Valery Gergiev’s Troubles

When I first pursued Gergiev in 2005 for permission to make a documentary film about him, his friendly relationship with Vladimir Putin was not seen as an obstacle. As director of the Mariinsky Theater in St. Petersburg, it was Gergiev’s duty to cultivate dealings with people in high places in the Russian government as sources of funding. The same is true for every high-level arts organization around the globe: federal and state funding is essential, and one of the most urgent responsibilities of directors of arts organizations is the development of positive working relationships with government officials, as well as private donors.

Gergiev had developed a friendship with Putin when the future President worked for the KGB in St. Petersburg. In 1991, when Putin joined the government in Moscow, on his way to the Presidency, he already regarded Gergiev as a valuable national asset, and helped channel government support to the Mariinsky. In 2009 he helped to finance construction of a new concert hall and a fully equipped opera house near the Mariinsky, all of which operate under Gergiev’s direction.

The support of the Russian government has always been crucial to Gergiev’s success—for example, the funding Gergiev received for his Mariinsky projects from Mayor Luzhkov of Moscow and National Economics Minister Gref.

Gergiev has also worked to raise funds outside of Russia. He has charmed wealthy private donors at after-concert parties during his many international conducting engagements, and worked with them to establish not-for-profit foundations to raise funds for the Mariinsky. He also strengthened the reputation of the Mariinsky by bringing its world-famous Russian stars to perform with him abroad, and he brought back European stars to perform with him at the Mariinsky. He has even donated many of his international fees to the theater.

The pressure on Gergiev to denounce Putin has been enormous. But he has not given in. In the past, artists have tried to hide their collaboration with dictators behind lofty proclamations of liberty and justice. Wilhelm Furtwängler, conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic from 1922-1945, and again after the war from 1952-54, has been praised as the greatest conductor of the first half of the twentieth century. Regarded as Hitler’s favorite conductor, Furtwängler wrote, “A true symphony has never been written by non-Germans.” He also declared that the atonality of Arnold Schoenberg was “biologically inferior.”  In spite of his Nazi allegiance, he sought to foster a humanitarian reputation by claiming that he struggled to save the Jewish musicians in his orchestra.

Gergiev has persisted. He has continued to avoid criticizing Putin. Resisting steady international pressure, he has neither supported him nor criticized him. He remained silent at Putin’s annexation of Georgia in 2008, and of the Crimea in 2014, and he said nothing about the bombings and mass murders during Putin’s savage campaigns against Chechnya. There were protests at Gergiev’s silence, mostly by crowds gathered before his performances in front of European and American concert halls. Protesters waved placards and shouted that Gergiev was a Nazi, among other epithets, but his concerts went forward as scheduled, and his international engagements were not cancelled.

But when Putin invaded Ukraine February 24, 2022 and Gergiev still did not speak out against him, the world reacted with newly kindled outrage. Artists from every country denounced him, publicly and with force. What seemed like Gergiev’s approval of Putin reverberated around the world; in a matter of weeks, all of his international performances were cancelled. 

Now, no one outside of Russia will engage him.  Even his most devoted associate, Gavriel Heine, resigned his post as resident Conductor after 15 years at the Mariinsky, in order to move from Russia with his family. He says Gergiev gave him a hug and wished him well.

Putin has also seen a hemorrhaging of talent from the country’s leading ballet companies. When he fired Vladimir Urin as head of the Bolshoi ballet company, European dancers hired by the Bolshoi left the company as well. The biggest blow came March 16, when Bolshoi principal ballerina Olga Smirnova quit to join the Dutch National Ballet, after posting criticism of the war on the message service Telegram: “I never thought I would be ashamed of Russia,” she wrote. Putin tried to recruit Gergiev as leader of both the Bolshoi and the Mariinsky. Whether or not it was the real reason, Gergiev declined, saying that running both theaters would kill him.

