(Note from Linz—an edited version of this interview appears in the current issue of Capital Magazine. Here is the interview in full, with the magazine's introduction.)
The five Piano Concertos of Ludwig van Beethoven are among the man-made wonders of the world. The New Zealand Symphony Orchestra will be opening its 2015 season with all five, at least for Wellington audiences—acclaimed British pianist Freddy Kempf will play Concertos 1-3 on February 28, and 4 and 5 on March 14. In between, other centres will be favoured with Concertos 3 and 5 and the Egmont Overture. For these concerts Freddy himself will conduct the orchestra from the piano. ... Lindsay Perigo speaks to Freddy Kempf ahead of the tour.
LP: Freddy, for us Wellington concert-goers, to have all five Beethoven concerti served up over two nights means … well, something akin to rapture! What does it mean for you as conductor/soloist on this landmark occasion?
FK: First and foremost it is a massive privilege. The NZSO has really become one of the world’s finest bands: so, to be asked and allowed to “take over” and hog all the limelight, to be put in the position to sculpt the soundscape and performances, and to be given the chance to perform all over such a beautiful country is a dream! However it is still going to be extremely challenging for myself in every way possible—to be able to quickly get the players to understand and accept my personal way of doing these works and to actually cope both physically and most of all mentally to make it through the concerts. I still remember one time during a concert of the 1st three piano concerti having to turn to the leader and ask her whether I started (playing) or whether she did(!).
LP: I hope she knew! You mention your “personal way of doing these works”—is there a conspicuous point of departure between your way and what we may be used to?
FK: I guess this really depends on what you’re used to. I try to show very clearly the influence of Mozart and Haydn on the first two concerti—how different those two influences are; I heavily feature the timpanist in the 3rd concerto, maybe paying too much attention to its original title “Concerto for Piano and Kettle drum”; the 4th I try to romanticize as much as possible, keeping it as free as I can; and the Emperor I never forget that it is Beethoven and really do try to keep everything sounding as snappy as possible (only where it needs to be) and like to over-emphasize the possibly military sound of some sections.
LP: Is there an advantage to dispensing with a dedicated conductor? Should conductors be worried?!
FK: I certainly like to think that playing them this way gives much more freedom for everyone without any compromise whatsoever. I think many people don’t really know what the conductor does—90% of the conductor’s job is the rehearsal. This means coaching and motivating (and allowing!) highly trained, highly experienced experts to achieve the best musical result possible in a fairly short space of time. Orchestras can get a symphony ready by themselves but would normally need far more time for this than there usually is.
So the main advantage for me is that I’m able to really create my own vision of all of the music. It does also allow for much more freedom: for instance I can take more risks and liberties as I don’t have to be sure that the conductor will understand what I’m thinking and then be able to convey that to the other players.
And no, of course this does not mean the end of the conductor! I think directing from the piano only works for piano concerti up to the Beethoven—the Beethoven themselves being very much borderline. There are a few exceptions—such as the Chopin concerti or Rhapsody in Blue. And it is also really not at all easy to do—I’d imagine plenty of players, given the chance to direct, would happily go back to “just” playing.
LP: You have done this before, of course. What’s the trick to holding it all together when your arms and hands, which in the case of a dedicated conductor would be guiding the orchestra, are unavoidably and somewhat indispensably engaged elsewhere?!
FK: One of the most important things is understanding that a top-level orchestra can pretty much play by itself, without conductor. In fact a more advanced conducting skill is allowing an orchestra to have its own freedom—you wouldn’t want the famous clarinet solo at the beginning of Rhapsody in Blue sounding like it was in a hurry just for the sake of keeping the brass harmonies together(!). Other things are far more simple—for instance one tricky part in the Emperor where I really do have my hands full, is easily solved by simply asking certain people to write down in their music to “keep steady”. Having said all of this, the leader and all the section leaders and anyone else playing a solo has far more responsibility now that the conductor’s not there, so we do really have to all listen far more carefully—which is a really good thing.
And how we set the stage also becomes vitally important now—so those of you who remember to look might notice that all the woodwind soloists and as many other section leaders have been positioned so that they can see right down the piano keyboard just above the top of their music stand—they are ALWAYS able to see my hands. This is no accident and I usually take part in the set-up and actually do sit in every single chair on stage.
LP: Do you do all the conducting from the piano or pop up to a podium for the longer passages where the piano is in repose?
