p The two premieres of Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk took place in quick succession: on 22 January in the Maly Opera House (conductor Samuil Samosud), and on 24 January in the Nemirovich-Danchenko Musical Theatre (conductor Grigory Stolyarov). The opera went down well with both the audiences and the critics. It can be said quite categorically,’ wrote Ivan Sollertinsky with characteristic enthusiasm, ’that in the history’of the Russian musical theatre there has been no opera of such scale and depth as Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk since The Queen of Spades.’
p Over the next two years, the opera was performed 83 times in Leningrad-an almost unprecedented occurrence, testifying to the public’s great interest in the work. From 16 to 20 February in the Leningrad Composers’ Union, and in April in the Nemirovich Danchenko Theatre in Moscow, discussions of the opera took place, which soon developed into a serious and heated debate on the problems affecting the development of Soviet opera. Everyone, including those critical of Shostakovich’s work, realised the stupendous scale of his talent.
p Meanwhile, the composer was branching out into new spheres. His first chamber work—a Sonata for Cello and Piano—was premiered in the Small Hall of the Len- (, ingrad Conservatoire on 25 December. In was performed by the composer himself and the cellist Victor Kubatsky, to whom the work was dedicated.
p On I April, Moscow’s Vakhtangov Theatre staged a play based on Balzac’s La Comedie Humaine, with music by Shostakovich. The ^avadsky Studio-Theatre also used music by Shostakovich in a production of a play by Louis Vemeuil and Georges Berr, L’ecole des Gontribuables. Shostakovich also continued to write music for the cinema.
p Shostakovich was still giving regular concert performances. He performed his First Piano Concerto several times in the course of the year, in various Soviet cities.
p Two conductors, Artur Rodzinski from the USA and Carl Sandberg from Sweden, came to the Soviet Union in the-*pring, and heard the opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk. On 23 November two excerpts from the opera were heard for the ’ first time in the USA, performed by the New York Philharmonic’ Symphony Orchestra under Rodzinski. Interest in staging the opera was growing in many countries.
p Why did I choose this particular subject for my opera?
p In the first place because the classics of Russian literature have., as yet, been put to very little use in Soviet operas. But more importantly, because Leskov’s story is rich in dramatic and social content. Indeed, there is no other work in Russian literature which so expressively characterises the position of women in pre-revolutionary Russia.
p My interpretation of Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk differs from that of Leskov. The very title of the work reveals the author’s ironic approach to the events in the story. The title refers to an insignificant little corner of Russia, whose heroes, with their petty passions and interests, are of considerably lesser import than those of Shakespeare’s, play. Furihermore Leskov, as a vivid representative of pre-revolutionary literature, could not give an accurate interpretation of the events which unfold in his story.
p My role as a Soviet composer was, therefore, to explain those events 45
p
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I tried to achieve maximum simplicity and expressiveness in the musical language of the opera, I cannot accept the theory-at one time commonly held here-that there should be no vocal line in modern opera, or that the vocal line is merely a spoken part, in which intonation should be stressed. An opera is above all a vocal work, and the singers should attend to their immediate duty-of singing, not speaking, declaiming or intoning. All the vocal parts are based loosely on the cantilena style, exploiting the full potential of that rich instrument, the human voice. The musical development is always symphonic, and in this respect the work deviates from older operas built around separate arias. The flow of music is uninterrupted, breaking only at the end of each act, only to be resumed at the beginning of the next; the music does not trip along in short steps, but develops in a broad symphonic sweep. This ought to be taken into consideration when staging the opera, since every act, apart from Act Four, consists of several scenes, separated from one another not by mechanical pauses, but by musical entr’actes which should provide enough time for the scenery to be changed. The musical entr’actes between the second and third, the fourth and fifth, the sixth and seventh, and the seventh and eighth scenes in each case develop the preceding musical theme, and play an important role in characterising the events taking place on stage.^^1^^
p An extended holiday is a torture for me, I find it more difficult to rest than to do anything else. I fall ill if I go to a health resort. Only when I am up to my ears in work do I feel well.
...I want to write a Soviet Der Ring des Nibelungen. It will be an operatic tetralogy about women, and Lady Macbeth will be its Das Rheingold, The main figure in the second opera will be a heroine of the People’s Freedom Movement. The third opera will feature a woman of this century. Finally I will depict a Soviet heroine, endowed with the collective features of today’s women and tomorrow’s, from Larisa Reisner to Zhenya Romanko, the best woman construction-worker at the Dnieper Dam.^^2^^
p I faithfully read every issue of Rabocky i Teatr (The Worker and the Theatre). In my opinion the magazine’s propaganda of Soviet art is basically correct. It could be improved, however, by expanding its musical criticism section, and by employing better critics. A newspaper review can be of great help to me when it is written by a highly qualified critic; this, unfortunately, is only rarely the case with Rabocky i Teatr. In general my links with the critics are very tenuous. I read their reviews, but there 47 is no permanent link between us. This is regrettable; there should be meaningful, permanent contact between the creative worker and the critic.
