Symphony No. 4, arranged by the composer for two pianos, op. 43a.
Rustem Hayroudinoff, Colin Stone (pianos).
Chandos CHAN 10296. DDD. TT 59:00
Recorded in Henry Wood Hall, Glasgow, 12-14 May 2004.
World premiere recording of two-piano version.

Until its dramatic revival in Moscow in December 1961, Shostakovich's Fourth Symphony was known only to a select group of Soviet musicians. Of that select group, no more than a handful had heard the full orchestral version twenty-five years earlier. A few of the composer's friends had attended the ill-fated rehearsals in the autumn of 1936, but it can probably be assumed from the negative reports of those rehearsals that no-one, not even Shostakovich, had ever heard a satisfactory complete performance. Despite the symphony's wide circulation in piano reduction prior to its planned premiere, once it had been withdrawn it seemed almost at once to fade into oblivion. Shostakovich immediately began work on the Fifth Symphony, and the Fourth was, to all intents and purposes, forgotten.

Notwithstanding the dramatic success of the Fifth Symphony, Shostakovich did not forsake its rejected predecessor. In a letter to Boleslav Yavorsky dated June 1938, Shostakovich insisted that it was impossible to understand his creative work as a whole without knowing the Fourth Symphony, all but demanding that his friend should sit through a personal performance during his next visit. When Shostakovich's post-war fame was at its height in 1945, he and Mieczyslaw Weinberg (Moisei Vainberg) performed the Fourth Symphony at a closed meeting of the Composers' Union, and the duet score was published the following year in a limited print-run of 300 copies. Though the idea of resurrecting it as the Ninth Symphony was briefly mooted, all hopes of having it performed were quickly dashed by the events of 1948. During the many attacks on Shostakovich and his colleagues at this time, Khrennikov singled out the modest circulation of this 'formalistic' work as evidence of negligence within the ranks of the Union.

Thereafter, Shostakovich seemed to give up on his lost symphony. In a bland, diffident autobiographical article for Sovetskaya muzika in 1956, he dismissed it altogether: 'formally imperfect and overly drawn out and suffers, I would say, from "mania grandiosa".' Had Shostakovich really changed his mind about the Fourth Symphony? It seems not. Only two years later, writing to Isaak Glikman from hospital, he confessed: 'I should so like to hear both of these works [Lady Macbeth and the Fourth Symphony] performed. I cannot say that I would expect much joy from the opera.... But the Fourth could perhaps be done.' Only three years later he was granted the long-overdue satisfaction of hearing both works revived. While Lady Macbeth was subjected to scrupulous revision, the Fourth Symphony remained exactly as it was. Shostakovich found he did not want to change a single note of the score.

As the Fourth Symphony became a well-established feature of orchestral programmes, Shostakovich's old duet version promptly fell into obscurity. It was only ever intended for the practical purpose of disseminating a work that was costly and difficult to perform in an age where large-scale orchestral works were routinely learned through the medium of piano reduction. Long after his younger colleagues had abandoned the practice of teaching repertoire this way in favour of using the gramophone, Shostakovich continued to insist that his students make piano reductions of scores and perform them in class. He clearly believed that such a 'hands-on' approach had a unique value that could not be replicated by listening to records. And it is true that playing orchestral music on the piano can be revelatory, especially in the case of mainstream 'tonal' 20th-century composers like Shostakovich. What sounds deceptively 'normal' played by an orchestra sounds very different on the piano. Stripped of the familiar cloak of instrumental sounds, the off-colour sharpness typical of his skewed diatonicism is often disconcertingly accentuated. In fact, this is so true of the Fourth Symphony's piano duet reduction that it is possible to understand the negative reactions of Shostakovich's contemporaries who had never heard the work in its full orchestral version. The menacing tread of the first movement becomes dryly percussive, while the haunting Mahlerian landler character of the second movement is lost altogether. It isn't hard to imagine a Composers' Union audience totally at sea in the finale, which can be baffling enough at first hearing even in a fine orchestral performance.

