I am rediscovering Alan Hovhaness because his music seems to speak with a particular clarity to our own time. There is in it a serenity, a purity of line, and an almost ritual sense of stillness that sets him apart from much of the music written around him.

What fascinates me most is how Hovhaness brings together distinct musical worlds. His language is unmistakably American, yet it is deeply informed by Armenian and broader Eastern traditions: modal writing, long melodic lines, drones, bells, chant-like gestures, and a conception of time that is often contemplative rather than dramatic. He did not simply borrow exotic colors; he created a genuine synthesis of East and West.

Listening to Mysterious Mountain today, one can also hear something remarkably prophetic in his music. Its spaciousness, repetition, luminous harmonies, and sense of spiritual contemplation seem to anticipate qualities later associated with minimalism, ambient music, and even what came to be called “New Age” music—although Hovhaness’s language has far greater structural and spiritual depth than most actual “New Age” labeled works.

Perhaps this is why his music deserves to be heard again with fresh ears. Hovhaness offers neither irony nor complexity for its own sake. Instead, he seeks simplicity, transcendence, and a direct relationship among sound, nature, and the spiritual imagination. For me, returning to his music today feels less like reviving a forgotten composer than like discovering how modern he has remained.

Grafenegg Festival and many beautiful memories

Tomorrow, the Danish National Symphony Orchestra will perform a concert under my direction at the wonderful Grafenegg Festival in Austria (Nielsen, Beethoven – with my friend Rudolf Buchbinder – and Brahms/Schönberg). I have been to the Grafenegg Festival several times, including once with the DNSO from Copenhagen and a couple of times with my beloved Tonkünstler Orchestra.

Grafenegg, with its romantic (unfortunately fake Gothic) castle and the still-authentic “Grafenegger Schlosstaverne” (now a Mörwald Hotel Restaurant), holds a special, important place in my life.

In 1979, when I was twenty, I applied to participate in a masterclass led by Adam Harasiewicz. Mr. Harasiewicz, who is now all but forgotten, won the Chopin Competition in 1955, and the masterclass focused on Chopin interpretation. I had completed my diploma in piano at the Paganini-Conservatorium in Genoa the year before, in 1978, and I was still pursuing a career as a pianist (my first contacts with singers, which led to a change in my goals, i.e., wanting to become a conductor, had started in 1979 and were deepened the next year, 1980, especially through meeting Leyla Gencer and Luciana Serra).

Adam Harasiewicz

The Summer of 1979 was my first experience outside of Italy, aside from studying with Aldo Ciccolini in Orange in 1978, and I was very nervous but also very excited.

Mr. Harasiewicz was very sweet and kind during that Masterclass. By contrast, my (and, in general, all students’) encounters with another teacher at that Masterclass at Schloss Grafenegg, Ms. Halina Czerny-Stefanska (who won the Chopin competition in Warsaw in 1949), were less pleasant and less kind. She was an excellent teacher, but extremely strict.

Halina Czerny-Stefanska

I had prepared Chopin’s h-moll Sonata for this course, and I could work on it with both teachers, Mr. Harasiewicz and Ms. Czerny-Stefanska. They, of course, had different, and at times opposing, opinions about its interpretation, but I could benefit musically from both of them. Unfortunately, another participant, a young Japanese girl, had also brought the same piece to the course, and she was without a doubt better than me. Nevertheless, both teachers wanted me to play at the final students’ concert, so I had to prepare something different in a week. I chose Chopin’s g-moll Ballade, but since I had never studied it, I had to practice day and night.

We, the students, all lived in the Grafenegger Schlosstaverne, and the organizer of the Masterclass, the wonderful Dr. Grossberger (together with the Austrian Chopin Society, then led by Dr. Prilisauer), allowed us to study at night in the Castle. We had a key (a real, big old key) to open the main door, and we could practice and play whenever we wanted. A real paradise for pianists.

Today, I am at the Grafenegger Schlosstaverne in the very room (Room 7) I stayed in during my 1979 visit. It brings back many beautiful memories: my “former” life as a pianist, many friendships I made during the Masterclass, my first contact with Austria and its musical life – I later spent many years in Austria, studying in Graz and living there, and later in Vienna – and a musical “awakening,” working with great artists and teachers.

At that time, Grafenegg was very isolated, a forgotten castle with a small cultural life. Now, it is one of the major European festivals.

I am fortunate to have experienced Grafenegg at its beginning and now.

