I was lucky to be a guest of the world opera star at her chamber concert in the Small Philharmonic Hall. Veronika Dzhioeva sang Russian music. Glinka, Varlamov, Bulakhov, Dargomyzhsky, Rubinstein, Cui, Rimsky-Korsakov, Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov. Chamber masterpieces, close to every Russian and known to the whole world. Veronica sang amazingly. And her partner, pianist Oleg Weinstein, a delicate musician with a wonderful sound, was worthy of this beautiful singer.Already initially, the choice of the program posed the most difficult tasks for the musicians. Stylistic variety – from the salon romances of the early 19th century to the exquisite creations of such giants as Rimsky-Korsakov, Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov. And, most importantly, a whole series of different images, female characters.
If I wanted to characterize the nature of Veronika Dzhioeva’s talent, I would probably say only two words – the heat of the heart. Perhaps, now there is no singer in Russia who would possess such sensual mankind as Veronica. And the matter is not only in her mature, luxurious beauty – the beauty of a woman who knows what love, motherhood, loneliness and happiness are. The point is in her voice, the overtones of which cause listeners either trepidation, then ecstasy, then a feeling of falling into the abyss, then a feeling of unearthly soaring.
The singer has excellent voice control. But it is not so easy for her, the owner of the voice of a large, encompassing hall space, to convey to us those exquisite nuances that make up the richness of chamber music. Her pianissimo is mesmerizing, her ability to build a phrase so that the most inconspicuous touch conceived by the composer does not remain in the dark, her amazing articulation – all these properties and craftsmanship, give listeners incredible emotional experiences for which we go to listen to music.
She charmingly transparently and chastely sang Rachmaninov’s novel “Lilac”. And from her vocalization in the last phrases of Rachmaninov’s brilliant romance “I fell in love with my sadness,” my heart pounded wildly, and then froze in frustration.
Each, the smallest romance, sung by her – it was a mini-story, a story – sad or funny, elegiac, or provocative.
But the two romances performed by Veronica just shocked me.
Rubinstein’s “Night” is a popular work. But Veronica was able to read it, as a passionate poem of love, sensuality, ecstasy. How much tenderness was enclosed by her phrases performed at the limit of the piano. And in what contrast did the climax rise “My friend, my gentle friend …” sounded. And on the last phrase of the romance, where her voice trembled tremblingly, I just felt this chill of farewell.
And I’ve never heard Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Oriental Song” so sung. For some reason, for many performers, the romance “Fascinated by a Nightingale Rose” has lost its meaning. It seemed that they had emasculated all its secret erotic meaning. But Veronica returned its essence to this oriental melody. She told us a love story – a secret, perhaps forbidden, but gentle and oriental ardor. It is impossible to convey in words. You can only hear and feel.