She loves to experiment and give gifts. The prima donna of the Russian opera will present one of these gifts to the Moscow public. Her festival, which starts on February 6, is three diverse concerts in three months at the best venues in the capital. We spoke with Khibla Gerzmava before the opening of the festival. And got an unexpectedly candid interview.
Psychologies: It turns out that the Muscovites «took» you from the Abkhaz fans?
Hibla Gerzmava: My Abkhazian festival does not stop by any means, it will definitely be in the summer. It just has a very short period: the end of July — August, and many of my friends find it difficult to find time to come there. Yes, and Muscovites are interested in seeing me in various programs, and not just in MAMT performances. Once a year, pianist Ekaterina Ganelina and I give a concert in the Small Hall of the Conservatory, but this, of course, is not enough. And so we managed to organize such an “exit” festival in Moscow. Two concerts are held in the Great Hall of the Conservatory. This is a very dear place for me, my alma mater. Here I performed for the first time as an opera singer. And the festival begins at the Musical Theater. K. S. Stanislavsky and Vl. I. Nemirovich-Danchenko, where I grew up and still grow, I live. This is my main home stage. I am happy to transfer several performances-concerts from my Abkhaz home to my Moscow life. It is very important for me to get together with my friends, to sing songs…
I can understand this, because you have such a songful homeland — Abkhazia, and musicality, it seems, is in your genes. But it’s one thing to sing in a circle of friends, and another thing is to make music your profession. Your parents weren’t musicians, were they?
H. G.: My family, both on my mother’s side and on my father’s side, is really musical. Polyphony, Abkhaz chants always sounded in the house. Dad had an amazing bass, and mom also sang very beautifully, played the piano. By the way, she graduated from a music school, but chose a different profession. My parents studied at Sukhumi University, at the Faculty of Foreign Languages. Mom had English and Abkhaz, and dad had German, Russian and Abkhaz. There, at the university, they met, they had some kind of crazy, great love. And in Pitsunda I was born from this beautiful love.
So is a musician daughter a parent’s dream?
H. G.: I myself always wanted to be an organist, because I grew up with an organ. We have a stunning church in Pitsunda, built back in the XNUMXth century, and in it there is a concert hall and an organ. I lived nearby, grew up on the stones near this temple, heard the sounds of the organ and dreamed of playing on it. Probably, my parents took my desire as a serious step and supported it. I graduated from a music school in Gagra, and then from the Sukhum Music College as a pianist.
But you entered the Moscow Conservatory already as a vocalist.
H. G.: It happened almost by accident. After my mother left — she died when I was 16 years old — I suddenly had a voice. Before, of course, I also sang, both in childhood and in my youth — pop songs, songs from films — I sang and played along with myself, sitting at the piano. But after the death of my mother, some kind of reserve opened up in me, as if my mother gave me her power. There was a chest sound, round, more voluminous than before. And my piano teacher, having once heard me sing — and I always brought him some songs, jazz improvisations that I wrote at night (I always loved jazz very much, it often sounded at our house), — he suddenly took me by the hand and led me to the head of the vocal department of our school, Josephine Bumburidi, and she became my first vocal teacher. She revealed me, gave me her easy school. And I came absolutely prepared for the first year of the conservatory.
Imagine: a domestic girl from a warm country found herself alone in a huge cold metropolis … A Moscow hostel in the early 90s is not the most comfortable place for a novice musician. How did you deal with difficulties?
H. G.: I was truly a home child. I was thrown into this metropolis like a kitten. Mom was gone, and dad died when I was in my first year. And after that it became even more difficult for me. As if the wings were clipped. It was my upbringing that saved me. And the character, my inner core is Abkhazian. I lived in a hostel, but I never smoked or tried drugs. She has always been a very correct girl (and still is). We came to Moscow with our younger brother, and we did not have enough money. But here, in Moscow, my uncle lived with his family, who helped me a lot. If not for them, it would be more difficult to survive. The hostel was really hungry. Sometimes there was nothing to wear. When I participated in the Tchaikovsky competition, my professor gave me her blouse, because I didn’t have a beautiful evening dress. But I take it easy, all these are steps on my path. On the contrary, I have something to be proud of — after all, there was not a single day that I did not work. I graduated from college with a diploma in piano teaching, so I could study and teach. I went to the students’ home to study. There were wonderful children. Now they have already grown up, but they remember me, sometimes they come to my performances. In a word, I earned some money and could always, if I get bored, get on a plane and fly to the grave of my parents — just sit there next to me. And it gave me so much strength that I could then hold on for several months. And my whole student life lasted precisely on this: I had points of contact with something important to me.
