Performance – Alban Gerhardt

Contemporary Cello Concertos in the standard repertoire?

Alban Gerhardt — Tue, 21 Jun 2016 22:13:26 +0000

Sitting on the train that will bring me to my first performance of the beautiful cello concerto by Unsuk Chin this year in Hamburg I started thinking about contemporary cello concertos and the fact that none has really made it into the standard repertoire (and I am not talking 20 or 30 performances, but hundreds). Commuting back and fourth between Berlin and Hamburg between the rehearsals and now the concert – my oldest son had all his wisdom teeth removed at once, and I didn’t want him to be alone at home with that challenge – it gives me some time to not only read the „Zeit“ and take care of old e-mails but also write a bit after more than a year of abstinence.

Asking cellists, conductors or orchestra managers which concerto they thought has become standard repertoire in recent years, the answer normally is „Dutilleux and Lutoslawski“. Yes, two outstanding concertos, inspired by Rostoprovich – almost half a century ago (ok, 45 years)! In the meantime maybe more cello concertos have been written than in the 250 years prior but I don’t want to believe that none of them was good enough to stick in the repertoire. Impossible, there must be some great ones, but most probably they have been forgotten because the next one was written a couple of weeks later and took attention away as it was the latest one….

I am not suggesting too many concertos are being written, but to get a new piece performed which has already been performed once is very hard. The easiest thing is to get the world premier, everybody wants to write it, play it, schedule it, listen to it, write about it. It’s like the world record in some track and field meeting; the runner is proud because he has done something nobody has achieved before him, the organizer is happy (and pays a fortune) as he can claim that at his event this world record was broken, the press is excited to write about it, and the audience is thrilled because they can brag about having been there.

Yes, premiering a piece is an honor and a privilege but it also comes with a huge responsability as it is not another „world record“ but (at least for the composer) it is like a baby. A performer is not the parent, that is the composer, but a performer should not „just“ be the midwife who professionally helps to give birth to thousands of kids and forgets about them the next day (as meaningful as every single birth is for them), but we should be like a god-parent to the piece, watch over it not just for the birthdays but help it on their way to adulthood, at least until its 18th year and beyond, as the greatest pieces need to be kept in the minds of audiences, orchestras, other performers and the media.

What to do? Well, first step would be instead of premiering a new piece [...]

Sharing thoughts or just describing concerts?

Alban Gerhardt — Sun, 22 Mar 2015 20:51:43 +0000

A German journalist reminded me the other day of my diary which is called “blog”, asking how much my audience has to know about me. I told him that as long as it wasn’t embarrassing they could know everything, and since there is very little I am embarrassed about it would leave far too much material which obviously I am not sharing here as I hardly ever post anything. And do I really share my deepest thoughts about music, life, feelings, ideas on these pages here? While I have never received a proper shitstorm I have been misunderstood and misquoted before, I have harmed myself by sometimes being too opinionated and by giving out judgements where it might not be my place to judge as I am too involved in the musical world.

Winter in Australia

Alban Gerhardt — Sat, 09 Aug 2014 12:11:34 +0000

How I was dreading these past three weeks, being “forced” to leave my beloved family in the middle of the summer holidays behind to go once around the globe into the Australian winter, but as it sometimes happens, my fears were all postively disappointed and I had the most wonderful time while my big son is surfing in Puerto Rico (staying at his grandmother) and my wife having a blast in Bulgaria, her parents taking care of the little one.

We had spent quite a lot of time together the months before, me only leaving for either very short (like the Wigmore Hall solo recital in mid June) or us travelling all together, the ten days in Brussels (playing Dvorak and Gubaidulina with the Orchestre National of Belgium with Andrey Boreyko conducting) or five days in Florence (Prokofiev with Orchestra della Toscana and Thomas Dausgaard) – oh, such good food at both cities, where we stayed in private apartments which makes you feel much less of a tourist than much rather a local.

Right before I had the pleasure to perform the beautiful cello concerto of Unsuk Chin three times with the Berlin Philharmonic in my favorite hall. Favorite not so much because of the acoustics but of all the memories and experiences I had in this hall. My father having played in that orchestra for 46 years took me at every other week along to a concert, I grew up with this amazing orchestra, heard the most phenomenal soloists (Horowitz, Arrau, Serkin, Gilels, Fournier, Tortelier, Nelsova, Rostropovich, just to name a few) and finally did my orchestra debut there with a small chamberorchestra in 1987.

