Antonina Popras was born in 1995 in Novosibirsk. She began studying music under the guidance of Professor Elena Baskina. She studied at the Novosibirsk Specialized Music School (College), where she majored in viola and viola d’amore, studying with Professor Yuri Mazchenko and teacher Ilya Tarasenko. In 2018, she graduated from the Moscow State Tchaikovsky Conservatory, where she studied with Associate Professor Roman Balashov. She is currently an assistant-intern at the same conservatory, where she studies with Professor Yuri Bashmet, People's Artist of the Russian Federation. In 2019, she won the Grand Prix at the Seventh International Competition “Grand Music Art.” In 2021, she was awarded first prize at the International Competition for String Instrument Performers named after Rudolf Barshai. In 2022, she received second prize at the Second International Competition for String Instrument Performers named after Marina Yashvili, held in Tbilisi, Georgia. In 2023, she won third prize at the Ninth Yuri Bashmet International Viola Competition Viola Masters. She maintains an active concert career.
 
Antonina Popras: Music was always a natural and familiar part of life in our home. My parents met while they were studying at the Novosibirsk Conservatory named after M. I. Glinka and decided to get married. Some time later, my older sister Dasha was born, and then me. Our parents often sang songs to us—Russian folk songs, songs from the wartime years, and songs from Soviet cinema. My mother, Irina Popras, is a choral conductor by profession and, by calling, a dedicated teacher in the field of folk singing and choral conducting. My father, Vladimir Popras, is a bayan player. He also plays many other instruments, including the accordion and a range of traditional Russian plucked and wind instruments.
It was always lively and noisy in our home. Music played almost without interruption, filling the space almost constantly. My sister was enrolled in piano lessons, and she would spend hours sitting at the instrument, repeatedly practicing difficult passages from Czerny’s études that refused to yield, memorizing Bach’s Two-Part Inventions, and later moving on to Mozart’s Sonata in F major, K. 332 (300k). Why do I remember this so well? The reason is quite simple: I heard that music so many times that it became firmly embedded in my memory. And since I did not have any particularly important matters to occupy me as a child, I found ways to amuse myself. I made up funny words to the melodies my sister was practicing and sang them so loudly that I distracted her from her work.  
Meanwhile, in the next room, my father was diligently working on The Four Seasons by Vivaldi and The Four Seasons by Piazzolla, playing them sometimes on the accordion, sometimes on the bayan. That was my first, entirely unconscious, encounter with these remarkable cycles. Just as often, one could hear him improvising on Russian folk themes. This was part of his preparation for work, as he wrote arrangements for a folk ensemble. At the same time, my mother was carefully preparing dinner in the kitchen, singing something from her favorite songs. My sister and I often joked that my mother knew so many songs that, no matter what word someone might say, she would immediately remember a line of lyrics containing that word and sing it with pleasure. My mother has told me that even before I was able to speak, my musical ear was already beginning to develop. I could reproduce the pitch of the humming pipes in the bathroom or imitate other sounds from the world around me. And so, by the time I reached the age of four, it was finally my turn. That was when my parents introduced me to my first violin teacher, Elena Vladimirovna Baskina. This marked the beginning of a very long and interesting journey.
 
