(++++) A MUSICAL LIFE JOURNEY

Shostakovich: The Complete Symphonies. Gürzenich-Orchester Köln conducted by Dmitrij Kitajenko; Marina Shaguch, soprano (Symphony No. 14); Arutjun Kotchinian, bass (Symphonies Nos. 13-14); Prague Philharmonic Chorus (Symphonies Nos. 2, 3 and 13). Capriccio. $47.99 (12 CDs).

     More so than almost any other great symphonist (with the possible exception of Mahler), Dmitry Shostakovich put his own life, its struggles and uncertainties and changing allegiances and fears and inconsistencies, into his symphonic output. His 15 symphonies are in many ways an exceptionally uneven cycle in terms of quality, and finding “progress” from one to the next depends largely on one’s willingness to define the term in a fairly arbitrary way. The symphonies take listeners on a frequently difficult emotional journey, and the best Shostakovich cycles feature conductors who are fully aware of this (or at least subliminally conscious of it throughout the sequence) and whose performances are thoroughly reflective of the very personal nature of this music. The lengths of the various symphonies mean that recordings do not offer the works in order of composition, but this is one symphonic cycle that really is heard best in numeric sequence, no matter how many disc changes that necessitates.

     The Capriccio re-release of Dmitrij Kitajenko’s Shostakovich cycle is thus extremely welcome despite the ups and downs of performances, recorded sound, and on-disc sequencing. These readings date from the period of 2002-2004. Nine of the symphonies are studio recordings, while six (Nos. 1, 4, 7, 8, 11 and 15) were recorded live. The cycle is spread out over 12 discs, with one symphony (No. 7) split between two CDs – an oddity, given that other complete sets fit on 11 discs without any works being subdivided. The recording quality is first-rate throughout, but some of the symphonies appear at significantly higher volume than others: for example, Nos. 7 and 8 are rather distant, while No. 4 is so immediate and intense aurally as to require a reduction in volume settings. One disappointment in presentation is the 64-page booklet, which is filled with typos – especially in the texts of the vocal works (Nos. 2, 3, 13 and 14), which in addition to the typesetting errors are unfortunately given only in English.

     These matters of unevenness and imperfection aside, though, Kitajenko’s cycle is astonishingly perceptive and presented with consistent power and understanding, showing that this conductor not only comprehends the individuality of each Shostakovich symphony but also sees clearly how they reflect the composer’s life, thinking and outward and internal struggles over almost five decades (No. 1 was completed in 1925, No. 15 in 1971). Kitajenko beautifully displays the individual elements of every symphony while also drawing attention to the characteristics that Shostakovich evinces throughout the series: sardonic, often morbid wit mixed with a certain amount of crudity and triviality. And while the soloists and chorus are not quite at the summit of vocal performers, the Gürzenich-Orchester Köln is absolutely superb throughout, with snarling and crackling brass that is a continued source of astonishment and unmatched by just about any orchestra that has recorded this repertoire.

     Interpretatively, Symphony No. 1 has considerable bite and crispness, showing the work to be quick-witted with a thumbing-its-nose-at-the-world attitude that is darkened somewhat in the just-so-slightly-puzzling finale. No. 2 is unusually interesting in Kitajenko’s reading, its early portions clearly reflecting experimental compositional methods of the 1920s and showing some genuinely innovative thinking – until the final Soviet patriotic chorus combines expressiveness with banality to the point where the latter wins out. No. 3 has better-written vocal material than does No. 2, but is musically less interesting despite some excellent touches on Kitajenko’s part, notably in the strongly felt brass fanfares and the atmospheric handling of the tam-tam in one Andante section.

     Symphony No. 4 is a high point of this cycle, turning this funereal and downright peculiar piece into a series of beautifully proportioned and thrillingly assembled details that eventually coalesce into a genuinely chilling coda that fades away into a nothingness that contrasts strongly with the earlier, Mahler-influenced portion of the finale. Tidbits of jauntiness flit here and there while morbidity pulls constantly in the opposite direction, and Kitajenko makes the whole thing fit together in an impressively unsettling manner.

