SHOSTAKOVICH: Symphony No. 8 in C Minor, Op. 65 – New York Philharmonic/ Artur Rodzinski – Guild

by | Sep 9, 2007 | Classical Reissue Reviews | 0 comments

SHOSTAKOVICH: Symphony No. 8 in C Minor, Op. 65 – New York Philharmonic/
Artur Rodzinski

Guild GHCD 2322,  59:06 (Distrib. Albany) ****:

The concert of 15 October 1944 featured the American premier of Dmitri Shostakovich’s Eighth Symphony (1943), under the direction of Dalmatian-born conductor Artur Rodzinski (1892-1958).  Rodzinski had been an advocate of the composer from his days in Cleveland, where he performed both the First and Fifth Symphonies; he had, besides, programmed the Leningrad Symphony No. 7 twice.  Boris Goldovsky had mixed feelings about Rodzinski as a musical personality: “He was very nervous and suspicious; he carried a gun, and he liked to argue for the sake of argument. He could be really difficult, and management did not appreciate how easily he spent their money. But he knew his music.”

A dark, wartime work, the Eighth had its musical debut under its dedicatee Yevgeny Mravinsky, who was later to revive it after it fell into general disfavor or neglect after 1946.  Soviet censors objected to its somber Largo (“Requiem”) and final movements, not suited to the political demand for “musical triumph and gaiety.” A tenor of bleakness, exhaustion, and universal compassion permeate their pages, perhaps a vision that, even with the passing of WW II, humanity had not closed the book on internecine conflict. The massive opening movement Adagio–Allegro non troppo–Allegro–Adagio covers a wide range of emotions, or perhaps varieties of melancholy. The oboe figures prominently in all five movements, occasionally offering melodic consolation. The Allegretto manages some weak smiles, but the laughter seems forced and hollow. Besides the sustained gloom of the Largo movement, there are dark, polyphonic grumblings in the Finale, with more than a hint of Bartok or Hindemith. The militancy of the music reaches a feverish, convulsive pitch, somewhat reminiscent of the composer’s own Fifth Symphony, but the mood sinks into an emotional quagmire. A bassoon and violin solo try to resurrect some sprit or mirth; what does emerge in the last pages, pizzicato and tremolando, is a sphinx-like aura that cannot decide whither Mankind is headed.  Solid restoration, this, and certainly an historic document.

— Gary Lemco

 

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