pianist
Glinka. Ruslan and Lyudmila. Overture. Vedernikov | NHK Symphony. 2011
Andrey Korobeinikov
Alexander Scriabin. Piano Concerto op. 20
III
For me, the conductor Alexander Vedernikov evokes in the Russian narrative that is calm, heartfelt, with a kind of glimmer of light aka hope ahead. And he himself was a wonderful storyteller, loved both the road and Russia. The infinitely unfolding tablecloth of the Russian soul (not the notorious, but simple and true) — in the first movements of the 2nd and 3rd symphonies of Rachmaninov, the 1st and 6th symphonies of Tchaikovsky, in the great "Kitezh" performed by him. I especially remember the Third Symphony by Rachmaninov — with the National Philharmonic Orchestra of Russia in Moscow (then there was also Myaskovsky's deep-narrative cello with the amazing Alexander Knyazev) and in Danish Odense: with him I fell in love and penetrated into this music, this is a very special composition, I don't know anyone else this came easily to. He balanced there the chilling freeze of symbolism and the Rachmaninoff current, the demiurgy of meanings and the confession of nostalgia, clarity and obscurity, movement and immobility, colossal energy, as if flying away into memory... Sometimes I remember him with the theme from the 2nd movement and I see him photographing some finch among the Vyatka hills under the creeping northern sun. In Rachmaninoff's 2nd Symphony (naturally with the ingeniously penetrating and fluid lyrics of the 3rd movement), I remembered a case at a rehearsal in St. Gallen associated with a strange (for me to Rachmaninoff's piece) glissando between two melodic notes (as if balancing between Hungarian style and a certain momentary sophistication). Most commonly, either it turns out not to be Rachmaninoff, too "bold" for him, or the conductors put out this oddity. As for San Sanych, he did not "mess around" for a long time: he drew the attention of the orchestra, and, as he loved and knew how, he said everything with his hands: there was a "wave of the soul", as if he got used to the author according to the Stanislavsky system and lived this detail together with its source.
He loved completely different things about Russian, he passionately loved the active and springy, witty and internally boiling Glinka (hiding it behind a facade of proportionality and love of beauty as an end in itself), and Sviridov, almost steppe, hypnotizing with static, flowing like a huge river — which one won't see beyond the vastness. He loved the "Ruslan and Lyudmila" stunningly recorded in the "Bolshoi", he adored just listening to tracks from there and demonstrated the sound of special trombones, the purchase of which he "punched" for the sake of this production. And for two persons who had done nothing aleatory — both Glinka and Vedernikov — these separate exclamations of "other" trombones changed the "rhythm" of the entire musical picture. He really wanted to hold a full—scale Glinka festival - with chamber, symphonic, vocal, and piano music (and, of course, operas), a festival of a genius, the greatness of which, like Pushkin, is fully understood only by us here in Russia.
It was wonderful to play with him the 5th concerto by Beethoven, the 2nd concerto by Tchaikovsky, the 2nd concerto by Rachmaninov, the 1st concerto by Shostakovich - in each tutti, the score of the concert seemed to "take off" to "symphony", while he did not crush by this symphonic the solo itself, since the genre is different in essence. I was very happy with him especially when we played Rachmaninov's "Rhapsody on the theme of Paganini" in London, where I am always looking for the suggestive, the subconscious, the chimeras of fear, the inescapable longing of the departed light, hence the well-known fragility... and he understood me, and convinced the orchestra with himself, and the audience was like mesmerized (only the critic did not get that at all). I remember how pleased he was afterwards (and sometimes he was just polite, as if to say, "well, not till next time"). In Beethoven's 5th, the harmony of his energy was simply off the scale: he did not "re-magnify" this masterpiece, he was always in the process of creating-carving this unique Beethoven fire, but so internally balanced that I myself felt how "twitchy" I was. Curiously, he conducted the intro to the 2nd movement very carefully, including the tempo, which in a couple of moments made Beethoven's turns look like... the Grig ones (Ludwig prophesied so there). I cautiously said this, and he very subtly bypassed this acute angle of perception associations that we did not need.
