How Bruckner chased us through Europe, finale...

As a kid I had just enough pocket money to buy a return train ticket to Amsterdam. I would explain the guards from the Concertgebouw I used all my money to get there and after a while I didn’t even have to explain the story anymore. They would always let me in, to rehearsals as well as to concerts. My parents would call this ‘Arthur’s complementary concert face’. There was no reason for me to doubt whether I could enter the tonight’s concert or not. Back at the stage door I ask the guard whether I can come in to hear the second half of the concert. He stares to me in disbelief, did he hear it right? Because of the chic Vienna I forgot for a moment I look homeless. My thoughts go quickly, there is no time to lose. I explain to him what has happened, how I’ve just got my hands on the score of the same symphony the orchestra will perform here tonight and how I have to conduct the same symphony after the weekend in Romania. I even throw in some musical terminology and show my new score to convince the stubborn looking man. He doesn‘t bat an eyelid. ”Haben Sie ein zutritt Karte?”  Whether I have a ticket. “No sir, but I will be happy to buy one.” I’m reaching for my wallet.  “Impossible, the box office is closed”. “Sir”, I reply in a stricter voice, “Of course it is possible. Sir, look at me, see, these are legs, that, I point to the left, is a hallway. A right turn, up the stairs and there is the concert hall.” I had been in the building before and knew exactly where to go. “Sir, it is possible. ‘Impossible’ doesn’t exist!”  That seems to help. He calls his boss, not using one more motion than necessary. The second man arrives right away and listens patiently to my rushed story. The second half is about to start. Without twitching he tells me in a friendly Viennese manner that it is not possible to enter the concert without a ticket, and he even takes the time to tell me that the box office is closed, not to be opened anymore tonight. I decide to bring out the heavy artillery. “When Kurt Masur hears you didn’t let me in you will be in trouble.” I held my breath. Apparently there exists an even higher boss. Within a minute everything is arranged and the boss of all bosses personally walks me to the grand hall. Half a minute before the famous maestro treads onto the stage I sit down and open the fresh score to hear an unequalled Bruckner. One hour passes without experiencing time. Totally inspired by what I have heard I decide to find the eighty-one year old chief after the concert. With great attention and visible amusement he listens to how I happened to be here to listen to his Bruckner and how it has inspired me for my own Bruckner interpretation next week. Masur told me he conducted the same orchestra in Romania as a young man. A whole month of score studying couldn’t have given me more insight than hearing this amazing concert. What an example in sound, warmth, space, breath and balance. I hear myself sing the second theme of the second movement, Andante quasi Allegretto, the solo line of the viola’s, when walking back to the hotel through the serene night.

Two rehearsals are now behind me in Targu Mures, Romania. The orchestra sounds better than ever. I don’t give up before I achieve the sound I want from them. That’s worth a Volkswagen Passat. Yes, even one with heated, leather seats and an open roof with solar cells to cool the car when parked in the sun. Okay, it was well insured.

~

How Bruckner chased us through Europe (part 5)

At exactly seven we tear into Vienna. At twelve past seven I stop our little car with squeaking brakes at the only open spot available, right in front of the most expensive hotel on the Kärtnerring, Centre Vienna, just around the corner from the Musikverein. We are surrounded by long black limousines. The Christmas season has started in Vienna. Warm lights decorate the trees. The city looks cozy. Our Czech Skoda disappears between the dazzling paint of the long vehicles. This is Vienna, every inch. Before I even can get out of the car we are enclosed by the official doormen from the hotel. High hats, long red coats. It takes only a minute to explain why we have to stay in this privileged VIP spot, forbidden for normal cars and people.  While I run to the hall, Kim will hook up to their wireless internet to book us an affordable hotel. “Please?”  It’s accepted. Kim books, I run. It’s not more than two minutes to the Musikverein. I will be in time.

