Gould Conducts Shostakovich Symphonies

Two of the least known symphonies by Dmitri Shostakovich are his second and third, both dating from the 1920s, when he was in his 20s himself.

Both symphonies have patriotic themes - the second is subtitled "To October," referring to the October 1918 revolution, and the third "May Day." Both conclude with choral sections with revolutionary texts. And neither was particular liked by the composer in later years.

The young Shostakovich

The result has been to give the works a reputation that is mostly unwarranted. Despite its complexity, the music a century later does not seem particularly extreme. It is experimental, and it does have patriotic texts seemingly tacked on to the ends of both symphonies. (The composer roundly disliked Alexander Bezymensky's text for the second symphony's finale.)

There is much that is striking and enjoyable as well. The opening movement of the second symphony begins with an extended passage of rumbling in the basses, which is sometimes taken to be a depiction of life evolving from the primordial ooze, but more likely signifies the stirrings of revolutionary feelings preceding the October revolution. Subsequently, the composer builds up numerous contrapuntal lines, possibly depicting the conflict itself. This seemingly programmatic basis does give the work some cohesiveness.

Morton Gould

Its successor symphony is more of a collage. "The Third Symphony is full of false starts, false climaxes, tonal passages interrupted by high-pitched discords, sudden eruptions from the bass drum which interrupt a melody...even an apparent quote from the beginning of Schubert's Unfinished Symphony," the critic Royal S. Brown wrote in his High Fidelity review (enclosed).

Composer-conductor Morton Gould did much to rescue these works from obscurity via his 1968 recording for RCA Real Seal. The cover proclaims the LP as containing two world premiere recordings, but the second, at least, had been recorded the previous year by Ladislav Slovák for Supraphon, and Melodiya issued a performance under Igor Blazhkov in 1968 as well. Still, these were generally unknown works before Gould championed them.

His performances with the Royal Philharmonic are a fine accomplishment, well played and recorded, although note that the bass rumblings at the open of the Second Symphony are cut at such a low level as to be almost inaudible. My only other complaint would be that the chorus perhaps lacks the appropriate revolutionary fervor in the second's finale.

It could be that the singers disliked the text as much as the composer. Even the record company supplied neither texts nor translations, perhaps fearful that the words would turn the American record buying public into fervent Bolsheviks. Undeterred by such fears, I have included them in the download. Also in the package are the usual scans, reviews. etc. 

To my knowledge, the recordings have not been reissued. This transfer was requested on another forum; I thought some followers here might be curious about it as well.

September 1968 Gramophone ad

Kurtz Conducts Shostakovich and Tchaikovsky

In the late 1940s, Dmitri Shostakovich's music had come under attack for formalism in the wake of the 1946 Zhdanov decree. It demanded that he and other composers write only music for the masses.

To comply, and to support himself, Shostakovich and his colleague Lev Avtomian came up with the idea of repackaging lighter music from the 1930s into suites. The first such Ballet Suite was published in 1949. It was followed by a second in 1951, and third and fourth suites in 1953.

Efrem Kurtz

It didn't take long for conductor Efrem Kurtz,  experienced in ballet and of Russian descent, to discover the music. When he did, he concocted his own version of music from the first two suites into what he called a Ballet Russe, which he and a New York studio orchestra recorded for Columbia in December 1952. As far as I can tell, this was the first recording of this music.

For whatever reason, the conductor changed the titles of most of the pieces from the published scores, and neither he nor Columbia saw fit to denote their sources.

With a little detective work, I was able to assemble a table (included in the download) that shows the names that Kurtz used, Shostakovich's names and the suite derivation, and the source material that Avtomian used for the music. For Kurtz's Ballet Russe, all of the source material dated from 1934, most of it from the ballet The Limpid Brook. From my spot checks, it appears that Kurtz employed Avtomian's arrangements.

Kurtz used five of the six pieces from Ballet Suite No. 1, eliminating the Romance, and five of the six from Ballet Suite No. 2, dropping the Spring Waltz.

Shostakovich (right) with East German leader Walter Ulbricht and wife Lotte, 1950.

The liner notes, while less than clear about the music's provenance, aptly describe it as "direct and simple and immediately appealing." The reading by Kurtz and his forces is light and sparkling. The conductor underplays any parody that Shostakovich intended in the work.

Young Bernard Greenhouse is the soloist in the "Serenade for Cello," and Robert Nagel in the "Romance for Trumpet." Nagel, then a freelancer, would found the New York Brass Quintet a few years later.