For the symphonic I will not forget Tchaikovsky's "Hamlet" at the Concertgebouw, Shostakovich's 1st in Stockholm, Glazunov's 7th with the amazing NHK in Tokyo. And besides "The Queen of Spades" (unforgettable, on one breath, stale from suffering), and "Aida" were interpreted by him as symphonies, even "The Nutcracker" (only in "The Barber of Seville" I felt how he plays in an opera manner with this "diamond")! It was as if he was showing us the genius sides of our favorite composers, unusual for us, conquered by the great emotional tropes of other great maestros. Tchaikovsky turned out to be a living interpreter of Shakespeare, and the early Shostakovich, a major composer of the 1920s with his own individual style.
Speaking of NHK. It was that incredible case when their boundless trust in him (the program was outlandish even for Russia: Sviridov, Scriabin, Glazunov) and incredibly responsible mastery led to the fact that the 7th (and not even the 8th — from schoolbook) by Glazunov sounded like something very exciting and magnificent. With my mouth open, I listened to both concerts (a few months later he repeated it with the National Philharmonic Orchestra of Russia — no, they didn't make it, the Russian ensemble can't go all out playing Glazunov and learn it "like the Japanese"). Sviridov ("Snow Storm") was generally a discovery, because the Japanese, for obvious reasons, did not know the dust on the chairs of the Column Hall of the House of Unions, the sad eyes of Maya Kristalinskaya and all that begins to sound infinitely hopeless in "Romance". "Tada-dadaa" — and here they are, brought back to us, the queues, trains, factories, coupons, longing for the Russian 19th century, destroyed for some reason by cruel incompetent people (as in the movie "About the poor Hussar ..."). And Vedernikov is different — he is younger, although he knew and loved Sviridov perfectly through his brilliant father <Alexander Filippovich Vedernikov, singer>, and they (the Japanese) seemed to have passed the Husserl's phenomenological reduction of perception. It turned out in Russian, not in Soviet, beautiful and deep, and it turned out that this music was beautiful not only with its familiarity to drawing of mouth! Especially Winter road and March were actually the case.
I also thought that the fact that San Sanych did not have "his own" orchestra, i.e. an orchestra to which he would adhere, as other great conductors do (and small ones too), but simply played with the best orchestras in the world, related him to NHK, who do not have the chief. And I saw firsthand and heard with my own ears how the musicians "drank" with thirst his rehearsals in the BBC and NHK, Switzerland, Denmark, Sweden, Yekaterinburg, St. Petersburg, Moscow... His respect and friendliness to fellow musicians, multiplied by his service to music of the highest standard, with a clear idea of what he wants to do, and an understanding and ability to "how" to do, remained in the soul of almost everyone who crossed paths with him. He was a Guide in the poetic sense.
And I will write another post about his unique personality (about what I saw).
For me, the conductor Alexander Vedernikov evokes in the Russian narrative that is calm, heartfelt, with a kind of glimmer of light aka hope ahead. And he himself was a wonderful storyteller, loved both the road and Russia. The infinitely unfolding tablecloth of the Russian soul (not the notorious, but simple and true) — in the first movements of the 2nd and 3rd symphonies of Rachmaninov, the 1st and 6th symphonies of Tchaikovsky, in the great "Kitezh" performed by him. I especially remember the Third Symphony by Rachmaninov — with the National Philharmonic Orchestra of Russia in Moscow (then there was also Myaskovsky's deep-narrative cello with the amazing Alexander Knyazev) and in Danish Odense: with him I fell in love and penetrated into this music, this is a very special composition, I don't know anyone else this came easily to. He balanced there the chilling freeze of symbolism and the Rachmaninoff current, the demiurgy of meanings and the confession of nostalgia, clarity and obscurity, movement and immobility, colossal energy, as if flying away into memory... Sometimes I remember him with the theme from the 2nd movement and I see him photographing some finch among the Vyatka hills under the creeping northern sun. In Rachmaninoff's 2nd Symphony (naturally with the ingeniously penetrating and fluid lyrics of the 3rd movement), I remembered a case at a rehearsal in St. Gallen associated with a strange (for me to Rachmaninoff's piece) glissando between two melodic notes (as if balancing between Hungarian style and a certain momentary sophistication). Most commonly, either it turns out not to be Rachmaninoff, too "bold" for him, or the conductors put out this oddity. As for San Sanych, he did not "mess around" for a long time: he drew the attention of the orchestra, and, as he loved and knew how, he said everything with his hands: there was a "wave of the soul", as if he got used to the author according to the Stanislavsky system and lived this detail together with its source.
