Georgia on my mind

A product of the fertile Georgian music system, star pianist Mariam Batsashvili speaks to Michael Church about Beethoven, artistic freedom and teaching via social media

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'I was born twice,' said the great Russian bass Feodor Chaliapin. 'In Kazan I opened my eyes to life, and in Tbilisi to music.' What is it about music and the Georgians? Some members of that Caucasian tribe believe there's a special musical gene hardwired into their DNA. And walking through the streets of their capital Tbilisi one sunlit Sunday morning, I felt the force of that idea.

I came upon a group of young men with tear-stained faces, clutching bottles of vodka and singing a slow and beautiful polyphonic lament. This was their way of mourning a friend who had died in a car crash, and would I like to join them for a shot? I walked on past newspaper vendors selling piano sheet-music, and where else in the world would you see that? Meanwhile, in the streets surrounding Sioni Cathedral, impromptu circles of middle-aged men were singing folk songs in immaculate three-part counterpoint: all spontaneous, with no one in charge.

Lodging with Georgian friends, I had noted the contrapuntal perfection with which they sang on feast days round the dinner table – no matter how much they'd drunk. But nothing prepared me for the biggest surprise I encountered on that walk: a children's choir, out in the street being taught a traditional Georgian song, full of awkward jumps and dissonances. Their teacher let me watch, and after an hour the young singers had not only mastered it (without a score) but had also learned all three parts.

Tchaikovsky conducted in Tbilisi, and Verdi reworked Aida there; though the city's conservatoire was discriminated against by Tsarists and Soviets – both seeing it quite correctly as a hotbed of Caucasus nationalism – it was always a cradle of musical excellence.