The piano duet arrangement on this CD is Shostakovich's own of c.1936 (published 1946), re-published in 2000 as Volume 19 of the New Shostakovich Edition (DSCH, Moscow). Colin Stone and Rustem Hayroudinoff are worthy champions, with a phenomenal technique powerfully matched by musical insight. Still, Eric Roseberry's suggestion (in his fine liner notes) that the arrangement is successful enough to make a 'notable addition to the two piano concert hall repertoire' may be overly optimistic. The duet version remains what it has always been: an arrangement for practical purposes. In the concert hall, it is a fascinating curiosity, not a viable addition to duet repertoire any more than duet versions of Mahler or Beethoven symphonies would be.

Hayroudinoff and Stone in studio (Photo - Arthur Cook)

One could, however, add to that its value as a virtuosic exercise in sensitive duet playing; its demands on the performers are immense. One of the most impressive aspects of Stone's and Hayroudinoff's playing is that, while effortlessly coping with the technical difficulties of the score, they never allow themselves to be intimidated by their obvious knowledge of the orchestral score. They reproduce certain effects perfectly (such as the delicate harp interjections in the first movement's second subject) and lovingly echo the timbral qualities of instrumental solos wherever possible. All melodic lines are exquisitely shaped with fantastic attention to detail; not an accent is misplaced or ignored, nor a single phrase spoiled by lumpy piano voicing. But equally, it is no surprise to find that the symphony's massive climaxes sound pretty bare - two pianos cannot come close to capturing the excitement or the sheer force of such deliberately overwhelming music, and Stone and Hayroudinoff deserve full credit for not trying to. Still, the central climax of the first movement development is masterfully done, as is the resounding 'Gloria' first coda of the finale.

In short, given the pared-down nature of any duet version of a symphony, Stone and Hayroudinoff's performance is as close to perfection as it is possible to get. Passages that most conductors have difficulty bringing off, such as the long breakdown of the first movement climax and the merciless Allegro section of the finale - effectively an extended crescendo to the D major peroration over 200 bars later - are managed with astounding success. Though many orchestras sag in these places, Stone and Hayroudinoff sustain a ferocious, unflagging momentum that is deeply impressive.

It's inevitable that the pounding, often deliberately crude character of the first movement is better suited to the piano duet sound than is the elusive, ghostly second movement. However, the success of the finale is a more complex issue. Parts of it, such as the whirlwind Allegro and the first coda, are truly gripping in this performance. But there are depths in this movement that no piano duet could ever reach. The ending teeters on the brink of blandness in this performance, though a slower tempo might enable some of its haunting, desolate quality to be salvaged. And, rather perversely, the central divertimento episode doesn't quite work either, though again, it's possible to see how it could. The loss of that nostalgic Viennese string sound could only be compensated for by truly idiomatic piano playing. Stone and Hayroudinoff don't quite capture its magic, and their rubato feels rather forced. But it seems unfair to pick on these perhaps inevitable failings when there is so much to admire overall. The very fact that this duet version succeeds where some orchestras have failed is a resounding testament to the musicality and intelligence of the Stone/Hayroudinoff partnership.

Whether Shostakovich's Fourth Symphony continues to be performed in this piano reduction beyond the initial flurry of excitement surrounding its revival remains to be seen. Certainly, were it to secure a lasting place in the duet repertoire (which seems highly unlikely), it would become a rather bizarre anachronism. But as the premiere recording of an arrangement that was, after all, the sole means by which the Fourth Symphony was known to most Soviet musicians for over two decades, this CD offers a fascinating step back in time.

Pauline Fairclough

Only two instrumental reductions of Shostakovich symphonies have previously come our way on disc, arousing enduring curiosity. The Derevianko arrangement of the Fifteenth Symphony for piano trio and percussion seems more popular now than when originally released a decade ago (Deutsche Grammophon 449 966-2; deleted; reviewed in DSCH No. 7), with the arrival earlier this year of both its Carnegie Hall debut concert and its reissue by Deutsche Grammophon (4775442; reviewed below). The four-hands piano reduction of the Tenth Symphony in the performance by the composer and Mieczyslaw Weinberg has become a classic, reissued many times (reviewed in DSCH No. 9 on Revelation RV 70002; deleted; currently available on Yedang Classics YCC-0164). The latter work was also taken up by Gräsbeck and Zelyakov in 1992 with a superb stereo recording (Bluebell ABCD 049; deleted).