He loved completely different things about Russian, he passionately loved the active and springy, witty and internally boiling Glinka (hiding it behind a facade of proportionality and love of beauty as an end in itself), and Sviridov, almost steppe, hypnotizing with static, flowing like a huge river — which one won't see beyond the vastness. He loved the "Ruslan and Lyudmila" stunningly recorded in the "Bolshoi", he adored just listening to tracks from there and demonstrated the sound of special trombones, the purchase of which he "punched" for the sake of this production. And for two persons who had done nothing aleatory — both Glinka and Vedernikov — these separate exclamations of "other" trombones changed the "rhythm" of the entire musical picture. He really wanted to hold a full—scale Glinka festival - with chamber, symphonic, vocal, and piano music (and, of course, operas), a festival of a genius, the greatness of which, like Pushkin, is fully understood only by us here in Russia.
It was wonderful to play with him the 5th concerto by Beethoven, the 2nd concerto by Tchaikovsky, the 2nd concerto by Rachmaninov, the 1st concerto by Shostakovich - in each tutti, the score of the concert seemed to "take off" to "symphony", while he did not crush by this symphonic the solo itself, since the genre is different in essence. I was very happy with him especially when we played Rachmaninov's "Rhapsody on the theme of Paganini" in London, where I am always looking for the suggestive, the subconscious, the chimeras of fear, the inescapable longing of the departed light, hence the well-known fragility... and he understood me, and convinced the orchestra with himself, and the audience was like mesmerized (only the critic did not get that at all). I remember how pleased he was afterwards (and sometimes he was just polite, as if to say, "well, not till next time"). In Beethoven's 5th, the harmony of his energy was simply off the scale: he did not "re-magnify" this masterpiece, he was always in the process of creating-carving this unique Beethoven fire, but so internally balanced that I myself felt how "twitchy" I was. Curiously, he conducted the intro to the 2nd movement very carefully, including the tempo, which in a couple of moments made Beethoven's turns look like... the Grig ones (Ludwig prophesied so there). I cautiously said this, and he very subtly bypassed this acute angle of perception associations that we did not need.
For the symphonic I will not forget Tchaikovsky's "Hamlet" at the Concertgebouw, Shostakovich's 1st in Stockholm, Glazunov's 7th with the amazing NHK in Tokyo. And besides "The Queen of Spades" (unforgettable, on one breath, stale from suffering), and "Aida" were interpreted by him as symphonies, even "The Nutcracker" (only in "The Barber of Seville" I felt how he plays in an opera manner with this "diamond")! It was as if he was showing us the genius sides of our favorite composers, unusual for us, conquered by the great emotional tropes of other great maestros. Tchaikovsky turned out to be a living interpreter of Shakespeare, and the early Shostakovich, a major composer of the 1920s with his own individual style.
