Born a peasant in Korkino, today Boris Statsenko is known as the greatest of Verdi baritones. It is he that is considered the cause of the last two seasons' Italian opera festival in Chelyabinsk. Never before have the leading soloists of world opera and the La Scala theater appeared on the stage of the Chelyabinsk opera theater. Possessed of a naturally rich baritone, Boris Statsenko was already a mature adult when, overcoming no small difficulties in studies and career, he attained such vocal heights as to enable him to compare with the singers of the Italian school.
What the secrets of success are for any vocalist, and whether it is necessary to travel abroad in order to return and be in demand — all this and much more we discussed with Maria Callas and Chaikovsky competitions laureate and Grand Prix winner for his performance as Figaro at the Feodor Shalyapin festival, our own compatriot Boris Statsenko.
«In the Soviet Union it would have been hard indeed for me to attain world renown. Abroad, however, it was likewise no easy task. First of all, I had to learn German and Italian perfectly, in order to sing in European opera. I realized this when in Strasburg I sang the Barber of Seville for the first time with strong Italian vocalists. At the time I thought I sang in Italian quite well. The critics, however, ground me into the dust. I had to spend ten hours a day in order for the professionals to understand and appreciate me. In general, when on the stage you have to imagine that you are singing for a single person, one who knows and understands everything precisely. If you don't have that within you, you become careless. One must always be guided by the expert and the professional in the house. In Parma, Verdi’s homeland, the public knows it all — every note — from beginning to end. And if the singer doesn't comply with the composer’s directions, he will promptly be whistled down. Or tomatoed.»
«I never actually flopped. Sometimes I had to sing when sick. Unlike in Russia, in the West if you fall sick and refuse to perform, you will never be invited back to that theater again.»
«There’s nothing to be done. You just feel ashamed. I recall how in Dresden I was singing Falstaff. In the second act another baritone began to croak, and by the third he was wheezing outright. His voice was gone. Yet he received more applause than I, because the public supported him — he hadn't canceled the performance.»
«My major career began in Europe. When a certain famous Italian baritone withdrew from singing G. Verdi's rarely-performed opera Stiffelio. The premier was a week away. Since they knew that I learn parts quickly, I was asked to learn and sing it. This was a direct radio broadcast over all of Europe. A live recording of the performance was released on disk. The most resounding success, however, was probably in ’96, when I sang the Barber of Seville. After Figaro's cavatina the public applauded for ten minutes — a rare occurrence in the middle of a performance.»
SV: «There is a saying: „Each of use in his own hometown.“ You were born in Korkino. Is there a contradiction here? Had you remained in Korkino, of what good would you have been to Russia?»
«Do you know how I began singing? I worked as a secretary in a Komsomol organization in Bagaryak. Once I was sent for continued education to Chelyabinsk. At the conclusion of the courses we decided to treat ourselves to a holiday outing. We happened to pass by an opera theater, and I noticed the poster: The Barber of Seville. Out of curiosity we went in. I didn't know what an opera theater was. I didn't know what opera singing was. I had no idea that one had to study to sing opera. I could play guitar by ear, strumming popular songs… The opera had an astounding effect on me — it was as though someone had clubbed me over the head. I went home, and three days later, in March of 1982, I left my job and entered our Chelyabinsk Music School.
SV: «You anticipate my next question: can one really learn to sing?»
«One can learn to make sounds, but learning to sing is impossible. Singing is a gift from God. Producing sounds, albeit correct ones, cannot always be called singing. Real singing can contain both errors and defects.»
SV: «I have heard our singers in Chelyabinsk wonder, baffled: how do the Italians sing so easily and openly? They cannot understand the secret of the sound of the Italian school. God has given you an open sound as well, and today you are known as the greatest of Verdi baritones. Did you polish that sound in Europe?»
«I have already mentioned that the first thing required is to know the language. Knowledge of the language imbues the singing with style. Of course I studied in Europe. A lot. The difference is that in European theaters if we are doing a French opera, the pianist must be French, in Italy — Italian, and in Russia — Russian.
… Boris Statsenko caused a creative standstill among the opera soloists of Chelyabinsk during the La Scala theater festival of soloists. This returns to the question regarding the saying, «Each of use in his own hometown.» This is the second year in a row that the Chelyabinsk public has flocked excitedly to Italian opera. What is amazing is that Statsenko has imbued the professional contracts with Russian style. He secured the support and close friendship of prominent world-famous base Luigi Roni, taking part in his festivals, and obtained the support of an entire group of stars of the Milan stage.
SV: «What did it take for you to convince the Italians to come to Russia?»
«I told Luigi Roni, ‘If you don't come to me in Chelyabinsk, I won't sing with you.?»
SV: «What defines Luigi Roni's festival?»
«The festival takes place in Tuscany, a well-known city not far from Pisa, home of the leaning tower. It is not just an opera festival, but also one of chamber music and vocal music with piano accompaniment. Next year symphony orchestras will be included. It is purely Italian, but varied in genre and with magnificent voices.»
