[Sergei Prokofiev died 70 years ago today, overshadowed by the
death of Joseph Stalin, who had banned much of his work. But
Prokofiev’s brilliant musical compositions have outlived him and
still sound fresh and exciting to modern listeners.]
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SERGEI PROKOFIEV WAS ONE OF THE SOVIET UNION’S GREAT COMPOSERS  
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Simon Behrman
March 5, 2023
Jacobin
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_ Sergei Prokofiev died 70 years ago today, overshadowed by the death
of Joseph Stalin, who had banned much of his work. But Prokofiev’s
brilliant musical compositions have outlived him and still sound fresh
and exciting to modern listeners. _

Sergei Prokofiev, 1918., Library of Congress via Wikimedia Commons

 

Two of the twentieth century’s most brilliant composers, Sergei
Prokofiev and Dmitri Shostakovich, produced some of their best work in
the shadow of Joseph Stalin’s dictatorship. Like so many Soviet
writers and filmmakers, they attracted the ire of Stalin’s cultural
commissars, precisely because of their creativity.

While Shostakovich lived to see the end of the worst excesses of
Stalin’s rule, and thus greater space in which artists could express
themselves, Prokofiev had the horrible luck to die on the very same
day as Stalin in 1953. As a result, the Soviet press barely reported
on the death of one of the country’s greatest artists.

Even his coffin had to be taken by hand through back streets from his
Moscow apartment, as a hearse was prohibited from picking it up to
make space for the crowds thronging the roads for Stalin’s funeral.
But Prokofiev’s work has escaped from Stalin’s shadow to enjoy
lasting and deserved renown.

Breakdown of Tradition

Sergei Prokofiev was a vital transitional figure in musical history.
Born in 1891, he began to compose as a child prodigy in the shadow of
the great romantic Russian tradition of Pyotr Tchaikovsky, Alexander
Glazunov, and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov — the latter two were also
teachers of the young Prokofiev at the Saint Petersburg Conservatoire
in the first decade of the twentieth century.

Sergei Prokofiev’s work has escaped from Stalin’s shadow to enjoy
lasting and deserved renown.

At the same time, his maturation as a man and composer took place
against the backdrop of the breakdown of that tradition in favor of
the mystical expressionism of Alexander Scriabin and the angular
modernism of Igor Stravinsky. In spite of the turbulent and extreme
contrasts in stylistic influences, Prokofiev managed to develop a
strong musical personality and highly distinctive style of his own.

On the one hand, his music often has lush melodies and harmonies,
while on the other, dissonances abound. There is a romanticism in much
of his music, and yet it always sounds very much of the twentieth
century. Whereas many composers go through periods in their style,
Prokofiev tended to move back and forth between the romantic and the
modern, or to overlay them in the same piece.

His relationship to his times also has its peculiarities. Like
Stravinsky and Shostakovich, he found his life disrupted and dominated
by the Russian Revolution of 1917 and its consequences. Stravinsky
defined himself ever after in opposition to communism. Shostakovich
took inspiration from the revolution and remained engaged — albeit
often highly critically — with socialist ideals for most of his
life.

Prokofiev, however, seems to have been largely disengaged from
politics. In the summer of 1917, while the revolution reached a
particularly tense and violent point, he retreated to the countryside
to write the lighthearted _Classical Symphony
[[link removed]] _(1917)_, _inspired by
music of the eighteenth century. He left Russia in 1918, not fleeing
the new Soviet power, but so that he could take up lucrative offers to
perform in the United States and Western Europe.

Return to Moscow

He led a largely itinerant life, performing his works as a pianist and
conductor around the world, before returning to the USSR in 1936. The
decision to return, precisely at the moment when Stalin’s
dictatorship was going full throttle in its purges, may seem very odd.
Yet this is only the case when we look at it in terms of the political
context.

Prokofiev’s move back to the USSR was mostly down to his
homesickness and to the fact that he would be more financially secure
there.

For Prokofiev, the move back to the USSR was mostly down to his
homesickness and to the fact that he would be more financially secure
there, allowing him to focus on his composing, rather than having to
rely on endless touring and performing in the West. In short, the
radical upheavals of the interwar period appeared to be mere
background for him, important only insofar as they affected his
ability to make his musical career.

A fascinating insight into Prokofiev’s worldview can be found in his
published diary from his first return to the USSR for a concert tour
in early 1927. At this time, the revolution was at a key inflection
point. Leon Trotsky and his followers were effectively in opposition
to the regime, but they were still free to speak out, and Stalin had
yet to fully assert his dominance.

Culturally, life was still very open, with a great deal of artistic
experimentation. The glimpses of the famous conductorless orchestra
Persimfans in rehearsal and performance in Prokofiev’s diaries is
particularly tantalizing. His keen eye and cool detachment from the
politics makes for an often interesting (although superficial)
picture.