Now, almost a year after Putin’s devastating invasion of Ukraine, with its wanton destruction of bridges, roadways, and apartment buildings, schools and hospitals, Gergiev still remains silent.  One supposes he knew that failure to speak out against the Russian President would have disastrous consequences for his international career. Was he terrified that Putin might turn on him and find a way to jail him if he protested? Does he harbor a misguided idea of moral self-righteousness—that one does not abandon a friend even when friendship no longer has any meaning? Or does he refuse to be told by his fellow-musicians where to draw a line between politics and principles, and in fact applauds the actions of his belligerent president?

Could his silence indicate that he does not disapprove of the slaughter and destruction Putin has unleashed against Russia’s neighbor, or that he would consider it a sign of weakness to yield to the pressure of world-wide condemnation even after orchestras and opera houses around the world have cancelled all their scheduled engagements with him.

I think Gergiev has a different reason for refusing to denounce President Putin.  His career has had one mission – to foster the great tradition of Russian and western musical culture through performances at the Mariinsky Theater in St. Petersburg. Since 1996, when he was appointed Artistic Director and General Director of the Mariinsky Theater, (then the Kirov), Gergiev has dedicated himself to the strengthening of the theater as the guardian of western musical culture, especially the core Russian repertory.  It is an institution that he has been building for over twenty-five years. If he were to denounce Putin, the Russian dictator would surely remove him from the Mariinsky, weakening it artistically and financially, regardless of who might be appointed to replace him – a result that would destroy all that Gergiev has achieved. His decision not to criticize Putin is in fact a moral one: to sacrifice his international career as a conductor for a cause higher than himself.

Valery Gergiev remains free to pursue his messianic goals, now performing for audiences throughout the vast Russian continent. In city after city, major ones and those difficult to locate on a map, he can continue to nurture his beloved Russian culture in what may seem to be a kind of internal exile but in fact may be a schedule rich with new opportunities.

And one day those who cursed Gergiev for his silence may come to thank him for preserving an institution with its gilded chapter in Russian artistic history that even a vicious dictator could not destroy.

- FINIS -

 
 

2013 – Valery Gergiev receives Hero of Labor award

 

Reviews, Second installment

All are from a NY Times collection of reviews from 2021, except the last one, by Alex Ross , which is from The New Yorker. Some try to deal with the music, some most certainly do not.

 

 

On this track, a strangled-gasp sound reminiscent of Helmut Lachmann’s music provides some initial kindling. Later, the bonfire climax is indebted to the experimentalism of Miles Davis circa “Agharta.”

David Sanford

The wide variation of instrumental colors and harmonic material serves as a clear encomium to another composer: George Lewis, a mentor of Storey’s who is also still in rude creative health.

Seth Colter Walls

Regardless, it is a work of affecting counterpoint: the rage that accumulates in the layered sounds of Cabeza’s extended cello technique against the resignation of Smith’s elegiac vocals.

Joshua Barone

A lush, brooding celebration of noise, “Seven Pillars” is the sprawling result of a deep collaboration between a composer and a percussion quartet. Mixing antsy chimes and a low-slung beat below, “Pillar III” builds in force before collapsing in ferocious shudders, explosions and shivers – and an ominous lullaby coda.

Zachary Wolfe

Chopin’s Nocturne No. 7, in C-sharp minor, begins with a low, ashen sound: a prowling arpeggio in the left hand, consisting only of C-sharps and G-sharps. It’s a hollowed-out harmony, in limbo between major and minor. Three bars in, the right hand enters on E, seemingly establishing minor, but a move to E-sharp clouds the issue, pointing towards major. Although the ambiguity dissipates in the measures that follow, a nimbus of uncertainty persists.

Alex Ross

WORDS ON MUSIC

Hello friends. Today starts a series of blogs on writing about music.  In each installment I will offer excerpts from three or four reviews of classical music performances, plus quotes from writings about the music itself.

Characterizing music in words is ultimately impossible.  Music simply doesn’t permit explanation.  But, as Daniel Barenboim has said, because one cannot describe the meaning of music in words does not mean that music has no meaning. The excerpts I will include will show how close a writer has come to evoking musical meaning, or, in some cases, how clearly the writer has failed.

