In 1967, New York Impresario Sol Hurok presented Mstislav Rostropovich in 8 monumental evenings in Carnegie Hall from Feb. 23 to March 12, 1967. Rostropovich performed 30 cello concertos - offering standard concerto repertoire and new works, several of which were written for him and two were world premieres. From these, a selection of 22 concertos from the actual 1967 performances are presented in this set. This marathon program features works from Elgar, Brahms, Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Respighi, Hindemith, Honegger, Britten, Khrennikov, and more.

BEETHOVEN Piano Trios: in B?, “Archduke”; 1 in E?, WoO 38. 1 MOZART Piano Trios: in B?, K 254; 1 in G, K 564. 1 HAYDN Piano Trios: 1 in D, Hob XV:16; in g, Hob XV:19. TCHAIKOVSKY Piano Trio in a, op. 50. 1 SHOSTAKOVICH Piano Trio in e, op. 67. 1 SAINT-SAËNS Piano Trio in F, op. 18. 1 SCHUMANN Piano Trio in d, op. 63. 1 BORODIN Piano Trio, in D. 2 FAURÉ Piano Quartet, op. 15. 3 BRAHMS Trio for Piano, Violin, and Horn, op. 40 4 • Emil Gilels (pn); 1,2,3,4 Leonid Kogan (vn); 1,3,4 Mstislav Rostropovich (vc); 1,3 Dmitry Tziganov (vn); 2 Sergei Shirinsky (vc); 2 Rudolf Barshai (va); 3 Yakov Shapiro (hn) 4 • DOREMI 7921 (5 CDs: 344:47)


This impressive five-CD set from DOREMI presents a fascinating portrait of a splendid Soviet-era ensemble, whose members—pianist Emil Gilels, violinist Leonid Kogan, and cellist Mstislav Rostropovich—collaborated for more than a decade beginning in 1949. They are joined by violist Rudolf Barshai (with whom Kogan and Rostropovich formed a String Trio during the 1950s) in the first Fauré Quartet, and the horn-player Yakov Shapiro joins Gilels and Kogan in the Brahms Trio. The Borodin Trio that rounds out the set features Gilels with two of his earlier chamber music partners, violinist Dmitry Tziganov and cellist Sergei Shirinsky, both members of the Beethoven Quartet.


The least of these performances are very good and the best of them nothing short of brilliant. The “Archduke” Trio must be one of the finest on record. In the first movement development, the juxtaposition of string pizzicatos with the piano’s trills creates an uncanny, otherworldly atmosphere. When the recapitulation finally arrives, it seems not just a satisfying homecoming, but a deliverance from the outer realms of abstraction. The ensemble finesse in the Scherzo is breathtaking, while the spiritual depths of the unique Andante cantabile are plumbed with grace and reverence. The same sort of Apollonian approach that makes this reading of the “Archduke” so successful is applied to the Tchaikovsky trio, with stunning results. Even some of the most celebrated performances of this difficult work (the Rubinstein/Heifetz/Piatigorsky, RCA 63025 among them) narrowly skirt the maudlin. Here, however, the three Russians bring a sincerity and simplicity to Tchaikovsky’s every gesture, allowing his elegy for Nicolas Rubinstein to speak with eloquence, at once dignified, restrained, and heartfelt.


In the Schumann Trio, Gilels, Kogan, and Rostropovich achieve a prodigy of imaginative interpretation, all within the context of the most sophisticated and refined ensemble-playing. It is hard to imagine a more compelling conception of this impassioned score. They also approach Shostakovich’s eerily atmospheric Second Trio with the utmost conviction. The hectic second movement is a kinesthetic tour de force , while the finale’s unconventional oriental textures are deftly maneuvered to great effect.


Predictably, the Haydn and Mozart readings are less satisfactory. Generalizations are always dangerous, but perhaps it is not inaccurate to say that, prior to the inevitable cross-pollination with the West occurring during later decades through travel and recordings, Soviet musicians approached Haydn and Mozart with a prettified delicacy. The results can often sound mannered, if not downright bloodless, and light years away from what we consider appropriate late-18th century style today. One case in point is the weepy vibrato Kogan employs in the sustained passages of the plaintive Andante opening of the Haydn G-Minor Trio; another is the flaccid Allegretto of the Mozart G-Major Trio, where phrase shapes are obliterated by an anachronistic effort to achieve the late-19th century ideal of the “long line.” Despite these reservations, even the 18th-century repertoire is of historical interest: this is the way this music was played behind the Iron Curtain in the years following WW II.


