Dmitri Shostakovich: Who was he?
In 1960, Dmitri Shostakovich was ordered to compose a symphony about Lenin and the October Revolution of 1917. It was one of the many precarious moments in his life as a composer.
This season, you have the opportunity to attend multiple concerts where the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra will perform a symphony by Shostakovich. Interested in visiting a concert? At the bottom of this article, you’ll find an overview of these performances in the 2025/2026 season.
Shostakovich and the Soviet Union
First and foremost, Shostakovich had to determine what kind of music would be acceptable, as the symphony needed to please the powerful party officials. Would peasant dances be a safe choice? A tribute to Cossack music? Or a carefully crafted symphony? Shostakovich opted for serious classical music—at least that aligned with Lenin’s taste, who once said he could listen to Beethoven’s Appassionata piano sonata every day.
For the required style, he took a calculated risk: a moderately modern sound, an optimistic character, and occasional bursts of pure, orthodox sentiment. The Soviet leaders of the time favored this approach—or at least, he had to hope they still did when the symphony premiered. Nothing was certain in the Soviet Union, and history had shown that the party’s artistic preferences could shift overnight.
Shostakovich’s Symphonies
A story circulates that Shostakovich originally composed a satirical portrayal of Lenin but got cold feet just before the premiere. In a last-minute effort, he supposedly rewrote the entire symphony, making it less obvious that he had little love for the communist regime. But is this story true? And if the music isn’t a caricature of Lenin, yet also not a tribute to the revolution, what exactly does it express? No one knows for sure. Even those closest to Dmitri Shostakovich strongly disagree.
His son Maxim believed the music captured the chaos and suffering of revolution in general, while his wife Irina claimed that Shostakovich sought to celebrate an ideal leader and the creation of a utopian society. As is often the case in Russia, secrecy and ambiguity obscure the true meaning of the symphony. But perhaps that is its strength—the interpretation is left to the listener. The associations are yours to make.
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Sjostakovitsj: Symfonie Nr. 4
Dangerous Masterpieces
The Year 1917 was Dmitri Shostakovich’s twelfth symphony, but a similar tale of fear, doubt, compliance, and hidden subversion could be told about nearly all fifteen of his symphonies. He lived under ruthless oppression, in a society where silent caution was second nature to every Soviet citizen. Yet retreating into the shadows—if he had even wanted to—was not an option for Shostakovich. Stopping his work could also be seen as suspicious. He was expected to compose, but if his music displeased the authorities, the consequences could be dire. He was a tightrope walker, performing at dizzying heights, always at risk of a sudden, merciless push.
That push came during the Great Purge, Stalin’s brutal campaign of repression that claimed millions of lives between 1934 and 1939. In January 1936, Shostakovich’s once highly successful opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk was abruptly pulled from the stage. Stalin had attended a performance and disapproved. Shortly after, Pravda published a scathing critique, condemning the opera as “grinding, shrieking, and screaming—chaotic, negative, and deliberately shocking.”The article, titled “Muddle Instead of Music,” signaled the composer’s fall from favor. Lesser offenses had sent artists to Siberia.
Yet, even in this terrifying period, Shostakovich composed his Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Symphonies. And during World War II—when the Great Purge had officially ended but life in the Soviet Union remained just as perilous—he wrote three more. Six bold, defiant masterpieces, each of which could have cost him his life.
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What Defines the Music of Dmitri Shostakovich?
Despite the constraints of his time, Shostakovich never composed tame or conventional music. He had a knack for combining elements that didn’t naturally belong together. His melodies follow familiar contours, rising and falling as expected, with a rhythm that supports the expression—yet they often contain an unexpected leap, like a bump or knot in an organic apple. These quirks make his tunes memorable but nearly impossible to sing.
He also juxtaposed grand, almost crude fanfare-like outbursts with delicate, intimate passages where just one, two, or three instruments quietly converse. His music guides the listener like a tour through a whimsical house filled with many rooms. Each time a door opens, a new world appears—sometimes vast, sometimes tiny, often subtly distorted. A towering wardrobe stands on crooked legs, a chair looks like a chair but is clearly not meant to be sat upon.
At times, doors seem to burst open suddenly—and occasionally, they do. But attentive listeners will notice that Shostakovich often hints at what’s coming well in advance. A thunderous new movement might be quietly foreshadowed by a percussionist, gently rolling on the drums at the end of the previous section. It’s his way of making the unexpected feel familiar—and of surviving as an artist with integrity.
That was Shostakovich’s true genius.