A similar labour of love has now been provided by pianists Rustem Hayroudinoff and Colin Stone to what may seem the most unlikely Shostakovich symphony to fall to two keyboards. This unruly canvas of passions in wild flight is the embodiment of genius on the edge. No other Shostakovich symphony compares with the extremes of its emotionally charged episodes or its sheer abundance of musical ideas. Yet the animated lyricism and rich counterpoint that pervade the Fourth Symphony make it an especially attractive candidate for piano transcription. The same cannot be said for all Shostakovich symphonies; for instance, would the broader lines and thinner textures of the Fifth and Sixth Symphonies' slow movements translate as successfully? Never mind that the Fourth's emotional palette exceeds anything that a piano duo would ever encounter in the standard repertoire; or that this hour-long behemoth pushes classical form - and the performers' endurance - to their absolute limits. In the hands of Hayroudinoff and Stone, the symphony acquires an unexpected gracefulness, even in its most barbaric moments.

Hayroudinoff and Stone are meticulous in following the tempo and dynamic markings of the score, every sforzando, tremolo and trill falling immaculately into place. Thematic layers and cross-rhythms are rendered with admirable precision. This is a performance aimed at accuracy and authenticity, casting into relief virtually every detail of the work's rhythmic and harmonic complexities.

The ability of these pianists to capture the sonority and the spirit of the Fourth Symphony is remarkable. The opening flourishes, with their lashing double grace notes, pierce the air as sharply as we might ever have heard them. The gargantuan march theme that follows imposes its authority thanks to the duo's uncompromisingly sharp accents. Throughout the first movement, where volatile eruptions alternate with moments of recoil and reflection, Hayroudinoff and Stone manoeuvre with passion and purpose. Listen to the throbbing pressure they build as the irregular filigrees beginning at Fig. 24 (5:20) culminate in a series of pounding quasi-timpani two-strokes; or to the hair-raising anxiety they bring to the climbing chromatic scale at Fig. 47 (11:44) and again at Fig. 92 (19:47). The power and coordination of their playing come to the fore when divergent rhythms pile on, such as in the section that leads to the strutting goose-steps of major second dissonances at Fig. 21 + 6 (4:47), and at the polyrhythmic high point of the central climax.

I was also impressed with the firm grip this duo has on the work's rhythmic architecture. Pianists less attuned to the idiom might have been tempted to 'stylise' their performance with a more casual approach to rhythm. Not here. In the first movement, where major sections are propelled by ostinati - echoes, as it were, of the stomping marcatissimo of the opening theme - the pianists establish connection by adhering to a steady, determined pulse as well as gaining expressive strength. There is similar solidity to their handling of the second movement's obsessive rhythmic characteristics.

I cannot imagine a moment more miraculous in any Shostakovich transcription than the piano version of this first movement's mighty fugue. Was there ever a more fleeting or mercurial fugue subject? Or one whose tachyonic existence so resists capture or comprehension (aside from the fact that we know it to be a freakishly diminished version of the opening march)? While some of the elastic snap that only strings can deliver is lost on the keyboard, the meticulous articulation and coordination that the pianists bring to bear on its layers of streaming 16th notes in presto tempo is truly astounding. Listeners will note that the repeated notes of the fugue subject are transcribed as alternating neighbouring tones. Its furies still run just as wild. We hear the fugue's four voices successively pile on with remarkable resolution. And still, the fully unfolded texture swarms with unfathomable complexity.

Hayroudinoff and Stone are just as effective in penetrating the first movement's quieter yet equally disturbing psychological terrain. Listen to the stinging intensity they bring to the triple-forte outburst at Fig. 30 (7:01) and how quickly they become immersed in the dreamily tormented lyricism that follows. The broad, eloquent line introduced at Fig. 32 (7:54), originally for strings and taken by the first pianist, soars with passion and is brought to an intoxicating crest. The moments when harp and celesta drift phantom-like in and out of the spotlight lose none of their chilling effect.

