The Traveler

Alexei Lubimov is a normal man with fingers of gold. A strange combination, at first glance, but one that suits him. He walks on stage, slight of stature, a few thin hairs left, thick, round glasses—the kind of person you wouldn’t normally give a second glance. Then he starts to play and everything changes. I met him in Berlin this March; he came across as educated, reflective, and unobtrusively confident. At one point our conversation turned to the great historical Russian pianists. “I had nothing to do with Richter,” he said, in fragmentary, vivid German. “I had several opportunities to visit him at home. Never went. It wasn’t my place. I valued him. But I never felt like meeting him personally. I was 30 years younger. There were many people, even younger than me, who would love to have had him as a supporter. Not me.”Instead, Lubimov studied with Heinrich Neuhaus, who himself taught Richter. But unlike many of his pianist colleagues from the Soviet Union, Lubimov never felt the need to go looking for a career as an international star. His role model was the composer, pianist and harpsichordist Andrei Volkonsky, who returned from an exile in Switzerland to Russia in 1948. Volkonsky wrote twelve-tone music under the suspicious noses of conservative Soviet-era music bureaucrats, and was introduced to the harpsichord by the East German Bach specialist Günther Ramin after a performance in Moscow. From there, baroque and Renaissance music made something of a comeback in the Soviet Union, where for a long time Bach and Vivaldi were the only composers going from that period. Volkonsky returned resignedly to Switzerland in 1973. At the end of the 1960s, Lubimov began making a name for himself with performances of Cage, Stockhausen, and Ligeti, as well as Soviet avant-gardists like Silvestroy, Gubaidulina and Schnittke. That meant that his fame would be largely restricted to Russia; and yet, he never pretended to be a Soviet martyr. Another breakthrough came during a vacation in the West in the ‘70s, after which he brought the first Harnoncourt recordings to Moscow. Lubimov and his colleagues managed to get their hands on a few old harpsichords, traverse flutes, and viola da gamba. They began touring the country with their exotic repertoire. After Perestroika things got easier. Lubimov, now in his 40s, was able to purchase a fortepiano and became one of the first people in his country who was able to play it. He received a recording contract with the Soviet label Melodija and started a Faculty for Contemporary and Historical Performance Practice at the renowned Tchaikovsky Conservatory, of which he was dean for 12 years. Russia’s early music scene is blossoming. Lubimov now performs as a soloist in early and contemporary repertoire, playing both old and new instruments. Despite his storied career and mature artistic personality, Lubimov remains on the outskirts of the classical music scene. Then again, it seems like that’s probably fine with him. He has everything he needs.