Klaus Tennstedt: Possessed by Music 3910736033, 9783910736030

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Georg Wübbolt

Klaus Tennstedt Possessed by Music

Translated from the German by Jennifer Stephens

Klaus Tennstedt as a young soloist

photo: Bühnen Halle/Theater, Opera and Orchestra GmbH Halle

Impressum All rights reserved. ©Georg Wübbolt Use in any media such as video, audio, print or Internet requires the written permission of the author. Title of the German original: Klaus Tennstedt – Besessen von Musik (inspired by a Max Bonecutter article) First publication: 30.03.2023 Photos are mostly privately owned: ©Georg Wübbolt, ©Judy Grahame, ©Edith Albrecht, ©Dr Janos Kollmann and others. For more, see picture credits. Drawings/graphics: Georg Wübbolt Copy editor and proofreader: Judith Webb Proofreader: Dr Joachim Draheim Cover design: Guter Punkt, Munich, Kim Hoang, using a photograph from ©Minneapolis Tribune/University of Minnesota Performing Arts Archive Book layout: Georg Wübbolt, Emily Marx Font: Carlito Print and distribution: Kindle Direct Publishing, tredition Address of the author: Georg Wübbolt Faschweg 40 21382 Brietlingen Germany Email: [email protected] Visit our website www.klaus-tennstedt.com as well as our YouTube channel. Podcast is under construction.

ISBN hard cover: 978-3-910736-03-0 ISBN soft cover: 978-3-910736-04-7 ISBN e-book: 978-3-910736-05-4

Contents Introduction

7

Practice makes perfect: Childhood and youth in Halle an der Saale

11

Violin and piano: Music studies in Leipzig 1943-46

17

Spur-of-the-moment decision: Eloping with Anita Coffee house musicians

25 27

Violinist in Würzburg, Concertmaster in Heidelberg 1946-47

31

Father calls: A Concertmaster in Halle 1948-50

35

That wretched left ring finger, Halle 1951-54

41

Apprenticeship in the provinces: First Kapellmeister in Karl-Marx-Stadt (Chemnitz) 1954-58

49

On the road: Music Director at Sächsische Landesbühnen, Radebeul 1958-62

57

Music Director in Schwerin 1962-69 Battle for perfection with Salome Escape attempts 1962 and 1963 Guesting Plenty of work Fired!

69 74 77/83 85 87 93

Heidi – ʽa daughter just like Klausʼ

97

Escape helper Masur?

101

Sort of best friends – Kurt Masur and Klaus Tennstedt

105

Gothenburg, Sweden, and the consequences Escape agent for Inge Pulse racing: Stasi interrogation (GDR state security police)

111 121 125

Safe haven: Music Director in Kiel 1972-76

127

Toronto – start of a new life 1974 137 Conductor of Conductors: Columbia Artists Management, Inc. 143 The year 1975 145 America at his feet – Minneapolis

149

A disastrous ending – NDR Symphony Orchestra, Principal Conductor 1979-81

155

EMI – on the path to eternal fame? Thoughts of home

169 175

The foundation: Inge Tennstedt

177

Israel Philharmonic Orchestra

181

Carlos Kleiber about Klaus Tennstedt

187

London Philharmonic Orchestra – One Principal Guest Conductor 1980-83

191

Uproar at the opera house: Fidelio at the Metropolitan Opera, New York 1983-84

199

Karajan agrees to recordings – Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra

201

Gustav Mahler

207

Live versus studio

213

London Philharmonic Orchestra – Two Music Director 1983-87 World tours: Hong Kong and Japan, USA, Australia

215 227

London Philharmonic Orchestra – Three Conductor laureate from 1987

235

The last years Awards and honors A rehearsal in Oxford, June 1994 ʽOh, my dear Augustin, all is lost‘