In the chapter of this extremely interesting book entitled “Stylistic and Synonymity,” we encounter the very funny-enigmatic figure of Humpty Dumpty from “Through the Looking Glass” by Lewis Carroll. One of Humpty Dumpty’s sentences, related to the three hundred and sixty-four days in which Alice could get her un-birthday present, says, “There is glory for you.”

About that word, “glory,” intended by Humpty Dumpty’s utterance rather as “a glorious argument” than “glory” itself, the author, Eric Donald Hirsch Jr., starts a very erudite digression that, through the explanation of the real meanings of synonymity and authenticity (I will come to this subject in a later content), brings us to the idea that language might influence our way of thinking.

The theory is not new, and, rightly, Mr. Hirsch names it the so-called “Sapir-Whorf hypothesis,” debunked in its strong form but considered possible in the weak form (linguistic determinism vs. linguistic relativism). In short, the theory claims that a person’s way of thinking is shaped by the language he (or she) speaks. Thus, cultural differences among populations are not only caused by tradition and behavioral background but also by the very structure of the language they speak.

This brings us to one of the best science fiction movies of the last few years (based on Ted Chiang’s short story “Stories of Your Life”): “Arrival,” by Denis Villeneuve, starring Amy Adams (one of my favorite actresses) and Jeremy Renner.

No spoilers here, but finally a sci-fi movie in which the main theme is not confrontation but communication. The aliens’ “circular thinking” (beautifully expressed in images of their language) is the key to – as is often the case in sci-fi movies – saving the world, but, more than that, to a personal introspection of the movie’s central figure, the linguistic professor and expert Dr. Louise Banks (Amy Adams), which leads her to accept and embrace her life.

This story starts on Thursday, June 18. I am traveling very early in the morning from Amsterdam, where I conducted a performance of Simone Boccanegra at the Dutch National Opera the evening before, and I am going home to Switzerland. On that day, I have a couple of appointments, my doctor, and some official meetings at the Community Hall where I live.

On the train from the airport to my home, I see on my phone that I received a message on my Telegram account. I don’t have an official Telegram account; I only have an old one that I rarely use (not at all for a long time). I opened it to join music groups under an unidentified pseudonym, to scroll through other groups, and to participate in discussions, mostly about music, without revealing my identity. As I said, I didn’t use this account for a long time, and I remember receiving login codes I didn’t request from time to time. This happens quite often, and it happened to me, especially about a year ago or a bit longer, when someone impersonated me on social media, claiming to be me and asking for money in exchange for auditions or recommendations.

The message I received was a common extortion scam. I was told to pay 2,000 euros in gift cards to prevent some information from being made public. It didn’t specify what information, but it proposed negotiations and included my full name, Fabio Luisi. I didn’t think much of it and deleted the message without responding. Since I no longer used the Telegram account, I also decided to delete it when I got home. Now I wish I hadn’t done this. This evidence is missing.

On the evening of Thursday, June 18, I traveled to Copenhagen, where the next day I had the final recording session for Arnold Schönberg’s Pelleas und Melisande.

Nothing happened until Saturday afternoon, when I arrived in Amsterdam again for Sunday’s performance. In the taxi to my apartment, I received a WhatsApp message, apparently from a UK number, asking why I had deleted my Telegram account. This time I responded, asking who was asking. The answer was “Bescorts” and included a screenshot of my Telegram account information and a screenshot of a photograph of me, obviously looking at my computer. I asked what that was about, and the person on the other end began talking about a deal I had made with him and broken, involving payment of 5,000 euros, and asked me to negotiate, menacing to contact me and my wife’s agency (why the agency?) in exchange for not reporting me as a pedophile.

This time, I didn’t delete the message immediately. The accusation was too serious, and the fact that this person had either hacked or mirrored my (now non-existent) Telegram account and stolen a photograph of me from my website was a bit too scary. I stopped the conversation, told this person I was going to the police, and blocked the sender. I still have this message on WhatsApp, and I made screenshots.

One hour later, I received a second WhatsApp message, this time from a number in Congo. The sender asked me to unblock him and negotiate. This time, I didn’t engage and blocked the sender. I still have this message and have taken screenshots. It ends with “Unblock me. Let’s negotiate before I ruin your life and career.”

The same evening, I contacted my attorney in Switzerland. She responded immediately, saying it is extremely common to receive this kind of message. The next morning, after consulting with another attorney, she wrote to me again. She told me that going to the police can make sense, but that the police receive hundreds of such complaints and reports, and that, since these scammers are often in Asia or Africa, it is extremely difficult to pursue them. She also said that scammers usually give up after a few days or weeks, and that I should not respond to or engage with them in any way.