The sound of these recordings is consistent with the technological resources of Melodiya (the original issuing label) during the 1950s. Most were studio recordings, but some were live performances. One can discern the improvement of equipment and recording techniques between the earliest of the performances (the Tchaikovsky Trio, 1950) and the latest (the Shostakovich, 1959). Though the sound is flattened-out relative to modern standards, balances are superb, and no detail seems lost. The accompanying leaflet contains thumbnail bios of the principal artists as well as the works and timings, but no information on the matrices (beyond photographic reproductions of the record labels) or the transfer process. All in all, fascinating performances of representative repertoire by master musicians. Highly recommended.


FANFARE: Patrick Rucker

I consider this recording of Dvorak's cello concerto the best I have ever made. And even though later on I recorded the concerto another seven times, it is the one that means the most to me. Throughout my life I have remained faithful to that which Vaclav Talich taught me.' - Rostropovich Supraphon returns to the most celebrated recording of the most frequently performed cello concerto and it's release, directly mastered in pure analogue, is a very special treat for lovers of the warm, rich vinyl sound. A delicacy for true connoisseurs!

BACH Cello Suites Nos. 1–6 • Mstislav Rostropovich (vc) • SUPRAPHON 4044-2, mono (2 CDs: 123:52) Live: Prague 5/26–27/1955


Although this set was released over two years ago, it only came to my attention more recently (and via a pirate clone on the Documents label at that). I then held off on writing a review, hoping that one of my Fanfare colleagues with expertise in string instruments would take the task in hand instead. As that has not occurred, I will now venture in where angels fear to tread. While Rostropovich did of course record the set of cello suites near the end of his career, for EMI in 1995 (issued on both CD and DVD; see the review of the former by David K. Nelson in 19:1), the release of another cycle from 40 years before, from the dawn of his career in 1955, is a major event that demands attention.


This recording was made at the annual Prague Spring Festival, when the cellist was but 28 years old. (It is also a notable occasion in that Rostropovich there met his wife, the famed soprano Galina Vishnevskaya, and proposed to her after a whirlwind 10-day courtship!) The monaural sound is quite clear, if a bit hard-edged and closely miked; the audience is very quiet, though now and then an occasional soft cough is barely audible in the background. While quite acceptable on its own terms, the audio quality of course does not compete with the velvety sound of EMI’s digital set. A similar disadvantageous comparison can be made about the quality of the cellos used; Rostropovich had not yet acquired his famed Duport Stradivarius, and the unidentified instrument used in Prague, while again good enough in and of itself, cannot compare with the ravishing, burnished tone quality of the Duport. For an instant revelation of the difference, listen to the opening of the Prelude to the Fifth Suite, where the sheer depth and opulence of the Duport in the EMI set is positively dumbfounding. There is also the occasional note in Prague that is not quite dead in tune—clearly due in part to the far less rich overtones of the instrument rather than any shortcoming on the part of Rostropovich. If the sound of the instrument itself is a decisive desideratum here—and for many people it justifiably is—then this Supraphon release will likely not be much more than a curiosity.


However, in addition to instrumental sound there is the issue of differences in interpretation over the intervening span of four decades, and that is where this set comes into its own. The first thing to note is that overall, with the major exceptions of the preludes to the First, Third, and Fourth suites, the Gigue in the First Suite, and the Sarabande in the Fifth Suite, the earlier performances are noticeably swifter. (The total timing of the EMI set is 137:54, compared to 123:52 here). That said, comparisons of some individual movements can be misleading, as in the 1955 performances Rostropovich omits repeats in some movements—e.g., the allemandes in the Third and Sixth suites, the bourées in the Fourth Suite, the Courante in the Sixth Suite—though even in some of those instances the 1955 versions would still be swifter if the repeats were observed. (The cuts in Prague doubtless stem from Rostropovich’s early training; in the booklet notes to the EMI set, the cellist recounts that his teacher, Semyon Kozolupov, strictly forbade pupils to play repeats of the second half of movements written in binary form, allowing repeats only in the first half.) If observance of all the repeats is a major criterion for evaluating a set of the suites, then again this set will not be competitive with the EMI studio recording.


