Interview by Menekse Tokyay
Link to the original interview in Turkish: https://meneksetokyay.com/2021/08/25/genc-orkestra-sefi-deniz-oliveira-erdinc/?fbclid=IwAR2N6IWyL-hiNIin1QDxrUHYktyWmoY2Oz5Z4gg_eUP0X-NkT_yy_nFccLM
You had the advantage of being born into a family of musicians. When did your talent and interest in music first appear ?
Undoubtedly, for my particular choice of career, having professional classical musicians as parents was a stroke of luck. My exposure to music had already commenced in vitro, and I was fortunate enough to have received the musical ‘bug’ genetically. That being said, this situation hasn’t been entirely unproblematic. As most classical musicians will know, our community is not very vast, most particularly in national levels. Most Brazilian classical musicians will know most Brazilian classical musicians, most French musicians will know most French musicians and so on. My father being one of the most prominent conductors of his generation, thus making him a key personality in the community meant me having a number of friends and also quite a number of ‘enemies’, before even having played a note or even having met said people. As I started to develop my own musical personality, trying to communicate it was, least to say, quite difficult. I was expected, for example, to adore Tchaikovsky, be able to do stellar jazz improvisations on the piano, or to have a mercurial temperament. Two of those things are true, but they are besides the point ! Even when I went to France to further my studies, I was still Erol Erdinç’s son, as my Father had also been knighted by the French government. I am putting an emphasis on this subject, because, for me, an artists’ real mission only begins when he has transcended his ego, his personality. But, for that, said artist first needs to live his ego thoroughly and without restraint, as one can not leave behind something one hasn’t fully discovered. I went through this process properly during my twenties, (which are about to end in a few months) but encountered problems when I wanted to express the learnings that came with it. The reason why I am explaining something which seems so remote from the original question is because it caused me to reject classical music alltogether for the length of my entire teenagehood, branding it in my mind as ‘what my parents do’. I had always been very individualistic since my childhood, and this rejection was my way of saying ‘this is me’. But it cost me six years of work during an important time in my life. So this obviously was, for me, a negative result of having been born into a family of musicians. Although, in retrospect, almost 15 years later, I realize that this was what had to happen. If it were any other way, I would probably not have had a very important ‘event’ happen in my life, an event which I will explain in the next question and that made me end my rejection in a very dramatic manner, replacing it with pure love.
I sincerely hope my words don’t come off as capricious, misplaced complaints. I have always had the habit of viewing the good in the bad, and vice versa. It has been a great privilege and honour to have been my Father’s son in Turkey and even in some places abroad. In the future, I plan to repay this luck by devoting much time and effort into helping talented musicians who did not have my luck and resources to get ahead in a world which values them lesser and lesser every day (if achieving my musical goals is my life’s fate, that is).
To finish answering the question: my talent was discovered when I was about three years old. Back then (1994), Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical Phantom of the Opera was wildly popular and had been staged into a play in a hotel that we had been staying during summer vacation. Apparently, I was singing all of its difficult (many chromatic intervals) tunes repeatedly, day and night. This is the only anecdote I know.
You studied two instruments, the violin and the cello, before deciding on the piano. What led you to this decision ?
My decision to play the piano is a very long, intimate tale. The reason for this is that this particular decision was inextricably linked to another one: my decision to become a musician.
As I explained in the previous question, I chose not to allow classical music in my life; partially, between my 6th and 12th years, and totally, between my 12th and 16th years. Between 6 and 12, my musical education was assured by Ilarion Ionescu Galati for the violin; Hayreddin Hoxha for the cello and my mother, who is a ‘ballet corrépetiteur’, for the piano. I didn’t reach much of a ‘level’ with the violin. On the cello, I found an instrument whose sound was a bit closer to myself, and played one of Vivaldi’s concertos before also quitting it. As to the piano, the technical level I reached roughly consisted of Clementi’s Sonatines. I demonstrated great aversion to practicing and classical music in general. I vividly remember shattering at least a few of my cello bows in protest, banging them on music stands with great violence ! I must say that it was never my parents’ plan for me to become a professional musician. Even though they knew I had talent, behaviours like shattering bows naturally led them to believe that I did not like music, and, being musicians themselves, they knew that this was the last job one should do without a deep, everlasting passion. For this very reason, they were as surprised as I was about the event that was to follow in the crux of my teenage years.
When I entered my teenage years, music started to take a larger place in my life. I taught myself to play electric guitar and the drums, learning the songs I wished to play by ear. I founded and took part in rock bands with friends, and even ‘composed’ a few songs of my own. This phase lasted until my 16th year, the year when a completely life altering event took place.
In the early 2000’s, as my generation will probably remember, songs one wished to listen were downloaded from the internet via ‘torrent’ websites (terrible, I know ! But who thinks of copyrights and ethics at that age !). One night, I was downloading a song that we had decided to cover with my band (if memory serves me correctly, it was a Nirvana or Pearl Jam song). As many torrent users will know, every once in a while, you would get a completely different song instead of the song you wished to download, even though the name of the file was correct. This is exactly what had happened on that November night, and my ears were served the first movement of Beethoven’s 14th Sonata (a.k.a the ‘Moonlight’) instead of Nirvana ! I obviously recognized the piece and was utterly appalled ! My exact thoughts were: ‘Oh no ! Classical music !’. But, for some mystical, obscure reason, I couldn’t take my earphones off and kept listening. Something was pulling me, calling to me with incredible strength, like a bee back to its hive. I was helpless, as if under a spell. A minute later, tears started to stream down my face and I had goosebumps all over. It was as if all my youthly, intense inner emotional life had finally found a voice. So, my life was completely changed by this moment.
