It has been a while since I conducted one of my favorite Richard Strauss works, “Ein Heldenleben” (A hero’s life). I will perform it with the Danish National Symphony Orchestra in Copenhagen next week. Details here.

This work is one of my best memories. I first heard it through the glorious, historical, and reference recording by Rudolf Kempe with the Staatskapelle Dresden. Then, I conducted it with many different orchestras and had the privilege of recording it, as Rudolf Kempe’s successor in Dresden, with the great Staatskapelle some years ago. In this recording, I use the ending (which describes the hero’s death) allegedly preferred by Richard Strauss: a soft, comforting, slow ending with a tender violin solo. The usual, most commonly performed ending is the so-called “Zarathustra-Ending” with a full orchestra, giving the work a supplement of empty heroism (spectacular, though). Strauss himself didn’t like this “Zarathustra-Ending”; he defined it as “Staatsbegräbnis” (a State Funeral).

 

 

 

 

 

Diese Bezeichnung ist nicht von mir, sondern von Thomas Mann, der Adalbert Stifter als einen der größten Literatur-Genies nannte. Völlig aus der Mode gekommen, bin ich zu Adalbert Stifter durch Thomas Bernhards „Alte Meister“, in dem der Protagonist, der Musikkritiker Reger, vernichtende Worte über Stifter liefert, vor allem wegen seiner Biederkeit und seinem Dazugehören zur vermeintlichen Staatskunst. Das Urteil der fiktiven Figur des Regers hat seine Begründung, denn Adalbert Stifter’s Prosa ist langsam, ist langatmig, ist alles andere als aufregend. Dennoch wissen wir, dass selbst Thomas Bernhard Stifter schätzte – neben anderen Literaturgrössen wie Karl Kraus, Peter Handke und Ilse Aichinger. Aber vielleicht eben wegen der Detailverliebtheit, der absichtlichen Langsamkeit der Erzählung, der subtilen Thematik, sollte dieser fast vergessene Schriftsteller wieder entdeckt werden. Seine Erzählung „Bergkristall“ ist jedenfalls ein Wunder an Sprachgenauigkeit und an langsame, dennoch grossartige, Spannung.

 

The Enigma Adalbert Stifter

This appellation is not mine but belongs to Thomas Mann, who referred to Adalbert Stifter as one of the greatest literary geniuses. Entirely out of fashion, I discovered Adalbert Stifter through Thomas Bernhard’s “Old Masters,” in which the protagonist, music critic Reger, expresses devastating opinions about Stifter, primarily due to his respectability and supposed ties to statecraft. Reger’s judgment is justified, as Adalbert Stifter’s prose is slow, long-winded, and anything but exciting. Nevertheless, we know that even Thomas Bernhard appreciated Stifter, alongside other literary luminaries like Karl Kraus, Peter Handke, and Ilse Aichinger. It is precisely because of the attention to detail, the intentional slowness of the narrative, and the subtlety of the subject matter that this nearly forgotten writer deserves to be rediscovered. His story “Rock Crystal” is, in any case, a miracle of linguistic precision and slow-building tension.

 

 

Much has been written about Rainer Maria Rilke’s Cornet, one of the most influential literary works of the twentieth century. Defined as “prose poetry,” the short text still strikes both for its content, oscillating between the glorification of war and its absurdity, and for its form, which uses a dry, spare language, at times sweet and seductive, creating a contrast that reflects the protagonist’s inner life. The story of the young soldier Christoph Rilke, appointed “Cornet” on the field, and therefore standard-bearer, during the war of the European forces against the Turks in 1663, has been set to music numerous times: by Paul von Klenau to Viktor Ullmann to Kurt Weill to Siegfried Matthus. Perhaps the musical version closest to Rilke in terms of rhythm, color, and intensity is that of Frank Martin for female voice and chamber orchestra.

 

 

Über Rainer Maria Rilkes „Cornet“, eines der einflussreichsten literarischen Werke des 20. Jahrhunderts, wurde viel geschrieben. Der kurze Text wird als „Poesie in Prosa“ beschrieben, und beeindruckt sowohl durch seinen Inhalt, der zwischen Kriegsverherrlichung und dessen Absurdität schwankt, als auch durch seine Form, die sich einer trockenen, kargen, manchmal süßen und verführerischen Sprache bedient und so einen Kontrast schafft, der das Innenleben des Protagonisten widerspiegelt. Die Geschichte des jungen Soldaten Christoph Rilke, der im Krieg der europäischen Streitkräfte gegen die Türken 1663 auf dem Feld zum „Cornet“ und damit zum Bannerträger ernannt wird, wurde mehrere Male vertont: von Paul von Klenau über Viktor Ullmann und Kurt Weill bis hin zu Siegfried Matthus. Die Version für Frauenstimme und Kammerorchester von Frank Martin ist in Rhythmus, Farbe und Intensität vielleicht diejenige die Rilke am nächsten kommt.