Some critics rely on flowery metaphors to describe music, with images of the sea, crashing thunder or sunlight flickering through  forest leaves.  Others hear human emotions in the music: sadness, joy, despair, glorious triumph - their musical lexicon exhausts the emotional dictionary. I will include some of these to show how desperate critics have become in trying to explain music. 

To avoid these excesses a critic may simply describe the progress of the music, noting passages that grew louder or softer, higher or lower, faster or slower. This may be good reporting (and is a good procedure for beginning listeners), but doesn’t convey much about the music.

Beethoven, after performing one of his latest piano sonatas at an elegant soiree, was asked by a puzzled listener what the difficult music meant.  As an answer, Beethoven sat down and played the work again.

I will not comment on the examples, but will leave it to you to judge whether the writer has been clear or not, and whether a descriptive phrase enlightens the music or buries it.

I am happy to include examples readers of sharpsandflats.net  might find and send to me. Post them on the Comment section and we will all take a look at the end of the blog, and I will try to include them in the next installment of the blog. Be sure and identify the source.

Sample quotes from reviews


The chorus Then did Elijah the prophet break forth like a fire was taken about twice too fast, in spite of Mendelssohn’s instructions.  For surely no difference of opinion as to the right tempo can extend to making a rattling allegro of a movement marked moderato maestoso.

He (Mendelssohn) is a wonder whilst he is flying; but when his wings fail him, he walks like a parrot.

George Bernard Shaw, p.256
Shaw On Music - Doubleday Anchor 1955

Listening to music is such a muddle that one scarcely knows how to start describing it. The first point to get clear in my own case is that during the greater part of every performance I do not attend (pay attention)..The nice sounds make me think of something else.

What do I hear during the intervals when I do attend? Two sorts of music. They melt in to each other all the time, and are not easy to christen, but I will call one of them "music that reminds me of something," and the other "music itself...” I thought that music must be the better for having a meaning. I think so still, but am less clear as to what "a meaning" is. In those days it was either a non-musical object, such as a sword or a blameless fool, or a non-musical emotion, such as fear, lust, or resignation. When music reminded me of something which was not music, I supposed it was getting me somewhere. "How like Monet!" I thought when listening to Debussy, and "How like Debussy!"

E.M. Forster, Listening to Music, 1939

 

That (Busonoi violin/piano sonata) and the Shostakovich sonata were powerful, gripping experiences with playing that was not only technically polished but exploding with concentrated purpose, expressive force, and the feeling that something vital was being said.

George Grella, New York Classical Review, Nov 12, 2021

If a D flat chord can be decent, can be understanding, then the one Haitink drew that evening from the orchestra strings near the start of Mahler’s concluding Adagio, that composer’s farewell to life, was that and more.

David Allen, NY Times, Oct 26, 2021

In his view, this E-flat prelude is “a magnificent temple in sound.” ”At one point,” he goes on, “the one-bar units expand to two bars – as if the welcoming father is stretching his arms still wider.” Later, the music reaches G minor. “Are we lost? Or are we perhaps merely standing in the middle of the temple?…Are we outside, one might say, or inside?”

Paul Griffiths, quoting cellist Steven Isserlis in a review of Isserlis’ book, THE BACH CELLO SUITES.
Times Literary Supplement, Oct 8, 2021.  Regarding prelude to Bach, Cello Suite #4.

In the opening bars (of the Beethoven Symphony no, 7), the first big A-Major chord landed with a grand thump, but the tuttis in the third, fifth, and seventh bars were more recessed, ceding space to the intervening oboe, clarinet, horn, and flute solos.

Alex Ross, New Yorker – Aug 30, 2021

At first, segments of the melody are played in tentative, harmonically rich strands. Then, while violins ascend to high, softly tender lines, in lower registers other strings begin stirring, as if to get this piece up and running.

Anthony Tommasini, NY Times, October 18, 2012

COOPERATION

In the current political climate of extremism, it may be reassuring to see how four powerful musicians decided to cooperate. This was quoted in an earlier blog from A PASSIONATE JOURNEY, a memoir by Robert Mann, founding first violinist of the Juilliard String Quartet.

