Author: chief editor Source: Music Academy magazine (2006 №2) < Translated using Google Translate >

...continued from previous page. Seeing the explanation at the bottom of this page, the reader will probably be quite surprised: after all, it seems that there was already one “ending”, supported by the same sketch portrait of the author of the “brush” of the editor-in-chief of the magazine. The riddle is solved simply: last winter, Igor Mikhailovich Zhukov was seriously and dangerously ill. At the time, we could not know if he had completed (or would complete) his performing memoirs, covering adolescence and the threshold of maturity. Fortunately, the disease has receded, and the end is in front of you. Let us recall the last episode of the previous publication, otherwise the beginning of the current one will not be clear. At one of the class evenings of the students of G. G. Neuhaus, Igor Mikhailovich played Beethoven for the first time, namely, the 27th sonata. At the end of the evening, the professor said to him: "Darling, I'm very happy. You need to play more of this kind of music!" What a subtle, chess move!..,” the author concludes (MA, 2007, No. 1, p. 46). It is from this point, one might say, that the current publication begins. ...Why did I resort to such an allegory? Yes, because the non-Gauzian comments seemed to me like an unconditional “dipole” that arises for any chess player after the next move of his counterpart: what is the strategy of the move and how to respond to it. Indeed, what is hidden behind such a “vaguely specific” “I am very happy”? And the mysterious thing is to play more of this kind of music? Of course, it would be easier than ever to ask: "Genrikh Gustavovich, what do you mean?" But for me this was ruled out by definition - I somehow intuitively (literally from the moment I entered his class) understood that to say to Genrikh Gustavovich “I don’t understand you” would mean asking myself the question - why are you here? Now, of course, it is impossible to recall in detail all the emotional “torments” of that moment, and indeed it would be superfluous here ... Today, for me, the significance of this event is unambiguous: Neuhaus made me understand that happiness is, in principle, possible and it is somewhere close ! Here I would like to digress a little from the narrative and touch on some aspects of, so to speak, worldly memory, namely: over the years it has become more and more selective, replacing the secret memory. In fact, if even now I can reproduce in almost detail the years spent in the seven-year plan, then the years of the school are already marked only by periods alternating with "blank spots". As for the Conservatory years, then ... Suffice it to say that I am not able to remember what I played at the course exam in that, on the whole, unforgettable my first non-Gauzian year; the memory of the shaft "Epic op.90", leaving out the routine examination. What a valuable quality of Memory it is - to fix key events in a certain sense and “overwrite” passing moments! The reader, of course, remembers how at the very beginning of my memoirs it was stated that I was a "lucky" person. This, however, by no means means permanent well-being. I am by no means a conflict-free person and very often uncompromising, so there were enough peculiar ups and downs in my life. But Memory has always guided me to what came after the conflict, to the new, where I should gain a foothold, but not to exaggerate the past. In other words, she, Memory, taught me that a negative experience is also an experience, and in many ways more valuable than a positive one! How can one not recall the well-known historical postulate: the fire contributed to the construction of Moscow! And the last thing I would like to say in this connection. Remembering and recalling the essence of the concept is not identical, and therefore it is desirable to remember as much as possible, but if you remember ... I understand that not everyone will agree with me, but for me to remember is to take a stone out of my pocket. My Memory does not allow me to do this, and I am grateful to her for this! However, it's time to return to the main topic. If we summarize the first non-Gauzian year into one concept, then, from the position of modern vision, I would call this year ... the era of perestroika (!). Indeed, only one year, but for me it turned out to be an epochal period: firstly, the "student" syndrome finally died in me, that is, they did not begin to teach me, but I began to study; secondly, it was the year of the beginning of my post-competition concert activity, and even though there were very few concerts that season, they certainly forced me to study; and thirdly ... for the third time in my life I have, so to speak, a secret corner. The first will be discussed below, the second is the subject of special consideration, but the third must be stopped now. So, before, and now there is hardly a schoolboy-student who would not think that the teacher "understates" his repertoire potential, giving him lighter works, and he, the student, could ... and so on. Today, unfortunately, too often (it has become almost a law) teachers themselves “jump over” the Rubicon or follow the lead of students who want to jump to the other side, instead of crossing there. I think it’s clear to everyone what I mean: there is still a difference between “be able” and be able to”! Young radicalism is a natural phenomenon, but one must skillfully direct it! Today we see a situation similar to that as if a child, having learned to read, would take Tolstoy's "War and Peace" or, even worse, Hegel's "Dialectics". It is clear that the question raised here is the subject of a special