This peformance of the Chin was for me very meaningful also on a different level; I feel that inspite of the huge amount of contemporary concertos written for the cello in the past 40 years, very few have managed to “stay alive”, being performed again and again as it happened with the great concerti Rostropovich had inspired from Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Britten, Dutilleux, Lutoslawski and Schnittke (for example). Are these just better pieces or is there another reason? I think it has a lot to do with Rostropovich having relentlessly pushed these masterworks until everybody knew of their value.

Today we ask every composer to write us a concerto, then we premier it, maybe record it, just to jump to the next concerto written for us. The excitement of the world premier has taken over (similar to the need of having a world record at an international track and field meeting) and the necessitiy of performing new pieces as often as possible in order for them to grow (including the performer) is being neglected. It is very difficult to convince orchestras to schedule a new piece if it is not at least the country’s first performance, but the concerts with Berlin Phil marked the first time the Chin celloconcerto was being played without being “a premier”; the first German performance had already happened some [...]

Not without my son…

Alban Gerhardt — Thu, 03 Apr 2014 00:37:09 +0000

After not really having been much of a father the first time around 15 years ago for my first son I am making up for it the second time. When my first son Janos was born I was living with my first wife in New York, mainly performing in Europe which meant I was travelling back and fourth sometimes for just one single concert, and still I didn’t really manage to participate in his first two years, neither do I remember much of it, sadly. As I was the sole generator of income it was the deal that I would continue my career while Janos’ mother took care of him while studying part-time. Entering the third year of my second (and last!) marriage I am happy to realize that I learnt from my mistakes.

My wife Gergana is a wonderful musician herself, violinist, and as she has the same right and needs to perform as I do we are succesfully coordinating our concerts so that we can be as much together as possible while still playing the engagements we like to be playing. But at times even our genius planning can’t avoid us having to perform at the same time at two different venues which just happened for a couple of days. Although it is not easy being apart from your loved one we had some beautiful weeks before this dry stretch, spending 2 glorious weeks in Tenerife and around that time some quality time at home. March and April have become our working months, and I had some wonderfully intense schedule while being in charge of little Kaloyan, now 9 months old. The first intense week I was still on my own, performing with members of Düsseldorf Symphony Schuberts String Quintet and with the orchestra three times Shostakovich’s First Concerto conducted by Andrey Boreyko who really brought out some frighteningly beautiful moments, especially in the slow movement. Concerts where Friday, Sunday morning and Monday evening, so I chose to follow the call of a friend, Maarten Mostert in Amsterdam to do six hours of teaching at his school on my day off, Saturday March 8. I left Dusseldorf in a rented car at 6:30 am and started teaching in Amsterdam from 9 am until 2:30 pm, drove afterwards to some gorgeous little castle near Dortmund where I spent the evening and night babysitting my son during a trio concert of my wife only to leave them at 8:30 am the next morning to make it to the matinee performance at 11 am in Düsseldorf. After the concert I took a train to Stuttgart for a Dvorak rehearsal with Walter Weller and Stuttgart Philharmonics the next morning, heading right back the 450 km to perform the last one in Düsseldorf. As there was no train left that night I took the car and drove after the concert to Stuttgart for the dress rehearsal the next morning. Silly me, wanting to be back home as quickly as possible, I had chosen a flight [...]

Fitzenhagen and the Rococo Variations

Alban Gerhardt — Wed, 04 Sep 2013 07:50:06 +0000

Wilhelm Fitzenhagen was a young German cellist and composer who had taken lessons with the famous professor Friedrich Grützmacher in Dresden, and after performing at a Beethoven festival in Weimar, Franz Liszt offered him the job of principal cellist there. Simultanously Nikolai Rubinstein had tried to lure the talented Fitzenhagen to Moscow to become the cello professor at the conservatory there and in what I’d consider a very brave move, Fitzenhagen accepted the Russian offer over staying in Germany. In Moscow he became good friends with Peter I.Tchaikovsky and convinced him to write a piece for cello, the Rococo Variations. Fitzenhagen never performed them in their original version but arranged them differently, maybe to the dislike of Tchaikovsky, but for me he did such a good job in “improving” Tchaikovsky that I jumped onto the possibility to record some of Fitzenhagen’s own music when Stefan Lang from Deutschlandradio suggested it a couple of years ago. My label Hyperion loved the idea which is the reason why instead of taking the month of August completely off I had to prepare for one of the hardest recording sessions in my life with the Deutsche Sinfonieorchester under Stefan Blunier.

