Anniversary Concert

Between the East and freedom

Dmitri Shostakovich, Andrzej Panufnik, and Mieczysław Weinberg were representatives of the same generation. Born in the first and second decades of the 20th century, they became hostages to the great historical events that marked their biographies. Panufnik (1914–1991) decided to flee to the West in 1954 in rebellion against the authoritarian methods of the Polish People’s Republic, which resulted in his name and work being erased from the map of Polish music for several decades. Weinberg (1919–1996) left Warsaw much earlier, in September 1939, and fled eastward on foot with thousands of refugees. He eventually settled permanently in the Soviet Union. His friend and mentor Shostakovich (1906–1975) never left his homeland for good, but the Soviet system twice (in 1936 and then in 1948) attempted to destroy him and erase his compositional output.

At the same time, it was not always the case that key moments in 20th-century history directly determined the music itself. Composers sometimes consciously chose not to meet the expectations of political and artistic circles. In a surprising way, they thus distanced themselves from the surroundings. Any strategy could prove dangerous. For some, it was fatal.

Let us begin with the oldest composer in this group – Sergei Prokofiev (1891–1953). His Symphony No. 1 in D major, known as the Classical, in concert life plays an ideal role of introduction to the rest of the evening’s program. Prokofiev began writing it in 1916, but the premiere, conducted by the composer himself, did not take place until April 21, 1918, a few months before the end of the “Great War”, but after the Bolshevik Coup. As he himself admitted, he wanted to compose a “symphony in the style of Haydn.” And that is exactly what the Classical is: light, witty, transparent, and full of the simplest joy. “I renamed it the Classical Symphony first, because it is simpler; second, out of pure mischief, to tease the geese, and in secret hope that eventually I would win if the symphony turned out to be classical,” the composer recalled. This is indeed what happened – it is one of his most frequently performed works.

Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 9 has a similar mood and energy, as well as lightness and structural precision. It is surprising not only in the context of its extremely serious predecessors – the grand and poignant Seventh and Eighth – but also in the circumstances in which it was written. The year 1944 was coming to an end, the fate of World War II had already been decided, and in the music milieu of the Soviet Union, voices began to emerge that Shostakovich should compose a symphony dedicated to the imminent victory. The composer publicly admitted that he was thinking of writing a ninth symphony. He also added that he planned for it to be a composition for orchestra, choir, and soloists – like Beethoven’s. All that was needed was the right text. The pressure was mounting, and it was expected that the next work would conclude Shostakovich’s war symphonic trilogy with a triumphant gesture. However, it turned out quite differently.

In the summer of 1945, together with Sviatoslav Richter, the composer presented his new work in a version for four hands in the Hall of the Committee for Artistic Affairs. The few listeners were surprised and disappointed. The official premiere of the Ninth took place in Leningrad on November 3 and was also not well received. Most critics in the USSR emphasized the inadequacy of the symphony’s mood and message to the political situation. Interestingly, critics were also disappointed after the American premiere. Knowing Shostakovich’s previous symphonies, they expected the next one to be similar in size and expression, but what they got was a short, funny, perhaps even mocking work, with fragments of a slapstick nature. However, the composer was not particularly surprised by the reactions, which he had predicted even before the premiere: “Musicians will play it with pleasure, and critics will destroy it.” The times of real destruction of Shostakovich and his work were soon to return.

In 1948, Prokofiev and Shostakovich were included on the list of composers responsible for the deplorable state of Soviet music. Andrei Zhdanov accused them of “anti-national formalist tendencies.” A resolution dated February 10, 1948 explained what these tendencies were: “A characteristic feature of such music is the negation of the fundamental principles of classical music (...), the abandonment of such essential musical elements as melody, and a preference for chaotic and neurotic combinations of sounds that turn music into cacophony.” Shostakovich’s Symphonies Nos. 8 and 9 were banned, and the composer himself hid his Jewish-inspired Violin Concerto No. 1 in a drawer for many years (written in 1948, it did not premiere until 1955). Although he began the first sketches of his next symphony, No. 10, shortly after the war, he did not complete the work until eight years later. It is no coincidence that this work is considered – especially in its march-like second movement – a terrifying portrait of Stalin.

