Mining the soul of Russia

Probably no symphony, other than Beethoven’s “Eroica,” feels quite so ripped out of history, so of and for its moment, as Shostakovich’s Seventh, known as the “Leningrad.” The composer wrote it in 1941 at the beginning of the Nazis’ 900-day siege of his city. The score -- epic, valiant and seemingly straightforward -- made him a hero to his people and to Russia’s allies.

In fervent anticipation of the symphony’s first American radio broadcast in 1942, conducted by Toscanini, Time magazine put a painting of a bespectacled Shostakovich on its cover a now weirdly iconic image of a fearful pasty-faced intellectual wearing a fireman’s helmet fit for a Roman warrior. “Last winter, as he listened to the roar of German artillery and watched the sputtering of German incendiaries,” the accompanying article began, “Fire Warden Shostakovich snapped: ‘Here the muses speak together with guns.’ ”

Those were the days when war was war and symphonies were symphonies. Thursday the muses and guns roared once more at Walt Disney Concert Hall in a riveting performance by the Los Angeles Philharmonic under an outstanding Russian conductor, Semyon Bychkov. But, as everyone knows, subsequent wars, symphonies -- and Time covers -- have required a great many apologies.

So, in particular, has Shostakovich’s Seventh. The “Leningrad” served its purpose, but its fame and middle-brow style rankled musical progressives. Bartok parodied it in his Concerto for Orchestra only a few years later.

Over time, Shostakovich’s defenders came to insist on a universal interpretation. The Nazi bolero (Leonard Bernstein’s quip about the huge musical barrage in the first movement) represents all oppression, they said. With the victorious music an hour later, self-assertion triumphs. Bernstein’s last, unforgettably titanic performance of the symphony was a wrenching self-examination, the psyche in venomous struggle with itself.

Bychkov’s approach was fascinating and original. Every note of the “Leningrad” on Thursday sounded Russian, thus turning the symphony into a cultural battleground. The soul-searching was for the Russian soul. That great first-movement crescendo did not, to at least one listener, represent barbarians at the gate but the worst instincts of Russia itself. The Scherzo was unhinged. The Adagio, suicidal. The Finale, a song of hope, not success.

The performance was fleet, well under the 80-minute timing in the program book, but not rushed. Bychkov created a tremendous sense of character very, very quickly. What impressed, besides grand, beautiful playing from every section (whether in massed or solo passages), was a sense of changeability.

Whether the tempos are fast or slow, nothing stops the onslaught in this symphony. Edge-of-your-seat thrills are easily accomplished. Ambiguity and mystery, however, require some digging. Bychkov’s powerful immediacy and heart-stopping intensity magnetically drew the listener in. But the conductor emphasized nightmarish weirdness. Nothing, to my ears, was as it seemed.

The program began with Rachmaninoff’s “Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini,” with pianist Stephen Hough as soloist. The context was telling. Written in 1934, this beloved score is often felt to represent the waning of Romanticism. It also, though, has dark premonitions -- the Dies Irae theme comes out of nowhere. Death stalks these variations.

Bychkov was, here, a master of orchestral color, while Hough was more master of technical brilliance (with his red shoes replacing scarlet heart-on-sleeve pianism). Overplayed music still had life in it, and surely that had something to do with the fact that both Bychkov and Hough are champions of new and neglected works.

It may also be worth noting that the Philharmonic first played both of these pieces when they were new music. In 1942, the orchestra turned to a couple of Beverly Hills guys for the local premiere of Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody -- the composer as soloist and Bruno Walter conducting. Shostakovich’s symphony was heard two years later led by Alfred Wallenstein.

Even back then, the Philharmonic, now the hippest band in the land, could be relevant. I’m sorry that the orchestra didn’t seek something newer from Bychkov and Hough, but I’m equally amazed by performers who were able to avoid cliches at every turn Thursday.

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mark.swed@latimes.com

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Los Angeles Philharmonic

Where: Walt Disney Concert Hall, 111 S. Grand Ave., L.A.

When: 2 p.m. today

Price: $40 to $142

Contact: (323) 850-2000 or

www.laphil.com