SV: «Are you the only Russian singing there?»
«They say I am not a Russian. Apparently my teacher taught me to speak Italian so well that the Italians themselves understand my singing better than that of their own singers. Then again, when I sang Napoleon in the Bolshoi Theater the critics wrote: «The only one we could understand in Russian was that accursed Corsican, Napoleon.» (Laughs.)
SV: «You are a man of the world, living in Europe for so many years, and in the prime of your creative maturity. Tell me, please, would you ever want to return to Russia, and what would have to happen for you to want to return?»
«I will tell you honestly why I chose Europe. By living in Germany, I can travel wherever I want. I haven't changed my citizenship, after all. The problem with living in Russia is that if I live in Moscow, I lose my German visa. When I need to go on a tour I have to go the embassy and fill out a stack of documents.»
SV: «Could it be supposed nonetheless that you didn't immediately fit into European life?»
«Well, I didn't leave because I wanted to live in Europe. I had completed the Moscow conservatory and was working in the Bolshoi Theater. We were given a five-family dormitory. I lived in a nine-meter room with two other people. On top of that, my Moscow registration expired. Without a registration, one cannot remain and work in Moscow; such were the times. There was nothing for me to do but return to Bagaryak. By good fortune I happened to be at the festival in Dresden. A great producer of Russian decent, Peter Ustinov, offered me a contract. I considered, and remained.»
SV: «Did your European colleagues envy you, as occurs in Russian theaters?»
(Laughs.) «Everywhere it's the same thing. What do you think? If no-one envies me, it means no-one needs me.»
SV: «What can make you fly into a rage?»
«First and foremost, dishonesty. That is one quality I absolutely cannot stand. If I have been deceived, I start smoking.»
SV: «You come to Russia often. Where does your homeland resonate with you?»
«I think I'm still a farmer at heart.»
SV: «This despite the fact that the Europeans consider you one of their own?»
«Any part can be played.»
SV: «What makes you a farmer?»
«I know for a fact that relations in the capitals — Moscow, Saint Petersburg — are different than village relations. In the village where I spent my youth you couldn't pass by someone without a „Hello“. Relations between the simple people in the back country are more sincere.»
SV: «The village probably has its own code of honor. One mustn't give cause for talking. Just try deceiving someone in the village. You'll lose all respect and be disgraced for life.»
«Absolutely. It's no different in our profession; the same thing occurs with singers. A tenor who refused to be involved in my project in Chelyabinsk, citing illness as the cause, was in perfect health and singing in another place by the time the festival began. This year he again refused, to be sure with two weeks' notice, as he had been offered another contract. Now everyone in Italy will know about it, and it remains to be seen how people will work with him in the future.»
SV: «Do you believe in fate? Was there an event after which you realized that fate was leading you?»
«The first such event was when I wound up in the Chelyabinsk theater after a glass of beer.»
SV: «Are you a mystic or an intuitive person?»
«More intuitive. I have great confidence in my own intuition, even when I blow up. Because afterwards I always realize that I was right.»
SV: «Do you believe in dreams?»
«For a long time I had a recurring dream, when I began studying in Chelyabinsk. I would dream that I was driving in a carriage to a theater to sing, and I could already hear my music starting, and here I was only just pulling up, with no makeup, no costume. I would run for the stairs, singing as I ran — the part of Figaro, in fact.»
SV: «Do you have a ritual before you go on stage?»
«That depends on the performance. If you’re singing Figaro, you can be cheerful. If Rigoletto or Scarpio, however, a different state of mind is required. The most important thing, though, is to be confident. You recall Obraztsov’s presentation, An Unusual Concert, where ‘the famous Italian tenor Sidor Sidorovich Sidorini? appears, and is asked the question, ‘Tell us, how did you become such a success? And he replies: ‘For this one needs a little bit of experience and enormous self-confidence.? (Laughs.) You know, it's really true. If a person goes on stage in uncertainty, the public sees it immediately.»
SV: «Lastly, about your life in Germany. What are your children doing?»
«My daughter is 22, and lives in Düsseldorf. No, she's not inclined towards singing. Having had a good look at me, she said: „I don't want to live like that — you're never at home.“ She’s beginning studies in economics. My son was born in Germany, and is now nine years old.»
SV: «You wrote in your dossier that your greatest achievement is 22 years living with one wife. Is it love?»
«I don't know… Love is fleeting. The main thing when you marry is to be responsible. After all, we pledge to each other to be together in sorrow and in joy to the end of our days. That's a promise one needs to keep.»
SV: «But every artist needs love in his work.»
«That's a permanent condition regardless.»
SV: «I think our city will long be grateful to you for the Italian project.»
«We were happy to be here. We also think that the theater will have the stimulus for further improvement.»
Thus, within two seasons Chelyabinsk became acquainted with the greatest voices in Russia. However Boris Statsenko might evaluate his contribution to the city's cultural development, I think he has given full due to his homeland. The Italians, for their part, hope to show the warm and inquiring Chelyabinsk public new projects hitherto unperformed on the Russian stage.
