“Going on Stage Is Like Launching a Rocket into the Cosmos” — Maxim Vengerov on the Magic of Performance

When you step on stage for a concert or a recital, what do you usually think about?

You know, for every musician — and I can only speak for myself — going on stage means connecting with the audience, the orchestra, the conductor, and bringing the music to life.

It’s a little bit like launching a rocket into the cosmos. The first five or ten minutes are crucial. Once you’ve established a connection with your body and your instrument — once you are in harmony with yourself — then you can communicate the music to the audience.

Whether you’re playing with an orchestra, a conductor, a pianist in a recital, or a chamber group, the most important thing is the connection. After you’ve established that, the concert feels like home.

And as I grow older, I feel more and more connected — to audiences, to music. I think it’s the greatest joy to be a musician.

Do you remember your first encounter with the Tchaikovsky Concerto, and how it felt to play it for the first time?

The Tchaikovsky Concerto was love at first sight for me.

I grew up listening to this piece, performed by the legendary Russian violinist David Oistrakh. It was always on the shelf, and I used to put on the LP — I remember listening to Oistrakh at the age of three. Later, I thought: this is the concerto I want to play.

When I was thirteen, I told my teacher, Professor Bron, that I wanted to play it. He said, “It’s much too early for you.” But I insisted: I was in love with the piece and wanted to play it.

It was difficult — not only technically, though it certainly has technical challenges — but musically as well. Only later did I truly understand that Tchaikovsky wasn’t just writing a great violin concerto with orchestral accompaniment; he was a great symphonist. He wrote wonderful operas, ballets, and chamber works.

The Violin Concerto is a synthesis of all these things. It requires experience. Later, when I became a conductor and performed his Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Symphonies — and also Eugene Onegin — I began to see the concerto differently. I recognized the operatic and balletic elements within it.

It’s a unique piece of music that demands not only great skill and musical education from the soloist, but also close collaboration with the orchestra and a fine conductor.

What’s the story behind your violin, and how would you describe the relationship between a violinist and their instrument?

It’s the most complex relationship. The violin is a partner — some might even say a second marriage! It’s a kind of love we have, because we spend so much time with it.

Before I was married, some girls were jealous because I spent more time with my violin than with them. Now I’m happily married, with three children. My youngest, who is three and a half, already understands how important the violin is. When I say I’m going to play, he says, “Enjoy it!” — because he knows how special this connection is.

The violin becomes part of the musician’s body. It always reminds me of Chagall’s paintings — the violinist floating in the clouds, playing, and you can’t tell where the body ends and the violin begins, or where the earth and sky meet. It’s the most fantastic, multi-dimensional instrument.

If you could go back in time and play chamber music with any musician from the past, who would you choose and why?

I love playing chamber music. One of the greatest musicians, I think, was Schubert.

To meet him would have been a great wonder. His musical soul and his gift for improvisation are fascinating — he wasn’t just composing, he was talking through music.

And of course, Mozart — playing with Mozart would have been great fun. I’m sure we would have had a wonderful time, both on stage and off.

What advice would you give to young violinists today?

The violin is a unique instrument that requires a tremendous amount of work. You have to be in complete command of your body and instrument, perfectly in tune with it. You must always strive for unity with your violin.

I remember an interview with the great violinist Nathan Milstein — he was known to spend time holding his violin even when he wasn’t practicing. It was part of his body; he just wanted to feel it.

That reconnection is very important. Even when I’m not playing, I sometimes feel the urge to pick up my violin, just to hold it, to sense it. It’s a feeling that can’t be explained — the instrument becomes both physical and spiritual.

When you reach that unity — body, soul, and instrument — and share it with the audience, they feel it too. That’s when music truly becomes a bridge between the composer and the listener.