Program Notes

Waltz No. 2 from Suite for Jazz Orchestra No. 2 (Suite for Variety Orchestra) (1950s)

Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich wrote two Jazz Suites, the first in 1934. In 1938, Shostakovich composed his Jazz Suite No. 2 at the invitation of Victor Knushevitsky, conductor of the recently formed State Orchestra for Jazz. The score for the Jazz Suite No. 2 disappeared shortly after the work’s 1938 premiere. Following World War II, an entirely different composition by Shostakovich, his Suite for Variety Orchestra, was misidentified as being the composer’s Jazz Suite No. 2. In 1999, the actual Jazz Suite No. 2 was rediscovered among Shostakovich’s sketches contained in the family archives.

And so, the Waltz No. 2, long associated with the Jazz Suite No. 2, is actually part of the composer’s eight-movement Suite for Variety Orchestra. Regardless of its origin, this Waltz is a beguiling and colorful product of the composer’s lifelong affection for a beloved musical genre. After a brief introduction, a solo alto saxophone sings the work’s principal waltz melody, which receives a variety of instrumental settings. Other melodies enter as well, finally leading to a solo trombone’s reprise of the central waltz. A final grand statement by the entire ensemble leads to the Waltz’s emphatic final bars.

Flute Concerto No. 2 in D Major, K. 314 (285d) (1778)

In September 1777, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart left his home in Salzburg to begin an 18-month journey throughout Europe. Mozart, who felt his talents were not appreciated in his native city, hoped to find steady employment elsewhere. Mozart’s journey took him to Munich, Augsburg, Mannheim, and finally, Paris.

While in Mannheim, Mozart made the acquaintance of a Dutch visitor to the German city, a surgeon and amateur flutist by the name of Ferdinand Dejean. Dejean commissioned Mozart to compose “three short easy concertos and a pair of flute quartets.”

Mozart did not have a great affection for the flute, at least as a solo instrument. In his memoirs, Viennese physician Joseph Frank recalled: “Once when we were speaking about instruments Mozart said that he loathed the flute and the harp.” That opinion is reflected in a letter of February 14, 1778 that Mozart wrote to his father, Leopold. In the letter, Mozart commented on his slow progress in completing Dejean’s commission:

It is not surprising that I have not been able to finish them, for I never have a single quiet hour here. I can only compose at night . . . besides, one is not always in the mood for working. I could, to be sure, scribble off things the whole day long, but a composition of this kind goes out into world . . . Moreover, you know that I become quite powerless whenever I am obliged to write for an instrument which I cannot bear. Hence as a diversion I compose something else, such as duets for clavier and violin, or I work at my mass.

In light of Mozart’s opinions expressed above, this quote from a letter he wrote to Leopold in December of the same year bears repeating: “Ah, if only we had clarinets too! You cannot imagine the glorious effect of a symphony with flutes, oboes, and clarinets.”

Mozart ultimately fulfilled Dejean’s commission, which included the composer’s two Flute Concertos—in G Major, K. 313, and in D Major, K. 314 (the latter, an adaptation of the composer’s 1777 Oboe Concerto in C Major, K. 271k). Despite Mozart’s protestations, the Flute Concertos are beautiful, eloquent works that remain favorites of instrumentalists and audiences alike.

The Concerto in D Major is in three movements. This concert features the opening movement ( Allegro aperto ), with its traditional double exposition of the principal themes; first by the ensemble, and then in more elaborate fashion, by the soloist. A solo cadenza leads to the spirited conclusion.

Symphony No. 5 in D Minor, op. 47 (1937)

In 1936, Joseph Stalin stormed out of a Bolshoi performance of Dmitri Shostakovich’s “tragedy-satire” opera, Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk. Shortly thereafter, an article appeared in the official Communist newspaper Pravda titled, “Muddle Instead of Music.” Although the author of the article was not identified, it appears certain it was either written by Stalin, or penned under his direction and approval. The author dismissed Lady Macbeth as a “stream of deliberately discordant sounds . . . Lady Macbeth enjoys great success with the bourgeois audience abroad.”

In spring 1937, Shostakovich turned his attention to the Fifth Symphony, which he composed between April 1 and July 30, 1937. The premiere of the Fifth Symphony took place in Leningrad on November 21, 1937, as part of a festival in celebration of the 20th anniversary of the Soviet Republic. A seemingly penitent Shostakovich offered the following subtitle for the work: “A Soviet Artist’s Practical Creative Reply to Just Criticism.” Shostakovich also provided the following analysis of the Symphony in an article titled “My Artist’s Reply,” which appeared just a few days before the Moscow premiere on January 29, 1938:

The theme of my symphony is the development of the individual. I saw man with all his sufferings as the central idea of the work, which is lyrical in mood from start to finish; the finale resolves the tragedy and tension of the earlier movements on a joyous, optimistic note.

The 1937 premiere, conducted by the composer’s longtime friend and advocate Evgeny Mravinsky, was a resounding success. The Fifth Symphony pleased the Soviet critics, and soon, the world at large. It appeared that Shostakovich had succeeded in creating a work that managed both to glorify the Soviet regime and appeal to international audiences.

In 1979, four years after the composer’s death, Testimony: The Memoirs of Dmitri Shostakovich, stunned the music world. The Shostakovich who emerged from this book was far different from the one who had seemed to follow the Communist party line. For the Shostakovich of Testimony, the Fifth Symphony was hardly a paean to Communism:

I think it is clear to everyone what happens in the Fifth. The rejoicing is forced, created under threat, as in (Modest Mussorgsky’s opera) Boris Godunov. It’s as if someone were beating you with a stick and saying, “Your business is rejoicing, your business is rejoicing,” and you rise, shaky and go marching off, muttering, “Our business is rejoicing, our business is rejoicing.”

What kind of apotheosis is that? You have to be a complete oaf not to hear that. People who came to the premiere of the Fifth in the best of moods wept.

Shostakovich’s friend and student, Solomon Volkov, compiled Testimony from what he claimed were the composer’s own words. Many, including, not surprisingly, the Soviet government, questioned the authenticity of Testimony. The controversy continues to this day, although as time has progressed, many of Shostakovich’s friends and family members have acknowledged that Testimony reflects the composer’s true feelings. It should also be mentioned that recent scholarship indicates the composer’s subtitle for the Fifth Symphony—“A Soviet Artist’s Practical Creative Reply to Just Criticism”—was forced upon him by the government in exchange for permission to present the work.

The conflicting views attributed to Shostakovich regarding his Fifth Symphony place the interpreter and listener in a challenging position. Is the Fifth Symphony a work in praise of, or a diatribe against, Soviet Russia?

Are the Symphony’s closing pages “optimistic” or a “forced rejoicing?” Or, perhaps, are there other interpretations to be considered? A consensus on these issues is as unlikely as universal agreement upon whether Shakespeare’s Hamlet was mad. The greatness of a work of art like the Shostakovich Fifth rests largely in its ability to resonate profoundly with each of us in a personal and unique way.

The Symphony No. 5 is in four movements. The first (Moderato) is based upon two themes, introduced in quick succession at the outset of the movement. The ensuing Allegretto, cast in traditional scherzo and trio form, has a brevity and playful charm in sharp contrast to the storm and stress of the opening movement. The slow-tempo third movement (Largo) is constructed as a massive arch, inexorably building to a shattering climax before returning to the repose of the opening measures. The finale (Allegro non troppo) features a whirlwind of activity and arresting conflict, finally resolving to the blazing (and controversial) D-Major conclusion.

—Program notes by Ken Meltzer