 

 

An important “caveat”: this book is not optimistic, uplifting, or giving hope. It is a brutal analysis of the result of illiteracy and of lack of education. Chris Hedges shows how, little by little, people in the US are becoming increasingly dependent on the visuality and superficiality of evil and wrong examples. School, TV, internet are responsible. Of course, this is extendable to the world population (especially in the Western world, but Asian countries are also touched by this dangerous trend), and it is by no means only an American phenomenon. The language of this book is often crude and even graphic – maybe even too much, and the lack of hope (its mistake is probably to generalize problems that don’t affect everybody) is sometimes upsetting. However, the issues it shows are real and need to be addressed.

What to wear during the day

 

We have seen that tails should not be worn before 5:00 p.m.

However, many concerts take place in the matinée, in the morning or early afternoon.

The classic elegant outfit for morning and afternoon indoor events is the Cut (short for Cutaway). This ensemble consists of a black or gray jacket open at the front (but, in contrast to tails, it includes a button and a buttonhole for closure), with tails, a gray waistcoat (in England, often dyed a different color; in Scotland, sometimes featuring the family tartan or one’s “clan”), single or double-breasted and gray striped trousers. The white shirt has a diplomatic or regular collar, double cuffs fastened with cufflinks, and a long gray tie or plastron. The bow tie is not allowed; it is only worn in the evening, either white (with tails) or black (with a tuxedo).

Aside from official ceremonies or funerals (where the tie and vest turn black), very few people wear the Cut anymore; it has only recently been spotted on some conductors at the Wiener Philharmoniker’s New Year’s Concert.

 

In the 1920s, the Cut was gradually supplanted by the Stresemann, named after its creator, Gustav Stresemann, Chancellor of the Weimar Republic and later Foreign Minister during the same decade, who won the Nobel Prize in 1926 alongside Aristide Briand.

To simplify and minimize diplomatic attire, Stresemann removed the tails from the jacket, opting for a black color while keeping the gray striped trousers. The vest is optional but seldom seen. The tie is always long and usually gray or silver.

This is still the daytime attire of the Wiener Philharmoniker and the evening attire of the Vienna Opera Orchestra (it is the same orchestra, but officially, at the opera, the orchestra rarely plays under the name of the private company “Wiener Philharmoniker”).

I believe that even the Philadelphia Orchestra used this attire until a few years ago, but unfortunately, a generic black suit has replaced it.

 

This is not a conductor, but he is elegant in his midnight-blue tuxedo.

 

For the conductor, cutaway suits and Stresemann jackets are typically worn indoors during winter and never after 5:00 pm. The tuxedo, similar to tails, is considered evening wear and should not be worn before 5:00 pm. It features a black jacket with satin lapels, available in either single or double-breasted styles, paired with a preferably simple shirt and double cuffs secured with cufflinks, along with shiny black Oxford shoes or loafers (martingale shoes are acceptable, and while patent leather shoes are technically incorrect, they are allowed; the same applies to suede or satin shoes). The trousers are black with satin stripes along the sides, accompanied by long black socks and a black bow tie. Tuxedos made from velvet and in other colors, such as midnight blue, Blackwatch tartan (not in velvet), burgundy, and dark green, are also quite elegant, and bolder colors are increasingly accepted.

However, the conductor should not wear a tuxedo; his elegant evening attire is always and exclusively tails.

A standard practice permits wearing a “dinner jacket,” the summer alternative to the tuxedo (white jacket instead of black, while the rest conforms to tuxedo standards) during the summer.

Traditionally, the dinner jacket is worn outdoors rather than indoors; this practice is often overlooked today. Generally, the conductor should wear it only outdoors.

 

Alternatives

 

 

Kate Blanchett in Tar: undoubtedly elegant. But she is an actress and not a conductor…

 

    No!

    No!

Unless you are a waiter in a restaurant.

When he was in Boston, Seiji Ozawa had a new idea: still tails, but with a white turtleneck sweater instead of a shirt. Why not? With an additional touch of orientalism through the necklace, it was very new and personal, underlying his “Being Japanese” and not too much breaking with tradition. And still comfortable.

