Interview with conductor Ronald Zollman

What significant events have occurred in your professional life since our last meeting at the close of 2009?

I can’t believe that was three years ago! I’ve travelled a lot around the most varied corners of the world. I’ve been to Japan, China, of course also in Europe, and have worked intensively in the United States, where I’m Director of Orchestral Studies at the Carnegie Mellon School of Music. There, we have prepared lots of interesting and beautiful programmes with the orchestra there, and we’ve even appeared together twice at New York’s Carnegie Hall, and also at the Kennedy Centre in Washington.

Last year you were also named principal guest conductor at the Prague Radio Symphony Orchestra (PRSO)…

…as you of course know very well!

How do you get on?

We’ve got a beautiful relationship, and I feel it is getting stronger every time we meet. We get to know each other every time better, and there are now many moments of real complicity while we make music together, this in spite of the fact that up to this date we haven’t had that many concerts yet together (I wish there were more, because I enjoy working here so much!), because my contract binds me to only three appearances per season and to a few recording per year. The latter haven’t happened yet at all because of the renovation of the studio. As a result of this situation, I actually have done less so far with the orchestra than originally planned. But as I said, nevertheless, I feel that our ties are becoming firmer, mutual sympathy is growing, and a lovely atmosphere always reigns when we’re working. This is definitively what matters the most!

We’re going to meet pianist Frank Braley at today’s concert. How long have you known each other?

I can tell you exactly: 21 years. In 1991, I was in charge of the accompaniment of the finals at the Queen Elisabeth Competition in Brussels, and Frank was the 1st prize-winner. By the way, Jan Simon was among the brilliant group of prize-winners that year too, and that’s how we met. Frank and I have met repeatedly since that time. I even think that I’m the conductor who most frequently accompanied him in performances of concertos he would play for the first time, and these include three Beethoven concertos, Bartok’s 1st concerto, and a few more…

Regarding today’s programme, you’ve put it together from works by Bohuslav Martinů and Maurice Ravel, which strikes me as a very attractive and interesting combination. How has your relationship to the two mentioned composers developed?

I’ll start with Martinů: When I was learning to play piano – I was a “good” pianist, but anything but a brilliant virtuoso! – my teacher had the excellent idea of assigning me one of Bohuslav Martinů etudes, from the book “Etudes and Polkas”. It was perfect to put my skills into light, or perhaps I should rather say that it was perfect to hide my relative lack of skills…The music sounded impressive, in spite of it being rather simple to play technically. Thanks to this Etude I won a lot of junior competitions and some special awards. How could the composer of such a beautifully “taylor-cut” piece not become instantly my friend? There is another subjective element in my relation with this great composer: I also knew that my mother had met him.

Really?

Yes, in the United States, in 1955.

Was she a musician?

She did play the piano for her own pleasure, but she was mainly an amateur visual artist. She lived in an artists’ community during a few months in 1955 while in New York and Martinů was a good friend of her teacher’s. Thanks to that, he occasionally spent evenings with that group of artists. My mother approached him with admiration and respect, as she was quite young then, whereas he was already at the close of his life.

Nevertheless, thanks to your mother you have a unique connection to Bohuslav Martinů!

This is the second “chapter” in my relationship to him, and the third I owe to the origin of my mother, who was born in Central Europe.

In Košice, right?

Exactly. That’s perhaps why I’ve always felt a special inclination to music from this region. For instance, when I was small I sought out Dvořák’s symphonies. As for Martinů, after my successes as a pianist with his Etude, I later returned to him with renewed interest as a young conductor. I began with the Concerto for Two Pianos, which I recorded for the Belgian radio. Later I participated in a Martinů festival at the Barbican in London, which was organized by the BBC. This was the first occasion for me to conduct some of his major orchestral works, including the two which we are performing this week. And finally during my tenure as musical director in Mexico, being responsible during the season for the dramaturgy of 34 concerts. I decided that every year we would present one of the lesser known 20th century composers. The first one I elected was… Martinů. So, in one season, we performed twelve of his works. And during that same season, I recorded also the 4th symphony with the orchestra.

