A LEGACY REGAINED

Russian violist and pedagogue Yuri Kramarov was one of the most important Soviet-era musicians. Misha Galaganov explores his life, career and teaching methods

Imagine it’s 1937, and an eight-year-old boy in Moscow sees his father, a respected engineer, being arrested in the middle of the night as an enemy of the state. Imagine the terror, the sense of overwhelming unfairness: such a young child might not realise that many other Soviet citizens are likewise being arrested everywhere in the country. Now imagine the boy’s shock and horror when his mother is also taken shortly thereafter, and he is left practically an orphan. He does not know at that moment that he will never see his father again, and it will be almost 20 years before he next sees his mother. This is what happened to Yuri Kramarov (1929–82), who would grow up to be one of the most outstanding Soviet violists and pedagogues of the 20th century.

Luckily, a friend of his mother, ‘Aunt Sasha’, as Kramarov called her, took him to live with her in Leningrad (now St Petersburg) and raised him as her own son. When Germany invaded Russia in 1941, they went to Tashkent (then part of the Uzbek Soviet Socialist Republic) as refugees. However, Aunt Sasha then went to Moscow to help out in a hospital, leaving Kramarov behind living in a Tashkent hostel and attending a special music school for gifted children – one that had temporarily relocated from Leningrad shortly after the beginning of the war. But he did not like it there, and in 1943 he ran away to Moscow.

It happened spontaneously. Walking down a street in Tashkent, cold and hungry, he met a pilot, who upon learning that Kramarov was deeply miserable in that city asked if he wanted to go to Moscow with him. Most people would not say yes to such a proposition, but Kramarov did, and subsequently flew to Moscow on a military plane. There he realised that music would be the most important thing in his life and resumed his studies. After the war, he moved back to Leningrad to continue studying at the special music school, then from 1948 at the Leningrad Conservatoire in the class of Soviet violist and pedagogue Isaak Levitin.

Kramarov soon emerged as a star under the tutelage of Levitin, quickly gaining prominence as a viola soloist. In 1951, he and Victor Liberman were featured as soloists in Mozart’s Sinfonia concertante under the direction of Yevgeny Mravinsky, and in 1952, one year before his graduation, Kramarov was appointed principal viola of the ‘big’ (as described by Kramarov) Symphony Orchestra of Leningrad Radio, later renamed the Leningrad Philharmonic Orchestra. When Levitin died in 1954, Kramarov was asked to replace Levitin as a professor of viola at the conservatoire.

During the 1950s Kramarov gave many recitals in Leningrad. Those who heard him play speak of his unique combination of expression, passion, intellect and brilliant technique. While he had a beautiful sound and impressive natural technical command over the instrument, he utilised these qualities only as tools for musical expression. His entire interpretation projected intelligence – reviews from the time praise his cantilena as one of the strongest aspects of his performance and point out that while the beauty of his sound had an unmistakable viola individuality, it was bright and silvery like that of the violin and deep and velvety like that of the cello.

It is no wonder that, in 1956, Mravinsky personally invited Kramarov to take the principal viola position in the worldfamous Honoured Academic Symphony Orchestra of the Leningrad Philharmonic, and it is not surprising that Kramarov won first prize in two challenging solo competitions in 1957: the All-Union competition and one that formed part of the Sixth International Festival of Youth and Students in Moscow.

During the 1950s and 60s Kramarov was a desirable chamber music partner for several well-known string players including David Oistrakh. The performance of Shostakovich’s Eighth Quartet given in Leningrad by Mikhail Vayman (first violin), Boris Gutnikov (second violin), Kramarov (viola) and Mstislav Rostropovich (cello) was especially memorable for all who attended. He also played for the Glazunov Quartet and the Rimsky-Korsakov Quartet.

