You, Lucky Few; and You, Unlucky Lot

You, Lucky Few; and You, Unlucky Lot

Chetana  Nagavajara

This was a historic event. The Russian violinist, Graf Mourja, played the entire 24 Caprices for Solo Violin in one single programme in the evening of Sunday, 26 June 2016. The venue was Salon 1, Sofitel Bangkok Sukhumvit. The room could accommodate roughly 50 people; it should have been filled, but several of those who had made reservations just did not show up. So there were empty seats. Had the soloist been the prima donna of Western violinists, Anne-Sophie Mutter, she would have walked out of the room in disdain and taken the next flight out of Bangkok. The number of the audience did not matter to Graf Mourja. He came to play, and he played. He loved to play and he enjoyed playing. It made him happy as much as it made the lucky audience very, very happy.

Lord Yehudi Menuhin spoke of “natural” violinists and did not consider himself one of them. Graf Mourja would qualify for that epithet. The humidity of a rainy day in the ecologically nightmarish Bangkok did affect his instrument: Caprice No. 1 sounded too dry. But the artist remained undaunted and continued to give his best. By the time he reached half way, the violin glowed with natural warmth that could melt your heart. And when he got to Caprice No. 24, a piece that could touch the autere North German, Johannes Brahms, those present must have felt grateful that they had braved the inclement weather to be at the Sofitel Bangkok, grateful to the artist, grateful to the composer, grateful to Europe – which is now falling to pieces at the hands of anachronistic imperialists – to have produced such a divine musical culture and shared it with the rest of the world.

Hearing all the 24 Caprices in one evening cannot fail to make music lovers realize that Paganini was a serious composer worthy of our respect. Most people regard the Caprices as the acme of violinistic technique, a set of exercises, a Violinschule, to outdo all rivals. But if we leave aside all technical considerations, the performance last night proved beyond any doubt that the range of emotions, the variety of styles, the compositional structures and the artistic unity were the work of a supreme artist whose intellectual prowess should not be belittled. Thank you, Graf Mourja, for having demonstrated “the other side” of Paganini’s achievements.

Being a Thai, I cannot help being reminded of the great masters of Thai music when listening to Graf Mourja. The chief responsibility of the performing artist is to communicate, and to communicate with utmost integrity, without worrying too much about minor deficiencies and mere poise and grace and beauty of tone. Thai wind players, say, those masters of “Pi Nai” would even go as far as to sacrifice intonation in favour of expression. Mourja was intent on expression, but without overstraining himself in any way. He never showed off. He did not have to convince people that he was a virtuoso: virtuosity could be taken for granted. Intellectually just as superior, he must have internalized analytical thinking in such a way that his violin playing sounded natural through and through. But the experience of hearing him in, say, Caprice No. 5, was certainly different from that of No. 9. He must have pondered deeply on the characteristic of each piece, and a variety of tone colours and styles characterized his rendering of the compositions. The “Lento” of Caprice No. 19 was so mellifluous as to make us forget all the technical difficulties. Graf Mourja does not necessarily represent a particular approach to violin playing or a particular school; he represents Western culture that ranges widely from those courtly musicians to Gypsy fiddlers. The organizers had the bright idea of turning his first name “Graf” into German, meaning a nobleman, and ingeniously entitled the programme, “Lord of the Violin”. But Mourja looked a humble man. He was “lord” to nobody. He was there to serve, certainly not himself, not even Paganini, but to serve music as such as a human experience. He was magnanimous. Even after tackling those fiendishly demanding 24 Caprices, he treated the tiny (but grateful) audience to the masterful Sonata No. 3 (Ballade) by Eugène Ysaÿe, another formidable violinistic composition.

I must say that the concert was unfortunately savoured by a small group of music lovers. Had it been played to a large audience of music students, the classical music circle in Thailand would have benefited from an inspiration of unusual kind. Even those youthful amateurs, who might still be wavering whether to take up music as a profession, would have been converted on the spot. I feel sorry for those who did not come. It would have proved an experience of a lifetime.