St. Petersburg Music House (SPMH): What are your most vivid musical memories from childhood?
Antonina Popras: I remember studying violin with my father. He was deeply inspired by the story of Niccolò Paganini, particularly by the fact that Paganini became a famous virtuoso violinist thanks to the lessons he received from his own father. He often used this story as an example to encourage me, telling me that all the effort was not in vain and that one day I would grow up and thank him. And indeed, today I would sincerely like to thank my father for all his dedication and hard work. But at the time, I couldn’t fully grasp the enormous sense of responsibility that had been placed on me so early. His approach was far from ordinary. We could spend hours working on a single scale, repeating it until every one of the eight or sixteen notes lit up green on the tuner. Double stops were refined to the point where a ringing overtone of perfect purity would emerge in the ear. Sometimes, my right elbow would be tied with a string to something heavy to limit the height of its movement and hold it in the correct position. And then there was the chess clock. Not for playing chess, but to keep track of practice time and breaks whenever my parents were not home. Of course, the clock could be adjusted, and I gladly did so in my own favor. The most important lessons I took away from those hours of practicing with my father are lessons in hard work, honesty, responsibility for what you do, the drive to achieve results, the determination to reach difficult heights, and the ability to think outside the box.
I remember how I couldn’t sleep the entire night before meeting my first viola teacher. I was anxious, wondering what that first lesson would be like. What if I wasn’t cut out to be a violist? What if something about me wasn’t quite right for the instrument? Maybe not everyone is meant to become a violist. What if my teacher and I didn’t get along? But my teacher, a true representative of the Soviet school, an intellectual, Professor Yuri Nikolaevich Mazchenko, put my worries to rest almost immediately. He turned out to be incredibly kind-hearted. Right from the start, he began telling me about the advantages of the viola compared to other instruments and said that being a violist is something to be truly proud of. He introduced me to the world of the viola, to the leading performers of the instrument, and shared stories about musicians. Some of the stories he told more than once, but it never mattered. Each time I listened with interest, because he spoke with such genuine enthusiasm and passion whenever it came to his favorite subject. That’s how I finally learned to love studying music. 
I remember how, in our classroom, there were portraits hanging on the walls—portraits of Vadim Borisovsky holding a viola d’amore, portraits of Yuri Kramarov, and of Fyodor Druzhinin. I also remember how, once, for one of Yuri Nikolaevich’s birthdays, our class of students decided to have his portrait made as a gift. But he refused to hang it on the wall, saying it was “not modest enough” for him. Thanks to the work and dedication of Yuri Nikolaevich, I became a laureate of numerous competitions, participated in festivals, received a scholarship from the Governor of the Novosibirsk Region, became a recipient of a scholarship from the Mstislav Rostropovich Foundation, was awarded a named scholarship from Vadim Repin, and had the opportunity to take a master class with him. Later on, we even performed together with Repin as part of a string sextet in the intimate setting of the Trans-Siberian Art Festival. Yuri Nikolaevich often praised me—almost constantly. He supported me and took notice of even the smallest successes. My parents still have my notebook from my major subject lessons, where he used to write down recommendations for my practice at home. At the end of each lesson, he would always leave a note: “Well done! Excellent!” It was only years later, after Yuri Nikolaevich was gone, that I fully realized the immense value of that belief in a student and that kind of support. If I ever start teaching myself, I would also want to be the kind of teacher who offers support. I would try to build a relationship of trust with my students. People reveal themselves through their sound and their abilities when they are truly heard, when someone believes in their success, genuinely wants to help them, and is ready to share the experience together.
One of the most important memories I would like to share is my time studying at the Novosibirsk Specialized Music School (College), and in particular, the orchestra rehearsals. These were led by conductor and clarinetist Vladislav Yanovich Yankovsky. We had great respect for him and, at the same time, were genuinely afraid of him. God forbid you should catch his strict gaze or be caught making a mistake in your playing. We feared him, but at the same time, we were proud of the experience we gained and the results we achieved under his direction. 
I remember how, once, we were preparing for a concert. The program included Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain and either Grieg’s Piano Concerto or Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto. The rehearsals were incredibly demanding. The orchestra was exhausted, our strength was gone, and our motivation had all but disappeared. And that was when Vladislav Yanovich, perhaps for the first time, allowed himself to show a softer side, a moment of sentiment. He stepped in front of the orchestra and spoke to us directly. He explained how important it was for us to give our best and to prepare thoroughly for this concert, which meant so much to all of us. And at the end of his speech, he said something that I have remembered ever since. For the first time, he decided to explain the reason behind his high standards and strictness. He said, “I correct you not because I do not like you. I correct you so that no one else will ever dare to correct you.” I was struck by the depth and meaning of those words. And they are absolutely true. To this day, thanks to his lessons, I can instinctively read a new orchestral part, I know how to study the score and follow the markings properly, and I can respond confidently to a conductor’s gestures, anticipating their intentions. I have carried his lessons with me ever since—along with the memory of his dedication and care for the younger generation of musicians. The orchestral training I received during my time at the school continues to help me to this day. I am very grateful to Vladislav Yanovich. I recently did the math and realized that, all together, I have already been playing in orchestras for eighteen years. Twice I have been awarded prizes in the Russian National Youth Symphony Orchestra’s competition for orchestral musicians—second prize and first prize. Today, I serve as assistant principal violist of the Moscow State Academic Symphony Orchestra.
 
