Chamber Symphony, arrangement of String Quartet No. 8 in C minor by Rudolf Barshai, op. 110a[a]; Antiformalist Rayok, sans op. X[b], in chamber arrangement by Vladimir Spivakov and Vladimir Milman; Prelude and Scherzo, op. 11[c]; Schnittke: Praeludium in Memoriam Dmitri (Prelude in memory of Dmitry) Shostakovich[d].
Vladimir Spivakov (conductor)[a-c]/(violin)[d], Moscow Virtuosi[a-c], Alexei Mochalov (bass)[b], The Moscow Choir Theatre[b] (listed as Choir of the Academy of Choral Art, Victor Popov (chorus master)).
Capriccio 67 115. DDD. TT 57:43.
Recorded in the Great Hall, Moscow Conservatory, 15-17 May 2003[a,c,d]; venue and date unknown[b].

"From February 1st, this open restaurant will be closed. A closed restaurant will open here." This witty lampoon, recounted by Maxim Shostakovich in Mikhail Ardov's Dalekoe blizkoe, Kniga o Sostakovice (A Book About Shostakovich), typifies Shostakovich's unique sense of humour. Dry and terse, with a delight for word-play and a distinctly political edge, it is a constant undercurrent in the composer's works, but nowhere more abundant than in his infamous satire Antiformalist Rayok.

Rayok has long been a thorn in the side for Western experts who prefer to view the composer as a mild-mannered, soft-spoken, servile Communist loyalist. While the Testimony wars have brought this once-samizdat work into the limelight, Rayok's reputation has suffered as a result, it being regarded as more of a musical-political curiosity than a work with real merit (the present recording's notes are a good case in point - more of this later).

As musicological battles run out of steam, it is perhaps time to appreciate Rayok on its own terms. I can think of no other composition by Shostakovich that is so spontaneously funny; from the oafish opening bars to the many musical jokes and the final can-can, it is the sort of work that only Shostakovich could have pulled off with such polish and high standards.

Written originally for bass soloist and piano, the work eventually grew in scope to include four basses and a mixed chorus, though for practical reasons a single bass soloist may sing the parts of the Chairman, Yedinitsin (Stalin), Dvoikin (Zhdanov) and Troikin (Shepilov).

The mixed chorus take the role of the musical functionaries witnessing the proceedings - they supply the mechanical laughter and applause, and provide some truly hilarious send-ups of Boris Godunov's coronation scene ("Slava! Slava!") and Shostakovich's own Lady Macbeth's wedding scene ("Thank you, Comrade Yedinitsin, thank you for your fatherly concern!"). Shostakovich hides himself amongst the functionaries in the form of his "DSCH" signature, laughing bitterly at the circus show around him.

Conductor Anatoly Levin and bass soloist Alexei Mochalov recorded an orchestral version of Rayok for Russian Disc in 1995 (RDCD 17008; deleted); the unnamed arranger is identified as Boris Tishchenko in Allan Ho/Dmitry Feofanov's Shostakovich Reconsidered. Vladimir Spivakov and Vladimir Milman prepared their own orchestration, which was premiered in 1997 (Music Masters 67189-2; deleted) with Mochalov again as the soloist (both releases were reviewed in DSCH No. 9).

Of the two orchestrations, Tishchenko's better depicts Shostakovich's darker colours. He preserves the very low Cs that make the opening of the work so funny, reinforcing with the contrabassoon the grotesque effect of this recurring leitmotif of stupidity. The following bars plunge us into the sinister world of Babi Yar by scoring the sinewy bass obligato in legato. Spivakov's orchestration is lighter, more comical and his liberal use of percussion gives his version an air of theatrical slapstick. To put it simply, Tishchenko's version is more authentic, but Spivakov's is plenty of fun as well!

The new Capriccio release reissues this very same Spivakov recording, but curiously dates the recording as 2003 and credits a different chorus from the earlier issue. When contacted, Capriccio expressed surprise at my discovery, but were unable to provide an explanation since their director was not contactable as this issue of DSCH Journal went to print.

