Shostakovich as spiritual guide

We can argue whether or not Dmitri Shostakovich was the Soviet Union’s greatest composer (Prokofiev has fewer supporters than he once had, but he remains a contender). There is little question, however, about who made the greatest impact on Russian music or who currently most fascinates the public both inside and outside Russia and its former satellites.

In fact, “Shostakovich and After” was the title of the program by the probing Latvian violinist Gidon Kremer and his four-member ensemble, Kremerata Musica, at the Walt Disney Concert Hall on Tuesday night. It included music for violin, cello, piano and soprano by Shostakovich and two composers who followed him, the Russian Alfred Schnittke and the Ukrainian Valentin Silvestrov. And it was remarkable for the way it steered clear of popular works or obvious influences and relied on Shostakovich as a spiritual influence.

Shostakovich dominated this strange program with seldom-heard music from the start of his career and the bitter end. In the teenage scores -- the First Piano Trio, Opus 8, and First Piano Sonata, Opus 12 -- hormones rush. The trio, written when the composer was a 16-year-old tuberculosis patient in a sanitarium in the summer of 1923, is warmly lyric and impresses with its precocity and optimism.

“Seven Verses,” Opus 127, is also hospital music, this time utterly bleak, the 61-year-old Shostakovich having suffered a heart attack. Here his melancholy shades, rather than fills in, the imagery of Symbolist poet Alexander Blok’s text. Naked melodies for soprano -- barely protected by the accompaniment of violin, cello and piano -- evoke sad St. Petersburg streets, their darkness and howling winds. Love still stirs, but tears triumph and sleep is impossible.

Silvestrov’s six-minute “Postludio DSCH,” which opened the program and then returned as an encore, mourns Shostakovich. Notes taken from letters of the composers’ name float in space as ethereal melody. A wordless text ends with an amen, making the score feel like a short blessing, underpinned by the sweet, bell-like piano and gentle violin and cello insertions.

Schnittke’s Sonata No. 2 is, on the other hand, willfully unresolved. Violinist and pianist duel, their attacks aimed with deadly precision. The keyboard insists on tonality; the violin shoots back with dissonance. It is a forceful piece from 1967, in which the composer began turning his back on the 12-tone system. He needed a new language that would allow him to express the ironies of Soviet life. He called it polystylism, and the astringent grotesqueries of Shostakovich were an early stimulus.

As an ever-questing performer, Kremer is in a class of his own -- and one that grows more impressive with each passing year. He is also an inspiration to young players. Here he gathered a Russian soprano, Yulia Korpacheva; an American cellist, Wendy Warner; and a Ukrainian pianist, Andrius Zlabys. You’ll hear these names again. Korpacheva’s youthfully pure voice can capture the deep soul of experience. Zlabys is a powerhouse, as he proved especially in the Shostakovich sonata. Warner is a rich-toned, mature player.

Together, these up-and-coming musicians seem to grant Kremer youth while he bestows upon them wisdom. The performances were extraordinary not only for the notes that beautifully and grippingly sounded but also for all the hidden meaning that lies between the notes.

The concert was another triumph for the Disney acoustics, the responsive space allowing Kremer to toy with the limits of stillness and audibility. But it proved a dangerous experiment. The hall is still a tourist attraction, and there was a cough or 10 for every measure of silence.