Shostakovich’s music abounds with ambiguities and coded references
that beckon to us to read between the lines. In the Fifth Symphony, art
and politics are so entangled that extramusical speculation is
unavoidable. Yet what is the practical, interpretative effect of our
conjecture? As for the symphony, the only significant point of textual
contention concerns the final pages and whether the printed metronome
mark of crotchet=188 should actually be quaver=188, as on Mravinsky’s
1938 recording and later corroborated by Shostakovich’s son, Maxim.
Otherwise, though, the score is clearly notated, down to subtle details
of pacing. If we trust the composer to have communicated his subversive
intentions so artfully, do we really need to second-guess him?
Manfred Honeck seems intent on wringing every last drop of
drama from the symphony in this live recording. He seizes upon the first
movement’s stark juxtapositions. Rhythms in the jagged opening phrases
are razor-sharp and urgently dispatched – though at a speed considerably
faster than the composer’s metronome mark – then the pace eases as the
mood becomes more lyrical. The tempo careens back and forth like this,
highlighting the character changes, although the result sounds more like
a film score than a coherent symphonic essay.
In the Scherzo, Honeck again characterises vividly but is
freewheeling with the text, adding a slew of heavy accents that have an
effect akin to rough jabs to one’s ribs. Isn’t the music’s Mahlerian
bite – as Shostakovich notated it – sufficiently vicious? And then, when
Shostakovich does indicate accents later in the movement, they don’t
stand out. The Largo, however, is beautifully done. Honeck’s
cinematic approach is touchingly effective here, with the opening
section unfolding in long, flowing phrases, like a slow-sweeping
panoramic shot. The finale packs a powerful sonic punch, thanks to
impassioned playing by the Pittsburgh Symphony and stellar,
rumble-the-floorboards engineering. Still, Andris Nelsons, in his recent
DG recording (also live), is generally more faithful to the score while
maintaining a tighter grip, and Haitink’s intense sobriety (Decca)
remains a benchmark.
On paper, following this with Barber’s Adagio for Strings
might appear anticlimactic but on disc it’s convincing. Barber’s
idiosyncratic nod to Tudor polyphony – Honeck writes that he transferred
vocal-style phrasing from the composer’s choral version – serves as a
elegiac yet soothing benediction. (Andrew Farach-Colton / Gramophone)
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