The Birch, Fall 2005

Vladimir Feltsman

Interviewed By Jane Mikkelson

Born in Moscow in 1952, Mr. Feltsman made his debut at age eleven with the Moscow Philharmonic. He studied piano at the Moscow Tchaikovsky State Conservatory under the tutelage of Jacob Flier, and conducting at both the Moscow and Leningrad Conservatories. Mr. Feltsman won the Grand Prix at the Marguerite Long International Piano Competition in Paris in 1971.

In 1979, Mr. Feltsman applied for an exit visa in reaction to the Soviet government's procrustean treatment of the performing arts, and was promptly denied. Following years of being banned from performing in public, he was finally allowed to leave the Soviet Union in 1987. Mr. Feltsman's arrival in the United States was heavily publicized by the press, and his performance at the White House, followed by his Carnegie Hall debut, thrust him to the fore of the American music world and earned him the reputation of one of the most accomplished pianists of our time.

Mr. Feltsman is the Distinguished Chair of Professor of Piano at the State University of New York, New Paltz. He also teaches at the Mannes College of Music and is the founder and Artistic Director of the International Festival-Institute PianoSummer in New Paltz. He is a regular guest soloist with every leading orchestra in the United States, participates in prestigious international music festivals, and performs and conducts all over the world. Mr. Feltsman currently resides in upstate New York.