The next day, Sunday the 21st, after a successful performance of Simone Boccanegra, I had a longer phone call with her, during which I told her I wanted to go to the police in Switzerland to officially file this report. Should this issue escalate, I don’t want them to tell me, “You should have come to us earlier.” She agreed and offered assistance.

This situation, as everybody can understand, is very serious for me. Being a “public person” is a responsibility, and today, everything said about someone can be amplified and find believers, even if it is not true.

The person behind this extortion scam clearly knows who I am, where I live, and what I do for a living. He has obtained access to my Telegram account (which no longer exists). He refers to a chat that, if it exists, never happened with me, which is either fabricated or conducted with someone posing as me.

On Monday evening, I tried to access my webpage to post content, but couldn’t. I immediately contacted my administrator. After 20 minutes, the page was accessible again, so I thought I was being paranoid… But my administrator confirmed that there had been 11 attempts to access the page (all rejected)…

Let’s see how this story evolves.

There have been no further attempts to hack my website after Monday evening.

As of today, Wednesday, June 24th, there is no crucial development, except that I received a message on my personal X account (which I have not used for at least 15 years) containing an access code I did not request. I don’t know if this is related to this, since I do receive alert messages from time to time from different service accounts (even from Spotify! – please enjoy my Spotify account; there is great music on it!).

At the Police Station (Kantonspolizei)

I was at the Kantonspolizei in Zurich this morning (June 25th). I explained my case and brought all screenshots I had taken of conversations, the phone calls I received, and the attempts to hack my website (including IP addresses from which the attempts were made). I also provided confirmation of the attempt to access my personal X account (now disabled).

The very friendly police officer, Mr. Huber, after examining all the evidence, explained to me that there are hundreds of such extortion scams every week in Switzerland and that my report matches those of thousands of other people. If I have not paid anything (and I have not, of course), it is impossible to go back to the perpetrator. They are mostly in Africa, and they also fabricate fake evidence (AI-generated photos and videos). They can even access computers and phone conversations remotely. He told me I have nothing to fear and that I reacted rightly by not responding and blocking all attempts to contact me. He also told me that he understands that this is very upsetting, but usually, when the victim is not inclined to talk or pay, they move on to the next victim. This is a very common scam, and my scam, the messages, the chats, even the wording of the scammer, follows this scheme.

Not many singers can sing real legato. This, unfortunately, is a fact, and in many masterclasses with students and even in rehearsals with professional singers, I have to ask for a real legato. But what is legato (in English: tied) actually? It is the ability to sustain the sound of the vowels in a word without interrupting the flow of sound through the consonants. This brings us to the next problem and to a “trend” in today’s preparation for opera productions.

Many coaches, and, unfortunately, also many conductors, place great importance on articulation. Articulation is, per se, important, but the context needs to be examined. Coaches of the past stressed the fact – as I personally also do – that the sound of the consonants must also be “sung” and not only made through soundless noises. An example of this trend is very current, especially in the German repertoire, where many singers (also some of a glorious past) overarticulate, producing strong, exaggerated gutturals, bilabials, labiodentals, and alveolars, and making all of them plosive (this happens when the flow of the air is blocked and the result is a voiceless sound). The old singing school incorporated consonants into the flow of sound.

My wife Yulia, a coach in Zurich, Salzburg, Amsterdam, Italy, etc., has a good image for the successive consonants so often found in German words: the letters and syllables should be pronounced in a row, and given time and space, not jammed together like a traffic jam, and the consonants should “dance” in the mouth. I think these images are very helpful for understanding the concept, and this is crucial for beautiful legato singing.

But more than an explanation, a singer from the past (and a German one) makes clear how perfect pronunciation and expressive legato can be combined.

It is a joy, as it always is when I hear him sing, to listen to Fritz Wunderlich singing Lenski’s Aria from Tchaikovsky’s Eugen Onegin. I only wish more singers today would listen to such singers of the past; they have a lot to teach.

By the way: Mr. Wunderlich’s “non-acting” is the highest art of acting. With no unnecessary gestures, his simple posture illustrates Lenski’s despair, loneliness, and hopelessness, and the stage behind him, in its simplicity and squalor, helps us understand – without “teaching” us – what is happening in this scene.

About some German singers’ overarticulation (no names here) the great Otto Schenk made a joke, imitating them and saying – in perfect Italian – “si mangia la voce.”