Speaking of NHK. It was that incredible case when their boundless trust in him (the program was outlandish even for Russia: Sviridov, Scriabin, Glazunov) and incredibly responsible mastery led to the fact that the 7th (and not even the 8th — from schoolbook) by Glazunov sounded like something very exciting and magnificent. With my mouth open, I listened to both concerts (a few months later he repeated it with the National Philharmonic Orchestra of Russia — no, they didn't make it, the Russian ensemble can't go all out playing Glazunov and learn it "like the Japanese"). Sviridov ("Snow Storm") was generally a discovery, because the Japanese, for obvious reasons, did not know the dust on the chairs of the Column Hall of the House of Unions, the sad eyes of Maya Kristalinskaya and all that begins to sound infinitely hopeless in "Romance". "Tada-dadaa" — and here they are, brought back to us, the queues, trains, factories, coupons, longing for the Russian 19th century, destroyed for some reason by cruel incompetent people (as in the movie "About the poor Hussar ..."). And Vedernikov is different — he is younger, although he knew and loved Sviridov perfectly through his brilliant father <Alexander Filippovich Vedernikov, singer>, and they (the Japanese) seemed to have passed the Husserl's phenomenological reduction of perception. It turned out in Russian, not in Soviet, beautiful and deep, and it turned out that this music was beautiful not only with its familiarity to drawing of mouth! Especially Winter road and March were actually the case.
I also thought that the fact that San Sanych did not have "his own" orchestra, i.e. an orchestra to which he would adhere, as other great conductors do (and small ones too), but simply played with the best orchestras in the world, related him to NHK, who do not have the chief. And I saw firsthand and heard with my own ears how the musicians "drank" with thirst his rehearsals in the BBC and NHK, Switzerland, Denmark, Sweden, Yekaterinburg, St. Petersburg, Moscow... His respect and friendliness to fellow musicians, multiplied by his service to music of the highest standard, with a clear idea of what he wants to do, and an understanding and ability to "how" to do, remained in the soul of almost everyone who crossed paths with him. He was a Guide in the poetic sense.
And I will write another post about his unique personality (about what I saw).
Prometheus. The poem of Fire Op. 60. Andrey Korobeinikov, piano. Alexander Vedernikov, conductor. St Petersburg Philharmonic
I
There was a program "Not foretime" on "Echo of Moscow" presented by Maya Peshkova. The program itself had many of the naive shortcomings of the Soviet intelligentsia, universal human values pedagogically treasured and grumbling prevarication — but the tone, the atmosphere were spot-on, as was the name.
Today, January 11, <2023>, this is my "Not foretime" — with Alexander Alexandrovich, San Sanych, Vedernikov on his birthday.
It is astonishing that speaking about him, it is impossible to put down the order: the amazing "musician and person" or "person and musician", insomuch harmoniously these two capacities were combined in him, the one facing the cosmos and the other facing people and nature. An incredible musician, a unique person.
The first time I felt that he was not just a great professional conductor was during a Scriabin's concert with the generally calm and smooth Swedish orchestra of Helsingborg (we performed there and in the Stockholm Concert Hall, our recording from there became my favorite one, something clearly "came together" (https://youtu.be/aj6qD1AB5LU ). This is such a slightly strange piece for a piano concerto, some people consider it immature (but in fact it represents the crown of a special period for Scriabin, which I would call "radiant nostalgia"). Only the very precisely found intonation of the author and the natural attitude to the "streams of ether" allow you to suddenly feel an incredible illumination that burns smoothly by the light of the candle of the soul, then an entirely flaming appeal to the infinite heavens. Already while working on the theme of the 2nd movement of the orchestra, I felt some kind of Russian Bruno Walter - an inexorably wide wing, a sense of proportionality, everything was simple and at fingertips like a pianist does, absolute organics in the knowledge of strings playing this theme, and at the same time all this was a kind of long-drawn distant trumpet cry, namely trumpet — soul. (Igor Nikonovich, both brilliant and real in his Scriabinianism, spoke to me about the brass nature of most of Scriabin's themes.) And the flare-prominences in the first movement and the full-fledged flaming capture in the finale simply amazed me... by their inner truth. It was not an outwardly exalted fire of ignited gasoline, which made two Russian maestros "easy" worldwide popularity, it was the fire of a Flame Keeper.