Jane Mikkelson: You have been living in the United States and teaching for nearly nineteen years. Have you found there to be any differences between Russian and American students?
Vladimir Feltsman: There are differences even among Russian students, just as there are differences among American ones. This is a very broad question. The difference, I think, is in the approach to early music education. In Russia, as you might know, we all went through serious training at the age of six or seven. In other words, we began [studying music] at a very young age, and there were special schools [in Moscow] where many of my colleagues and famous musicians of today once studied; similar schools also existed in Leningrad. When I came to the United States in 1987, I was amazed when, after making inquiries and based upon my own observations about what was happening regarding music education, I found that such schools do not exist here and never did. I tried to do something about this, and more than ten years ago a special school was founded in the Kaufman Center, near Lincoln Center. It was not the exact model that I had envisioned, but nevertheless, as they say, it’s better than nothing. It’s all very simple; if we’re talking about musicians, future stars, and so on, then the first few years are absolutely crucial. In other words, even if a boy or girl is very talented, if they are not taught from a young age, say, before eleven or twelve, then no matter how gifted they might be, they’ve missed the boat. This is why one of the primary differences in the structure of music education in the Soviet (now Russia) and in the U.S. is precisely that difference in the very early education for talented children. I studied at the Moscow conservatory, which, naturally, was the best school. The students who went there, who were selected from preparatory music schools – these were quite ambitious kids who were prepared, in theory, to give themselves fully to that entire process [of conservatory training]. What came of it is another matter, but the level of dedication was very, very high. Here [in the U.S.] there are also such students, but most people that decide to study music major in piano or violin simply because they love music; in short, it’s a very different approach. As for the level (I can only speak about the average level of students in conservatories, preparatory music schools, and even in elementary music schools), the average level was higher in Russia.
J.M. In your opinion, has this difference in approach had any effect on the degree to which young Russians and Americans are interested in classical music?
V.F. That is difficult for me to say. I have not lived in Russia for many years – nearly twenty years – and accordingly any memories that I might have and any experience that I can share would pertain to the 1980s. In the last twenty years Russia has become a different country altogether, and I can’t say anything about the new generation that has come of age because I am not familiar [with it]. I can say, however, that when I travel to Russia to perform and conduct, which I do quite regularly, I like this new generation; I think they’re good kids, that they have clearer heads than we did, not cluttered with the all the nonsense which people of my age could not avoid.
J.M. When did you make your first visit back to Russia?
V.F. I went back in 1991 [for the fist time]. I used to go frequently, my mother lived there, but since she passed away, I have been going less often. Now I go there chiefly to conduct.
J.M. Do you go to Russia every year on tour?
V.F. Well, almost, yes, sometimes once a year, sometimes once every two years. Last year I was there a couple of times and performed, but mainly I go there to conduct. Last April, for example, I had a very pleasant visit: after twenty- five years I went to Novosibirsk, where I conducted their orchestra. It is one of the best orchestras in Russia.
J.M. Given your almost yearly visits to Russia, have you noticed many changes over the last sixteen years?
V.F. Yes, it is a completely different country, and I think the changes are for the better. But again, I don’t live there, thank God, and my opinion is that of an amateur; you need to speak with people who live there, who see and understand everything that is going on. I don’t understand everything and, to be honest, I don’t really care to, but the changes that I do see are, in theory, very good. As far as music is concerned, the things have improved for two or three orchestras. For the vast majority of other musicians who aren’t able to have a solo career, travel around the world, and make money – the situation is worse. Before the Soviet Union collapsed, the pay for orchestra musicians was very low, but at least it existed – they got paid every month. Now God knows what is happening: people aren’t getting paid, and even if they are, it is impossible to live on that amount of money. This is why the situation for an average musician has become worse, in my opinion, than it was before. People with a knack for business, who were able to refashion and reorient themselves in the new reality [of post- Soviet Russia], they are fairly well-off. But the people who grew up and lived under Soviet rule, especially those belonging to the older generation – life is very hard for them. ... I am not criticizing Russia or even Soviet Russia. At quite a young age I simply had an allergic reaction of sorts to Soviet power, to a certain type of [Soviet] person, and to certain types of relations that I was never close to and which irritated me greatly. And those elements are still there. You can change politics and economics, but changing the mentality of the people and their outlook requires not five or ten years, but a considerably greater amount of time. I hope, I sincerely hope, and I’d like to believe that the new generation of Russia, of Russian people, will do better and that it will be a better place. Children of my Russian friends that converse with me, even on a minimal level, and people who are now eighteen or twenty years old, young people from Russia – I like them; I think that overall it is a good generation, and I hope that they have a chance to, well, be a little bit [laughs] less inhibited than former Russians of my generation, although that wasn’t our fault; such were simply the realities of life.
J.M. How important, in your opinion, is an understanding of Russian culture and life in Russia to the interpretation of Russian music? Do you find it difficult to teach, for instance, Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition to American students?
V.F. Yes and no. For the average student, be they Russian, American, Korean, or any other kind, familiarity with [Russian] culture, reading Tolstoy, Pushkin, and Dostoevsky and understanding what kind of person Mussorgsky was with his drinking and alcoholism – this is all, naturally, very important. However, the truly talented have an unmistakable instinct, and this instinctive connection to music is much more precious and much more precise than any learned knowledge about any particular culture, be it Russian culture or German culture or what have you. So it seems to me that on the one hand it is very important and beneficial, and on the other hand, without that instinct and direct connection to the music and what stands behind it, no matter how many books you read, it will not do you any good.
J.M. Do you teach in Russia when you go there on tour?
V.F. I have taught a couple of master classes there. In the last few years I have not taught often, but I [recently] received a letter from the conservatory where they are planning an anniversary celebration, and want me to perform at the Great Hall. They are inviting those musicians that have left Russia and who are going back to celebrate [the anniversary] of their Alma Mater. I replied that it would give me great pleasure to perform there. That letter also contained a request to conduct a master class; I agreed to this, too, so it is possible that next year I will go there to give a concert at the Great Hall, which for me, perhaps, has the best acoustics for solo piano in the world.
J.M. You titled one of your albums Speak, Memory, which implies a certain similarity between you and Vladimir Nabokov. Could you comment?
V.F. I like Nabokov very much. He is a wonderful and very subtle writer whom I feel very close, and his attitude toward Russian culture is also very kindred. I especially like Nabokov’s complete absence of sentimentality. He is very precise, very subtle and profound, but he is not sentimental. No delicate sniffling, no yearning for the homeland, none of that. I, too, have never felt this. I was never nostalgic; it’s not in my nature. I can even say that after I extracted myself from the context of Russian culture in a geographical sense, when I emigrated, I seemed better able to assess and enjoy Russian music and literature than when I lived there, because then it was too close for comfort. Now, from my excellent distant vantage point, everything seems more attractive. It has more charm, it smells better to me. For me Russia is not a place on a map; it is culture, a certain state of mind, and I am very grateful to that culture, which gave me so much and in which I was raised.
J.M. Do you find it difficult to live in America?
V.F. I am very comfortable in America; I have never had any nostalgia for my homeland. I am comfortable here: it is a good country that respects privacy very much, which I treasure greatly. I have a nice house in the country and quite a lot of land. I never see or hear anybody, and when I come home I am able to relax. It is very quiet here. The surrounding nature is very lovely; I have two streams by my house, a wife, and two dogs. Everybody creates his own life for himself, and the life that I lead now pleases me very much. I am very comfortable, and, as they say, I am totally content.
J.M. Would you advise a Russian musician, let’s say, a pianist living in Moscow today, to come here or stay in Russia?
V.F. I would not recommend anything. You can live in Russia, now it is not a problem. In the years when I was there it was impossible to leave, and for this reason, many people wanted to break away from it. Today that problem doesn’t exist. It makes absolutely no difference where you live, because you can buy [plane] tickets and fly to London if someone wants you to perform there. It is not a problem. It is an individual choice. Musicians like Mikhail Pletnev, for example, still live in Moscow; granted, he is rarely ever there. The issue, however, is not where you live, but what sort of outlook you have, what goes on in your head. You can travel the entire world, but if you have nothing in your head but muddle and vexations, then no matter where you go, you will be running from your own shadow, and that is an absolutely fruitless and uninteresting pursuit, because your shadow will always be running after you. This is why I don’t have any recommendations about where to live. [I do have one piece of] advice that I can give in conclusion of our conversation. Music students sometimes approach me at master classes and ask, “Mr. Feltsman, what do you think? Should I go for music or not?” I always reply that if you have absolutely no other choice and music is a calling for you, then by all means, go for it, give it all and be all you can. If you have any other choice, then by all means, do something else, because being a true musician is a privilege given to very few. That’s my advice, or rather not advice but simply information. Generally speaking, if someone asks that question, then the very fact that he asks, Should I do this or that? means that he should not do music, because if he clearly has a calling, then such a question would not arise. Just as with everything else. Everything is the same.