Celebrating Shostakovich’s 100th birthday?  Got a Shostakovich fan in your family?  Just discovered the best (anti-) Soviet composer Russia has to offer?  This guide will give you a course in the recordings of some of the best-liked works by Dmitriy Shostakovich, both from his popular orchestral compositions and from his intriguing chamber music.
 
A Few Words About the Composer and His Compositions
 
Over the past several years, the classical music of the Soviet Union’s composer Dmitriy Dmitriyevich Shostakovich has increased in popularity; as audiences turn away from the blatantly atonal and mind-numbing compositions from the twentieth-century Western world, many listeners are exploring the eccentric yet tonal and accessible music of Shostakovich.  Born in St. Petersburg in 1906, 11 years before the October Revolution, Shostakovich spent much of his teenage and adult life in conflict with the Communist system.  While repeatedly accused of “formalism” (that which the common man cannot understand) and forced to abandon his openly sarcastic style by such Stalin-sponsored degradations as the article “Muddle Instead of Music” and the 1948 decree, Shostakovich managed to maintain an original voice; he buried both irony and protests against the Communist regime within his music.  Shostakovich’s compositions are characterized by the use of dissonance, subtle sarcasm, Romantic emotion, and musical quotations—from his own works and that of other composers—in order to concisely communicate ideas.  In his lifetime, he produced fifteen each of symphonies and string quartets, a quantity of other chamber music, six concerti, two operas, three ballets, a vast amount of film scores, and a number of other compositions.  Though he wrote several state-promoting works (as a sort of insurance policy against further condemnation), and was careful to keep his major compositions either “neutrally” non-programmatic or ambiguously labeled, Shostakovich also wrote much heartfelt chamber music in which he more freely expressed his emotions.
 
String Quartet no. 8 in c minor, Op. 110

A shattering piece, almost symphonic in sound, it was composed shortly after Shostakovich was compelled into the Communist Party.  While it covers all the emotions he must have been feeling at the time (despair, terror, frustration), it transcends personal grief: it is a universal expression of all the tragedy totalitarianism levies.  Shostakovich called it a musical “hodge-podge” for all its quotations; most famously, it extensively uses the cipher D-E flat-C-B natural (D-S-C-H, or his initials, in German notation) from the Violin Concerto no. 1.  Although the composer originally dedicated the quartet to himself, the dedication was replaced (under Party-pressure) by “In memory of the victims of fascism and war.”  Curiously, the quartet has become linked to the September 11 disaster, and was even used as mood music for Frontline’s documentary of the event.
 
Of all the compositions people associate with Shostakovich, this typically ranks as first, or a close second (to the Symphony no. 5).  Therefore, it stands to reason that this would also be perhaps the most often recorded piece by Shostakovich.  These recordings vary in quality.  One can easily find the perfect performance by forsaking all others and heading straight to any version played by the Borodin Quartet; the saying goes that their Russian souls can feel every nuance of Shostakovich’s state of mind as he was composing this piece.  The most recent recording by this inspiring quartet is included in a two-disc set on the Virgin Classics label. (But don’t bid too high on this recording—it retails around 11 USD and is still available through conventional retailers.)  This version is nothing short of breathtaking.  From the first note, the absolute clarity of the Borodins’ performance surrounds the listener; no phrase is lackluster, and dynamics are superb.  Unlike in some other recordings, the second movement’s every note is terrifyingly audible, and, instead of falling apart, the music achieves an intensely structured insanity.  The third movement is also played more eerily than any other I’ve heard.  The only quibble I have about this recording is a very minute section in the fourth movement, which I thought should have been handled differently—more like the way the Emerson Quartet did.  For being Western “infidels” (as the Borodin cellist describes non-Russians who attempt this deeply Russian work), the Emerson Quartet played this piece quite capably; their recording is also available as a single work on one CD from Deutsche Grammophon.  Another recording you might want to watch out for is a new release of the Beethoven Quartet’s, which is just beginning to emerge from Russia.  As promised for Shostakovich’s centennial anniversary, the Melodiya label is issuing some real musical treasures—including what appears to be a series of recordings contemporary to the composer and played by the quartet he preferred.
 
Symphony no. 5 in d minor (Opus 47)
 

 
Had it not been for the audience’s lauding reaction to this symphony, Shostakovich surely would have been condemned for it.  His first new piece performed after “Muddle Instead of Music,” it presents a whole new worldview—one of active empathy.  Composed during the numbing terror of the Great Purge, the work clearly shows the influence of the time’s prevailing mood; instead of the perky capitulatory piece the Party desired from Shostakovich, they got the exact opposite.  Of particular note, the final movement quotes from Shostakovich’s vocal work Four Romances on Poems by Pushkin written just after “Muddle”; describing how an artist waits for the day when his “barbarian”-besmirched art will been seen in its true light, it reads like an allegory of how Shostakovich’s rivalry with Stalin would be.
 
