Opera & Catharsis

It definitely felt good. Most of it wasn’t planned, though—it just sort of happened on its own. Since opera is my great passion, it was clear to me from the very beginning that I wanted to work at a suitable theater. The path then fell into place logically: I’m going to a smaller theater, where I’ll serve as a répétiteur, work with singers, and thus build up a repertoire. Conducting came into the picture, and the classic path unfolded: first a small theater, then a larger one. First as a conductor, and eventually as General Music Director at the Komische Oper. That was fantastic because it allowed me to more or less work my way through the entire opera repertoire—and to do so in depth. I was also able to learn how to work with singers, how to guide them, breathe with them, and respond to them. This knowledge, acquired early on, was decisive for me. Basically, my career was a very natural path that I never really thought much about. Everything just fell into place.

Because I’m drawn to the vast repertoire and the challenge. I may not be the kind of person who would conduct La traviata a hundred times in a row; I’d much rather add something to the mix that I haven’t encountered yet. That was already the case back when I was a répétiteur. When people asked me after a run of Tosca whether I’d rather stage La Bohème or Carmen next, I’d choose Carmen. Not just because I wanted to learn something musically very different, but also because, in this way, I could learn something new about myself at the same time. I’ve always felt that if you only look in one direction, you’ll end up standing still.

Basically, I don’t care how well-known or obscure an opera is. Because I try to always approach a score during my studies as if I’d never seen it before, as if I were discovering everything anew. Nor should we ever forget what a privilege it is to be allowed to conduct such masterpieces. And let’s be honest: With these incredibly powerful works, you’re always 100 percent immersed in them. You literally burn yourself out on these pieces—and you’re more than happy to do so. Over and over again. Conducting Carmen is simply a deeply cathartic experience.

Kleiber was simply a genius! But regarding your general question: It’s very important to have a very precise idea of the sound in your head, in your heart, and in your senses. Only then can you convey something. Of course, everyone does this in their own way—and whether they succeed is for others to judge. In my opinion, you shouldn’t worry too much about the nature of this communication, but rather immerse yourself completely in the music and try —this might sound a bit cheesy—to become one with the music. An absolute prerequisite is that you lose yourself a little in the music without losing control. But—and I’ll emphasize this again—imagination is absolutely crucial: You have to hear, feel, and smell the sound internally first—and perhaps even see it!

One of his greatest strengths is his enormous passion for music. He is also a fantastic pianist and loves to work —that’s the good old school—loves to work with singers right at the piano. That’s something I consider extremely important. Added to that is his vast knowledge of the repertoire. But the most important thing is this infectious passion, no matter what the piece is or what musical genre it belongs to.

That is and has always been my first approach; the piano is, in a sense, my primary form of expression. I want to feel the music first through my fingers, with my fingers—that’s how I build a connection to it the fastest. After that, of course, comes the further development of the score, which takes place only partly at the piano—very often simply in my head or at my desk.

Well, I wouldn’t call it a real conducting school. For some time now, there has been a typical educational path in Hungary: the Zoltán Kodály method as “basic training” followed by the conservatory as a second step. But there is no such thing as a specific conducting technique.

Yes, that’s actually how it was. We both studied music in Vienna, and of course that included going to the Vienna State Opera to sit in the standing room. Back then, the seats weren’t numbered, which meant: You had to run up as fast as possible to snag a good spot, and then you’d mark it with a sweater or a scarf. It goes without saying that this sometimes led to bitter battles. And I once had such a battle with a pretty young woman—both of us speaking German at first— until, in the heat of the argument, we realized that our shared native language is Hungarian —and so, of course, the whole thing ended in laughter. That, too, is part of both our biographies, as is the fact that we—my wife is a composer —both owe a great deal to Vienna’s musical life professionally.

No, I actually started out as a composition major; conducting came a little later.

It helps me tremendously! Not only when it comes to gaining insights into a work, but above all because I’ve come to realize how important one’s own composition is to a composer. It’s like a child that you want to cherish and protect. Once you’ve realized this and experienced that feeling, you will always sense this love in the works of the great masters as well. You then approach a composition in an entirely different way, because: It is the beloved, one-of-a-kind child of a composer!