|
Articles
|
|
The following section is taken from a book
titled "Mastery" by Joan Evelyn Ames. The book
comprises a series of 'interviews with 30 remarkable
people', one of which includes Gisele Ben-Dor.
|
Gisele Ben-Dor is one of the most exciting young conductors
in the world today. Her concert reviews are filled with
accolades focusing on her musical leadership, technical
mastery, exuberance, and charisma. In 1993 she received
a standing ovation for her debut with the New York Philharmonic
when she was called in as the last minute replacement
for Kurt Masur and proceeded to conduct the orchestra
without rehearsal or scores.
Born in Uruguay of Polish parents, she graduated from
the Rubin Academy of Music in Tel-Aviv and the Yale
School of Music, where she completed her master’s degree
in 1982. She is currently Music Director of the Santa
Barbara Symphony and the Boston ProArte Chamber Orchestra.
She has also been Conductor of the Annapolis Symphony,
Assistant Conductor of the Louisville Orchestra, and
Resident Conductor of the Houston Symphony. She frequently
performs as a guest conductor for orchestras throughout
North America, Europe, and Israel, including, among
others: the Boston Pops, the London Symphony, the Houston
Symphony, the Minnesota Orchestra, the Ulster Orchestra,
Spanish Radio and Television, the Israel Philharmonic,
and the Jerusalem Symphony. She lives on the East Coast
with her husband Eli Ben-Dor, an engineer, and their
two sons, Roy and Gabriel.
Ben-Dor has said that a conductor needs to have emotional
strength in every hair and flowing out the tips of the
fingers. And indeed, my first impression of her comes
sparking and zapping off the stage, radiating from the
small and slender figure on the podium all the way to
the back of the concert hall where she is rehearsing
the Santa Barbara Symphony for one of their season’s
concerts. She conducts with precise and commanding movements,
deftly molding together the orchestra and the piano
soloist in a concerto by the American composer, Amy
Marcy Beach. Three Slavonic Dances by Dvorak
and the Brahms Symphony No. 4 complete a dynamic
and impressive concert. The standing ovation she receives
is not just a perfunctory ritual; it is an inspired
and exuberant response to having been in the presence
of greatness.
How did you get started as a musician and a conductor?
I asked my parents for a piano when I was three. Somehow,
I knew instinctively that the talent was there, that
this was a game I wanted to play. When they bought me
the piano I was always improvising, and with or without
teachers I found my way. Isn’t it a magical thing that
we can be so attracted to something even before we’ve
learned to really speak!
When I was twelve, I organized my school friends into
a choir and started conducting. It was completely out
of the blue because my parents were not musicians. I
was not put on a career path. I grew up like every other
kid in the neighborhood in Montevideo: family, brothers,
sisters, friends, studies, school, parties. But I started
conducting as naturally as a baby starts to walk. I
had this music, these different voices, these ideas…
everything was in my head. I loved to teach, I loved
to put it all together, and music was the material.
I could have been something else - an accountant like
my father - but I was born a musician. That’s something
that chooses you.
By the time I was fourteen, the school was actually
paying me to teach the younger kids and organize the
music department. Can you imagine how encouraging that
was? It was okay with them because I was a kid.
However, once I was older and made the decision to
be a conductor, you cannot imagine how much discouragement
there was. I was dissuaded from doing this a thousand
times. I was in shock. It was a kind of schizophrenia
because one part of me was already built with a certainty
- like a backbone - that this was what I was supposed
to be doing. Suddenly I was constantly being told I
shouldn’t be doing it. They were saying, “Well, wait
a minute, it’s not so simple. If you want to be a conductor
you should pay the price. You can never be as good as
they are.”
How did you handle this discouragement and the
adversity?
I was fortunate because I grew up expressing myself
as a conductor and that strong self-image is what kept
me together throughout the resistance and the discouragement.
Also, when things get hard - and for me it’s been appalling
sometimes - I think of the great composers; I put myself
in their place. There are numerous examples of composers
being insulted and rebuked for some of the greatest
masterpieces that have ever been created. Think of a
nineteen-year-old Brahms premiering his first piano
concert. It is such a beautiful and monumental work
yet the public just didn’t get it. They didn’t even
clap. What would that do to you? Would you keep writing?
