In the movie The Seven Hills of Rome, Mario Lanza plays an American singer trying to make his way in Italy as he searches for his fiancee. Rebuffed at every turn, however, he is eventually told, “Tenors are an Italian national resource – we export them, not import them.” The same might be said of Bulgarian basses, with whom the name Boris Christoff (1914-1993) has become synonymous. Famed for his interpretations of Mussorgsky, more than 200 of whose songs he recorded, his rich, powerful voice and incredible stage presence made him world-renowned.
Continuing in that tradition, another Bulgarian-born bass, Julian Konstantinov (born 1966), a wonderful singer and actor, has the distinction of being the youngest bass ever to sing at the prestigious La Scala opera house in Italy. In addition to his performances there and in other opera houses around the world, he has made frequent return trips to Bulgaria and performed in numerous operas in Sofia – singing the role of Mephistopheles in Gounod’s opera Faust, as well as the title role in the opera Don Giovanni, a role which he is occasionally known to finish with a stunning high A, an incredibly impressive feat.
Yet another Bulgarian on the world opera scene is Raina Kabaivanska, a fantastic soprano who has also appeared in opera houses the world over, with countless performances in dozens of roles, notably in both La Scala and the Metropolitan Opera. She is a singer who has received sufficient recognition in the international sphere in that she not only sang at, but actually opened, Pavarotti’s funeral with a rendition of the Ave Maria from Verdi’s Otello.
Importantly, however, for Bulgaria, she is famous not only for her singing, but also for her master classes. Though she has conducted countless such sessions since she began in 1992, since 2001 she has conducted regular classes in Bulgaria in conjunction with New Bulgarian University. These provide an excellent opportunity for young musicians to receive not only world-class instruction and the inspiration that comes to an aspiring singer from being in such close proximity to such a legendary performer, but also exposure and recognition.
Winning the audition required in order to participate in the class is no small achievement, and can serve as an excellent way for an unknown aspirant to get their name before the public. The most recent series of master classes, conducted in September and open to the public, culminated in a concert in Bulgaria Hall with participation by both the students in the class and the famous soprano herself.
Another such opportunity for young Bulgarian singers is the Boris Christoff International Competition for Young Opera Singers, a competition held once every four years, most recently in 2004. Julian Konstantinov, mentioned earlier, was the winner of the men’s division of the competition in 1996.
Originating as early as 1961 (and originally having an irregular schedule), the competition was named after Boris Christoff following his death in 1993. Competition progresses in three stages – in the first two stages, participants sing arias from increasingly modern composers, beginning with the “classical” period (Haydn and Mozart) and progressing through the Romantics (Wagner et al) and on into the 20th century repertoire (ranging from Stravinsky to Gerschwin to Shostakovich). Those progressing through the two initial stages, however, will be faced with an entirely different task in the third – to perform a main role in one of a number of preselected operas alongside the cast of the Sofia Opera. The opportunity represented by participating in, let alone winning, such an event is priceless.
A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit
In addition to performers old and new, Bulgaria has also produced a large number of instrument-makers. I was surprised to learn that Kazanluk, famous for its roses, is also a long-time centre of violin production, home to numerous luthiers, some from as far aways as Italy, who have come here to work. According to several of the websites where their instruments are sold, it seems that local conditions are ideal for growing the sort of wood needed in the manufacture of violins: most notably sycamore, but also spruce and others. The colder conditions in the higher regions of the Stara Planina result in denser wood, which makes for a more resonant instrument. (Intriguingly, a recent theory proposed that Stradavarius’ violins owed their exceptionally resonant quality in part to the fact that Europe was undergoing a prolonged cold period at the time, which affected the development of trees and wood growth.)
Another reason for the relatively large number of luthiers who work in Kazanluk is the presence of a factory for violins in that same city. I spoke to Petko Stoinov, who has been making violins since 1993, and as he told the story that some 80 years ago, the Georgiev brothers traveled to Germany and learnt the craft of violin-making, then returned to Kazanluk and set up a business.
During the communist years, the shop became a factory, and though factory-produced violins are universally considered to be inferior to hand-crafted instruments, the existence of the factory in the town allowed for hands-on training of aspiring luthiers, many of whom went on to found their own or join workshops producing the superior hand-crafted instruments. There is even an option in the local school for learning part of the craft – rather like shop class in American high school, except in making violins. Additionally, many of the current crop of luthiers have studied the craft aboard, most notably in Cremona, Italy, and returned home to their native land to practice it. As knowledge is thus accumulated and passed on to the next generation, a burgeoning trade arose.
