MOSCOU

An artistically inclined audience for a publicly inclined artist

Shortly thereafter, a telegram arrives::

"YOU ARE HEREBY INVITED TO TAKE PART IN AN OFFICIAL TOUR OF THE SOVIET UNION, FROM NOVEMBER 1^st to 21^st". Signed: Gosconcert, the official Soviet agency entrusted with the task of greeting foreign artists. Having taken the plunge into professionalism, I’ve entered new and uncharted territory. Crossing the Iron Curtain is a mere detail.

A large delegation is waiting for me at Sheremetievo Airport. I’m taken straight to the Hotel Metropolis, where a gigantic suite with a concert piano provides my accommodations.

As a musician the impression the USSR makes on me is a far cry from the impression I had as a tourist. Back then, I was an outsider, now I’m on the inside. Before, I judged everything I encountered, now I’m more directly involved. The fifth of the world's emerged land I have the opportunity to visit is full of knowledgeable aficionados in search of someone who can whet their musical appetites. Later, I would return to the USSR dozens of times, to get reacquainted with men and women who have always provided me with an opportunity to learn something new. Of course, a long list of mishaps will add color to these visits. The rewards, however, always justify the challenges. My emotions would swing between laughter and tears. Russians, much like the people they most affect, live with their emotional past. Once a bond has been established with someone, the barriers are let down. A moment of ecstasy is all it takes to erase years of deprivation and suffering.

Years of communism have fuelled the passions of the Russian people, which will explode at any pretext. The form they take may be love or hate. A Russian’s hatred for another can be instantaneous and final. Hate at first sight. And, as in love, anything goes.

In theatres the audience follows its impulses and believes what it hears. German songs are still popular in spite of the cruelty of the Nazi invasion during the War. War is one thing, music is another. Honest and selective, an audience might give a cool reception to a star having a bad day, or a standing ovation to an inspired beginner. The audience, in search of strong emotions, plays an active and intense role during a concert, wholeheartedly supporting the performer’s desire to please. The tense, nervous energy exchanged between artist and audience is therefore very high. As one of the first guitarists to perform in the USSR, the welcome I received was more appropriate to a bullfight than a concert hall: flowers tossed at the stage from all sides, poems pressed into my hands by young girls between sets, thunderous cheering... Upon exiting Tchaikovsky Hall, where I performed my first concert, it became immediately apparent that poetry can never completely overshadow reality. My driver, who got tired of waiting for me, simply took off. As a result, here I am in fifteen below weather wearing my stage clothes, damp with sweat and blood.

I’m holding my guitar in one hand and bouquets of flowers in the other. Vera, my interpreter, desperately tries to hail a cab. In Moscow that’s a bit like trying to stop an airplane in mid-flight. Some of the audience members see me and the uncomfortable predicament I find myself in. They huddle around me to keep me warm as I sign autographs. After an hour of this it becomes clear that we’re not going to find a cab anytime soon. Even the police seem at a loss. There’s only one option left: the subway. With about 50 of my admirers, I head for that legendary work of art, while my newfound friends carry my bags for me. Everyone is in a joyous mood, which offsets the bad humor I would surely have been in otherwise. Besides, how could anyone complain about what was after all a minor annoyance after spending two hours with such a wonderful audience?

For the time being, I have no regrets about becoming a "professional". Backstage, I feel completely at ease. Africa permanently cured me of my stage-fright. I’m light years away from any sense of performance as challenge, test, or competition. I want to be appreciated but not necessarily admired, which can cause an artist to lose his edge. As on a school show, which involves pleasing the family, I now think of the stage as being an extension of everyday life?. Music complements speech. In Tokyo, where I had such an unpleasant experience, I made the mistake of approaching my performance as though it were a test, something utterly unlike musical performance. I failed to communicate because I was so terrified of being excommunicated. I had put myself in an unnatural state of mind—which led to my catalepsy on stage. I’m not interested in the instrument so much as the audience. Music is simply a shortcut. Long live unity, down with struggle! A stage shouldn’t be thought of as a performer’s scaffold. The nervousness I feel before a concert isn’t stage-fright but the natural tension felt by women after giving birth (I guess!)

*******

Composer Piotr Panin

The following evening a small man with slanted eyes picks up my guitar. From the moment he begins playing, I relax in my armchair. It’s obvious that I'm in the presence of a man of extraordinary feeling. He plunges me into a new world, a world that arises from the multitude of cultures that form the Soviet Union—a country he knows well. His playing is not pretentious, it doesn’t deteriorate into brief, explosive flurries or long, drawn-out developments. There are few variations in these concise musical forms, but there is no sense of boredom either. It contains Tartar, Mongolian, Inuit, Chinese, and Russian influences, and dazzles the listener with its fiery passion.This man's name is Piotr Panin. He shows me the 150 manuscripts for guitar and three concertos he has written, which I immeidately offer to have published in the West. But here’s the problem: Panin is self-taught. Therefore he has no musical status or recognition, other than the opportunity to perform with third-class folk bands, which doesn’t even provide him with enough money to make ends meet. He has no chance whatsoever of obtaining the status of performer or composer, since he didn’t attend music school. He lives with a distant cousin and raises chickens in the bathtub. Well, too bad! I’ll have to harass the administration until they come to their senses. At my next recital I perform some of his pieces (the easiest). Afterward all of my records would include a selection of his works. I send a barrage of lavish praise to Moscow. It would take at least seven years for Piotr to obtain the cherished status of composer. Because of constantly being made to feel like an outsider, he decided to change course and sell paintings instead.