To dream, perchance to sleep

Irecently engaged with an old friend, whom I see from time to time. realised that for so long, under my very nose, has lurked someone truly gifted and, as a result, inspiring.

In our conversation, he brought up the name and the story of Shostakovich, the exemplary Russian classical composer.

This particular artist is not spoken of as commonly as Mozart, Beethoven and Bach et al, although his story is nonetheless mesmerising.

Shostakovich worked during the time of Josef Stalin, perhaps the most terrible of all the tyrants ever to rule Russia.

What is it about tyrants and Russia??

During a concert, Stalin abruptly walked out. He later summoned the stunned composer and told him that his music was unacceptable as it did not reflect the ideology of Russia.

He commanded him to get his act and his ideological mind adjusted accordingly.

This was not only hurtful to Shostakovich, but he was also mortified to be effectively hogtied in his creative endeavours.

Within the bounds of Stalin’s instructions, the maestro endeavoured to work.

To the trained ear however, his music that followed was cunningly underpinned with a hidden honesty expressing his authentic genius.

In September 1941, German forces surrounded Leningrad and initiated a siege that was to last nearly three years.

Shostakovich was caught up in this siege, but, as a result of his international acclaim, he was smuggled out of Leningrad to safety.

The siege was terrible. Starvation and disease were rife.

People were eating the paper and glue off the walls, as well as sawdust, even resorting to cannibalism.

Shostakovich, traumatised by the plight of his countrymen, composed a piece of music especially for the those caught up in this maelstrom of hell.

His Symphony No. 7 was smuggled into Leningrad.

Surviving musicians were summoned to participate despite their emaciated conditions.

The people of the city needed little encouragement to attend the concert.

Those musicians did their best to rise to the occasion despite their desperate states. Some died on the way to the venue, others died while taking part.

Speakers were set up, some even directed toward the enemy, and so the music played.

It was not a stellar performance as one can imagine, given the circumstances; however, the people listened and for a while, the guns fell silent.

Shostakovich’s masterpiece penetrated the very souls of the people. They were galvanised and the enemy stunned.

After the finale, an hour long ovation ensued.

It would be totally true to say that Shostakovich effectively gave hope and energy to all who survived that terrible ordeal.

One-and-a-half million people died in Leningrad, some of whom would have died during or not long after that concert.

I have no doubt the genius of Shostakovich gave solace and comfort to them.

In times of extreme deprivation and terror, perhaps one’s only support are dreams, despite the absence of sleep.

Dreams tend to prevail no matter what!

I can’t help seeing parallels between that siege and the current ruination of Eastern Ukraine.

Today, Leningrad is known as St. Petersburg, a city of great beauty and history.

I am no supporter of Russia, but I acknowledge the stoic nature of the people and the genius of so many who call that country home.

I guess my beef lies only with those who smother freedom under the guise of a dodgy and dictatorial ideology.

Listen to the Leningrad Symphony No. 7, and imagine.

Special thanks to my close friend, Tony Lovell, a Witness book reviewer whose ability to teach with passion, rather than instruct, inspires me.