Moscow Diaries: An Evening at Gnessin
The new generation of talented young musicians will do Russia proud over the next few decades. I am proud to have made friends with one such young man.
In the winter of 1895, Elena, Evgeniya and Maria Gnessin, three sisters who were originally from Rostov-on-Don started a music academy in Moscow that would revolutionise musical education in Russia (and later the Soviet Union). Now called the Gnessin State Musical College, it has produced generations of talented musicians.
One of the great joys I have had while living in Russia is passing through any neighbourhood that houses a musical school. Hearing the sounds of a lesson or rehearsal of violin, piano, harp or any other instrument always uplifts me. A few years ago I found out that a close friend’s daughter was studying at Gnessin and I made it a point to attend concerts where she performed as a vocalist. Most of these concerts were internal but the college was happy to let outsiders visit.
There’s something so 19th century Bourgeoisie about classical music but I do love sitting in a beautiful venue, closing my eyes and letting the music take me away to another time, place or dimension. Thanks to our own Symphony Orchestra of India, founded by a musician from Kazakhstan, I can attend world class performances at the Prithvi Theatre in Juhu in suburban Bombay.
On a recent late-winter evening in Moscow, M, my friend’s 10-year old, was due to play Persischer Marsch (Johann Strauss II) at a concert at the Gnessin. This concert was to be performed entirely by children and was open to the public. Since I wanted to offer moral support for M, I decided to turn up at the academy two and a half hours early and walk him into his rehearsal.
Walking in one of my favourite parts of Moscow on a chilly (still-winter) afternoon, I glanced at some of the older buildings and churches before getting to the academy. As I approached it, I was surprised to see a Pakistani flag. I had crossed the country’s embassy many times but I was wondering what this building was. It turned out to be the residence of the ambassador. This lucky gentleman had the fortune of listening to rehearsals and concerts almost every day during the season!
Standing in the compound of the academy, I saw M walk in with his mother. Apparently he was curious about what accent I would speak Russian with. The shyness was clearly visible in his face, and he looked down when he shook my hand. This fine young man, however, did not appear nervous and showed a sense of poise.
We chose nice seats for ourselves and began to enjoy the rehearsal when a middle-aged woman, who was the chief organiser of the concert, came up to us and said we weren’t allowed to the sit for the rehearsal. “But I’m the mother of a musician,” my friend said gently, but that was to no avail. “We don’t allow parents to watch rehearsals,” she said, adding that family members who sat for rehearsals tended to lose interest in others’ performances once their child was done.
Snow flurries fell on our faces as we walked out of Gnessin to a relatively-nearby English-styled cafe with charming interiors, a record player and even English coffee-table books on sale. Lost in our conversations there to the sound of the Beatles, we rushed back to a Gnessin Academy, full of parents and family members of the musicians. But our seats were saved by M, who put his belongings on them. I already had a feeling I would like this child.
Then came the concert, with its beautiful vocal artists, a talented accordion player and a set of remarkably good pianists. The dedication, passion and excellence of these young musicians convinced me that classical music had a bright future in the land of giants such Scriabin, Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky and Shostakovich.
Of course, for me this evening was all about 10-year old M. He played his part on the xylophone with precision and ease. He didn’t seem the least bit intimidated with the prestige, aura and large crowd of the Gnessin Academy’s main hall. After his performance, there were a few ensembles and a generally happy feeling in the hall.
When our hero of the night, his mother and I went to a nearby cafe for a light dinner, I gave him a gift-wrapped box. Without hesitation, he opened it and saw that it was a chess set. He loved the smell of the wood of the box, the lacquered square and the chess pieces, acknowledging happily that chess was invented in India.
On asking him if he liked chess, he replied in the affirmative, and challenged me to a contest. I offered to let him play with the whites, but he insisted on a fair match and took a white and black pawn each and hid them in separate fists. I ended up getting black anyway.
The hard fought match was over in under 10 minutes, with M getting me in checkmate. He was kind enough to explain the mistakes that I should avoid next time. This is indeed a real champion, who is so secure in himself.
We then walked to the metro station and hopped on board a train before changing to the green line. My new friend, being the Muscovite and host, made sure I was alright and inside the train.
Mayakovskaya was a few stops ahead of his and while I bid him goodbye, he looked straight into my eyes this time. Along with a warm smile, came a handshake. Our third of the day (I had to be a gentleman and congratulate him when he walloped me in chess)!
This seems to be the beginning of a nice and new friendship!