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Boston Symphony Tour, Day 14: Lucerne

EVEN BETTER

Performing some of the world’s greatest music in the world’s greatest concert halls with one of the world’s greatest orchestras led by one of the world’s greatest conductors—it doesn’t get better than that, right?

Well, maybe it does. I’d bet many of my colleagues would agree that as musicians there’s no feeling more gratifying and fulfilling than seeing former students thrive and succeed. When you consider the years of intensive, often grueling lessons that are part and parcel of helping a student achieve their musical goals; of being part parent, part counselor, sometimes part therapist to your student; helping them find suitable instruments to play on, summer programs to participate in, scholarships to audition for, colleges to apply to, seeing them wend their way through life is almost like seeing your own child grow up. And today, within the universe of the first paragraph’s superlatives, I had that very opportunity to see the fruits of my labors as a teacher.

One of my former students, Celeste Carruth of Logan, Utah, is currently living in Geneva. When she saw I was playing in Lucerne she contacted me and asked if I could give her a lesson. I had seen Celeste, a talented student, only once since she went off to college about ten years ago, and I hadn’t heard play at all. She had been a conscientious hard worker and had made good strides as a violinist in high school. However, I had no idea what level to expect of her current violin playing but in any event I said, sure. Why not? It’ll be opportunity for a pleasant reunion and we’ll have a nice lunch in Lucerne together.

So a friend of hers in Lucerne arranged for a room for the lesson at the Hochschule der Musik. At the top of a very high hill outside of town and up an additional 100 steps, it literally is a “high” school. Here’s a view from the Hochscule. I’d have a hard time concentrating on practicing scales from here:

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We met at 11:30 and it was wonderful to see my former student again. Celeste got out her violin and I asked her what she wanted to play for her lesson: Brahms Concerto, Prokofiev D Major Sonata, and Mozart A Major Concerto. Major repertoire. So far so good.

The ostensible reason Celeste wanted this lesson is that she’s hoping to audition for some of Europe’s major youth orchestras and this could be her audition repertoire. (Youth orchestras in Europe are different from what Americans call youth orchestras. They’re really orchestras of young professionals and have an extremely high level of music-making.) For the next two hours we had a splendidly productive lesson. I was very pleased, though not particularly surprised, that Celeste played as well as most conservatory students I’ve heard, with technical confidence and artistic understanding. The concepts and techniques we worked on at the lesson only made sense in the context of someone who already knows how to play at a very advanced level.

But that’s only half the story with Celeste. Along the way in her university studies—first at University of Michigan and then UC Berkeley— she picked up a little bit of physics. The reason she’s living in Geneva is that after earning her PhD last spring, she’s now doing anti-hydrogen research (don’t ask me to explain what that is) at the CERN European Organization for Nuclear Research particle accelerator (don’t ask me to explain what that is). See what practicing your scales can do?

So, yes, performing Mahler 3rd at the Kultur und Kongresszentrum with Andris Nelsons conducting the Boston Symphony was as wonderful an experience as any musician could ever ask for. But that’s not what made my day.

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Celeste and me.

For more heartwarming orchestra stories, you may enjoy SYMPHONIES & SCORPIONS

If you’re not into heartwarming, but prefer a gritty mystery in the world of classical music, go for SPRING BREAK, now available in paperback.

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Lake Lucerne is famous for its swans. But sometimes you can also spot a crane. (Such a bad joke. That’s why I saved it for last.)

 

 

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Boston Symphony Tour, Day 13: Vienna to Lucerne

I’ve got writer’s block today.  Bear with me. I’ll try to work through it.

The Boston Symphony arrived in Lucerne yesterday afternoon after another uneventful, uninteresting charter flight. “Cheese sandwich or chicken sandwich?” Today I choose chicken, but there’s nothing between the two pieces of bread that come close to imitating chicken. Better to call it a bread sandwich so that whatever’s inside will come as a pleasant surprise.

Lucerne, as always, somehow manages to retain its charm and elegance even as it becomes more and more tourist saturated. The lake, mountains, and its historic architecture are as beautiful as ever. Here’s visible proof. In previous posts I extoled the brilliance of Felix Mendelssohn as a musician. It turns out he was also a gifted artist. On the left is a watercolor Mendelssohn painted of Lucerne back in the 1830s. On the right is a photo I took today from a similar angle, though with the swarms of tourists it was hard to find a spot that wouldn’t have a head in it.