At the same time I noticed his calm precise approach to working with the soloist: we discussed the "illumination" of the very first note of the piano, the nature of the roll call with the orchestra of the piano part first intonation. Now, the piano part is very improvisationally written (most of it), and I was amazed not only by how quickly A.A. reacted on stage and "answered" in a different way (similar to jazz musicians), but also by the way he did it. A small turn of the hand, a calm but electrified look at the right orchestra member or at a group — and everything changes, and most importantly, not only the frame of the phrase "moves", but also the color, the poetics.
This combination of ardor, inner great poetry and some kind of almost antique-classical sense of proportionality and harmony made him unique. In a conversation with me, he singled out Mark Ermler from his teachers (whom, alas, I did not hear), but for me his "origins" are the amazing Nikolai Golovanov, whom he both loved and appreciated, and maybe because he is also a pianist, and the same "eagle" type of conducting — Bruno Walter.
There was a program "Not foretime" on "Echo of Moscow" presented by Maya Peshkova. The program itself had many of the naive shortcomings of the Soviet intelligentsia, universal human values pedagogically treasured and grumbling prevarication — but the tone, the atmosphere were spot-on, as was the name.
Today, January 11, <2023>, this is my "Not foretime" — with Alexander Alexandrovich, San Sanych, Vedernikov on his birthday.
It is astonishing that speaking about him, it is impossible to put down the order: the amazing "musician and person" or "person and musician", insomuch harmoniously these two capacities were combined in him, the one facing the cosmos and the other facing people and nature. An incredible musician, a unique person.
The first time I felt that he was not just a great professional conductor was during a Scriabin's concert with the generally calm and smooth Swedish orchestra of Helsingborg (we performed there and in the Stockholm Concert Hall, our recording from there became my favorite one, something clearly "came together" (https://youtu.be/aj6qD1AB5LU ). This is such a slightly strange piece for a piano concerto, some people consider it immature (but in fact it represents the crown of a special period for Scriabin, which I would call "radiant nostalgia"). Only the very precisely found intonation of the author and the natural attitude to the "streams of ether" allow you to suddenly feel an incredible illumination that burns smoothly by the light of the candle of the soul, then an entirely flaming appeal to the infinite heavens. Already while working on the theme of the 2nd movement of the orchestra, I felt some kind of Russian Bruno Walter - an inexorably wide wing, a sense of proportionality, everything was simple and at fingertips like a pianist does, absolute organics in the knowledge of strings playing this theme, and at the same time all this was a kind of long-drawn distant trumpet cry, namely trumpet — soul. (Igor Nikonovich, both brilliant and real in his Scriabinianism, spoke to me about the brass nature of most of Scriabin's themes.) And the flare-prominences in the first movement and the full-fledged flaming capture in the finale simply amazed me... by their inner truth. It was not an outwardly exalted fire of ignited gasoline, which made two Russian maestros "easy" worldwide popularity, it was the fire of a Flame Keeper.
At the same time I noticed his calm precise approach to working with the soloist: we discussed the "illumination" of the very first note of the piano, the nature of the roll call with the orchestra of the piano part first intonation. Now, the piano part is very improvisationally written (most of it), and I was amazed not only by how quickly A.A. reacted on stage and "answered" in a different way (similar to jazz musicians), but also by the way he did it. A small turn of the hand, a calm but electrified look at the right orchestra member or at a group — and everything changes, and most importantly, not only the frame of the phrase "moves", but also the color, the poetics.
This combination of ardor, inner great poetry and some kind of almost antique-classical sense of proportionality and harmony made him unique. In a conversation with me, he singled out Mark Ermler from his teachers (whom, alas, I did not hear), but for me his "origins" are the amazing Nikolai Golovanov, whom he both loved and appreciated, and maybe because he is also a pianist, and the same "eagle" type of conducting — Bruno Walter.