Shostakovich’s other “most-recorded” work.  One would think that with such an exhaustive catalogue, at least one would be definitive.  Unfortunately, this is not the case, although Mstislav Rostropovich’s recording on the LSO Live label comes close.  Rostropovich takes Shostakovich’s remarks against “mezzo-forte conductors” to heart in this performance of powerful dynamics.  (Be careful not to stray too far from your CD player’s volume control—some of the crescendi just might break something.)  The first movement is theatric, and the second has all the pomp and bombast of a circus march with none of the sweetness or cheer.  But it is the third movement that is the crowning achievement of this performance.  Rostropovich masterfully leads the listener through every moment of what the composer’s son Maksim describes as “a man[’s] last night before execution”: the suspenseful ticks of the harp, the winds’ worried song, and the absolutely heartbreaking sob of the orchestra—it is terrible, but beautiful, as it finishes with a serene ascension of the harp and soft-voiced strings.  The final movement, however, is lacking: Rostropovich takes the start too rapidly.  While he manages to capture the ferocity of the march, he fails to draw out the pounding terror as Shostakovich intended.  Basically, when you look for a recording, check the track times: the longer the fourth movement, the better.
 
Cello Concerto no. 1 in E flat major, Opus 107

The Cello Concerto, Shostakovich admitted to writing under the influence—of Prokofiev’s Sinfonia Concertante.  More accessible than the corresponding violin concerto, Shostakovich’s Cello Concerto no. 1 is a thoroughly engrossing work, reminiscent of the Symphony no. 5, but at the same time both starker and lighter.  For such an orchestral work, it utilizes a surprisingly small orchestra; just one member of the brass section is present.  While this is another quotation-laden piece (Stravinsky’s The Firebird’s “Danse Infernale”, Mussorgsky’s Songs and Dances of Death), it is most famous for repeatedly using the first notes of Stalin’s favorite song, “Suliko,” in the final movement; as we have learned from Shostakovich’s Anti-Formalist Rayok, this quotation means that Stalin is being discussed none too favorably.
 
The standard recommendation is the performance by Mstislav Rostropovich—cellist extraordinaire as well as the work’s dedicatee—conducted by Eugene Ormandy on the Sony Masterworks Heritage label, a recording made with Shostakovich present and participating in the control room.  Rostropovich plays with astounding ease, his intonation clear and heartfelt.  The first movement, marked allegretto, revolves around the interaction of but a few themes—performed like a duel between cello and orchestra.  If the first movement is a skirmish, then the second movement is the barren field after the battle; the end of the movement features a haunting conversation between the cello and the celesta.  The cadenza is introspective, and the finale aptly mechanical.  Besides the Cello Concerto, the recording also stars David Oistrakh’s magnificent rendition of the Violin Concerto no. 1, and comes with a thick booklet of contemporary performance notes (with a number of photos of both composer and performers at the time of the recordings—one even in color).
 
Another recording on par with Rostropovich’s is the one made by the sensational Yo-Yo Ma, recorded as a “filler” for a Sony CD featuring an uninspiring version of the Symphony no. 5.  The Cello Concerto more than makes up for the feature presentation, and at times even surpasses Rostropovich’s in sheer expression.  The only slight detraction would be that occasionally the listener can hear Yo-Yo Ma’s characteristic physical breaths between emotive phrases—but I value this as more of a plus than a minus.
 
Trio for Violin, Cello, and Piano no. 2 in e minor, Opus 67
 

 
Composed not long after World War II, this is the work about which Shostakovich mentioned, “There should always be two layers in music”—the story of his life.  Written in memory of his best friend Ivan Sollertinsky, who had just died, this work is noticeably Jewish—appropriately so, for Sollertinsky was Jewish himself.  Very rhythm-driven, the Trio no. 2 is most famed for the “dance of death” final movement, the theme of which would later be quoted in the Sting Quartet no. 8.
 
Naturally, recordings of Shostakovich’s piano-including compositions made by the composer himself win, hands-down.  Shostakovich recorded two different (surviving, anyway) versions of his Trio no. 2 during his lifetime, the best being with David Oistrakh and Milos Sádlo.  This performance is available on a variety of labels.  One of the easier to come by is on Shostakovich Plays Shostakovich (Volume 1) on the Eclectra Records label, with the Cello Sonata and Violin Sonata (although the latter was recorded after Shostakovich’s right hand began to fail).  However, the sound quality of this recording is abominable; the ancient Soviet excuse for technology affords no easy listening, and hissing and muffled notes ruin the experience.  The Yedang recording (essentially identical to Russian Revelation’s deleted version) offers a far cleaner Trio no. 2.  The first movement is convoluted; the second, rollicking; the third, painfully elegiac; the fourth, an epic dominated by a recurring march—the Jewish dance of death—all played with the “correct” interpretation under the direction of the composer.  Shostakovich’s performance is particularly noteworthy in the final movement, which benefits from his merciless style of playing—almost invariably treating the piano as a true percussion instrument.  Accompanying this performance is both Shostakovich’s piano concerti, as well as the little-heard Concertino for Two Pianos—a sophisticated yet mischievous work performed by Shostakovich with his teenage son Maksim.
 
