Opera singer Ilusa Huzina studied in Germany, practices in Italy, performs around the world and lives in Tatarstan. We talked to Ilusa about the differences in mentality, her study in Cologne and her perpetual nostalgia of Tatar culture.

Poetess Elmira Zhalilova was supposed to write me a song. But it just wasn't happening because she didn't really know me. Who I am, what I do, my story. And I started telling her where I studied, what I did, my feelings...After the conservatory I applied and got in to study in Germany. And that's when, you could say, it hit me. I'm generally a very sentimental person. But if I stay back in Kazan for a while, that sentimentality...well, goes away somewhere for a while. And it comes back every time you're about to leave, you remember it. "You travel to other countries often, you probably get a thrill when you leave?" they ask me. "No," I reply, "I'm very sad every time when I leave". It's always sad, I don't want to leave.

And...so, after a conversation like that, Elmira calls me. I, she says, wrote you a song. I read the lines of the text – it was exactly about me. When I sing that song, there's some sort of different vibrations even, a different level of performance, sorta. That song - is like an appeal to Italy. Except Italy is taken figuratively in it. It's just that I'm often in Italy these days. But basically it could even be about Germany. Or even Europe.

So what's in Italy?

— For opera singers, Italy is the ideal place to live and work, it's the weather conditions, you could say. You have all the necessary conditions – please, go ahead, work. There's the sun – every day.

I'll be in Italy, and the sun will be shining. Back home (in Kazan) it'll be raining, pouring, and I'll want to be there. I dunno, normal people are probably not like that (Laughs). But that's just how it is for me, and I can't even explain it.

I'll sit there and look at the Mardjani Mosque. And I'm almost bawling my eyes out. I like this picture, like the Mosque's minaret…

I want to say that my choice to live in Kazan is the conscious choice of my soul. It is my wish to be here. I am comfortable here – yes, comfortable, undoubtedly. For many reasons, due to many factors I am comfortable here.


Which ones, for example?

First of all, people here speak my native tongue. Yes, not everyone of course. I love my language. Because when I am overseas, I have…You know, I can communicate in different languages, like really communicate. And over there (in Italy), there's good people, everyone loves me, respects me. But I reach some sort of limit when I start wanting to communicate with everyone in Tatar. Although…Every day I could talk to my parents, my friends in Tatar, but I want to either have a conversation, or sing in Tatar. That's what's most interesting. And I know I've reach that limit when I want to speak Tatar.

At concerts where I sang world classics, I would also sing, say, a Tatar folk song. And teary eyed Germans, say Europeans, would come up to me and be interested in that particular piece.

Although I also performed German pieces at that concert. But for some reason everyone were interested in 'Alluki'.

Well, because it's performed, at an absolutely different level. Through feelings. Potentially, because of that. But when I have performances like that, when I have a choice of what I can perform, then I definitely sing Tatar works. Or Tatar classics, romantic pieces.

I was actually studying in Germany when this funny story happened to me. Conductor Ilmar Lapins (Latvian by birth) staged a Christmas concert in Berlin in 2013 with the Berlin Philharmonic Symphony.

Turns out, he worked at the Kazan Opera House in the 1980's. I cannot say how long he worked there, but he tuned into that Tatar culture, he fell in love with Tatar culture.

Philus Kagirov was supposed to fly in for the concert to perform romance songs by Röstäm Yaxin. But either he couldn't get a visa, or he missed the deadline with his documents, so he didn't go. And then they thought of me! And I was studying in Germany at the time, I had just moved.

And so they called me:
"Would you like to?"
And I say:
"Of course, with pleasure."

And I brought these notes to my teacher. So the melody started to play. And tears just started running down my face! My teacher didn't know what to do: either be overjoyed, or calm me down.

That was a reaction that I cannot explain. Either the intonation, or that I was homesick. Although I was always surrounded by good, open, kind people.

I went to Berlin, performed four romance songs by Röstäm Yaxin. At the Christmas concert, in Berlin, with the Berlin Symphonic Orchestra. They also staged the ballet "Shurale". They played something popular too. And the concert finished with Salikh Saidashev's Red Army march. It was just "AAA!!!", everyone were standing up like this (Shows). It was really cool!

Why did he choose that music for the Christmas concert in Berlin?

He knew that music, loved it, and wanted to play it. As in, if it wasn't for his initiative, it probably wouldn't have happened in Germany on Christmas. For a female student to go into the Berlin Philharmonic and say "Hey, let's sing something in Tatar!", no one would have batted an eye.

