A musical counterpart to Solzhenitsyn

Fifty years ago, on August 9, 1975, Dmitri Shostakovich, the celebrated Russian composer and pianist, passed away in Moscow. A figure of immense complexity, he “managed to navigate a difficult situation with great prudence and political astuteness.”

Born on September 25, 1906, in Saint Petersburg, Shostakovich came from a family of Polish Roman Catholic origin. His grandfather, Bolesław Szostakowicz, was exiled to Siberia, where he eventually settled. Dmitri Boleslavovich Shostakovich, the composer’s father, later relocated to Saint Petersburg, where the young Dmitri grew up and received his education.

After six years at the conservatory in Saint Petersburg, Shostakovich graduated at just 19 years old, unveiling his Symphony No. 1 in F minor, Op. 10 (1926).

This work catapulted him to fame. Over his prolific career, he composed 14 additional symphonies, including three that stand out for their popularity and historical resonance: Symphony No. 5 in D minor, Op. 47 (1937), an early example of “socialist realism” with its accessible yet optimistic tone; the monumental Symphony No. 7 in C major, Op. 60, Leningrad (1941), a response to the siege of Leningrad during World War II and famously conducted by Arturo Toscanini († 1957) in New York in 1942; and the dramatic Symphony No. 13 in B-flat minor, Op. 113, Babi Yar (1962), inspired by Yevgeny Yevtushenko’s poem, which denounced the Nazi massacre of Jews.

Beyond his symphonies, Shostakovich’s oeuvre comprises over 50 works, including: other orchestral compositions, pieces for solo instruments and orchestra (two piano concertos, two violin concertos, and two cello concertos), piano works, chamber music, compositions for voice and piano, vocal works with orchestral accompaniment, three operas, and film scores. However, his career unfolded under the shadow of the Soviet regime, which denounced him twice. Despite this, Shostakovich consistently reclaimed his status as a preeminent Russian composer, embodying a complex duality: Was he a loyal servant of the regime or a covert dissident?

Half a century after his death, Shostakovich’s music endures as a profound commentary on life under Soviet totalitarianism. The words of Pope Pius XI resonate with the composer’s fraught existence, describing the Soviet rulers of the time as “a system full of errors and sophisms. It is in opposition both to reason and to Divine Revelation. It subverts the social order, because it means the destruction of its foundations; because it ignores the true origin and purpose of the State; because it denies the rights, dignity and liberty of human personality” (Divini Redemptoris, March 19, 1937, n. 14). In this context, Shostakovich’s music emerges as a delicate interplay of compliance and defiance, where every note conveys a nuanced critique of the regime.

A pivotal moment in the interpretation of Shostakovich’s legacy came with the 1979 publication of Testimony by Russian musicologist Solomon Volkov (b. 1944). Framed as Shostakovich’s memoirs, the book depicted the composer as a clandestine critic of Stalinism, embedding irony and dissent in his music. According to Testimony, Shostakovich’s works were coded narratives of resistance. This claim electrified the West, with American critic Terry Teachout († 2022) comparing its impact to that of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago, in which the Russian novelist and historian exposed the horrors of Soviet labor camps and popularized the term gulag.

Yet, the authenticity of Testimony has been contested. Scholars like American musicologist Laurel Fay (b. 1949) documented inconsistencies and instances of plagiarism in the text (Shostakovich: A Life, New York, 2000). Despite these controversies, the book has indelibly shaped perceptions of Shostakovich, fostering an interpretation of his music as a veiled chronicle of survival under repression.

Further insight came from British cellist Elizabeth Wilson (b. 1947) in her book, Shostakovich: A Life Remembered (Princeton, N.J., 1994). Drawing on personal accounts from those who knew him, Wilson corroborated the image of a deeply conflicted artist: outwardly conforming to survive while inwardly resisting the regime’s ideological dictates.

One particularly revealing moment is Shostakovich’s reaction to Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (1962): “It’s reality varnished over, it’s reality varnished over. The truth was ten times worse than that.” Such remarks underscore the composer’s acute awareness of the Soviet regime’s horrors and his subtle resistance through art. His music, infused with irony and despair, reflects this tension between outward compliance and inner rebellion.

As English music critic Ian MacDonald († 2022) aptly noted, “listening to Shostakovich’s music without knowing The Gulag Archipelago is equivalent to listening to spoken Russian without a translation.” This parallel casts Shostakovich as a musical counterpart to Solzhenitsyn: the writer openly decried Soviet oppression, while the composer conveyed his dissent in a veiled yet deeply evocative language of sound.

Fifty years on, Shostakovich’s music continues to challenge notions of artistic freedom and truth. His symphonies and quartets transcend their time, offering profound musical experiences while bearing witness to collective suffering and silent defiance. They stand as a testament to art’s power to confront fear and preserve truth, even amid history’s darkest chapters.

I was expecting to read about Solzhenitsyn’s side gig as a session musician. He’d have fit right in with ZZ Top.

Ahhh, the flowery lingo of the classical music buff! Yet somehow, he starts out with this clunker: A figure of immense complexity, he “managed to navigate a difficult situation with great prudence and political astuteness.” This sentence is an insult to euphony, in wont of a synonym, and culminating in a fart. He could have used a little "acumen," don't you think?

In 1960, Shostakovich was performing with the Boston Symphony orchestra. I sent him a fan letter. As a 12-year-old, I couldn’t understand why he didn’t reply. Now I realize he probably never even got my letter. My 6th grade teacher had formerly been the school’s music teacher. She played a recording of A Polka from the Golden Age. I loved it and sent my Father all over to find a recording. I would play it all day long, finally my Mother banished me to the basement. I must have played it a great deal when my kids were growing up because at one of Granddaughter’s concerts another school played a piece, and my daughter knew Shostakovich had composed it.

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