Intrigue aside, the disc is handsomely packaged and although the Chamber Symphony, op. 110a, is the main work in the programme, Rayok deserves to be the highlight. Spivakov gets into the spirit of a good spoof, taking some liberties such as throwing the melody of Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Flowers into Dvoikin's rant "Let us welcome what is pretty, beautiful and graceful" (although the blame might go to Shostakovich for instigating matters with his insistent repetition of Tchaikovsky's introductory vamp).

The woodwinds join in the fun with their own embellishments in Troikin's "Glinka, Tchaikovsky" and the violins chime in with a reprise of Waltz of the Flowers, additions not found on the Russian Disc and piano versions, but which nevertheless are entirely in spirit with the proceedings.

As the soloist on both Levin and Spivakov's recordings, Alexei Mochalov demonstrates sheer delight in the part, refining the little subtleties in comic timing and various vocal mannerisms, and digging deeper into the mimicry to serve up a hilarious account for Spivakov's session. His mispronunciations of the composers' names, the vocal warm-ups by Zhdanov (Dvoikin) and the mock-seriousness of the Chairman and Yedinitsin's addresses are delightful from start to finish.

Spivakov's chorus is not as spectacularly over-the-top as Levin's, and being somewhat leaner and more forward in sound, they miss out on the wonderfully ironic grand tutti achieved by Levin's forces. The latter is aided by Tishchenko's uproarious vocal climaxes beefed up with timpani and trumpets to create that grand Coronation Scene tutti for maximum impact.

Levin also scores in the Finale ("Look out, look out, and eliminate our enemies") with his Tchaikovskian fake ending a la Pathétique Symphony, the chorus' stunning climax ("Yes, yes, in jail, and send him to a camp") bringing home the bitter irony of mass celebration while "enemies of the people" are denounced by their peers and condemned to their deaths.

Even if Spivakov's version is not as sumptuous as Levin's, and at his more leisurely pace takes two minutes longer, it is all held together by Mochalov's inspiring presence; and if the Finale's tune sounds even sillier than the Leningrad Symphony's march, then full credit goes to the imaginative drummer for making a success of this closing can-can.

The CD notes are interesting if a little careless: the writer credits the libretto's authorship to Lebedinsky (a claim challenged by Yakubov) but in the following sentence says that the composer performed the first version to friends in 1948 (which contradicts Lebedinsky's claim). The writer's remark, "There is nothing musically sophisticated in the work; it was private entertainment" is also callous, unenlightened, and surely unwarranted. The good news is that Capriccio include the libretto, which will allow you to appreciate fully the multi-layered irony of the work.

Spivakov delivers a sober performance of the Chamber Symphony, which succeeds particularly in the quieter outer movements. With a good feel for the overall structure of the work, the Moscow Virtuosi present a taut reading steeped in nervous fear, their poised reserve refreshingly free from overt dramatic gestures and symphonic breadth, conveying instead an intimacy that is rarely heard.

The Fifth Symphony quotation in the first movement is a fine example - bleached and terrified, it hardly breaks above a starved whisper. The solos are particularly moving - they practically shiver in their hushed tones as if breathless from the cold and wary of interrupting the oppressive silence. This makes the fifth movement fugue, and the choked sobs of the "Seryozha, my love" section in the fourth movement, especially heartbreaking.

The Moscow Virtuosi's lean edge also brings a nervous Fourth-Symphony tension to the Octet, op. 11, where the almost baroque execution of the Prelude contrasts well with the claustrophobic Scherzo. The latter, reeling with terrifying sequences that gather like a whirlwind into a furious shower of rising glissandi, is truly stunning in their hands.

Schnittke's Prelude in Memory of Dmitri Shostakovich completes the programme. Sounding uncannily as if time is slowing to a standstill, the violin plays around with distorted "DSCH" and "BACH" motifs suspended in the stilted tick-tock of the taped pizzicato, vividly capturing the spirit of the dedicatee in a musical equivalent of a pen-sketched caricature. This finally crystallises in the closing bars with "DSCH" whispered repeatedly sul-ponticello, returning the programme full circle to where it began. A brilliant stroke worthy of Shostakovich himself, this compact memorial provides a wonderful conclusion to an indispensable issue.

CH Loh
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DSCH No. 23.
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