discussion. I touched it because in the "old" (!) time we were often told: "Wait, it's too early for you to play it, you'll play it later." But - many had the very "secret corner". And now at home, for myself, for my own self-consciousness (yes, yes! it was the moment of the "psychological future"), for example, being somewhere in the 6th grade, I "chased" the most famous episodes of Tchaikovsky's First Concerto. And this was at a time when, according to the school curriculum, work was underway on “some” (!) Sonata in E- flat major by Haydn ... This was my “secret”, which I dared to show publicly only at the age of 33. That's how long it took to get rid of the "sins of the past." The second time I looked into the “secret corner” was already at the school - it was somewhere between the 1st and 2nd courses. Ambition turned out to be more modest: Chopin's first ballad. I can't explain why she is; most likely this is an intuitive choice of some “vent” at a time when in the class of L.I. Roizman there was an almost bloody battle for the triumph of rhythm, which I by and large did not have (and after all, even at school I regularly heard in his address: "Well, where are you taking?"). In this situation, of course, I wanted to “make music”, but the approach to this was somewhat different, and as I understood much later, there was an element of independent work here. I understood this when, shortly after graduating from the conservatory, I decided to return to the ballad and discovered with joyful surprise: there is already a basis for the final concert design, that is, I have worked out something, and solid enough so that over the past 10-11 years it will not weathered! And now, for the third time, this "corner" has reappeared, but - what was there ...! I want to remind you that in the preface I wrote about some tips and recommendations that come "from somewhere." I repeat, I am by no means a mystic, but I prefer to listen to something that belongs to an intangible category that is not amenable to a cold mind - intuition. Until now, it remains a mystery to me how it happened that in the post-competition situation there was a change of teacher, a lot of new problems appeared (this has already been mentioned) and a decision (not a desire!) came to do (and not try) .... Second Concerto by Brahms. How so? I had not played a single piece by Brahms before, and had not even tried; the concert at that time was extremely rarely performed, and the recordings were also very frail. In short, the concert was, as they say, not well known. Where did this confidence come from? Yes, I knew from the very beginning, I felt somewhere deep inside - I will do it, but - in a “secret corner”, without any haste! And in parallel with another, so-called planned repertoire, this concerto found its place in homework. Of course, the lessons of Heinrich Gustavovich were present here, but invisibly. And now, already in the spring of 1958, I (once again!) "was lucky": for the first time in my life I was able to hear this concert live. S. Richter played, D. Georgescu conducted. I went to the evening as to my own examination; I did not intend to listen in order to "learn" how to play this concerto, I was intrigued by something else - is it the spirit of music that I have defined for myself, having been working alone for several months now? And I was so happy that at first I didn't even believe myself; I don't go into details, but Richter's spirit of this music somehow confirmed my "research". After that, no one was able to make me doubt the prospects of my "super-daring" (and they said more than once!) decision. Many thanks, Svyatoslav Teofilovich! I cannot fail to mention one more event of that period. This is not even an event, but rather a lesson taught at a distance. Benefit concert by M.I. Grinberg. She played Rachmaninov's Third Concerto. What was the lesson? The fact is that, having heard talk about individual interpretation since ancient times, I most often ran into a situation where, feeling an inner disagreement with the way they perform, I qualified it (absolutely sincerely!) as ... bad performance. Meanwhile, my mind told me that I was somewhere “not in the know”, so I considered it my “sore spot”. But - how to treat? Maria Izrailevna "cured" me: she played Rachmaninov away from my auditory and sensual stereotypes, but I literally listened to her with my mouth open! How it was - to say the least - convincing; it was impressive, I believed her! Thank you so much for this lesson! And now, almost 50 years later, listening to the recording of that concert, I never tire of being amazed at how this fragile woman with small hands was able to carve such a monolith. But my “thanks” do not end there either: the described period turned out to be downright ultra-saturated with the novelty surrounding me (and not only me), which, in fact, played a decisive role - I’m not afraid to put it in a somewhat trivially pompous way - in determining my personal creative Credo and, accordingly, the final choice of the "line of life". In the future, it will become clear to the reader why I am so categorical in my confidence. And here it is enough to mention at least two more moments of that period: - The 1st International Tchaikovsky Competition and his "oxygen-nitrogen bomb" - V. Clyburn! I will not describe the then sensationalism and, in a good sense, general fanaticism, this has long been recorded as a historical Fact. I want to talk about personal. First of all, Clyburn became for me, figuratively speaking, a part of my “internal accumulation” of that time: playing, he seemed to answer many of my questions; I, on the other hand, received the most interesting information regarding many