How did the audience react?

Fantastically. Martinů has a fantastic gift, in that despite using the musical language of the 20th century it’s a language that is comprehensible and accessible.

I’ll ask you about Maurice Ravel as well.

That’s something quite different, because French culture plays a major role in my native Belgium. But what happened to me was this: As a teenager I suddenly started to have a feeling, or even an opinion, that Ravel isn’t a really good composer.

Why was that?

I was influenced by a sentence from a great artist and leading performer of Ravel and Debussy’s piano works, the French pianist Samson François, who once said to me: “You know, amongst the two, Debussy is the genius, and Ravel is the maker!” As an adolescent, one tends to like this kind of “final” sentences! So, when someone with the aura of Samson François comes out with something like that, you simply take it on board. Naturally, I was able to recognise all of Ravel’s amazing abilities, but I wanted to become an artist with a capital A, so good craftsmen ceased to interest me. I wanted to interpret musical geniuses!

I expect that you reappraised that position.

Some time when I was 18. I enrolled in conducting courses. Among other things, I studied Ravel’s orchestral version of his own Alborada del Gracioso. I said to myself: “That stuff is really well written, but that doesn’t count for anything, it’s not great art.” I should also mention that I had in no way stood out so far in the course, so the professor had not really taken much notice of me. Then came my rendition of Alborada del Gracioso, which all of a sudden made a strong impression on everybody, and the teacher in question said to me: “Your Ravel was amazing”. So, I had to get that straight in my head… If my Ravel was amazing, and if it helped me to show in this way what lay dormant in my conductor’s heart, maybe I should revise my opinion of his work. I freed myself from my previous prejudice and I started to discover what a great creator he actually is, what a refined poet he is, and how unjustified it is to only see his technical skills, which – amazing as they are – can hide behind their fireworks the intensely inspired composer he undoubtedly is.

What was the dramaturgical aim behind the composition of today’s programme?

Well, most of all I like to present fewer composers in one evening, if that’s at all possible. One then can have a more pleasing impression of unity and harmony, and I feel the public and the orchestra react the same way as I do. I also believe that a programme should conceal various stories and connections, similarly to a good menu, for instance. One doesn’t serve three dishes haphazardly either, but on the contrary one does one’s best to make sure they go together and mutually intensify the experience of the meal. In life we simply look for connections, relationships, ties, and art is able to build them wonderfully.

So what are the connections in the present programme?

It is worth being aware, for instance that both composers played today met in the geographical sense of the word in Paris. Martinů came from 1000 kms east, Ravel from 800 kms west, and Paris became the home for both. True, Martinů left later for the United States, but as we know, this was only due to the war, and soon after the war was over he came back to Europe. So, one can assume that, had there been no World War 2, he would have been a Parisian until the end of his life. I have no proof of evidence that Ravel and Martinů actually met, but it is hard to think that they would not have done so…

There is another link between the components of our programme, a much darker one, but nevertheless a real factor – namely the above-mentioned war. I don’t need to tell you about Martinů’s Lidice Memorial, which refers directly to it. The Concerto for the Left Hand was a commission from a pianist who’d lost his right hand on the battlefields of World War I. As for Martinů’s Sixth Symphony, I probably could have chosen another of his works, if I’d wanted to strictly adhere to the war theme. For instance, his First Symphony is in its character far closer to war, but the reason I chose the Sixth is that it fits musically better in this program. And being written for an American orchestra, it is also symbolic of the composer’s American connection, which is itself directly tied to the war, a direct consequence of it. Finally, with La Valse we are back to World War 1: it is an allegory of the destruction of the Austrian Empire: a twelve-minutes-masterpiece depicting the destruction of a world symbolized by a Viennese Waltz. The last two compositions undoubtedly are an awkward, unexpected and strong combination. They are immensely different, but put side to side, they are also perfectly compelling.

That’s the whole story of today’s programme. I hope the orchestra and the public will enjoy it as much as I intend to do so!