247 251 253 257

Finale – Adagio lamentoso

259

Epilogue

263

Acknowledgments Notes Picture credits Discography Index

269 271 274 278 280

INTRODUCTION “Nobody has any intention of building a wall,” announced GDR State leader Walter Ulbricht on 15 June 1961. Those who could had long since left East Germany: doctors, teachers, craftsmen. An exodus of frightening proportions. Shortly thereafter, the government of the German Democratic Republic began building the Berlin Wall – separating families and buildings, closing streets and borders. It would divide not only Berlin but Germany and the world for nearly three decades. Young music director Klaus Tennstedt also wanted to escape the hated East German regime. He had reasons enough. The communist rulers have sabotaged his career; far worse – they no longer allow him to work in the West. Tennstedt sees only one way out: escape – and that is extremely risky. A converted VW Beetle covers the miles from his home town of Schwerin in northern Germany to the Baltic coast. In the back are a collapsible boat and a seven-horsepower outboard motor. Four adults, all from the Schwerin opera house, squeeze into a second car. Their goal: Denmark. There´s not even room for hand luggage. But Tennstedt is not leaving without his beloved violin, even though he can no longer play it. It´s bad enough leaving his wife Inge behind; he wants to get her out as soon as he can. Arriving at the beach, they notice some teenagers loitering about; they will have to wait until the youngsters disappear. The organizer of the escape, opera singer Rolf Oberste-Brink, has a bad feeling. A car´s parking lights can be seen in the distance and his decision is clear: abort the attempt. Tennstedt grabs Oberste by the collar and shouts: “No way! This is our chance.” “We’re calling it off, right now.” After a heated argument they head home, Tennstedt boiling with rage and deeply disappointed. Back in the cars, as soon as they turn onto the dirt road, the kids from the beach come towards them on motorcycles. For heaven’s sake, will the State Police soon be coming to arrest them? “They’ve been stalking us,” Oberste-Brink is quite certain. But the boys drive past. 7

It is patently clear that they were out for the reward given for tracking down and denouncing ʽfugitives of the Republicʼ. Had they been discovered and arrested, they would all have been thrown in prison for several years. That would have meant no Klaus Tennstedt, conductor. He would never have found an opportunity to flee to the West and would not have risen to become an acclaimed superstar in the USA, UK and Asia. “He really owes his career to me,” Oberste-Brink can joke today. But who is this Klaus Tennstedt? On Leonard Bernstein there are well over 150 books and treatises, thousands and thousands of letters and a Himalayan range of sketches and memorabilia, all stored in the Library of Congress in Washington, DC. On Tennstedt there are only a few essays, a series of reviews and two handfuls of letters but not a single book. Some desperate attempts have been made to keep his memory alive. But they could not prevent an extraordinary artist from sinking into oblivion. Reliable information on him was scarce. Nothing could be found about his youth and early adulthood, only a little about his professional years in the GDR. At least a few facts existed there, often deliberately concealed by Tennstedt, sometimes incorrect, repeated later by one journalist after another. Research in the GDR? Basically impossible before the Wall fell in 1989. Even in those days he was a relentlessly demanding conductor. “I’m not there to beat time,” he once said. “I am here to unite the orchestra in my own personal musical truth.” Time and time again he was described as insulting and insensitive, which turned a number of musicians against him. The concerts, though, were breathtaking. Working with him was never easy. He was quick-tempered and able to dish out criticism mercilessly to others, but cut to the quick by bad reviews in the newspapers. Some of these traits gradually lost their sting as he finally gained recognition and basked in long-awaited appreciation. They are still around today, the admirers of this almost forgotten conductor. In the US, Japan, and especially in England, his memory remains alive today, as is the case among musicians and friends of `his´ London Philharmonic Orchestra (LPO): Rachel Masters, harpist, LPO: He was all arms [waves her arms, laughs], glasses, sweaty, a tall man, very soulful eyes, he had a vulnerability about him. A mixture of ego and vulnerability. An unusual cocktail, I think. I’ve played for many famous conductors, Muti, Mehta, Haitink, Solti, Masur, all those wonderful guys. 8