 

The other noteworthy feature of our first of two days in Lucerne is the famous coffee machine at the Kultur und Kongresszentrum concert hall where we performed tonight. As soon as we got to the hall for the pre-concert rehearsal, a dozen of us ran to the machine, which makes the best coffee in Europe (from scratch) with the touch of a button. (Maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.) To our great dismay, the machine was off and required a key to turn it on. In desperation we sought out and eventually found a hall staffer who turned it on for us.

Success? Not yet. The machine required “warming up” and the clock was ticking to our rehearsal. “How long?” we asked. “Be patient,” we were told. “Everyone knows this machine. That’s why we turn it off. Otherwise, we would run out of coffee.” I wanted to take a photo of the machine for this blog, but the hall manager would not permit it. He said no one is permitted to let the secret out. (I just made that up. I simply forgot to take a photo.)

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Kultur und Kongresszentrum, home of the famous coffee machine

The machine seems to be thumbing its nose at us. Should we wait, or should we go on stage and rehearse Shostakovich 4th and Bernstein Serenade? Our contract requires us to do the latter, not drink coffee, so we grudgingly obey our orders, casting gloomy looks over our shoulder at the intransigent machine.

But we have not given up! The rehearsal, only a 15-minute acoustical rehearsal, allows us a half-hour before the concert. Enough time to change into our concert dress, and yes, the coffee machine is cooperating! It has made its point, it seems to say. Once again, after our last trip to Lucerne two years ago—voila—a superior double espresso. Remaining alert through the Shostakovich will now be a piece of cake.

Did someone mention cake?

If you enjoyed this hastily written blog, you’ll certainly enjoy SYMPHONIES & SCORPIONS, an insider’s (my) look at life as a symphony musician, set against the backdrop of the BSO’s two historic tours to China.

 

Boston Symphony Tour, Day 12: Vienna

One for three ain’t bad.

Today was a free day (until our rehearsal and concert this evening). I didn’t feel like just wandering around aimlessly nor did I want to go to one of the many huge, standard art museums yet again. Believe me, I’ve seen enough Klimts for a lifetime.

So this morning I got out a city map and looked for destinations off the beaten track. I came up with two that seemed especially promising: The Museum of Fantastic Art, and the Collection of Anatomical Pathology in the Madhouse Tower.

Strike One: It was about a twenty-minute walk to the Museum of Fantastic Art near the center of the city. When I finally found it, a hawker outside grabbed me and said,

“You want tickets for the show tonight?”

“I’m working tonight.”

“How about tomorrow night?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow. What’s the museum like?”

“It’s closed for two months.”

So much for the Museum of Fantastic Art.

Strike Two: I got out my trusty city map and plotted my way to the Madhouse Tower. Another hour of walking to find the Madhouse Tower. After inquiring in a few places along the way, I finally found it on the campus of the University of Vienna. When I arrived at the monolithic cylindrical tower at 11:45 it was not difficult to see it was under major renovation. I wasn’t even sure it would be open, so I ask a workman how to get in. He showed me to a back door with a broken window, but told me it was closed until 1:00.

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Madhouse Tower

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Temporary Museum Entrance

So I bided my time at a nice outdoor cafe on campus and had some really good weisswurst (steamed, not grilled, as is proper) and a beer and went back to the madhouse at 1:00. Inside the broken door were a few young people wearing white lab coats, but they looked very perplexed when they saw me. I asked if I could get a tour. They asked if I were part of a group.

“No, just me.”

“Sorry, we only give group tours on Tuesdays. Come back tomorrow.”

“I’m leaving for Lucerne,” I said, and explained about the concert tour.

“We have a group that is supposed to come at 1:00. If they show up you can join them. Otherwise, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll pay for a tour if you want.”

“My boss isn’t here. I’m not allowed.”

So I waited a while. No group showed up so I never got in, but I did speak to a nice guy who was a medical student/tour guide and told me about the history of the madhouse. I was comforted to know it’s no longer a madhouse nor, as it was for a long time, a residence for university professors, but simply a museum which displays an excellent exhibit of skin diseases and a Siamese twin. Next time, perhaps.

Home Run: At 4:30 I met a Viennese clarinet player for the first time, though we had maintained a correspondence for eight years. Proposed get-togethers on two previous BSO tours to Vienna hadn’t panned out, but this one did. First we had some excellent coffee at a coffee shop whose name I can’t remember, but Mahler used to go there, so it was very meaningful. Then, after I told him that I was music director of the Vivaldi by Candlelight chamber orchestra series in Salt Lake City, his eyes lit up.