But what was Kramarov like as a teacher? During the third quarter of the 20th century he gave lessons at the Leningrad Conservatoire and at its Petrozavodsk branch in north-west Russia, where he not only taught chamber music and the viola but also conducted the student orchestra. There have been many reports about his teaching from former students and contemporaries, including accounts of his studio always being very crowded – because half the conservatoire (students, professors, alumni and composers) seemed to be in attendance. The students who attended included not only winners of national and international competitions (such as Isaac Malkin, Michael Kugel, Vasily Shulga and Vladimir Stopichev), but also those who went on to become university professors or principals in major orchestras.

Kramarov (far right) in the Rimsky-Korsakov Quartet with l–r Vladimir Pello, Samuil Igudesman, Dmitri Levin

ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF MARIA KRAMAROV

KRAMAROV’S VIOLA SOUND WAS BR IGHT AND SILV ERY LIKE THAT OF THE VIOLIN AND DEEP AND VELVETY LIKE THAT OF THE CELLO

Kramarov’s former pupils report that all his students loved him. Apparently, he was an emotional teacher who charged everyone with his energy and enthusiasm for music – agreat musician who shared his experiences, achievements and beliefs with younger generations, helping them to form their own opinions and requiring them to show independence of musical ideas. If a student played a well-known composition in an unusual (but logical) way, Kramarov would say, ‘Please play again – Ineed to adapt to your interpretation.’ Sometimes he would ask a student to play a musical phrase in several different ways until the student found the most suitable solution.

The level of musical demands in the studio was very high, and those who experienced Kramarov’s teaching attest that his success rested on his incredible ability to hear minuscule imperfections in a person’s playing and always to know what caused them and what needed to be done to fix the problem.

When teaching a piece, he would often display his encyclopaedic knowledge of history, literature, arts, physiology and psychology by giving an extensive overview of the time period in which it was written, including in his explanation references to specific works of art, architecture and so on so that ultimately everyone in the room understood why a piece could be played in a particular way. In fact, he would emphasise the importance of general education for musicians, saying: ‘When a person possesses elevated inner culture and knows art and theatre well, it is easy to suggest to him a corresponding figurativeness in the sphere of music.’ He tended to surprise students with unusual comparisons and striking imagery, such as: ‘In this place, the sound should in some ways remind us of Spanish velvet. Have you seen an 18th-century cardinal’s costume in the museum?’ Or, ‘Your performance should radiate the colour of real, fresh grass. Go to nature and look!’

HE TENDED TO SURPRISE STUDENTS WITH STRIKING IM AGERY: ‘YOUR PERFORMANCE SHOULD RADIATE THE COLOUR OF REAL, FRESH GR ASS. GO TO NATURE AND LOOK!’

With students in Omsk in 1978: l–r clarinettist Yuri Burmas, violinist Svetlana Gofman, Yuri Kramarov, violist Michael Kugel, violinist Garry Petrenko (father of conductor Kirill Petrenko)

Kramarov conducts the Omsk Chamber Orchestra, 1973, with viola soloist Michael Kugel

While working on technique, Kramarov demonstrated and suggested fingerings but never insisted on them. In the process of giving suggestions about bowings or ways to organise fingerings, he always credited the original authors of ideas that were not his own. If you could steal a glance at Kramarov’s own music you would see these people’s names written in pencil next to the corresponding bowings and fingerings.

Kramarov championed an unusual method of improving control over vibrato. He advised students to start practising vibrato with the freest, best-sounding finger: ‘Only after you achieve comparable success in the sound of this note should you take on the next step – in particular, transfer the acquired habit of the correct vibrato to the neighbouring fingers.’ He used this method even when a student’s best vibrato finger happened to be their pinky (an unusual situation); without hesitation, he would say, ‘Start with this one!’

The core of Kramarov’s teaching was essentially a pedagogy of emotional states in performance. ‘Only a trained emotion, not a chaotic expression of feelings, is capable of communicating the mood of an interpreted work,’ he said. ‘Think about what you play! It is necessary to play emotional states! If this is sorrow, then what kind of sorrow – gentle or elevated? What emotion – furious or proud? These are all different things, and expressiveness should be in everything!’

