The remarkable performances Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos was able to get out of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra this week followed an electric concert by Valery Gergiev and his Stradivarius Ensemble at Koerner Hall last week. What is it about some conductors that allow them to galvanize their orchestras as well as listeners?
- Classical Music 101: What Does A Conductor Do? - June 17, 2019
- Classical Music 101 | What Does Period Instrument Mean? - May 6, 2019
- CLASSICAL MUSIC 101 | What Does It Mean To Be In Tune? - April 23, 2019
It’s an age-old question because there is no simple answer. And Gergiev’s approach is not likely to ever come up in Conducting 101 class.
The finest performances of any kind are those that spring to life vividly, sounding spontaneous yet not spilling over the rim of good taste.
An artist — again, the medium doesn’t matter — needs to perfect their technique and have the full shape of the end result in their head before it can begin to emerge in a recognizable shape for anyone else.
For a conductor, this means knowing a piece of music inside out and being able to clearly communicate its shape to the orchestra, first in rehearsal, then in live performance. By the time the audience is in their seats, the musicians should feel sufficiently confident in the programme as well as their leader to follow the maestro’s spur-of-the-moment variations from the original plan.
That’s because any good musician will feel the energy of any given audience and unconsciously respond to it, subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) altering their interpration as they go. (This is one of the things that drove Glenn Gould crazy about concerts; he hated to hear his interpretation changing from one night to the next.)
Popular young leaders such as Yannick Nézet-Séguin and Gustavo Dudamel as well as respected older masters such as Frühbeck and Bernard Haitink provide examples of how this is done right. They know and love the music, they make sure their orchestras know and love the music and they use the energy exchange of live performance to add a dash of something special.
Then there’s Valery Gergiev.
He is an über conductor, in demand everywhere, performing more concerts and making more recordings than any normal human being can or should be expected to. He runs one of the world’s busiest ballet and opera houses in St Petersburg as well as several festivals. Somehow his musicians — either the hometown crowd from the Mariinsky Theatre or whatever podium he’s visiting — nearly always make music that’s much better than average.
But this great music may come more out of fear of not knowing where everyone is going than out of collective enthusiasm to be on a scenic trip to a familiar destination.
Even on a global scale, the classical music and opera business is a village, where everyone who is anyone knows each other. Everybody gossips, but there’s very little dirty laundry hung in public — especially when a lot of money and prestige are involved.
Gergiev’s mad work habits are legendary in the industry. He may or may not show up for a rehearsal. He may or may not even show up on time for a stage call. Trying to get any sort of an interview with him feels like a fresh episode from Michael Moore’s film Roger & Me.
I was one of two Torontonians lucky enough to be offered an interview slot with Gergiev in between his Stradivarius Ensemble rehearsal and the concert a week ago Friday.
When I arrived at the Royal Conservatory, I was told that there had been no rehearsal, that it had been moved to just before the concert and that Maestro would be late. My colleague arrived at his appointed time. I confessed that I was mentally prepared for Gergiev not to show up at all, having chased interviews before. He smiled and admitted the same.
Three-quarters of an hour after the arranged time, Gergiev and two colleagues breezed in, introduced themselves and Gergiev declared that he had to go see Koerner Hall, which he had only witnessed as a bare concrete box four years previously. Off they went.
My colleague and I agreed to pool the few minutes we had left and, 25 minutes before the start of rehearsal, we were ushered into the green room to sit with Gergiev.
We wanted to know about Mariinsky II, the new opera house being built across a canal from the original Mariinsky Theatre in St Petersburg. Designed by Toronto’s Jack Diamond (of Diamond Schmitt Architects), it is the final phase in a remarkable cultural project championed by Gergiev that has included the opening of a new, adjacent concert hall, the acquisition of the Old Master instruments for the Stradivarius Ensemble, and the founding of an in-house record label for the Mariinsky.
None of the press materials mentions a specific number of seats, so we ask Gergiev. “Around 2,000” he replies.
The new opera house is supposed to open in the spring. When? Maestro changes the topic. What opera production will open the house? Another evasion.
Maestro keeps two mobile phones close by. Both go off in succession. He tells one person, calling from Italy, to ring back in the morning (which would be the middle of the night in Toronto). He tells the other person to call back in 20 minutes, which works out to be about 15 minutes into his concert rehearsal.
The green room door opens and Maestro is told that the musicians are waiting for him on stage. He waves the intruder off. “Tell the cellist, the woman, to get things started,” he says breezily.
Now, where were we…
I’m feeling off balance by the interview, so am paying extra-close attention to what Gergiev is saying, while trying to keep questions straight in my head and making sure that my colleague is getting a chance to ask something, too.
That evening at Koerner Hall, as the house lights dim, members of the Stradivarius Ensemble stride on stage to our warm applause. They sit down. A hush descends on the room. And we wait. It’s not a long time — perhaps 60 seconds. But a minute of silence in a full house with an orchestra on stage feels eternal.
Then out strides Gergiev, and the music begins with unexpected intensity.
It’s the same story after intermission, as the conductor waits for the expectant silence to verge on impatience before stepping out into the spotlight.
It’s at that point that I realise Gergiev’s command is based on keeping everyone in his orbit completely off balance all the time. It’s a way to build tension so that anyone who has contact with him will try extra hard to get through or listen extra carefully or follow without second-guessing.
Gergiev has suceeded in a political, social and economic environment in Russia that is far more complex than a Torontonian can imagine, and this sort of management-by-the-unexpected is probably an effective coping mechanism.
It is also a particularly potent form of leadership that can produce the same sort of electrifying end result as the carefully rehearsed version. No conscientious professional wants to look bad, so everyone tries extra hard.
But is this a healthy way to work?
The thing is, there is ever only one rule that matters with conductors: They are always right, even when they’re not.
John Terauds
- Classical Music 101: What Does A Conductor Do? - June 17, 2019
- Classical Music 101 | What Does Period Instrument Mean? - May 6, 2019
- CLASSICAL MUSIC 101 | What Does It Mean To Be In Tune? - April 23, 2019
