AUSTRIAN GOTTFRIED RABL is one of the most versatile musicians I have ever met. Not to mention that he is probably the only conductor in the world who has participated in a triathlon several years in a row! A respected orchestra and choir conductor, his repertoire spans symphonic and choral works from the romantic to the contemporary. His pioneering spirit cracked the conventional mold when he introduced works of contemporary composers, such as George Crumb, to the Viennese public, which sparked a rapidly spreading interest in these composers’ works. Mr. Rabl’s collaboration with Leonard Bernstein led to a six-year stay in the United States, and his work at Indiana University provided him not only with valuable experience as an accompanist and knowledge of the voice, but also with an understanding of the American system of music education and of American singers, a perspective which few European conductors possess. Aside from performing in Europe and Australia as a conductor and accompanist of singers, Mr. Rabl has recorded extensively. The past three years have culminated with what I like to name “The Caruso Project,” a series of three CDs in which Caruso’s voice was separated from the orchestra, and a new orchestra recorded to the sound of the legendary tenor’s voice. Through the help of modern technology, Mr. Rabl reached out to the last century and worked with Enrico Caruso, a remarkable accomplishment, as he was required to mold the new orchestra to the already recorded voice of Caruso. The following excerpt is part of a larger interview with Gottfried Rabl.
How did you come into contact with Leonard Bernstein?
By chance. While I was a student in Vienna, I was working for the Vienna Philharmonic, editing and correcting scores. They were getting ready for a concert conducted by Bernstein and I had to look over a Haydn symphony for him to make sure all the notes, the harmonies, everything was in place. I noticed something completely wrong with the score and I went to Bernstein’s hotel, insisting on speaking to him. I was finally allowed up to his room. He was very friendly, and after taking a look at the score, he said: “Of course there is something wrong!” The score had been especially made for a children’s concert in New York to show them how one should NOT perform Haydn! Well…after this first contact, I began working for him, especially on his last opera A Quiet Place. The premiere took place in Houston, Texas. But then he came up with a new version of it in Milan and combined it with Trouble in Tahiti, a one-act opera that became the second act to A Quiet Place. I helped him edit and write in the new orchestral parts.
Then you came to the United States and spent six years here.
Yes, it wasn’t just the association with Bernstein, I had always wanted to go to the US, and someone recommended Indiana University in Bloomington. That was actually where Bernstein had begun composing A Quiet Place. So, I went to IU and studied conducting. At the same time, to earn some money, I began playing piano in different voice teachers’ studios, like Virginia Zeani and her late husband, bass Nicola Rossi-Lemeni. I conducted various music ensembles, as well as the Bloomington Symphony Orchestra. But, looking back, I have to say that accompanying singers has provided me with a truly enriching experience. In Vienna, I had studied piano and French horn, and I didn’t have experience with singers. But in Vienna, many aspects of the education system are not as practically oriented as in the US.
What do you mean? What do you think of American singers?
American singers have a great advantage, I think. The education system, in a conservatory or university of music such as Indiana, is set up to be much more practical than what we have. As a singer in an American conservatory, you have the chance to practice auditioning, to get a feel for the real music world before going into it. Indiana University has an opera house that does six productions a year. You have to audition for them. You give recitals, starting with 45 minutes, moving up to one hour, and you have to sing in four different languages. That is not the case here in Austria. Your first recital ever is when you get your diploma, and that’s it. Singers here don’t really have the opportunity to get used to a singer’s life before going out into the world. Not to mention that in the States you find all those helpful books about how to write a résumé, how to market yourself, etc…
Would you say that there are good opportunities for American singers in Austria?
Well, I think Germany is better because it’s bigger and it offers more possibilities. There are more opera houses. As for Austria, it’s difficult. The economy has gotten really bad; there is little money for the arts, as it is the case throughout the world, but especially throughout Europe where the opera houses are subsidized by the state. Now private funding for the arts is starting here too; it didn’t exist before. But due to the worsening of the economy, agents are looking to hire singers for less and less money, and what happens is that a lot of singers from Eastern European countries are willing to sing for small fees—when they get 100 Euros for a performance, that is considered a lot of money, it represents a good monthly income for Romanians, Bulgarians, Russians. There are a lot of good voices coming from these countries, and they are happy to work for very little money, so of course that puts pressure on singers from other countries. When an American singer comes to Europe, they can’t possibly sing for 100 Euros; that is not even a quarter of their airfare! Another aspect is that globalization is triggering a reverse effect, especially here in Austria. There is a surge of nationalism: “No more foreigners, we want our own singers!” Personally, I think the contact with various nationalities and cultures is enriching. Just look at Beethoven who was influenced by Russian music, or Ravel and Debussy touched by Spanish music, and so on… The difficulty is too that there are so many singers! What can a lyric soprano, for example, do in these times? She auditions for a part along with 300 other lyric sopranos, and unless the conductor has worked with her before and likes her or she is unbelievable and distinguishes herself from the rest, what happens?