 

 

PLAYING IN A STRING QUARTET

You cannot be an outstanding chamber music player unless you hear all of the sounds and integrate them into your brain as one. You cannot be a person who just plays and hears your own sound more than the others. This requires years of experience. A quartet brings together four people who listen to each other’s sounds and agree that they are amenable. As you start rehearsing, different personalities begin to open up and appear in the process of the rehearsal. One person may like almost all of the music played faster. Another person might genuinely like it slower. Now the differences may not be enormous, but they can be enough that you won’t agree about the interpretation if you are stubborn. However, you always have to make compromises. You can’t play only the way that you want. 

The simplest way to explain differences in interpretations is to use as an example a Haydn quartet that begins piquantly and jovially. A quartet member says it should be played faster because in Haydn’s day, the music was played faster than it is today. Another member prefers it slower. We now have a difference of opinion and we are playing the Haydn in concerts. What do we do? We compromise. The first night, we play it fast, as one member of the quartet suggested. The second night, we play it slower, the way the other person wanted it.

There are not only big decisions such as a tempo character, or how fast or slow you play, but also maybe the phrasing. One member wants to emphasize a harmony and another likes the rhythm to be a little different. Compromise means that there are different ways to look at decisions in musical interpretation. This is the most difficult thing for someone entering the quartet profession to learn how to deal with.

Another challenge is to concentrate on the music throughout the whole piece. At first I could think about a moment and then my mind would wander. I would think about the audience while I was playing, about the heat of the room, about the acoustics, and so on. It took me years before I could really concentrate on every note through a movement without interruption. That’s inner concentration.

Also, one of the things that I’ve always contended is that notes do not exist in isolation and that all quartet members need to play each note in relation to the way the preceding note has been played. This means you will play the second note different every time because the first note is never played the same. This connection between notes needs to be true through a whole movement. 

Each time a new quartet member joins the group, dynamics change. I remember I had a meeting with Hillyer in 1955 and I said, “Now look, we have a chance to play with a wonderful, collegial new cellist, Claus Adam.” We thought that once Arthur Winograd left the quartet that Hillyer would be happy. Claus had previously been the cellist of the New Music Quartet in New Haven, with Walter Trampler, the violist. At the time we asked Claus to join us, he said that he didn’t think he was ready to join another quartet. But then he finally decided that he wanted to. Hillyer, who was very fastidious in his playing, hadn’t been happy with Arthur Winograd, but unfortunately, he also took a dislike to Claus. 

One of Hillyer’s problems with Claus, who was a magnificent cellist in his own way, was that he was not a natural cellist because he started studying so late. Claus wasn’t always secure in the higher thumb position on the cello. Hillyer could be very insensitive, not because he was a bad person but because he was so uncomfortable with himself.

I was living on LaSalle Street and it was in September at the start of a new season. I got a call from Hillyer saying that he and Isidore (Izzy) Cohen, who had replaced Koff in 1958 as the Juilliard’s second violinist, wanted to talk to me. They told me, “We can’t stand playing with Claus Adam. We want another new cellist.” I told them, as long as I was in the Juilliard String Quartet nobody was going to be kicked out. Of course, later on we would ask Izzy Cohen to leave the quartet, but at this point I resisted Hillyer’s desire.

Later, when the Juilliard String Quartet was composed of myself, Claus Adam, Samuel Rhodes and Earl Carlyss, Claus said to us, “Look, it’s been an absolutely wonderful experience to be part of the Juilliard Quartet. We have had a lot of successes and it’s been a very important part of my life. Now I’m getting pretty old and I’m composing more and I want to do more teaching. I don’t want to travel so much anymore.” So we started looking for another cellist and Claus continued to teach cello at Juilliard.

When we wanted a new member for the quartet we didn’t advertise. Each of us would provide a potential list of candidates and we would talk to a few friends to see whom they might recommend. That’s how we heard about Joel Krosnick. He had been the cellist of the Iowa Quartet.

