate parts, the Ostrobothnians succeed with their breadth of vision and deep poetry.

Fluency is the edge that Kangas and his forces have over Turovsky's fiery rendition with I Musici de Montreal. Rarely does an ensemble manage to navigate this pastiche work without showing a seam here or there, but this is one such occasion. I admire the Allegro most, a delivery that manages to balance the immense power and volume of sound with a leanness of tone that etches out its many layers, tearing at the relentless hocketting notes and plunging headlong into the Jewish tune without a hitch and at fearsome pace. At one point I nearly forgot what I was listening to and imagined myself in the middle of Stravinsky's Danse Sacrale.

It is rare that a reviewer has nothing to complain about, but in this case I really don't! There is nothing ordinary about this recording. The fine ensemble give blood where it is due, silence where required, and lots of swagger where the premiere of the Suite is concerned. Credit must also go to Kangas for inspired leadership - the conductor shows real kinship with the material and a deep understanding of the nerves beneath the Chamber Symphonies. These add solid value to the chance to listen to a newly discovered but otherwise unremarkable Shostakovich work. Well worth the experience.

CH Loh
Top