Klaus Tennstedt Caricature: Walter Bösch

I was always intimidated, but Klaus didn´t do that. You just wanted to give your soul to him. Norman Lebrecht, author, London: What struck me, at first sight, was that he was the anti-maestro. He was the opposite of what we were being told to expect in a concert hall. Maestros of that time were extremely elegant, not a hair out of place, with very fashionable clothes, organized, capable, executive, surrounded by teams of people who were doing things for them. And Klaus – his hair was uncontrollable, as if he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. He looked completely incapable of anything. You couldn´t be sure he´d be able to take three steps without falling over his shoelaces or something. He was simply the anti-maestro. The musicians wanted desperately to play for this man, who was going to give his everything. Yes, that was Klaus. The conductor Carlos Kleiber was renowned as someone who enjoyed making caustic remarks about his fellow conductors, so it is all the more astounding that, after watching a video of Gustav Mahler’s 9

First Symphony played by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra under Klaus Tennstedt, an amazed Kleiber wrote: Carlos Kleiber: I do not love Mahler, but this time I succumbed, thanks to Tenn. He is a most sympathetic conductor, never ʽclever’ or perfunctory, never self-conscious, his love for the piece makes it irresistible. There are plenty daemonic ghosts around him (as there were around Gus Mahler), nerve, lilt and grit, body language sans exhibition, it´s all there, GENUINE, enough of it for other `eminences´ to cut big pieces off without diminishing Tenn´s funds. In short: At last, someone to admire! I hate going overboard like this. Don´t tell anyone that I liked a conductor! (Of Scheisse, Mann!) I hear he is almost always ill? But then, the eleph. Hide, though helpful livingwise, would not allow Tenn, to make music like that.1 That is typical for Kleiber – not wanting to get caught displaying emotion. Here a true artist recognizes a brother in spirit. Come with me on a roller coaster journey through the life of this incomparable conductor, from his tough childhood to the saddest of ends. Who was repeatedly plunged into the depths and yet rose to achieve unprecedented success in America, in England and all over the world, with one vital exception – the land where his heart lay: in Germany. In the last four years of his life he stopped conducting, as did Kleiber. At this time most conductors are in their prime, with perhaps their best work yet to come. When all the immensely hard work pays off and exceptional performances emerge – there was only silence. In the end, a choir director´s remark came true: “Tennstedt, that’s also someone destroyed by music.”

10

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

Childhood and youth in Halle an der Saale

In the small town of Merseburg, not far from Halle and Leipzig, the spirit of a rich, long history hangs in the air. Visitors cannot help but admire one of the grandest cathedrals of the medieval period – a thousand years old, it is situated picturesquely on the banks of the river Saale. Close by, only a few hundred meters away, a boy was born who would become one of the greatest conductors of the 20th century. His parents were ordinary citizens: Hermann Tennstedt, born in 1886, was leader of the second violins in the Halle Municipal Theater Orchestra. His newly-wed wife Agnes, née Steinmetz, was nine years younger than her husband. They married in 1920 in Agnes’ home village, Allstedt, in the southern Harz region. It was a time of depression. The previous year, the Treaty of Versailles had put an end to the carnage of World War I. Already suffering under immense losses, excessive reparation demands brought Germany even closer to the edge. This probably had little significant impact on the newlyweds because, after all, Hermann Tennstedt’s job was tenured. The couple lived in a spacious rented apartment at 1 Leopoldstrasse in Halle an der Saale. For six long years they remained childless, which caused considerable stress, particularly for Agnes. She was not only expected to bear a child, but preferably a boy, because he was to become a musician. Women were still secondary in this respect: Not a single one played in the major German orchestras, except as a harpist. Finally, on 6 June 1926, their eagerly awaited son was born: Hermann Wilhelm Klaus, called Klaus. His birth was not without excitement, though. Tennstedt recalled his parents telling the story: 9