II
While on the subject of Scriabin, I can't but mention his "Prometheus", especially the one performed in St. Petersburg with a well-deserved team, it turned out to be unforgettable! I guess many Petersburgers remember this ringing state of takeoff (and off the chain, as they say now)) When the choir joined, singing in doubling, seems, with French horns, I mentally thanked Scriabin that he did not write any piano part at that moment (since the human (piano) at this point of the score made the transition into the universal (chorus), into the matrix, so to speak), because after all that has already been played and how, with this not quite earthly timbre, the hair stood on end, the skin was crawling, one could feel the need to levitate. It was not a Svetlanov-like "Prometheus", Wagnerian in its genome, an essence concentrated in the code of the representation inspired by the "Noh" theater, and at the same time it was overshadowed by Russian cosmism, our thirst for light and our delight in it.
Moreover, working on this piece in St. Petersburg was not easy. As for all large orchestras, the Honored ensemble is focused on "its" repertoire, in which they are an absolute reference, and where "Prometheus" does not exactly fit. After the first "arrival" of the first rehearsal, in my capacity as a believer in Scriabin's "Prometheus", I approached San Sanych and asked, trying to be delicate, but "impudent" because of feeling hopeless, what it might be worth telling the brass about the symbolism of the themes performed by them. And maestro, instantly touched by my "student" naivety, he said: "no way, don't say that!" and slowly and painstakingly he began to forge the right thing out of the orchestra as if it was an instrument, and the Honored ensemble is an excellent "instrument". He always "played the orchestra"! I remember the search for the "nasal" timbre of French horns in the theme of the Creative Spirit, the request to Pavel Popov's violin solo to play a G-double-sharp not moderated, but with the feeling of this super-gravity of the tone up (it turned out amazingly), the appeal to the choir not to sing academically "a-a-a", but as if "in an alien language", and A.A. to give the lead in irony "a-y-u-o" (however this attitude to sound as it was a language has given the sacred semiotics of the moment!).
https://youtu.be/zO7QLVBpqtA
From Scriabin — to Wagner, of course. Once we performed in Denmark, the program was not Wagnerian at all, and he started showing me (playing) pieces from the "Ring", showing them in the recordings of different conductors, while the performance was scheduled more than a year later, and I was struck by this charge, by how he rooted for the repertoire, which was maturing for years to splash out one day! Once he admitted that his departure from the Bolshoi for him personally was related to the fact that the management did not approve the "Ring" for the anniversary of Wagner 13th year. "Well, failing that, why do I need all this?" he said something like that.
A year later I decided to specially come to Odense, where he gathered the best Wagnerian singers (and the orchestra there, funded in Scandinavian (i.e., it was composed not only from the Danes), sounded first-rate with him, although one could feel like Wagner was "taking a super task" for them, but that's how it should be with such a composition, it can be neither "casually" nor "calm"). I got on "Valkyrie" and was smitten since the very overture: some kind of volcanic brew of the bowels of existence, flaming Gothic, transcendental fires of passion, taken in their symbolist outlines... A rare instance when I realized that I had to come once again: according to the schedule, I only got to the "Twilight of the Gods". What an irradiance it was in D-flat major at the end, just a Glow! How subtly the part of Siegfried's "common-law wife" was solved, when she suddenly sang "humanly" (Lyuba Petrova), and this overshadowed both the "inhuman" Brunhilda (American soprano), Hagen like a singing rock (Runi Brattaberg) and somewhere between these two worlds the brilliant Siegfried (Torsten Kerl).
"Oh, it's a pity, Andrey, that you didn't hear "Siegfried!" — and there was such a happiness of a performer in it when it "came together", matured and turned out! (It's a pity that because of some singer, the recording is unavailable.. but maybe that's how it should be with a great piece - to sound "there" once, into eternity).
