Haydn, Shostakovich: Bernard Haitink (conductor), Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Carnegie Hall, New York. 16.5.2008 (BH)

Haydn: Symphony No. 101 in D Major, "The Clock" (1793-94)
Shostakovich: Symphony No. 4 in C Minor, Op. 43 (1935-36)


Around the time Shostakovich was being excoriated for his opera, Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District, he wrote his Fourth Symphony, which was ultimately shelved in light of the Soviet authorities' attacks on his work.  The piece remained unplayed until 1961, and when it emerged it began to be acknowledged as one of the composer's most inspired creations.  Just five months ago I had the good fortune to hear it in a searing performance by Andrey Boreyko and the New York Philharmonic, and this one had an equally monolithic impact.

In Haitink's hands, the opening had a monstrous urgency; this is a battering ram of a movement, so tense one forgets to exhale.  It lies idle and then rears up like a serpent, with blistering brass textures, a nightmare parade of icy, howling wind sonorities and abrupt shocking mood changes.  Crushingly dense chords fall away as a solo violin does a skeletal dance; despite idylls here and there, the composer keeps returning to passages of painful intensity.  The middle scherzo, the shortest movement, includes anxious waltzes in a dreamlike flow of events, with a castanet-infused ending that sounds like some kind of mechanical device winding down.

As the finale began, my friend whispered "Mahler," no doubt in response to the opening timpani march, and Shostakovich's fascination with the other composer can be glimpsed throughout: the orchestration is often highly original.  Just as the movement seems to exhaust itself, running out of steam, it wakes the dead again, before disappearing in a clutch of softly enigmatic celesta notes.  The Chicago ensemble seemed to relish every measure, anchored by its steely brass section, strings with an ever-so-slight chill, touching wind solos and some staggering percussion detail.

The evening began with Haydn's Symphony No. 101, which opens with a funereally slow passage that gives no clue that a sprightly presto will follow.  The comical second movement, with its piquant winds and "ticking" sound that gives the piece its subtitle, lumbered along like two bumbling elephants, and the third menuet was gracious, unhurried and also faintly chortling.  Haitink's reading seemed a bit of a throwback to an earlier age, when Haydn emerged in a beefier, more sumptuous guise, but the playing of the ensemble couldn't be faulted.

During some of the more cataclysmic moments in the Shostakovich, a friend next to me had her hands over her ears.  When I joked about it afterward, she reassured me that she was in actuality cupping her palms to capture more of the sound.  Since I initially thought she was reacting to the volcanic volume levels, I was relieved, since there was nothing about that performance that should be experienced in anything less than full force.  Despite the composer's often disturbing message, hearing it played with such ferocity and focus made an evening to be absorbed and committed to memory, to ponder and savor at a later date.

Bruce Hodges

Back to Top                                                    Cumulative Index Page