I was only born in Merseburg by accident and then, almost in the tram. My mother was visiting her aunt in Merseburg when it all started [the labor]. But we didn´t stay there very long. It is a reasonable assumption that Parents´ data: the baby came a little early, as a mother-to-be would hardly have un- Hermann Tennstedt, born on dertaken such a jerky tram journey 16 March 1886 in Edersleben, close to her due date. Klaus was to a suburb of Sangerhausen (southern Harz region). Died remain an only child with their comaged 77 on 28 March 1963, at bined parental love concentrated his home in Halle an der Saasolely on him, not to mention the le, of rectal cancer. immense expectations placed on his Agnes Tennstedt, née shoulders. Steinmetz, born 19 April 1895 A childhood friend and compan- in Allstedt, just south of Sanion, Anita Knoch, described how the gerhausen. Died on 18 August little boy’s violin lessons began on a 1986 in Halle an der Saale, ʽof small quarter-sized violin at the age of old age’ at 91. four and continued under his father´s watchful eye. He needed to start playing the violin at an early age, because the boy had to become a concertmaster like his father, preferably of the first violins, in one of the great German orchestras! Not much later, the violin was joined by piano lessons.2 Surely Hermann Tennstedt had in mind the archetype of all musical child prodigies, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He will have seen him as a role model for his offspring. Wolfgang was also taught violin and piano at a very young age and was trained by his father Leopold like a little circus pony, to be passed around at princely courts in exchange for jingling coins. Hermann Tennstedt pursued his son’s education single-mindedly. An excellent violinist himself, he ensured that the boy soon practiced two if not three hours a day. It’s uncertain whether this was in total, or per instrument, but this story repeated by Klaus in a radio broadcast doesn’t sound very likely. Klaus Tennstedt: I adored my father; he brought me up very strictly. I practiced the violin for three hours a day and the piano for two.3 That certainly seems a little exaggerated. At best, it could be plausible for the late school years. It is also perfectly understandable that it was too much for him sometimes: “I often didn’t feel like practicing,” 10

he said, “but the music wouldn’t let me go.” Papa Hermann will have made sure of that. The leader of the second violins was good friends with Richard Strauss. At least whenever the famous composer conducted one of his works at the Landestheater in Halle. Before he started rehearsing, the first question to the orchestra was: “Which of you here plays Skat?” Hermann Tennstedt’s hand immediately shot up.4 Then after work they enjoyed playing Skat together – Strauss’ favorite pastime. Listening to Anita Knoch as she vividly recalls her playmate Klaus in his early years, it is clear she also knew the family very well: Georg Wübbolt: How would you describe Klaus Tennstedt’s parents? Anita Knoch: Father and mother Tennstedt were very different people. His mother, a person full of warmth and love, and a housewife cooking good food, much to the appreciation of the menfolk – father and son. Klaus must have shown an interest in the violin pretty early, because he was given lessons from the age of four. His father was very resolute, very strict. The son had to learn to play both the violin and piano at that age, which was asking a great deal of such a small boy.

Little Klausi

Who were his teachers? Anita Knoch: His father was his first teacher, and for the piano too. When he was six or seven he was sent to a private piano teacher, who must have been very good. Papa Tennstedt was very pleased with this teacher, and that’s saying something. It was a stringent regime altogether. That put an end to Klaus´ childhood, if you think about it. School finished at 1-1.30 p.m., then there was lunch – a good half-hour break. After that, an hour of piano was followed by at least an hour of violin every day – it was usually more – and then homework. The boys outside, down below, kept whistling for him to come and play. 11