In my opinion the magazine should become more involved in all aspects of musical life. The critics should be casting light not only on first nights and jubilees, but also on the everyday practical work of our musical organisations.^^3^^
... And still we are not keeping pace with the rapid growth of our country. Occupied with higher things, the Leningrad composers virtually ignore ’consumer requirements’. The orchestra was playing traditional marches as we walked in to a meeting recently. We ought to march to the sound of our own music as we go to the next elections for the Leningrad Soviet. New romances and songs must be written, too.^^4^^
p In our times, when a day seems like a month, and ten years seems an age, one finds oneself making impossible demands on oneself.
p From last October to this October a whole year has passed. I wanted to do so much in those months, but there was simply not enough time. This means that I will have to spend time on some of my unrealised plans this year.
p The two premieres of Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk (one in the former Mikhailovsky Theatre, the other in the Nemirovich-Danchenko Theatre in Moscow) unsettled me somewhat. Normal work was also hindered by the large amount of music I had to write for the cinema. I composed the music for two films this year.
p One of these films was Love and Hate (scenario by Yermolinsky), directed by Gendelstein. The action takes place during the Civil War: General Denikin is in the Donetsk Basin and the coal miners are fighting the White Guards. It is a good film, in my opinion, and an interesting one from the composer’s point of view. The other film (made in Leningrad), The Tale of the Priest and His Helper, Doit, is a cartoon based on the work by Pushkin. Tsekhanovsky was both artist and director.
p The scenario, which has lost none of the verve and satire of Pushkin’s great tale, is excellent. The cartoon is in the style of a folk farce, full of witty, exaggerated situations and grotesque characters. The film sparkles with gaiety, fun and Hghtheartedness, To write the music for it was a pleasure. The tale itself, and the artist’s treatment of it, determined the nature of the music, which creates a farcical, fairground atmosphere in keeping with the rest of the film.
p Perhaps when the film is released I will be rebuked in certain quarters for my frivolity and mischievousness, for the absence of real human emotions, which ’at last^^1^^ I had portrayed in Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk.
p But what are human emotions? Only lyricism, melancholy and tragedy? Does laughter not deserve ihis noble title? I want to fight for the 48 right of laughter to be accepted in so-called ‘serious’ music. I am not in the least shocked if a listener laughs out loud during one of my symphony concerts; on the contrary, I am delighted.
p It is another matter if the listener does not find the music funny. Then the composer is at fault, for the kind of laughter on which he was counting was not, in fact, a real human emotion. His music was merely a trick, a formalist joke, in the tradition of certain contemporary Western composers.
p A word about the West. We have basically got over the tendency, prevalent during the RAPM period, not to include anything which smells of the ’contemporary musical West’ in our concert programmes. Yet our concerts still include only a negligible amount of Western music. We could, however, learn from contemporary Western masters such as Schonberg, Kfenek, Hindemith and Alban Berg, even if only in the sphere of composition technique, which has not reached a high enough level in our own country...
p Just as we are willing to learn from the best foreign performers, it seems only sensible by analogy also to make use of what is best in Western composition technique.
p This we do not do, although we import incredible amounts of jazz music which, together with our own home-produced jazz, threatens to swamp the Soviet variety stage entirely.
p I am not against jazz as such. But I do object to the ugly forms which the universal, almost mindless enthusiasm for the genre has assumed. I react strongly to the vulgar trash which can be heard for days on end from every cafe, restaurant, public house, cinema and music hall. The former chaste horror at the word ‘jazz’ has now given way to veritable ‘jazz-bacchanalia’. The irony of the whole things lies in the fact that we have not yet managed to assimilate the realjazz culture. What we have is largely very inferior. Yet the gullible public naively admires this provincial hotchpotch...
p ... I would like to get my own work in order soon. It has developed rather haphazardly up to now. By work I do not mean only writing the music to sound films, etc., but everything which nourishes the artist’s creative process. This includes both close contact with surrounding reality and detailed study of the heritage of classical music. I am becoming increasingly aware of how little we really know about the world’s music.
p I remember an incident that happened to me when I was a student. During the final examinations at the Leningrad Conservatoire, I had to sight-read a piece of music for four hands, together with my friend, also a composer. My partner made several mistakes upon which Glazunov, who was then head of the Conservatoire, asked him: ’Do you know what this piece of music is?’ My friend shook his head, ’What about you?’ To my shame, I did not know either. It turned out to be Schubert’s Third Symphony. ’What lucky people you are!’ sighed Glazunov enviously. ’Think of the pleasure the future holds for you!...’