Recording venue was the Jesus-Christus church in Berlin-Dahlem where among others Karajan had recorded the Ring. Since my parents lived close nearby my mother had gone to these sessions in the early 70ies with me to listen from the outside, awaiting my father who was playing in the orchestra. Quite an emotional feeling for me to record in a venue charged with so much early childhood memory. Considering what legendary recordings had been made there, one might compare the “Jesus-Christus-Kirche” to Abbey Road Studios, except that only classical music has been recorded there (at JCK).

After two very nice chambermusic concerts with the Skride sisters, another Dvorak concerto with Stuttgart Phil and Marcus Bosch in Heidenheim, I had roughly four weeks to learn Fitzenhagen’s concerti Nos. 1 and 2 as well as his Ballade. Fourth piece on the disc would be the Rococo Variations in the version everybody plays, the one by Fitzenhagen. Two days before the sessions started I managed to play through the entire program in a little houseconcert in front of some friends although I had already realized that my strings were rather high these days. 3-5 mm are the normal distance between A-string and fingerboard in the higher register, but mine were at about 7 mm. I had the choice to have the bridge cut down but chose not to as I didn’t want to change the way the cello sounded. Unfortunately the weather became even more humid right before the sessions started and I barely made it through the first day of recording. The orchestra played absolutely sensational, focussing incredibly well on their first service after their summer holidays, playing this unkown music as if it was newly discovered Beethoven, and Stefan Blunier inspired them with his Swiss charme to play as emotional as in a concert.

We got [...]

Vieuxtemps Concertos first edit

Alban Gerhardt — Wed, 04 Sep 2013 07:13:19 +0000

Flying to Australia is always a welcome excuse to catch up on films, getting acquainted with the newest TV shows (just watched “Dexter” for the first time), answering e-mails and writing for my so-called “blog”. The first two legs from Berlin to Copenhagen and from Copenhagen to Singapore I brought already behind me, sitting comfortably in my chair on Singapore Airlines flight 213, sipping on a tomato juice, the cello right next to me. Yes, after the accident with my bow I stopped checking my instrument into the cargo, can’t take the risk and the stress anymore – getting wiser with age or just lazier?

On my two stopovers in Copenhagen and Singapore I listened to the first edit of the disc I had recorded in Antwerp last April; two concerti by Henri Vieuxtemps and two concert pieces by Eugene Ysaye. Quite thrilling, I must admit, to listen to music which had never been recorded before (Ysaye) and to hear for the first time how brilliant the orchestration matches the cello. Thrilling on the one hand, frustrating on the other, as I easily get angry with listening to myself. Why didn’t I play bar 86 out more, why didn’t I open up the vibrato at bar 43 in the second movement, and why did I have to play so loud in this intimate passage?! At the same time I am sometimes impressed how well certain passages worked out, remembering the pain I felt during recording them. Most important for me is that a recording doesn’t sound like one but like a live performance, and this disc comes pretty close to that.

Oh, I should maybe explain what “first edit” means, but for that I have to go back to the recording procedure: during a normal recording session I try to play as much “big takes” as possible, which means playing through the piece/concerto/sonata one or two times to get the shape and the direction out more naturally. As the standard of perfection is so high nowadays, we quickly move to fix movement by movement, a process, in which the producer becomes essential. He reminds conductor and me of certain passages which have not been together, in tune or musically satisfying yet which we try to correct during another run of the movement. In case we didn’t cover everything, there is the chance to record smaller “patches” which the producer will use to fix sometimes just a couple of notes in a passage. During breaks (with an orchestra one has to take them at east every 80 minutes) we do listen to as much as possible of the recorded material, but finally we have to learn to trust the producer when he says something is “in he can” or not.

After the session the producer has to try to come up with a “best of” version of the recorded material, often using one of the long takes as basis, correcting missed entrances and wrong notes with whatever he has from other [...]

Bach at Train Stations

Alban Gerhardt — Sun, 23 Jun 2013 17:34:12 +0000

It is just such a gorgeous day in Berlin, not too hot, lovely breeze on our terrace, looking into the green of the trees, my wife

taking a nab after our intense Brahms Double rehearsal, which gives me time to fulfill my promise and write about the rather unusual little tour I did May 21 and 22.I arrived from San Francisco on May 20th, just in time to celebrate my wife’s birthday – the preparation for the Bach Suites I did during my five-day stint in San Francisco together with re-learning the Unsuk Chin Concerto; quite a pity considering the fact what fun I could have had in San Francisco instead of practicing for six hours every day…