For example, at one point he expressed an interest in attending a
public lecture by Trotsky in Moscow because Trotsky was known to be
such a great speaker, but Prokofiev’s handlers encouraged him to
avoid it and go to a concert instead. Coming out of the concert he
noticed a large crowd outside the venue where Trotsky was speaking:

One could sense that the atmosphere of Trotsky’s lecture had been
electric and we were glad we had not gone: we might have got into
political trouble and for no good reason at all.

Insofar as he expressed political opinions, they tended to be rather
cynical.

Satire and Grotesquery

That said, he was an artist of his time. Coupled with his immense
skills in creating orchestral color, melody, and rhythmic vitality,
this characteristic not only made his music highly engaging in its own
terms, but also enabled it to capture much of the energy of the
revolutionary period and of a rapidly industrializing society.

Prokofiev’s music captured much of the energy of the revolutionary
period and of a rapidly industrializing society.

When he was still in his twenties, he had already developed a
distinctive modernist voice in works such as _Chout
[[link removed]] _(1915/1920),
the_ Scythian Suite
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the third [[link removed]] and fourth
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1917), and most especially in the opera and orchestral suite _The
Love for Three Oranges
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these pieces illustrate his distinctive angular style, and his ability
to develop great spans of resolutely tonal music that are nonetheless
full of spiky dissonances fully integrated into the whole.

Another aspect of his music, particularly in the 1920s, was
grotesquery. _The Love for Three Oranges_, for which Prokofiev wrote
the libretto as well as the music, is loosely based on an
eighteenth-century _commedia dell’arte _play. It is
part Brechtian
[[link removed]] satire,
part farce.

Even by the standards of comic opera, the story is often outrageous.
It begins with a debate between different theatrical forms. A key
moment involves a witch falling over and exposing her underwear, and
one character is a fairy who emerges from an orange only to be turned
into a giant rat.

The _Piano Concerto No. 2
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fiendishly difficult scherzo, in which the pianist has to maintain an
uninterrupted and fast-paced series of runs, chased by “whoops”
from the orchestra. This sense of musical fun and adventure is one of
the most attractive elements in his music.

Satirical and grotesque elements were a feature of much art that
followed the Russian Revolution, expressing perhaps the confidence
that followed the comprehensive overthrow of a backward and autocratic
regime. One can hear this in the music of Shostakovich
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and it was also a distinctive feature in the writings of Mikhail
Bulgakov, the duo Ilya Ilf and Yevgeny Petrov, and the radical theater
of Vsevolod Meyerhold.

Meyerhold was particularly close to the modernist composers of the
period, including Prokofiev. However, a crude Stalinist narrative
later emerged of untrammeled Soviet progress, favoring a style known
as Socialist Realism, which promoted grandiosity and populism over
artistic subtlety. This had effectively stamped out the satirical edge
in Soviet art by the late 1930s.

Apex and End Point

Prokofiev’s decision to return to live in the USSR at a time when
modernism in art was being effectively prohibited did lead to a turn
toward a more conservative musical style in certain works, for example
in the operas _Semyon Kotko
[[link removed]]_ (1939) and _War and
Peace [[link removed]] _(1941–43), and
the ballet _Cinderella
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were also, for the first time in his career, clear attempts to be more
populist with scores for movies such as _Lieutenant Kije
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Eisenstein’s _Alexander Nevsky
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with the evergreen piece for children, _Peter and the Wolf
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All artists were forced to adapt their style to Socialist Realism if
they were to survive at all, much less continue their careers in the
USSR.

These observations are not meant as a criticism. For one thing, all
artists were forced to adapt their style to Socialist Realism if they
were to survive at all, much less continue their careers in the USSR.
Prokofiev’s later operas are not to my taste, but they do have a
secure place in the repertoire of opera houses around the world.

On the other hand, the _Lieutenant Kije_ _Suite _is one of the most
enjoyable pieces I know, and yet it has great pathos, too. The opening
moments, with a haunting solo trumpet followed swiftly by a light
march, set the whole tone of the piece. It ends with that same solo
trumpet melody, rather than the expected big bang.

_Alexander Nevsky _is often thrilling, especially in the music for
the battle on the ice between the title character’s army and the
Teutonic invaders. And _Peter and the Wolf_ is still, over eighty
years later, one of the best introductions to the orchestra and to
classical music in general.

During this period, Prokofiev also produced one of the true
masterpieces of the twentieth century, the ballet score _Romeo and
Juliet [[link removed]]_ (1935–36),
which has much of his signature angularity, allied to memorable
melodies. Indeed, his ballet music represents both an apex and an end
point of the great tradition of classical ballet music. His music of
the 1930s is the core of his secure place in the repertoire and his
continuing popularity today.

