Tchaikovsky’s well-known Amid the din of the ball is a dream-like recollection of falling for a stranger at a dance. It invites soft singing to capture its slow 3/8 enchanted reverie. Asmik Grigorian used slightly fuller tone than that, but with such a song, and such alluring tone, it made a captivating opening to this recital by a singer so often described as “the rising star” of her profession that she must now be the highest object in the firmament. Her recital was devoted to Russian romances, with a Tchaikovsky first half and a Rachmaninov second half.
None but the lonely heart is probably the best known of any Russian romance, its long melody a distinguished one even by Tchaikovsky’s standards. Grigorian caught nicely its poignant, passionate, rise and fall. A tear trembles, setting a love poem by Alexey Tolstoy, demonstrated, not for the first time in the evening, her remarkable dynamic range, from the softest pianissimo to a rafter-rattling fortissimo, and all in seemingly the same voice, with no audible ‘break’. The loud climaxes went from impressive to thrilling to alarming – but this was her debut in Wigmore Hall’s highly responsive acoustic. Whenever a quiet coda followed such climaxes, her poised transition seemed artless.
Russian-Lithuanian pianist Lukas Geniušas, more collaborator than accompanist, impressed in the various preludes and postludes of this repertoire, and took the midpoint of each half for brief solos, so Tchaikovsky’s Romance in F minor became a romance san paroles with its poetic outer sections framing a Russian dance. On her return, Grigorian brought her formidable gifts to I bless you, forests where Alexey Tolstoy holds “all of nature in my embrace” which could be said of Grigorian’s relationship with her audience as a rapturous reception closed the first half.
The duo’s recent recording of Rachmaninov songs won golden opinions, and we now heard why. Sing not to me, beautiful maiden is one of the best-known of all Russian romances. Pushkin’s poem is an appeal to cease singing “melodies of Georgia” which recall “the steppe, the night and the moonlight... a maiden, sad and far away.” The singer makes a crescendo to fortissimo for the climax then a pianissimo chromatic descent at the close. This sounded so masterly yet spontaneous that applause broke out and the pair took a bow mid-set. For many if not all present this was a singer they had not heard live, and less familiar repertoire, yet it was a sell-out. For Russians present, its nostalgia was presumably overwhelming.
Rachmaninov wrote demanding piano parts, as he premiered his songs himself. Spring Waters tells us that while “the fields are still white with snow” the thawing waters “proclaim Spring” and the rushing torrents are heard in the turbulent keyboard writing, with its virtuoso close. In his Rachmaninov solos Geniušas chose the last two preludes. The G sharp minor has a fine left-hand melody against sparkling right-hand arpeggios, and was ideally balanced, and he held the sections together of the neglected D flat Prelude, culminating with thunderous bell-like chords.
The final songs had a sense of envoi, as both Twilight and How fair this spot were confiding and intimate, the latter sung in lyrical rapture at the beauty of nature. Grigorian’s leap to the notorious unprepared pianissimo top B natural near the close was a thing of wonder. She also managed low notes impressively, as the ‘gypsy’ chest voice of Oh, do not grieve illustrated. Let us rest is described as “for low voice”; taken from the final speech of Sonia in Uncle Vanya, it was a quiet affirmation of spiritual peace, immensely touching.