Christian Ferras: the great unknown of the violin
For violinists and violin lovers, the 20th century is known as a “golden age”, when virtuosos of the instrument could achieve legendary status in their lifetimes. Its early decades saw and heard the advent of Jascha Heifetz, Yehudi Menuhin, Isaac Stern, Nathan Milstein, David Oistrakh, and many others. Although we are blessed with many great talents today, the 20th century was special in that it produced so many giants who all pushed the boundaries of violin playing in their individual ways. If Heifetz’s virtuosity, Stern’s lyricism, Oistrakh’s pure sound, and Milstein’s inimitable charm remain unsurpassed to this day, one violinist of this glorious era is consistently sidelined or overlooked.
On Saturday 17th of June, Christian Ferras (1933-82) would have turned 90. Still, whenever I mention Ferras, even among musicians and music lovers, I often get clueless looks. In my view, Ferras most certainly is the world’s greatest unknown violinist. He is not underrated, as those who know about him tend to admire him greatly – he is just underknown, which is a pity for all those who are missing out on a unique musical experience.
The brevity of Ferras’ life and career is the only possible explanation as to why the music-loving public have mostly forgotten about him. This short life was one of immense success, as well as one of immense sorrow. Born in France, his international career began long before he reached adulthood; by the time he was 25, he had toured America, Europe and Australia, performing often with the Berlin and the Vienna Philharmonic orchestras. However, behind the glittering career, Ferras led a solitary life. Very early into his career, he suffered from depression, alcoholism and gambling addiction. These problems interrupted his professional life in the 1970s and led to his suicide in 1982 at just 49.
In those difficult years however, he became an international sensation and approached stardom as much as one can as a classical musician, touring the world and recording all major violin concertos with Deutsche Grammophon, the Berlin Philharmonic orchestra, and in particular Herbert von Karajan. The conductor was known for being difficult with his soloists, but thoroughly enjoyed collaborating with Ferras. Karajan pointed out that “Ferras’ genius lay in his ability to anticipate the other’s playing”. His collaboration with Karajan resulted in many recordings, which are all on a par with those of the other 20th-century masters.
The first time I heard and saw Ferras play was on a black and white video of the Sibelius concerto filmed in 1965 conducted by a young Zubin Mehta (now approaching his 90th birthday as well). To this day, that is the rendition against which I benchmark all other performances. This performance is an example of what it means to “make a violin sing” but Ferras goes far beyond that feat by making his violin sigh, cry, and sob.
Throughout the concerto, he creates a sound world that conveys pain and sorrow with an intensity that links each musical phrase to the next. Here, there is no room for pretence, vain virtuosity, or any showboating, which we have become increasingly accustomed to. Ferras is not putting on a show, he is pouring out his heart, and letting his audience into the depth of his broken world. It is a performance of such honesty that towards the end of the second movement, as time seems to stop and the camera zooms in on Ferras’ face, tears are rolling down his cheeks.
This recording is just one of many that show Ferras’ unique ability to evoke a true sense of sorrow and despair from his violin. His complete recordings of Brahms and Beethoven sonatas should be treasured along with those of the greatest masters, in that they never shy away from the rawest emotions, with an honesty and a humility that have mostly disappeared from the stage today. His recordings of the Brahms sonatas combine lyricism and unshakable structure, whereas his recording of Franck’s sonata strikes the perfect balance between the reflective and the passionate.
These are just a few examples that should help anyone discover a unique musician. Listen to some of Ferras’ recordings and you’ll understand what the great Yehudi Menuhin meant, when he wrote upon hearing about the death of Ferras, whom he remembered as “being possessed by music, immensely talented, and of both generous and intense temperament…”
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