Moreover, he taught that warming up an emotion before a recital is at least as important as the traditional warming up of hand muscles. He said that after walking on stage, one should not be in a hurry to start playing. First, one must feel a connection with the audience, establish contact, and only after that guide listeners into one’s musical world.

Kramarov also offered lectures to string teachers, with some of his most valuable suggestions including:

• Change the lesson regime from time to time. For example, alter the time of a lesson from mornings to evenings, and vice versa, in order to avoid monotony and loss of responsibility on the student’s part. Sometimes it is advisable to give students more time to work on music by themselves, thus ensuring that they don’t come to lessons with pieces they have barely started; previously unused lesson time can then be utilised later to polish the piece.

• Change the acoustic conditions. For instance, give lessons in a concert hall or a large classroom instead of a small space.

• Alternate having lessons with and without piano accompaniment. A collaborative performance with a pianist should serve as a reward for good work.

• In order to give a student a greater sense of responsibility and, as a result, help them to prepare better, have other students sit in on some of their lessons.

• Hold concerts and competitions in class on required pieces.

Kramarov’s former colleagues remember him as being fearless, direct and outspoken in his opinions on various aspects of Soviet life and its restrictions – an attitude that was unsurprising, given his childhood experiences. This eventually resulted in his exclusion from a tour with Mravinsky’s orchestra – adecision made by the conductor, who between 1962 and 1964 was going through a difficult time. In response, Kramarov simply resigned in 1963. After this shocking act of resignation from the respected ‘Honoured’ orchestra, followed by his even more unbelievable refusal to come back, Kramarov fell into deep disfavour with Soviet officials. Other important reasons for this disfavour included the antisemitism in Russia at the time (Kramarov was Jewish) and Moscow’s general intolerance towards outstanding talents in any other parts of the Soviet Union. Acting through the system, Mravinsky made sure that important concert venues, including the main concert halls of Leningrad and Moscow, were closed to Kramarov’s performances, and this continued through the course of the 1960s and most of the 1970s, during which time Kramarov continued working at the conservatoire, promoted in 1966 to the position of docent (associate professor). Kramarov and Mravinsky eventually reconciled in 1980.

Only at the very end of his life did Kramarov receive the honours and acknowledgement that he deserved. In 1981, he was awarded the prestigious title of Honoured Artist of the Russian Federation. The next year, he was promoted to the status of full professor at the Leningrad Conservatoire, though he never learnt of this. The notice of his promotion was received by his wife while he was away on a concert tour.

It was early spring 1982. Kramarov was playing a series of recitals and giving masterclasses in a few cities in Russia. On 15 March (the day that his wife received news of his promotion), after having performed in Krasnoyarsk, he set off on a car journey to Divnogorsk with some other musicians to see a winter sporting event. It was very cold, and the ground was covered in snow.

Kramarov was sitting in the front seat of the car and unexpectedly expressed a wish to move to the back. When they stopped the car, he got out and suddenly fell to the ground. He had had a heart attack and died instantly, aged just 53.

Kramarov’s legacy lives on in his recordings (see box, right) as well as in the work of his students and their pupils. He was an exquisite musician and is remembered as a brilliant soloist and one of the best chamber music players of his time. Not only was he a legendary principal viola under Mravinsky, but also he himself conducted a few orchestras in his native country (including his own Leningrad chamber orchestra). He also made transcriptions and arrangements, including a viola edition of Bach’s Cello Suites (Leningrad, 1982) that became an essential study guide on Bach’s style for many Russian viola students and performers. It included a scholarly preface, commentary in table form containing references to different sources, and a list of text discrepancies among existing editions. He also wrote reviews and articles, including a piece on viola pedagogy in Enquiries in Music Pedagogy – acollection of papers edited by V.I. Rudenko (Moscow, 1980). Most importantly, Kramarov was an exceptional teacher, and his viola class was one of the most respected in the entire Soviet Union. He deserves to be acknowledged as one of the most outstanding musicians of the 20th century.