There she is, well wrapped in Viennese fur, clutching a contrasting bright yellow plastic bag from Musikhaus Doblinger. She is ready to enter the concert hall when she spots me. “I’ve put two gifts in the bag as a consolation for the misfortune you have had.” “What will be played tonight”, I ask her. “You don’t know?” she replies with sincere disbelieve in her voice. “Bruckner third Symphony, the same version as I just handed to you. Nobody less then Kurt Masur conducts the National Orchestra of France.” I stood rooted to the spot, speechless. Did this all happen to get me here? How do these things work? Is there no coincidence, or does it exists after all? Very strongly inside I feel I have to be there tonight, have to hear that particular concert. All of a sudden there seems to be the reason we are in Vienna now, at this very moment in time, and not in Prague anymore…

I thank the lady, who tells me the concert starts with Beethoven fourth piano concerto, express my hope to make it to the second half to hear Bruckner, and run back to the car. Kim has booked! We race through Vienna centre to the hotel and throw the bags in the hotel lobby. Kim takes care of the checking in, I park the car in a parking garage and run back to the Musikverein through the wintery Vienna night. I take the shortest route right through a busy Christmas market and ignoring every red pedestrian light. Would I be in time? Beethoven lasts half an hour. 

To be continued, stay tuned!

How Bruckner chased us through Europe (part 4)

Through the closed doors we hear applause. It’s intermission. Tired of the full day we decide to go to our chairs right away. Row one on the balcony, seat twenty-three and twenty-four. These seats turn out to be the most beautiful places of the house, right in the centre of the royally decorated concert hall. We sink deep down into the ruby velvet and discuss all the events of the day that have succeeded one another endlessly. It doesn’t seem long before the audience enters the hall again. Two well dressed people look quite surprised to see that we occupy their seats. I show them our tickets. They discuss the situation. In Dutch! The lady tells us they didn’t collect their tickets, but urges us to stay in ‘our’ seats. They take the two empty chairs next to us. A short explanation of our days’ adventures follows, together with a little monologue on how to conduct Tchaikovsky Pathetique. In reaction the man invites us to come to the reception after the concert. He introduces himself as the Netherlands Ambassador in the Czech Republic. During the first half of the concert, the orchestra performed a new composition of the Dutch composer Peter van Onna. It’s absolutely very seldom that a Czech orchestra performs a Dutch contemporary work. It might have been the first time. Our well deserved meal accompanied with champagne and wine is secured! We have a fantastic evening before we walk back to the hotel over the old cobblestones, here deep in Europe.

The next morning we check out early. I cannot believe my eyes when I check out. On the hotel desk is a Faber Castel blue/red pencil, exactly the ones I use for score marking. I explain the hotel lady that my pencils are stolen with the car and that I need that exact pencil to mark the new scores. She hands it over with no hesitation, happy to be of help. Those pencils are rare, I assure you. It’s much more difficult to find one of those in Prague than to find the right Bruckner score. One more problem is solved. Let the score marking begin. We take a taxi to the airport and rent a car to continue our journey to Romania. The taxi driver is positive my next car should be a Ford. “Volkswagen Passat’s are stolen daily here.” 

Not convinced by the copied Bruckner score with two-hundred-eight loose sheets and tiny notes, I decide to give it another try. After all, a score is for a conductor what a chart is for a captain, or, if you want, a sea kayaker. It’s the Musik Wissenschaftlige Verlag Wien, the Bruckner edition, that receives the phone call with the question whether they have the score of Bruckner Third Symphony, version 1889 in stock. The answer is: “Jawohl”.

Vienna is not very much of a detour. Normally we would drive ‘ Prague – Bratislava – Budapest’ to go to Romania, but ‘ Prague – Vienna – Budapest’  will lead us through some pretty Czech and Slovakian countryside. In Vienna we can also buy new tails and other clothes. We can pick up the score in the music store that is situated in the same building of the Bruckner editors, in the Dorotheergasse, heart of Vienna. They will close at half past six. I am afraid won’t make that in time, we are still driving close to Prague and don’t have a GPS anymore.  Also, it has started to snow. “Is there anybody that can bring the score anywhere in Vienna this evening? I have to start marking the new score tonight in order to be ready for the rehearsal on Monday.” A helpful lady, Ms Pachovsky from the Bruckner edition, one of the scientists that does the research to the different versions of Bruckner’s works, has a solution. She will go to a concert in Vienna tonight and will bring the score with her. At twenty past seven she will be at the stage door of the famous Musikverein, the golden concert hall from which the traditional yearly New Year’s concert with the Vienna Philharmonic is broadcast. With a bit of courage on the road it should be possible to be in time.

to be continued, stay tuned!

