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| Image: Monika Rittershaus |
Of any performing musician
alive today, none has had a more formative influence on me than Bernard
Haitink. Not only did I hear my first Ring
– at the Royal Albert Hall, when the Royal Opera looked in grave danger of
never returning to Covent Garden – from him; it has remained musically one of
the very best. (Ironically, its sole rival would hail also from that same,
unpromising venue, under the direction of Daniel Barenboim.) I took the train down
from Cambridge and back every day, and stood right up in the Gallery, seemingly
miles from the stage. Not once did my feet tire, let alone my ears and mind.
Haitink’s integrity, wisdom, and communicative understanding gripped me from
beginning to end. I had barely attended any live opera, let alone Wagner, at
the time. Even without his quietly heroic plea on the day of Götterdämmerung, beseeching us in the
shortest of sentences to do what we could to defend an institution Rupert
Murdoch and philistine New Labour stood eager to consign to the flames, it
would have been an unforgettable experience. To me, it seemed, rightly or
wrongly, that he saved the Royal Opera. He certainly inspired me early on to
continue a Wagner journey that will most likely never end.
Since then, I have tried to hear him whenever I can: mostly here in London, occasionally elsewhere. In Amsterdam with the Chamber Orchestra of Europe for Brahms; in Zurich for Tristan (my one and only visit to date to cripplingly expensive Switzerland, but worth every penny); in Salzburg for Haydn’s Creation; but above all, since what proved, regrettably, his final Covent Garden appearance, for Parsifal in 2007, in concerts with the London Symphony Orchestra: time and time again, his musicianship, his inspiration of musicians and audience alike, have afforded an undemonstrative masterclass in that most unfashionable of virtues, musical ‘greatness’. We can chip away at that all we like, often with good reason. Bernard Haitink reminds us how and why it can still matter: not in terms of some throwback to an age of great ‘maestri’, but now, in the present, in our terms. May I wish him the happiest of ninetieth birthdays, and look forward to the next time I shall share in his artistry?
In the meantime, here is a link to my review of Haitink conducting Mahler’s Ninth Symphony with the LSO at the Proms in 2009: a performance I shall never forget.
Since then, I have tried to hear him whenever I can: mostly here in London, occasionally elsewhere. In Amsterdam with the Chamber Orchestra of Europe for Brahms; in Zurich for Tristan (my one and only visit to date to cripplingly expensive Switzerland, but worth every penny); in Salzburg for Haydn’s Creation; but above all, since what proved, regrettably, his final Covent Garden appearance, for Parsifal in 2007, in concerts with the London Symphony Orchestra: time and time again, his musicianship, his inspiration of musicians and audience alike, have afforded an undemonstrative masterclass in that most unfashionable of virtues, musical ‘greatness’. We can chip away at that all we like, often with good reason. Bernard Haitink reminds us how and why it can still matter: not in terms of some throwback to an age of great ‘maestri’, but now, in the present, in our terms. May I wish him the happiest of ninetieth birthdays, and look forward to the next time I shall share in his artistry?
In the meantime, here is a link to my review of Haitink conducting Mahler’s Ninth Symphony with the LSO at the Proms in 2009: a performance I shall never forget.
And here is his legendary recording of La Mer with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra:
