AN OLD-SCHOOL GENTLEMAN

Russian cellist Boris Pergamenschikow enjoyed an influential career both teaching and playing in Europe after leaving the Soviet Union, before his untimely death twenty years ago. Oskar Falta examines his legacy and hears from some of his former students

Very few musicians have successfully managed to combine an international solo career with dedicated teaching. The Russian cellist Boris Pergamenschikow (1948–2004) did just that. The world of music lost him too soon, but his memory lives on through his recorded legacy and the work of his students.

Pergamenschikow was born on 29 August 1948 in post-war Leningrad (today’s St Petersburg) to musical parents of Jewish descent. His mother, Esther (née Schneersohn), was a pianist trained at the Moscow Conservatoire, while his father, Miron, a veteran of the First World War, was a military music conductor and a skilled cellist. As a consequence of Stalin’s campaign against Jewish intellectuals, both parents had to rely on odd jobs to make ends meet, as neither of them could find work in their chosen field. The young family lived in two rooms of a typical Soviet communal apartment with shared kitchen and bathroom facilities.

Early in his childhood, Pergamenschikow began playing the piano. When it was time to choose his main instrument, his parents made a practical decision – in a market flooded with pianists and violinists, a cellist had a better chance of making a living. At the age of seven, after initial cello lessons with his father, Pergamenschikow was accepted at the specialist children’s music school of the Leningrad Conservatoire, where he studied the cello with Benjamin Morozov for the following five years. Then he switched to the class of Emmanuel Fischmann, who became his mentor until his graduation from the conservatoire proper twelve years later.

Boris Pergamenschikow playing his 1735 Domenico Montagnana

MAIN PHOTO KLAUS RUDOLPH.

A student of Alexander Shtrimer and a prominent figure in the Leningrad cello school, Fischmann is perhaps best known today as Mischa Maisky’s teacher. He used easy language that children could understand, and although he didn’t provide much advice on practising, he had a clear vision of each student’s development.

Emmanuel Fischmann

FISCHMANN PHOTO COURTESTY OF TANJA PERGAMENSCHIKOW

Fischmann’s pupils had to tackle scales and Dotzauer and Duport studies, and master concertos by Romberg, Davidov and Popper before advancing to the standard repertoire. This approach ‘did not risk spoiling the great music like Schumann and Haydn by using it as an etude’, explained Pergamenschikow in an interview for The Strad in September 2000. When he later became a teacher himself, Pergamenschikow realised that the longer he taught, the more similarities he saw between Fischmann’s and his own teaching methods (as related by his wife in her 2008 book Boris Pergamenschikow: Im Spiegel der Erinnerungen).

Another significant influence on Pergamenschikow’s artistic growth was the cellist Daniil Shafran, whose concerts Pergamenschikow never missed, as he recalled in Antti Sairanen’s Daniil Shafran: Cello Solo (2009): ‘Shafran’s performing style captivated us young cellists. Of course, many of us tried to imitate him. In those years we didn’t understand that any imitation of such an original artist became virtually a caricature.’ To his great joy, he started having private lessons with Shafran in Moscow around 1969 and thus became one of his first students. These lessons were also an inspiration for Pergamenschikow’s own future pedagogical approach: ‘Shafran’s style of teaching and his way of communicating had given me the correct tone for my behaviour in working with young musicians.’

Hard work soon began to bear fruit when Pergamenschikow won first prize in the 1970 cello edition of the Prague Spring competition. However, the greatest triumph came at the 1974 International Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow, where he was awarded the cello-category gold medal. This victory opened doors to new concert engagements. Tours ensued, primarily within the USSR but also abroad in South America. Nevertheless, the Gosconcert, a corrupt, state-run agency with a monopoly over all artistic engagements abroad, mostly allowed him to perform only within the Soviet Union, and far from its cultural centres.

PERGAMENSCHIKOW STARTED HAVING PRIVATE LESSONS WITH DANIIL SHAFRAN A ROUND 1969 AND THUS BECAME ONE OF HIS FIRST STUDENTS

Daniil Shafran (left) and Pergamenschikow (right) at the awards ceremony of the 1970 Prague Spring Competition

On the rare occasions when he did perform abroad, the authorities confiscated most of his concert fees. Besides that, he was not allowed to have a teaching position, which added to his growing frustration with the oppressive system.

When the opportunity arose for Soviet-Jewish citizens to apply for an exit visa to Israel, Pergamenschikow and his family seized the chance and eventually left the USSR in 1977. Israel was never their intended destination, though. They travelled via Vienna, staying there for three months and finally moving to Cologne, where Pergamenschikow joined the cello faculty of the Cologne University of Music, succeeding Siegfried Palm.