How Bruckner chased us through Europe (part 3)

It starts to darken early, here at the beginning of the time zone. It’s cold and windy, and raining cats and dogs. Really, the weather is terrible. We cross the river. It looks violent and hostile. In the early days they threw people into the river from the Charles Bridge. Hands and feet bound. How many millions of litres of water have streamed under this bridge since? Kim tells more scary stories of the city’s history. Dripping wet we enter the stage door of the famous Dvorak Hall. The man who guards the building from intruders sits up, looks pitying at us and passes the pile of scores as if he hands over his car keys to a vagabond. I go through the pile. None of the scores have the expected version titles nor numbering, so I have to reconstruct by memory if one of these scores is the version that corresponds with the parts they have in Romania. It’s not looking good. A group of musicians walk toward the exit. I ask them if one of them has the phone number of the cellist Michal Kanka.

One of the musicians, also a cellist, does not have the requested phone number but does have a library card. Thomas, second cellist of the orchestra, takes us through the wet and dark streets of Prague centre, toward the library.  The rain is not very convenient when the umbrellas are stolen with the car. The cellist walks us to a beautiful old building with modern interior. Inside the library you have to select your books on a computer screen. It will take about half an hour for the books to become available. The helpful musician stays with us as long as he can before he has to go back to the orchestra to warm up for the concert, which starts at half past seven. He will leave us tickets at the stage door. We might be able to make it to the second half.

In about half an hour they are brought up from the gloomy catacombs to see the neon light. They had twelve, twelve different scores of Bruckner Three! And indeed, the last one, a tiny little study score, was the right one. It is published by the Musikwissenschaftlige Verlag Wien, the only trustworthy Bruckner source and exactly the same score that I lost, albeit a lot smaller. This is great news. Unfortunately the masterwork is not allowed to leave the building. While I start to copy the score on an ancient machine, Kim starts her hunt for coins, first throughout the book house and soon in every possible pub and restaurant nearby. Twenty pages per five minutes, two-hundred-eight pages in all. The library will close at eight pm. Kim goes in and out, bringing small coins like a bird feeding her chicks, so that I can continue the copying. At five minutes to eight, after three announcements in Czech stating that the library is about to close for the day, there are still thirty more pages to copy. I work like crazy. At promptly eight o’clock the lights are switched off. We are in the dark. The green light of the copier throws empty shadows on the walls. The place feels spooky. In no time the guard comes alongside. Quickly I explain to him what happened and why there is no way we are leaving yet. He doesn’t seem to understand much of what I am saying, but I calculated that by the time he would have the police there to throw us out, we would be ready. At three minutes past eight, under loud protest, but with all of the pages of the correct Bruckner Three, we are thrown out of the building and march through the wet darkness back to the concert hall.

We walk quickly to be in time for the second part of the concert, Tchaikovsky’s Pathetique. The guard at the stage door has changed. If possible, this new face looks even more astonished to see the two drowned people entering in their sodden street clothes. There are no tickets from Thomas. He looks in every corner of his desk. Thomas must have forgotten. Our story however, made its rounds in the orchestra field; a woman from the administration heard about the car theft of the Dutch conductor, and gives us two tickets that have not been collected. I thought I saw the word ‘ambassador’ written on the envelope she took the tickets from. Apparently a cultural barbarian didn’t show up. Armed with two tickets we have to walk around the building back into the pouring rain to go to the main entrance, up the monumental stairs rising between the dark dripping statues.

In the foyer ten astonishingly well dressed older men hang visibly bored on the sides of the wardrobe. Three of them jump up to prevent the two homeless from entering the building. “We are here to listen to the second half of the concert sir”... disbelief on their faces is the only answer. Being quite silly by now, I start to conduct and sing the opening of Tchaikovsky’s Pathetique. It evokes the other men to jump up. ”Silence, silence! There is a concert going on here.” I am sure they make more noise than I do. We are asked whether we have tickets... oh, yes of course, tickets, the magical papers. “Here you are.”  I can feel their eyes burning into in my back when we walk up the marble staircase where Dvorak once walked, leaving a trail of water and mud behind us.

To be continued, stay tuned!

