Dimensions of Energy in Shostakovich's Symphonies

Michael Rofe

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2016
• Print ISBN: 9781409407454
• eBook ISBN: 9781317150510
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Media & Performing Arts
• Subtopic: Ethnomusicology

Shostakovich's music is often described as being dynamic, energetic. But what is meant by 'energy' in music? After setting out a broad conceptual framework for approaching this question, Michael Rofe proposes various potential sources of the perceived energy in Shostakovich's symphonies, describing also the historical significance of energeticist thought in Soviet Russia during the composer's formative years. The book is in two parts. In Part I, examples are drawn from across the symphonies in order to demonstrate energy streams within various musical dimensions. Three broad approaches are adopted: first, the theories of Boleslav Yavorsky are used to consider melodic-harmonic motion; second, Boris Asafiev's work, with its echoes of Ernst Kurth, is used to describe form as a dynamic process; and third, proportional analysis reveals numerous symmetries and golden sections within local and large-scale temporal structures. In Part II, the multi-dimensionality of musical energy is considered through case studies of individual movements from the symphonies. This in turn gives rise to broader contextualised perspectives on Shostakovich's work. The book ends with a detailed examination of why a piece of music might contain golden sections.

PART I:
DIMENSIONS OF ENERGY

Chapter 1
Defining Musical Energy; Projecting Energy Musically

Struggle, energy and ceaseless work run through the whole symphony like a red thread.

Dmitri Shostakovich¹

Shostakovich’s music has a certain dynamic quality, an energy that has long appealed to listeners and critics alike. For instance, David Rabinovich notes that ‘the music of the mature Shostakovich is not calculated to soothe the idle ear, it compels the brain to work and the heart to beat faster’; Edward Downes states that ‘there are moments when a listener feels swept along by sheer temperament’; Roy Blokker and Robert Dearling observe ‘Shostakovich’s ability to write music of unremitting impetus’; Alexander Ivashkin proposes that ‘Shostakovich employs ostinato and other forms of rhythmic inertia as a special “supercharging” device, a sort of psychological pressure or pressurization’; Gerard McBurney suggests that Shostakovich builds ‘sequences and pulsing paragraphs of sound which, in the old phrase, “rock and roll”’.²

All of these observations make use of energy-related metaphors, as does Shostakovich’s own description of the Third Symphony in the epigraph to this chapter. But what is meant by ‘energy’ in music? A starting point for answering this question could involve the physical reality of sound. Sound travels in waves, and these waves carry energy from source to receiver: music involves no transference of matter and has no tangible existence (scores and recordings are simply representations). In this respect, sound – music – is pure energy. It is therefore possible to quantify the extent of energy by measuring certain sonic characteristics. For instance, the intensity of a sound wave – defined technically as its energy per unit time, per unit area – is interpreted by the mind as loudness: loud music literally carries more energy than quiet music.³ And this seems intuitively reasonable: lullabies are quiet, so they are perceived as less energetic than marches, which are loud. Further, given that the intensity of many orchestral timbres naturally decays over time, it stands to reason that the greater the number of fresh attack points within a particular duration – its rhythmic ‘activity’ – the higher the energy. Again, this seems intuitively reasonable: active music (music with a high number of attack points per unit of time), is more energetic than inactive music. Both of these conclusions seem intuitively correct, because they are analogues to the experience of being alive: it takes more energy to shout than to whisper; to run than to sleep.⁴

Another dimension of music from which energy might be said to emanate is the relative consonance or dissonance of harmonies. Writing in 1877, Hermann Helmholtz suggested that the perception of musical ‘consonance’ results when two or more notes that are sounded together share multiple partials: ‘dissonant’ intervals have fewer correspondences between partials.⁵ When pitches are particularly close together – as in a semitone, for instance – their sound waves interfere, and this interference can take the form of beating, resulting in a notably uneven sound. Given the historical use – or, rather, avoidance – of such intervals in Western music, experience also comes into play in designating degrees of harmonic consonance and dissonance.

It might be posited, then, that Shostakovich’s music feels ‘energetic’ simply because the composer frequently writes loud, active, dissonant soundscapes. Symphony No. 10(ii) is one of the most famous examples: its tutti ffff markings and quick succession of attack points – including Shostakovich’s signature chains of dactyls (

) and of trochees (

) – certainly play a leading role in determining its energetic character. Likewise, for Shostakovich to open his Fourth Symphony with high, ff, A–B♭ trills in the woodwind, supported by a C–D♭ clash in the horns and strings, very much presents the listener with a harsh soundworld, full of energy and aggression. But such QED mapping inevitably falls down upon closer inspection: music is more than simple physical sound, as listeners interpret the relativity of parameters such as ‘loud’ and ‘quiet’, ‘active’ and inactive’, ‘consonant’ and ‘dissonant’ as they form perceptions of energy. So, for instance, a uniformly loud sound is unlikely to be perceived as ‘energetic’ in the sense described in the opening quotations, and Shostakovich’s work contains numerous instances of music that is neither especially loud nor active, but is nonetheless energized. In Symphony No. 8(iv), for instance, there is a remarkably strong sense of tension and nervousness, despite (or maybe because of) the pp markings, the arching legatos and the tempo of ♩ = 50. Musical ‘energy’ must therefore refer to something more than the physical attributes of sound: those attributes undergo a process of interpretation, and that interpretation is culturally conditioned.

