Above – Donald Runnicles. Photo credit Sydney Symphony Orchestra
My fascination with Shostakovich goes back long ago to studying Russian history at university, when I discovered that during the Stalin era in the USSR, Shostakovich slept with a packed suitcase under his bed, so he’d be well-prepared in the event of his being arrested and taken to The Gulag. More recently I’ve become aware that also he was in the practice of sleeping in his hallway, so that, if he was arrested, his family would not be interrupted and traumatised.
His Violin Concerto No 1 was composed during 1947-48 at a time when artists in the USSR were subject to the so-called Zhdanov Doctrine, whereby members of the Soviet intelligentsia were required to conform to strict guidelines issued by the government. Often this policy was monitored by Stalin personally. Prudently Shostakovich delayed a performance of his violin concerto until after the death of Stalin in 1953. It was finally premiered in October, 1955, played by the Russian violinist David Oistrakh, who had worked with Shostakovich on the concerto, and to whom the work was dedicated.
The friend who accompanied me to this performance on April 15, 2026 in the Sydney Opera House, had never heard this work before, and found the music difficult to relate to. I can understand her diffidence. I’m now convinced that, of all classical orchestrators, one needs to come to Shostakovich on tiptoes, and make an effort to get onto his wave length. It’s not an easy task. Experiencing his music cold turkey is not for the fainthearted.
Anyone who finds this extraordinary concerto difficult however could well be comforted by the problem Oistrakh himself encountered: “The concerto is not readily grasped by the violinist. I recall that a clear perception of it came to me slowly and not without difficulty. I became more and more interested in the work as the days went by, until finally I found myself wholly under the spell of the music.”
I’m aware that some people find this concerto depressing. There’s little doubt that the work can be heard as dark and dissonant, with its melodies on the surface at least, somewhat abstract. However, it has to be realised that, at least until the death of Stalin, Shostakovich composed much of his music while living through very dark times. As Wikipedia tells us, Shostakovich “expressed the terror, fear, and frustration of living in Stalinist Russia”. Still, having said that, I’ve found that most of his music is strangely beautiful. His music has a unique kind of lyricism which isn’t easy to decode.
The Greek violinist Leonidas Kavakos opened the concert, with a brilliant reading of Shostakovich’s concerto, with the SSO’s principal guest conductor Donald Runnicles at the helm, fresh from his outstanding performances of Mahler’s Symphony No 6 a few days earlier. One cannot fail to be uplifted by the assembled forces in such a performance.
In a work which notoriously tests the ability of the soloist, Kavakos showed that he’s a formidable force to be reckoned with. His technical control of the violin was uplifting. The exceedingly warm reception given to him by the concert hall audience at the end of his performance was clear evidence that his virtuosity was much appreciated. Add to this the glorious sound of the SSO and the immaculate conducting of Runnicles, there was plenty in the air to lift the spirit.
I found that, in order to come to grips with the Shostakovich work, I had to reconcile several apparently contradictory impulses. In some ways, the whole concerto is a study in ambiguity. For the sake of brevity I’ll call the movements Nocturne; Scherzo; Andante; and Burlesque. The first movement, the Nocturne, and the third movement, the Andante – both slow movements – I see as the key to the concerto.
A nocturne is traditionally slow, dreamy and lyrical, and applied to Shostakovich’s first movement is not inappropriate. I found the melody, as sensitively articulated by Kavakos, lyrical and melancholy, even if it’s somewhat abstract. But I felt the character of the movement derives primarily from the orchestral accompaniment, which is eerie and sinister.
The second movement, the Scherzo, provides a radical contrast to the Nocturne. Initially I found it somewhat puzzling. A number of different emotions are expressed, including anger. At one point the orchestra plays what I can only describe as a rollicking passage, which is then repeated by the soloist. I felt this exemplified a somewhat forced joyfulness. It didn’t quite make sense to me, until I later realised that this joyfulness had to be sardonic or ironic.
I felt the third movement, the Passacaglia, was the heart of the concerto. I found it powerful and majestic, and also heard passages that were just as ethereal as in the Nocturne. When it comes to the long cadenza, growing out of the Passacaglia and leading without a break into the final movement, the Burlesque, there’s an overwhelming intensity that I’ve rarely experienced in all music. Kavakos was energetic enough to brilliantly capture this intensity.
As for the Burlesque, it’s a piece of rhythmically exciting music which hurtles along seemingly at breakneck speed, ending in a conflagration. In classical music the burlesque was traditionally a musical work which sometimes utilised dance rhythms, or juxtaposed serious and comic elements to achieve a grotesque effect. So, once again, this movement is aptly named, as there certainly are elements of the grotesque to be found here; if it is a dance however, it’s a dance which is somewhat out of control.
What is Shostakovich finally telling us here? I don’t get the feeling that the composer has a clear answer to the dark forces in his mind that have inspired this concerto. I do not hear in his music any hint of Tchaikovsky-style redemption. At the same time, however, Shostakovich’s tribulations have, ironically, equipped him with a strength of character, that has enabled him to write immensely powerful music. To connect with this power through the virtuosity of Kavakos was in itself uplifting, even if one concedes that Shostakovich is basically powerless against those dark forces.
His predecessor Tchaikovsky, on the other hand, triumphs over his dark forces (what was once called “manic depression”, but now is known as “bipolar disorder”). That’s what one clearly hears in his Symphony No 5. With Shostakovich’s concerto, despite its strengths, there’s no such certainty.
If anyone in the SOH audience experienced disquiet on hearing the Shostakovich work in the first half of the concert, rescue was at hand during the second half, with Donald Runnicles conducting Tchaikowsky’s glorious symphony. As I’ve already reviewed in Sydney Arts Guide the Benjamin Northey treatment of this work on March 10, 2026, I’ll keep my comments brief here.
It’s salutary to consider how the two orchestral works played on the night were connected at the hip. Both Tchaikowsky and Shostakovich were, in their own individual ways, writing music that reflected dark spiritual experiences. Tchaikovsky, in 1888, in a totally different era, was dealing with private psychological problems – his sense of helplessness in the face of inescapable fate. The sombre colours of the clarinet and strings in the opening bars of the first movement, exemplifying Tchaikovsky’s crippling uncertainty, are now a memory in the Finale. In the last movement conductor Runnicles captured beautifully the triumphant feeling that the composer intended. This was just another of many uplifting moments in this magnificent symphony.
Some 60 years later Shostakovich in 1948, in a completely different era, was struggling with the fate that had been foisted upon him by a cruel and oppressive tyranny. Both orchestral works offer a similar fascination: the possibility of experiencing how the composers’ feelings are manifest in the music.
The juxtaposition of Shostakovich’s concerto and Tchaikovsky’s symphony, the result of inspired programming, created an exceedingly memorable night in the company of the SSO. This great orchestra has such a sublime sound that it’s thrilling to be in the concert hall of the SOH to hear it playing live.
This performance took place in the concert hall of the Sydney Opera House on April 15, 2026 with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Sir Donald Runnicles, and featuring the violinist Leonidas Kavakos.