Luckily I arrived with no jet-lag in Berlin, because the next morning I had to rush at 8 am to the train station with cello and a huge suitcase in which I had only a few clothes plus my entire sound amplifying system (Bose L1) in order to be heard at all at the six different train stations awaiting me the next two days. First stop was the smaller station in Hamburg, called “Dammtor”. Charming station, not too far from where I had performed my very first Dvorak Concerto pretty exactly 23 years ago, at the famous Musikhalle, and here I was to open my mini-tour of performing all Bachsuites at train stations in Northern Germany. It didn’t start out so well: I had troubles connecting the amplifier to an electrical outlet, and once I succeeded I had to play the Suites Nos. 1 and 6 in front of only a few people – not the busiest of all stations, people did stop, but somehow it wasn’t the same experience like a year earlier, when I played all the suites at the Berlin main station and a lot of listeners had transformed my little platform into some kind of concert hall.

I worked hard, but I must admit it didn’t feel right and I was afraid that maybe the success in Berlin had just been sheer luck and that it was indeed a silly idea trying to bring the Bach Cello Suites to travellers instead of just sticking to the good old concert hall or at least church. No time for complaints, next stop was Bremen – the train was in time, and while setting up my equipment already quite a big crowd gathered around me and made the performance of the Suites Nos. 2 and 5 a much more rewarding experience; they listened really well, this core audience of maybe 150, while many by-passers stopped for a couple of movements and then continued their way. A former classmate of mine from University, now principal cellist of Munich Philharmonic, happened to be one of them, and we had a lovely talk afterwards, until I had to catch the next train to Hannover, where I sat in the middle of the train station’s “quasi shopping-mall”, being grateful that I had my amplifier, [...]

Broken Bow – Broken Cello?

Alban Gerhardt — Sat, 23 Feb 2013 23:18:20 +0000

On February 6 a careless TSA officer at Washington DC’s international Dulles airport destroyed not only my bow, as I found out yesterday only hours before my live-radio-broadcasted concert with the National Symphony of Ireland in Dublin, but also pushed the sound-post of my Goffriller cello so strongly, that on the back of the cello one can see a brutal crack at the place where the sound-post stands inside the corpus. What had happened? Why did I only realize this two and a half weeks after the incident? And how do I dare complain about all of this as I took the risk of damaging my cello by checking it with ordinary bags? Comments indicated that some people seem to believe I deserve such an accident.

I personally believe nobody deserves his or her property to be destroyed, and the damage inflicted onto my tools of music has not occurred by the fact that the case was thrown around by baggage handlers (which in 23 years of travel has not harmed neither my cello nor my bows inside the case), but by people feeling the need to open the case and closing it with brutal force. Naively I had believed my cello was miraculously unharmed when the bow was snapped in half over the bridge of the cello, but the impact pushed the bridge down and through the soundpose it created this crack which might not only devaluate the cello but affects its sound gravely.

Yes, when travelling after my three concerts in Madison, which I played on a bow from a cello professor there, to New York to play a private concert there, I felt that my cello responded with much more difficulty, even though I had borrowed from a violin shop next to Carnegie Hall an amazing Tourte bow. Instead of blaming my cello I tried to find a way to make it work anyway as I had been taught by my father to always blame myself if something doesn’t work. I am not a frequent guest at violinmakers, though in this case I should have had my cello checked after returning to Berlin a week after the accident.

I did go directly from the airport to my bow-repairer, who had just finished repairing my Kittel bow, which had snapped during a rehearsal with the Hallé Orchestra 10 months ago, to exchange it with my poor Knopf bow. He didn’t seem too optimistic about repairing it, but he will give it a try. Back home I needed a break from cello, took care of my 14 year old son and his problems in school, spent time with my pregnant wife (oh yes, she is due in June!) and tried to forget my bad luck. Two days before leaving on February 20 to Zurich and Dublin to rehearse and perform the Schumann and Dvorak concertos with the orchestras there, I started practising again and could not believe how much I had to work to make the cello sound. Maybe [...]

Artist in Residence

Alban Gerhardt — Thu, 22 Nov 2012 15:57:42 +0000

The busiest one and a half months in a long time with seven concerti, almost complete Beethoven Sonatas and Bach Suites were topped by my very first artist-in-residency with an orchestra. In between concert in Sevilla (Dvorak), Amsterdam (Frank Martin), Oslo (Chin), London (Schumann), Barcelona, Madrid and Valladolid (Lalo), Berlin (4 Beethoven Sonatas), Fort Worth (another Schumann) and now Hangzhou (Elgar), I flew to Portland (no, unfortunately not connected with the set of concerts in Fort Worth with the wonderful Fort Worth Symphony and a great conducting musician, Josep Caballé Domenech) to play three times the Rococo Variations plus Silent Woods by Dvorak, starting the first week of a three-year residency in this lovely city. While other orchestras have their “artist-in-residence” come several times within one year to play different pieces with the orchestra and maybe also give a recital, the idea of the Oregon Symphony and its chief conductor Carlos Kalmar was rather unique:

After they had invited me already in 2011 (with Prokofiev Symphony Concerto), by 2014 I will have come and performed with the orchestra at four different occasions, each time staying for a week and doing a wide array of activities besides performing different concerti with the orchestra in their concert hall, the Arlene Schnitzer Auditorium. As I had to rush back to Europe to rehearse the Lalo Concerto in Barcelona with Pablo Gonzalez (another excellent Spanish conductor) we had to cut my week short by a day, but I made up for it by being willing to “work as a donkey”, as the artistic administrator Charles Calmer put it. Their plan was to make a connection with the community as well as with donors by using my German lack of tact (some people think it’s charming, how very strange!) and work ethics, and funny enough, it seemed to work 🙂

After my arrival in Portland in the evening (nine hours time difference) I was driven straight to a rehearsal with the concert master from the orchestra and a local pianist for a donor’s concert the next day at a private home, playing Mendelssohn’s d-minor Pianotrio. In the following days I spoke at another donors luncheon (gosh, I mentioned the O…. word in front of big-time donors who were rather Romney supporters…), played a couple of movements at a sponsoring bank (Umpqua, what a cool name for a bank, and they have these inspirational meetings in the morning, quite unique!) played three Bachsuites in a Mall (not amplified, but somehow the acoustics were so good that people gathered around me, especially some kids which stayed for the entire 65 minutes of unaccompanied cello-playing!), another three suites at two schools, more Bach at three locations at a huge childrens hospital, spontaneously in a cable-car connecting two sections of that hospital, teaching a masterclass for students of the Youth orchestra, another masterclass for the Oregon Cello Society (they had planned for me to also play some Bach, but I didn’t bring my cello, thus I performed on a [...]

Kurt Masur

Alban Gerhardt — Thu, 25 Oct 2012 04:41:48 +0000

Part of my top prize at the International ARD Competition in 1990 was my Japanese debut in April 1991. I got to play a recital at Suntory Hall and the Dvorak Concerto with an orchestra in Tokyo which probably doesn’t even exist anymore (Shinsei Symphony). During my 10-day stay I had the unique chance to join a private celebration at the house of Kurt Masur’s in-laws. The director of the Goethe-Institut had invited me along, and after having met the Maestro already officially but very briefly at the price-ceremony of the other competition, I had won in 1990, the German Music Council Competition in Bonn, this time I had the rare opportunity to actually get to know this man, who had played such a crucial role in the peaceful transition not even two years earlier which resulted into the German re-unification.

While he seemed rather distant and almost arrogant in Bonn, standing tall next to the re-unification chancellor Helmut Kohl, in Tokyo I was overwhelmed by his warmth and kindness – I met the real “Mensch” Kurt Masur in the circle of his family, not the public figure. Forgive my bad memory, I don’t recall every detail of that for me very meaningful evening. What I remember very vividly was our very first musical collaboration: after having played a bit of Bachsuite on the cello, I somehow ended up at the piano (back then I still felt like half pianist, half cellist), accompanying Kurt Masur with the Erlkönig by Franz Schubert which I had often played with my mother, so I knew it by heart.

Two years later, after my third and last competition, the Leonard-Rose-Competition in Maryland (near Washington DC), I invited him, now chief conductor of the New York Philharmonic, and his lovely wife Tomoko to my recital debut at Alice-Tully-Hall in New York. As I had dislocated the middle-finger of my left hand at a bike accident three weeks prior to this I managed to play the concert only after couple of healing sessions with an old Japanese lady and a big bandage around the blue finger. No idea how I played, but somehow my on-stage suffering did not turn my new-found friends away. When I moved to New York not even a year later, my first introduction to my now favorite breakfast meal, bagel with creamcheese, smoked salmon, onions, tomatoes and capers, happened in the Westchester home of the Masurs; Tomoko had prepared it, as I remember many more meals in their house accompanied by very inspiring conversations about music, life, politics and also education. I saw their teenaged boy Ken slowly grow into a man, totally unimpressed by the fame of his father, and I realized these parents must have done something very right.

The love I felt between this couple, to see this adored and even sometimes feared Maestro turn into a loving father and husband when he entered his home, with small insecurities and an adorable shyness about him, touched and inspired [...]