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Antonio Vivaldi

“You know, Vivaldi is buried right down the block.”

I didn’t know that.

We strolled past the Musikverein and very soon found ourselves at the massively ornate St. Charles Cathedral. Once upon a time there was a graveyard next to it, and that’s where Vivaldi was buried. (The funeral had taken place at St. Stephens a half-mile away.) There was a plaque on a building indicating the fact. Sadly, Vivaldi died impoverished. It is believed he had gone to Vienna to try to resurrect his flagging career under the sponsorship of Emperor Charles VI, who appreciated Vivaldi and his music. But unfortunately for Vivaldi, Charles died, leaving him without a source of income.

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Charles Church

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Plaque indicating Vivaldi’s burial place.

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Detail of Carl Cathedral from 1780, showing where Vivaldi was buried.

A sad ending for Vivaldi, but a happy ending for my excursion. And then, of course, was the performance of the Bernstein Serenade and Shostakovich Fourth at the Musikverein. Not exactly the Four Seasons, but I’ll take it.

Interested in Vivaldi By Candlelight? Here’s a SAMPLE.

Searching for your own adventure? Try MISTER E’S MYSTERIES.

Boston Symphony Tour, Day 11: Leipzig-Vienna

Living Monuments

With free time limited by travel, rehearsals, and concerts, as soon as the bus doors open the musicians hightail it to restaurants, museums, historic sites, and shopping. (Though someone please tell me what shoes can you get in Vienna that you can’t get in Boston.)

We’re fortunate that in a city like Vienna, one of those historic sites is also our workplace. The Musikverein is one of a handful of the world’s great concert halls, the others being in the Philharmonie in Berlin and Concertgebouw in Amsterdam—both of which are also on our present tour—and Symphony Hall in Boston. I’m told the new Disney Hall in LA is right up there, but I’ve never played there so I can’t say one way or the other. And of course there’s Carnegie Hall in New York, which might still bask in its former glory, but as a result of its disastrous renovation in 1986, which restored its sheen but damaged its acoustics, it has definitely seen its status suffer.

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Musikverein in Vienna

Backstage at the Musikverein is a warren of cubbyhole rooms and endless stairways that always seem to end up at the wrong floor. Wardrobe trunks? No, those are downstairs. Instrument trunks? Those are upstairs. Where the hell’s the stage? Upstairs again. I’m exhausted. Take the elevator. What elevator? Over there. Oh. It looks like a freight elevator. It’s that, too. The sign says, “The button light doesn’t go on, but the elevator is working.” I’ll keep that in mind for tomorrow night.

And the stage is cramped, even without the chorus that sings in the monumental Mahler 3rd that we’re performing. The risers are narrow, and the ancient music stands threaten to topple over. One almost does. It’s hard to find a way to see your music and the conductor at the same time without twisting your back in a manner suitable only for contortionist. One level of audience seating is at the same level as the stage, so when you walk onstage, members of the audience are right next to you.

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Gustav Mahler

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Johannes Brahms

Yet, what a great concert hall! Artistically, it spectacular. To know that giants like Brahms and Mahler conducted on the same stage on which we’re performing is inspiration enough, but it’s really the acoustics that make it a pleasure to play in. Somehow, each instrument sounds the way it is supposed to sound—however vague that description is—yet everyone blends together. You can play extremely softly without fear the sound won’t project, and you can also play very loudly without worrying you’ll damage anyone’s eardrums. We’ll be able to test that hypothesis tomorrow, when we perform Shostakovich 4th.

A postscript.

Who’s the most popular, successful composer in the history of Vienna? Not necessarily the greatest, mind you, which, because of everyone’s personal taste is impossible to determine, but the most popular, which is easier to pin down. Not Mozart. Not Beethoven. Not Schubert. Not even Brahms or Mahler. Shoenberg? Just joking. The most popular composer in Viennese history, hands down, is Johann Strauss, Jr. Yes, his music isn’t profound. It’s not complicated. But his compositional skills are first rate as an orchestrator and melodist, and he had an unerring understanding of what audiences loved. I consider Strauss a great composer.