From that point on, Pergamenschikow’s career took a new turn – he started appearing as a soloist with major orchestras on international stages and forming new chamber music partnerships, as his vast and diverse discography testifies. Highlights include several albums of sonatas with pianist Pavel Gililov for the Orfeo label; two discs of Haydn piano trios for Decca with pianist András Schiff and violinist Yuuko Shiokawa; Schubert piano trios with Paul Badura-Skoda (piano) and Wolfgang Schneiderhan (violin), published posthumously by Gramola in 2019; Penderecki’s Cello Concerto no.2 with the Bamberg Symphony under the composer (Orfeo label); and Dutilleux’s cello concerto Tout un monde lointain… with the BBC Philharmonic under Yan Pascal Tortelier. Last but not least, Pergamenschikow’s Bach Cello Suites recorded for Hänssler in 1998 are a must-hear. His cello from 1982 onwards was a 1735 Domenico Montagnana now owned by the Razumovsky Trust and currently played by David Cohen, principal cellist of the London Symphony Orchestra.

Alongside his teaching post in Cologne, Pergamenschikow also briefly taught at the Basel Music Academy in Switzerland (1987–8). From 1996 he was a much-valued regular guest teacher at the Kronberg Academy, which has awarded the Boris Pergamenschikow Scholarship to young cellists since 2004. In 1998 he was appointed professor at the Hochschule für Musik Hanns Eisler Berlin, a position he held until his death in 2004.

EVEN IN FAST PASSAGES PERGAMENSCHIKOW PLAYED ONE FINGER AT A TIME, ALMOST LIKE A PIANIST

Asa teacher, Pergamenschikow nurtured an impressive number of future cello stars. Among those who benefited from his wisdom were Claudio Bohórquez, Alban Gerhardt and Hans-Christian Schweiker, who all studied with him at the Cologne University of Music; and Nicolas Altstaedt, Julian Arp, Amit Peled, Emil Rovner and Julian Steckel, who knew him at the Berlin Hochschule. I was delighted when all these star cellists agreed to share their memories with me, twenty years after Pergamenschikow’s death, and explain what made their teacher unique.

Schweiker was one of Pergamenschikow’s first students in Germany and a long-time teaching assistant throughout the 1980s. When he first encountered Pergamenschikow, he was amazed by his ability to create a powerful sound without needing to be a heavyweight champion. ‘I wanted to learn his secret,’ says Schweiker. By observing Pergamenschikow in action, he was able to define several core principles of his teacher’s technique. For example, analysing his left-hand movements, he noticed that

even in fast passages Pergamenschikow played one finger at a time, almost like a pianist

– putting full weight on the active finger while keeping the remaining fingers lying freely on the string. Along the same lines, Rovner describes Pergamenschikow’s effective use of left-hand articulation: ‘He allowed the finger to fall down with a lot of weight, releasing it immediately after. This way, his left hand never got tired.’

According to Bohórquez, Pergamenschikow was meticulous in his approach, leaving nothing to chance: ‘He was known for having three or more fingering options for technically challenging passages: a risky but musically appealing one, a safe option that typically involved the thumb à la Shafran, and finally, an unconventional fingering that was beneficial as a left-hand exercise.’ Peled adds, ‘On rare occasions, if a student discovered a fingering that Pergamenschikow hadn’t yet thought of, he took a coin out of his pocket and asked: “Can I buy it from you?”’

Pergamenschikow with Nicolas Altstaedt at the Kronberg Academy in 2002

PRAGUE PHOTO STANISLAV MARŠÁL, PRAGUE SPRING FESTIVAL. KRONBERG PHOTO LUTZ STERNSTEIN, KRONBERG ACADEMY

Teaching Gavriel Lipkind at the Kronberg Academy in 2002

PHOTO LUTZ STERNSTEIN, KRONBERG ACADEMY

TEACHING WITH A SCORE IN HAND OR FROM BEHIND THE PIANO, HE USED META PHORS AND STORIES TO MAKE HIS POINT

As for vibrato, Pergamenschikow used it with both rounded and flattened fingers, depending on the musical context. In Schweiker’s view, the second option is a helpful tool for cellists with slim fingers, as it can significantly expand their possibilities for expression. One day, Schweiker entered the class and saw Pergamenschikow vibrating a single note, moving and rotating his whole arm in all possible directions – ‘What are you doing?’ he asked. ‘I am searching for the perfect finger placement,’ replied Pergamenschikow. In the spirit of Shafran, he used the thumb as an extra finger, as is evident from Steckel’s recollection: ‘He taught us to play The Swan by Saint-Saëns with the thumb only… a great exercise for thumb vibrato!’ Anticipation was a key aspect of Pergamenschikow’s pedagogy, whether it concerned a position change, a stringcrossing or indeed any other upcoming action. Schweiker explains, ‘Every note is divided into two parts: the note itself and the preparation for the next one. Once the bow starts, everything has to have been decided already.’ Over Zoom, he demonstrates a practical example, step by step, on an ascending string-crossing in one bow: ‘Play the lower string while gradually lifting the elbow in anticipation of the higher string. Then comes a moment when, for a fraction of a second, you actually play both strings at once, before you finally cross over to the higher string.’