After this event, classical music became my life. I was haunted by an overwhelming desire to play the Sonata; I literally felt as if I would die if I didn’t play it. This made me begin to skip most of my classes in school, secretly returning home to learn the first movement: a considerable challenge, as I had forgotten to read music, along with the fact that after years of hiatus, the keys of a piano felt like foreign objects under my fingers. But I was determined enough to manage to play the movement by ear after many listens, missing a note or two. Right after I learned it, the same feeling started forming for the stormy third movement of the work. That movement, however, was quite different a beast. To learn that movement by ear clearly surpassed my aural capabilities, so I had to make myself relearn to read notes. I took the challenge, and as I did, a quite greater challenge had shown its face: the movement was fiendishly difficult for someone whose technical level was Clementi Sonatines. To make matters worse, that level had been 6 years ago. So I started practicing. 10, 12, 18 hours (only once, without even a bathroom break) every day. I remember being unable to sleep from the pain in my arms at night. And so, an entire year went by without sleeping… I had also managed to learn and play (very, very badly) Chopin’s first and last Etude and the First Ballade in this manner. By this time, I had completely failed my junior high school year, and all the time where I wasn’t practicing, I was either listening to classical music or reading about composers, even composing small pieces of my own. Long story short, I was madly in love. I had no more friends, no other activities, and had decided to become a professional pianist.
My parents were dumbfounded. I had been an obsessive child in spells, but this was unprecedented. Most importantly, this was not the plan, and it was, arguably, too late for everything. But I didn’t budge and it took some time for them to realize that this passion was only going to increase exponentially. So, around a year after the ‘event’, it was decided that I would prepare for the entrance exams of Bilkent University’s Preparatory Music School in my senior high school year (the pianist Hacıbaba Adiloğlu was of great help during this time). During the examination, which had a successful outcome, I met Gülnara Aziz, a juror in my exam, who would become my main teacher for 8 years. She had said that I could join her class if I were to fix my technique and offered the services of one of her previous students, the pianist Elif Önal, to study with me. So I kept working 10, 12 hours a day but this time under guidance, and, about 8 months later, was accepted into her class. These times were the happiest times of my life up until then, along with the pure, childish joys of one or two teenage love stories.
I sincerely hope that the length of this tale (which I have told for the first time) hasn’t bored your precious readers. To tell it without my heart on my sleeve would have been treason to myself.
You have been a pupil of Gülnara Aziz, a great teacher with many illustrious students attributed to her name. What did she bring to you technically ? Could you share some of her advice that you haven’t forgotten ?
Being a student of Gülnara Aziz was a true privilege. Her teacher was Alexei Nasedkin, himself a pupil of the great Heinrich Neuhaus. Needless to say, I was in a good 'bloodline' and in good hands. Her most important gift to me as well as to all of her students is tone quality. Every pianist that has studied with her truly develops his own signature sound on the piano, and this is quite a precious gift in an increasingly digitalized age where most soloists are starting to sound the same. One only has to listen (their sound even shines through microphones, still very limited machines compared to the human ear) to Richter and Gilels (both pupils of Neuhaus), two giants instantly recognizable by their personal sound in whichever piano they play. To be able to summon a pianissimo that travels until the last seat of a big hall, as well as a sonorous, unforced fortissimo is a great asset indeed, one that all her students possess. The way she makes one achieve this is of course through the credos of the Russian piano school, focusing on a complete, unobstructed transfer of energy from the tips of ones toes until deep inside the keys. Aside from all this, she is of course a fantastic musician who only needs to sit at the piano to show how a certain passage must be played. Any piano sings under her hands ! I was very, very lucky to spend almost a decade with her.
What are your feelings when you first come out on stage ?
It depends. I have a very different experience as a pianist than as a conductor. One of them being just ‘me’, and the other one, obviously, ‘we’. It's my impression that when one conducts, one leaves behind the ‘I’, the ego, more easily since it is a collective effort. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been better at controlling others than controlling myself. That being said, ‘control’ is obviously not the optimal word to describe the relationship between a conductor and an orchestra ! Perhaps we should change this word to ‘expression’, in the context of transferring it to others. I am not a person who expresses ‘himself’ to ‘himself’ very well. Most of what my soul experiences loses its purity in the strange balances and battles that exist between the Id, the Ego and the Superego. But when I want to express something to somebody else, I feel that the connection is created from somewhere purer, more direct. For this very reason, I am much more comfortable on stage as a conductor than as a pianist. As a conductor, I can’t wait to be on stage and could spend all 24 hours of the day on it. But as a pianist, even if I’m playing a program which is technically easy, I undergo much, much stress, before, during, and even after a concert. To play a solo instrument on stage is something that bears closeness to being a circus animal. If you’re doing your job right, people are able to see all the depths of your inner world with a magnifying glass, instead of just the shape of your head, the colour of your fur, the sharpness of your teeth. This is rather painful for an introverted person, an adjective I identify with. In such circumstances, it becomes ideal to only give a concert when you absolutely need to scream something to the world; a feeling, an idea, a thought that a particular piece of music carries within itself (it is very interesting to note that when one has this luxury, the piece ‘chooses’ you -it usually starts playing in your head non stop- rather than you choosing the piece). I have thought a lot about this subject and another issue that comes to my mind is an issue of perfectionism. As a soloist, it is very easy (the great Glenn Gould went mad with this) to entertain the idea that under ideal conditions, you could reach perfection in the piece you are interpreting. After all, the conditions only consist of variables such as you, the piano, the hall and perhaps a few more. For a conductor, the idea that one might get exactly what one imagines in his inner ear is madness. The variables in question are simply too much. With one hundred members in an orchestra, you simply cannot account for the fact that a musician might be going through a nasty divorce or that most of the orchestra doesn’t possess instruments of the highest quality. One could probably think up hundreds of such variables whereas for a solo performance, these numbers would hardly surpass the number of 10. For this reason, conducting is also, to me, a more ‘relaxed’ endeavor, because I simply know that there is realistically no chance to reach perfection, at least in the way I envisioned it. Paradoxically, this creates a kind of kind of freedom; and, in the end, one comes closer to ‘perfection’, which, when one looks at nature, seems to be a state of surrender (chaos, entropy…) rather than a state of control after all. Unnerving, isn’t it ?! Anyway, to make a long story short: to be on stage for me as a pianist is torture; as a conductor, it is pure pleasure.