Those in the market for a modern recording of the Trio no. 2 should have a listen to that made by the all-star trio of Emanuel Ax, Isaac Stern, and Yo-Yo Ma on Sony.  Avoid the recording featuring Joshua Bell on Decca, though—while it has theatric dynamics, the unity among the players is surprisingly distorted (and the third movement is irritatingly slow).
 
Piano Concerto no. 2 in F major, Opus 102

 
A charming piece, written for and premiered by the composer’s teenage son Maksim, the piano Concerto no. 2 is perhaps better know outside the Shostakovich fandom, for the first movement’s appearance as a segment in Disney’s Fantasia/2000.  The fact that it quotes both the Symphony no. 5 and the Violin Concerto no. 1 should make it more appealing to code-hunting scholars, however.
 
The Yedang Shostakovich Plays Shostakovich recording (see above) has more sentimental value than actual musical worth, for again the Soviet technology cannot satisfactorily capture the sound (and the playback is on the sharp side).  Shostakovich marches through the first movement at (literally) breathtaking speed; the serenely beautiful second movement is touching (and only slightly blemished by a few mistakes by the pianist); the final movement, galloping and akin to a rodeo, answers the question of why, during Shostakovich’s cinema-performing days, a movie-goer declared the pianist drunk.  However, Shostakovich fans will be quick to forgive this recording’s flaws, eager as they are for the few examples we have of his own performing.
 
Yefim Bronfman recorded a far tamer (and more aurally pleasing) version for Sony, to coincide with the release of Disney’s Fantasia/2000.  This is also coupled with the Piano Concerto no. 1, but the rest of the CD is filled with an enjoyable performance of the Quintet for Piano and Strings (with the Julliard Quartet).  Bronfman’s performances are characterized by his emphasis on the beautiful and dramatic sides of Shostakovich’s music without sacrificing the lamenting or sarcastic—making this CD ideal for Shostakovich fans who have to share air-space with those who flee at the thought of dissonance.
 
Quintet for Piano and Strings in g minor, Opus 57
 
Not much has been debated about the Piano Quintet; it was composed in the calm between two storms—after the Great Purge, but before World War II.  One can immediately sense the honesty of its expression; the ending is calmly joyful, sharply discrediting the too-good-to-be-true “celebrations” that many of his finales are.  Written with a more “classical” style, it has a high-mannered feel to it, while still retaining Shostakovich’s remarkable ability to connect with the average person.  After its premiere, the Quintet was immensely popular, rather like the Symphony no. 5 was.  (The Fugue also quotes the Symphony no. 5.)
 
While Bronfman’s Sony recording (see above) is clean and aurally desirable—not to mention the better of the modern recordings I have heard—enthusiasts will want the superlative recording made by Shostakovich and the Beethoven Quartet.  Words fail to sufficiently describe this version.  Displaying the composer’s uniquely notorious playing style against the backdrop of the expressive strings, there is an intriguing contrast in the work.  Again, this recording is valued for its accurate interpretation: The piano’s overtly enthusiastic parade in the Scherzo is noteworthy as an ideal example of Shostakovich’s mocking pomp with pomp, and the Prelude is a simply stunning testament to both pianist’s and quartet’s performance virtuosity.  This recording is available on a number of labels as well.  Eclectra Records issued it on Shostakovich Plays Shostakovich, Volume 2, together with From Jewish Folk Poetry, four preludes from Opus 37 in the piano-and-violin arrangement, and the composer’s solo performance from his Ovod (The Gadfly) film score.  Russian Revelation offered the Quintet with the Cello Sonata (performed by Shostakovich and Mstislav Rostropovich), but this deleted CD is now highly prized—an unsealed copy went for well over 100 USD last year on eBay.
 
Some Rules of Thumb:
 
1.     Look for a performance played or conducted by someone who knew Shostakovich (or better yet, one performed by Shostakovich); a quick Internet search should tell you whether or not the performer had any connections.
 
2.     If you can’t find a recording like Rule #1, performances by Russians tend to be superior to those by non-Russians.

3.     Generally, CDs featuring works only by Shostakovich are more likely to be better than those mixing other composers’ works in as well; recording only Shostakovich on a title shows a certain devotion to the subject at hand.