Of course he was hurt but he took it stoically. So I
say, “Who am I to complain? Put yourself in perspective;
you’re doing very well. Nobody said it was going to
be a rose garden!”
I think you grow with adversity. You learn to roll
with the punches. Like Nietzsche said, if it doesn’t
kill you it’s going to make you stronger. Even in situations
where it is bad luck and I seem to have no control,
I always try to find my part in it and how I’m responsible.
I have learned from failures whether they were due to
my mistakes or bad luck.
One of the greatest obstacles we face in music in the
United States is raising funds and getting people in
the community to understand how important this is. Musicians
have always been dependent on the society around them
for support, but there is so little funding for the
arts today! Everybody is constantly telling you, “Oh,
this is a dying art. In twenty years there are not going
to be any more concerts.” Even our basic notions of
culture are called into question: “What is art? Why
should we hear Beethoven? Why not a Polynesian Gamelan?
Who says what’s good and makes the choices?” These are
legitimate questions, but I can’t answer them and retain
full integrity in my work. I do what I do because that
is what I know and love. Music is almost like one’s
religion, and I don’t want to compare my religion with
yours.
Being a conductor or a musician is difficult; it’s
a very competitive field. But I don’t think about it
being difficult for me because I’m a woman. That’s handicapped
thinking. I always keep going even if it’s difficult
or horribly disappointing, as it has been on occasion.
It is also true that some of the best opportunities
have come from some of the worst disappointments. We
have an expression in Spanish that my mother used to
say all the time, “No hay mal que por bien no venga.”
There is nothing bad that doesn’t come for good. Well,
it does not have to be an objective truth, but it’s
a way of thinking, a way of interpreting life, that
I grew up with.
There is another component to this: I never expected
anybody to do anything for me! It was always, always
my responsibility. My parents, especially my father,
taught me that there were no excuses; I had to make
things happen. I was raised to persevere and accomplish.
I was very competitive also, very demanding. Sometimes
it was a little too much because I can be very hard
on myself, very critical and negative about what I’m
doing - beyond proportion. I think resilience is basic.
You can see that in some children from the beginning,
in the kids that know how to develop a thicker skin
and learn to protect themselves. Then there are others
who are appalled by events and destroyed. I think resilience
is inborn; there has to be a genetic component to it.
What role did you teachers play in your career?
I had teachers who told me, “You’ll never be a conductor.
You have no talent, and I don’t want people even to
know that I’m your teacher.” There were teachers who
had absolutely no faith, who would recommend against
me behind my back. I have tasted some of the toughest
cups in that respect.
This happened not only because I’m a woman - I’m sure
a lot of my colleagues have similar stories - but also
I must have scared the daylights out of them because
I was very strong willed and had the self-confidence
that came from conducting as a kid. They must have interpreted
my confidence as a supreme act of arrogance. They expected
me to be more of a follower, more submissive. Actually,
they didn’t expect me to really be a conductor!
Also, in my family there was ambivalence about the
way girls are raised. As a child I was encouraged like
a boy would have been. Excellence was the goal, and
I could do anything that I wanted. I was not prepared
to hear, “All that we told you for the past twenty-two
years was all very nice, but now you’re a woman; this
is the real you. First get married and have children.”
What? Why?
On the other hand I consider myself very lucky because
if I had been born thirty years earlier I would not
have become a conductor. The obstacles would have been
insurmountable.
Will you talk about taking risks?
In the most areas of my life I don’t take risks. I’m
cautious with finances and with the way I raise my children.
I don’t do adventurous sports; I don’t even know how
to jump into a swimming pool. But as a musician I’ve
always had this sense of adventure - it’s “Let’s see
what happens!” In this case I have the confidence and
go after the risk.
I actually like it better when I don’t know
what’s going to happen during a concert. I get more
nervous when I am totally prepared and I think I know
everything perfectly, because then I could lose some
of those things I thought were going to happen. I have
to be protective of all the details, of all the moments.
But when I don’t know how things will go there is the
possibility of adventure and I’m a lot less nervous.
I can jump into an opportunity where I haven’t even
had a chance to learn one of the pieces, and I have
no fear. There is room for me to create something and
I will know what to do right there on the spot, because
it’s an instinct.
Recently I was asked to step in and conduct the scores
for four different finalists in a world piano competition
in Cincinnati. I had to learn one piece overnight. There
I was in front of an international jury with a packed
house and I had no fear. I was completely happy to just
see what would happen, and it went perfectly well.