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Strauss monument, Vienna

 

Don’t take my word for it. Guess whose music was commissioned to be premiered at the ball which opened the Musikverein in 1870? Brahms and Strauss became good friends in their later years, and when Strauss’s wife asked Brahms to sign her autograph fan, he wrote down the first bars of The Blue Danube, adding “Leider nicht von Johannes Brahms” (“Unfortunately, not by Johannes Brahms“). So why, may I ask, do we never perform Strauss at a symphony concert? Have we really become so jaded as performers and audiences that the “Emperor Waltz” or “Roses from the South” or “Die Fledermaus” is beneath us?

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Strauss and Brahms

Let’s take a poll. Ayes or nays for Johann Strauss?

If you want more weird theories about orchestras on tour: SYMPHONIES & SCORPIONS

 

 

 

Boston Symphony Tour, Day 10: Bach’s Leipzig

In Search of Bach

A free day on tour! It’s almost like a vacation. What to do with all that time? Well, it’s Leipzig so it’s a no-brainer. A Bach adventure. One of the Gewandhaus musicians has graciously offered to take a couple dozen of us on a Bach walking tour. He is the ideal guide because 1) he has done amazingly thorough research on the life of JS Bach, and 2) he’s as tall as a six-foot-eight linden tree, so we can never get lost.

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Leipzig from my hotel room. (Actually, it’s a model of the city in 1750 at the Old Rathaus Museum)

The tour starts in a grassy area, in front of the Grassi Museum, all of which was once the site of the city cemetery where, we are told, Bach, who died in 1750, might have been buried. Many years later, when the area was converted to other purposes, a cadaver which might have been Bach, but, according to our guide, probably not, was conveyed to the Saint Thomas church where he had worked. This corpse has been and is currently the destination of thousands of Bach pilgrims. Why not?

Inside the Grassi museum itself is a marvelous and extensive musical instrument collection, including a wide variety of instruments used in Leipzig during Bach’s tenure there. We learn that, contrary to popular belief, the clavichord and not the organ was his favorite instrument.

After a ten-minute walk we enter the Old Rathaus (city government) Museum. There we learn that Bach’s famous contentious relationships with the local government and with church authorities and with the music school were probably not as contentious as is usually purported. We also learn that, given the written evidence of his investments in silver mines on top of his various salaries, he was a pretty wealthy guy and that his wife, Anna Magdalena, probably was not the destitute widow, living in abject poverty, that is the usual story line. At the museum we also see the single portrait of Bach that was painted in his lifetime, which is (almost) certainly him.

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JS Bach, most likely him.

From there we proceed to Saint Thomas, where, we’re told, his primary place of employment as a composer was not there but at Saint Nicholas. It was as a teacher as well as composer that connects him more to Saint Thomas; the irony being he had a contract not granted to anyone else which permitted him to find substitutes to teach in his stead.

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Saint Nicholas at Night

Rather than going into Saint Thomas or admiring the famous Bach statue in front of it, we continue another hundred feet to a small grassy area, where we’re shown a memorial statue with Bach’s likeness at the top, the construction expenses for which Felix Mendelssohn himself had raised the money with three benefit concerts, almost a hundred years after Bach’s death. The statue is not quite in its original location, and it has been turned 90-degrees, so the symbolic engravings on each side no longer line up with the intended sources of their inspiration. At the other end of this tiny park is the statue of Mendelssohn, which I wrote about yesterday.

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Mendelssohn’s memorial to Bach. Me (most likely) in front.

Capping off the walking tour, we walked to Zimmerman’s Coffee Shop, which hosted concerts for which Bach wrote some of his greatest compositions. Well, actually, it was only the site of the coffee shop, with a plaque on a modern building noting its location. And, as it turns out, it’s the wrong location. And, wouldn’t you know, Bach probably didn’t have much to do with the concerts, either.

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Rewarding myself with a pork knuckle of the kind Bach might have enjoyed.

So, what do we know for sure about Bach? Turns out, not that much. But there’s only one thing that’s truly important: THE MUSIC.

 

 

 

If you enjoyed this walking tour of Leipzig, you can enjoy a whirlwind concert tour of China and Japan from the comfort of your living room: SYMPHONIES & SCORPIONS

 

 

 

 

 

 

Boston Symphony Tour, Day 9: Leipzig

Best wishes from Felix and me for a happy Jewish New Year (5779 on the calendar).

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Mendelssohn and me. (He’s in the back.)

