Dazzling Bolshoi stars, enthralling musicians, an incredible pianist

The dances were mere excerpts from Giselle and Swan Lake and, therefore, taken out of context. Consequently, they could not evoke to the fullest degree joy, ecstasy, sorrow or despair. Instead, focus was on the dancers’ technical excellence which shone brightly. The bare stage further highlighted the dancing. There are higher-ranking Bolshoi stars than those who performed at the CCP, but they did represent the best of Bolshoi’s century-old tradition of superb skill, grace and artistry.

Tours en l’air, tour jetés, showed extraordinary elevation, pirouettes, balance and extension were perfectly controlled the ballerinas’ arabesques formed beautiful lines, and the extension had the legs ending in a perpendicular position. The three male dancers, in the manner of the danseur noble, gave firm, strong, unwavering but well disguised support through which the ballerinas conveyed ethereal lightness. This was particularly so in Giselle and Chopiniana wherein Nelli Kobakhidze, partnered by Alexander Volchkov and Ekaterina Shipulina partnered by Russian Skvortsov, respectively, seemed to float on air. With princely bearing, Volchkov in his La Bayadere solo executed sweeping leaps and dazzling turns.

In the Tarantella pas de deux, Anastacia Goryachera and Dandrei Bolotin were infectiously bouncy and spirited, the ballerina saucy and coquettish, the danseur, flirtatious. Anastacia as the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker finale pas de deux, partnered by Skvortsov, appeared not quite at par with Nelli and Ekaterina in technical brilliance.

Ekaterina, the Black Swan, was exquisitely graceful and her fouettés were stunning.

Nelli’s limpid grace and smooth-as-silk bourrees evoked swan-like movements in The Dying Swan but remembering Maya Plesitskaya’s version, one misses nuances – e.g., the rapid fluttering of the arms (wings) and the intermittent twitching of the legs as the final moments of the dying swan’s anguish approached.

All numbers received a prolonged storm of applause.

Ric Culalic’s Arnis to music by Gabrielle Roth and The Mirrors, was characterized by the clever manipulation of the sticks. The Philippine selections were highly stylized in the balletic manner – Leonor Orosa Goquingco blazed the trail for stylization, and the Pangalay. With Lisa Macuja Elizalde as the Princess, was danced on pointes. The ingenious handling of the bamboo poles and the polish of the Princess’ three attendants further enhanced the choreography of Agnes Locsin.

In the gala night which followed, Ballet Manila did Tony Fabella’s Dancing to Verdi. Fast-paced, rapidly-changing images went into brisk, zestful, precise movement. Trained by Russia’s Kirov Ballet, Lisa, partnered by Gerardo Francisco, exhibited her well-known virtuosity. It was a proud moment for a Philippine dance company to have participated in the Russian Festival.

A refreshing, fascinating, absolutely enthralling performance was given by the "New Names of Moscow" folkloric ensemble consisting of Yulia Neverova, domra viol; Alexandra Skroznikova, minor domra; Sergey Yakimov, prima balalika, bass babalika, Sergey Kotikov, button accordion, and Elena Glebova, vocalist.

None can compare with the Russians (except, arguably, the Spaniards) in the intensity, fire and passion of their musical renditions. The instrumentalists interpreted popular Russian music, a waltz, a tango by Piazzolla, the Russian national song Valenki. They amazed listeners with their abrupt, superbly controlled transitions from pianissimo to fortissimo throughout each number, their precision impeccable, their expression sensitive, subtle and soulful. Rendering the folk songs, Glebova’s stringent voice soared with ardor. In the end, art director V. Grouglov joined the ensemble, and the Bahay Kubo (with the soloist reading the words), drove the audience into deafening applause and frenzied delight.

But more marvels were to come. Pianist Denis Matsuev’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 by Liszt made history. Actually more Gypsy than Hungarian, the Rhapsody, with "its dramatic contrasts of mood, color and rhythm" was infused with tremendously powerful chords and dizzyingly swift runs produced such electrifying densities and torrents of sound that the listener felt he had been caught in a thunderstorm, a hurricane, a tsunami. Or all three! I had never heard anything like it. (Superlatives are wearisome but inevitable here.) Matsuev’s own whirling cadenza made his tour de force even more incredible.

The unstoppable uproar brought the pianist back repeatedly to the stage, and the thunderous applause would not cease even after he had played a Scandinavian piece – in similarly prodigious fashion – and jazz which reflected his versatility, usual mind-boggling skill and awesome dominance of the piano.

I don’t think there was a single listener who was not overwhelmed by Matsuev, reputedly Russia’s best pianist.

(His performance with the San Miguel Philharmonic Orchestra will be reviewed next.)