Ablaberdyeva/Korobeinikov at Wigmore Hall, London ó Four Reviews

Ablaberdyeva/Korobeinikov ó Wigmore Hall, London
Tim Ashley [The Guardian, 5 January 2006]
The days between Christmas and New Year can be a dull time for classical music. The Wigmore Hall can usually be relied on, however, to provide an inventive concert schedule, even if some of the artists involved are hardly household names. This recital by soprano Alla Ablaberdyeva and pianist Andrei Korobeinikov was very much a case in point – an ingeniously programmed evening, presented with great panache by two performers of whom we perhaps ought to hear more.
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Ablaberdyeva/ Korobeinikov, Wigmore Hall, London
By David Murray [Financial Times, 4 January 2006]
I fancy that the Wigmore Hall faces an annual quandary: what to do with that awkward post-Christmas week, when audiences are likely to be meagre and the bigger names reluctant to appear? Part of the solution this year was the Samarkand- born, Moscow-educated, London-resident soprano Alla Ablaberdyeva, who appeared with the 19-year-old, multi-competition-winning pianist Andrei Korobeinikov.
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Alla Ablaberdyeva, Wigmore Hall, London
By Michael Church [The Independent, 2 January 2006]
How salutary to be reminded that while the British songsmiths of the early 20th century were setting dainty ditties about lads, lasses and lilac trees, their Russian counterparts were cutting to the quick. And how interesting to see what the deft and dense poems of Anna Akhmatova did to the habitually garrulous Prokofiev: his music became deft and dense, too. By bringing to our attention the songs he and Rachmaninov had coincidentally published in 1916, Alla Ablaberdyeva’s programme did us a favour even before she’d opened her mouth.
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Alla Ablaberdyeva
Geoff Brown [Times Online, 3 January 2006]
The Russian soprano Alla Ablaberdyeva, based in England since 1991, may have looked triumphant in pink, but there was something, alas, decidedly unfestive about her post-Christmas concert at Wigmore Hall. For a start, the programme began in the wrong season, Easter, gloomily summoned in Christ is Risen, one from an overgenerous pile of 12 Rachmaninov songs in the first half. ìThe world is steeped in blood and tears,î she sang. She has a point, but the No 1 spot on a cold winterís night was not the best place for undiluted pessimism.
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