CD SACD

Symphony No. 1 in F minor, op. 10[a]; Symphony No. 5 in D minor, op 47[b].
Karel Ancerl, Czech Philharmonic Orchestra.
Supraphon Gold Edition SU 3699-2 011. ADD. TT 74:06.
Recorded in Dvorak Hall, Rudolfinum, Prague, 7-10 April 1964[a], 11 and 14 October 1961[b].

Symphony No. 5 in D minor, op. 47.
Mstislav Rostropovich, London Symphony Orchestra.
LSO Live CD LSO 0058 or Hybrid multichannel/stereo SACD/CD LSO 0550. DDD. TT 46:58.
Recorded live in Barbican Hall, London, July 2004.

If, as Richard Taruskin asserts, Petrushka is a "profoundly unrealistic ballet" (Stravinsky and the Russian Traditions: Vol. I), then what are we to call the First Symphony of Shostakovich? Is an attempt to assimilate op. 10 into any Russian tradition simply a blindfold exercise in pinning a gaudy tail on a drab, pseudo-historical donkey? Taruskin also identifies Petrushka as a catalyst for the exposure of "the issue of the hallowed canons of Russian realism versus the world of art." Well, compared to a "real" Russian F-minor symphony like the Tchaikovsky Fourth, the Shostakovich First does seem to offer as much in the way of artifice, or living-puppet's eye-view, as it does direct architectonic, strenuous emotionalism. Petrushka is also present in the soundworld of op. 10, of course, but the very special boy, cum father figure, cum ailing cinema pianist was already a master-puppeteer of formal procedure, mocking as he mastered, or was mastered in turn.

The First has survived both the efforts of Stokowski to turn it into a realistic symphony (Pearl GEMM CDS 9044 and EMI ZDMB 5 65427 2 3; both deleted), and the brilliant HMV recording in which Efrem Kurtz and the Philharmonia almost make it a profound and realistic ballet (EMI Red Line 7243 5 73518 2 9). In 1964 the finest non-Russian Shostakovich conductor, Karel Ancerl, could hardly go wrong. The Czech Philharmonic had the famed, characterful wind players, but also fine brass, lithe strings, and a real acoustic to die for. Supraphon used good mikes, sensibly placed, and the sound doesn't look a day over 21.

At the time, Ancerl worked under a Soviet-controlled regime, and his records were issued in the West on LP pressings of varying quality. But virtually all his 20th century repertoire studio work from the '60s remains dynamite. The music-making really matters (sorry to appropriate another Taruskin epithet, but it's germane) in every bar.

The Rossignol-like slow march at the centre of the Allegro has the right, cool character, for the only time on records I feel, while the Petrushka-like end is scary, without melodrama. The pianist could be better, but all the way to the last timpani stroke of the Allegro molto this recording is as profoundly real (and artistically understated) in effect as the day it was made. This is among the most successful Firsts on disc, along with the unmissable Kondrashin (Aulos AMC2-043-1-10) and the unique Bernstein (Deutsche Grammophon 427 632-2). Ormandy also had it down pat (Sony Classical SBK 62642; deleted).

And then there's Ancerl's Fifth, a more celebrated reading, hailed since the '60s. What kind of realism is apt for this symphony, once heard as an exemplification of all that might be acceptable, or deplorable, about the Socialist variety? Forty-four years ago, Ancerl seemed on the expansive side. Now, sounding as well is it ever has, this tape seems a child of its time. Whole worlds of eloquent, historical and personal feeling are distilled into the Largo's sad phrases, and there's no question as to the tragic nature of the tale told by a wonderfully-played Allegro that is truly non troppo, without quite dragging its feet like a tired puppet. This is one of the best fifths ever, with Petrushka's ironies assimilated and extended in a finale that balances the Russian traditions on a knifepoint, then twists.

With Rostropovich, it's as if someone has turned-up the gain control on an oscilloscope, to make every peak a precipice, every trough suicide. Variable amplitude is twiddled too, so that phrase-endings are dragged-out and distended, especially in the Allegretto. The score certainly isn't respected in its letter. In spirit, the work can take it, and perhaps the point is that the Fifth is "really" this expressionist piece (as openly satirical, at times, as op. 10), as well as being the classical version, which op. 47 often uses as a front. That seems a fair point, a more realistic account of human complexity, in symphonic form, than a more overtly and artificially complex piece could have provided.

This recording, though, with its trademark slow-tempo coda, boxed-in sound, and rough-and-ready live feel, suggests we've forgotten how to play the symphony, historically lost our way (which may of course be historically accurate and currently true). The Rostropovich example is an important one in the Fifth Symphony, but my caveat is that one could play any Romantic symphony this way. Play the coda of Tchaikovsky's Fourth at half speed, and you have irony instead of energetic mania. Speed isn't the thing: like any contradictory human being, the Shostakovich Fifth has a heart, and Ancerl goes straight to it. Irony and horror are not shirked for a second (Ancerl had seen it all), the end is disturbing, but the rewards are profound and real, trouncing the artifice of the recording process, but not of composition itself.

The controversy implies the study we lack: a Taruskin-scaled assembly of the back, middle, and foreground to this composer's work. Of course you can't do it: too many layers of irony, too much information lost, nothing stays still long enough to be defined, too many worlds of reality and ambivalence, well beyond realism and artifice, the horror, the horror, et cetera. But we should try. For the present, the recorded history of op. 47 helps, so given the good, resonant transfers (just a hint of digital paperiness at the outset, but no overloading), get the thrilling Ancerl today, and avoid the Slava, which also offers very short measure.

Paul Ingram
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DSCH No. 23.
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