nooks and crannies of the musical labyrinth, and for me it looked extremely clear, because it was simple, natural. For me it was not a sensation, but a serious object of knowledge. It's no secret that the later performances of the pianist were far from being so impressive, but until now, listening to the recording of his "competitive" Rachmaninov's Third Concerto, every time I admit that the well-known everyday formula "When the trees were big" is by no means 100- percent correct: it was really something amazing; - some lifting of the iron curtain allowed us all to begin to become more and more actively involved in the global musical reality, namely, - colleagues, who began to travel outside the country quite often, brought back a lot of records, and, of course, we began to gather, as they say, then here and there, hosting special recording nights. There is no need to specify how much and what kind of music was revealed to me at that time. I can only say - a lot! But I want to highlight one moment in particular, since it was for me (again luck ?!) like a magic key, from the door to the future. So what was it? In one of the listening "sessions" a name was revealed to me that I did not know before - Dina Lipatti. On the disc, among other things, was Bach's first Partita. In itself, hearing this Partita was almost a novelty for me (for some reason I don’t remember that it enjoyed sufficient attention among the performers of that time, there are only very vague memories of the concerts of S.E. some "residual effects" from Gigi!). And I must say, I was simply in a good way shocked by this performance! And, I ask you to believe that, without being, of course, some particularly wise, but I, perhaps, for the first time in my life, I was not impressed by the fact that someone is good (or great, or brilliant, etc.) plays, but by the fact that this someone presents me with brilliant music! In this case, the question of HOW he plays becomes pointless ... (Having said this, I suddenly - reproachfully addressed to myself - thought: how could I forget in a series of events such a phenomenon as concerts in Moscow by Glenn Gould?! This, too, was not so much a sensation for me as unique "information for reflection ": Voice leading! Articulatory expressiveness! Strict organization and at the same time agogic freedom; Bach, it turns out (!), can be played ... rubato without sinning against the style, on the contrary, making it more convex, adding more to the horizontal and vertical and the sphere! True, I could not resist then, let's say, some criticism in terms of sometimes super-fast paces, which, by the way, I myself was guilty of at that time. But - clarity, transparency, they more than compensated for my "mosquito" attacks! No, he did not become for me either an idol or a standard, but his, I will say this, the Method, the artistic Method since then began to play an enduring role for me: not to copy Gould, but to constantly be in a state of attention to his artistic principles. I advise this about young colleagues.) Well, now, if we return to D. Lipatti, then, after listening to Partita, the decision came instantly: to take it to work! The new repertoire laid its foundation at this very moment. ... Once again, I deliberately deviate from chronology and want to dwell on the work on the Partita, since this work was for me, I will say without exaggeration, a landmark, just as the Partita itself turned out to be a landmark in my repertoire: it was it that finally and irrevocably brought me out of the “perestroika period”, opening up new creative and (by no means least!) psychological horizons. However, everything happened as if suddenly, but by no means by chance: just, as it happens, the massive accumulations that I spoke about earlier should finally break through in their totality, and they broke through precisely on Partita. In a word, starting with the usual rough work (acquaintance with the text, fingering, the first "musical" attempts...), I seemed to see for a moment a bright ray of light that illuminated for me something that was hidden behind (behind?) traditionally monotonous musical signs. I remember this moment like now: almost a state of shock; some X-ray flashed in front of me, revealing the anatomy of just one line of the Prelude! Seeing no way to get away from allegory, I will say this: an irresistible desire immediately arose to bring the external sound tissue into a possible correspondence with its anatomical structure. And what? I heard that this tiny piece of music, as it were, by itself (without special efforts on my part! Real efforts were directed at observing the anatomy) acquired a musically meaningful and free character! And then it seemed to pierce me: how long and hard the question tormented me - where does He (Neuhaus) get all this from? And - how simple the answer turned out to be: I looked at the notes, and he saw! And finally, for the first time in my life, I was able to see something ... and, somewhat paraphrasing the well-known, say to myself: “And he realized that it was good!” It was a really festive moment for me, and the work went literally in awe. Constantly peering into the text and checking by ear what was being reproduced, I methodically sought to make this text my own, and not compose (!?) “my own music” using other people's notes. With all this, somewhere deep inside, the aesthetic frame of Partita, which Lipatti offered me, was preserved, if I may say so - I almost constantly mentally played out his Bach's "climate". But it was only a memory; I did not have the opportunity to listen again, which, as it turned out later, only benefited me. The partita has received a long life in my repertoire; it was part