What, then, does this Supraphon set have that commends it as a supplement or alternative to the EMI studio version? In a word (actually two words), that elusive and almost intangible quality I would call “narrative intensity.” Despite my unreserved adoration of Rostropovich as the greatest cellist in recorded history (and is there any lover of cello music who does not so venerate him?), I had always found the EMI set of these suites somehow lacking, and this new release has finally made clear why. As tonally gorgeous and technically immaculate as those sets are, and despite the programmatic titles and descriptions that Rostropovich gives to each suite in that set, it is live in Prague and not in the studio that the cellist finds and articulates fully sustained interpretive profiles. Listen for example to the Sarabande in the Second Suite, dubbed “Sorrow and intensity” by Rostropovich in the 1995 EMI set. While that studio recording is very beautiful, it lacks meditative profundity; whereas in Prague there is a rapt sense of total inward intensity—what the Germans call Innigkeit —that transforms the movement into one bearing comparison with the symphonic Adagio s of Bruckner. Likewise, while still too slow for my taste, the gavottes and Gigue in the Sixth Suite in Prague have some forward momentum, unlike the suffocatingly leaden versions in the EMI set.


Another notable difference is that in Prague Rostropovich is metrically much more exact, whereas on the EMI set he is rather free (or “rhapsodic,” to borrow his description of Pablo Casals). This is particularly true in the in the concluding dance movements (the menuets, bourées, gavottes, and gigues), with the last two movements of the Second Suite again offering particularly striking instances. While I suppose that some might characterize the earlier recordings as comparatively stiff, I do not find them so, and indeed prefer the more strict approach as better articulating the structure of the music. On the other hand, I much prefer the brisker tempos taken in the EMI set to the preludes of the First, Third, and Fourth Suites, the Allemande in the Third Suite, and the Courante in the Sixth Suite, as imparting a necessary greater degree of energy to those movements.


While my overall interpretive preference is therefore with the Prague versions, I cannot simply recommend that set in preference to the EMI one for those desiring a recording of Rostropovich in this repertoire. The two sets are strikingly different, and each has its considerable merits in manifesting the cellist’s extraordinary musical genius. (Indeed, the Prague set caused me to appreciate virtues of the EMI set that had not registered with me before.) For fans of Rostropovich, it goes without saying that this is a mandatory acquisition; but to lovers of cello music in general and the Bach suites in particular, I would say much the same thing, despite its occasional limitations. Had this not come to my attention too late to qualify, it surely would have been a major Want List contender; urgently recommended.


FANFARE: James A. Altena

Also available on Blu-ray

The Indomitable Bow is a unique portrait of Mstislav Rostropovich, a formidable personality as well as a complex, deeply political musician constantly engaged in a whirlwind of activities. Including unreleased documents, archive films, interviews and concert performances from this key figure of the 20th century, The Indomitable Bow is a remarkable testimony of the life and work of the legendary ‘Slava’. Mstislav Rostropovich remains one of the greatest cellists of the twentieth century. In addition to his lauded interpretations and impeccable technique, he was well known for inspiring and commissioning new works, which grew the cello repertoire more than any other cellist before or since. In fact, he inspired and premiered more than one hundred pieces, and formed long-standing partnerships with composers including Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Messiaen, Penderecki, Bernstein, and Britten, to name a few.

-----

REVIEW:

“Your Indomitable Bow” is a phrase addressed to Mstislav Rostropovich by Alexander Solzhenitysn, in reference to the help and shelter given in dark times to the writer, at some risk, by the musician. It is a reminder that Rostropovich – or Slava as he was affectionately known – had public and political roles during the cold war, and that he used his eminence in Soviet artistic life for selfless aims, which led to his eventual expulsion. Bruno Monsaingeon’s outstanding film deals with this theme alongside the remarkable musical career. It is thus a comprehensive portrait of Rostropovich, whose large and generous personality comes across in each of his many roles – cellist, piano accompanist, conductor, teacher, and collaborator with the great composers of his era. He emerges as a key cultural figure of the 20th century.

The research behind this production was doubtless exemplary, but it also benefitted from some good fortune, as we learn from the filmmaker’s booklet notes. Bruno Monsaingeon knew the cellist, who in 2000 gave him “a whole trunkful of film material about him…containing a number of treasures”. From that and other sources, such as unreleased documents, archive films, new interviews, and filmed concert performances, a compelling narrative has been put together. One element of almost any documentary though is completely absent. There is no commentary or narration by the director or anyone else. Every scene throughout the film is simply left to speak for itself, but so skilful is the editing that we do not miss the customary unseen narrator. Perhaps a viewer who barely knew who the subject would get a bit lost at points, but that is hardly a typical viewer of such a film. The voice of an unseen Sviatoslav Richter contributes a couple of sentences about his (ambiguous) relationship to the cellist, but it is clear that that is just a small part of building the picture.