But he was an invited conductor for this concert. It was his program. It was a very interesting experience for me! Later I had a Master's solo concert with one theme. My theme was 'Girlish Dreams'. And I performed it, and also included the aria by Nargiz from Elmira Nizamova's opera 'Kara Pulat'. We specifically translated it into German so that the committee chairman could understand what was being sung, whether it fit. But everyone really liked the music.

You said that in Italy, the weather conditions are fitting. Is there some sort of climate that is better for vocalists? Or is it a psychological type thing?

First of all, there are psychological factors. Secondly, let's say, in St Petersburg, it's like really hard being there. Because like those overhanging clouds, they crush you. You need to have a certain frame of mind. Because we, when we go out onto the stage, we're already at that level. But here it's like… But Italy – sun, warmth, comfort. But there is one 'but': humidity. Like let's say it's the start of winter. Or say, autumn. It's so damp! Like no matter how you dress, you could put on a fur coat, you could put on a sheepskin coat, it will still be cold. As opposed to the weather here. But like this year, the winter was totally European, which I can't stand. I cannot stand European winters! Even negative 15 would be better. It's like it's all good, I've gotten dressed and everything's fine. But that slush under your feet over there, annoys all the mucosa inside, excuse the details (Laughs).

And over there too, you know. So that's that. It's somehow to do with weather too, yeah. And there's mountains there too, they have everything there, it seems to me.

Does the humidity affect the voice?

I don't feel this to be the case for me. Maybe some do feel it. I believe that if you can sing, you will always find reasons to do it. If you sing, you sing in any conditions. Sick, not sick, bedridden, upside down, sitting, standing.

You're not from Kazan are you?

No. I was born in Chelny, grew up in Yelabuga. Yelabuga is a Russian town. But I grew up in a Tatar atmosphere. Because of my parents…probably…I have to say. We always had the Tatarstan radio playing… with prongs. And on the television, the same Zilya Sungatullina would sing, give concerts. There would also be joint concerts – Clara Hairudinova, Venera Ganieva, Raphael Sakhabiev, Haydar Bigichev, Zukhra Sakhabieva. I grew up with their songs. And my great-grandma, so that's my mum's grandma…would teach me some song in time for when my parents would get back. So, that musical education stems from my great-grandma. Although, she, may have been simply entertaining me.

When I came to Kazan, I instantly felt that this is my city. I didn't want to return back to Yelabuga. My big wish was – to get back to Kazan.

I came to Kazan to apply to the music college. It was still a school back in those days when we studied there.

I really liked it at that school, I like, found a place where I fit. I was walking on air. I'd come at eight in the morning, study, and leave in the late evening. So, we lived in the music school. My fellow peers and I had many similar interests. And also, we had this thing… We would compete in our performances of folk songs. Specifically they needed to be really heartfelt, and not unambiguous.

So, naturally, Kazan….wasn't waiting for me…with open arms. I came and had to prove myself.

A normal, natural process.

How long did you live in Germany for? When you were studying.

Just two years.

Was this in Berlin?

No I studied in Cologne. I had the opportunity to stay there, and everyone said: stay! Because all the foreign students try to do that – stay and live there. But I knew for sure that I was going to come back home. And then the World Water Sports Championships were being hosted here, and I sang at it. In any case I was coming back. And I didn't want to have to return to Germany.

What were your impressions of Germany? When you just moved there. Not to perform, not to visit, but as a place you were going to study, live.

That myth about how overseas is awesome and cool, is only true while you're living at home and daydream about it. When you start living there, all the hardships begin, the same ones as here. Absolutely the same ones. They have their own paperwork, they have their rules, which you must obey. We have some things that get done easier here than there. But there you have to do things ahead of time, give notice.

You might be sitting in the office next door, but you must specifically send a letter via post, and respond only in this way. Through a letter.

My professor was a very good and kind person. Frau Kunz-Eisenlohr. They called me Frau. Frau Huzina. So interesting, romantic.

The way I ended up in Germany is also a story in itself.

My friend once announced to me: "I will go to study in Germany". I say: "Listen, aren't you tired?" We had been studying for 9 years by that stage. After school – 4 years of music school, 5 years of conservatory. And she says to me: "I want to get to know the European school. Come with me?" I say: "Nah, nah, nah, thanks, I'm good".

I probably declined because you need a lot of financial investment, I was kind of embarrassed to ask my parents for money. I was about 26-27 years old back then.

