Mourning Seiji Ozawa

In the wake of the turmoil and terror of the 1960’s, the British-Hong Kong government launched the 1^st Hong Kong Arts Festival in 1973 to improve the cultural life of the city. This was when I first encountered Seiji Ozawa, one of the featured performers, conducting the New Japan Philharmonic. No, I did not attend any of his concerts, but somehow, I saw his picture on the festival brochure. My first reaction was, “This doesn’t look like a symphony conductor.”

 

It was only much later, that I realized that underneath the cool and “hip” image – the designer shirts he always wore, and the hippy beads that were part of his wardrobe at one time - he always conveyed, was a deeply serious musician and thinker, and one of the truly great conductors of the 20^th century. 

I try to imagine the courage it took for young Ozawa to board the freighter bound for Europe, taking the first steps of a musical journey that, with his talent and determination, eventually took him to every musical capital of the world. 

 

To my eternal regret, I have never attended a live performance by Seiji Ozawa. But thanks to those glory days of PBS, I was able to watch many of Ozawa’s Boston performances in the series aptly titled, “Evening at Symphony”. There are, of course, his extensive discography, performances with the Toronto Symphony, San Francisco Symphony, Boston Symphony, Vienna Philharmonic, Berlin Philharmonic and, in his later years, the Saito Kinen Orchestra, which he founded – a truly glistening list of great orchestras.

 

Ozawa’s close friend, composer and conductor John Williams says, “From a composer’s point of view, there are two types of conductors: the first will offer less than what your ‘inner ear’ imagined the music to be, and the second will infuse the music with a beauty that is beyond what you have imagined. Clearly, Seiji belongs to the much smaller second group.”

 

However, the talent of Ozawa did not preclude the malice of the critics’ pen. There has been a singular narrative in critical circles that refuses to admit Ozawa into the first rank of “great musicians”. Perhaps because of his Asian heritage, there had been comments about whether he really “felt” the music. In Boston, his musical home base for 29 seasons, reviews by critics like Richard Dyer had invariably been scathing. Towards the end of his tenure in Boston, even a few of his fellow orchestra musicians had their knives out for his departure. A musician who, thankfully, would remain unnamed, makes this insulting statement, “[Seiji] can memorize a menu, a telephone book, perhaps even King Lear, but he wouldn’t understand the poetry of the composition” – a statement the betrays the prejudice he had had to face in his years as a musician.

 

No, it is the opinions of his fellow musicians that I tend to trust, his friends and close colleagues – Peter Serkin, Rudolf Serkin, Kent Nagano, Jessye Norman, Yo-Yo Ma, Isaac Stern, Evgeny Kissin, Krystian Zimerman, Itzhak Perlman, Leonard Bernstein, Andre Previn, to really name just a few – loves to play and collaborate with him, and counted him as their close friend. 

 

His closest musical friend and comrade-in-arms was perhaps the late, great cellist and conductor Mstislav Rostropovich, who had met his share of great musicians and composers, writes after their initial encounter, “When I came back to Moscow, I said to Shostakovich, ‘Remember that name – Seiji Ozawa. For certain you will hear again about him.” The great cellist continues, “You are one of the best soldiers of music I have ever met in my life. I embrace you and I bow down before you, my dear, irreplaceable friend.”

 

Pianist and teacher Peter Serkin, whom Ozawa had known and mentored since his youth, movingly writes, “Rather than using music to project and further himself, Seiji takes a more humble route; he works to make himself a worthy vessel for the music and the composer.”

 

To talk about Ozawa’s great recordings would require a book-length article. One can think of his ground-breaking and still astounding recording of Messiaen’s Turangalila Symphony with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra, a disc that really put the Canadian orchestra on the musical map. Then there is his electrifying Le Sacre du printemps with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. His very moving performance of Mendelssohn’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, which some think of as his best recording with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Of course, the long list of recordings with his beloved Boston orchestra include some truly fine performances – a beautiful Faure disc, his Mahler cycle, Respighi’s Ancient Airs and Dances, Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker, Swan Lake and Sleeping Beauty, and Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet. His many fine recordings with the Saito Kinen Orchestra – also deserve much greater critical acknowledgment. 

 

During his tenure at the Boston Symphony Orchestra, Ozawa commissioned a total of 44 compositions. From his earliest days as conductor, he has been a dream conductor for contemporary composers. He was Messiaen’s own choice as conductor for his massive opera St. Francis of Assisi, which he rehearsed and conducted without a score. When he was reviewing a new work by composer Peter Lieberson, the young composer was impressed about how well he had studied the new score; it was as if the conductor is guiding the creator through his own composition.

To get a sense of Ozawa as a human being, one must be grateful to author Haruki Murakami for his recent volume, Absolutely on Music - Conversations with Seiji Ozawa. What comes across in reading these extended conversations is a humble man utterly devoted to his art, and without a trace of vanity or self-glorification. 