- Catherine Deneuve: «I want to stay free»
You attribute the emergence of your amazing voice to the departure of your mother. It turns out that sometimes at a tragic moment in life we not only lose something necessary, but also gain it?
H. G.: It seems to me that after my mother left, some chakras opened in me. And I still feel this energy, this connection with the cosmos. It seems to me that when it is very difficult for people, some kind of energy is given to them from above. It happened to me more than once: I noticed that in difficult periods of my life, at the moment of acute experience, anguish, I sing and feel stronger on stage. There is some kind of cosmic, divine power that comes and helps. Such a luminous stream with golden petals. In general, the voice is an amazing gift. Believe me, I have been coming to this realization for many years. And today I firmly know that everyone has a voice. But not everyone can open it and sing in such a way that the audience would cry and get goosebumps. When I myself sit in the hall, I do not pay attention to the fact that the artist sang something wrong, to some technical problems. The timbre is important to me, the warm, purest sound, and this energy that can do incredible things with a person in the hall. Listeners come to my concert with a headache, and then they admit: you just cured me. Or some woman will come up after the performance and ask: can I just hug you? Hugs — and leaves with a smile, with a charge of warmth. I do not just go on stage, believe me. Not just to sing another performance. For me, the most important thing is to give the audience my positive energy. I hold on to it very much.
But what to do if you need to go on stage, but there is no energy? Are you familiar with this state of fatigue and impotence?
H. G.: Familiar. Sometimes I can wake up in the morning and realize that there is no strength to get up. And there is no voice. I sit down at the piano, begin to sing, I can search for a voice for two hours, but it doesn’t sound. I’ll drink a vitamin drink, such a fizz — it doesn’t sound. I think every artist knows this. The singer, of course, is the queen on the stage, but this does not negate the ordinary woman in her with her crisis days, fatigue and depression. Yes, I have an amazing house and a big family that loves me very much. Yes, I live beautifully. I made my life very cozy, homey, comfortable (they helped me in this, of course). I don’t ride the subway before a performance, you know? I get into a comfortable car and arrive at a beautiful theatre. And all in order to save energy and devote myself entirely to the stage, so that my attention is not diverted to anything else. And so I come to the theater — but I don’t have the strength! I know that I have to go on stage, because the hall is full and the audience is absolutely not interested that my blood pressure is 90 over 60, that I can’t sing in E-flat because I’m physically sick. And I crawl to the first-aid post so that they give me ammonia to smell. To get on stage and not fall. I respect myself for being able to be iron in such a situation. I know how to pull myself together and say: «I have to.» Only once I did not go on stage: in America, before the performance, I became ill, the doctors could not bring me to my senses and took me to the clinic, and the performance was canceled. Most likely, the change of time zones and large pressure drops played a role.
Take it in hand — have you always been able to do this?
H. G.: Yes, since childhood. Such a character. I am a Capricorn, although not very typical. At home I am very soft and fluffy. But in her work she is always collected, hardworking, such a pioneer-excellent student. When I was little, almost every day I went from Pitsunda to Gagra to a music school, my dad drove me. But dad was the head of Intourist in Pitsunda, and this is a huge job, and mom sometimes said: “Dad won’t have time to take you, maybe you won’t go by bus? You have so many lessons…” I was horrified: “Mom, what are you doing??” I didn’t even imagine how it was possible — not to go to music? I took my folder and, tired after school, rode. On the «fifth» yellow bus, as I remember now.
From which parent is this industriousness?
H. G.: From both. I have a very strong family. My parents nourished my brother and me in childhood, and now they help me — they come in a dream. I dream of my mom when everything is fine and you can relax, and my dad dreams of when something goes wrong and I need to get ready. I even got used to their appearances. But I still look more like my mother. Only she was thin, and I have been struggling with my plumpness all my life. I have been a donut since I was a child. Now, of course, I already know how to dress properly, I have stylists, masseurs who work on the body (laughs), and I try to limit myself in food, today I sit on kefir. So, my mother was beautiful, thin — a real star. But dad was in charge. I was brought up in such a way that the man in the family is the head. Mom taught me to be beautiful and very neat — in every sense. She taught me to walk and sit beautifully, with a straight back, to keep my posture. If I was sitting at the piano hunched over, my mother, passing by, could — no, not hit that you — fleetingly pat on the back. And I immediately pulled out. As a teenager, I was taught to walk in small heels — my father specially brought elegant pumps with small heels from Germany so that my daughter looked elegant and walked beautifully.