Being here in Leipzig with the Boston Symphony, performing at the history-laden Gewandhaus, at this particular juncture is thought-provoking because of the confluence of time and place: the New Year and being in a city where the influence of Felix Mendelssohn is still palpable. Mendelssohn was the Leonard Bernstein of his era. Even more. A greater composer than Bernstein, he not only was music director of the Gewandhaus Orchestra, he raised its reputation to being one of the greatest ensembles in Europe and in the process, defined the role of the modern symphony conductor. When he died in 1847, still in his 30s, an entire continent mourned. [See Library of Congress article below.] Yet a proposed monument in his memory that was going to be erected in front of the Gewandhaus was mothballed, in part because of the instigation of Richard Wagner and his infamous diatribe against Jews. [See “Judaism in Music,” below]. As a result, it was not until 1892 before a Mendelssohn statue was unveiled. Then, in 1936, it was removed by the Nazis in the dead of night. [See “Cultural Liquidation in the Third Reich,” below.] An exact replica of the Mendelssohn statue was ultimate recreated and erected in 2008.

The point being, it is my hope for the New Year that the demonization of Jews, Moslems in Christian countries, Christians in Moslem countries, Latinos, African Americans, Rohingyas, LGBT, or of any other vulnerable group I might have unwittingly left out, will end. I know that’s a tall order, but at least we can start to turn the corner. It’s about time.

 

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Felix Mendelssohn monument, Leipzig

 

Library of Congress article about Mendelssohn and the Gewandhaus Orchestra

By late 1834, at the age of twenty-six, Mendelssohn had risen to the top of his profession, gaining the respect of his peers throughout Europe as the consummate professional musician: a leading conductor, brilliant performer and teacher, a composer of major status, and musico-historical scholar. In that year alone he had entertained and consequently declined several coveted positions including the directorship of the Munich opera, a professorship at the University of Berlin, the editorship of the Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung, and a correspondent’s post with Robert Schumann’s popular Neue Zeitschrift für Musik. During this same period of time a concerted effort by several members of the board of directors for the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra was underfoot to entice this prestigious figure as their conductor.

The Gewandhaus Orchestra, which began its first season in November of 1781, had developed over time into one of Europe’s prominent ensembles, attracting the most talented composers and virtuosos of the Classical era. It was under the leadership of Mendelssohn however, who served as director from 1835 to 1847, that this ensemble was transformed into a cultural institution. Idolized from the beginning of the 1835-36 concert season, Mendelssohn the conductor displayed an indefatigable passion in his quest for musical perfection, and established a broadened orchestral repertory that ultimately developed into the musical canon that continues to be the underpinning of concert life today; his outstanding musical accomplishments at the Gewandhaus were publicly acknowledged and supported by Schumann in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik. He sponsored several premières including Schumann’s first, second and fourth symphonies as well as his own E minor Violin Concerto, and promoted fundraising through benefit concerts. Mendelssohn the composer and pianist also garnered the highest of accolades from his Leipzig following, performing his own piano concerti as well as those by Mozart, Beethoven and Bach.

 

Wikipdia article about “Judaism in Music,” by Richard Wagner

Wagner was also emboldened by the death of Mendelssohn in 1847, the popularity of whose conservative style he felt was cramping the potential of German music. Although Wagner had shown virtually no sign of anti-Jewish prejudice previously[3] (despite the claims by Rose in his book Wagner, Race and Revolution,[4] and others), he was determined to build on Uhlig’s articles and prepare a broadside that would attack his artistic enemies, embedded in what he took to be a populist Judeophobic context.

Wagner claims that the work was written to:

explain to ourselves the involuntary repellence possessed for us by the nature and personality of the Jews, so as to vindicate that instinctive dislike which we plainly recognize as stronger and more overpowering than our conscious zeal to rid ourselves thereof.[5]

Wagner holds that Jews are unable to speak European languages properly and that Jewish speech took the character of an “intolerably jumbled blabber”, a “creaking, squeaking, buzzing snuffle”, incapable of expressing true passion.[6] This, he says, debars them from any possibility of creating song or music. He also states:

Although the peculiarities of the Jewish mode of speaking and singing come out the most glaringly in the commoner class of Jew, who has remained faithful to his father’s stock, and though the cultured son of Jewry takes untold pains to strip them off, nevertheless they shew an impertinent obstinacy in cleaving to him.[7]