The composers we see and hear, and from whom Rostropovich inspired or commissioned major works, are mainly Prokofiev, Shostakovich and Dutilleux. Britten, though seen conducting a couple of times, does not get much of a look-in despite the five substantial works he wrote for the cellist, which made England Rostropovich’s most productive foreign destination musically, and the main omission from the story line in the film. But there is so much here to be grateful for. Solzhenitsyn’s widow, and the next generation, Solzhenitysn’s son and Rostropovich’s daughters, offer important insights in interview – and there is a 40-minute extra film, which expands on their recollections of the experiences of those two giant artists. There is also some gripping detail about life under the regime.

Rostropovich’s wife, Galina Vishnevskaya, is seen in archive interviews and in filmed recitals, with Rostropovich accompanying. She is the butt of one of Slava’s better jokes. When asked what voice type his wife’s soprano is, lyric or dramatic, he replies, “In the theatre, lyric; at home, dramatic.” She in turn is no shrinking violet and has some amusing things to say about their domestic and musical arguments. Whether quarrelling at home, or taking on the Soviet state, it is the artist himself who comes across as indomitable as much as his bow. There is always the famous charm and wit. The overwhelming impression is of a great musician who was also a great man.

Apart from the marvellous film itself, there are those very valuable extras. In addition to the bonus of family recollections mainly concerning Solzhenitsyn, we have films of three previously unreleased performances. Rostropovich plays the Sarabande from Bach’s 2nd Suite, and the closing variations and coda of Tchaikovsky’s Rococo Variations with the Boston Symphony and Ozawa. Yet perhaps the best of all is the film of a 1974 UNESCO Paris concert of Beethoven’s Archduke Trio in which the cellist is joined by Yehudi Menuhin and Wilhelm Kempff. Three elder statesmen of their instruments from three countries playing one of the greatest of piano trios live - that is quite some “extra”.

It was a couple of years later that I met him. I was a hanger-on at an LSO rehearsal that he was conducting. I took the chance to offer him to sign my much-loved recording of him in the Britten cello suites 1 and 2 and he did. Emboldened, I asked him, “when will you record the Third Suite, maestro?” “Not now, later,” he said, and disappeared. (Bruno Monsaingeon’s research has not discovered this important cultural exchange so I mention it here.) Rostropovich did never record the Third Suite, alas. Not long before this episode, he had taken the arm of Peter Pears at Britten’s funeral. That Third Suite is based on the Kontakion, the Russian Hymn for the Departed. Perhaps he could never quite face it and did not need insensitive hangers-on with their LPs coming up to him after a rehearsal.

Discussing his dual role of conductor and cellist with Herbert von Karajan on the film Rostropovich says, “when I conduct I am happy, but the audience is not; when I play the audience is happy, but I am not.” Karajan replies, “so you must play and conduct, so that everyone is happy”. I can’t imagine anyone being less than happy after watching this highly recommended, indeed already prize-winning, film. It is one of the best films about a musician that even Bruno Monsaingeon has ever given us.

– MusicWeb International (Roy Westbrook)

This Blu-ray Disc is only playable on Blu-ray Disc players and not compatible with standard DVD players.

Also available on standard DVD

The Indomitable Bow is a unique portrait of Mstislav Rostropovich, a formidable personality as well as a complex, deeply political musician constantly engaged in a whirlwind of activities. Including unreleased documents, archive films, interviews and concert performances from this key figure of the 20th century, The Indomitable Bow is a remarkable testimony of the life and work of the legendary ‘Slava’. Mstislav Rostropovich remains one of the greatest cellists of the twentieth century. In addition to his lauded interpretations and impeccable technique, he was well known for inspiring and commissioning new works, which grew the cello repertoire more than any other cellist before or since. In fact, he inspired and premiered more than one hundred pieces, and formed long-standing partnerships with composers including Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Messiaen, Penderecki, Bernstein, and Britten, to name a few.