Do you remember your first encounter with the stage ? How did you prepare for the occasion ?
Yes, I do. I was 6 years old and had participated in a concert with the Istanbul State Symphony Orchestra, ‘conducting’ Rossini’s Guillaume Tell Ouverture. Orchestras in Turkey always give yearly celebratory concerts for ‘Children’s day’ on April 23rd, and my father, who was principal conductor of the Istanbul State Symphony at the time, thought it would fit to the occasion for me to conduct something, an idea which the orchestra had appreciated (I share here a video of this little performance for your readers).
My preparation for this concert was the following: after having made me listen to a recording of the piece a few times, my father would play it on the piano and show me what movement to do in specific places of the piece (such as, for example, giving a syncopated beat to the trumpets, or raising my hands upwards in forte dynamics, etc.). So I memorized the music and the corresponding movements and ‘conducted’ the Ouverture. It was all like a delightful game; a game unlike any other... Perhaps this concert is the sole reason why being on stage as a conductor is comfortable for me (if it is true that positive first impressions during childhood can make a mark on one’s adult subcounscious), rendering all my theories made in the previous question irrelevant !
You have attended some important masterclasses. Which were the ones that mattered most to you and why ?
The two masterclasses that mattered the most to me were with Maestro Jorma Panula & the Kuopio Symphony Orchestra and the one with Maestro Rengim Gökmen & the Karşıyaka Municipal Chamber Orchestra. The latter masterclass, which took place in 2016, was important because it was my first encounter with an orchestra as an adult. I had found the experience intoxicating and knew, by the end of the last chord of the closing concert (a C major chord; it was Tchaikovsky’s Serenade), that this is what I truly wanted to do. The former masterclass, which took place two years later, was important for a different reason: it made me truly believe that I could be a good conductor one day. After the closing concert (where I conducted the first movement of Beethoven’s 7th Symphony), Jorma Panula, briefly coming to the post-concert dinner, had shook my hand, said ‘good !’, and left as soon as he came. This was an incredible compliment as all the other participants where also present at the table. This was a Maestro who had coached many of today’s best conductors (Esa Pekka Salonen, for example) and who had probably seen and judged more young conductors than anyone else alive, since he holds almost weekly masterclasses all over the world. Being an almost pathologically self-critical person, this was a very inspiring moment for me, a moment which deeply motivated me to stay on my new path.
How did conducting spark your interest ? What were the studies you undertook ?
My father being a conductor, the profession had always sparked some interest. During my childhood, as most boys do, I idolized my father and wanted to be like him. So I did. This would be an easy and ‘politically correct’ answer to your question. However, if I may, I would much rather prefer to give you and your precious readers a more truthful, more heartfelt answer.
When I was around 25 years old and close to the completion of my piano undergraduate studies, I began to have a sort of ‘crisis’. I was practicing less, reading less, listening to music less, learning less, not going deep enough scores as I should. This crisis began with a tragic, violent death in my close family, making my mind take a poisonous stance towards life; music wasn’t spared (I was also reading a lot of Schopenhauer which just made things worse).
Basically, I began to view all human creation and behaviour as results of basic, foreseeable animal instincts. This caused a profound dissilusionment with everything. Something disturbed me in the idea (and still does) that all of one’s joys and pains (a.k.a good and evil) are simply reflections of what is positive or negative in terms of our individual and collective survival. Nothing was sacred or mysterious anymore and music became no different to me than a bird’s mating call, a display of aural and spatial intelligence that moved one upwards in the ‘mating arena’. Not seeing divinity and magic in anything was a heavy burden for me during this time (my early twenties). This pseudo-existential crisis must look very silly and capricious from the outside. But in the inside, I can assure you it was very, very painful because it destroyed my creative powers for an entire decade. This crisis has almost consumed itself now, like a flame deprived of oxygen. What has been burnt I am just starting to discover. Looking back, I also observe that this period had moments when the piano started to not be enough as a means of expression. This is where conducting came in as an inevitable step in my spiritual development. The piano, for me, as a ‘solo’ instrument, represented my ego. As to my new instrument, the orchestra, a ‘collective’ instrument, it could only represent my way towards seeing that all is one in the universe, and that this ‘me’, the ego, is an illusion. How kitsch, isn’t it ?