She went to the audition in Germany. And she returned saying: "It's so cool over there, so awesome!".

At one point we were told: "If you see a person in the street standing in the sun, they must be German". Heating in Germany is expensive, and naturally, everyone tries to save. They simply turn off the heating.

Upon arrival to the University, I was immediately sent to the casting of a student opera production. And they picked me! But I didn't know German!

Had you already brought the certificate by then?

No. By the time I came they had already ticked the box, that I had a certificate. They wanted me, probably, to study there so bad…Like who even needs me to that extent? They, you could say, looked the other way when it came to such a serious thing.

I had a plan: I arrive and go to language classes. I went directly to the casting, and those really were true classes. Because I would go to the rehearsals, and that was a German language class! I needed to quickly learn the language. I needed to communicate and understand, what the director was saying to me.

The composer Kschenok wrote a trilogy of mono-operas. In the opera 'Dictator' I sang the role of the wife of the dictator. I'm this girl from Tatarstan, like so Tatar-like. I would ask the director: "Who am I supposed to be?" and he would respond: "Today you're Hitler's wife" or "Putin's wife".

Next rehearsal: "You are Bush's wife", or whoever they had back then. Anyway, doesn't matter. The first lady. In the end I said: "So who am I supposed to play?" Answer: "You decide".

I had dreams, I had goals and objectives. And so in Europe, it turns out the main person – is the student. Only then the teacher. But here at home, it's the other way around. Here the teacher is first, then the student. And the student's choice is of no interest to anyone here. But there it's the opposite, they listen. On one hand it's awesome, but on the other it's not. Because students might make some kind of difficult choices that they can't pull off. Which can only break their voice. So there's that.

I arrived as an already grown adult, with an understanding of what's what. I would suggest things to the teacher, she would approve and we would go ahead with it. There's that freedom over there. And no one judges you for it. So like, if something doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. We just keep pressing on. I remember how I sang some sort of extended German aria at my first concert. I was fully shaking because the audience (the entire audience) sitting there were Germans and I had to sing in German. That was very nerve-wrecking and stressful, yeah. And so I come out like all upset, like I forgot something here and there. And they say to me: "You were wonderful!" and for me it was remarkable because that's not how that would have gone here (Laughs).

Over there they like value people. As opposed to, potentially in Russia. People are not valued in Russia. But overseas, they know the value of people.

For me it was surprising: I would go to the library, and they would give me an entire clavier – a huge book, which in binding would cost 100 euros. And they'd just give it to me. I'd say: "Do I have to photocopy it?" and they'd say: "No, you're using this to learn".

Because here we were never given a book. Like, you're learning a piece and you get given a photocopy (it's cheaper). But in Germany it's the opposite. People's effort is worth more, than a book. And that's when I stopped to think about it. Seriously.

Germany is like that. There's no stress.

Because here we live under pressure. Like what will happen tomorrow? What will they come up with tomorrow? But there you know your schedule ahead for the next half a year. My friends who live there, they plan their schedule a year in advance. Right now they're planning their trip for next February. They book their tickets. They actually buy them! But you just try booking tickets a year in advance here (Laughs)! You don't even know what will happen to you in a few weeks. I'm not even talking months. [We spoke to Ilusa a few weeks before the introduction of quarantine regulations due to the COVID-10 pandemic – Ed.]

That's probably what I ran away from.

What did you bring with you? Did something change in you? Maybe others see it – relatives, friends? Or do you feel it yourself? Because two years is actually a good amount of time during which, I think you have time to change.

Yeah, I like can't exactly say that there's something I definitely brought over from there. But let's say, there's terms which I miss. German words, which I miss not having in Russian or Tatar.

For example?

Termin. What's that? It's a specified time that you set for a meeting, or a trip to the dentist, or when you have rehearsal. Or, I don't know, a get-together. It's a time or an event… I can't explain it in Russian… I miss that word!

It's a time when you're busy?

Yes. For example you might say: "Let's meet at 3 o'clock?" and I say: "No, I'm busy". It might be a rehearsal, or something else, but if it's a rehearsal, then that's what I say. But over there, there's just one word for it. It means that that's that – I'm busy. There's also a word that refutes everything. Would you look at that, I forgot that word.

In the Russian lexicon there's words that are impossible to translate into German. And that's the beauty of knowing languages!

I love to sing in German. My teacher Frau Kunz would say: "Promise me that you will sing in German in Kazan". And every chance I get, I like, try sing in German.