-----

REVIEW:

“Your Indomitable Bow” is a phrase addressed to Mstislav Rostropovich by Alexander Solzhenitysn, in reference to the help and shelter given in dark times to the writer, at some risk, by the musician. It is a reminder that Rostropovich – or Slava as he was affectionately known – had public and political roles during the cold war, and that he used his eminence in Soviet artistic life for selfless aims, which led to his eventual expulsion. Bruno Monsaingeon’s outstanding film deals with this theme alongside the remarkable musical career. It is thus a comprehensive portrait of Rostropovich, whose large and generous personality comes across in each of his many roles – cellist, piano accompanist, conductor, teacher, and collaborator with the great composers of his era. He emerges as a key cultural figure of the 20th century.

The research behind this production was doubtless exemplary, but it also benefitted from some good fortune, as we learn from the filmmaker’s booklet notes. Bruno Monsaingeon knew the cellist, who in 2000 gave him “a whole trunkful of film material about him…containing a number of treasures”. From that and other sources, such as unreleased documents, archive films, new interviews, and filmed concert performances, a compelling narrative has been put together. One element of almost any documentary though is completely absent. There is no commentary or narration by the director or anyone else. Every scene throughout the film is simply left to speak for itself, but so skilful is the editing that we do not miss the customary unseen narrator. Perhaps a viewer who barely knew who the subject would get a bit lost at points, but that is hardly a typical viewer of such a film. The voice of an unseen Sviatoslav Richter contributes a couple of sentences about his (ambiguous) relationship to the cellist, but it is clear that that is just a small part of building the picture.

The composers we see and hear, and from whom Rostropovich inspired or commissioned major works, are mainly Prokofiev, Shostakovich and Dutilleux. Britten, though seen conducting a couple of times, does not get much of a look-in despite the five substantial works he wrote for the cellist, which made England Rostropovich’s most productive foreign destination musically, and the main omission from the story line in the film. But there is so much here to be grateful for. Solzhenitsyn’s widow, and the next generation, Solzhenitysn’s son and Rostropovich’s daughters, offer important insights in interview – and there is a 40-minute extra film, which expands on their recollections of the experiences of those two giant artists. There is also some gripping detail about life under the regime.

Rostropovich’s wife, Galina Vishnevskaya, is seen in archive interviews and in filmed recitals, with Rostropovich accompanying. She is the butt of one of Slava’s better jokes. When asked what voice type his wife’s soprano is, lyric or dramatic, he replies, “In the theatre, lyric; at home, dramatic.” She in turn is no shrinking violet and has some amusing things to say about their domestic and musical arguments. Whether quarrelling at home, or taking on the Soviet state, it is the artist himself who comes across as indomitable as much as his bow. There is always the famous charm and wit. The overwhelming impression is of a great musician who was also a great man.

Apart from the marvellous film itself, there are those very valuable extras. In addition to the bonus of family recollections mainly concerning Solzhenitsyn, we have films of three previously unreleased performances. Rostropovich plays the Sarabande from Bach’s 2nd Suite, and the closing variations and coda of Tchaikovsky’s Rococo Variations with the Boston Symphony and Ozawa. Yet perhaps the best of all is the film of a 1974 UNESCO Paris concert of Beethoven’s Archduke Trio in which the cellist is joined by Yehudi Menuhin and Wilhelm Kempff. Three elder statesmen of their instruments from three countries playing one of the greatest of piano trios live - that is quite some “extra”.

It was a couple of years later that I met him. I was a hanger-on at an LSO rehearsal that he was conducting. I took the chance to offer him to sign my much-loved recording of him in the Britten cello suites 1 and 2 and he did. Emboldened, I asked him, “when will you record the Third Suite, maestro?” “Not now, later,” he said, and disappeared. (Bruno Monsaingeon’s research has not discovered this important cultural exchange so I mention it here.) Rostropovich did never record the Third Suite, alas. Not long before this episode, he had taken the arm of Peter Pears at Britten’s funeral. That Third Suite is based on the Kontakion, the Russian Hymn for the Departed. Perhaps he could never quite face it and did not need insensitive hangers-on with their LPs coming up to him after a rehearsal.

Discussing his dual role of conductor and cellist with Herbert von Karajan on the film Rostropovich says, “when I conduct I am happy, but the audience is not; when I play the audience is happy, but I am not.” Karajan replies, “so you must play and conduct, so that everyone is happy”. I can’t imagine anyone being less than happy after watching this highly recommended, indeed already prize-winning, film. It is one of the best films about a musician that even Bruno Monsaingeon has ever given us.