Putting jokes and my 'new-agery', aside, I’d like to say, as one would deduce from what I have already written, that I have not taken the decision to pursue conducting lightly. There were some things I felt I had to be sure of, some questions I had to ask myself: did I want to be a conductor because of my father ? Did my ego seek the gratification of being high up in the hierarchy ? Did I want to be a conductor because I preferred doing chamber music rather than playing solo ? Did I want to be a conductor because I was an introverted person, making solo appearances rarely bearable (I’ve tried to explain why this is so for me on my previous answers) ? And, most importantly, did I want to be a conductor because I was a failed pianist ? After all, I had gone back to the piano quite late as I explained; my technique has never been much good at all and I’ve always had to work thrice as much as my colleagues to reach a high level of playing. Let’s be honest: there are many conductors who have thrown themselves into the profession because they couldn’t quite become the instrumentalist or the composer they hoped for, driven by some kind of inferiority complex. I had to make damn sure I wouldn’t be this person. So, as a challenge, I decided to learn Rachmaninov’s 3rd piano concerto on the last year of my undergraduate piano studies and prepared the first and second movements (pianists will know why I haven’t prepared the third movement as a strategic choice) to play for my teacher. If she allowed me to play it for my graduation, I would have succesfully proven (perhaps rather misguidedly) to myself that I wasn't ‘a failed pianist’. She did, having given the work to only one of her students before me. But I ended up falling in love with and playing the Brahms First instead !
Finally, this rather long process of ‘choosing to pursue conducting’ was done after the masterclass I spoke about in one of the previous questions. I had succesfully answered the vicious questions I had asked myself and became truly sure that this was what I had to do in life. Even the years where I rejected music started to make sense; I started to get out of this painful labyrinth I had made in my mind, feeling renewed and ready to step back into life with my heart on my sleeve as I used to a long time ago. This is, as accurately as I can describe, the internal path that led me to pursue conducting.
Now, If you’ll allow me, I’d like to adress the second part of the question: my conducting studies.
During my time in the Ecole Normale de Musique de Paris, I worked with Maestro Dominique Rouits, a former student of Pierre Boulez, who came from the same ‘school’ of conducting as my father (they had both been students of Pierre Dervaux, chief conductor of the Cologne opera at the time). Maestro Rouits is a first class musician and a very, very effective pedagogue. But, in my opinion, we were too many students in his class and he didn’t have enough time for each student individually. Another issue was that, again, in my opinion, we had too little ‘podium time’ in front of an orchestra, something which is invaluable to young conductors. I learned a lot from him during those two years but I wish I could have learned even more; it would have been possible if these two things I mentioned were not so. But one must admit that most conducting classes today are like this, making my criticisms a tad unrealistic. In the end, my misgivings led to positive outcomes, such as creating an orchestra in the Cité Internationale des Arts where I was residing, and joining an extra ‘high harmony’ class in the Ecole Normale, taught by Roselyne Masset-Lecocq.
Another teacher I had was Maestro Işın Metin. I am still working with him and owe him quite a lot. He has a method of study called the ‘Conducting Algorhytm’ which could even make a teaspoon conduct an orchestra ! This algorhythm is a perfect mélange of all the conducting schools in the world. Aside from this, his greatest gift has been to show me how I could reach the depths with which I wanted to approach music, as well as urging me to develop my ‘inner hearing’ further. He also helps a lot in simplyfying my thought patterns which can become too complicated for my own good. Thanks to him, I have now started to look at a score from a composer’s perspective.
Finally, I of course must name my father, my first teacher of conducting. He gave me my first rudiments of technique and passed on his ‘know-how’ on many important matters.
How would you describe the current balance between your pianistic and conducting activities ?
Sadly, I am not a person who excels in multitasking, even with the number of tasks being as low as two. With me, this invariably creates mediocre results at best. For the last three months, I only worked for our concert with the Bilkent Youth Symphony Orchestra, only touching the piano when I couldn’t hear a particular passage of the score properly in my head (or, for example, to acquire a deeper feeling of tension/release patterns in a modulation –its topography-, for example). When I have to prepare a piano program, I stop working on any conducting related matters completely. But in the end, I am convinced that both these endeavours ‘feed each other’ inside me, as they are simply different ways of connecting with music. For me, the ideal balance would be to present one recital, one concerto and one chamber music program a year, with most of my time devoted to conducting.
What kind of support mechanisms did you benefit from during your education ? As a pupil of the French educational system, do you find that Turkey gives enough financial help to its classical musicians ?
I had ample chance to observe the excellence of the French system, first having been in regular French schools (from kindergarten to my last year of high school) and then through my two years in the Ecole Normale de Musique de Paris as a conducting student, where I saw that the French government truly is one to give much help and support to its artists. This helping hand also touched me when I was accepted to the Cité Internationale des Arts as an ‘Artist-in-residence’ for two years. As to my undergraduate studies, I was lucky to be in Bilkent University’s Music Faculty where almost all students benefit at least from a fifty percent scholarship. Another great help, the greatest of my life, came from TEV (ak.a the Turkish Educational Foundation) which accepted my application, granting me financial support during my stay in Paris. Despite all my personal luck, I unfortunately see artistic support in Turkey as severely lacking. I must say that this has more to do with the current socio-economical situation in the country (as well as the world) rather than the lack of effort from the foundations that aim to provide support to young classical musicians. In the history of humanity, art has never been seen as a vital need; the reasons for this are pragmatic and quite understandable when one considers the human survival instinct. That being said, let's think of staging a rather sadistic experiment, where test subjects are to be starved in a closed room for weeks and months on end without being told whether the experiment will bring them to their demise or not. In my mind I am invariably sure that the subjects would compose hymns of hope and express their desperation by painting on the walls, with their own blood if need be.
