Vladimír Válek celebrates 80

Music has accompanied his life since childhood. However, even on graduating from secondary school he had no idea whether it would be a hobby or a profession. The heights, the sky and airplanes beckoned him. A few happy accidents decided otherwise… A boy from Moravia, Vladimír Válek (2/9/1935) became one of this country’s foremost conductors. He has stood in front of countless Czech and foreign orchestras and predominantly PRSO musicians in the years 1985–2011. In the world of music, he has touched the stars.

His childhood was spent in the village of Rybí. His schoolmaster father played the violin and flugelhorn, sang in the famous Moravian Schoolteachers Choir for 30 years, led a locally renowned brass band and did not shrink from even the most challenging of tasks, such as rehearsing the Slavonic Dances with an orchestra composed of local enthusiasts. In a time of war, it was a brave and at the same time fortifying act.

Discipline was a given at school and at home. Along with other local boys, Vladimír began learning violin from his father. In Kokory near Přerov, to which they had moved, he attended piano lessons with the local organist and when his father’s brass band was short of a bass trumpet he learned to play it in a few weeks. He later exchanged it for the trombone. His natural musicianship meant he never had trouble picking up instruments – on the contrary, he discovered their possibilities with delight. Nevertheless, at this time music was merely fun. He was far more drawn to planes.

His boyhood dreams went out the window with Nejedlý’s education reforms, which combined the seventh and eighth grade and meant he was forced to study final year materials, including school leaving questions, during the summer holidays. The dream of gliding dissolved with one ministerial decree.

As is the way in life, when one door closes another encourages one to embark on a new path. Mirek (yes, that is how he was known to family and friends) discovered that a new music high school was being established in Kroměříž; he went along, performed, was successful and got a place in the trombone class. He chose viola as his second instrument. After two years of study he realised with satisfaction that music had been the right choice. And his eternal restlessness, endeavour and industriousness spurred him to another step: “If it’s to be music, let it be conducting.” He first tried out being a choirmaster with the school choir before gradually mustering the courage to helm the school orchestra, too. Wielding a baton came naturally to him. It was a period of total captivation by music and of wonderful and audacious visions of the future.

During a school orchestra promenade concert in Trenčianské Teplice, Professor Rajter, who was then principal conductor of the Slovak Philharmonic, noticed Vladimír. He liked the young musician and asked him to consider enrolling in his class at the Academy of Performing Arts in Bratislava. It worked out. “Ľudovít Rajter came across as an aristocrat with a gentle demeanour. He had studied in Vienna and was a classmate of Herbert von Karajan. He occasionally spoke German to me, too, always with boundless kindness. His sternest reproach? ‘My beloved’. Otherwise I was always ‘my dear’. He calmed me down and smoothed out my limitless energy and explosiveness. Alongside grace and undisputed conducting abilities, I appreciated another thing about him: He never blocked my later departure to Prague in any way. His humanity was amazing. ‘If you’re going somewhere better, go’.”

Vladimír Válek loved Prague at first sight. It opened new horizons before him. He attended concerts helmed by top conductors, which was the best school for the young novice of the musical arts. Alongside pleasure, plenty of responsibilities, study- and work-related, awaited him in Prague. The artistic ensemble of the Ministry of the Interior, through whose ranks the likes of choirmasters Pavel Kühn and Miroslav Košler had passed, and where the foundations of the Linha Singers were laid, announced auditions for a conducting position. Vladimír Válek emerged triumphant, acquiring a small symphony orchestra of around 35 members. He also headed a variety show group at the ministry ensemble. He accompanied singers on piano, played Dixieland on trombone and even drums when necessary. He occasionally provided viola in a small dulcimer band.

He continued his studies at Prague’s Academy of Performing Arts in the class of Professor Alois Klíma, who was also principal conductor of the PRSO in Prague. They ran into each other more often in the recording studio than on academic territory. In this way Válek learned in the field. In addition he squeezed in rehearsals of the big band of the great trumpeter Vlastimil Kloc and athletics training at the Red Star club. He didn’t smoke or drink; in short, he was a young man not only of great talent but also of noteworthy industriousness and drive.

