Vladimir Ashkenazy

One expects aloofness and grandeur from a living legend. A touch of arrogance is not out of place - perhaps even welcome. Meeting Vladimir Ashkenazy runs counter to such expectations.

Modest with a natural air, he puts those around him at ease. A look at the small hands with stubby fingers, and one might never think this pianist's name belongs to any serious survey of concert music in the 20th and 21st centuries.New countries, new career

Vladimir Davidovich was born July 6,1937, in the former Soviet Union. His father, David Ashkenazi, was a Jewish pianist and composer. The boy's extraordinary talent for the piano started to show at the age of 6. At 18, he won second prize at the International Chopin Competition in Warsaw.

Though his professional prospects were outstanding, he could not adapt to life under Stalinist rule.

"The communist system is such that the Communist Party - which is the government - controls the physical, intellectual and spiritual life of every person," he said.

"That was the case in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe and, of course, in China later. And in North Korea now: This is the most extreme case, I would say."

Ashkenazy finally managed to leave the USSR in 1963 with his Icelandic wife, Thorunn, and children, moving first to London and then to Switzerland. He began a new phase of his career as a pianist in the West.

Besides making exhaustive forays into the solo piano repertoire from Bach through the 20th century, he has taken part in numerous chamber music formations, playing with the most renowned orchestras and conductors of present time. Russian music remains a focal point of his activities throughout.

In the year 1976 he entered another phase in his wide-ranging career: He took up conducting - in part for the challenge, but mostly "because there is very much good music for the orchestra. That is why," he remarked.The magic of economy

Characteristics like economy, directness and objectivity come to mind watching Ashkenazy rehearse with the Deutsches Symphonie Orchester Berlin (DSO), during their South America tour.

The maestro's interruptions and comments are friendly and aimed ultimately at restoring the letter of the score. In the first movement of Beethoven's "Pastorale," for instance, he sees to it that the bassoon's staccatos sound even shorter in the already dry theatre acoustics. And towards the end of the movement, he systematically suppresses any rallentando that might drag down the musical discourse.

For some of the musicians, this approach is too depersonalized. But one thing is certain: during the actual concert, everything seemed to fall marvellously into place.

One of the orchestra's wind players has a theory: Ashkenazy's way of leaving the instrumentalists more or less "alone" puts them healthily on edge, forces them to listen to the whole and participate, instead of leaning back, waiting for the cue and routinely playing their part. Perhaps this is creates the magic on stage, the young DSO performer suggested.Funny bones

Ashkenazy is also known for his antics. On stage, he may hold his baton between his teeth like a bone, or use it for a surreptitious back scratch, Chaplin-like. Or he may peep cheekily into the audience before a concert begins until someone calls: "Maestro, please!"

Nevertheless, music remains a serious matter for the pianist turned conductor. His critique of Mahler's symphonies is openly personal: "Mahler always centers on himself," Ashkenazy said, drawing a contrast with Schumann, who "was ill most of his life, and yet his music is so generous!"

In conversation as on the podium, Ashkenazy consistently rejects any attempt to prioritize "his" musical intentions above those of the composers. But he also tries to avoid idolization.

"My basic aim is to do my job as well as I can," he said. When pushed further, he stated his terse artistic credo: "I don't need to emphasize anything. Music does it for me."

Author: Augusto Valente
Editor: Greg Wiser