The fate of the third hero of today’s concert was closely intertwined with Shostakovich’s life. While fleeing Warsaw in September 1939, Mieczysław (Mojsze) Weinberg accidentally became separated from his family and lost contact with them. As it later turned out, this separation was permanent. The 19-year-old first went to study composition in Minsk (which was possible after obtaining Soviet citizenship), then, after the Third Reich’s attack on the Soviet Union, he traveled further east to Tashkent, and at the end of the war, at the invitation of Shostakovich himself, he moved to Moscow. While still in the capital of Uzbekistan, he met and married Natalia, the daughter of the great Jewish actor Solomon Mikhoels.

He wrote his cello concerto during a dark period. As a member of the Union of Soviet Composers, the young composer had already received criticism for the overly pessimistic tone of his work and its lack of references to folklore. Now, in 1948, his works (including the Cello Concerto, which, incidentally, makes extensive use of Jewish melodies) were banned under the Zhdanov doctrine and anti-Semitic persecution. In addition, at the beginning of the year, his father-in-law was murdered on the orders of the Soviet authorities, and his death was made to look like an accident. From that time on, the composer felt he was being watched, and the growing threat undermined his already fragile mental state. This nightmare came to an end in 1953, when Weinberg was finally imprisoned as a result of a major anti-Semitic provocation, directed mainly against Jewish doctors.

The moment was chosen carefully: on February 6, 1953, the premiere of Weinberg’s Rhapsody on Moldavian Themes for violin and orchestra took place in the Tchaikovsky Hall. David Oistrakh performed the solo part, and the composer enjoyed great success. That same night, he was arrested and imprisoned in Lubyanka. Shostakovich then wrote a letter to Lavrentiy Beria, the former head of the NKVD and now first deputy chairman of the Soviet government, offering to surrender to arrest instead of his friend. It did not bring the expected result. After Stalin’s death in March, those arrested in the “doctors’ plot” were slowly released, and on April 25, after another intervention by Shostakovich, the amnesty also extended to Weinberg. In 1956, the composer returned to his Cello Concerto, expanding it and preparing it for its premiere. The great cellist Mstislav Rostropovich wrote the next chapter in the wonderful history of this moving, lyrical composition, premiering the work in January 1957. The concerto returned to the world stage with the renaissance of Weinberg’s work in the 21st century, and its Polish chapter was written by Sinfonia Varsovia with soloist Marcel Markowski, who made the first Polish recording of the work.

At first glance, the life and work of Andrzej Panufnik seem very distant from Weinberg’s biography. Although both used completely different musical languages, their fates rhymed in many ways. What is more, it is highly likely that they knew each other. Both were born in Warsaw and studied almost simultaneously at the local conservatory. Both spent most of their lives outside Poland and became important, active figures in musical life: Panufnik in Great Britain, Weinberg in the Soviet Union. Both were absent from Polish musical life for many years – fortunately, in the 21st century, we are making up for lost time.

Panufnik was erased from the history of Polish music after his emigration in 1954. Until the 1970s, the performance of his works was officially banned in Poland. He fled People’s Republic of Poland as its first composer and a highly regarded conductor, a key figure in Polish musical life at the time. Despite his undoubtedly privileged position, he could not bear the feeling of enslavement and the need to submit to authority. Taking advantage of an opportunity to travel to Switzerland, he fled to Great Britain, where he spent the second half of his life. He addressed the theme of war and peace many times in his works, such as Tragic Overture, Heroic Overture, Universal Prayer, Invocation for Peace, and the withdrawn Symphony of Peace. The years spent in communist Poland made Panufnik particularly sensitive to the distortions which the concept of peace was subject to. His Procession... is a solemn, chorale-like march. The composition was written in 1983 on the occasion of the Year of Peace, commissioned by Lord Birkett and the Greater London Council. The score includes a dedication which is even more relevant today and continues to urge people of good will to resist falsehood and violence:

To peace-loving people of every race and religion, of every political and philosophical creed.

– Agata Kwiecińska (Polish Radio Program II)

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