The pianists display the same sensitivity to mood and motion in the second movement with its Bruckner-like obsession with short, repetitive figures. The movement may serve as a point of rhythmic equilibrium between the more turbulent outer movements, yet its pensive surface seethes with anxiety. This sense of urgency is well captured thanks to the duo's detailed attention to the subtle yet constant undulation of dynamic levels. The movement's dramatic punctuations stand out well. Listen to the vivid handling of the maniacal reiteration of the four-note phrase at Fig. 138 +1 (5:59), which escalates in volume and then suddenly drops to an anticlimactic whisper. The climactic utterance of the main theme here has a grandeur all its own, save the fact that a single piano note doesn't quite capture the majesty of the four horns that play it in the original.

The third movement's episodes are broader and less anxiety-reactive than those in the first, yet they cannot be any less challenging. Here the sections take us from funeral march to triumphant pageant to ecstatic march to deranged waltz to final peroration. They constitute one of the most labyrinthine journeys in all of Shostakovich. The duo pianists perform a remarkable feat in knitting together these confounding contrasts into a continuous, organic narrative. I was particularly impressed with the manner in which they handle the brief but pivotal junctures that separate different thematic areas. We find one just before the section that begins with the bassoon's gleeful march tune (Fig. 201 + 5; 12:14); and another at the brink of the final climactic section (around Fig. 238; 18:50). These moments not only act as curtain raisers, signalling a turn in direction, but clarify the movement's formal layout. I have heard orchestral performances of this movement that lose lustre for not having placed sufficient emphasis on these transitions and the new expressive spaces they open up. Here both aspects are handled with brilliant forethought and execution.

The extended allegro passage in the third movement beginning at Fig. 167 (5:51) after the funeral march bears special mention. This section consists of a prolonged succession of trailing and interlocking two-note figures that clamour their way toward a triumphant peak. The mechanical obsessiveness of this passage can wear thin in certain orchestral recordings. Here it takes on an invigorating life of its own. The piano textures not only bring fresh detail; they carry the uncanny sense that the passage belongs on the keyboard.

While the timing of each movement falls on the tidy end of recorded orchestral performances, coming closest to Previn's in the first two movements (EMI 7243 5 72658 2 9), the last movement clocks in at 24:16, even tighter than those of Järvi (24:44; Chandos CHAN 8640) and Kondrashin (25:53; Aulos AMC2-043-1-10). The shortfall is concentrated at the outer ends of the movement, the opening funeral march and the closing pedal, where the leaner textures evidently invite the pianists' faster than usual tempi. Both turn out effectively, however, especially the coda, whose registral extremes - low pedal set against trumpet and celesta entries - are fully preserved and exploited. Here the duo admirably conveys the poignancy and unearthly beauty of the work's final pages.

There are invariably moments that call out for the original instrumentation. I miss those seven bars of brassy frulato that appear just before the first movement fugue (Fig. 61+1; 14:30), though it was Shostakovich who decided not to represent them in his transcription. One also discovers how much the timbre of the solo trombone lends in mediating the disintegration of line and mental state in the shifting winds of the last movement. The series of eight growling, ever more dissonant sonorities in the latter half of the first movement (starting at Fig. 90, 19:02) could have been dealt out with a bit more animal energy. And I'd again like to complain directly to Shostakovich for providing no representation for the cymbal crash two bars before Fig. 93 of the first movement (20:03); or for the percussive ticking in the final 22 bars of the second movement, though here the duo's tactile sensibilities are wonderfully suggestive. And the final, tumultuous climax, powerful as it is here, nonetheless misses the percussion battery heard in the original score.

These minor reservations aside, this is a release destined to achieve a very special place in recording history. Rarely does a performance come along that is so readily recognisable as a masterpiece or that so quickly finds a place of distinction in one's collection. It is certainly not for all tastes, and indeed, neither is the Fourth Symphony. But for anyone who has been intrigued by this work and wants to hear a brilliantly inspired performance in a thrilling transcription, this is your chance.

Louis Blois
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