Bernard Haitink, R.I.P.

It would be remiss of me in presenting these podcasts not to reflect on current events in the world of classical music from time to time. And I'm grateful to a friend who has pointed out that I really should mark the death of the great conductor Bernard Heatink in a one-off act dedicated to him. There are plenty of obituaries you can read about him, and there are already many tributes to be found on YouTube, so a lengthy account of his life here is not necessary. He can be associated with so many composers, both in the opera house and the concert hall, so it's almost impossible to narrow down his extraordinary scope. I saw him conduct many, many times Schubert, Brahms, Shostakovich, Verdi, Beethoven, all thrilling. But if I had to single out three in the time I have, they would be Bruckner, Mozart, and Mahler. Let me tell you why he was revered by all who played or sung with him or heard him conduct. Quite apart from being a master of his craft, he had this manner with people which commanded the utmost and unreserved respect in the rarest of ways for a conductor. He was, rather like Claudio Bardo before him, a quiet man. But he shunned the limelight like no one else. I've never seen a conductor arrive on the stage and turn his back on the audience so quickly. Not through any disrespect but simply because he would not accept that it was about him. And it was the same at the end of the performance too. He would take the applause, of course, but there was nothing ever elaborate or prolonged about his acknowledgement. No showy or lengthy bows, and he would waste little time in stepping down from the podium. I sometimes wonder whether he knew his diminutive stature would be dwarfed amongst the players around him, whom he would recognise immediately as being the channel of the music. You can't fake this behaviour for over sixty years. It came naturally and endeared him to us all that much more. The Austrian composer, Anton Bruckner, is one of those I do struggle with a little, but we'll delve into his life and music in more detail another time. Of his nine symphonies, which Brahms called the Boer Constrictors, the seventh, written in the early 1880s, brought the composer his greatest success, even acquiring the nickname The Lyric, and was apparently Heiding's favourite. So let's listen to the brisk and lively scherzo under his battle with the Royal Concert Hebrew. His hand and arm movements were kept only to what was necessary and no more, no excessive or unnecessary flamboyancy. A lot of the communication came through the eyes, and it was one of the extraordinary things that you could understand what he was trying to impart, even when they were closed. And now to Mozart. And you can never tire these few minutes anyway. Here it is in a crisp, fresh rendition, as befits the thrills and spills of the opera to follow, played by the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Written in the mid-1890s, it's a huge piece, over one and a half hours in length, which makes it the longest in the standard symphonic repertoire. It must contain everything. The third is particularly unusual for having six movements, including voices, all referring to earthly things with an ultimate destination of the divine. I cannot do better to sum up this ethereal music than to quote in full what the conductor Bruno Valder once said of it. In the last movement, words are stilled. For what language can utter heavenly love more powerfully and forcefully than music itself? The adagio, with its broad, solemn, melodic line, is as a whole, and despite the passages of burning pain, eloquent of comfort and grace. It is a single sound of heartfelt and exalted feelings in which the whole giant structure can find its culmination. I cannot think of a more fitting way to pay tribute to this remarkable man, to whom music lovers the world over will be forever indebted. The final movement of Marlon Symphony number three is played here by the Royal Conservatives Orchestra and conducted by Bernard Hyde.