 

How Bruckner chased us through Europe (part 2)

I think I see from a distance.... no car. Jestingly I say to Kim, “Stolen”. It happens so often that you don’t see it at first sight, but it’s always there after all. Well... not so this time. No car. It must have been towed away. I’d read something on the internet about parking in Prague, about the blue zones, only for residential. We go to the nearest police station to find out where it has been towed to, where we can pick it up. I am hoping it won’t be as expensive as in Amsterdam.

After a few hours waiting in the police station, (the Prague police are in no hurry), they come to announce in their best English that the car has not been towed away. “Car is stolen” a lady proclaims with a think ‘L’ in a heave Slavic accent. It was quite a nice Volkswagen Passat that I bought only two months ago. I have to say here that Kim and I are quite good in putting things into perspective. We joke to each other, “they have good taste, they’ve selected a nice car”. According to the police it takes the pro’s only twenty seconds to steal it. Unfortunately all of my scores, our clothes and concert clothes, and our speaking Europe guide that consults the satellites were in the car. Among the scores are the pieces I have to conduct next week, Bruckner third symphony, version 1889 and a new work from a Romanian composer, Ede Terenyi, who’s score not even exists in print yet. All the markings in red and blue, with the special Faber Castel pencils that one can only buy in Germany, show the hundreds of hours of work that are saved in these stolen scores.

Bruckner revised his symphonies regularly. The insecure composer was always busy to improve his works. The modest man wasn’t aware of his genius, being of humble origin. It would be quite a treasure-hunt to find the right score here in Eastern Europe. I know the orchestra in Romania only has the orchestral parts, not the conductor’s score. Full of courage and hope we begin the search for another score. We used most of the day to deal with all necessary duties that are required when a car is stolen. Most of these duties we achieve from the police station where we find a wireless internet connection. The score search starts with a phone call to the London management of a famous Czech conductor, Jiri Belohlavek. I realise how small and connected the classical music world is. No luck there, he is conducting in the States. Another option would be an acquaintance, the Prague cellist Michal Kanka. However, the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra in Prague looks like a better first option. I call the orchestra and speak to the librarian, to find out if they have Bruckner third symphony in the 1889 version. More luck there. They have a few Bruckner Three’s but none of them state the version.  The friendly and helpful lady will leave all these scores at the stage door administration desk. After finally finishing all the formalities at the police headquarters we start walking through the historic city to Prague’s principal orchestra.

To be continued, Stay Tuned..... 

How Bruckner chased us through Europe

The rehearsals with the Targu Mures State Symphony Orchestra in Romania have begun. We will perform the third symphony of Anton Bruckner. I am working towards my ideal sound of this master work. Below you can read how the concept of this piece has been developed in a very adventuress way over the past days.

Kim and I decide to drive via Prague, on the way to Romania. Kim will discover the city and I will have the solitude to study the scores that I will conduct in Romania. It’s late when we arrive in the city. It took us the whole day to drive to the Czech Republic and we made a stop to visit Karlovy Vary, a wealthy spa town, where Kim gave concerts during a tour with her chamber choir many years ago. In Prague we find our hotel in a quiet neighbourhood on the left bank of the river Vltava, not far from the Charles Bridge. It’s a sweet little hotel, booked via internet. We stay on the highest floor in a small attic room. Only the first and fifth floors of this ancient building are a part of the hotel. The other floors are houses, occupied with Prague people. We bring the most necessary stuff upstairs and go back to park the car and get a bite to eat.

The next morning the eagerness to work starts early. After a quick breakfast we walk to the car to get the scores out. I am looking forward to finding one of the renowned grand cafe’s of Prague. Kim, guarded with her Prague travel guides, will do the city. At least, this is the plan. That the day would develop differently was something we could not foresee...

To Be Continued, Stay Tuned....

Pictures of an Exhibition, Wine and Blogs

Who would have ever known that the president of the Powell River Academy of Music would inspire me to create a blog about the life of an orchestra conductor. After studying the score of Pictures of an Exhibition (what a breathtaking beautiful line in the trumpet before rehearsal no. 74 in Catacobae) and a meeting regarding the 500 walk-on passengers that we expect to come over with BC ferries to the first  SOAP matinee concert, I first caramelized the onions for dinner, that was acompanied with an Argentinean Cabernet Sauvignon, before starting this first blog. I will tell you more about SOAP later, and about other adventures of the life of an orchestra conductor. Stay tuned...