In memory of one of the greatest composers of the 20th century, Dmitri Shostakovich (Sept. 25, 1906 — Aug. 9, 1975):
Shostakovich’s life reads like a legend. He seemed to live with his whole heart, navigating both artistic triumph and personal turbulence. His early breakthrough came with his Symphony No. 1 (1925), written at just 19, which won acclaim in both Russia and the West. But in 1936, official criticism targeted his work — especially his successful opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk (1932). Under intense pressure, he withdrew his Fourth Symphony before its premiere, and composed Symphony No. 5 (1937) as a public “response” that restored his standing. The piece satisfied official expectations, yet still carried a subtle undercurrent of irony.
Despite these ups and downs, Shostakovich remained deeply connected to his homeland. In 1941, during the Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union, the Siege of Leningrad became one of history’s most harrowing episodes. The city was surrounded for 872 days (September 1941 – January 1944), causing over a million deaths from starvation and bombardment.
It was during this time that Shostakovich began his Symphony No. 7 in C major — the “Leningrad” Symphony — inside the besieged city. Evacuated to Kuybyshev (now Samara), he completed it in December 1941. The work became a powerful artistic statement of resilience. Its most famous performance took place on August 9, 1942 in Leningrad itself. The city’s surviving musicians were gathered from wherever they could be found — some from military service — and given extra rations so they could endure rehearsals. The broadcast of the performance, relayed through loudspeakers across the city and toward enemy lines, was both a cultural event and a message: Leningrad is still alive.
Shostakovich’s career continued to reflect both artistic courage and careful navigation of official opinion. Works like Symphony No. 13 “Babi Yar” (1962) addressed sensitive you-know-what historical themes. Still, he received honors such as the Leningrad Medal, at times losing and later regaining recognition. When he died in 1975, he was remembered as a “great Soviet artist” and a figure whose music had touched audiences worldwide.
Once, Shostakovich scribbled a line on the back of a score: “We shall meet again in Petersburg, as though we had buried the sun there.” In the end, unlike some of his contemporaries who lived in exile, he remained in his homeland — though it was a long journey filled with both hardship and glory.
Russian music has a way of reaching into the deepest layers of the human soul. To be moved by such art — and by Shostakovich’s voice in particular — is to be reminded of what connects us, despite all our differences.