We will return to The Usual Stuff tomorrow. But first, I want to write about an unforgettable experience I had a few days ago. We spent a long weekend in Montreal, with a concert of the Montreal Symphony Orchestra as the main event. It was a marathon affair; the opening piece wasn’t a suite or an overture, but Beethoven’s Eighth Symphony, a work of considerable heft. Then, after intermission, came the most intense experience I think I’ve ever had in a concert hall: Dmitri Shostakovich’s massive Seventh Symphony.

It was amazing, exhausting, and uplifting. If you want it in one word, Wow.

The work itself is a masterpiece. The story behind it is equally compelling. It was, and I’m not overstating things, a blow against fascism that reverberated around the world.

Shostakovich was a native of Leningrad, formerly and currently St. Petersburg. When Germany invaded the Soviet Union, it encircled the city and enforced a siege that lasted nearly three years and killed almost half the city’s population, mainly by starvation. It was one of the most monstrous acts of a truly monstrous regime.

The composer was living in Leningrad, starving alongside his fellows, working on relief efforts, and doing what he did best: expressing himself in music. He had a lot to express, and he needed a mega-platform to encompass it all. The Seventh requires a massive, oversized orchestra and takes well over an hour to perform. It’s a feat of endurance for musicians, conductor, and audience alike. But man, was it worth the time and effort.

The symphony has a clear message and story, but it’s not at all programmatic. Shostakovich doesn’t hit you over the head with musical cues. And that, to me, makes the work all that much more effective — and universal. Joshua Weilerstein, host of the “Sticky Notes” classical music podcast, turned to the Seventh at the onset of the Covid pandemic, when everyday life in general and the performing arts specifically were abruptly shut down. And although I do not compare Donald Trump to the Nazis who decimated Leningrad, I do find a measure of inspiration in Shostakovich’s depiction of his city’s determination to withstand and survive.

There are a couple of amazing passages in the symphony. First, the latter portion of the First Movement is an incredibly compelling slow build toward the encirclement of the city. Shostakovich takes a simple theme, presumably a reflection of Hannah Arendt’s “the banality of evil.” It begins quietly, almost inaudibly, and the only hint of militarism is the persistent rhythm of a snare drum.

Over a period of ten-plus minutes, the theme gradually grows until the intensity is almost frightening. There’s no overt representation of armies or armaments (except for that damn drum), but you know something terrible is happening and its force overwhelms you.

The second and third movements depict the city under siege. Shostakovich didn’t want to spare us the full sense of what his city was enduring. The intensity of his music leads to the end of the fourth movement — a long, forceful statement of human triumph against oppression, a shout of victory written while the siege of Leningrad was still in effect.

(I have to think there was a double message here because Shostakovich labored under the Stalin regime. Surely he was sending a message to the Soviet people about overcoming the brutality of their own government as well as withstanding the Nazi invaders.)

The Soviet government arranged for an early performance in Leningrad itself, which had been under siege for more than a year. It was difficult to find musicians capable of performing such a massive work — and indeed, some of them died during rehearsals. The concert had its faults artistically, but was an absolute triumph nonetheless; the audience, all in the throes of starvation, erupted in an ovation that lasted a full hour.

Almost instantly, the Seventh became a rallying cry against Fascism. It was performed over and over again in America during the war and, in Weilerstein’s telling, helped convince Americans and their government to fully embrace the hated Soviet Communists. At least until the war was over, anyway.

The crowd in Montreal didn’t applaud for an hour, but the standing ovation began instantly and lasted for quite a long time. The orchestra deserved every bit of it, as did conductor Rafael Payare, a young, up-and-coming giant in classical music. He’s a native of Venezuela, and I have to think he brought his own experience with authoritarianism to the performance.

In his symphony, Shostakovich delivered a compelling message of the enduring power of the human spirit, a message I won’t soon forget. If you get a chance to see this masterpiece in person, I strongly recommend you take advantage.