Freedom and love hidden in a symphony
Published: 23 May. 2025, 00:05
Audio report: written by reporters, read by AI
Na Sung-in
The author is a music critic and director of the classical music brand Poongwoldang.
“Love is a rebellious bird that no one can tame...” The opening line of “Habanera” from Georges Bizet’s opera “Carmen” (1875) encapsulates the essence of unbound desire. Sung with sensual grace, the melody shimmers with southern heat and the unpredictable rhythms of passion. To listeners, the music evokes the image of the seductive gypsy woman at the heart of “Carmen,” but the deeper implication — that this intoxicating love grows out of an unyielding thirst for freedom, even unto death — is often overlooked.
![Pianist Cho Jae-hyuck and trumpeter Alexandre Barty performs Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in C minor, Op. 35 with the Moscow Soloists at the Seoul Arts Center on October 3, 2021. [KIM YOUNG-SEON]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2025/05/23/89a3601e-ed32-47a0-8a90-88072f9b195b.jpg)
One composer who did not miss that message was Dmitri Shostakovich. Far from the warmth of Bizet’s Seville, the young Soviet composer understood with chilling clarity the peril hidden within such expressions of emotional liberty. Hailed as the “Mozart of the Soviet Union,” Shostakovich found himself on the brink of political annihilation. His crime was artistic honesty.
The opera that triggered his fall from favor was “Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk” (1934), based on a novella by Nikolai Leskov. Its protagonist, Katerina, is trapped in a loveless marriage and suffocated by patriarchal expectations. Her descent into adulterous love and murder was, at its core, a portrait of desperation — of a woman crushed by the double standards of a rigid society. Yet Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin lacked the artistic sensitivity or political will to grasp this deeper meaning.
Instead, Stalin stormed out of a performance midway. Days later, Pravda, the Communist Party’s official paper, published a now-infamous article denouncing the opera. Titled “Muddle Instead of Music,” it accused Shostakovich of sowing chaos rather than beauty.
![Tenor Jonas Kaufmann, right, as Don Jose and lyric soprano Inva Mula, left, as Micaela perform during a rehearsal of the opera Carmen by Georges Bizet on July 5, 2015. [AFP/YONHAP]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2025/05/23/799d1adc-5783-4f90-8413-636b2c80faa1.jpg)
A year after this public condemnation, Shostakovich composed his Fifth Symphony (1937). On the surface, it appeared to be a model of conformity — a triumphant anthem seemingly aligned with Soviet ideals. Officially, it was described as “a creative response by a Soviet artist to just criticism.”
But beneath that compliance lay quiet defiance.
In the second theme of the first movement, he concealed a fragment of “Habanera.” Played by the flute and echoed by the horn, the phrase evokes a childlike innocence that subtly echoes Carmen’s refrain — “Love, love.” It was a whisper of liberty, buried deep within an orchestral work that had to pass censors’ ears. Shostakovich embedded the spirit of rebellion not in slogans, but in melody, to be recognized only by those whose ears and hearts were still alive.
In the language of music, he answered tyranny with tenderness.
Translated from the JoongAng Ilbo using generative AI and edited by Korea JoongAng Daily staff.
The author is a music critic and director of the classical music brand Poongwoldang.
“Love is a rebellious bird that no one can tame...” The opening line of “Habanera” from Georges Bizet’s opera “Carmen” (1875) encapsulates the essence of unbound desire. Sung with sensual grace, the melody shimmers with southern heat and the unpredictable rhythms of passion. To listeners, the music evokes the image of the seductive gypsy woman at the heart of “Carmen,” but the deeper implication — that this intoxicating love grows out of an unyielding thirst for freedom, even unto death — is often overlooked.
Pianist Cho Jae-hyuck and trumpeter Alexandre Barty performs Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in C minor, Op. 35 with the Moscow Soloists at the Seoul Arts Center on October 3, 2021. [KIM YOUNG-SEON]
One composer who did not miss that message was Dmitri Shostakovich. Far from the warmth of Bizet’s Seville, the young Soviet composer understood with chilling clarity the peril hidden within such expressions of emotional liberty. Hailed as the “Mozart of the Soviet Union,” Shostakovich found himself on the brink of political annihilation. His crime was artistic honesty.
The opera that triggered his fall from favor was “Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk” (1934), based on a novella by Nikolai Leskov. Its protagonist, Katerina, is trapped in a loveless marriage and suffocated by patriarchal expectations. Her descent into adulterous love and murder was, at its core, a portrait of desperation — of a woman crushed by the double standards of a rigid society. Yet Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin lacked the artistic sensitivity or political will to grasp this deeper meaning.
Instead, Stalin stormed out of a performance midway. Days later, Pravda, the Communist Party’s official paper, published a now-infamous article denouncing the opera. Titled “Muddle Instead of Music,” it accused Shostakovich of sowing chaos rather than beauty.
Tenor Jonas Kaufmann, right, as Don Jose and lyric soprano Inva Mula, left, as Micaela perform during a rehearsal of the opera Carmen by Georges Bizet on July 5, 2015. [AFP/YONHAP]
A year after this public condemnation, Shostakovich composed his Fifth Symphony (1937). On the surface, it appeared to be a model of conformity — a triumphant anthem seemingly aligned with Soviet ideals. Officially, it was described as “a creative response by a Soviet artist to just criticism.”
But beneath that compliance lay quiet defiance.
In the second theme of the first movement, he concealed a fragment of “Habanera.” Played by the flute and echoed by the horn, the phrase evokes a childlike innocence that subtly echoes Carmen’s refrain — “Love, love.” It was a whisper of liberty, buried deep within an orchestral work that had to pass censors’ ears. Shostakovich embedded the spirit of rebellion not in slogans, but in melody, to be recognized only by those whose ears and hearts were still alive.
In the language of music, he answered tyranny with tenderness.
Translated from the JoongAng Ilbo using generative AI and edited by Korea JoongAng Daily staff.
with the Korea JoongAng Daily
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