SPMH: You began your studies on the violin, and later the viola and viola d’amore appeared in your life. How did that happen? Why?
Antonina Popras: It all happened quite naturally and seemed to unfold on its own, as if it was exactly how things were meant to be. By the age of eleven, I had completely lost interest in playing the violin. I had started to fall behind my peers in terms of playing level, and when my teacher suggested to my parents that I switch to a different instrument, I didn’t hesitate for a moment. In fact, I was genuinely happy. It seemed like the perfect solution to the situation, and, to my great fortune, I ended up with a wonderful viola teacher. Sometimes, you have to take a step to the side in order to be able to take dozens of steps forward. There is a quote I really like. When David Oistrakh was asked who the greatest violinist in the world was, he would answer, “I am the second!” — “Then who is the first?” — “There are many firsts.” Later on, I must have thought a thousand times about how right that decision was—to become a violist. The viola community is much more close-knit than the violin world. Many violists know each other, are friends, support one another, share rare materials and sheet music. There is far less competition between us. And everywhere you hear the same thing: a good violist is worth their weight in gold. Thanks to the viola, I have met remarkable people and teachers. In my final year at the Novosibirsk Specialized Music School, I had the good fortune to study with a talented performer and teacher, Ilya Vladimirovich Tarasenko, violist of the Novosibirsk Philharmonic Quartet and the Novosibirsk Academic Symphony Orchestra. We are still in contact today, and we often exchange ideas about all things viola.
When I decided to apply to the Moscow Conservatory, the choice of teacher was obvious. I submitted my application to Associate Professor Roman Gennadievich Balashov, who opened up for me an even broader understanding of the viola world—its repertoire, its sound palette, and its interpretive possibilities. Roman Gennadievich is a true intellectual. He had a significant influence on my artistic development, on the formation of my sense of musical style, and on my interpretive taste. During my years of study, he was a wonderful mentor and, I would even say, a friend. His lessons were always engaging, substantial, and charismatic. I truly loved our meetings. I approached my major lessons with full responsibility and looked forward to them, always trying to prepare as thoroughly as possible. A few years later, I entered the assistantship-internship program at the Moscow Conservatory, studying with Yuri Abramovich Bashmet. Lessons with him were highly productive. He helped me prepare for competitions and, like a healer, pointed out the exact flaws in my playing that needed work, as if scanning through my performance and finding every weak spot. This was of great value for my further growth as a performer.
 
The viola d’amore also inevitably became part of my life, since my teacher during my school years, Yuri Nikolaevich Mazchenko, was an outstanding performer on this instrument. In his hands, the viola d’amore revealed itself in an extraordinary way. He also composed music for the “violka,” as he affectionately called it—mostly cycles of miniatures, pieces for children, music for voice and viola d’amore, works for solo viola, and compositions for viola with piano accompaniment. We, his students, also had the opportunity to play these pieces, but none of us could make them sound as harmonious and refined as he did. Recordings of his performances can still be found online. At the end of the twentieth century, he led the only viola d’amore class in the country, at the Novosibirsk Conservatory. With great tact, care, and inspiration, he worked to cultivate in his students a love and interest for this remarkable instrument. It was on his recommendation that I once sent a video recording to the Mstislav Rostropovich Foundation, and as a result, I was awarded a scholarship for two years as a viola d’amore performer.
 
SPMH: Berlioz once wrote that "the sound of the viola d’amore is soft and delicate; there is something heavenly in it." How would you describe the voice and character of the instrument? 
Antonina Popras: I would add that its sound is also enchanting, almost magical. And the instrument itself looks absolutely captivating. The shimmering runs and arpeggios that the instrument allows you to play with ease, together with the sympathetic strings that run underneath the fingerboard and emerge beneath the lower part of the pegbox, open up enormous possibilities for a performer’s creative ideas. The character of the instrument is as unique as its appearance. I spent a long time trying to find the right approach to it. What made it difficult was that, unlike the viola, which has only four strings tuned in perfect fifths, the viola d’amore typically has six (sometimes seven) main strings, plus an equal number of sympathetic strings underneath. The tuning is usually in D major (or D minor), following a sequence of alternating fifths, fourths, and thirds. So, to play a simple scale, you practically have to forget everything you were taught before (that’s a joke, of course) and relearn the basics from the beginning. The fingerings are completely different. And then there are the dimensions of the instrument: its weight, the height of the ribs, the width of the fingerboard, the curve of the bridge—it is an entirely different world. To switch from playing the viola to playing the viola d’amore takes patience and a good amount of time spent together with the instrument.
 