The only reason we ever had a problem with Eugene Lehner was that he thought when a new person joined the quartet they should not get the same salary as the older members because they hadn’t earned it yet. Our point of view was, if the new person was good enough to be in our quartet and play at the level that we did, he deserved the same salary as the rest of us. 

At the time that Claus was leaving the quartet and Joel Krosnick was joining as our new cellist, Bob Freeman, who headed Eastman, tried to entice the quartet to move from Juilliard to Eastman. Earl, Sammy and myself met with Bob without Joel. He offered us a million dollars and jobs for all our wives. But we knew we would have to change our name, and I wasn’t about to do that. We didn’t take the offer and Joel joined the Juilliard String Quartet.

With this new Juilliard String Quartet (1974) of myself, Earl Carlyss, Samuel Rhodes, and Joel Krosnick—three of the members were young enough to be my sons. I had not even thought about the fact that Claus and I had balanced out the younger members of the quartet. And now, I was the old fellow with strong ideas and three young guys. It wasn’t that I didn’t accept or open myself up to other people’s opinions. But when I felt strongly, I felt very strongly. 

I also was a little like Claus. I was never as secure as most of the other members of the quartet. In the early days, I had a lot of trouble playing truly in tune. And throughout my professional life some people thought that I was a superb player, and others felt that I played a little out of tune, or that I had a stiff bow arm, and so on. But basically, people responded very well to my playing.

However, with this new young Juilliard String Quartet, we were learning the repertoire over again. Most people would say to me, “How can you stand it? Here you are with another change in the quartet and you have to learn all of the Beethoven quartets over again. Aren’t you tired?” My answer was, “My God, are you kidding? This is a chance for us to begin to explore the piece with a fresh ear, a fresh mind, and a fresh point of view.” The reality, however, was hard at first.

We had to learn a lot of new music and we were on our first tour with Joel Krosnick in the United States. We were in our hotel room in Denver, Colorado, under pressure to learn Beethoven’s Opus 135, practicing the slow movement. Sammy said, “You know, we have played this before in a particular way. Could we consider a different relation between the variations than the way we are playing it now?” 

What Sammy was suggesting wasn’t an assault on how I wanted the piece played, but it meant giving up my ideas about the slow movement. This was a moment in the music that I really loved. There weren’t many moments in music where I wasn’t flexible. But I was being very resistant in my fashion, which was one of my flaws.

All of a sudden, Earl, who was very religious and the son of a Lutheran minister, exploded. He said, “Bobby, if you don’t open yourself up to the things we are trying to find out, I can’t stay in this quartet.” He actually got up to leave. I said, “Come on, Earl, stay here.” So we had a big talk, and I realized that although these three young men were less experienced than I was in terms of playing in a quartet, they were as intelligent, or more intelligent, than I was. I had two paths that I could follow. One was to continue to be the kind of person I was with my strengths and weaknesses. This would result in either their or my leaving. Or, while I was not as young as they were, I could be as open and allow us to fully explore what they wanted in the music. Also, I could accept the fact that while I was the first violinist, I was only one participant out of four, with only one voice.

I won’t say that I changed overnight, but I do believe that this struggle pushed my better instincts to take hold. I would say it took a few years before I could begin to look at a piece that I’d played, maybe fifty times, as if it were the first time. My quartet members bore with me, and I eventually became just as flexible and open as the rest of them. That wasn’t easy to do. Playing in a quartet is teamwork. Whether it’s a baseball team or a team of people doing research, everyone has to understand that certain people have strengths and weaknesses, and they are different from yours. The reason that a team is successful is because you know how best to reveal the strengths and hide the weaknesses.

HOW THE BRAIN SOLVED A MOZART SONATA PROBLEM

The third movement of Mozart’s Piano sonata in C Major K. 545 begins with an 8-measure phrase in 2/4 consisting of a series of thirds. They begin in the right hand and are imitated one beat later by the left. After these 8 measures there is a double bar with repeat signs. From measure 9 to measure 14 the piece modulates in 4 measures to G major. Between the end of measure 2 in this section and the beginning of measure 3, Mozart makes the hands jump – an octave and a fourth up in the right hand, landing on ‘e’, and an octave and a third – a tenth – down -in the left hand, landing on ‘b’.