Tell me a little bit about performing and what the
high points are. Athletes talk about the “zone,” when
everything is going perfectly.
There is a zone also for musician, and it can be just
a few seconds during a performance. You find a point
when you become absolutely one with the sound - it’s
really intangible. And it’s one of the strangest things
because as a conductor you have no physical contact
with an instrument.
Isn’t the orchestra your instrument?
But who? It’s not the instruments or the musicians.
Is it their minds? Is it the sound? You could say it’s
vibrations, but that’s being picky. As far as I’m concerned,
it’s very much a spiritual thing. It doesn’t happen
all the time, but suddenly you are in absolute contact
with that sound and you forget yourself physically.
In my case it’s dangerous because I have almost lost
balance and risked falling off the stage many times.
I don’t have the coordination of an athlete or a ballerina,
so I have to work on my posture, and my balance, and
make sure that if I lose myself I won’t fall.
You have to give the performance everything that you
have got!… to the point that if you give another iota
you are going to disintegrate, your heart is going to
burst open or you’re just going to faint. It has to
be to that point. There are so many things that your
mind can do to distract you from that: thinking about
what comes up next, or being critical of how the orchestra
is playing. You have to be really concentrated; that
is part of the profession.
As conductor you are there to guide the musicians,
you’re not there to be lost in the stars. They need
cues from you, they need good direction. You cannot
afford to lose yourself - but then it will happen and
it’s just fabulous. Sometimes in a performance I find
myself saying, “Thank you,” very quietly and simply,
no big production or particular words to it. It’s just
an attitude of being grateful for being there. And it’s
worth everything; that’s all you do it for.
What are the pitfalls on the road to mastery?
It depends on what your needs are. I interpret pitfalls
as ways of hurting yourself and one way is to take on
too many responsibilities. The more success you have
the more temptations there are: more fame, power, influence,
and money. Success itself carries a lot of danger -
assuming you have needs. I think I have a healthy attitude
in this respect; my system puts on the brakes. I could
have the most unbelievable responsibility, but if I
don’t get enough sleep I know I cannot function.
For me the greatest pitfall is to leave my family behind.
I love to spend time with my kids. This is the one thing
that is constantly on my mind. When I’m away too long
I miss them and then things lose their luster and value
for me. I’m fighting this issue now and I’m determined
that it is not going to get to me. It’s so much a matter
of what you propose to do, your decisions.
Recently I gave up one of my positions. I decided I
can live with less money, less influence, and fewer
professional possibilities if it allows me more time
at home following the normal routines with my kids and
having enough time to study my scores. So I’m slowing
down and saying “no” to a lot of engagements and positions
worth considerable financial reward and security. Such
things could be very comfortable, but I’m too curious
about what could be to settle for certainty right
now. I’m lucky that my husband understands and supports
me in these decisions.
Another pitfall is to forget your humble origins. And
my background is very humble: Montevideo, Uruguay is
not New York, USA, or other places. The people around
me were always nice, simple, unsophisticated people.
So, I think a pitfall is to become enveloped in your
public persona.
Would you translate that into ego?
There are different theories about why people feel
the world revolves around them, the pre-Copernican egos:
in some cases it could be a deep insecurity, in others
they were just born to it. Mozart was very arrogant
because he was born a genius and raised as one. There
is no way his brain could have accustomed itself to
any type of humbleness. His personality was entirely
shaped into that role of being better than everybody
else. He ruined a lot of opportunities for himself because
he was arrogant or perceived as being so. Public relations
was not his thing.
I have a healthy ego, but I don’t have the larger than
life ego that it would take to make me neglect my family.
Actually, I have never had dreams of being a superstar
on top of some huge success away from my family. I don’t
know how far I will go; it’s just too complicated to
be able to judge. Of course I am ambitious, but it is
a natural ambition: I want to be a better conductor,
I want to have the best possible orchestra and concert
hall. There are ambitions, but I don’t think I carry
with me this overriding need to be on top of the world.
Ego is very important for mastery or a great career
because you must project that quality of, “I know, I’m
right, you follow me, this is the way it is.” I think
you fulfill your own prophecies. You have to see yourself
at the top before you actually get there. Those who
have it will ultimately achieve it because they already
are that and it’s just a matter of finding the
way.