SPMH: The viola is often considered a masculine instrument. Why do you think that is? 
Antonina Popras: Is it really? I grew up and was trained during a time when the very top of the viola world—both then and now—has been occupied by internationally renowned female violists such as Tabea Zimmermann, Nobuko Imai, Kim Kashkashian, and many other women. At the most recent ARD Competition in 2023, first prize was awarded to the violist Haesue Lee from Korea. Today, in orchestras, at least half of the viola section is made up of women. And if I take, for example, Yuri Bashmet’s orchestra New Russia, where I worked for nearly eight years, the majority of the viola section there are women. More and more often now, women are taking on leading roles. Of course, if we speak about the Soviet era, it is true that many of the most prominent violists were men—there’s no arguing with that. And that is absolutely remarkable. The faculty of the Moscow Conservatory included violists such as Vladimir Bakaleynikov, Vadim Borisovsky, Fyodor Druzhinin, and Yuri Bashmet. Abroad, there were figures like violist and conductor Rudolf Barshai, the German violist and composer Paul Hindemith, and many others. All of them made a significant contribution to the history of the viola, particularly because they brought the instrument to a completely new level of perception and artistic status. Thanks to them, the viola began to be recognized more and more by the musical community as a solo instrument. At that time, by the way, the leaders of violin performance were, to a large extent, men as well.
And on that note, I suppose the double bass is also considered a masculine instrument? But today, more and more outstanding female double bass players are studying at the Moscow Conservatory, working in orchestras, and performing in chamber ensembles on the leading stages of Moscow. Incidentally, as it happened, my sister eventually became a double bassist. She, too, graduated from the Moscow Conservatory in the double bass class and went on to work in the Academic Symphony Orchestra of the Moscow Philharmonic.
 
SPMH: In your view, what does a musician need for a successful career?
Antonina Popras: They say good marketing can work wonders! Though, of course, that's mostly a joke. Let me explain. A career pursued purely for the sake of having a career does not hold the audience's attention for long. Yes, it is possible to build such a career, but most likely it will be no more than a brief, bright flash—a name that lights up a few posters over the course of a couple of concert seasons and is quickly forgotten. What matters is understanding why you are standing on stage today, what you are there for, and why you deserve to be there. The audience can sense insincerity, and I don’t mean in terms of pitch accuracy. The number of concerts you play or how often you appear on stage is no guarantee of quality. You cannot stay artistically fulfilled or share something meaningful if you have more concerts in a month than you have fingers on your hands and feet. What’s far more important is to be sincere in what you do, to work with care and persistence, to give the best results you can, and to convey the meaning of the music—both to the audience and to your colleagues on stage.
If I were speaking to young musicians, I would say that for a strong start, the most important thing is having a solid foundation: a good school, a good teacher, and the right relationship with that teacher. It is equally important that, from the very beginning, parents instill in their child a sense of responsibility for their work, encourage their dedication, and help nurture a love for the stage and for the audience. After that, I think it’s important not to be afraid to try. You have to try as many things as possible. You have to gain experience in different areas of your craft. Competitions, festivals, trips and tours, master classes, artistic connections, various ensembles and orchestras—all of these are essential. They play a huge role in shaping a musician’s personality. Experience and practice are never something to spare your time on. Of course, work ethic matters, as does the result you bring to the stage, and your genuine interest in what you do. And charisma is no less important, as is the ability to connect with people on a personal level. And that's where marketing can come into play. As the saying goes, trust in marketing, but don't rely on it alone.
 
