Waiting for Mitya

Our chorus is fortunate to have been selected to participate in the choral symphonies of Dmitri Shostakovich. The Second, a dedication to the October revolution, was less than symphonic in scope and scale. It is a one-movement piece built on incredibly complicated polyphonics- until the workers' horn sounds and the workers are called together to remember and pay tribute to the triumph of Lenin and the 1917 People's Revolution. The Third, this one a paean to the revolution of May 1905, the presentiment of the end of the tsarist autocracy. Both pieces were written after DS achieved professional acclaim. He was considered one of, if not the most important, of the young Soviet composers. The commissions of the two works were honors and testimonials to his professional stature.

Symphony No. 13, "Babiy Yar," was introduced in 1962, after the renunciation of Stalin, the purges and the terror. Nevertheless, the Communist Party did exercise control of cultural content. At that time, the party was sensitive to claims of official anti-semitism. Babiy Yar is a setting of five poems by Yevgeny Yevtushenko, the first of which, "Babiy Yar," is a meditation of the genocide of Jews during World War II but more importantly a polemic about the deeply-rooted anti-semitism in Russia and the official hypocrisy about it. The other poems, different in character, are studies of the role of morality in work and life. The symphony was controversial for the opening poem. In an coerced revision, the Nazi's genocidal sweep of Jews was extended to include Russians and Ukrainians. According to a recent biography, Shostakovich was displeased that Yevtushenko accepted the forced emendation but not enough so to join issue about it.

DS had lived through the political wars of the 1930s. His opera, Lady Macbeth of the Mtensk District, celebrated critically and popularly, had a run during two years in productions in his home town of Leningrad (fka Petrograd; fka and pka St. Petersburg) and in Moscow. The reception to this opera appears to be that of universal acclaim, ranking the work among the handful of great Russian operas. After a curtailed visit to the Bolshoy by Comrade Stalin, Pravda, the official party press organ, ran an editorial entitled Muddle Instead of Music. Although not directed solely to Lady Macbeth, the party was making it clear that Western influenced or formalistic (abstract) music and its proponents were considered disloyal. Lady Macbeth was never officially banned but it was removed from the repertory until after Stalin's death and repudiation. Henceforth, artists of all kinds were warned to hew closely to the bland but rewarding virtues of Socialist Realism - marches, patriotic songs and hymns; programmatic music in furtherance of socialist ideals.

Shostakovich initially might have embraced the values of the Revolution, as it pertains to his music. If he believed in Lenin-Marxism, he did not accept Uncle Joe's form of totalitarianism as an acceptable means to the desired end.He was first a humanist, second a patriot, third a socialist.

Shostakovich was not a martyr, however. For the rest of his life, he managed his compositions and his image carefully, staying within the official fold. His Fourth Symphony, a towering work in the great Western symphonic tradition, was withdrawn. Many reasons are given - from lack of orchestra preparedness to the lack of enthusiasm of the presenters. Shostakovich might have read from these reactions that the work would further endanger him and his family.

In 1937, Shostakovich introduced his Fifth Symphony, melodious and accessible, now a beloved part of the Western canon. He described it as the journey of man from ignominy to triumph by means of socialism. In Shostakovich's comments about the Seventh Symphony, " Siege of Leningrad," he made it clear that he opposed not only fascism but also all forms of totalitarianism. This core message can be applied as well to the Fifth Symphony. Shostakovich, clever and careful, had found a means of expressing himelf through his art while cloaking his personal meaning with the broader and protective cloak of Socialist Realism. Babi Yar's words may have gone beyond the poet's official meaning. Shostakovich, while lamenting the role of the totalitarian in censorship of art, found this no deterrence to the expression of the broader and more important statement of humanism.

Under the Radar

This morning's Times contained one of those bulky glossies, usually sponsored by the real estate industry. I was surprised to see that it was a Manhattan edition of Superlawyers 2006, an advertising supplement in which the Big Apple's biggest and best mouthpieces were honored. The cover was adorned with a photo of Donald Trump's go-to real estate guy. That tells me a lot about the mentality of this project.

Congratulations to those chosen, because no doubt they're great lawyers doing great jobs. I even know a few of you by name. Kudos especially to one firm of patent lawyers whom I know, in which all the partners were named as superlawyers. They didn't even buy one of those self-congratulatory, full-page ads.That means you got chosen without paying for it.