So a healthy ego is particularly important for
a conductor?
Absolutely. The orchestra has a gut feeling about the
conductor and it doesn’t matter how great a musician
you are, the moment you project any degree of insecurity
you’ve lost everything.
Conductors have been tyrants for a long time, to the
point of abusing the players. Today the pendulum has
swung to the opposite direction. The musicians have
a lot of power and most conductors have calmed down
and are more congenial with the orchestra. Sometimes
musicians will resent the self-assured conductor and
test him, or they will help the conductors who don’t
have that big sense of themselves. I think it all comes
down to the genuineness of the conductor’s personality.
Being genuine is another requisite in mastery. It has
to be you a hundred percent for better or for
worse, because then it all comes together in its own
mysterious way, even with the contradictions or the
paradoxes. If you are pretending, even in the slightest
way, the players will see through you immediately and
you will not be trusted. They will resent it.
The job of the conductor is such a strange job! The
musicians are making a huge effort and you just stand
there and don’t play anything! It looks so easy.
Wasn’t it Zubin Mehta who said that conductors
are the only musicians who practice in public?
He’s absolutely right! You make your mistakes in front
of everybody else, and you’re Maestro You’re the teacher.
You’re not supposed to be making mistakes!
The conductor must have the persistence and the ego.
Sometimes you have doubts, and the better you are as
a musician the more doubts you are going to have. But
you have to be convinced, yourself, in front of the
musician, in spite of your doubts.
So what keeps you growing and developing as a
musician?
I think it’s integrity, and it’s important to be very
self-critical. As I said earlier, it scares me when
I think that I know something very well, because then
I probably don’t. I watch myself. When I begin to feel
comfortable, or to choose the easier thing, I tighten
the screws again. Otherwise every bad habit - the worst
of me will win. I start all over at square one and ask
myself how I’m going to do it now. There are always
things you let go of, and you say, “No, I’m not going
to be a mediocre conductor!” That keeps you growing.
Life and getting older do it as well; things happen
that deepen your understanding.
And suddenly you discover something new in a Brahms
symphony and you say, “Well, it’s been played so many
times; so many great conductors have interpreted it,
where is my place? Why should I grow with a Brahms symphony,
who cares?” I care, nobody else does! And I think
that’s what makes the difference, because growth and
success are two different things. You can grow enormously
and not have success. The reasons for success have relatively
little to do with your talent. They have to do with
other things: where, when, who you know. I think luck
plays a huge role in our profession.
For example, Dvorak was unknown outside of Bohemia
until he was thirty-six years old. He was poor, he had
to write all kinds of things just for survival. Then
Brahms discovered him, gave him a scholarship, and recommended
him to his publisher. As a result, some of Dvorak’s
dances were published and he became world famous. Now
what did that fame do for him? There was money; he didn’t
have to worry; he could write what he wanted and he
produced all this wonderful music. What if Brahms had
not discovered him? Where would all his other great
works be? Was Dvorak any less talented when he was unknown
and poor ini Bohemia wasting his energies doing other
things?
Have you had moments of epiphany or key turning
points in your career?
It happens when I listen to music and that spark is
still there after all these years. There is music I
used to love when I was twelve years old that means
nothing to me now, and there is music that still brings
me to tears. If I can react to this music after all
these years, then there is truth in it. I know I am
still on the right path even though I carry with me
the idea that the performance of live serious music
as we know it may be a dying art, that I am unfortunate
to be a witness to its disintegration, and that fifty
years from now there may be no concerts. Can you imagine
what it is like to feel that you are part of something
that is dying - that you’ve struggled so hard - it’s
your entire life and you may be irrelevant?
But then there are those moments. It could be in a
Verdi Requiem or a Joan of Arc. Usually
these are pieces that carry their own message; even
if Verdi may have been an atheist, a requiem is a requiem.
It’s about life, about what we are, about saving us
from everything that is dark, that is death. And you
don’t have to be a Christian or a Catholic - don’t have
to be anything at all because it has meaning in itself.
And the music is just… [slowly draws in her breath].
When I’m still shaken by that, simply as a humble human
being - even when I’m not conducting or physically engaged
in the performance - I say, “Wow, this must not disappear!”
Even for the sake of this one piece I know I’m doing
the right thing by being a conductor. And as long as
that inspiration still happens… I hang on to that.
|