I feel urged to say that I think that my generation of artists will have a great mission ahead, a mission to change this poisonous view that art is not vital for life. For me, this idea is saying that the most sacred talent of the human race, the one to create, is irrelevant, and that we are simply machines made to consume, consume, consume.
Could you tell the story of how the Cité des Arts Orchestra was created, and what its activities are now ?
I created the ‘Orchestre en Résidence de la Cité Internationale des Arts’ (ORCIA) in my second year in Paris. The Cité Internationale des Arts is a very special institution with an important history (with ex-residents such as Daniel Barenboim, Mstislav Rostropovitch, Erol Erdinç, Hüseyin Sermet, Serge Gainsbourg) where about 300 artists from all disciplines and from all over the world live in for different periods of time (between 2 and 24 months). Each artist stays in this wonderful building facing the Seine with rooms tailored for their individual needs (with grand pianos for musicians, for example). Naturally, the Cité also has a concert hall. After receiving the acceptance letter and when my stay in the Cité began, I was perplexed to see it lacked one important thing: an orchestra. The reasons for this became quickly apparent: logistically, it was very difficult to create an ensemble with the different lengths of the stays of the musicians in the Cité. But I was up to the task, motivated by the fact that I had –in my opinion- not enough time in front of the orchestra in the Ecole Normale de Musique de Paris (as I explained in previous questions). My motivations were not completely egotistical; the orchestra would also aim to play the works of the resident composers and I would be able to invite talented colleagues that I knew as soloists. It took me about three months to set everything up and organise a concert, which was a success. After a few months and more concerts, the next stage was to find financial support for the orchestra. During this time, however, I had succeeded in getting my conducting diploma in the Ecole Normale and was faced with an important decision: Işın Metin (I am his assistant now in the Bilkent Youth Symphony Orchestra) had proposed that I come back to Bilkent University’s Faculty of Music in Ankara to do a second masters degree with him. I was glad because this would mean having a great teacher almost entirely to myself and lots of podium time as assistant conductor. So I took up on this offer and left music directorship of the orchestra to its concertmaster, the fantastic composer, violinist, pianist and conductor Mateus Araujo in the spring of 2019. Unfortunately, the end of Mateus’ stay in the Cité and the beginning of the pandemic brought an end to the ensemble.
You are currently assistant conductor of the Bilkent Youth Symphony Orchestra. Which attributes of your orchestra do you think would enchant its listeners ?
Because of the pandemic, our first concert with the BYSO could only take place last week, about a year later than its initially planned date. What most enchanted me was how these young musicians’ sheer need to make and share music (a need that exploded in intensity because of the pandemic) merged into their sound. I will never forget the look in their eyes on this first day of July. The music came straight from their hearts, one can always tell (or hear) when it is so. I believe the listeners’ experience would not be much different from the ones I have just described.
Who do you think should have a higher place in an orchestra’s hierarchy ? The conductor, or the composer ?
The composer, without a shred of doubt. The idea that this could even be a debate is very disturbing to me and any conductor who claims otherwise better be a composer possessing a piece as divine as the Missa Solemnis or as compositionally perfect as Mozart’s 41st Symphony in his oeuvre.
How would you best describe the connection between individual and collective performance ? How does one achieve this ?
In Thomas Reid’s 1786 essay titled ‘Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man’, there is a paragraph that could be summarized with the following sentence: ‘A chain is only as strong as its weakest link’. It is of course ideal for each member of an orchestra to play in the level of a soloist. But even in such a situation, a musician is a human being and may not be able to produce his best at every concert. The conductor’s responsibility becomes then even more crucial: he must be able to inspire the entire orchestra, even the timpani player with one note to play during the entire performance.
Which conductors and orchestras have been of inspiration to you ?
What I think of Claudio Abbado is very close to adulation. Each work he conducts springs to life in his mind, in his body, two elements whose connection to his soul seem absolute. To me, he is the greatest of all conductors. I also admire Vladimir Fedoseyev’s technique and interpretations greatly, particularly in Tchaikovsky. Carlos Kleiber is also impossible to overlook, what a musician from head to toe ! Finally, of course, von Karajan, Karl Böhm, Bruno Walter and Celibidache (his Bruckner !) all legendary, ‘old school’ Maestri. Sadly, these are all impressions from recordings and Youtube; but I suspect watching such musical giants live would make me search for even more superlatives.
As far as orchestras go, I luckily did have the chance to listen to most of the greatest orchestras in the world during my time in Paris, such as the Philarmonics of Vienna and Berlin, the Chicago Symphony and the Budapest Festival Orchestra, to name a few. These orchestras were of course incredible, they were of the highest caliber one could imagine. But the one who had the most profound impression on me was actually the Deutsche Kammerphilarmonie Bremen, who had played a Brahms cycle in three consecutive nights with Maestro Paavo Jarvi (I was also deeply in love with Brahms during that time of my life, so I wasn’t entirely unbiased). The symbiosis between conductor and orchestra was notable, but the symbiosis between the orchestra itself was even more astounding. Hearing them was like watching a flock of birds flying, sometimes suddenly changing direction in perfect harmony, as if guided by an unknown force. I don’t know how else to describe it (von Karajan helped me on this one) ! They were all breathing as one and one could hear that in the sound. I remember being so overtaken by emotion in the end of the First Symphony that a part of me wanted to throw myself down the third floor where my seat was, ending my humanly existence at a high point ! On another, less deranged note, it is important to know that this particular orchestra has one of the most ideal management systems in the world, which certainly makes it easier for them to reach this sheer excellence that I witnessed.
