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The
last of the giants (and not only musically)
was, in my experience, Otto Klemperer.
He was a big man and extremely tall.
Even towards the end of his life,
when he was in ill health, he stood
so erect that as he came in through
a doorway his fine head of silver
hair brushed against the top lintel.
I probably worked with him more often
than any other conductor except Beecham.
No two conductors could have been
more dissimilar. Beecham had a rapier-like
wit and a sparkling temperament, whilst
Klemperer was rock-like with a caustic
and devastating humour.
On
one of the Philharmonia’s trips to
Paris Klemperer was to conduct Mahler’s
9th. Symphony,
which we had played several times
at concerts and also recorded with
him. Towards the end of his life Klemperer
never rehearsed on the day of the
concert so it had been arranged for
him to rehearse in Paris on the evening
before the concert. I had already
accepted an engagement with another
orchestra for that evening so I told
the management I was sorry but I was
not able go to Paris for the rehearsal.
Gerald McDonald, the General Manager,
agreed that I could come over on the
day of the concert and they would
get a player in Paris to take my place
for the rehearsal. When I arrived
the following day Hugh Bean, then
the Leader of the orchestra, told
me that at the end of the rehearsal
the previous evening Klemperer, perhaps
wishing to thank my deputy, had called
out, ‘Eb clarinet!’ As there was no
response, and his sight was not good,
he called out again, ‘Eb clarinet’;
still no reply. Turning to Hugh he
asked, ‘where is the Eb player’. Hugh,
seeing that the player had already
left the platform, no doubt thinking
the rehearsal was over, replied, ‘Oh
dear! He seems to have gone home’.
‘And I don’t blame him’ said Klemperer.
As
a young man he must have been quite
frightening, a big man, very tall,
with a stern and fierce expression.
I have been told that he had a habit,
when he wanted to tell a player something
at rehearsal, of rushing across the
platform and towering over the player.
At one rehearsal he suddenly rushed
towards the 4th horn player,
a small, nervous man. ‘Do not be afraid!
I am your friend. I have come to tell
you, you are no good.’ As always he
was being himself, direct and honest.
It was this quality that he brought
to his performances of Beethoven’s
and Mahler’s 9th symphonies. No one
else in my experience gave these works
the epic quality he did. They had
the structure and vastness of a great
cathedral – quite overwhelming.
When
in 1964 Legge decided to abandon the
Philharmonia, he also took its name
away. This was a great surprise and
devastating for the players. But,
in the same way and with the same
spirit that the players in the London
Philharmonic Orchestra had shown 25
years earlier, they decided to carry
on. They re-formed the orchestra,
elected their own board of management
and asked Otto Klemperer, who had
been the Philharmonia’s Principal
Conductor, if he would continue in
that position. He agreed to remain
with the orchestra, when it became
the New Philharmonia. At that time
the future for the orchestra did not
look at all certain, so his loyalty
was of tremendous importance in the
eyes of the public and of immense
value to the orchestra. He was a man
of great integrity and strength of
character, unwilling at any time to
bow to expediency.
Throughout
this book I have referred to The Philharmonia
Orchestra though for a period
from 1964, after Legge had gone
the orchestra was obliged to call
itself the New Philharmonia
for about 10 years. I believe that
most people thinking of this orchestra
think of it as the Philharmonia, certainly
musicians do.
As
well as capturing a number of the
already established ‘greats’ Legge
also had a fine discerning ear and
quickly recognised emerging talent.
He introduced some remarkable young
conductors of outstanding ability
to London audiences, including Guido
Cantelli, Lorin Maazel and Colin Davis.
Cantelli
was thought by quite a few of the
critics to be the conductor who would
take on the mantle of Toscanini, who
in 1950 had said ‘ This is the first
time in my long career that I have
met a young man so gifted. He will
go far, very far’. He achieved some
very good concert performances and
made some fine recordings with the
Philharmonia, but unfortunately he
was killed in a plane crash when he
was only 36 before he was able to
fulfil the very high expectations
Toscanini had forecast. He was exceptionally
demanding, both on and off the platform,
even insisting that all the toilets
back stage at the Royal Festival Hall
be kept locked during all his rehearsals
and concerts.