The so-called “Nehru-Jacket” (the name coming from a former Prime Minister of India, Jawaharlal Nehru, who always wore this type of jacket), a hip-length jacket with visible or invisible buttons and a stand-up collar, also called Mandarin Collar.

 

A short story of the Nehru-Jacket (Copyright westwoodhart.com)

“The Nehru suit, a distinctive ensemble featuring the iconic Nehru jacket, has a rich history that spans centuries and continents. This sartorial masterpiece traces its roots back to the Indian subcontinent, where it emerged as a symbol of nobility and refinement.

In its earliest incarnation, the Nehru jacket was a long, knee-length garment worn primarily by the upper echelons of Indian society. Crafted from luxurious materials, these jackets served as a clear indicator of one’s status and wealth. However, it was Jawaharlal Nehru, India’s first prime minister after gaining independence in 1947, who popularised the modern, shorter version we know today.

Nehru’s adaptation of the traditional garment was revolutionary. By shortening the jacket to hip length, he created a more versatile piece that retained its cultural significance while offering greater practicality for everyday wear. This modernized Nehru jacket quickly became Nehru’s signature look, earning its moniker and cementing its place in fashion history.

The transformation from a symbol of Indian aristocracy to a global fashion staple was swift and remarkable. In the 1960s, the Nehru jacket caught the attention of Western musicians and celebrities, most notably The Beatles. Their adoption of this Eastern-inspired garment during their well-publicized interest in Indian culture catapulted the Nehru jacket into the global spotlight.

This cultural exchange marked a significant moment in fashion history. The Nehru jacket became a sartorial bridge between East and West, embodying a fusion of traditions that resonated with the counterculture movement of the time. It offered a refreshing alternative to the standard Western suit, appealing to those seeking to make a bold yet elegant statement.”

 

 

Although elegant, it is not as comfortable as tails (for a conductor) unless it is pretty oversized and doesn’t support the idea of a festive, important, special occasion. It has a charm of hieratic, a hint of priesthood (what some conductors like to project, apparently) —but it is a break with tradition, which I don’t really like.

Other elegant possibilities: a slim-fit double-breasted black tuxedo:

(This one is a beautiful Brunello Cucinelli black velvet double breasted tuxedo, offered at mrporter.com)

Yes, it is exquisite, but it is not very practical for conducting: the sleeves are typically not made for ample movements; too big sleeve holes at the armpit will cause the padded shoulder to go up when you lift the arms. I cannot imagine that it is comfortable. And it stops being elegant the moment you start conducting vigorously.

Ditto for a simple, elegant suit. And do not forget: black becomes grey under bright light, especially on television. The first choice is always Blue Midnight.

 

 

 

 

 

We will miss him: David Lynch

 

My first encounter with David Lynch was “Twin Peaks” in 1990, when I still lived in Graz, Austria. The allure of the mysterious, the idea of a secret everyone knew, but no one spoke about, the “said and unsaid,” and the cinematography were exciting. I remember that we waited for the new episode week after week. Starting from there, the passion became almost an obsession, leading me to discover previous creations, such as Blue Velvet with the wonderful Isabella Rossellini and the extraordinary and disturbing Dennis Hopper, The Elephant Man with John Hurt, and also the film later disavowed by Lynch, Dune, which I still love and also believe to be much closer to Frank Herbert’s novel, and its style, than Denis Villeneuve’s recent adaptation. His masterpiece would come later, the enigmatic Mulholland Drive with the perfect and multifaceted Naomi Watts.

David Lynch was a director and an artist who loved to play not only with the plots of his films or with images; he wanted to play with the viewer’s head, deceiving, diverting, and leading him on unexpected and surprising visual and conceptual paths. No other film director is comparable to him, except perhaps David Cronenberg—naturally with a taste tending towards the macabre and with a more pronounced physicality.

The void left by David Lynch in the world of cinema and art will be difficult to fill.

Guida al Direttore d’Orchestra elegante

Benevenuti su una nuova rubrica della mia Webpage.

Da un lato scrivo su questo tema, non strettamente musicale ma comunque professionale, perché spesso mi irrita come alcuni colleghi (bravissimi certo) si vestono (spiegherò l’irritazione), e dall’altro perché spesso mi viene chiesto.

Dirigere un concerto, o in genere parteciparvi come musicista, è un privilegio. Come musicisti doniamo al nostro pubblico (ed anche a noi stessi) una gioia spirituale. Questo dono, questo particolare momento, non è cosa abituale, ma è speciale, magica ed alta, ed il messaggio che si dà coinvolge anche il modo in cui ci si veste.

