Preface
My parents were ahead of their time in musical terms. They played records of symphonies by Mahler and Shostakovich long before either composer became a concert hall staple. And although purists are sniffy about the latter’s second piano concerto, they had a record of that too, and it was one my favourite pieces in childhood. The work must have had something to it, for the future distinguished musician (and my contemporary) Francis Grier played it in a school concert. Over time, I came to realise that this cheerful and tender piece, dedicated to his son Maxim, was hardly typical of Shostakovich’s oeuvre – an oeuvre performances of which it became increasingly hard to escape. I also came to learn that many professional musicians had really quite profound reservations about Shostakovich. This essay is an attempt to work out where I stand on the topic.