FK: I do stand up to conduct anything that’s not too short. I put the piano stool about 50cm behind where the conductor would normally stand, and position the piano relative to the stool. The piano is angled the usual way as this produces the best sound for the audience. (I hope I’m not getting too technical!) But there’s no podium—I really don’t think I’d cope with that on top of everything. I’d feel like I was running a steeplechase!
LP: Have you garnered any tips from watching, say, Zimerman and Barenboim conducting/playing the Beethoven on YouTube?
FK: Of course it’s fascinating to be able to watch other great masters doing the same pieces. I usually notice tiny little things—and often don’t notice the first time I see them.
LP: I’m intrigued! Can you give me an example of one such tiny little thing? I want to see if I’ve noticed!
FK: Well even just being reassured of my slightly unusual staging, where I place the piano the same way round it normally is when there is a conductor there. When there isn’t a conductor the piano is almost always turned into the orchestra so that the performer sits face on. I was always asked why I don’t play like this, like everyone else, and around a year later I stumbled across an old video of Bernstein play-directing concerto no. 1 and: he used the same set-up as I.
LP: I suppose the public’s favourite is always going to be #5, the Emperor. Is it yours? Do you have one?
FK: For a long time the Emperor was my unequivocal favourite—mostly because of its breath-taking 2nd movement. However, recently I really start to adore the 3rd concerto—and especially without conductor. Beethoven had written it for himself and I'm sure he’d have performed it conducting it from the keyboard—he frees up one of the hands whenever other players need to be cued in—and the slow movement really feels like he would have improvised it and made it up each time he played it.
LP: That slow movement is beyond exquisite, isn’t it? But then, which Beethoven slow movement isn’t?! What do you make of the least-played Concerto #2, written when Beethoven was a mere teenager (and before #1)?
FK: I love no. 2—and have really warmed to it now after having play-directed it. I think it’s not often played because of how tricky it is to put together—it needs a very stable pianist and the 2nd movement is particularly difficult to get sounding really good. No. 2, I feel, is very much influenced by Haydn and the Baroque era. Beethoven idolised Mozart and came to Vienna hoping to study with Mozart but only ever met him fleetingly and ended up studying with Haydn. I feel that concerto no. 1 is Beethoven trying to grasp the new sound that Mozart had created, whereas No. 2 is the sound he’d studied and been handed down from Haydn. Both works still certainly give a hint of the romanticism to come—the slow movements really expressing very real, human sentiment. I think it’s even more fascinating to hear No. 2 sandwiched by nos. 1 and 3—to hear how Beethoven developed his idea of the piano concerto.
LP: Your namesake with the extra ‘f’ [Wilhelm Kempff] liked to make up his own cadenzas in these concerti, as did many other illustrious performers. Whose will you be playing?
FK: I shall be playing Beethoven’s own. This is not to say I’ll stop myself from throwing in the odd personalized bit! I love to improvise and can often not resist doing a little here and there, as I feel Beethoven would have done so himself.
LP: Aside from the obvious superiority of Wellington audiences to those elsewhere in the country, is there any reason only the capital will be favoured with all five concerti?
FK: I’m afraid this was just down to logistics. Tours with large forces mostly need to be booked well in advance, in order to result in itineraries that make sense. Immediately before the NZSO I’m on tour with an orchestra from St. Petersburg (Russia) and during the planning stages both tours started to get shunted together more and more. In the end it was almost a case of having to pull out of one of them, and the casualties were the full cycles outside the capital.
LP: Freddy, you have been called “a charismatic force of nature at the piano who finds the emotion in every note,” and you are that, for sure; audiences swoon and lady cellists faint when you’re in full flight (and piano strings quail at the mere prospect)! To “find the emotion in every note,” though, requires formidable intelligence and discipline. What would you estimate to be the division of labour between intellect and emotion in great music-making?
FK: Lindsay, you flatter me! To answer your question I think that this is a highly personal thing that varies from artist to artist. There are some that heavily prioritise intellectual judgement, working out the emotional structure of a work and there are others that just play, but pour their entire heart and soul into every note. I try to strike a balance, tending to err on the side of spontaneity (I think!). I’ve sometimes heard a recording of a performance which I thought went outstandingly well only to then hear it sounding unconvincing and broken up. Other times I’ve felt tired in the performance only to hear a very moving recording of it. However I am a believer of reflecting the sound you make with the appropriate visuals. Don’t get me wrong—I simply mean not to mislead the audience by looking like you’re doing one thing when you’re actually doing something else.
