Malkovich wins prize for Newport

by John Lloyd

He moves across the airport concourse like a cardinal, dispensing blessings as he goes. Finally, after many hugs, kisses, handshakes and benedictions, he lands up in front of a smaller, overcoated figure clutching a violin case. Distinct American hellos drown out a mumbled Russian greeting.

The impresario has met the maestro and they are on their way to Uralsk.

Mark Malkovich III and Marat Bisengaliev are off to the second Uralsk International Violin Competition held in January in the frozen west of Kazakhstan. Just outside of this town, found north of the Caspian Sea, lies the border between Europe and Asia. It is a meeting place.

Here the Kazakh Bisengaliev, who now lives in England, is a superstar. “They don’t clap me in at home,” says Malkovich. “I should train them; it would be fun.”

And fun is what is to be had during the competition week. Mark is among friends – everyone is soon a Malkovich friend; strangers are just friends waiting to be met. But steady, it is not all fun and jollity. Hard decisions are to be made.

Ten young violinists will be playing for their lives. Only one can be the winner. Only one will get the prize. Only one will fly to Newport with money and a recording contract in his or her pocket to give a recital at that most wonderful of all American music festivals; The Newport.

Last year Bisengaliev, transformed with a violin under his chin and bow in his hand, brought over Naaman Sluchin, winner of the first competition. This year there is another treat in store.

Malkovich has won the prize for Newport. His hard work as a competition jurist has paid off. Another “dear soul” has come into his orbit and will be shared with the people of his town.

He is one of five members of the jury, under the chairmanship of Bisengaliev, along with a Japanese violin virtuoso and teacher, a Georgian pianist who is principal of a music academy, a top British record producer (who counts the King of Thailand among his artists) and a critic, musicologist and publisher.

Quite the senior statesman, even in such exalted company, Malkovich shines. Forget ‘working the room’; this man can successfully work the whole concert hall. All whom he embraces are enchanted.

But that’s not yet the contestants. They must remain separate from those who will judge them. Nervously, quietly sitting in the corner or loudly regaling the company, the violinists wait their time. The youngest, a Kazakh just 15, seems the most seasoned competitor. His mother pecks round him like a hen, anxious and ambitious. The Japanese girl, delicate as a china doll, rehearses in her head. The Russian, now studying in England, talks wildly, his violin case clutched to his chest. The little Korean, nearly 20, but looking 12, sits as if in a trance. Others from the home countries chat animatedly, grateful for their shared language. The tall, reticent Portuguese boy looks gaunt and tired from his journey. He is on first.

So the work begins. Over two days one after the other performs for the jury and a young and attentive audience from the town. Then the jury retire. Even Malkovich is thoughtful and not so full of his expected bonhomie.

Later in the day the result of this round is announced. Seven are into the next, final round.

Sunday is a day off. The inexhaustible Malkovich continues doing the rounds. When you direct an international music festival there’s always someone to meet and sweet-talk for the future.

Monday begins on the frozen banks of the Ural River. This is a different kind of music altogether. It is a religious feast day and a local custom is to cut a hole in the ice and for the faithful members of the Orthodox Church to plunge three times under the water. Cold, even when wrapped up, Malkovich and his fellow jurists look on in horror and wonder.

Thankfully a priestly procession comes down to bless the proceedings and all is once again warm.

Come the Monday and Tuesday afternoons a different group are taking the plunge into the icy waters of the final round of the competition. A Mozart concerto and specially written piece by the 50 year old Boston-based Kazakh composer Serkebaev allow each one to strut their stuff and to demonstrate artistry and musicianship.

The jury are attentive, as is the apparently knowledgeable audience, many from the five music schools that the town boasts.

Seven mini-concerts later and the jury retire to deliberate. Acknowledged as an elder statesman in the group, here in the jury room Malkovich is an equal among greats. The standard of debate is high.

One competitor takes everyone’s vote for first place. Atsuko Sahara from Japan gets the first prize. Others variously are ordered, with an interesting choice for a joint second prize. Technique versus fire; the jury cannot decide. They value both aspects of music-making and so reward both.

At the press conference the following day journalists and broadcasters question Marat Bisengaliev and the jury. Mark Malkovich shares his wisdom, giving an American view of the competition and especially of the audience. He brings particular attention to the abundance of young people in the concert halls, their knowledge and their enthusiasm. “In my country the audience is a lot older.”

The final concert later in the day has its fair share of grey hair in the audience. On stage, however, youthfulness prevails and the prize winners play with the strings from the Uralsk Philharmonic Orchestra for the delight of all. Prizes, gifts and speeches are given before the concert proceeds. Its finale is the premiere of a new piece by the British composer Mark Emney. The haunting work was inspired by images from deep space returned by the Hubble and Chandra telescopes.

Truly all are in a global, even, it seems, a cosmic world. Music has once again brought people together, moved and entertained them.

Mark Malkovich III will return home with more experiences, more contacts and, in Atsuko Sahara, with another great prize for Newport.

1016 words

copyright

John Lloyd

Rochester House, Gleneagles Close

CHIPPENHAM, Wiltshire SN15 3XL

United Kingdom

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