The essay is riddled with the aggressiveness typical of many Judeophobic publications of the previous few centuries. However Wagner did introduce one striking new image, which was to be taken up after him by many later antisemitic authors:

So long as the separate art of music had a real organic life-need in it […] there was nowhere to be found a Jewish composer…. Only when a body’s inner death is manifest, do outside elements win the power of lodgement in it—yet merely to destroy it. Then, indeed, that body’s flesh dissolves into a swarming colony of insect life: but who in looking on that body’s self, would hold it still for living?[9]

 

Cultural Liquidation in the Third Reich, by Dr. Keith Barlow

THE night of November 9-10 1938, is widely known as the Pogrom Night. This was when nazis all over Germany burned down synagogues, ransacked Jewish businesses and attacked Jews in their homes, with the police arresting them en masse.

This was then the climax of a long period of hatred towards the Jews and the ferocious attempts of seeking to eradicate all traces of Jewish life, history and culture in Germany. Leipzig was no exception.

Not so widely known is that in the city, two years to the day before the Pogrom Night, the monument in honour of the prominent Jewish composer Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy (1809-47) simply disappeared overnight without trace from in front of Leipzig’s great concert hall, the Gewandhaus.

At this time, the London Philharmonic Orchestra, led by the prominent conductor Sir Thomas Beecham, was on what was viewed as a highly controversial concert tour of Germany, given the political situation there.

This included Leipzig. In the evening of November 9 1936, 80 years ago to this very day, the London Philharmonic Orchestra laid a wreath at this statue.

The following morning, it just wasn’t a case of the wreath no longer being there but the statue itself.

Apart from its foundations, consisting of a granite base which was sold off to a stonemason in 1942, nothing was left. What actually happened to the bronze statue remains unknown.

Leipzig has long had a rich musical tradition with many prominent composers having lived and worked there.

Mendelssohn too. He lived there from 1835-41, working as a conductor as well as composing, and again from 1845 until his very early death in 1847.

In 1843 he founded the Leipzig conservatorium — the first high school for music in Germany — in the building of the Gewandhaus. He became an honourary citizen of Leipzig in the same year where he died.

The statue was originally erected on May 26 1892, 45 years after his death.

It was removed in the absence of, and against the orders of, the then Lord Mayor of Leipzig, Dr Carl Friedrich Goerdeler, who was on a business trip to Finland at the time.

Goerdeler, who can be described as a national conservative, became lord mayor following a lengthy selection procedure by Leipzig City Council in 1930.

Being neither a communist nor a social democrat, he was not affected by orders expelling politicians from office representing parties which were banned after the nazis took over in 1933.

By the time they came to power, Leipzig, as with many other cities in Germany, had a thriving Jewish community with Jews being prominent in commerce and in the city’s historical and cultural life.

When they took over, a hate campaign against Jews was in already in full swing so as to eradicate all influence and traces of Jewish life in the city, as well as in the rest of Germany.

This included the changing of street names, the destruction of Jewish businesses and persecution of the Jews. Goerdeler, despite being surrounded by nazis, did what he could to prevent attacks on Jewish life in the city under extremely difficult circumstances. He became increasingly critical of the nazis’ policies towards the Jews.

It was in May 1936 when nazi leaders in Leipzig initially demanded the removal of this statue.

Goerdeler resisted this. Having consulted Berlin, he made it clear that the highest authorities in Germany were sceptical, obviously aware of any negative image Germany would get from this.

Nevertheless, in September 1936, there was a massive press campaign in Leipzig against this statue.

This was supported by Goerdeler’s deputy, Rudolph Haake, a dedicated nazi.

Some time before the concert tour, Beecham approached Goerdeler and asked whether it would be possible to lay a wreath in front of the Mendelssohn statue and Goerdeler indicated that this would be welcomed.

However, while in Finland, Haake stepped in for him. It was he, in his absence, who ordered the removal of the statue on the grounds that as a Jew, said Haake, he “as such cannot be displayed as an exponent of a German city of music.”

Goerdeler, unable to secure its re-erection and despite his recent re-election as lord mayor, resigned.

Clearly, his status as lord mayor of a major city had by then crumbled to that of just being a figurehead.

Goerdeler, having earlier been deputy mayor of Koenigsburg (now Kaliningrad in the Russian Federation), had long worked in the field of local government.

He also served two short terms as the Reich’s price commissioner. Through all this he established wide contacts at the highest levels of industry in Germany.