Lorin
Maazel immediately astonished everyone
with his incredible memory and conducting
technique – especially his memory,
which was truly remarkable. He never
used a score, at rehearsals or concerts,
even when there was a soloist. Not
only did he know every note of the
score, but all the rehearsal numbers
or letters. He was still young at
that time and though the performances
were excellent he was inclined to
be extremely cerebral in his interpretations.
He was also a fine violinist and had
some success as a soloist. When we
recorded the opera Thais by
Massenet he insisted on playing the
Meditation, the famous violin
solo, himself and brought in someone
else to conduct that section of the
opera. He worked a great deal with
the Philharmonia conducting a large
repertoire with them and for a time
was their Principal Guest Conductor.
I
first met Colin Davis a very long
time ago when we were both clarinettists.
In the early 1950s he came down to
Glyndebourne a few times to deputise
as second clarinet when I was in the
RPO and we were doing the opera season
there. He was a very good player but,
though at that time I don’t think
he had done any conducting at all,
it was obvious that he had other intentions
than playing the clarinet for the
rest of his life. We were doing one
of the Mozart operas, I think it was
The Marriage of Figaro, and
he had brought the full score of the
opera with him. During the arias in
which the clarinets do not have a
part to play Colin was so intent on
studying the score that he was not
always ready for his next entry without
being prompted.
His
big chance came when he took over
from Otto Klemperer at the last minute
to conduct a concert performance of
Mozart’s Don Giovanni with
the Philharmonia at a concert in the
Royal Festival Hall. He was an immediate
success and his career took off at
once. Perhaps it was because he was
young and his manner was inclined
to be abrasive, plus the very proud
attitude of several of the Philharmonia
principals, that he only conducted
the orchestra very occasionally. At
that time his communication and people
skills were not yet well developed.
Many years later, when I had become
Chairman, I felt it was quite unjustified
that Colin Davis who had by then achieved
a considerable reputation should not
be conducting our orchestra . I suggested
that we should engage him, but I still
met resistance from a number of players
and the orchestra lost the opportunity
of creating a relationship with a
musician who I had believed for a
long time was the only young British
conductor with the potential to become
outstanding and possibly a ‘great’
conductor. It is not often that one
makes a correct forecast but this
time there is no doubt that I was
correct: his collaboration with the
LSO as the years went by developed
into perhaps the best relationship
a London Orchestra has had with a
British conductor since that which
Beecham had with his orchestras, especially
the Royal Philharmonic.
During
the years that I played in the Philharmonia
we worked with many of the conductors
on the international circuit. All
of them, in my opinion, were good
or very good in the repertoire that
suited their temperament: Claudio
Abbado, Vladimir Ashkenazy, Rafael
Frubeck de Burgos, Andrew Davis,
Edward Downes,
Bernard Haitink, Norman Del Mar, Igor
Markevitchi, Kurt Masur, Eduardo Mata,
Riccardo Muti, Seiji Ozawa, Mstislav
Rostropovich, Kurt Sanderling, Wolfgang
Sawallisch, Georg
Solti and Yevgeni Svetlanov
Riccardo
Muti was Principal Conductor with
the Philharmonia for some years. He
took over this position at about the
same time that I was elected Chairman
of the Council. The orchestra’s fortunes
and reputation were at a low ebb at
that time and we needed someone to
instil some discipline into our performances.
Muti was still relatively young and
this was his first major appointment.
He was respected but made life difficult
for himself in that he was very critical
and even when everyone was trying
as hard as they could to please him
he never seemed to be satisfied. Musicians
do not need to be praised but some
kind of response showing that their
efforts have not been in vain is necessary
if they are not to become discouraged.
I had the task of trying to help him
understand this. Like many perfectionists
he found it very difficult, and often
impossible to accept anything but
his ideal. He did improve the orchestra
to a considerable extent before he
took the position of Musical Director
of the Philadelphia Orchestra. Now,
30 years later, I have heard several
broadcasts, radio and TV, with him
conducting, one in particular conducting
the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
at one of their New Year’s Day concerts
when they play Strauss overtures,
waltzes and polkas. This is not the
kind of music we associated him with,
so that it was a surprise how really
good it was, beautifully elegant and
charming. Once again showing how dangerous
it is to decide about a conductor’s
talent when he or she is under 40.