This sounds discouraging.
Well, these are circumstances, and there are always those mysterious turns of fate. I also think you have to have a certain character too. It’s very much a mental thing. Let’s say you’ve auditioned in ten cities in Europe and nothing happened; you need to have that extra push inside to get you to the eleventh, and the twelfth, if needed. I think that “extra something” is an essential part of being successful. The expectations are so high today. Just winning a competition requires so much…and it depends on a handful of people in the jury.
You think it’s subjective?
As objective as they try to be, they cannot help being subjective. It’s human nature. But the requirements of technical perfection are almost inhuman, and in the process of being technically perfect, one forgets about the act of creating; opera is an art form not a technical display. I’ve played for singers who are so pressured by this need to be technically perfect because they fear being judged as “flawed,” that they forget to feel anything while they are singing, and as a result we, the audience, also remain numb; perhaps impressed by the firework display of coloratura, but unemotional.
You said you have learned a lot from working with singers.
Yes. I like to work with singers. To me, the human voice is the musical instrument that brings us closest to the essence of making music, and that essence is the breath. A violinist can play a high note without needing to take a breath before; of course if he doesn’t really breathe with the phrasing, there is no expression, but at least the sound is produced. But a singer cannot sing a high note unless they breathe and prepare it. The incorporation of breath as part of making music is learned very well from singers. Then there is the text. Through it, a singer can add an extra dimension to the act of creation, something instrumentalists cannot do.
As a conductor, what do you expect from a singer? What disturbs you?
What disturbs me is when singers become too intent on taking their time to an extreme, when they exaggerate interpretation to the detriment of the music, when they have no clue what the composer wants from them. But as a conductor, you can encourage singers and allow them artistic freedom, as long as they are open to corrections. There’s a balance. But, as Bernstein used to say, there is a different level for everyone. A level of fame, I would say. If I, as a less famous conductor, work with Thomas Hampson, for example, then I can’t really impose on him how he should sing. He has much more freedom with me than he would have had with Bernstein. And vice-versa, if Bernstein were to conduct an unknown singer, he could have dictated whatever tempos he wanted. Ideally, I think in the relationship singer-conductor, it’s important to find a way of communicating. It’s always a process of give and take, and nothing is perfect. So many factors affect the act of music making.
Especially in singing.
Of course. Travel, weather, moods, sleep… Did I just fly seven hours from the States and now I have to sing at the Vienna State Opera where the orchestra is tuned at 445 Hertz—which, by the way, means that at the end of the second act when everything is warm from all the playing, the whole sound is a half-tone higher than I am used to—so my high C, now a C sharp, cracks and the audience boos me because they can’t possibly see the sequence of factors that caused me to crack? It’s tough! That’s why a lot of the tenor arias are now transposed down a half tone.
The making of the Caruso CDs was quite an experience for you. You referred to it as “shaking Caruso’s hand,” traveling back in time and working with the legendary tenor, all thanks to modern technology. These CDs now have Caruso’s voice with a newly recorded orchestral accompaniment. Why do you think it is important for singers today to hear old masters like Enrico Caruso, Luisa Tetrazzini, and so many others?
I think it should be required of young singers today to hear the old singers. It’s not about imitating them…
Is there something in their art that has been lost throughout the past century?
I wouldn’t say “lost”… well, maybe in terms of tradition… But listening to these old masters, having the curiosity to find out what they did, how they sang an aria or a phrase, enriches a singer’s knowledge, and the singer can arrive at an interesting artistic conception of an aria. We should remember that Caruso lived in a time when Puccini and Cilea were active composers; even Verdi was still alive. So, he knew first-hand what the composers really wanted. He was the first Eléazar in Halevy’s La Juive, so we can be sure that his performance of this role was as authentic as it can possibly be. So, I do encourage singers to listen to these old recordings; there is so much that can be learned from them.