Pergamenschikow seldom demonstrated on the cello in lessons. Teaching with a score in hand or from behind the piano (being an excellent pianist, he accompanied most of the repertoire his students played), he used imagery, metaphors and stories to make his point. Altstaedt recalls, ‘After playing through a piece, he gave us the opportunity to ask questions. Then he replied with questions of his own that helped us understand where we were careless with technical details, didn’t listen to ourselves or neglected the musical text – not paying enough attention to the score.’ Such a reflective teaching style stimulated discussions. Arp gives some examples of the kinds of question that would lead to these conversations: ‘How do you create a three-dimensional sound so that it carries to the back row of the hall?’ or, ‘Which different colours can you mix by combining vibrato, bow speed and bow pressure?’

Especially in Pergamenschikow’s later career, there was a long waiting list to join his studio, and most of the students he accepted were already accomplished artists, seeking to refine their interpretation still further. One big advantage of studying with him was the fact that he was an active concerto soloist and was therefore able to give practical advice regarding sound projection in the hall, when to listen to a particular orchestral section in the piece or when to look at the conductor.

Despite the high level of his class, Pergamenschikow emphasised the importance of returning to basics, such as perfecting bow control through specific exercises. Bohórquez remembers one of them: ‘While playing an open string, lift the right-hand fingers one finger at a time off the bow stick to improve your understanding of the role of each finger in the overall balance of the bow.’ Most of Pergamenschikow’s former students are familiar with what he called the ‘banana bow’ – a bow stroke that begins off the string, and by which the entire arm, led by the elbow, swings in a pendulum-like manner, drawing a semicircular shape (hence the ‘banana’). (This is instead of approaching the string vertically from above – in Pergamenschikow’s words, ‘like a gramophone needle’.) The banana bow sets the string in motion at the lowest point of the curve (example 1). According to Rovner, Pergamenschikow adopted this idea from the violinist Sándor Végh, although it might have come from Ševčík’s 40 Variations op.3 for the violin (arranged for the cello by Feuillard), where a curved, banana-shaped apostrophe indicates a bow lift.

EXAMPLE 1 Pergamenschikow’s ‘banana bow’ exercise

If Gerhardt still starts his daily morning routine with the banana bow some thirty years after his last lesson with Pergamenschikow, there must be more to it than meets the eye. ‘It teaches me the perfect bow control, although I’ve added some rules to it – I try to enter the string as gently and slowly as possible in different parts of the bow, without stopping, with completely flat hair and full arm weight. And preferably this is done on the C string, which is even harder than on other strings,’ he says.

Nonetheless, Pergamenschikow’s concept of the banana bow was not limited to bow strokes starting off the string, as Arp explains: ‘Place the bow on the string, feel the resistance and pull the string as if by plucking it, drawing a line in the form of a banana – but not like those straight supermarket bananas!’ Peled, who adapted this exercise for his students, sees it rather as a ‘breathing bow’. He says, ‘You create a vibrant sound, approaching the string from below.’ Indeed, the elbow is very low at the moment the bow touches the string. He continues, ‘The goal is first to learn how to create small bananas with the fingers, then extend them to the elbow, and finally to the shoulder.’ Peled also noticed (and later adopted) one particular feature of Pergamenschikow’s bow hold: ‘Sometimes, he would place the right pinky on top of the stick, like a violinist. He didn’t do it all the time and used it for repertoire up to Beethoven, I would say. That relationship between the first finger and the pinky gives the sound a focused and speaking quality.’

PERGAMENSCHIKOW WAS A GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL , INSPIRING MUSICA LINTEGRITY AND MUTUAL RESPECT

With Antoine Tamestit, Kronberg Academy, 2002

KRONBERG PHOTO LUTZ STERNSTEIN, KRONBERG ACADEMY. PORTRAIT PHOTO KLAUS RUDOLPH/SALZBURG FESTIVAL

Pergamenschikow’s example went far beyond music and cello playing, as all of his students unanimously agree. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that he was a gentleman of the old school, inspiring musical integrity and mutual respect, always putting the composer’s work at the forefront. ‘He didn’t belong to the countless egocentrics and narcissists that populate the artistic world today,’ wrote his friend the violinist Gidon Kremer in 2008.

Pergamenschikow taught until his final days; he died on 30 April 2004, aged 55. His dedication to students is perhaps best illustrated in an anecdote shared by Peled, who once asked him: ‘Why do you give us two-hour lessons when you are only supposed to give an hour and half?’ Pergamenschikow replied: ‘You know, Amit, after two hours, the student usually loses concentration, so I stop.’

With thanks to the Kronberg Academy (kronbergacademy.de) for providing archive photographs to illustrate this feature