On the 30^th of December there was a concert at the main concert hall. With new music, orchestra. And the theme was 'Viennese Christmas'. And we had to sing in German. When we started putting together our repertoire, I'd say "Let's do this and this and this!". Everything I was suggesting was German.

You sing in Tatarstan in German, but in Germany you sang in Tatar!

Do you spend a lot of time there right now? In Italy.

Yes. I'm studying there right now. I go there to study.

Do you go to someone specific?

Yes. Then there's some performances, not too big. And that's enough for me, by the way. I live there for a month and then come back here. And that's enough for me right now. Because, it's likely that many think that I came back because I couldn't make it there. But that's the opinion of the majority.

I'll be upfront: being here is my conscious decision. They pay more there. You're always drawn to where you feel good. Of course, I have friends who say that I don't want to get out of my comfort zone. Because it's outside of my comfort zone. Overseas. It's possible that there's some truth to it, I won't argue, but when I sit there, and simply look at the minaret and I want to cry, well, that's, I dunno, a feeling I can't explain.

Or when I go to Kamal Theatre to a Tatar play, I want to cry there too. Or I'll go to a concert of the State Ensemble, the choir will be singing, and I'll be crying the whole time.

So what hurts for you? What do you feel? Can you somehow describe that feeling?

I don't know, like for some reason the tears just flow, not sure. It could even be a happy song (Laughs).

I could assume that it's sadness, that you're losing something, something's leaving, but you chose Kazan? Something else, yes?

No, I used to experience these feelings even before I left. I think, it's to do with the language.

In terms of music, is Kazan a comfortable city?

For a classical musician? You know, it's not bad, but it would be better if we had more festivals, in my opinion.

Unfortunately, the Shalyapin Festival passes me by. First of all, it's impossible to find tickets there. There's never any. Or if there are any, they cost ridiculous amounts.

I can't get in. Because I can't buy a ticket even half a year in advance. Shalyapin, Nureyev, unfortunately happen without me. I get into all concerts in the following way. So, let's say I have a free evening tonight, I'll check out what's happening where. And I go along.

How do you introduce yourself, when you talk about yourself?

I'm Ilusa Huzina, opera singer from Russia.

Is there an opera environment in Kazan? Some communities of people, who are involved with it and who are somehow connected between each other?

Well it's like this. Like it's obvious that we know the conservatories. But then there's those who graduated from the Institute of Culture.

Is that a separation between 'us and them'?

Well, no, we all connect. We're all in the same boat.

As in, you guys don't poison each other's drinks?

No, no. It's just there's this thing, I guess. We're academically educated people. We've worked on some performances together, but let's say, they didn't have that. But they had some kind of concerts they did together, and we didn't have that. We had different interests. Only in that sense.

What do you dream of?

I dream of Tatar operas and ballet being staged more often in Europe. There's no Tatar ballet in Europe. In Paris, there's Yarullina, they stage the 'Shurale' ballet. And they listen to it, can you imagine! People, totally unaware of who Shurale is, they watch it and applaud them! The music, ballet, dancers. But there's no opera. So I probably would want to sing Tatar music in Europe. Specifically in that kind of performance. Because, to my surprise, I've already performed at the Berlin Philharmonic.

How many concert garments do you have?

Not that many.

Really, how many? 100?

No! Of course not! Well, like, the ones I actually wear, five-six.

I can only imagine the wardrobe of an opera singer!

No, that's the world class ones, who travel to, let's say, Paris. Because they're really costly, like really expensive.

But why? Do they need to have some sort of special fabric? Or does it have to be heavy, or are there rules around the clothing? It would be interesting to know - why do they dress that way anyhow?

Let's take a concert option, yeah. Why don't they go out in pants, jeans? Why not? Well, because it's just not accepted. Because it's high culture, perhaps.

In the theatres right now (and not only in theatres, probably) a lot of melding of the arts is taking place. Some sort of new theatre is emerging. Totally new. Not the one that audiences are used to. Is the same thing happening with opera? Or is it conserved? Not in Kazan, but generally around the world. Does opera allow itself to let something else in? Does it change?

Absolutely, the productions are changing. Right now, they are trying as much as possible to create productions the same way as things happen in real life. I sang in an opera by Mozart 'The Secret Gardener' in Germany. There's a Count, Countess. But the way it was staged, it didn't take place in a palace, but in a café. And we worked there. And instead of crinolines I wore a black dress, apron, headscarf. And wearing glasses.

