“You didn’t have to say anything against the Soviet Union. Just not acting supportive enough could get you in trouble”
Renowned both as a pianist and conductor, Vladimir Ashkenazy has spent more than seven decades bringing music to audiences across the globe. Ashkenazy announced his retirement in January 2020, drawing to a close one of the longest and most distinguished careers in the modern classical era. In 2019, ahead of one of his last performances, I had the privilege of speaking with Ashkenazy and his wife, Thórunn Jóhannsdóttir, after a rehearsal with the Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin.
Born in Gorky, USSR, on July 6, 1937, Ashkenazy’s early life was steeped in music. His father, David, a pianist who accompanied singers and dancers, quickly recognized Vladimir’s prodigious talent.
– I began playing the piano at six, Ashkenazy recalled. My father gave me my first lessons, but soon realized I needed a real teacher.
His early success in the world’s great piano competitions propelled him to international fame: second prize at the 1955 International Chopin Competition in Warsaw, first prize at the 1956 Queen Elisabeth Competition in Brussels, and joint first prize at the 1962 International Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow.
– I never really planned a future; everything unfolded naturally, he said. As one of the best students at my school and later at the Moscow Conservatory, my teacher began sending me to competitions. Suddenly, I was a known musician – but I had no standard repertoire, so I had to build one quickly. Competitions were crucial to my development. They were also an opportunity to meet other pianists, learn from them, and be inspired. Many of those I met in competitions remain my friends to this day.
The Queen Elisabeth Competition in Brussels also gave Ashkenazy his first glimpse of the West.
– It was surreal to travel to the West at 18, he said. I couldn’t believe how free people were, how kind and unafraid. It was an incredible experience – something impossible to imagine as a Soviet citizen.
Although Ashkenazy never planned to leave the USSR, love intervened when he met Icelandic pianist Thórunn Jóhannsdóttir at the Moscow Conservatory. Together, they came to realize that life in the Soviet Union would be impossible for their family.
– I never intended for him to leave, Thórunn explained, but the authorities treated me terribly. As an Icelandic citizen with no Soviet passport, I was told my husband’s career would end if I didn’t become a Soviet citizen. At the time, Iceland didn’t allow dual citizenship, so I lost my Icelandic nationality and was effectively trapped. They told me I had become a citizen of “the freest country in the world”, but at that moment, I knew we couldn’t stay. When my husband was scheduled to perform in London in 1963, I wasn’t allowed to travel with him. I threatened to appeal to the Icelandic embassy and cause an incident. Eventually, I was permitted to accompany him, and once we were in London, we decided never to return.
Ashkenazy describes leaving the Soviet Union as a liberating turning point rather than a loss.
– I never missed ‘my Russia.’ Once you’ve lived under Soviet rule, there’s nothing to miss. I still love the Russian people, nature, music, and literature – Pushkin and Tolstoy are part of me – but I never missed the place itself. There was no personal safety; you didn’t have to say anything against the Soviet Union. Just not acting supportive enough could get you in trouble. Moving West taught me how to make my own decisions, free from constant scrutiny.
From that moment on, Ashkenazy’s international career flourished. He performed in every corner of the world, though he insists he never had a single favorite venue or city.
– I love performing where there are great orchestras and engaged audiences. It doesn’t matter where in the world it is. I had a wonderful time as principal conductor in both Tokyo and Australia. Japanese orchestras are meticulous and passionate, and Australia is a country I adore – Sydney and Melbourne both have superb ensembles.
For the first three decades of his career, Ashkenazy focused solely on piano performance. It was not until the 1970s that conducting began to take center stage.
– I never imagined I’d conduct, he said. It began by chance in 1972 on Iceland. Daniel Barenboim was to play a Beethoven concerto, but the conductor canceled. I knew the piece well, so I stepped in. The Iceland Symphony Orchestra then invited me to conduct more often, and soon my agency was arranging conducting engagements. That’s how my conducting career started. I still play piano daily, but in recent years I chose not to perform it publicly.
His knowledge of orchestral music was rooted in his formative years.
– I grew up attending concerts four or five nights a week. That’s how I learned orchestral repertoire – Soviet recordings at the time were dreadful, so the concert hall was my only resource.
Throughout his career, Ashkenazy forged relationships with countless musicians, including some of the greatest names in Soviet music.
– I had great admiration for Emil Gilels. I once played for him at his Moscow apartment; he was incredibly gracious. I also met Shostakovich in the late 1950s. Back then, you could simply ask to play for him. He invited us to his apartment, and after we played his piano trio, he said simply, “Very good! Would you like some tea now?”.
When asked to name a particularly memorable concert, Ashkenazy replied:
– There have been so many extraordinary moments. But one I’ll never forget was conducting for Sviatoslav Richter with the Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin in Milan in 1994. He was a friend and one of my favorite pianists – his artistry was overwhelming.
Yet there was one moment Ashkenazy will remember forever. After leaving the USSR in 1963, he never set foot there again – until 1989, when he was due to conduct the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra at the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow. By coincidence, he and his family landed back in the Soviet Union on November 9, 1989 – the day the Berlin Wall fell.
– Can you imagine? he said. After 26 years, I returned on the exact day the Berlin Wall came down. We were supposed to meet Gorbachev that day, but one of his aides told us he was extremely busy. The next day we learned why: the Wall had fallen. It was incredible – a moment of history I’ll never forget.
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