Parents Agnes and Hermann Tennstedt with Klaus

photo: ©Georg Wübbolt

Did he ever rebel against his father? Anita Knoch: He was really a good little boy. He was very obedient and did what his father asked. His mother made no demands on him, she just gave, gave, gave – love and kindness, literally. To mother Agnes, Klaus was the little prince of her heart; he was both the center and meaning of her existence. She was perfectly happy in her role of housewife and mother, right down to her crocheted tablecloth. Whenever his father was angry with him she took her son in her arms and comforted him, sharing inwardly in his tears, almost as if the punishment had been meant for her. Agnes would not necessarily have admitted to herself just how repressive her husband was. She kept busy tending her allotment garden, so ensuring a constant supply of fresh produce for the table, and tidying up after the son around whom her universe revolved. As an only child, Klaus was thoroughly spoiled. The relationship with his mother, whom he later saw only rarely, remained the emotional foundation of Klaus’ life. Just imagine the child practicing in the afternoon. If a father only came home in the evenings and asked his son if he had been practicing industriously, a little cheating might be possible. He might get away with bending the truth somewhat, and answer: "Yes, of course, more than an hour on each instrument." Unfortunately, that did not work for Klaus because Hermann Tennstedt´s working hours meant he was able to control precisely almost every minute of practice. Morning rehearsals at the opera house usually started at 10 a.m., ending around 1 p.m. When Klaus came 12

home from school, his father was also off duty, and both ʽmenʼ looked forward to their family lunch. Hermann Tennstedt was probably at home all afternoon, always with one ear out for his son. He would intervene sharply when he heard his son just playing for fun. (Anyone who has learned to play an instrument knows what that means.) No, the boy had to concentrate on his exercises – upstroke, downstroke, third position, fourth position on the E string! This was truly not a relaxed situation for such a young boy. It ensured that, to some extent, paternal pressure overshadowed Klaus’ future life. Especially during adolescence, fathers play an enormously important role in shaping a child for better or for worse. They can become an invisible authority, subconsciously controlling their offspring for the rest of their lives. They might still be breathing down their necks in adult life, becoming a demanding role model, punishing and rewarding like an Old Testament God. If the child is lucky, the mother’s love will offset paternal pressure. This sounds like a cliché, but it corresponds to the traditional parental role model of the time. Corporal punishment such as spanking was not officially abolished in the GDR until 1949, and only much later in the West. It was accepted common practice until then. In a true Prussian upbringing, it was the father who was responsible for discipline and obedience. As the German saying goes, ʽa good beating never hurt anyone.ʼ Little Klaus, too, got his spanking from time to time. Later in life his irrational outbursts were testament to how such behavior can determine the life of an adult. Nothing was worse for him than criticism of his music-making, just as he’d experienced from his father. Hermann pushed his son relentlessly until every single musical phrase and finally an entire concerto had been absorbed into his system. Accepting compromise was akin to defeatism in his eyes. Klaus was forced to repeat sections over and over again, until the intonation, then a crescendo here or a slight rubato there, fulfilled his father´s expectations and perfection was attained. Klaus absorbed this work ethic with every fiber of his being. Initially, the young boy could not decide whether to become a pianist or a violinist. Eventually, he chose the violin and practiced even more fervently, “though not always gladly, because soccer got neglected,” according to the adult Klaus. Tennstedt also described a situation that was later to be repeated to Kurt Masur. Papa Hermann wanted his son to be familiar with the 13

sound of the world’s orchestras, so they would often listen to records together on an old gramophone. This was a subversive and dangerous pleasure, to be undertaken secretly because importing foreign records or even listening to them was strictly forbidden under the Nazi rule in effect at the time. So father and son hid under a blanket, the gramophone between them, listening attentively and hoping no one outside would hear what was being played. Klaus particularly remembers a recording with the Philadelphia Orchestra, conducted by Leopold Stokowski. Amused, he later recounted: It was … psst! ... very secret. My father said, “Listen son, this is one of the most wonderful orchestras in the world.” And now [with a smile on his face], now I’m conducting it! Klaus was a mere six years old when Adolf Hitler assumed power on 30 January 1933, and only eighteen by the end of those terrible National Socialist years. Thus the most impressionable part of his life was spent under the influence of fascism. Despite this, amazingly, Tennstedt always opposed totalitarian regimes. Music was the ruling factor in his life, and it was only later on that he experienced at first hand what it meant to dance to the tune of politics. The young boy grew up in a thoroughly music-obsessed household. The immense pressure concerning his practicing aside, Hermann went to great lengths to prepare his son for life as an orchestra musician. In an interview with the BBC, Klaus recalled:5 My father took me to concerts and rehearsals at the opera house for the first time when I was eight. That’s when I was allowed to stand next to him and look at the stage. Of course, I was first interested in what was happening on stage, the sets, the costumes, the acting. Then the music came gradually. We can imagine Hermann showing the boy his inner sanctum, his place of work in the opera house orchestra pit, with all the strings and wind instruments and the powerful timpani. And how Klaus as a violinist, and later as a concertmaster, would absorb the vibrant atmosphere of the opera house. And taking a look backstage, with its scenery and vast spaces, opened up a world of wonder for the boy. A world to which he too could gain access if he only practiced properly! Little Klaus could not yet appreciate how this early – and for some sympathetic contemporaries all too exacting – drill would one day pay off. 14