How would you handle a disruptive situation in the orchestra, a crisis ?
I haven’t had to face such a situation just yet. But, being in a profession with so much human contact, it would be obviously naive of me to think that I would never have to. It’s hard for me to ascertain what my behaviour would be in a hypothetical situation, but, if my vision of my personality is correct, I can say that I know myself to be quite calm, collected and problem solving in crisis situations. Regular, routine times scare me much more and I feel uneasy in them, as if walking in the middle of a morning mist in a mountain with treacherous cliffs (and idyllic spots, too). In a crisis, at least I know that I am falling. And that focuses me. To continue answering your question, I also believe that any problem can be solved with true communication. After all, if music is being made the way it should be made, musicians will already have many important ‘channels’ open in themselves (candour, courage to be oneself, honesty, empathy...). If all these channels are open, and everyone is doing their job properly (the conductor of course, first and foremost), and working conditions are ideal, any crisis I believe would be naturally, easily overcome.
Re-reading my answer, I can’t help but to notice that what I said is a little utopic and detached from life’s bitter truths. I kindly ask you to ask me this question again when I will have more grey hairs than I have now.
Daniel Barenboim once stated that a third of orchestral musicians hate the conductor. Do you think that’s true ?
I think the word ‘hate’ is a strong word. To understand what Maestro Barenboim means in this statement, one has to examine the daily life of the orchestral musician, and I don’t mean the life of the members of the Berlin or Vienna Philarmonics. Such musicians have had life smile at them, giving them an education worthy of their talent, good instruments, good paychecks, tours all over the world, the ability to pursue solo careers on the side. The musicians I speak of are the ones who play on average orchestras, working with terrible wages and hours (with no rotation), rarely getting to enjoy good music making with their ensemble. Let’s imagine being this person. Every week, a new ‘leader’ appears. The job this leader does in one of the most multidisciplinary jobs in the world, and even if he/she has enormous facility and talent, he/she will only master his job close to his/her old age (there are no exceptions to this). This means that most leaders an orchestra will face are still ‘in the making’ and are very prone to waste time and energy. This ‘leader’ will make much more money than they do, he/she will be the one to bow to the claps of the audience. When he/she walks by the musicians, they must rise in reverence as if a king/queen appeared; and be seated only when he/she allows. If this person does not live the music, believe in it until the last drops of his blood; if his/her knowledge of harmony stops at enharmonic modulations; if he/she does not play an instrument in a high level; if he/she cannot analyze a fugue or a passacaglia; if he/she faces the orchestra with the partiular preparation of having watched youtube videos deciding to wave his arms like Abbado or Kleiber in particular passages; and finally, if he/she tries to hide his inexperience or lack of attributes by a superficial display of authority or by false flattery, then yes, they may (rightly so) ‘hate’ this person.
Do you think an orchestra can play without a conductor ? On what setting ?
Of course they can ! And I believe they should. I recently watched a video on Youtube where a top level orchestra was playing one of the hardest pieces of the repertoire, Stravinsky’s Rite of spring. Even though this is an extreme display of good ensemble, orchestras should ideally be able to solve many basic problems, such as togetherness, intonation, and balance, on their own. They should be able to play the piece by themselves. If the main job of the conductor is to solve these basic problems, then we can’t say that the proffession has seen a great evolution since Jean François Lully and his poor foot ! When an orchestra has taken care of this, having reached a high level, they can then summon a conductor whose sense of style, form and musicality they appreciate, presenting him with a sketch of the work. The conductor then adds the colours and the frame, finishing the ‘painting’ and presenting it to the public.
What attributes does a musician need to be a good conductor ?
First and foremost, I feel compelled to say that I don’t think I am the right person to answer questions about conducting in general (this applies to some of the other questions too). Maybe in 50 years, when I will have given much more concerts ! All these statements I am about to make belong to a young conductor, still at the very beginning of his career, whose thoughts about the craft have not yet been proven or disproven by time.
Every conductor has a different modus operandi; an intimately personal way of conducting, analysing his scores, of working, of expressing himself.
For this very reason, conductors don’t get along so well. What one does with his elbow, another may do by shaking his hands a la Gergiev; another may get the same result just with his eyes, or a mimic. Another just by thinking ! Some will do their analysis with the Schenkerian method, others will do a whole classical harmonic analysis of every note, while some may not do any formal or harmonic analysis at all, trusting their musical instinct. While learning a piece, a conductor may use the piano, while another may advocate that no other instrument other than one’s inner ear should be used to learn a piece. As to the subject of tempo, it creates even more violent opposition between conductors, bringing them to the verge of wanting to strangle each other. Form and style can also be very open to subjectivity: how should one expose the contrasts between first and second themes in the classical sonata form ? With slight differences in tempi or with changes of ‘colour’ ? What about the dominant seventh chord ? Is it the third or the seventh of the chord that carries the most tension, wanting to resolve (a decision made on this subject would for example make a conductor ask for a louder third or seventh note played by a specific instrument in tutti dominant chords –if the composer lacks in orchestrational abilities of course-) ?