 

No talent, no matter how great, cannot be immune to old age and illness. Seiji Ozawa had suffered from cancer and various health challenges in his later years. Most recently, a wheelchair-bound and extremely frail-looking Ozawa conducted the Saito Kinen Orchestra in Beethoven’s Egmont Overture. At the end of the performance, the great conductor was overwhelmed and moved to tears by the greatness of the music. 

 

Today’s classical musicians seem to focus much on career and image. Music has, unfortunately, become a commodity to be exploited by managers and record companies. Ozawa himself was often surprised at the excitement he generates when he walks into a room. For him, it was the music, and nothing else, that really mattered. 

 

I will miss Seiji Ozawa very much. May he Rest in Peace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Conversations with Seiji Ozawa

Conductor Seiji Ozawa is far too modest a man to write an autobiography, or to have one written about him. During the early 2010’s, when Ozawa was recuperating from esophageal cancer and its many complications, the conductor sat down on many occasions with novelist Haruki Murakami to discuss his musical life, his views on music and on certain composers, as well as teaching. The result is this delightful and marvelous book of musical talk: Absolutely on Music – Conversations with Seiji Ozawa (Bond Street Books, 2016), a sort of Tuesdays with Morrie on music. This is probably as close as we will ever get to having a glimpse into the life of the great conductor.

The book is divided into six conversations/chapters, with shorter “interludes” in between. Ozawa and Murakami began their conversations with a discussion on Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 3, which Ozawa was, at the time, preparing to conduct. As a tangent, Ozawa shared his experience of being in the audience when Glenn Gould and Leonard Bernstein gave that infamous performance of Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 1 in D minor. Ozawa felt that Bernstein’s disclaimer before the performance was inappropriate. He and Murakami then discussed and compared Gould’s performance of Beethoven’s Third Piano Concerto with Herbert von Karajan (a live recording) as well as Leonard Bernstein (a studio recording), thereby highlighting the difference between the two master conductors, both of whom were mentors to Ozawa. They also compared recordings of pianist Rudolf Serkin’s two recordings of the same concerto, one with Bernstein, and the other one with Ozawa himself and the Boston Symphony Orchestra.

I find it interesting to contrast Murakami’s questions/comments about certain musical subjects, in the language of a knowledgeable music lover, and Ozawa’s answers/comments in much more the language of a musician. In Murakami’s own words, “(T)here is a fundamental difference that separates the way we understand music...it’s hardly for me to point out how very high the wall is that separates the pro from the amateur, the music maker and the listener.” That said, Ozawa never condescends, never gives pat answers, when answering Murakami’s questions, and his responses are always respectful to the writer as well as thoughtful.

In a subsequent chapter, Ozawa shared his memories of his experiences as assistant conductor to Leonard Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic, some of his early recordings and performances, and his appointment as music director of the Chicago Symphony’s Ravinia Festival, as well as his time as music director of the Toronto Symphony.

Fascinating also is an entire chapter on Ozawa’s views on the music of Gustav Mahler, whose nine symphonies Ozawa performed and recorded extensively. Again, Ozawa related his experiences with Bernstein when he was in the process of performing and recording the Mahler symphonies.

Ozawa also shared with Murakami his experiences as an opera conductor. Although he did not grow up, like many of the older conductors, in the tradition of an opera house, he certainly grew into opera with a steep learning curve, so much so that he was appointed music director of the Vienna State Opera. It is therefore not surprising that one chapter is devoted to Ozawa’s activities as in opera.

In spite of the fact that Ozawa is one of the most famous names in the music world, this very private man has never revealed very much about his life or about his past musical experiences. These different chapters give us a tiny glimpse into the great conductor’s musical life, his many accomplishments, and his thoughts on various aspects of music.

It is fascinating to read Ozawa’s recollections of the many great musicians whose path he crossed. He was forever lamenting - and I’m sure he meant it - about all the missed opportunities he might have had in learning from and talking to older musicians – Glenn Gould and Bruno Walter were the two figures he specifically named - because of his poor English. Unlike many musical memoirs, this book does not degenerate into becoming a series of self-aggrandizing anecdotes. The self-effacing Ozawa seemed to always divert the conversation towards other musicians, or about the composer and the works he conducted.

A friend who read this book in the original Japanese told me that it is impossible to capture the tone and the flavour of the conversation with any translation. Even so, Ozawa is one of my musical heroes, and reading this book has been the highlight of the Christmas season.

Since falling ill in 2009, Seiji Ozawa’s convalescence has been a long and difficult process. Even today, the conductor only makes two or three appearances a year, and often share a concert with another conductor because of his limited strength. Which is all the more reason we should be thankful for this inspiring book. Music lovers, students of music, as well as musicians would all enjoy and learn from the many reflections and insights by this master musician, and one of the 20^th century’s great conductors, now in the twilight of his life.

Patrick May

Christmas Eve, 2016