V IOLIN AND PIANO

Music studies in Leipzig 1943-46

What could a boy like this possibly become other than a musician just like his father who, from the time Klaus was a toddler, was making quite sure he had no other choice? After years of being drilled at home, studying at a music academy was the logical next step. The Conservatory of Music was nearby in the city of Leipzig, neighbor to the smaller Halle an der Saale. Its full name then was State Conservatory for Music, Music Education and Performing Arts. Starting in March 1943, Klaus took violin and piano there. It seems anathema for a young German male to have embarked on studying music at that point in history. The world was in the throes of the WWII orgies of destruction. National Socialist Germany was about to lose the war. Very soon the remaining young men and teenagers would be put to the guns as cannon fodder. The sixteenyear-old Klaus would almost certainly be among them. Klaus Tennstedt: I became an air force helper but was discharged because of Air force helper Klaus my bad hip* which was already giving photo: ©Georg Wübbolt me trouble at that time – officially ʽunfit for work‘ [laughs]. That‘s why in the end I didn‘t really experience the horrors of the war. Klaus Tennstedt‘s original enrollment papers, shown on the next page, were discovered in the Leipzig Academy of Music and Theater archives. The handwritten entries are in a mixture of new German and old Sütterlin script and, judging by the signature, were filled in by his father. *Tennstedt was knock-kneed and had a slightly awkward gait. This was probably caused by a malformation of the hip joint, most likely femoral head dysplasia. It is usually congenital and leads to wear and tear on the hip. 15

Tennstedt´s certificate of enrollment – ʽFelix Mendelssohn Bartholdyʼ Academy of Music and Theater, Leipzig, Bibliothek/Archive, A, I.2, 18440

16

Transcription of the enrollment on the left:

S TAT E M U S I C C O N S E R VAT O R Y, L E I P Z I G



Founded in 1843 as ʽMusic Conservatory’

Registration Recorded on: 18 March 1943

Registration no. 18440

Full first and last name of person seeking admission: Hermann Wilhelm Klaus Tennstedt Place of origin: Halle/S.[aale] Place of birth: Merseburg

Address: Leopoldstr. 1 Day and year: 6 June 1926

Nationality: Dtsch. [German] Reich Denomination: Protestant School education: Secondary school Are you of Aryan descent: Yes Who pays for your education? The father H.[ermann] Tennstedt, Municipal Opera musician Who is the legal representative (e.g. father, guardian)? Hermann Tennstedt Main subject: violin, piano Taught by whom and for how long therein? Violin: (Hermann Tennstedt) 3 years Piano: (Luderer – Lüttich) 5 years Have you already studied at another conservatory? No Do you have basic general musical knowledge? Basic music theory Living in Leipzig: living in Halle / S. The division into the individual classes is determined by the management. Wishes can be expressed: Violin: Hilf Piano: Rohden Theory: Petynek