SPMH: What opportunities has your collaboration with the Saint Petersburg Music House given you?
Antonina Popras: Opportunities that would be absolutely impossible to achieve on my own. I am incredibly grateful to Sergei Pavlovich Roldugin for noticing me and welcoming me into the circle of musicians who take part in the Music House programs. Over these years, I have already performed several times with orchestras, become a laureate of international competitions, and appeared on stage in St. Petersburg on multiple occasions. The most memorable concert—the one that, without exaggeration, divided my life into “before” and “after”—was held on April 22, 2024, in the Grand Hall of the St. Petersburg Philharmonia named after D. D. Shostakovich. Together with the Honored Collective of Russia, the Academic Symphony Orchestra, and conductor Alexander Solovyov, the principal conductor of the Mikhailovsky Theatre, we performed the Russian premiere of the A String Around Autumn concerto for viola and symphony orchestra by the Japanese composer Tōru Takemitsu. I still remember the chills I felt from the sheer happiness and uniqueness of the moment, from the honor Sergei Pavlovich gave me by entrusting me with the role of the first performer of this work in our country. And, of course, I was deeply impressed by the extraordinary artistic level of the orchestra. I had never encountered an ensemble so attentive and responsive. It was a real pleasure to perform alongside such exceptional musicians and conductor, knowing I could rely fully on them, even though none of us had ever played this music before. I was absolutely thrilled by everything that was happening and did my best to personally thank each musician for their support and involvement. That concert brought me not only unforgettable memories but also new creative friendships, new connections, and new invitations to perform. For example, Pavel Popov, the associate principal of the ZKR orchestra, invited me to take part in one of his anniversary concerts at the St. Petersburg Philharmonia. On April 18, 2025, we will share the stage of the Small Hall of the Philharmonia, performing César Franck’s Piano Quintet together with Nikolai Lugansky, Polina Krasovskaya, and Taras Trepel. 
And just recently, on February 18, we had another memorable performance—a joint concert with Anna Savkina and the Youth Chamber Orchestra of the ZKR on the stage of the Grand Hall of the St. Petersburg Philharmonia, conducted by Yaroslav Zaboyarkin. Together, we performed Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante for violin and viola with orchestra. 
Just imagine what it feels like: standing on this historic stage where some of the most famous musicians and composers of the 19th century once performed—Liszt, Wagner—and where in the 20th century, legendary conductors such as Mravinsky and Temirkanov led concerts. Yesterday it was Boris Berezovsky performing here. Tomorrow it will be Vladimir Spivakov. And today, it is us standing on this stage… It feels like the most incredible dream. The concerts I am offered through the Music House are truly significant and on a large scale. They mean a great deal to me. I am very grateful for the support and guidance of Sergei Pavlovich. The Saint Petersburg Music House is also unique in that it gives young violists opportunities that simply do not exist anywhere else. It opens the doors to major stages and to work with orchestras. For this, I want to express my deepest thanks to Sergei Pavlovich.
 
SPMH: On March 19, at the Beloselsky-Belozersky Palace, as part of the Saint Petersburg Music House’s Young Interpreters of Russia project, you will be performing Bartók’s Viola Concerto. What feelings does this work evoke for you?
Antonina Popras: This is probably the most internationally renowned concerto in the viola repertoire, and I am very happy to finally have the chance to perform it with an orchestra. For me, this will be a premiere. The music draws from a variety of genres, combining elements of modernism and folk traditions, all within Bartók’s unmistakable style. As a performer, it is especially important for me to convey the nobility and beauty of this music, even with all its sharp harmonies, bold rhythms, and striking dynamics. I hope I can capture the listeners’ attention and hold it from the very first movement all the way to the end of the piece.
 
SPMH: On Bach’s birthday, you will perform his Suite No. 2 for Solo Cello as part of the Evenings in the English Hall series. In your opinion, how does the voice of the viola transform this work?
Antonina Popras: I think that, from a technical standpoint, performing a cello suite on the viola is in no way inferior to the original—perhaps in some ways it may even surpass it. But in terms of timbre, I would still give preference to the cello. I really love that instrument and what it is capable of. Its sound is probably the closest to my own heart.
 
SPMH: “When I play the viola, I place myself at the heart of polyphony,” Bach once said. There’s a certain pleasant sense of superiority in those words. Do you feel it?
Antonina Popras: We, violists, often find ourselves at the heart of polyphony and at the heart of the score. The viola part, as a rule, plays a major role in filling out the harmonic structure of the music. It acts as the delicious “filling” of the pie, surrounding and complementing both the melodic lines and the bass lines. But the real sense of superiority, I must admit, comes when the viola is given the chance to play a solo. Fortunately, many Russian composers—such as Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky, and Shostakovich—occasionally entrusted the viola section with solo passages in their symphonic works. And some composers even wrote solos specifically for a single viola, for the principal violist of the section. And then there are the exceptional cases—like Berlioz, who composed Harold in Italy for solo viola and symphony orchestra, on a commission from Paganini. That is what I would call true superiority!
 
Interview by Tatyana Mikhailova