«Intourist», Germany, «boats» … — at that time your family belonged to the Soviet elite, and you, therefore, were a special girl?
H. G.: I think I was the most ordinary girl from a very beautiful family. If we went somewhere to a concert, everyone was in high spirits: today we have a holiday, we are going, for example, to a concert of the Abkhaz song and dance ensemble. By the way, my aunt, people’s artist, dancer Maya Gerzmava performed there. And of course, parents always dressed up. Dad dressed simply amazing — everything was immaculately ironed, he smelled very tasty. And what an incredible posture of a dancer he had — dad danced amazing folk dances. And my brother and I were taught this elegance and accuracy from a very early age. “You shouldn’t go to bed if there’s a dirty cup or plates in the sink,” my mother used to tell me. And now, even if I fall from fatigue, I still can’t fall asleep while there are dirty dishes in the sink. Once, with some desperation, I asked my mother: “Well, why? Why is it necessary in the evening and not in the morning? And she replied: «So that in the morning you can wake up and have a cup of coffee in a clean kitchen in the morning sun.» And I hold on to it, I live like this very well and comfortably.
- philosophy of joy
With such an attitude to everyday life, it is probably very difficult for a family to find a life partner who would meet this high standard?
H. G.: Yes, it is difficult. It’s hard to live with a singer.
I do not mean a career, but the image of an ideal family that you have developed.
H. G.: It seems to me that I am an ideal wife — an opera singer who must be understood and accepted. As a singer, I have my own bar, very high. But at home I remain an ordinary, homely girl, a good housewife and mother. Demanding but very patient. It seems to me that a lot depends on the mood of the woman in the house. If a woman arranges so that a man is the head of the family, he will feel himself the main one. And she will just be next to him, on the sidelines. And I have always been like that. But if the head of the family has a wife-singer nearby, then he still has to accept her life, her singing essence, and this is very difficult. But now I am absolutely happy. In general, I noticed that lately I want to be more at home, with my family, to cuddle my son, who has already grown up — he is already 15, to lie down, read books under a blanket, listen to jazz, watch notes and not go anywhere. I need this drink more and more.
But is work still a priority?
H. G.: Work and son. It all goes in parallel.
How does the singer Khibla Gerzmava succeed in the role of mother?
H. G.: I sang until the fifth month of pregnancy. And again she took the stage when her son was four months old. But at the same time, I breastfed him for a whole year. Other singers don’t do that. But I believe that if I already gave birth to a child, then I should feed him, give him at least a year of mother’s milk and attention. I didn’t leave him for a second. We went everywhere with the whole family — I put my son in the «kangaroo» and was happy. And even now, if I leave somewhere for a long time, then Sandrik goes with me: we take lessons with us and study with teachers via Skype. And if suddenly I can’t take him on tour, then I still communicate with him, follow my studies.
But what about nannies, relatives?
H. G.: We raised the child ourselves, we did not have grandparents on either side. If my mother were alive, I would not worry at all … However, I think that even then I would have been busy with the child myself. I believe that being a mother is very important for any woman. And for a female singer — especially. Walking pregnant, singing pregnant, then giving birth and breastfeeding for a whole year, experiencing new sensations in the body, feeling different muscles, learning to sing again — how can you miss it? I felt it in every cell of my body. And the voice changed — it became more feminine, round, thick and as if oily. Who, if not a mother-singer, should sing lullabies to her baby? And what a joy it is to sing for him later from the stage …
- I admire you!
Do you manage to stay friends with your teenage son?
H. G.: I am a mother-friend, but I am also an authority. I explain everything to my son, I can talk about any problem. Fortunately, we don’t have big problems. He has everything he is interested in. And there are no prohibitions in our house, but there are rules. If the son is late in the evening, returning from a movie or meeting with friends, he will definitely call and say: I will be 15 minutes late. He himself knows how much to go to the metro, how much after, and he can calculate the time himself. If he does come later, he comes up and apologizes. I really believe him and never climb into his phone or computer. But at the same time, I know what he does and who he meets. I know his society.