     The more-straightforward No. 5, which here starts very slowly indeed, is somewhat laid-back in the first two movements, but the Largo is heartfelt and provides a strong contrast with the problematic finale, which Kitajenko allows to flourish with a kind of crude triumphalism that implies an underlying meaninglessness of whatever victory may be achieved. Symphony No. 6, which like No. 4 has distinctly funereal elements, is deeply engaging in its drawn-out first movement, which is longer than the other two put together. The lighter and sometimes comedic touches of the second and third movements never quite dispel the gloom of the first, with the result that Kitajenko’s reading proffers a symphony unsure not only of answers but also of what questions it is asking. It is a puzzling work whose contradictory elements are well-highlighted here.

     The three “war” symphonies, Nos. 7-9, all get vivid and convincing readings, with each one’s intricacies and crudities nicely brought to the fore. A high point of this cycle is Kitajenko’s handling of No. 7 (“Leningrad”), a symphony that, with its famously banal and therefore frighteningly inexorable first-movement march, opens with a level of gentleness that makes the soon-to-come intensity all the stronger. The quietly thoughtful third movement eventually leads to a finale that sounds only superficially triumphant, as if the victory (the movement is actually called “Victory”) leaves loss and desolation in its wake – a message that subtly, in an unsubtle symphony, amplifies the communication of the finale of No. 5. Symphony No. 8 is a more refined work, the reading rather cool and controlled in places but quite tense and unsettling in the Largo, where the percussion is outstanding, and elsewhere. The peculiar No. 9 is here exceptionally witty and sarcastic, notable for tremendous attention to detail, excellent tempo choices, and an overall feeling of barely restrained anarchic proclamations.

     Symphony No. 10 shows that the orchestra’s strings and woodwinds can be just as convincing as its brass section – and that Shostakovich can, from time to time, produce orchestrations with the same odd chamber-music quality that Mahler used regularly. The swiftly changing moods of this reading are impressively contrasted, and the finale is particularly atmospheric and effective in summing up the work as a whole. No. 11 shows how far Shostakovich has come emotionally and orchestrally since the comparatively crude Nos. 2 and 3: No. 11 also celebrates socialism and the harrowing events of “The Year 1905,” but here the music is focused, strongly accented, and very effectively contrasted between the combative elements and the grief-stricken ones. The work comes through with a feeling of controlled narrative throughout, and the finale is crisp and strong rather than merely insistent. On the other hand, No. 12, “The Year 1917,” emerges under Kitajenko as something of a throwback to the emotional world of Nos. 2 and 3, sounding more straightforward and less substantial than No. 11. The bombast of the concluding The Dawn of Humanity is given full rein here, contrasting well with the preceding Aurora movement, but No. 12 as a whole comes across as lesser Shostakovich despite Kitajenko’s careful handling of its elements.

     No. 13, “Babi Yar,” on the other hand, gets an emotionally compelling performance, sensitive and heartfelt and in places – notably the Fears movement – bleak and chilling. In the Store is also outstanding in its portrayal of unending queues, unceasing weariness. The performance is somewhat disconnected, more a series of scenes than a unified whole, but that is actually a legitimate approach to the music, and the vocals are suitably pointed and trenchant even though the chorus is not always as weighty as it could be. Symphony No. 14, using only a chamber orchestra, has a sense of immediacy and emotional connection despite being one of the studio recordings. The two soloists thoroughly explore Lorelei to fine effect, and bass Arutjun Kotchinian is especially impressive in O Delvig, Delvig! Soprano Marina Shaguch’s strongest delivery comes in The Death of the Poet, but both she and Kotchinian manage all the death-focused imagery of this symphony with sensitivity and understanding – abetted by Kitajenko’s highly attentive handling of every element of the orchestration. Kitajenko’s cycle concludes with yet another exceptional reading: Symphony No. 15 is quirky and oblique, dragged down at one point into dreariness and uplifted at the next into beauty. Crisp and beautifully played, with outstanding percussion, this is a sophisticated performance whose consistency in this oddly witty, captivating work makes for a thrilling but suitably puzzling conclusion. The highly personal nature of Shostakovich’s symphonic oeuvre comes through with clarity and understanding throughout Kitajenko’s cycle: these are recordings that are immensely impressive in the way they explore and elucidate the complexities and self-contradictions not only of the music but also of the man who created it.