In a past life, I was myself a violinist, and I was looking at the pictures of the violins on Stoinov’s website (www.violinstoinov.com), and on the sellers’ websites, I was very impressed with the quality of the instruments that I saw, though regretfully I have not as yet had the opportunity to play on one. A lot can be judged about a violin from its appearance, though – as a general rule, a violin sounds like it looks. Darker woods give darker tones, lighter woods more lyric tones, and the overall quality of the sound corresponds to workmanship as expressed in proportion and form and quality of the wood and the varnish (which does in fact influence the acoustic characteristics). A violin that looks beautiful sounds beautiful, and these looked very beautiful indeed, despite the fact that any new instrument requires extensive playing over time to develop into its full potential.
Unfortunately, local musicians rarely reap the benefits of the trade. According to Stoinov, it was “very rare” for one of his violins to be sold to a local musician, and he cited low salaries as the reason for this. Indeed, I would be hard-pressed to imagine someone on an average Bulgarian salary (let alone the notoriously lower salaries for those in the arts) being able to afford one of Stoinov’s violins, which start at 2500 euro, and one of which sold in America for as high as $9900. He did, however, mention that occasionally a Bulgarian musician might purchase a new violin from a factory, though added that this, too, was rare.
Still, a new musician doesn’t necessarily need a brand-new, handcrafted instrument – indeed, many starting violinists might be discouraged by the rather daunting process of breaking it in, and most prefer an older instrument. I recently had the opportunity to assist in the purchase of a quarter-sized violin for a family that was starting lessons for their daughter, and we found a serviceable though by no means phenomenal instrument, complete with case and bow, for 50 leva. Take note, however, that this was a quarter-sized instrument – designed for extremely young children to play while learning and usually outgrow by the time they turn seven or eight, not for a master violinist to take into concert halls. Full-sized instruments vary widely in price based on the quality of the instrument and the dealer, but it is possible to purchase a relatively good instrument for only a few hundred leva.
The music man
In addition to musicians and makers of instruments, Bulgaria has also produced its share of composers. I sat down and talked to Alexander Vidlishki, a Bulgarian composer with seven operas, five cantatas, three musicals and a ballet to his credit, about his work. The man himself has a fascinating history, almost a microcosm of the development of the Bulgarian musical scene in the second half the of the 20th century.
He began composing in 1951 at the age of 12 under the tutelage of Nikola Tsonev, who was then director of the former Royal Wind Orchestra, and assigned him projects for orchestration and composition, which he would then correct. Most of these early pieces were for women’s choirs – “Women are more serious!” – but by 1964 he composed a ballet based on Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book, entitled simply, Mogli. The work itself – a modern opera with elements of jazz and swing – has unfortunately only been performed in part, and attempts to secure a staging in London have so far been unsuccessful: “I want to listen to Mogli live, as I created it and as Kipling created it,” he relates, and is still looking for an investor/producer.
In 1968, he was instrumental in founding the first boys’ choir in Bulgaria: “to prove that our boys can sing,” since there were boys’ choirs nearly everywhere else in the world. Then, in 1972, at a somewhat older age than most, he enrolled in the musical academy: “We’ll make you a director!” he was told. But, “by the second month I realised that I already knew everything, and I was just there for a diploma”. Unfortunately, on graduation, he was not made a director as promised. During the communist period, party membership was more of a qualifier than any actual qualifications, and necessary to advancement. “Only those in the Communist Party had talent,” as he tells it.
However, the time at school was not at loss – it was there that he met Professor Nadinev, who took him on as a student in composition, and pushed him towards writing oratorios. It was during this time period that he composed his work Zhultata Gostinka – the “yellow guest”, a euphemism for tuberculosis, based on a text by Bulgarian poet Hristo Smirnenski.
This brings up another very important point – the selection of text for a musical work. Though there are exceptions, such as the ballet Mogli and a musical based on The Little Prince, I was very pleased to hear him speak of so many of his works that were based on texts from Bulgarian authors – an aesthetic nationalism that would do any Romantic proud. His current project speaks to this as well: a large oratorio, with symphonic orchestra, choir, children’s choir, soloists and readers based on Ivan Graninski’s work Otechestveni Kartini (Pictures of the Fatherland). The poet travelled to all the parts of Bulgaria so that he could write about – indeed, celebrate – them all in his work. “Every artist expresses his time,” as Vidlishki told me, and I would argue that this applies to place as well.
In addition to classical music – “classical music – Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven – I was taught that the eternal and beautiful was classical” – jazz has also been a factor in his work. After being denied the chance to become a well-known conductor due to his non-membership in the Communist Party, he became involved with jazz and big-band, even staging a huge concert at NDK in 1993, with three big bands, jazz chorus and jazz ballet. However, even such an event highlights some of the difficulties of musicians in Bulgaria – he was determined to keep the price reasonable so that people could afford to attend, at two or three leva per ticket. The hall sold out, and was full to overflowing, with people sitting on the floors. “But all that money didn’t cover rent and expenses for just the hall,” he said, to say nothing of other expenses such as salaries for the musicians and advertising.
