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They were supposed to be timpani, but instead they were the fires of war weapons. It was hoped they were brass, but upon the confirmed death of the latter, it was understood that it was the roar of the bombs, falling incessantly on the city. Perhaps they could have been violins, but they were nothing more than the cries of the wounded.
Dmitrij Shostakovich composed his seventh symphony, fortunately far from the bombings, during the terrifying Nazi siege that shook Leningrad. However, the harsh shell of the Soviet city eventually forced the Germans to retreat. After almost three years.
The work is divided into four phases, where the first marks the entire structure of the symphony like a brand. The image that appears upon close listening is that of a strange initial silence, sinister, almost unreal. A few faint noises well interpreted by the instruments leap onto the scene amid surprise and a poorly communicated announcement. Something unsettling is about to come despite futile attempts to hide the background noises. The first movement begins, allegretto. The Germans are treading the city's soil, protective measures must be taken. The planes are flying over us. If anyone can save themselves, do it. The resistors do not give up and counterattack without hesitation. We enter the heart of a sonic battle with the main movement repeating in crescendo. And it is around the twelfth minute that the phrases expand in all their grandeur. Timpani, strings, winds, and brass fly, almost as if to take the place of grenades impacting the ground. With a pinch of imagination, there are some passages where it seems like listening to the crackling of machine guns well alternated by the relentless rhythm of the percussion. With a brilliant offbeat, some cymbals immerse themselves in the role of free-falling bombs, only to reconnect to the brisk metric of the march.
The second phase, in moderato, acts as a transition from the roar of the artillery barrage to a metallic silence of curfew. A violin makes you perceive the bodies lying on the pavement not yet deprived of breath. Still resilient debris finds the time to collapse to the ground with a dull noise. The main movement recurs but with some variations. The idea is that of planning a strategy, engaging the minds to defend the city. A friendly hand to separate Leningrad's neck from the deadly noose of the Germans.
The adagio flows into a heavy slowness. A thousand needles prick the bleeding soul of the symphony. Tears find enough space to run undisturbed. The results of any war are never sunny. Needless to say, but here it is felt.
A strange yet prophetic relentless rhythm characterizes the last movement. The continuation of the adagio, the deepest phase of the symphony, clashes with a charge of the first movement that would define success over the enemy. The Red Army would have repelled the thrusts of the Nazi advance, would have resisted the invasion with enormous sacrifices and this is highlighted with an extremely triumphant metric, full of powerful sounds to determine the importance of the event and the emphasis of victory. Strange because, from the end of the draft to the premiere in March 1942, the siege was still in full swing and I find it hard to imagine that anyone had the daring ambition to bet a few rubles on Soviet victory. A prophecy as ever correct, moreover.
The soul of the work is undoubtedly very critical, profound but imbued with a bitterness fueled by oppression, totalitarianism, and the horrors of an absurd conflict. Shostakovich too was, like many other excellencies of Soviet society at that time, a target indicted by the idiotic "j'accuse" of Stalin's vile claque. It's not hard to imagine how many times, despite prestigious recognitions, the composer had to wipe away those bitter tears that would have fogged those thick-framed glasses. With due caution, Shostakovich was critical of Stalinist politics, something he was able to express only after the tyrant's death, in tandem with a deserved rehabilitation.
There are several versions in circulation. Among the excellent ones, those conducted by Kurt Masur and Vladimir Ashkenazy. The one in my possession, which I recommend for emphasis, is the one conducted by Mstislav Rostropovich, incidentally a very valid collaborator of Shostakovich among the strings of a cello.
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