To make a long story short, conducting is perhaps one of the most subjective proffessions in the world. Deep down, every conductor views himself as the best conductor and his method as the most correct one. But in the end of the day, the only thing that can measure his proficiency is the performance, the final result, which, in my opinion, is best judged by children and people who dislike classical music; not by music critics. If a musician is able to have an ‘effect’ on these two categories of people, in my opinion, ‘true’ music is being made...
Without further ado, here is the list of attributes that are, in my view of things, ‘must haves’ for a musician to be a good conductor:
1. To love Music, mind, body and soul, more than anything else in human life
2. Instinctive musicality (a.k.a, ‘talent’) and an inner hearing pushed to its farthest personal limit
3. The ability to be able to strongly express oneself
3.1 With the body
3.1.1 Conducting technique (this ability is best judged by opera / ballet conducting and by accompanying soloists in symphonic music)
3.2 Verbally
3.2.1 Good diction, eloquence, speaking many languages, etc
3.3 Emotionally and spiritually
3.3.1 Empathy, tolerance, humility
4. Knowledge
4.1 Teaching level proficiency in all of the branches of music theory and musicology (solfeggio, harmony, form, orchestration & instrumentation, music history, ethnomusicology, counterpoint ... )
4.1.1 Ideal of the ideal: being a composer, thus familiarising oneself with the composition process. This can result in the creation of an awareness of what a score can and can not express
4.2 Knowledge on rehearsal skills; knowing the specific practice techniques of each orchestral instrument and being able to apply them
4.2.1 Effective time management in rehearsals
4.3 Knowledge of individual and group psychology and being able to apply it
5. Playing an instrument in a high level (the ideal of the ideal of the ideal: having a high techical level in singing, the piano, a string instrument, a wind instrument and a percussion instrument –in order of importance-)
6. Humane attributes
6.1. Empathy, sincerity, honesty, being comfortable in one’s own skin (a.k.a ‘charisma’), discipline, patience
6.1.1 Leadership abilities
6.1.2 Never accepting compromise on one’s musical values
6.2 Perfectionism
7. Physical attributes
7.1 Ideal mind (mastering the art of breathing, being able to meditate ...) and body health (self explanatory, but mostly joint work, stretching and strength training, keeping the back strong and the arm joints ‘mobile’)
8. To quote the great Sviatoslav Richter (I recently learned of this quote which was personally given to an eminent Turkish music personality and piano teacher that I know. He had asked him, in his youth, whether he gave lessons or not): ‘Toujours élève, jamais professeur’.
As a coda to my answer to this question, I want to explain my choice to put ‘love’ on top of my list of attributes. During my Paris years, I had been able to chat with Maestro Valery Gergiev after a concert (I had found a loop in the system –nothing illegal !- of the door that led to the dressing rooms of the artists in the Philarmonie, which had given me the supreme joy of having had long conversations with Andras Schiff, Grigory Sokolov, Martha Argerich –for whom I had performed a similar stunt when she came to Istanbul in 2011-, Arvo Part, Daniel Barenboim and many others !) and had asked what advice he would give to a young conductor such as myself. He had answered me with a thick Russian accent in a very sincere, fatherly manner: “Love music, love it truly. And never give up”. This must sound like a cliché answer, I can assure you it wasn’t. He had spent about 20 seconds in silence, thinking, suddenly shutting himself out of his surroundings. Naturally, this struck a chord in me. Afterwards, when I kept thinking of his answer, internalising it even further, I had realised that any other attribute was rendered totally useless without this most important, most vital one.
How would you define your conducting style ?
I believe a conductor must conduct the music, and not the orchestra (what I aim to say is that he must embody the music, become a sort of conduit, rather than only concentrate on making the musicians produce the sound he wants). After all, something ‘conducts’ the conductor too: the composer. And the composer is also ‘conducted’ by something ineffable, one could call it ‘inspiration’. Where inspiration comes from would be too far from the subject at hand but I think most musicians would agree that it comes from some kind of higher entity (a.k.a one’s own concept of god, the universe; or lack thereof). So in the end, nothing is ‘conducting’ anything at all. Let me try to rephrase: if I were to have a conducting style, (or at least one I try to obtain), it would be to make sure that none of the true essence (and information) of the music that is to be interpreted gets lost between the long road that goes from the ‘higher entity’ to the composer, from the composer to his score, from his score to his copist, from his copist to the editors, from the editors to the score that I hold in my hands centuries later, from my score to me, from me to the orchestra, from the orchestra to their instruments, from their instruments to the hall they make sounds in, from the hall to the listeners, from the listeners to their inner world, from their inner world to their friends’ when they talk about the previous night’s performance, and so on. In simpler terms: there is a fruit, a fruit which does not belong to our 3 dimensions; the composer, with a stroke of genius, a sight beyond our physical world, sees it and renders it into our plane of existence, refrigerating it. The conductor then defrosts this fruit as best as he can, aiming not to lose any of its nutrients with all his heart. Then, the listener eats the hopefully very tasty, healthy dish, which makes him come closer to this ‘entity’ which also exists inside himself. This is my view of things. Some conductors needn’t even move. They will come onto the podium and the orchestra will play the way they feel and think even without rehearsal. This is the highest point of this profession and only conductors who can do this should, in my opinion, be given the title of ‘Maestro/a’. There may be many different ways to conduct, but this should be a conductors ultimate wish, in my opinion: to come onto the podium and just allow the music to come to life as close to its essence as possible in our physical world. This is the best I can do to describe what I wish my conducting style would be. As to how it is right now, I haven’t got the singlest clue. Physically speaking, I could say that I like doing circular movements and paint the music, its phrases and its inflections as best as I can without beating too much (if the ensemble in question permits me) but it would be irrelevant. I am not very interested in the physical world (I’ve had the great luck and luxury of not having to be).