He was happy. We were all over the moon in the audience. Ascended.
While on the subject of Scriabin, I can't but mention his "Prometheus", especially the one performed in St. Petersburg with a well-deserved team, it turned out to be unforgettable! I guess many Petersburgers remember this ringing state of takeoff (and off the chain, as they say now)) When the choir joined, singing in doubling, seems, with French horns, I mentally thanked Scriabin that he did not write any piano part at that moment (since the human (piano) at this point of the score made the transition into the universal (chorus), into the matrix, so to speak), because after all that has already been played and how, with this not quite earthly timbre, the hair stood on end, the skin was crawling, one could feel the need to levitate. It was not a Svetlanov-like "Prometheus", Wagnerian in its genome, an essence concentrated in the code of the representation inspired by the "Noh" theater, and at the same time it was overshadowed by Russian cosmism, our thirst for light and our delight in it.
Moreover, working on this piece in St. Petersburg was not easy. As for all large orchestras, the Honored ensemble is focused on "its" repertoire, in which they are an absolute reference, and where "Prometheus" does not exactly fit. After the first "arrival" of the first rehearsal, in my capacity as a believer in Scriabin's "Prometheus", I approached San Sanych and asked, trying to be delicate, but "impudent" because of feeling hopeless, what it might be worth telling the brass about the symbolism of the themes performed by them. And maestro, instantly touched by my "student" naivety, he said: "no way, don't say that!" and slowly and painstakingly he began to forge the right thing out of the orchestra as if it was an instrument, and the Honored ensemble is an excellent "instrument". He always "played the orchestra"! I remember the search for the "nasal" timbre of French horns in the theme of the Creative Spirit, the request to Pavel Popov's violin solo to play a G-double-sharp not moderated, but with the feeling of this super-gravity of the tone up (it turned out amazingly), the appeal to the choir not to sing academically "a-a-a", but as if "in an alien language", and A.A. to give the lead in irony "a-y-u-o" (however this attitude to sound as it was a language has given the sacred semiotics of the moment!).
https://youtu.be/zO7QLVBpqtA
From Scriabin — to Wagner, of course. Once we performed in Denmark, the program was not Wagnerian at all, and he started showing me (playing) pieces from the "Ring", showing them in the recordings of different conductors, while the performance was scheduled more than a year later, and I was struck by this charge, by how he rooted for the repertoire, which was maturing for years to splash out one day! Once he admitted that his departure from the Bolshoi for him personally was related to the fact that the management did not approve the "Ring" for the anniversary of Wagner 13th year. "Well, failing that, why do I need all this?" he said something like that.
A year later I decided to specially come to Odense, where he gathered the best Wagnerian singers (and the orchestra there, funded in Scandinavian (i.e., it was composed not only from the Danes), sounded first-rate with him, although one could feel like Wagner was "taking a super task" for them, but that's how it should be with such a composition, it can be neither "casually" nor "calm"). I got on "Valkyrie" and was smitten since the very overture: some kind of volcanic brew of the bowels of existence, flaming Gothic, transcendental fires of passion, taken in their symbolist outlines... A rare instance when I realized that I had to come once again: according to the schedule, I only got to the "Twilight of the Gods". What an irradiance it was in D-flat major at the end, just a Glow! How subtly the part of Siegfried's "common-law wife" was solved, when she suddenly sang "humanly" (Lyuba Petrova), and this overshadowed both the "inhuman" Brunhilda (American soprano), Hagen like a singing rock (Runi Brattaberg) and somewhere between these two worlds the brilliant Siegfried (Torsten Kerl).
"Oh, it's a pity, Andrey, that you didn't hear "Siegfried!" — and there was such a happiness of a performer in it when it "came together", matured and turned out! (It's a pity that because of some singer, the recording is unavailable.. but maybe that's how it should be with a great piece - to sound "there" once, into eternity).
He was happy. We were all over the moon in the audience. Ascended.