Per questo l’abbigliamento deve essere coerente con questo particolare momento, sottolineandone l’unicità, la serietà ed anche l’importanza. Non si tratta di un’importanza elitista, ma di un’importanza segnata dal fatto che nel momento di un’esecuzione stiamo creando l’opera d’arte che, soltanto scritta sulla carta, non avrebbe ragione di essere.

Quindi, cominciamo.

 

 

Una domanda che spesso mi viene fatta, soprattutto da giovani aspiranti direttori. Come ci si veste per dirigere?

Per il direttore, la risposta è solo una: il Frac.

Con poche limitazioni, che elencherò dopo.

Perché il Frac? Perché è l’abbigliamento più elegante che esista, ma anche perché per il direttore d’orchestra è il più comodo: ne vedremo i particolari.

Letteralmente, il Frac è il nome dato alla giacca, nera, ad un petto, aperta, con falde a coda di rondine (a volte arrotondate) e revers in seta a punta (si dice a lancia). I pantaloni che si portano con il Frac sono senza risvolto e con galloni (singoli o doppi) ai lati di raso o grosgrain.

I pantaloni vanno sostenuti da bretelle, sono quindi senza passanti per la cintura.

Il colore classico è il nero, ma preferibile è il blu mezzanotte (un blu scurissimo) perché non risulta grigio sotto luce intensa (e risulta nerissimo in televisione). Inoltre il blu è un retaggio antico: Lord Brummel inventò il Frac blu all’inizio dell’800, ma con differenti combinazioni.

Il Frac si porta con un gilet (panciotto) bianco di piquè, ad un petto o (più scomodo) a doppiopetto, ed a tre bottoni, in genere di madreperla, ma che possono essere della stessa fattura – ma più grandi – di quelli per la camicia. Si litiga sulla questione se il panciotto debba spuntare sotto la giacca o no. Secondo me, uno o due centimetri vanno permessi ed hanno una certa eleganza, rendendo l’impressione generale un poco più leggera.

Tollerata, anziché il panciotto, è la fascia nera, che però deve essere di seta o di raso.

La camicia ha lo sparato di piqué, il colletto cosiddetto “diplomatico” (colletto alto con le punte rivolt

e verso il basso), asole da entrambe le parti sullo sparato, un’apertura sul lato sinistro per facilitare l’inserimento dei bottoni (mi chiedono spesso se serve all’aerazione!), un’asola supplementare sotto lo sparato da collegare al bottone interno centrale dei pantaloni, polsini semplici (non doppi) con asole per i gemelli.

La classica camicia per il Frac ne asseconda la comodità, quindi non sarà mai “slim fit”, al contrario deve dare spazio ad ampi movimenti (originariamente per il ballo – ma naturalmente vantaggioso anche per un direttore d’orchestra), quindi piuttosto oversize. Solo lo sparato dovrà essere visibile, ed essendo più rigido non avrà pieghe qualsiasi movimento si faccia, emanando eleganza ad ogni movimento.

Il cravattino a farfalla è rigorosamente bianco (solo i camerieri lo possono portare nero), di piqué ed annodato a mano.

Le scarpe sono rigorosamente nere di vernice (una variazione moderna: scarpe da sera in velluto o scamosciate, ma sempre nere).

Le limitazioni: mai all’aperto (spiegherò poi cosa mettere all’aperto), mai prima delle 17.

 

 

Going on tour with Nielsen’s 4th Symphony.

All of Nielsen’s symphonies bring surprises: Nielsen’s very personal language, the instrumentation, the proportions, the courage to break boundaries, the irony, the wit, and the deepness. We find all this in his 4th Symphony, which the Danish National Symphony Orchestra will bring on tour in January under my direction. It started in 2016 with Kim Bohr, the orchestra’s general manager, asking,” Would you conduct Nielsen with us?” I said, “Why not?” although Nielsen was almost unknown to me (I had performed before only his 4th Symphony in Bregenz with my Vienna Symphony Orchestra, but I didn’t remember much of it). My first project was his Second Symphony, and I soon realized that it was me learning from the orchestra rather than the opposite. Those musicians – my musicians – have Nielsen in their DNA, and they were nevertheless surprised about my approach; new to them, probably fresher, more central European, ignoring traditions, and very hardcore towards the text and the pacing of the phrases. We performed all of them and recorded them for Deutsche Grammophon, even winning the Gramophone Prize for best recording of the year 2023. Now, we present this Symphony at some of our tour concerts in different European cities.

Read more about our European tour here.