Me, waiting for today’s Tina’s online lesson

A sedentary lifestyle, frequent travel, time zone changes, stress, professional and personal pressures: all of these things impact energy and physical and psychological well-being. The passage of time and aging reduce the body’s automatic response, which requires a boost. I’ve always tried to compensate for this with a fitness program, which I included in the hotels I stayed in. A turning point came thanks to Yulia, my wife, who started a program with the amazing Tina Cahova, a personal trainer who comes to my home but also offers fitness classes via FaceTime. Tina is not only excellent at demonstrating exercises, but she tailors them to each person’s needs: Yulia’s series of exercises is different from the one Tina has created and is creating for me. The body immediately feels the benefits of these exercises—and so does the spirit. Thank you, Tina!

Tina in action

In my bag, I have not only my shirts, bowties, tails, and shoes, but also some important accessories.

The most important ones are probably the buttons for my shirts. White shirts for tails don’t have buttons; they need some, what is called “Frackgarnitur,” in English “dress coat set,” composed of matching cufflinks and studs.

I had one set made by Maja Bjørnsten at her wonderful store in Copenhagen.

They are in brushed gold with a yellow raw diamond in the middle. Maja’s diamonds are, of course, certified and coming from legitimate sources. Maja also made beautiful wedding rings for Yulia, my wife, and me.

But I also have a wonderful vintage set by Boucheron, made of Moonstone with a blue sapphire in the middle.

Other important accessories are a small bottle of perfume (right now it is Knize Ten, one of my favorites)

a comb (by Officine Buly)

a bowtie by Hermès (not for tails, but for my Dinner Jacket)

and, of course, my reading glasses, made by Micromega in Venice.

I had the great joy of speaking with Erin Hunter and Good Morning Texas about the upcoming release of my live recording of Wagner’s Ring cycle with Dallas Symphony Orchestra.

Watch the full segment below.

The Dallas Symphony Orchestra (DSO) and I are proud to announce the May 22nd release of our landmark live recording of Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen on Delos, the American label of Outhere Music. The project represents a rare undertaking for an American orchestra and is being released during the DSO’s 125th anniversary season, 150 years after the first performance of the complete Ring cycle at the Bayreuth Festival in 1876. The DSO and I recorded our live performances of the four operas – Das Rheingold, Die Walküre, Siegfried, and Götterdämmerung – at the Morton H. Meyerson Symphony Center in Dallas across the year in 2024, culminating in full-cycle opera-in-concert performances that October. The cast includes Mark Delavan (Wotan), Lise Lindstrom (Brünnhilde), Sara Jakubiak (Sieglinde), Daniel Johansson (Siegfried), Christopher Ventris (Siegmund), Deniz Uzun (Fricka), Tómas Tómasson (Alberich), and Michael Laurenz (Mime), among many others.

This is music that demands everything from you – technically, emotionally, spiritually – and I am very thrilled and proud of the orchestra for embracing it with me. Wagner’s Ring cycle has been one of the most important and meaningful projects of my time with the Dallas Symphony Orchestra. Being the first American symphony orchestra in recent history to perform the entire cycle was a moment of great pride, made possible by the courage and commitment of the musicians and the entire DSO organization. The Ring holds a special and profound place in the history of music, and for me it has always been a deeply personal, transformational experience. I am thrilled that we have captured this in a recording and look forward to sharing the results with the world when it is released later this year.

Preorder the album and listen to the recently released single from Die Walküre here.

Fabio Luisi, in Zurich, you’re conducting your third new production of “Cardillac,” following productions in Dresden and Florence. What fascinates you about this piece?

It’s this very unique musical language. “Cardillac” isn’t an opera that draws its power from the drama of the text or the situations. Instead, it’s genuinely a musical opera: the music carries everything; it develops independently. It doesn’t illustrate or explain. Hindemith deliberately moves away from Wagner’s idea of a through-composed music drama, leaning toward older forms. There are clearly self-contained numbers like arias, duets, and scenes with distinct endings. Hindemith works with individual musical blocks, with hardly any motivic references. He emphasizes pure musical form. That’s a clear aesthetic statement. That might sound very abstract. Is this music also emotionally detached? Hindemith actually aimed not to evoke emotions, especially in this opera. In later works, such as “Mathis der Maler,” he moved away from this approach to some extent. In “Cardillac,” he only partly achieved this goal — but I won’t judge him for it. Some of the most beautiful moments in this opera sound distinctly romantic or even impressionistic: the lady’s song, for example, or the duet between daughter and father. The latter is also strictly composed as a fugato… and both sing completely different texts… This, in turn, is influenced by the pre-Wagner era and the tradition of 19th-century Italian opera. Maybe the emotion in this piece is simply conveyed differently through the many rhythmic accents in the score. To me, this rhythm signifies the piece’s modernity and connects it to its era. We are in the 1920s: jazz is spreading across Europe, and you can sense the age of big cities, machines, and railways. These pounding rhythms, along with the instrumentation featuring the saxophone, closely associated with Cardillac’s character, clearly place the piece in the Weimar Republic era, the period between the wars. “Cardillac” is a revolutionary opera. It doesn’t surprise me that the Nazis later had issues with Hindemith.

