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Turkish Daily News
Feb 20 2005
Phenomenon of violinist Markov
>From My Notebook
YÜKSEL SÖYLEMEZ
Despite his relative youth, Alexander Markov already has a
noteworthy international reputation as a remarkable violin virtuoso,
and there is no doubt he will leave his musical mark on the 21st
century. In two words, he is "phenomenal and sensational," with a
complete mastery of his instrument. In fact, it is much more than
mere violin playing when a violin and his fingers become one with his
body and mind.
I was told that he has played in Ankara before, but this was the
first time I had heard him, and his rendition of Aram Katchaturian's
"Violin Concerto" with the Presidential Symphony Orchestra (CSO)
conducted by Alexander Rahbari left me and the whole audience
spellbound.
Markov, the son of a concert violinist father, was born in the
Moscow of the old U.S.S.R. He received an invitation at the age of 14
to train under the legendary Jasha Heifetz and immigrated to the
United States with his family in 1982, becoming a U.S. citizen in the
process. He has played with all the great orchestras and conductors
of our time in venues such as New York's Avery Fisher and Carnegie
halls, to name just two. Not only is he an extraordinary virtuoso but
alos a most congenial and modest person, thanking the audience in
Turkish with "Teşekkür ederim" followed by an unexpected "Eyvallah"
that was received with much appreciation.
Katchaturian's "Violin Concerto," to my mind, is one of the most
brilliant compositions in romantic music literature, and its moving
rendition roused the audience to its feet with a full house on the
evening of Feb. 11. Katchaturian (1903-1978) started writing his
concerto in 1938, completed it during the war in 1940 and dedicated
it to the great David Oistrakh. The concerto is based on Armenian and
Caucasian folk melodies and is lyrical and melodic, to say nothing of
sentimental. There is deep sadness in the repetition of the touching
themes, with the violin omnipresent throughout the three movements
and in the whirlwind finale.
The concert had started with Michael Ivanovich Glinka's (1804-1857)
overture to his ballet, `Ruslan and Ludmilla,' which is based on a
poem by Pushkin and is one of the most frequently produced popular
works in Russian ballet tradition. It was a rousing beginning to the
evening under Rahbari, a welcome conductor who frequently visits
Ankara.
The final work was Igor Stravinsky's(1882-1971) "Petrushka," again
under Rahbari's baton and played with tremendous sonority in all its
colorful contrasting details. The subject of the ballet is simple:
Two men fall in love with the same woman. Petrushka symbolizes the
ordinary and poor people and is killed at the end of the ballet. It
is most difficult to do justice to this modern work, and it was
played with tremendous zest and great gusto by the CSO with the
adroit interpretation of Alexander Rahbari.
To relate a story about Stravinsky, it was during the mid-'50s
that, to my utter amazement, I saw Stravinsky in the lobby of the
Istanbul Hilton reading a newspaper. I subsequently found out that he
was traveling under a false name to escape the attention of the
Turkish media. Then a few years later, in 1960, he came to London to
conduct his "Oedipus Rex" at an unusual late-evening concert at the
Festival Hall with Jean Cocteau reading the text. As well as being a
music lover, I was also an ardent autograph collector in those days
and, as such. I rushed with my late friend Ömer Umar to the Green
Room at the end of his historic concert at around 1:00 a.m. A
sizeable crowd of other music enthusiasts was also waiting for him to
appear. When he finally did, he was hurriedly bundled into a spacious
elevator. As it happened, I was the only one of the crowd who managed
to muscle his way in. His tall, well-built wife Vera pushed me
against the wall of the elevator and with her index finger pressed
into my chest she protected her husband from my intrusive presence.
It was rather needless, since my hands were full with a copy of the
record of "Oedipus Rex," the concert program and his autobiography.
Stravinsky, meanwhile, was beating the other wall of the lift with
his hands shouting, "This autograph business is a dangerous disease."
When a minute or two later the elevator doors opened, the crowd had
collectively rushed upstairs and were enviously shouting, `He got it,
he got it!' Actually, I hadn't got his autograph but am rewarded
instead with a real-life Stravinsky anecdote, which I shall always
remember.