49p This incident is an illustration of the old system of musical education in the conservatoires, which, in their concern for professionalism, sometimes overlooked the importance of a general musical education for the student’s creative development. As a result of this, there was a long list of ‘pleasures’ in store for us.
I doubt whether knowledge would have made us less happy than blissful ignorance. I think that we Soviet composers should make sure we arouse envy in the future not because we still have much to learn, but because we know a great deal and are striving to find out as much as possible.^^5^^
p Looking back at what my fellow composers and I have achieved this past year, and summing up my impressions of all I have heard in the concert halls and opera houses, I feel like shouting aloud: what a busy, productive and plentiful year this has turned out to be!
p New symphonies, new operas, new names... 1934 has been a year of ‘big’ works. Large-scale forms have blossomed as never before.
p Special mention should be made of Popov’s new symphony and Shaporin’s opera The Decembrists. These are both great, lasting works of art, which will occupy a firm place in our repertoire for years to come. I should also like to draw particular attention to the First Symphony of Timofeyev, a young and extremely talented composer. Timofeyev, as yet known only to a very narrow circle of professional musicians, has written a moving, captivating epic. It has the power and range of a true masterpiece.
p Zhelobinsky’s opera The Name-Day and Dzerzhinsky’s opera And Quiet Flows the Don are of considerable interest. Despite the rather schematic and, in my view, somewhat immature nature of these operas, they are both interesting, and can expect to be well received by the public. As far as actual performances are concerned, what stands out most in my mind from 1934 is the Leningrad Music Festival, which was acclaimed in all the capitals of the world, in spite of a number of organisational shortcomings as regards choosing performers, repertoires, etc.
p Town, regional and national competitions, Olympiads, factory ’ conservatoires’... I cannot recall another year of such rapid qualitative growth in amateur activities in the USSR, Meanwhile in Germany, the home of great classics, of Bach and Beethoven, there is unprecedented break-up and collapse. All the best composers have either been expelled, or have emigrated. Schonberg went to America, Krenek has also left. And yet they could hardly be suspected of sympathising with communism!
p The colourful Richard Strauss is the only worthwhile composer left in Germany—and he alone can hardly serve to cover up the pitiful state of fascist musical ‘culture’. There is complete confusion. What is there to write about? How and, more importantly, for whom should they write?
p This is symptomatic for all Western European music today. Let us compare, for example, the hugely successful Leningrad Music Festival with the disastrous failure of the Festival in Florence. The latter was dull, 50 grey, lifeless, and very poorly attended. No one wanted to listen. The programme was full of mediocre, average works, utterly lacking in inspiration. Not a single outstanding piece of music! -No, it was not a very bright year for the West.
p I am by no means inclined to see everything with us through rosetinted spectacles. Our music, too, has many shortcomings. For example, the triumphant march of jazz has recently led to a kind of ‘jazzomania’. The result, as I have said, is a frivolous and indigestible provincial hotchpotch. I am not against jazz. I myself have written jazz music, and shall continue to do so. Recently I wrote three jazz dances. But the question is a serious one, for vulgarity and Philistinism are rearing their heads here and there. The symphony ensembles which used to play good-quality music in the cinemas are now being sacrificed to jazz. This is clearly going too far.
p There are also serious shortcomings in the work of ’he country’s highest musical institution, the Conservatoire, There is still too much scholasticism in the Department of Composition. In examining the works of a young composer, there is too much discussion about whether, for example, the music adequately conveys that the collective farm has fulfilled its plan by one hundred per cent. By vulgarising the essence of music in this way, the collective farm and other contemporary themes are themselves debased. Not enough stress is laid on ‘technical’ proficiency, and as a result there are many gaps in the students’ abilities on their leaving the Conservatoire. They are, as a rule, poor at orchestration, for example.
p We must do away with the laissez-faire attitude towards the recruitment of young performers. Instead of admitting students at random, work should be done in scouting factories and villages, where there is a wealth of untapped talent. Surely it is’ltn important responsibility of the Conservatoire to search out and exploit this talent?
p All these things are important, of course, but they should not undermine the main musical achievements of 1934.
p ... Soon the Second Ail-Union Performers Competition is to take place. Violinists, trumpeters, cellists and trombonists from all over the country will display their skills. I would like to satisfy the competitors’ request to write a few pieces which could be performed at the competition; then I shall be free to concentrate my thoughts and energies on my Fourth Symphony, which will be the main work for next year.
p It should be a monumental programme work, full of deep thoughts and great passions. I have been nurturing it for many years, but I have not yet put my finger on the forms and techniques suited to it. I am not satisfied with the first attempts and rough drafts I wrote earlier. I shall have to start from square one again.
I also have plans for another major work: the second opera of the cycle about the position of women in the past. A. Preis is working on the libretto. The main sources are Saltykov-Shchedrin (Trifles of Life] and Chekhov.^^6^^
Notes