LP: You’ve also been called “Fearless Freddy” (that might have been one of mine). Are you? Are there ever moments of trepidation, terror even, as you’re about to unleash?
FK: I think I’ve sometimes been called that because, on the piano at least, I don’t shy away from a challenge—although it often happens against my will. Of course I think any professional can feel nerves at times—but we ARE professionals and we know how to prepare and how to compensate. Youngsters often ask me if I ever get nervous and the answer is yes, I do!, but I know exactly what my body does and can easily compensate. Having said all that I do sometimes wish I would play it safe. Just last night I performed a terribly challenging program, stuff we usually do in our 20s in big competitions, and at the start of one movement I was saying to myself, “Let’s just do this properly, not too fast—don’t cause yourself unnecessary trouble…” But then my dark side took over—but hey, life’s too short, isn’t it?
LP: Dark side, eh? Let me guess: Rachmaninoff or Tchaikovsky? And how many strings did you break this time?!
FK: Was actually Ravel! No strings broken, but I did make my life very tough for about 4 minutes!
LP: I recall meeting up with you once just after you’d completed a 50-minute jog around Oriental Parade and beyond, an experience you pronounced “bloody windy.” Is jogging still one of the ways you unwind? What are some others?
FK: It WAS bloody windy, Lindsay! I almost took off after I passed the lighthouse and approached the airport!
I love sport, so continue to jog religiously and do strength work too. I’ve also more recently started to work on my swimming as it’s something I was never very good at—and am still determined to be able to attack any kind of black (ski) run one day. I think a secret ambition of mine is to do the Ironman one day. Oh … I love so many things—I love life! I love my kids and adore and worship my wife. I do cook with a passion—I relish every moment of it (cooking). It’s hard to know exactly what unwinding is now. Sometimes I feel I unwind at the piano—as in unwinding from my 3 young kids. I do enjoy the post-concert drive I sometimes have. I also like low-brow TV. Right now I think I unwind the most with Bruckner symphonies.
LP: Low-brow TV? You mean the News?!
FK: Even worse I’m afraid … I seem to have a soft spot for these dreadful shows where random people cook dinners for other random people and then stab each other in the back by saying how awful the food was on camera.
LP: And about that Bruckner—you have tried to awaken me to his talents, but I have stubbornly clung to my original view of him: almost as long as Wagner and twice as incoherent. Shall I be going to Hell?
FK: Lindsay, I still have faith in you: that one day you shall see the light(!).
LP: You just mentioned your family. Recently you became a father for the third time. How do you juggle the demands of triple fatherhood with the ardours of a concert pianist’s career?
FK: It is sometimes a shocking contrast going both ways. I remember coming out of a long patch of parenting and suddenly being hit by reality as I walked out onto a(n audience-less) stage staring out at 3000 seats only having started practising again 3 days before. The other extreme is going from unnecessary limos and ridiculous hotels, landing at 5am, coming home and then being given a sweet welcome home kiss and then a screaming, not so sweet-smelling Jules …
LP: What does that career hold for you in future? What would you like it to hold for you in future?
FK: I do know what I have coming up, but most of all I’m amazed at the variety of things I have. I never, ever imagined I’d ever conduct, it was something I never really had any craving for, and yet I seem to be doing more and more of it. I just had a wonderful experience with www.ninepianos.com—working with kids playing some great music. It also involved recording a concert-grand piano onto a sequencer and creating effects that are not physically possible. I’m also doing more master-classes: another thing I never thought I’d really do. You know, Lindsay, I don’t really mind what I end up doing—but I just would like to keep performing, and hope to only do stuff I’m really, really good at.
LP: Do you have an over-arching philosophy of life that informs everything you do?
FK: Not really. Just the usual, I mean: always do your best, be true to yourself etc., etc., but nothing special … I’m too lazy you see.
LP: Hahaha! Very droll, Mr Kempf! In that case you’ll like this last part, rattling off your favourite things without having to elaborate or put up with pesky interruptions from your interviewer:
Composition - Bruckner Symphony no. 7
Composer - Beethoven
Performer (classical) – Bernstein
Actor– Oleg Menshikov
Sportsman/woman– Fedor Emelianenko
Food - Salmon
Wine– South Australian Shiraz (sorry!)
Car– Audi A7 TDi Quattro
LP: Thanks a million for the interview, Maestro! Best wishes for the tour—hope we get to share a South Australian Shiraz in Wellington!
FK: I shall take that as an invitation!