Feb 20 2005
Phenomenon of violinist Markov
>From My Notebook
YÜKSEL SÖYLEMEZ
Despite his relative youth, Alexander Markov already has a
noteworthy international reputation as a remarkable violin virtuoso,
and there is no doubt he will leave his musical mark on the 21st
century. In two words, he is "phenomenal and sensational," with a
complete mastery of his instrument. In fact, it is much more than
mere violin playing when a violin and his fingers become one with his
body and mind.
I was told that he has played in Ankara before, but this was the
first time I had heard him, and his rendition of Aram Katchaturian's
"Violin Concerto" with the Presidential Symphony Orchestra (CSO)
conducted by Alexander Rahbari left me and the whole audience
spellbound.
Markov, the son of a concert violinist father, was born in the
Moscow of the old U.S.S.R. He received an invitation at the age of 14
to train under the legendary Jasha Heifetz and immigrated to the
United States with his family in 1982, becoming a U.S. citizen in the
process. He has played with all the great orchestras and conductors
of our time in venues such as New York's Avery Fisher and Carnegie
halls, to name just two. Not only is he an extraordinary virtuoso but
alos a most congenial and modest person, thanking the audience in
Turkish with "Teşekkür ederim" followed by an unexpected "Eyvallah"
that was received with much appreciation.
Katchaturian's "Violin Concerto," to my mind, is one of the most
brilliant compositions in romantic music literature, and its moving
rendition roused the audience to its feet with a full house on the
evening of Feb. 11. Katchaturian (1903-1978) started writing his
concerto in 1938, completed it during the war in 1940 and dedicated
it to the great David Oistrakh. The concerto is based on Armenian and
Caucasian folk melodies and is lyrical and melodic, to say nothing of
sentimental. There is deep sadness in the repetition of the touching
themes, with the violin omnipresent throughout the three movements
and in the whirlwind finale.
The concert had started with Michael Ivanovich Glinka's (1804-1857)
overture to his ballet, `Ruslan and Ludmilla,' which is based on a
poem by Pushkin and is one of the most frequently produced popular
works in Russian ballet tradition. It was a rousing beginning to the
evening under Rahbari, a welcome conductor who frequently visits
Ankara.
The final work was Igor Stravinsky's(1882-1971) "Petrushka," again
under Rahbari's baton and played with tremendous sonority in all its
colorful contrasting details. The subject of the ballet is simple:
Two men fall in love with the same woman. Petrushka symbolizes the
ordinary and poor people and is killed at the end of the ballet. It
is most difficult to do justice to this modern work, and it was
played with tremendous zest and great gusto by the CSO with the
adroit interpretation of Alexander Rahbari.
To relate a story about Stravinsky, it was during the mid-'50s
that, to my utter amazement, I saw Stravinsky in the lobby of the
Istanbul Hilton reading a newspaper. I subsequently found out that he
was traveling under a false name to escape the attention of the
Turkish media. Then a few years later, in 1960, he came to London to
conduct his "Oedipus Rex" at an unusual late-evening concert at the
Festival Hall with Jean Cocteau reading the text. As well as being a
music lover, I was also an ardent autograph collector in those days
and, as such. I rushed with my late friend Ömer Umar to the Green
Room at the end of his historic concert at around 1:00 a.m. A
sizeable crowd of other music enthusiasts was also waiting for him to
appear. When he finally did, he was hurriedly bundled into a spacious
elevator. As it happened, I was the only one of the crowd who managed
to muscle his way in. His tall, well-built wife Vera pushed me
against the wall of the elevator and with her index finger pressed
into my chest she protected her husband from my intrusive presence.
It was rather needless, since my hands were full with a copy of the
record of "Oedipus Rex," the concert program and his autobiography.
Stravinsky, meanwhile, was beating the other wall of the lift with
his hands shouting, "This autograph business is a dangerous disease."
When a minute or two later the elevator doors opened, the crowd had
collectively rushed upstairs and were enviously shouting, `He got it,
he got it!' Actually, I hadn't got his autograph but am rewarded
instead with a real-life Stravinsky anecdote, which I shall always
remember.