Normally one could land on the right key by looking at it as the hand makes the jump.  But one cannot look at two hands at the same time, jumping in opposite directions.

There must be a way for each hand, after much repetition, to learn these jumps. After all, presumably Mozart could master them, as could pianists performing during the more than 200 years from Mozart’s time to the present. In fact, Mozart said that this was one of his easy sonatas. (You can see how easy this passage is for Barenboim and Uchida, on YouTube). No use practicing first one jump then the other – the brain would only have to unlearn that separate-hands solution, making it even more difficult to accomplish the jump with both hands.

So how to teach the hands to make these jumps together.

I began by playing the 4-measure passage in my head, silently, very slowly, dozens of times over several periods of 15 or 20 minutes. In my slow internal repetitions of the passage, there were no jumps. They would only occur as the result of physical movements. Listening internally; there was no space to deal with – just a sequence of notes.

Gradually, over a period of 2 weeks, I increased the tempo of the music I played in my head. Eventually I could play Mozart’s left- and right-hand melodies together at the brisk tempo that seemed right for the music – quarter note = 88.

Now it was time for my hands to learn to actually play the music. I started very slowly, slowly enough so that I had time to watch each hand gliding through the air to the correct note. Because my hands moved so slowly, I never missed; I always hit the right notes.

Now came the moments of truth. Playing only slightly faster, I looked at one hand during the jump. Of course I played that hand correctly, but what surprised me was that the jump in the other hand was more often than not correct as well,  even without my looking at it. As I played faster and looked at one hand before the jump, both hands jumped accurately. This rather amazed me. So I decided to go for broke. I closed my eyes, played the passage up to tempo and landed correctly – almost every time.

That was about a week ago.  Now every afternoon I practice the whole movement, up to tempo, including the jumps. I play with open eyes, sometimes looking at one hand during the jump, sometimes the other, but most of the time looking at neither. I am almost 100 per cent successful.

I wish I could find a neurological explanation for what otherwise seems like magic.

 

 

Here is the page of the beginning of the last movement of Mozart’s Sonata in C Major, K.545, with the jump passage noted in orange.

Screen Shot 2021-08-20 at 12.00.15 PM.png

Letter to WQXR

Dear reader,

If you like, print out this blog-letter – with any of your own comments or changes – and mail it over your signature to Mr. Shobe. Please send a copy to this blog address below.


 July 21, 2021

Mr. Michael Shobe
Program Director, WQXR
160 Varick Street
New York, NY 10013

Dear Mr. Shobe,

WQXR is to be congratulated and supported as the only classical music radio station in New York City. To spend a day, or even a few hours, absorbed in your programming, offers the chance to enjoy a terrific variety of the major works in the repertory. Other selections, though perhaps not masterpieces, help to round out the richness of our musical heritage.

Your programming also helps to develop new listeners, those who are learning to follow the progress of the music, and to devote the kind of attention crucial to the development of a true love of classical music – especially in an era that no longer fosters an early study of music at home.

So it is too bad that your promotional material urges us to listen to WQXR while performing household tasks or during other distracting activity – that we play WQXR as background to a myriad of daily responsibilities.

Another major impediment to the development of attentive listening is your use of highlighted fragments of climactic musical moments as background in your program promotion. A triumphal fortissimo of a Pavarotti aria, a sweeping Wagner denouement, or a heart-stirring close of a Uchida Beethoven piano concerto – bits and pieces that come and go while the announcer expounds the virtues of WQXR, destroy whatever progress the novice listener may be making in learning to concentrate on an unfolding musical story.

Developing a habit of attention takes time. Relegating fragments of music to a sales pitch defeats the good will of the new listener and ultimately destroys the growing ability to focus on the music, and to discover its power.

Sincerely,

Allan Miller
194 Riverside Drive
New York, NY 10025