In
1974 I was tipped off that there was
an extremely talented conducting student
at the Royal Academy of Music and
that I should go to see and hear him
that afternoon. When we finished
rehearsing
I went home to my flat in Welbeck
Street, which is only three minutes
walk from the Academy.
When I arrived at the Royal Academy
I found this young conductor, Simon
Rattle, rehearsing the student orchestra
in preparation for a concert performance
of L’enfant et les Sortileges
by Ravel. After quite a short while
I thought, ‘this is the real thing.’
After consulting with two of my colleagues
we decided that although he was then
still only 19, the Philharmonia should
offer him the opportunity of making
his debut with the orchestra at the
Royal Festival Hall in 1976, when
he would be 21. When he arrived to
conduct us he impressed the orchestra
from the first rehearsal with his
technique, knowledge of the music
and his light-handed authority. His
ability as a very young man to take
charge of a famous orchestra with
such ease and charm was remarkable
– I have never seen it matched.
His
first concert with us was on the 15th
of February 1976 when he conducted
a splendid programme that included
Shostakovich’s 10th symphony,
which he conducted from memory. At
one point our very distinguished principal
bassoonist made a false entry and
started to play a couple of bars too
early. Without any fuss or disturbing
his control over the rest of the orchestra
Rattle stopped him after only a note
or two and then brought him in again
at the correct place in the music.
I
have written elsewhere about the qualities
a conductor requires but I left out
one quality that few have and that
Rattle has in abundance – the ability
to keep an orchestra happy, even when
playing music it does not enjoy playing
or that makes demands of an unusual
kind. There was one particular composition
that I remember him coping with that
with anyone else might well have created
open hostility from the players. The
orchestra had commissioned Peter Maxwell
Davies to compose a symphony and undertaken
to give the first and some subsequent
performances. Maxwell Davies had asked
particularly that Simon Rattle should
conduct it. The symphony was not difficult
technically but it was rhythmically
complex and however many times one
played it one could never feel sure
one was in the right place; so many
contrary rhythms were going on at
the same time and there seemed to
be no melodic pattern to hold on to.
At the first performance, as I recall,
Rattle conducted it from memory. If
I am right, it was an astonishing
achievement. We also played The
Song of the Earth by Mahler and
again he conducted from memory. This
was a rather ordinary performance
that seemed uninspired by sufficient
sensitivity, but perhaps this was
because he had not allowed enough
time for the rehearsal of this wonderful,
evocative music, which is difficult
in a quite different way to the Maxwell
Davies symphony. Learning how to use
the available rehearsal time, in Britain
usually insufficient, is a skill that
comes with experience. Many conductors
never learn to organise their time
well, and others ask for more time
than is needed and alienate the orchestra
by boring them. Simon Rattle learnt
amazingly quickly and therefore soon
became welcomed by major orchestras
everywhere.
His
decision, when he was the conductor
and Music Director of the City of
Birmingham Orchestra, to remain there
for so many years enabled him to create
a very fine orchestra from what had
previously been a rather ordinary
regional orchestra. He also built
a regular audience that was prepared
to come to concerts and take on trust
programmes that in London would have
played to a half empty hall. It is
not surprising that the Berlin Philharmonic
Orchestra decided to appoint him as
their Principal Conductor before he
was 50.
The
conductors I have written about with
enthusiasm were respected for their
knowledge, ability and musical integrity.
But above it was those who created
performances that inspired orchestras
to extend themselves to the limit,
so that they played better than they
thought they could, that were most
welcome. Whenever I have heard a relay
of a concert or a recording broadcast,
when I did not know who the artists
involved were, within a few bars I
have thought ‘this is really good
– something special’. When the performers
are announced I have nearly always
found that it was a performance I
had enjoyed in the past, sometimes
many years previously. However, I
have to admit there have also been
other occasions when I have thought
‘this is a very good orchestra and
an outstanding conductor’, only to
learn later that it had been an orchestra
and conductor for whom I had little
regard.
Chapter
11