Like here in Kazan we have the immersive show 'Anna Karenina'. In Moscow, there's an immersive opera 'The Queen of Spades'. I have a friend who sang there. It hasn't reached us yet. If it wasn't for Diana Asgatovna Safarova, nothing immersive would have reached us at all.

What about the technical side of performing?

No, that's stayed the same for now. But to me it seems that even if it does start to change, then it won't be opera. Like when I sang in the opera 'Dictator', it had horribly uncomfortable music. It was all like…modern. While Mozart in any case is a melodist. And he wrote this opera as one of his first works… I just admire those composers. They were not repeated anywhere! They wrote operas like these, they'd write 50 of them. But now this doesn't happen.

Of course, back then there weren't many composers, but now everything's been written.

Yes, yes! And there's still only 7 notes!

What do you miss not having in Kazan?

Well, firstly, for me, there's not enough parks here. In Europe, parks are hectares and hectares of land, where there's many trees growing, like a forest. Where there's a pond. When you can totally forget that you're in the middle of a city. Unlike here – plant two trees, and call it a park. Please, stroll on through. I miss the greenery. I really miss it. I miss places with water, but I guess there's Lake Kaban where you can now take a walk. But yeah, I miss the greenery. You could, of course, go to Zalesniy in town. Like that, so it would be like Central Park. Because it's like…in the middle of the city!

What else? The ecology, probably.

You feel it?

Yes! I once was stuck in a traffic jam in Los Angeles. We're sitting there and feel the ocean breeze. Can you imagine it, yeah?

I miss old buildings. That they are being demolished, or aren't being demolished but they'll build some skyscraper next to it so the building gets lost in comparison.

It makes me happy seeing the Old Tatar Quarter, but across the road they're now taking down those very same small houses. There needs to be a zone where we could see this very history, culture.

I really love Tatar villages by the way. When we go to Sarmanovo in summer, those bright houses, freshly painted, not even dry yet, those houses are beautiful…and the window frames. I just love it! For me, that's also the culture of the Tatar people. Then the gates, I love the beautiful ones. By the way, the tradition of singing at the table, performing at the table, is disappearing. It doesn't happen anymore.

Does it get to you in every day life? You come as a guest somewhere and "Please, sing…

When you're with guests, in any case you have no right for a bad performance. You're a singer, you have a diploma. There's a label on you. And because of that you sit there and don't eat, so the apparatus stays clean, so to speak. Or you go to an anniversary, to your relative's wedding, and again you don't eat, or you only drink water. And you sit and wait when they'll ask you already. And you'll sing, and after that you can relax. Because that's my job.

Do people pester you at events?


By the way. I just recently went to the movie theatre to see 'Scandal'. It was about TV anchors, girls. And they start discussing the topic of how their boss, supposedly expects more from them from a raise. I'll speak for myself. Firstly, I do not work at weddings, anniversaries. It's exclusively either relatives, family, or I if I'm invited by the people who I can come to without issues. So that I always know, here, no one will bother me. In Europe with these things, it's like…like you said, say, no, then that means no. And I didn't feel this. Or maybe I didn't get the hints (Laughs). That, by the way, could be the case. I am so naive or trusting or people, that I don't notice these things.

For you, the Tatarstan or Tatar mentality, what's it like?

For me, it's in any case loving. Loving other people. Open. Ready to feed, put to bed. Hospitable. Warm. I just…it's the mentality specifically of the Sarmanovs, my relatives, when you come to them, you don't need to worry about a thing. They'll have everything.

You don't need to worry yourself about where you'll sleep tonight. And when you come, a belesh, soup, and everything else will be waiting for you. And like I also notice that, say, my parents are the same when we have people visiting. So it always means a feast at the table. That's how it is for me.

It would be interesting to know, what Tatar things do you perceive through Sarmanovo?

Because I love this place. Because the people are like that there…they have always been kind to me.

My mum is from Sarmanovo. And my voice – is mum's voice, given to me through her family line. And since I spent my summers in Sarmanovo, sometimes I call myself a Sarmanov girl. There was this one time. I was either in Latvia, or Lithuania. There was some event. Someone comes up to me going 'Apaem, apaem, apaem'…

Apaem in the Sarmanovo region is the word for sister or brother – they are all 'apaem'. I say: 'Apa, my dear, are you from Sarmanovo?" "Yes, apaem" she responds. So there. That's why it's all so close to my heart.