“Shostakovich Reflections” concert

Mikhail Glinka – Waltz-Fantasy

Mikhail Glinka (1804–1857) is often hailed as the father of Russian classical music — the first composer to combine Western European sophistication with a truly Russian voice. His Waltz-Fantasy is a glowing example of that synthesis: elegant and melodious, yet filled with wistful yearning.

Originally conceived as a piano work in the 1830s and later orchestrated, the Waltz-Fantasy shimmers with a sense of nostalgic romance. It is music suspended between dream and memory — a dance that never quite touches the ground. Beneath its refined surface lies an unmistakable melancholy, as if Glinka, through his sweeping waltz rhythms, were already aware of the fragile beauty of the world he was capturing.

In this concert, Glinka’s work acts as a poetic gateway to Shostakovich’s world — a bridge between the romantic idealism of the 19th century and the tormented introspection of Soviet Russia. The elegance of Glinka’s waltz gently foreshadows the distorted waltzes and ironic dances that haunt the music of Dmitri Shostakovich a century later.

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Dmitri Shostakovich – Chamber Symphony in C Minor, Op. 110a (after String Quartet No. 8)

In July 1960, Dmitri Shostakovich traveled to the bombed-out city of Dresden to compose music for a film about the destruction of the city during World War II. What emerged instead was one of the most haunting and deeply personal works of his life: the String Quartet No. 8 in C minor, later arranged for string orchestra by Rudolf Barshai as the Chamber Symphony Op. 110a.

Although officially dedicated “to the victims of fascism and war,” the work is more accurately a requiem for the composer himself. Shostakovich was at a breaking point — struggling with illness and isolation. In this context, the Chamber Symphony becomes a musical self-portrait, a confession of anguish and exhaustion.

At its core is the DSCH motif — D–E♭–C–B — derived from the German transliteration of Shostakovich’s own initials (D. Sch.). This four-note signature appears obsessively throughout the piece, like a cipher of identity carved into the score, insisting “I am still here” in a world that sought to erase individuality.

The symphony unfolds in five interconnected movements, performed without pause:
1. Largo – A bleak opening in C minor introduces the DSCH theme, surrounded by dark, chorale-like harmonies. The music feels like an epitaph carved in sound.
2. Allegro molto – A violent burst of energy, filled with distorted dance rhythms and relentless ostinatos.
3. Allegretto – A ghostly parody of a waltz, echoing both the charm and decay of a vanished world. Here we sense Shostakovich’s bitter irony — a dance of shadows beneath the ruins.
4. Largo – A lament that quotes from his earlier works, including the First Symphony and Fifth Symphony, as though Shostakovich were reviewing his own life in fragments.
5. Largo (finale) – A slow recapitulation of the opening material, fading into a resigned whisper. The music seems to dissolve into silence — a fragile peace, neither victory nor defeat.

The Chamber Symphony is not simply a work of mourning; it is an act of survival through art. Its emotional nakedness makes it one of the most universally human statements in 20th-century music — a reflection on memory, identity, and endurance.

And just as Glinka’s waltz evokes a dream of beauty, Shostakovich’s music reveals the fragility of that dream in the face of history. Both composers, in their own eras, turn the waltz into a symbol of the human condition — graceful, haunted, and unbreakably alive.

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Dmitri Shostakovich – Piano Concerto No. 1 in C Minor, Op. 35

Lưu Đức Anh, piano
Daiki Yamanoi, trumpet

Composed in 1933, the Piano Concerto No. 1 is one of Shostakovich’s most dazzling and unconventional creations — a concerto in the spirit of a satirical theater piece, full of youthful audacity, biting wit, and sudden moments of profound beauty.

Scored for piano, strings, and solo trumpet, it is effectively a double concerto: the trumpet acts as commentator, jester, and provocateur, trading sharp remarks and cheeky interruptions with the piano. The music’s restless energy reflects the young Shostakovich at his most mischievous — part virtuoso showman, part ironist.

The four movements form a whirlwind of styles and moods:
1. Allegretto – Opens with playful fanfares and crisp exchanges between piano and trumpet. The mood is light, but the harmonic twists already hint at Shostakovich’s trademark irony.
2. Lento – A deeply lyrical slow movement, where the piano sings with surprising warmth and vulnerability. Here, Shostakovich shows his gift for heartfelt melody — an oasis of sincerity amidst the satire.
3. Moderato – A brief, mysterious interlude that acts as a bridge, filled with searching harmonies.
4. Allegro con brio – A wildly exuberant finale packed with quotations — from Beethoven to Haydn to popular Soviet tunes — all hurled together with virtuosic brilliance and biting humor. The trumpet’s final, triumphant gesture seals the work with a wink rather than a bow.

In tonight’s performance, Lưu Đức Anh brings his radiant artistry, crystalline technique, and emotional depth to this mercurial concerto, capturing both its sparkle and its soul. Alongside him, Daiki Yamanoi, the Sun Symphony Orchestra’s Associate Principal Trumpeter, takes on the trumpet’s role as both partner and provocateur, weaving moments of wit and lyricism into the dialogue.

Together, they illuminate Shostakovich’s paradoxical world — one where laughter coexists with despair, and where irony becomes a form of truth-telling.

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A Thread Through the Programme

Tonight’s programme traces a century of Russian expression — from Glinka’s romantic grace to Shostakovich’s haunted introspection and irreverent humor. Through the artistry of Lưu Đức Anh, Daiki Yamanoi, and the musicians of the Sun Symphony Orchestra under the direction of Olivier Ochanine, these contrasts come vividly to life — a journey through dance, defiance, and the enduring power of human creativity.