As such, an alternative source of musical energy might lie in the cultural–semantic associations that certain music suggests. To continue the earlier comparison, marches signify movement, whereas lullabies signify sleep and rest (again, embodied cognition is somehow important).⁶ In this way, the extent of energy associated with these topics does not simply result from sonic characteristics but also from the range of associations that are signified. It is therefore notable that Shostakovich frequently uses dance topics in his symphonies: the gallop (Nos 1(ii) f2; 10(ii) f94), the folk dance (Nos 8(v) f139; 13(ii) f44) and the waltz (Nos 1(i) f13; No. 12(iv) f96). But the most common topics in his work are marches and march-like stylizations; particularly famous examples occur in the first movements of the Fifth and Seventh Symphonies (ff27–32 and ff19–52 respectively). When considered in relation to the subtitles of several symphonies – No. 2, To October (marking the October Revolution of 1917); No. 11, The Year 1905 (marking the First Revolution, a particularly bloody year in Russian history) – military topics in the music take on particularly disquieting associations. And when these associations are combined with a broader understanding of the circumstances under which Soviet artists worked, it is understandable why so many perceive this music as being highly charged.

As discussed in the Preface, it is not the aim of this book to trace these circumstances.⁷ But it is useful to spend a moment considering a particular example – the Seventh Symphony – in order to give a snapshot of the unsettling nature of these contexts. Following the outbreak of war, Shostakovich immediately volunteered for the army but was instead accepted into the Home Guard. There, he helped to prepare Leningrad’s defences, before being assigned to the fire brigade at the conservatory.⁸ When not on duty, Shostakovich would compose, and on 19 July 1941 he began work on what would become his Seventh Symphony. Before its completion, Shostakovich was ordered to leave Leningrad, and on 1 October, a month into the siege, he was flown to Moscow, leaving much of his family behind in the terrible conditions of Leningrad. The Seventh was given its premiere in Kuybïshev in March 1942, prior to which Shostakovich’s own programmatic interpretation of the work was widely circulated: ‘The exposition of the first movement tells of the happy, peaceful life. … In the development, war bursts into the peaceful life of these people.’⁹ But it was the Leningrad premiere in August 1942 that has since become legendary. Still besieged by the Nazi forces, the city had just undergone a bitter winter. Surviving members of the Radio Orchestra were joined by anyone capable of performing, including musicians called back from the trenches. Special rations were given to restore their strength, and the score was flown in under cover of darkness. The symphony was performed to a packed audience and broadcast on loudspeakers throughout the city, including – as a form of psychological warfare – to the German troops outside the city, who had just undergone intense artillery bombardment in order to ensure silence during the performance. Little wonder the Seventh’s subsequent designation as the ‘Leningrad Symphony’ carries such unsettling poignancy.

Such deeply moving stories abound in Shostakovich’s complex biography, and these before considering the Soviets’ haphazard – and, at times, deeply endangering – attempts to control artistic activities. Given this political climate, it is hardly surprising that the purported memoirs of Shostakovich, as described in Solomon Volkov’s Testimony, could unlock the profound distress that they did. The authenticity of these recollections has since been rebutted by Fay,¹⁰ amongst others, but their message remains powerful, even if it comes from Volkov rather than Shostakovich. As an example, Volkov’s Shostakovich writes:

The Seventh Symphony had been planned before the war and consequently it simply cannot be seen as a reaction to Hitler’s attack. The ‘invasion theme’ has nothing to do with the attack. I was thinking of other enemies of humanity when I composed the theme. … Hitler is a criminal, that’s clear, but so is Stalin. … I have nothing against calling the Seventh the Leningrad Symphony, but it’s not about Leningrad under siege, it’s about the Leningrad that Stalin destroyed and that Hitler merely finished off.¹¹

No matter how one interprets the Seventh Symphony, acquaintance with aspects of its history, its composer’s biography or subsequent anti-Stalinist interpretations are bound to shape one’s understanding, particularly when the work contains such straightforwardly ‘military’ topics. For many, such readings constitute a vital source of this music’s power, and, once one is sufficiently acquainted with these profound histories, it is very easy to transfer the more precise extra-musical associations of the Seventh onto other, less programmatic works. Amongst the many such readings, Ian MacDonald’s The New Shostakovich is probably the most extensive, in which traces of anti-Stalinism are proposed throughout Shostakovich’s music. For instance, on part of Symphony No. 10(ii) – a movement that has no explicit programme – MacDonald writes: ‘the crash of two-note figures clearly denote the presence of Stalin, portrayed as a kind of malevolent tornado’.¹² For MacDonald, and for many listeners like him, the profound energy in Shostakovich’s music stems from the distressing ordeals through which the composer lived.

Energy, change and motion

Taking stock, we have seen several dimensions of the music that radiate energy: loudness, activity, dissonance; and the dynamic/violent extra-musical associations of topics, hermeneutics and politics. Some are physical properties of sound, others are products of interpretation; some exist in the sounds themselves, others in the...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Preface
• Acknowledgements
• List of Examples
• PART I: DIMENSIONS OF ENERGY
• PART II: APPLICATIONS AND IMPLICATIONS
• Epilogue: Using Proportions as Interpretative Tools
• Appendix I: Accuracy Margin
• Appendix II: Statistical Tests
• Bibliography
• Index