It was on the basis of these contacts that he sought to build an opposition with like-minded people to Hitler.

After his resignation, he became director of the overseas sales department of the Robert Bosch company. This enabled him to travel abroad and expand his contacts.

The significance of his standing in such circles was such that had the assassination attempt on Hitler on July 20 1944 succeeded, he may well have become interim Reich chancellor.

Despite strongly denying any involvement in this, he was arrested and hanged in Berlin Ploetzensee on February 2 1945.

Following the defeat of the nazis in 1945, Leipzig, being in the east, came under the part of Germany which was until the founding of the German Democratic Republic (GDR) in 1949 under the Soviet occupation zone.

Despite immense difficulties following the war, the new lord mayor of Leipzig, Dr Erich Zeigner, and the Soviet military administration took the initial steps so as to restore Mendelssohn’s rightful place in Leipzig’s historical and cultural life. On October 2 1946, a plaque with key dates from the life of Mendelssohn was positioned in the very place in front of the ruins of the Gewandhaus where the demolished statue was originally erected.

On November 4 the following year, in commemmorating the centenary of his death, this plaque was replaced by a bust of Mendelssohn which was carved out of limestone.

In Leipzig during the GDR as well as since German unification, the city authorities have ensured that Mendelssohn’s rightful place in the music and cultural life of the city is fully honoured.

This is particlularly important as we are currently witnessing the forces of hatred once again on the march.

  • Dr Keith Barlow works for the German-Russian Centre Saxony on a research project of the history of the Jews in Leipzig.

 

For more on the life of a symphony musician: Symphonies & Scorpions

 

 

Boston Symphony Tour, Day 8: Berlin to Leipzig

A Musical Challenge

There being no concert for us in Leipzig tonight and no insurmountable challenges from inscrutable bathroom fixtures, I turned my attention to communications sent me by a friend of mine from Boston and a cousin living in England. Each separately sent me the link to this provocative challenge thrown down by The New York Times, called “5 Minutes That Will Make You Love Classical Music.” The Times asked a bunch of well-known musicians and music journalists the following question: “What are the five minutes or so — longer than a moment, shorter than a symphony — that you’d play for a friend to convince them to fall in love with classical music?”

Here’s the link:
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/06/arts/music/5-minutes-that-will-make-you-love-classical-music.html

My friend and cousin asked my opinion, which I offer at the end of this essay. But first of all, I think some of the responders were answering a different question than the one that was asked. The response many of them gave answered the question: What’s your favorite piece of music and why? Wrong question. In fact, as someone who has been as passionate about classical music and has performed as much of it as anyone for over half a century, I’d have to say that some of the choices in the Times article made me want to avoid listening to classical music like the plague.

I told my Boston friend and my cousin my personal choice. My Boston friend did not agree, which is very common for us, regardless of the topic. He wrote, “as seducers to classical music, from an emotional perspective, I’ll go with Bach double violin concerto, 2nd movement; or Beethoven 7th Symphony, 2nd movement; or Beethoven Violin Concerto, pick your five minutes.”

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JS Bach

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L. van Beethoven

I will agree that those three compositions are sublime, the pinnacles of classical music. It’s hard to imagine anything more beautiful or moving. And if your friend happens to be a highly intelligent, sensitive, cultured person who somehow has not been aware of the existence of classical music all her/his life, maybe those compositions will be the very ones to open the doors to a whole new world of beauty.

But my feeling is that I doubt most people who don’t enjoy classical music (which is most people); who believe classical music is an esoteric conceit of highbrow, rich, elitists; who watch every college football game every Saturday on their iPhones; who schedule their day around The Biggest Loser; and whose closest contact to classical music is Randy Travis, will be moved by subtly nuanced strains of Bach and Beethoven.

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R. Travis

No, sir. The hook that will most successfully land the uninitiated listener requires irresistibly tasty bait. In other words, something big and brassy and if at all possible with loud drums. Something like hot Cheetos that’s so appealing it’s addictive.

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H. Cheetos

Here’s my choice. It isn’t by any means my favorite piece of music, but everyone who has ever heard it wants to hear more classical music: the opening of Richard Strauss’s Also Sprach Zarathustra.

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R. Strauss

Discussion over.

Or not. What do you think?

 

I’d also welcome your opinion of my short story series, MISTER E’S MYSTERIES. The critics have called them “sparkling gems of the mystery genre,” but what do they know?