Gjon Mili's stroboscopic photo of Kurtz in action.
Sorry if this induces a headache.

Kurtz maintained his light touch even in the more brooding music of Tchaikovsky found on the second side of the LP. First up is the Sérénade mélancolique. Most often heard in violin and orchestra form - although it has been arranged for everything from cello to theremin - here it is performed in an orchestral arrangement of uncertain origin. Kurtz himself might be responsible; regardless of parentage, it works well.

The conductor follows this by programming the second movement of Tchaikovsky's First Symphony. (I believe it is somewhat cut.) The composer's early symphonies were not heard often at the time. Only Sevitzky (available on this blog), Rachmilovich and Ivanov had recorded the First at the time.

To add to the confusion that seems to be a theme on this record, Kurtz calls the work "Andante," even though the movement is marked Adagio and the composer titled it "Land of desolation, land of mists."

Just as the conductor's Sérénade is not overly mélancolique, his Andante is more contemplative than desolate. Tchaikovsky called the symphony "Winter Dreams" or "Winter Daydreams," so perhaps Kurtz's approach isn't too far off the mark.

Columbia's sound is pleasant, although it doesn't have much dynamic range and is over-reverberant. It may be an example of the "stairwell reverb" technique that Columbia engineers were using at the time. That involved playing the tapes in a stairwell and adding the reverb created to the final mix. It was not an unusual practice, but it worked better for pop music than orchestras. Note below that in 1956 Columbia promoted this record as one of its "Hi-Fi Landmarks!", so at least they were proud of it.

Click to enlarge

To return to Shostakovich, to my knowledge Kurtz recorded the composer's music three times - the Ninth Symphony with the New York Philharmonic, the Tenth with the Philharmonia, and this Ballet Russe. [Update: reader David Gideon notes that he also recorded the First Symphony for EMI, published by Capitol in the US.]


If you are interested in more of his Shostakovich, please visit my friend Bryan's Shellackophile blog. He hasn't published anything for the past year, but his previous posts are still on line, including his transfer of the Shostakovich Ninth mentioned above. Even though Bryan's item dates back to 2010, the links still work.

Piatigorsky in Shostakovich and Russian Melodies, Plus a Barber-Hindemith Reup

This upload is in response to a request on another site. It consists of a Columbia Entré LP from the early 1950s that comprises two Columbia 78 sets from the previous decade, both featuring the great cellist Gregor Piatigorsky, one of the finest instrumentalists of the 20th century.

Side 1 includes Shostakovich’s Cello Sonata in D minor, Op. 40, from 1934, when the composer was still in his 20s and before the first Soviet denunciation, centered on Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk. Piatigorsky’s reading, which dates from January 1942, may have been his third attempt at a recording. Per Michael Gray’s discography, there are unissued efforts from 1940 (with Ivor Newton) and 1941 (with Valentin Pavlovsky, who also is the accompanist on the issued masters). However, some questions have been raised about this dating, so it is not entirely clear when the issued recordings were made.

As noted by the person who requested the LP, this is a particularly fine rendition of the sonata, and may well have been the first recording - Gray does not list an earlier one.

The second side consists of lighter fare, arrangements for cello and piano of familiar Russian melodies. Some of these had achieved pop success, including Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Song of India,” via a 1937 Tommy Dorsey single, and Tchaikovsky’s “None But the Lonely Heart,” which had been used on the soundtrack of a 1944 film of the same name. The arrangements are uncredited, save for Rubinstein’s Melody in F, which is attributed to Popper, presumably cellist/composer David Popper.

Piatigorsky’s recordings come from October 1945, except for the Rachmaninoff Vocalise, which dates from a session one year later, per Gray. The accompanist is Ralph Berkowitz, who would continue to work with the cellist until Piatigosky’s death in 1976. Through the years, the pianist also served in leadership roles at Tanglewood, first as Koussevitzky’s assistant and then as head of the Berkshire Music Center.

Piatigorsky moved to the U.S. in the late 1930s, fleeing the Nazis as did so many musicians and others. He began recording for Columbia in 1940.

The recordings themselves are perfectly fine, except for the Rachmaninoff, which had a peculiar resonance that I have done my best to tame.

Reupload: Barber and Hindemith Sonatas

Several years ago, I transferred another Piatigorsky LP, a 1956 RCA Victor coupling of the Barber Cello Sonata, Op. 6, and the Hindemith Sonata, written for the cellist in 1948. I’ve now reuploaded this for anyone interested. Here's a link to the original post.

1944 Columbia Ad (click to enlarge)