“It’s not just the rich that understand classical,” he said, mentioning that they could have charged a much higher price per ticket and even made money on the event, but that not nearly so many people would have come. “What’s the point of playing to 40 people” when you could be playing to more than one thousand? Even if the 40 could afford to pay more, collectively, than the thousand. He is a firm believer that “the hall must be accessible by all”.
There is clearly, then, an audience for classical music, even if not quite as large or willing and able to come up with money for tickets as the audience for, say, chalga. “For chalga,” he laments, “you could charge 100 leva” and still have an audience. As an aside, I would add that even high-priced classical concerts by such foreign luminaries as Jose Carreras, Vanessa Mae and Nigel Kennedy receive large turnouts, despite the often-prohibitive entry fees.
Lately, however, he finds his attention and much of his musical endeavors turning to humanitarian causes. Bulgaria has the fourth-highest rate of lung disease in the world, he says (I have been unable to independently confirm or deny this, but certainly the rate is far higher than it should be), “and these are things that can be treated”. He helped to found the association Na Detsata s Lyubov (To the Children with Love), currently with 21 members and looking to grow, which has organised a series of concerts every March for the past two years dedicated to raising funds and awareness for the numerous Bulgarian hospitals for children with lung diseases, especially tuberculosis.
Quoting a Bulgarian proverb, “If the child didn’t cry, the mother wouldn’t feed it,” he says that “we want their plight to reach those with money” – money for purchasing the latest equipment and medicines for the children. However, despite the obvious successes of the concert in both fundraising and publicity and the glaring need of the institutions in question, he has had difficulty in finding official patrons to pledge – and then follow through on – their support to the endeavour, having approached both first lady Zorka Purvanova and the vice president unsuccessfully.
Despite lack of official support for either the charitable concerts or the institutions they are designed to help, ambitious plans are already underway for 2008 – 20 concerts in 20 different cities, each dedicated to the children’s hospital for lung diseases in that city, with the idea as always to serve not only as a one-shot fundraiser to alleviate the immediate financial problems and need for the latest medicine and equipment, but also to raise awareness in the local community to foster ongoing support.
We also spoke about audience and reception, not only for classical music in general, but for his own work. Interestingly enough, the fundraising concerts feature a lot of music of his own composition. “There’s a passenger for every train,” he says, mentioning that at his concerts there is a “regular public” – the fans of the authors, composers, and performers – that routinely turn out, and bring others along. “At every concert, there are more people who love this kind of thing.” He describes his own work as essentially classical, but with modern decorations from jazz and swing – “we don’t live in their time,” he says, referencing the great composers of the past, “but in the 21st century”. Though describing many of his own compositions as difficult and stormy, rather like the times, he adds, “better hard than simple”.
As for the reception of classical music in general, he notes that, for good concerts, “the halls fill up”. He is in fact correct: I have on numerous occasions attended performances at the Sofia Opera or Bulgaria Hall that were all but sold out – season premiers of popular opera favourites, special appearances by notable stars (nearly every performance that I attended by Konstantinov was quite full), and special events such as a concert last spring in Bulgaria Hall of Wagner’s works (Wagner’s compositions are notoriously difficult to perform, requiring almost superhuman stamina and technical skill, and are thus rarely performed live) have all drawn large crowds.
Writing on the walls
In addition to the obvious venues such as Bulgaria Hall or the Sofia Opera House, there are other places where classical music has found expression and audience. The Red House Centre for Culture and Debate frequently features musical performances in a number of styles, including a weeklong series in October of the works of contemporary composers, both Bulgarian and foreign. Students in the Academy and Conservatory frequently give concerts, and despite the fact that they are student concerts the quality of those I have attended (usually to hear a friend perform) has been quite high. Finding a good concert can often be as simple as walking around town and looking at the walls: posters in the centre frequently announce concerts small and large, often in unexpected venues.
Classical music in Bulgaria certainly has its problems, most related to general economic conditions and the low salaries of performers. There is also a perceived lack of Government support for the arts: I have, on numerous occasions, seen a bouquet of flowers from the Ministry of Culture presented to the performers after an opera draw hisses. Still, it seems that, as a whole, there are performers, composers and listeners who love the music and are willing and able to participate in it. I myself look forward to this opera season, which began recently with back-to-back performances of Verdi’s Masked Ball in NDK, and is set to get underway this month in its traditional venue of the Sofia Opera House.
I realise that it is traditional to close such an article in a summing-up of the situation that is ulimately either optimistic or pessimistic, but I don’t have one. There are some excellent performers in Bulgaria and an audience, albeit limited, that appreciates their work, but there are also many problems: economic difficulties, the lure of immigration and widely perceived lack of proper Government support for the arts. But in the end, the future is what you make it and art is where you find it: the trick is to look.