Signatures: Hermann Tennstedt

Klaus Tennstedt

17

The pieces young Tennstedt prepared for his audition were listed on the reverse of the documents: - Johann Sebastian Bach, Prelude and Fugue in C sharp Major - Ludwig van Beethoven, First Piano Sonata in F Minor op. 2, No. 1 - Giovanni Battista Viotti, Violin Concerto No. 23 in G Major The Bach pieces are light and airy, with an unusual seven sharps. By comparison, the Beethoven sonata is not quite as difficult. The Viotti Violin Concerto begins quietly, bubbling forth in a lively and fresh, simple elegance, building to a virtuosity especially in the cadenza. Only a youngster with an astonishing command of piano and violin for his age would select these works. Klaus was barely sixteen when he began studying music. The boy in the photo does not give the impression of having enjoyed a carefree childhood. He was lanky, gaunt, and thin as a beanstalk, just as he continued to appear throughout his GDR years. One can discern a sad seriousness in his expression. He certainly already smoked heavily, to calm his innate nervousness. Klaus at about 16 After a total of ten years´ schooling, he had completed secondary school or Realschule with the Mittlere Reife (Intermediate School-leaving Certificate) at the normal age. It is of course sheer fabrication that, according to his enrollment certificate, he had only received three years of violin lessons with his father. Hermann also markedly underplayed the extent of piano lessons. He must have had his reasons for this certainly misleading information. Was he perhaps uncomfortable about the training schedule he had forced on his son? What is certain is that at the Conservatory, the sum total of the young man´s music studies came to a mere five semesters, plus a half-completed sixth, i.e. not even three years. In January 1946, eight months after the end of the war, his courses at the Conservatory were abandoned without a diploma of any sort. 18

Why did he do that? Finishing studies early is not necessarily a disadvantage for a good musician – with Kurt Masur it was similar. In Klaus´ case, it shows the incredible confidence and ability he had long demonstrated on both violin and piano. To be a good musician one does not need a high school diploma or a degree. It is far more important to start as early as possible, which certainly applied to Klaus. Anita Knoch had a similar background. They had known each other since childhood, but their relationship developed: Georg Wübbolt: You both studied music at the same time? Anita Knoch: We met again in the spring of 1943 in the first semester at the Music Conservatory in Leipzig. I did piano, he did violin and piano. He later once claimed he had also studied composition, but I know nothing about that; as far as I knew he only did violin and piano.

Anita Knoch

Klaus Tennstedt

both photos: ©Georg Wübbolt

There is, in fact, no mention of studying composition, at least in matriculation. In all probability music theory is meant here, a vital foundation for any musician, mandatory for any music diploma, and a subject in which the young Tennstedt also shone. Music theory covers not only the secrets of the circle of fifths as the theoretical basis of our western classical music but alongside aural training and scorereading, it also includes acquiring an understanding of the different musical epochs and styles. Perhaps the boastful young man called this composition studies. For the student unable to foresee the battles facing him in the future in his fight to become a conductor, this course proved 19

a blessing. The foundations for his later career were laid down, and he learned to read, follow and understand orchestral scores. That Tennstedtʼs studies included some composition along the way cannot be refuted entirely, because a piano work in his hand has been preserved.6 His professor for music theory was Johann Nepomuk David (1895-1977), also a teacher of composition. Himself a recognized composer, David was well-acquainted with Arnold Schönberg, whose excursions into so-called atonality he followed with interest. Added to this, he taught Helmut Lachenmann, another important contemporary composer. David also held the position of Rector of Leipzig Academy of Music during the war years (see info box). As requested by his father, Professor Anton Rohden became Tennstedtʼs piano teacher. His violin professor was Walther Davisson (1885-1973), who also occasionally conducted and later became Rector of various music academies. All three teachers Info: Music Conservatory during were top class in their fields, the war and Tennstedt received the The city of Leipzig was bombed best possible training at their heavily in December 1943. Shorthands.7 ly afterwards, fearing a repetition, In the beginning, on week- Rector Johann Nepomuk David days, Anita and Klaus took the arranged for the Conservatory to train from Halle to the Music be evacuated to Crimmitschau in Conservatory in Leipzig and northern Saxony. Studies continback again in the evening – ued there briefly. about 20-30 minutes of travel It was not until October 1946 – time each way. by which time Tennstedt had long Anita Knoch: Klaus was the since left the Conservatory – that type who liked to show off, it was reopened at its old locaquoting old philosophers, tion, this time under the name things like that. I hadn‘t of its founder Felix Mendelssohn heard too much about them Bartholdy, whose works and name [laughs]. I rather enjoyed had been banned during the Nazi that, and there was some- regime. one else with us who fell in love with me first, but I didn´t like him at all. Then Klaus realized, and we had fun on our own and did five or six semesters together, not yet as a couple, but in a loving platonic friendship. Anita was living in Halle with her grandmother at that time. Her parents had a spacious apartment, but since her grandmother lived alone Anita 20