I was curious to see who got anointed, and I wasn't surprised about who didn't. How were the lawyers chosen? "Each year we mail a ballot to every lawyer in Manhattan who's been in practice for at least five years." No you didn't. I didn't get one, and I have been toiling in these fields for a quarter century.

Funny thing, didn't anybody think to ask clients? Do clients get to weigh in on the subject?

Like the American Lawyer, the People's magazine for the bar, Superlawyers caters to lawyers engaged in Big Firm Law -- Celebrity Lawyers. Is that a bump we see under that M&A lawyer's tailored pants suit? In fields not traditionally part of large firm practices, such as matrimonial law and bankruptcy, those given the nod were with Big Law Firms. Whatever happened to the courthouse sharpies, the silver-tongued devils, master mind-melters, the folks working in the shadows? Algonquin J. Calhoun? What about the lawyers who forced New York City's legislature to act on the toxicity of lead paint found in public housing? That's not Super? And how about the folks who fight for causes just because they are just? Why is it that the pro bono lawyers that were chosen were ones working for large firms? What about Legal Aid and Legal Services? All shleppers?

I didn't find my name in this dogpile. I don't have a niche. I am a general practitioner in a small practice. I am not a Superlawyer, but hopefully I am a good one mostly with some days when I can see clear over to the other side of a problem, anticipate my adversary's next move, lay a trap or two and manage the situation to my client's advantage. Some of my clients may consider me a Superlawyer but my brethren never will.

And that hurts. It's not about the money because I make more than enough. It's about the perception that somehow what Big Law Firms do is more important than what us solo guys do. I couldn't fulfill my family's dreams, but I hope to fulfill my own. And then there's the New York Times telling me in effect, I'm not even in the game. I don't need the New York Times to remind me that Superlawyers are the kind of folks who send us brown-shoe guys out to get the coffee.

Fair's fair. This is the profession I chose, and I am not the kind of person who would have tolerated or survived in a big firm. I do what I do because it is what I know to do. It's given me a livelihood and a profession that I truly love, and I am grateful for every bit of it. That should be enough but it isn't. I want some recognition for what I do; an acknowledgment that I've done okay - more than okay. Maybe I'm just looking for love in the wrong place again. Next time I'll stick to the sports section.

Final Vinyl

The past year has been spent transferring a sizable collection of LPs to computer. After downsizing apartments, there is not enough room to house the nearly 500 albums. It is nearly done. All that remains is to take leave of them.

We were raised on 45s (single songs on a 7 inch vinyl disc traveling at the rate of 45 revolutions per minute) and albums (12 inch vinyl discs at 331/3 rpms). Being a late boomer, as well as a late bloomer, albums held greater interest for me. There were 10 or 12 songs. There was a cover with cool photos or psychedelic art. There were notes, explaining the music and the musicians. Although rock records were light on notes, some provided lyrics, and that was really cool. My memory is that the printing of lyrics started with Sgt. Pepper. It was puzzling that Dylan and the Stones didn't print their lyrics. It does not seem odd anymore, now that Dylan has made it clear that he's just a troubador, not a poet, a saviour or standard-bearer of the revolution. Still it would've been great to read the words. You would find jazz records and comedy records in the house. It was by no means clear how they got there. My family never listened to jazz - they were present for their hipness quotient. We all listened to the comedy and broadway albums. As a teenager Mr. Manso, my trumpet teacher, assigned the Dance of the Ballerina, a solo from Stravinsky's Petrushka. Upon later hearing Frank Zappa reproducing Stravinsky, it hooked me on both Zappa and Stravinsky. After that, my interest in concert music took hold, with my gathering up the complete symphonies of Beethoven, Bach choral works, Stravinsky ballets, Copland concertos.

These albums from young years, Chubby Checker and The Monster Mash, through my early twenties, the great creations of Stevie Wonder, are lodged in my memory: the music of course but also the cover, the notes, the photos, the label. It is difficult to relinquish these old friends, whose spirituality has enriched my life, helped me through tough times, and served as virtual companions in days of grief or loneliness.

Technology trudges forward. We've made a quick run through CDs moving to digitized, free floating, transferable files - zeroes and ones, compressed and decompressed, creating a semblance of music. Like some digital artwork, if you listen closely enough you can hear the individual pixels. But rather than be a slave to the past and pay rent to house boxes of vinyl and cardboard, the choice has been to embrace the new, make it serve my needs, learn to love its quirks -- like the elusive wireless signal -- and allow it in to that place where Dizzy Gillespie and his bent trumpet used to stand.

Ah, have you hugged your ipod today?