– MusicWeb International (Roy Westbrook)

BRITTEN CONDUCTS TCHAIKOVSKY

Pyotr Il’yich Tchaikovsky
Variations on a Roccoco Theme, Op. 33
Pezzo capriccioso, Op. 62
Romeo and Juliet – Fantasy Overture

Mstislav Rostropovich, cello
English Chamber Orchestra
Benjamin Britten, conductor

Recorded live from Snape Maltings Concert Hall, Aldeburgh, 16 June 1968
Bonus:
BRITTEN, B.: Gloriana, Op. 53 (excerpts)

Peter Pears, tenor
Aldeburgh Festival Singers
English Chamber Orchestra
Benjamin Britten, conductor

Recorded at Snape Maltings Concert Hall, Aldeburgh, 5 June 1970

Picture format: NTSC 4:3
Sound format: Enhance Mono
Region code: 0 (worldwide)
Menu language: English
Booklet notes: English, French, German
Running time: 68 mins
No. of DVDs: 1

This one-of-a-kind release features two of the leading musicians of the twentieth century, Mstislav Rostropovich and Sviatoslav Richter in live performances of sonatas. Especially notable is the Prokofiev sonata from Moscow 1950, which was the piece’s world premiere performance. Two other sonatas, by Beethoven and Brahms, are being released here for the first time. These two concerts took place in March 1950 and June 1964, when both of these remarkable twentieth century musicians were at the peak of their careers.

Love and charm are among the many qualities which distinguish this richly enjoyable set of the Tchaikovsky Symphonies, wrote Gramophone of the cycle that forms the heart of this collection. Mstislav Rostropovich, like Tchaikovsky, represents the very soul of Russian music. These 1976-77 recordings are remastered for the very first time in high definition from original master tapes and benefit from the high performances of the SACD format to give a level of details never heard before.

Not only was Rostropovich a towering musician, he became a figure of international humanitarian and political significance: he and his wife, the celebrated soprano Galina Vishnevskaya (1926-2012), were exiled from the Soviet Union in 1974 (and deprived of Soviet citizenship in 1978) for their support of the dissident writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn, whom they offered refuge in their home. - In 1970 Rostropovich had written an open letter advocating artistic freedom. It was refused publication by the Soviet newspaper Pravda, but was published in the West. It read: "Every man must have the right fearlessly to think independently and express his opinion about what he knows, what he has personally thought about and experienced, and not merely to express with slightly different variations the opinion which has been inculcated in him." - In November 1989, at the time of the fall of the Berlin Wall, Rostropovich gave an impromptu solo recital at the spot known as Checkpoint Charlie. - Rostropovich and Vishnevskaya did not return to Russia until 1990, the era of glasnost and perestroika, when Mikhail Gorbachev rehabilitated them; Rostropovich played an active role in promoting ideological change at this momentous time. - In 1991, at the time of the August Putsch - when Communist hardliners attempted to wrest control from Gorbachev - Rostropovich armed himself with a gun to defend the Russian Parliament against attack. - He and his wife established the Rostropovich-Vishnevskaya Foundation, which focuses on large-scale vaccination programmes. To date, it's programmes have benefited more than 10 million people in the former Soviet Union and the Middle East.

Composed over a period of nearly 50 years, Dmitri Shostakovich's 15 symphonies are astonishingly diverse in conception and expression, reflecting the composer's personal experiences, the history of the 20th century and the tensions and struggles of an artist under the Soviet regime. These recordings fulfil a promise that Mstislav Rostropovich made to the composer, a close and long-standing friend, before he left Russia as an exile in 1974. 'These symphonies mark fifteen stages in our lives,' he said. 'The emotional history of our country, my history, his history, our history.'

A superb performance with excellent sound makes this a benchmark recording and my top CD choice of the year. Shostakovich fans ignore this release at their peril ! (MusicWeb) "A searing new live account by Rostropovich, well-recorded and unmissable (he) has something unique to say about this work, transcending any doubts about his conducting... The finale is articulated with tremendous cut and thrust, the sheer heft of the strings mightily impressive... The brass project powerfully as they do in real life, the woodwind audibly composed of individual stylists, the strings sound virile. It's all here... Play loud or not at all." (Gramophone)