New Adventures

Like Shostakovich and others, Prokofiev continued to be much more
challenging and musically adventurous in smaller-scale works, such as
his _Violin Sonata No. 1
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especially the case in the sixth
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(1939–44), which are collectively known as the War Sonatas. These
are pieces that are tremendously challenging for even the greatest
pianists — not just technically, but also musically in capturing
subtle shifts in feeling.

The hope that accompanied the victory over fascism led both Prokofiev
and Shostakovich to attempt a revival of the earlier revolutionary
style.

The hope and no doubt sense of relief that accompanied the victory
over fascism in 1945 led both Prokofiev and Shostakovich to attempt a
revival of the earlier revolutionary style of satire and freer uses of
dissonance. In that year, both composers presented a new symphony.
Shostakovich’s _Symphony No. 9
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the expected victory symphony with a relatively short, small-scored,
and lightweight piece.

Prokofiev’s _Symphony No. 5
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in terms of tone. It is a tightly structured piece and can be enjoyed
in a fairly straightforward way, and it immediately became one of his
most popular works in the USSR and abroad. There are some marvelously
big tunes and exciting climaxes, and mostly this has the character of
a grand victory piece.

The patina of victory was enhanced when the premiere in Moscow,
conducted by the composer, had to be delayed a few minutes while
military guns outside fired to celebrate the Soviet army crossing into
Germany. Prokofiev described the piece as “a hymn to free and happy
Man, to his mighty powers, his pure and noble spirit.”

Yet one does have to carefully scrutinize public pronouncements made
under the harsh repression of Stalin’s dictatorship. The second
movement is very playful, with some of the angularity of Prokofiev’s
works from the 1910s and ’20s, while the third is dark, often
punctuated with his trademark dissonances. The grinding chords of the
final movement evoke big, mechanized processes — a sort of aural
equivalent of the factory scenes in Charlie Chaplin’s
[[link removed]] _Modern
Times [[link removed]]_.

It is at the climax of the symphony that things unexpectedly take an
ambiguous turn. We appear to be headed toward a heroic conclusion when
the music starts to break out into a wild frenzy. The orchestration
thins out, leaving a string quartet apparently playing out of key. A
trumpet interjects with a sustained note awkwardly guiding the final
chord back to the home key of B-flat.

This ending has an interesting parallel with Shostakovich’s
own _Symphony No. 5
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ends with a subtle undermining of heroism. Indeed, Shostakovich made a
similarly deceptive public statement about his fifth, saying that it
represented the “triumph of socialist man.” Both composers were
highly adept at exploiting the ambiguities possible in nonvocal music.

The Zhdanov Decree

Whatever misgivings the regime had about the style employed by
Prokofiev and others at the end of the war, the criticisms were
relatively muted. Perhaps as a result, Prokofiev returned to a much
more challenging style in his _Symphony No. 6
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Stalin’s cultural commissar Andrei Zhdanov put a stop to any
perceived weakening of the doctrine of Socialist Realism in February
1948. Prokofiev was denounced by name in the “Zhdanov Decree,”
along with Shostakovich, Aram Khachaturian, and others.

Stalin’s cultural commissar Andrei Zhdanov put a stop to any
perceived weakening of the doctrine of Socialist Realism in February
1948.

Immediately, many works of these composers were banned outright, and
their music was dropped from performances in general. Prokofiev slid
quickly into dire financial circumstances as a result. This, combined
with poor health, led to a sad decline in the last few years of his
life. If that were not enough, his ex-wife, the mother of his
children, was sent to the gulag in 1947, from which she would not
emerge until the late 1950s, long after his death.

During those last years, he produced only a handful of works, mostly
small, minor pieces. The major works from this period include the
final _Symphony No. 7
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by the great cellist Mstislav Rostropovich, he also wrote a _Cello
Sonata [[link removed]] _(1949) and
the _Symphony-Concerto for Cello and Orchestra
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All of the pieces, especially the works for cello, have a level of
introspection and depth of emotion hitherto rare in Prokofiev’s
music, with the exception of his War Sonatas. They are hauntingly
beautiful, with an added poignancy for listeners aware of the
difficulties that marred the end of his life.

Prokofiev’s work stands, together with that of Shostakovich, as the
pinnacle of music in the USSR. His detachment in terms of emotion and
politics means that his music does not express all the hopes and
despair of the Soviet experiment in the way that Shostakovich’s
does, nor does it as often reach the same emotional depths. But,
technically, he was perhaps the better composer.

His ability to hold onto the great romantic Russian tradition while
also being fearlessly inventive and modernist meant he was the guide
and inspiration for a whole line of Soviet composers, from
Shostakovich to Khachaturian and Alfred Schnittke. He was one of the
composers that defined modernism in the first half of the twentieth
century, and much of his music still sounds fresh and exciting, even
seventy years after his death.

_Simon Behrman is the author of Shostakovich: Socialism, Stalin &
Symphonies
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