of my first solo program in Moscow, became part of my first gramophone record at the Melodiya company, and this recording was accepted at the artistic council with the highest rating. Sound engineer Valentin Arkadyevich Skobkoy, with whom we subsequently collaborated for a good 20 years, called me and told me that there were replicas like “we also have our own Gould”. Of course, this is too much, but it was still joyful! And I kept coming back to Partita at different times. Of course, the performance changed in some ways, but I never had to “revise” it, as they often say, - I just got older and more experienced ... And, finally, perhaps the most significant lesson I received at that stage : later, while on tour in Romania, I bought the same Lipatti record, and - I was still delighted, but Lipatti played in a completely different way! It was a lesson for me for the future - about the role of sound recording in the creative process of the performer. However, this is a topic for a separate discussion. And now it is necessary to return to "current events". One of the features (and for me, to a large extent, liberating news) of Neuhaus was his repertoire policy, or rather, almost its absence (!). He could, of course, recommend, and even then in very general cryptic (as in the case of me - more “play this kind of music”) expressions, but in reality, in matters of the repertoire, the students remained full masters of their own preferences. The professor, coming to our first post-vacation meeting in the fall, brought a thick notebook with him and the question followed: “Well, what are we going to work on this year?”. I don’t remember that he objected to anyone regarding this or that choice - a certain distortion of facial expressions caused him only unnecessary repetitions of the same piece by different students: he did not hide his dislike for such “monotony”. I remember how, upon returning from Warsaw from the Chopin Competition, where he was an honored guest, Neuhaus, just like a volcano throwing out lava, shook the walls of our 29th grade: “And who just invented this, these“ obligatory ” plays? It's possible to go crazy - to listen to 49 Polonaise- fantasies!!! I’ll definitely write about it somewhere, even in Honolulu, but I’ll write it] ”I didn’t write it, as far as I remember ... But — if I had to, then, as they say, it wouldn’t seem enough — his witty language was known, and this is what divided the world around him into his admirers and enemies. In the classroom, however, the question of the mentioned “monotony” was sometimes solved unambiguously to the point of simplicity: once it turned out that 6 (!) students, without saying a word, declared their claims to Schumann’s “Kreisleriana”; Heinrich Gustavovich brought them together and fundamentally (and how he knew how to do it is widely known) went through this work with one of his students, after which followed: “Is it clear? So, - more to me with this, not a foot! ” It is clear that routine was not his element. I think I have already said that for me the so-called passive sitting in his lessons meant very often much more than if I myself played him. Watching him, one could see how he sometimes frankly missed listening to a respectable, in general, "correct" performance. And how he “wound up” when something sounded that made him want to comment, fantasize, argue! But stop! I digress once again... ...So, about the choice of repertoire. It was not by chance that I underlined the word choice. I remember that around that time I came across the reasoning of a theater critic (maybe a theater critic?), where I remembered the following thesis: “If an actor decides to play Hamlet, he must clearly imagine what prompted him to such a decision, and to what extent he clearly sees the ways in which this decision can be made a reality.” In relation to our “workshop”, it would sound like this: where, and is there anywhere at all that weighty “provocation” that would make you “stare” your eyes at this particular point, and - what, let’s say, is the deep essence here , namely: does it pull you there because “everything is so and always so”, or is it something more, often difficult to explain, hardly tangible, but without which, as they say, life is not life? In a word, truly Hamletian "To be or not to be?". Do not think that here I am trying to portray myself as a kind of wise man, I was not a wise man at that time! But there was a rich multitude around, radiating an infinite variety of all kinds of impulses that made you think, feel something keenly, rush somewhere intuitively, decisively (it was still too early to talk about “fundamentally” then!) give up something ... Here I am and rushed: under the influence of Lipatti - into Bach's Partita. D. Bashkirov imperiously plunged me, literally with my head, with his concert performance into Brahms' F-minor Sonata (at that time I was already working on the Second Concerto, but here for me, as it were, I "saw" the opposite shore of the Brahms ocean, on which Schumann's romance shone It was mysterious and incredibly attractive). And in the same program there is one more blessed shock - Scriabin's flight in Waltz op.38! I heard the Brahms sonata for the first time, but Scriabin, being, in general, already well-known, made such an impression on me only now (I think that two factors acted here: the Bashkir performance and, if I may say so, the time has come!). So, the Brahms Sonata and Scriabin's Waltz were added to the Partita, and in connection with the latter, the sounds of the Polonaise op. from trying to "try". And now, not being able to hear the Polonaise again, since the gramophone has long died, I decided to take him in the "company" to the Waltz...