{"version":"1.0","provider_name":"The New York Review of Books","provider_url":"https:\/\/www.nybooks.com","author_name":"Matt Seaton","author_url":"https:\/\/www.nybooks.com\/contributors\/mseatonnybooks-com\/","title":"Shostakovich, My Grandfather, and the Chimes of Novorossiysk |","type":"rich","width":600,"height":338,"html":"<blockquote class=\"wp-embedded-content\" data-secret=\"jU6wekOtoZ\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.nybooks.com\/online\/2019\/04\/08\/shostakovich-my-grandfather-and-the-chimes-of-novorossiysk\/\">Shostakovich, My Grandfather, and the Chimes of Novorossiysk<\/a><\/blockquote><iframe sandbox=\"allow-scripts\" security=\"restricted\" src=\"https:\/\/www.nybooks.com\/online\/2019\/04\/08\/shostakovich-my-grandfather-and-the-chimes-of-novorossiysk\/embed\/#?secret=jU6wekOtoZ\" width=\"600\" height=\"338\" title=\"&#8220;Shostakovich, My Grandfather, and the Chimes of Novorossiysk&#8221; &#8212; The New York Review of Books\" data-secret=\"jU6wekOtoZ\" frameborder=\"0\" marginwidth=\"0\" marginheight=\"0\" scrolling=\"no\" class=\"wp-embedded-content\"><\/iframe><script type=\"text\/javascript\">\n\/* <![CDATA[ *\/\n\/*! This file is auto-generated *\/\n!function(d,l){\"use strict\";l.querySelector&&d.addEventListener&&\"undefined\"!=typeof URL&&(d.wp=d.wp||{},d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage||(d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage=function(e){var t=e.data;if((t||t.secret||t.message||t.value)&&!\/[^a-zA-Z0-9]\/.test(t.secret)){for(var s,r,n,a=l.querySelectorAll('iframe[data-secret=\"'+t.secret+'\"]'),o=l.querySelectorAll('blockquote[data-secret=\"'+t.secret+'\"]'),c=new RegExp(\"^https?:$\",\"i\"),i=0;i<o.length;i++)o[i].style.display=\"none\";for(i=0;i<a.length;i++)s=a[i],e.source===s.contentWindow&&(s.removeAttribute(\"style\"),\"height\"===t.message?(1e3<(r=parseInt(t.value,10))?r=1e3:~~r<200&&(r=200),s.height=r):\"link\"===t.message&&(r=new URL(s.getAttribute(\"src\")),n=new URL(t.value),c.test(n.protocol))&&n.host===r.host&&l.activeElement===s&&(d.top.location.href=t.value))}},d.addEventListener(\"message\",d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage,!1),l.addEventListener(\"DOMContentLoaded\",function(){for(var e,t,s=l.querySelectorAll(\"iframe.wp-embedded-content\"),r=0;r<s.length;r++)(t=(e=s[r]).getAttribute(\"data-secret\"))||(t=Math.random().toString(36).substring(2,12),e.src+=\"#?secret=\"+t,e.setAttribute(\"data-secret\",t)),e.contentWindow.postMessage({message:\"ready\",secret:t},\"*\")},!1)))}(window,document);\n\/* ]]> *\/\n<\/script>\n","description":"Once, my grandfather telephoned Shostakovich to say he was in Moscow, with two bottles of Novorossiysk\u2019s famous Abrau-Durso champagne and\u2014no less famous, though in narrower circles\u2014some salted bream. \u201cWhy are you sitting there all alone?\u201d Shostakovich demanded. \u201cHaul them over!\u201d The composer and the mayor demolished the meltingly oily fish in Shostakovich\u2019s kitchen, washing it down, blasphemously, with champagne.\u00a0He and Grandfather used to play film-score music four-handed, a homage to their youth, when both earned extra rubles by playing accompaniment to silent movies. While Shostakovich played, the nervous tics that habitually plagued his features disappeared. He seemed almost happy. And so I grew up with a sense of tantalizing proximity to genius and history and to the men who made it\u2014one with music, another with the monument that enshrined it.","thumbnail_url":"https:\/\/www.nybooks.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/1961_Novoros.jpg"}