Perceived as true

Alexander Soddy. It's a name that lights up the eyes of critics, audiences, musicians, colleagues and employees. This is because Soddy combines the craft of a conductor with the expertise of a great performer and also radiates an unruffled enthusiasm for music in every form. Internationally sought-after, he is also a resounding name in Vienna, regularly delighting audiences at the Haus am Ring. He will now conduct Der Rosenkavalier here for the first time.

Sometimes, when talking about works such as Rosenkavalier or Ariadne auf Naxos, the question arises: text or music? Not as opposites, but in the sense of: Both are incredibly brilliant, Hugo von Hofmannsthal and Richard Strauss were congenial, but does one level touch you even more? Would that be the music for you?

For me, the word "or" does not fit in this context. The music is even more touching precisely because of the wonderful text; the poet Hofmannsthal shows an indescribably subtle, nuanced understanding of the human psyche - and Strauss' music gives it an almost eternal dimension. The two simply complemented each other so perfectly! It's an old saying that also applies this time: the whole is more than the sum of its parts. I, for one, cannot separate text and music. Let's just take the final sonnet, which remains in everyone's ears - it is one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written. At the same time, it is rooted in the deepest emotional and human moments. What happens there emotionally is indescribable.

Let's stay with the final tenor. How do you deal with it as a conductor? Just listening to it raises the heart rate, the emotional melting point is reached after a few bars. As a conductor, however, you must not melt.

Unfortunately not - but it's an interesting question! When I conducted my first Rosenkavalier several years ago, the emotionality of the finale almost overwhelmed me. I first had to learn to control myself in such a moment. You mustn't forget that even as a young musician you dream of these moments, these absolute climaxes of music that almost take your breath away. This is where experience comes into play, namely that you also have to be able to manage and control your emotional forces well. Because if you allow yourself to be completely carried away by the music, you run the risk, as you put it, of melting away. For performers, however, this is not an option.

We have this image in our minds of the elderly Richard Strauss conducting, standing there almost phlegmatically, with his hand in his pocket, as it were. To us today, he seems surprisingly uninvolved. Would that be going too far as a model of self-control?

As a young conductor, you want to motivate a lot, show a lot, demonstrate, you are full of energy - and that is completely normal and a good thing. Then you realize over the years that you don't become less enthusiastic, but perhaps more economical. Sometimes so much happens in the orchestra and on stage at the same time that a certain restraint and efficiency are necessary. Not only in terms of the language of movement, but also in terms of expression. If a conductor becomes downright hyperactive and over-emotional, he may no longer be able to express himself clearly enough. So you have to keep calm in your head - and convey it. Of course, this doesn't mean that you shouldn't and mustn't show emotion, joy and enthusiasm. But a conductor still has to show the way and keep an overview.

It was precisely this joy and enthusiasm that could be experienced a few weeks ago at the Musikverein when you conducted a concert by the Vienna Symphony Orchestra. There was incredible happiness written all over your face. Do you feel the same way - or is it a matter of motivation for you?

As a musical director, you have to be authentic and not pretend. This is essential in all management positions, but especially at the conductor's desk. After all, musicians have a very keen sense and can immediately smell a lack of honesty. So it's all about the real reaction, the true feeling. And authority can only spring from this truth. In other words: Only if I believe in something and present it can I be convincing and carry people away. After all, you must not forget that in an orchestra you have a hundred people in front of you. Of course, not all one hundred can agree with everything you say straight away. Not every tempo, not every dynamic is perceived as right by everyone per se. And now the truth comes into play: Only if I believe in something convincingly, authentically, truly, will everyone follow me and share my path. The musicians want to know what I discover behind the notes, so I have to communicate what is happening in my heart, in my head, what moves me and why. The joy you saw was a real joy. In the music, but also in the fact that I can play wonderful works with this orchestra. I feel it - and I show it.

At the State Opera, you also conducted Elektra by Strauss on several occasions. These were evenings that have now achieved almost legendary status. All those who were there rave about the transparency, unity and expressiveness of the sound. How do you create such a sound?

First of all, I would say that it's down to the orchestra. And this is not a case of false modesty on my part: In order to achieve the sound you describe, you need musicians of great quality. And in my opinion, there is no other opera orchestra like this one anywhere else in the world. The musicians have the ability to play with a beautiful sound and finely differentiated dynamics even under technically incredibly challenging conditions. We all know that playing quietly is technically more difficult than simply breaking down a complex passage loudly and quickly. What I need first and foremost as a conductor, building on this orchestral quality, is a very clear idea of the sound I want to achieve. If I have this very precisely within me, it is clearly expressed through my body, through my gestures. But how do you get such a concrete and precise idea of the sound? By really having the score completely in your head. Only when you know every pizzicato, every dynamic, every instrumental entry, do you develop the competence you need. A second aspect is experience. Over time, you learn how much you need to show at this or that point, what it needs - and what it doesn't need. This clarity conveys security, and when an ensemble feels this, it can concentrate on something other than the purely technical level.

Let's go back to Der Rosenkavalier. If you live with this opera for years, you understand the characters better and better. Some people say that they were initially attracted to the very young Octavian and later to the more mature and wiser Marschallin. Where are you now?

Precisely because Hofmannsthal designed the characters so uniquely, they are ultimately timeless and universal representatives of the human condition. They show elements that we all carry within us. This is perhaps more about generations than about individual, specific people. Octavian and Sophie are one generation, the Marschallin is another. But perhaps Octavian will one day become a field marshal and Sophie a marshal. I also have the feeling that both Strauss and Hofmannsthal had a nuanced relationship with all the characters, that they were able to portray the women as well as the men. That was undoubtedly very modern at the time it was written! Of course, as a young man I understood Octavian very well, but I think I was always a little impressed by the Marschallin at the same time. But that's no wonder: she is one of the truly special characters in the entire history of opera.

The whole thing is called a comedy in the subtitle. How do you really taste the mixture of emotion, which this opera undoubtedly evokes, and the crisp comedy? Strauss repeatedly called for the coarse side.

I think it's all about the mixture of both worlds. The comedy is important in order to bring out the touching moments even better through a contrasting effect. The Rosenkavalier must not become too heavy; if you lay on the sentimentality too thick, the work is no longer balanced. And finally, humor is sometimes the last resort, especially in serious moments. The Marschallin's "Yes, yes" at the very end, for me that sums up the entire work. It needs a certain lightness, you shouldn't cry over the snow of the past year. What is the saying? "With a light heart and light hands, hold and take, hold and leave." That sums it up. We have the longing, the wanting-and-not-getting, the pining, but it also needs a lightness. And that is precisely why Der Rosenkavalier is so perfect: because it has both.