Paul Hindemith

The orchestra in “Cardillac” has an unusual instrumentation. Where does this sonic concept come from?

It has a lot to do with Hindemith’s close relationship with Kurt Weill. The two even co-wrote an opera later, “Lindberghflug.” The “Cardillac” orchestra is relatively small and particularly emphasizes wind instruments—almost like a big band with some strings, plus piano and a lot of percussion. Is there a general mood for you in this score? The story of a murderous goldsmith is inherently dark… There isn’t a single, unified mood here. This is partly because Hindemith mainly links individual lines rather than creating truly expansive soundscapes. However, the low instruments play a key role. The string section alone—six violins and four double basses—is anything but perfectly balanced. Add to that the tuba, bass clarinet, and English horn, all from the bass family. In contrast, brighter colors appear, especially at the end when Cardillac confesses. Suddenly, the flute and piccolo come into play. This feels like a glimpse into Cardillac’s idealized, secluded world, into which no one else is allowed entry. You can definitely hear both the light and dark sides of Cardillac. The other characters are intentionally less individually developed musically. They serve as types, fulfilling specific functions: the daughter or the lady, whose beautiful aria is almost overwhelmed by too much Art Deco, or the cavalier, as an ironic parody of a tenor hero. This latter character, by the way, has nothing to do with a true cavalier but is a reckless daredevil of the worst kind.

A unique feature of this opera is the peculiar love scene between the lady and the cavalier: he presents her with the coveted jewel and is subsequently murdered by Cardillac.

It is a purely instrumental scene in which, as in a silent film, detailed stage directions specify what happens on stage alongside the music. This pantomime—as Hindemith himself calls it—is a magnificent and sometimes ironic moment. It marks Hindemith’s most radical departure from traditional music, drama, and vividly embodies his principle of stylization. The love scene between the lady and the cavalier, which might be sung as a duet in other operas, is here, in a sense, “muted.” Formally, this piece is a kind of canonized divertimento in ABA form. At first, only a few instruments are heard. Two flutes circle each other, lose themselves as if in a labyrinth, and then entwine again. The music, in parallel with increasingly dramatic stage directions, takes on increasingly grotesque qualities until it abruptly halts, almost like a question mark. During the general pause, the murder occurs. The full orchestra returns and crashes into an abyss.

How does Hindemith shape the tonal space in “Cardillac”?

It’s a unique, complex tonal landscape that Hindemith employs in “Cardillac.” He utilizes techniques of multitonality. We see this in the works of Stravinsky and Debussy as well; it’s not revolutionary in itself, but Hindemith makes it highly distinctive. He’s a composer you always recognize immediately; he has an extremely rigorous musical language. He’s often compared to Max Reger. Hindemith himself mentioned Reger, saying he couldn’t imagine his music without him. However, Reger, unlike Hindemith, remains closely tied to late Romanticism—Hindemith is a 20th-century composer. He’s a composer you can instantly recognize; his musical language is very rigorous.

How free is a conductor in such a complex, detailed score as “Cardillac”?

Is there room for interpretation?

I generally avoid using the term “interpretation” in relation to my profession. I see myself as a performing musician; the score is my top priority. Since the form of this opera is very strictly defined, there is limited room for interpretation. However, when the music departs from the “New Objectivity” style, I intentionally allow myself a hint of Romanticism. These deviations are part of this opera—and they need to be made audible.

As a conductor, are you familiar with the “Cardillac” syndrome? You have to detach yourself from your art every night…?

We conductors are not creators but performers. Of course, we add energy, but the work doesn’t belong to us. Still, I understand well when composers or visual artists develop such a close connection with their works that they struggle to let go. I’ve seen this often with several contemporary composers. Some insist on having complete control over the performance. But music only truly comes alive during the performance, not in the composer’s mind. It depends on the musicians’ artistic personalities, who are not machines and don’t just play by the book. It depends on everyone collaborating—the space, the performers, and the audience. Each performance, therefore, creates something new.