Karen Kornienko: On Music, Beauty, and Armenian Roots

Unfortunately, especially in our own time, the concept of beauty is distorted by human passions, increasingly cultivated by the enemy of mankind—the devil. As a result, the opposite of beauty emerges: ugliness. It arises when, instead of maintaining a connection with God, a person attaches himself to the devil, who himself was transformed from a beautiful angel into something vile because of envy.

By creating ugly works, a person, in effect, worships the devil, who passionately desires such worship. People are constantly being persuaded that ugliness is beauty. We are continually presented with counterfeits: musical compositions that are impossible to listen to, paintings that are impossible to look at, dreadful sculptures, buildings, clothing, and much more. The devil wishes us to drown in this ugliness, but he will not succeed, because the aspiration toward true beauty can never be completely eradicated. The image of God is implanted in every human being from the beginning, and beauty will save the world.

In a truly transcendent performance, does your sense of time disappear?

An interesting question! Have I ever experienced truly transcendent performances? That is not for me to judge. Sometimes you look at a pianist: his eyes are lifted to heaven, his gestures are beautiful and expressive, yet all the while he is quietly counting note values, and everything is carefully planned and calculated! Great is this mystery…

Time itself is a very relative thing. Ideally, during a concert it should pass unnoticed for the listener, but that depends on the energy the performer communicates to the audience. Every piece of music has its own sense of time, and one should feel it rather than step outside it and forget to return.

As for the transcendent in music and in art generally, this is a very important subject. The moment a musician enters the realm of the transcendent, he becomes aware that certain forces “not of this world” begin to participate in the process of music-making. Unexplainable things happen. “How did I play like that? How did that happen?” the musician asks himself.

And here, in my opinion, lies the greatest danger for a creative person. At that moment he must choose either to attribute everything to himself—great and wonderful as he is—or quietly thank God for having experienced it. Or, if it was not from God (which is also entirely possible), ask to be delivered from it so as not to harm his soul. The first path leads to pride; the second, to humility.

Your name and appearance suggest Armenian roots. Could you tell us more about them?

My grandfather, whose family name was Igitov (Igityan), came from the Armenian community of Astrakhan. My two grandmothers were Russian, and my other grandfather was Ukrainian. Although only one quarter of my ancestry is Armenian, there was a cult of everything Armenian in our family when I was growing up.

My grandfather spoke Armenian, and my father also knew some Armenian. He learned it specifically so that he could travel to Armenia and converse there in Armenian, and my parents always remembered their trip to Armenia with great affection.

Let me tell you a childhood story. I was playing the fairy-tale game Teremok (The Little House) with my parents. You remember it: “I’m Mousey-Wousey, and I’m Froggy-Woggy. Who might you be?” When my turn came, I immediately answered: “And I am an Armenian!” That’s how it was (laughs).

When I received my passport at the age of sixteen, already studying in Moscow, I wrote “Armenian” in the nationality line (there was such a line in Soviet passports).

By the way, my teacher at the music college affiliated with the conservatory, Galina Nikolayevna Yeghiazarova, was 100% Armenian! She was born and raised in Baku; now lives in Spain.

How familiar are you with Armenian music? Have you ever performed piano works by Armenian composers?

In my youth I greatly admired the Piano Concerto of Aram Khachaturian. I learned it, although unfortunately I never performed it on stage.

I have long wanted to make an arrangement of the Adagio from his ballet “Spartacus, “but so far that idea has not yet been realized. God willing, I shall do it. Perhaps one could even create an entire suite based on the music of “Spartacus.”

The famous Nocturne by Arno Babajanian could also be arranged beautifully; I can already hear it in my own transcription.

Incidentally, I remember that in the spring of 1989, when I was a first-year student at the Dnepropetrovsk Music College, my parents brought me to Moscow for consultations. At the time I was composing extensively and imagined my future as that of a composer. We were fortunate enough to meet Karen Khachaturian, the son of Aram Khachaturian and my namesake. He told my parents: “If you want your boy to achieve something, transfer him from Dnepropetrovsk to Moscow, to the College attached to the Conservatory.” To me he said: “Develop your piano technique. You will become a pianist; you have excellent gifts.” His words proved prophetic. We followed Karen Aramovich’s advice. I was admitted directly to the second year of the theory department at the Merzlyakov School. Once in Moscow, however, I stopped composing. I did not want to become a theorist, so in my third year I combined studies in both the theory and piano departments and eventually graduated as a pianist.

My compositional aspirations were transformed into the creation of piano transcriptions. I returned to composing only in mature years. At first I wrote variations on famous themes alongside my transcriptions, and later I began composing original piano pieces and sacred chants for church worship.

Thank you for this conversation, dear Karen. I hope to see you on the Yerevan stage in the near future.

I would be delighted if such an invitation were to come!