His student and military service years flew by. Now it was time for “real life” and with it a first engagement in the Vít Nejedlý Army Artistic Ensemble. In the same period he also worked with the ČKD Prague Ensemble. He took over the North Bohemian Philharmonic after Libor Pešek. Following 1968 he was forced to go freelance whether he liked it or not, though fortunately he had already made a name, which guaranteed him guest engagements at various ensembles, including the Prague Symphony Orchestra. Czech Radio also addressed him, with a call to put together a Studio Symphony Orchestra. It was tasked with producing undemanding compositions for radio broadcast, making it a kind of pops ensemble.

His biography is not lacking in a “fated stand-in” moment that unfolded as if in a movie. The offer, or rather urgent request, came from the Prague Symphony Orchestra. Its guest conductor had been taken ill. The 33-year-old Válek handled the daunting task with bravura and critics praised both his performance and strong nerves. A first LP with the Prague Symphony Orchestra followed, as did a tour of the US in 1972 (he received positive reviews; the designation “Prague’s Leonard Bernstein” was particularly pleasing) followed by a permanent engagement in 1975. “It was my best place. Perhaps because my dream of getting one of the Prague symphonic orchestras had come true. What’s more, I wasn’t the boss, so my only concern or responsibility – nay, joy! – was to do music.”

Simultaneously, he held the post of permanent guest conductor in Leeuwarden in the Netherlands from 1976 on. As in the case of Teplice, he took over there from Libor Pešek. The outlook was rosy to say the least. He was guesting abroad increasingly often, acquiring ever more experience of working with better and lesser known star soloists. On the horizon an engagement with his “fated orchestra”, the PRSO, was taking shape. He inherited it from his former professor at the Academy of Performing Arts, Alois Klíma. “With the PRSO I took over an ensemble that had good basic qualities. But I arrived at a time of generational transformation. Close to 60 players had retired, so half the orchestra changed. That was to my advantage to a certain degree. Hopefully I had a lucky touch in auditions for the brass players in particular.” After working with both Prague symphonic orchestras he held on to “just” the PRSO. “Recording in the studio is a wonderful thing and is a priori necessary in the case of a radio orchestra. However, no orchestra sitting in a studio ‘grows’. In concert you can’t fix something, go back or re-record. The stage forces you to perform perfectly. Combining both activities is ideal. Fortunately, as the new principal conductor of the PRSO, I pushed through systematic concert performances, first at the Smetana Hall and later at the Rudolfinum. In truth, there were doubts initially – would the orchestra even fill the concert hall? It worked out. Today we sell out and the PRSO has grown out of its studio isolation to reach a position where, despite strong competition from the Czech Philharmonic and the Prague Symphony Orchestra, there are no concerns regarding its continued existence. We were even the first ensemble in the world to carry out an intercontinental digital broadcast for the company FM Tokyo. In Boston and New York they’ve just decided to have us do something similar. Can you imagine the tension in such a broadcast, conscious that millions of listeners from around the world listening to you?”

The acknowledgements kept on coming. Collaboration with the Czech Philharmonic resulted in Vladimír Válek being appointed conductor of the ensemble in spring 1996 (he later became principal conductor). He took it on with one clearly formulated condition: that the collaboration would run in parallel with his work at the PRSO.

I was present at one rehearsal when – perhaps for motivational reasons, perhaps out of a need to confess – he said quite without pathos: “Cherish the good fortune that you can make music – a wonderful, free activity.” Personally what I admire in him is not just his performances but also his straight dealing, free of evasions or stratagems. He doesn’t deny the native Moravian inside him, is unaffected, sincere, sometimes even blunt, and never schemes. If he wishes to share words from the heart with the world, he does so immediately. You can count on one thing: Those words will always apply. But beware – when he’s making music, he speaks as little as possible. Because at that moment his hands, his baton – and his soul – are speaking for him.