In your opinion, which are the naughtiest instruments in the orchestra ?
Conductors ! Since they are not instruments per se, I would say: the baton. This instrument is occasionally known to take flight and poke musicians in the eye. What’s naughtier than that ?
How do you achieve discipline in an orchestra ?
I think discipline comes from respect, which has to be earned. Even if one was, say, Ricardo Muti, a guest conductor must again and again win over an orchestra each and every time (every single day as a music director !). The only way to earn this respect is obviously through one’s excellence as a musician; however, other, social/psychological/spiritual qualities also come into play. Not to sound too pedantic but, in the western world, most human beings are full of complexes, unresolved childhood traumas, things they run away from inside themselves (so am I !)... Most people seem to agree that the current era of humanity has a distinct ‘mal d’époque’. We usually choose to hide such things, sometimes even from ourselves, causing behaviours and reactions that could be defined as ‘negative’. I have found that in front of an orchestra, just as in daily life, people respect the courage it takes to show one’s weaknesses or lack thereof. It takes courage to show one’s true personality. Most humans aren’t their ‘real self’ even to themselves, let alone to others (neither am I. But I try very very hard). This would all be fine for an interpreter if the following problem did not arise: if one isn’t true even to himself (there are obviously layers to this search of what the ‘self’ is), how can one be expected to interpret, recreate humanity’s greatest achievements that came from the truest ‘selves’ of composers properly ? I again see this as a struggle with the ‘ego’, which I believe should first be acknowledged fully and allowed to form, later to be discarded, realising it is an illusion and that this ‘truth’ lies elsewhere inside oneself.
To put all this theorizing and new age philosophising aside: orchestras, as ‘groups of people’, are very alert and have strong ‘antennas’. They will see how musical you are, how much you have internalised a particular piece, your level of knowledge (or lack thereof) and whether you feel at ease inside your mind and body even before you step on the podium. If you have inferiority or superiority complexes, or try to hide the natural inexperience of being a young conductor with displays of false authority, they will notice. And they will not respect you. If you choose to not wage certain wars and take musicians out of their comfort zone sometimes in order to obtain a good musical result and try to give everyone a nice time full of flatteries in order to be engaged next season, they will notice. Some musicians may even like you if the orchestra is not under optimal working conditions. But they sure as hell won’t respect you and you will not be able to create an atmosphere of disclipine, or make real music for that matter.
I would like to remind you as I have in previous questions: I am still a young conductor in the very beginning of his career. I am fully aware that I can not back such claims without having had thousands of positive results supporting them. The things I’ve said may very well be utopic, naive, detached from reality and impossible to convert from theory to action. Only time can and will tell !
Do you have any plans to come back to your life as a pianist ? What are your ambitions and your aims as a conductor ?
The piano has never ceased to be my life ! It still very much is the main way that I make physical contact with music. Because of this, it never leaves my life for too long, even though the amount of recitals and solo appearances I aim for are not many, as I said in the eighth question.
During my time in Paris, I had found time to attend a masterclass given by Maestro Lior Shambadal (conductor of the Berliner Symphoniker) in the Veneto region of Italy, where I had met the sublime Argentinian virtuoso pianist and conductor Dario Ntaca. Finding me talented, he had invited me to study with him in Switzerland for a few days. During those three days in Bern, one of the most important pieces of advice he gave me was that I should never stop playing the piano, even though I was to concentrate on conducting. ‘You will lose your contact with music and it will hurt and deplete you’ he had said. I particularly understood the value of these words during the pandemic. Composers are blessed with one of the most absolute contacts with music; one could say they are connected to its essence via a fiberoptic cable ! Therefore, I have noticed that they don’t need as much of this ‘physical contact’ that I mention. As to interpreters, which are a step down in the hiearchy and are connected by a ‘weaker cable’ so to speak, being depleted of this contact is very, very painful, much alike being in love with someone and not being able to touch them. At least this is the way it is for me ! Touching the piano is an immense need for my overall well being. Whether I give concerts or not is irrelevant; the piano is, and always will be, my life.
As a conductor, my aim is to be able to interpret pieces that I have truly understood as close to their essence as humanly possible with good orchestras, formed by musicians who love their job and work under optimal conditions. Having all of the Brahms, Bruckner, Mahler and Beethoven Symphonies in my repertoire doesn’t interest me. My dream is to know and conduct ten or twenty works all my life, but to truly ‘know’ and truly ‘conduct’ them. Attempting to interpret a piece which hasn’t become like a part of my body wouldn’t, in my opinion, bring anything more to the world or to the souls of my listeners. I am acutely aware that this dream of mine is incompatible with today’s world, a world that has more of a penchant for a state of mediocre productivity (and a nice set of sexy hair that can be photographed well) rather than true artistic excellence. I am therefore full of curiosity to see how much I will have to fight and sacrifice in order to protect my artistic values which I’ve expressed in their quasi totality in this interview.
D.O.E