Is it important for you to share your world, the world of music, with him?
H. G.: When he was little, I brought him to our theater, to the children’s choir, but I did not bring him to make an artist out of him, I just had to be near the child, communicate, understand him. I consciously did this and immediately said: “If you don’t like it, I won’t force you to drive.” But he was happy to study there, participated with other children in performances, and performed with me. Every time the children come out in the second act of La bohème, and he was such a cute, funny boy there — in a cap, funny pants, sneakers — that I once stared at him and missed one of my phrases. In general, he liked to perform, but his son will not be a professional musician. Although he perfectly mastered the piano, he sings, plays the punk rock guitar.
And how do you like punk rock?
H. G.: Fine. I am calm about this, the main thing is that the child is interested. He has everything he needs: an acoustic guitar, bells and whistles, which I don’t understand anything, but he sits at the piano, practices, then picks up a guitar … He has a band, they are sometimes invited to perform in nightclubs where they play punk rock. I myself am not a club girl, I don’t go to clubs. But a couple of times I was at his concerts, Sandrik invited me. It took me, of course, some courage — I was left completely without ears, but I accepted it, I liked it. He is great on stage. Sings a little out of tune, but tries!
Your path seems very smooth from the outside — such a smooth ascent to the pinnacle of success. You have recognition from the very first steps, and the approval of the most authoritative musicians, and the love of the public. Are you familiar with failures? Or can you get to the top without them?
H. G.: I’m far from the top, and there’s still a lot to do. But I know failure. And periods when you want to drop everything and leave, too. I have had some very difficult moments in my life. I knew that I would not be able to live without the art of singing and without a stage, but still, my hands sometimes gave up and it seemed that everything needed to be changed.
And did you change?
H. G.: In general, I am capable of sudden movements, but in the most critical moments my character helps again: I stop in time and pull myself together.
Your prescription is just to sleep with the problem for a night or two?
H. G.: No, on the contrary, I stop sleeping and actively look for a way out. In order to stop and make the right decision, it is very important for me to have my own space where no one will touch me. After the birth of a son, such a space is not easy to find, I feel that until I put him on his feet, I have no right to it. But for some short time it is necessary to retire and just breathe, be silent, think of something.
Is there anything you haven’t learned about yourself yet?
H. G.: Yes, I have. It seems to me that every year I discover in myself previously unfamiliar female traits. Some wisdom comes every year. I don’t know why, but it makes me happy. And I am also glad that I still remain a little girl, that Khibla Gerzmava, whom I was in childhood. I was friends with boys as a child. And now I have men in my friends. I can only truly be friends with them. I trust them and they trust me too.
Was there a reason not to trust women?
H. G.: Was. I just carved female friendship and trust. No, I did not destroy all my friends, like the heroine of Alice Freindlich in Office Romance. On the contrary, the few that I have, I cherish. They are the real ones. But some kind of kidding has been preserved from childhood, I have it inside me and it still lives on stage when I do something funny — and I really like to fool around, and it seems to me that when the tomfoolery ends, then it will end and the artist in me. I am not ashamed to be funny, ridiculous, with an ugly face or hairdo. I’m not ashamed to fall awkwardly. It is very important for me to be funny, but this, real funny, not fake, you know?
You perform on the stages of the most beautiful cities in the world. Vienna, London, New York — do you manage to live there, and not just work?
H. G.: Rarely. For many years I really perceived the world as a work site. But then, apparently, that wisdom came, which I have already spoken about — and now I arrive in a foreign city in advance, so that I have time to live and look around. And after the performances I try to stay longer if the work schedule allows. But still, this rarely happens. I have too many roles — singer, mother, wife, housewife … Too many obligations. I don’t even have a proper vacation. Only last summer, after the Abkhaz festival, I was allowed to rest for a week. And this time spent on the island of Santorini just saved me. Actually, I’m just learning how to relax. I am learning, when there are two free days, to turn off all means of communication. So that no one understands where I am, and it would be possible to relax. I love the silence and the sea. Water. This is a component of my energy, the color of my skin, my spirit. I can only breathe in such silence. Breathe in your heels. Deep.