Bomb-damaged Halle theater



photo: Bühnen Halle/Theater, Opera and Orchestra GmbH Halle

had the use of two rooms and a piano for herself, ʽso there was some independenceʼ. And the two young students made the most of this. The city of Halle came through the war relatively unscathed. On 17 April 1945 the city was liberated and then occupied by American troops. Unlike Berlin, Munich, Hamburg and the Ruhr area, bomb damage and destruction in Halle was limited. The municipal theater lay in ruins however and, as in many other towns, theater life only gradually resumed at other venues. Research on the Halle Opera House8 revealed that the summer of 1945 saw the nineteen-year-old Klaus, then still a student, making his first appearances as a substitute violinist in the orchestra, no doubt initiated by his father. This was a welcome extra income for an impecunious student gaining his first experience as a paid musician. Klaus seemed to be willingly emulating his father and getting a first taste of the demands of his later profession. His desk was right at the back of the first violins but already he could imagine moving forward one desk at a time to become concertmaster at the first desk. This was followed only six months later by an abrupt turnabout as Klaus´ life took a completely unexpected direction. No longer the obedient son, on the brink of adulthood he was breaking away. At one fell 21

swoop he repelled his father and burnt all his bridges. Nor was it to be the last break in his life. We can only speculate about the reasons for his sudden decision. The relationship with his father would most likely have played a decisive role. Hermann Tennstedt certainly wanted the best for his only son. Sadly, wanting good and doing good are not synonymous. Hermann wanted to determine his son´s path in life. It is equally possible that, in light of the Halle Opera House destruction, the young man saw little chance of securing a position as leader of the violin section. The positions were already filled and becoming an ensemble violinist was not part of his life plan. A third reason might have been his at times absurdly daredevil attitude, a recklessness that verged on the frightening. Tennstedt took risks early on, heedless of unknown consequences. This became the chosen pattern in his life. Whatever his reasons, suddenly the young student plunged into an impetuous adventure with his girlfriend Anita.

22

SPUR-OF-THE-MOMENT DECISION

Eloping with Anita

By mid-January 1946, the war had been over for eight months. Driving through bomb-scarred Germany was still a nightmare. For a short while, the destruction was softened under a dusting of gray snow. The head-scarved rubble-women whose husbands and sons never returned, or who were still POWs (prisoners of war), dominated the scene in the cities they were excavating in seemingly endless teams. People were starving and lived on whatever they could find. Only in the countryside was there still enough to eat. The victorious allied powers divided Germany into four occupation zones. Halle an der Saale was in the eastern, Soviet zone. Initially there were no travel restrictions, but that was about to change. Klaus Tennstedt was a mere nineteen years old at a time when coming of age was at twenty-one, but with the end of his music studies in sight. He and his best friend Anita Knoch, who was four years older, made a crazy decision. The winter semester 1945-46 had not yet ended and it was very cold. The following story was told by Anita in an interview with the author: Anita Knoch: One day Klaus says, “Hey, is life always so dull? We should do something real for once! Where´s our sense of adventure? The best thing would be to disappear, so no one can find us.” And ... we´re gone! Anita and Klaus photo: ©Georg Wübbolt Georg Wübbolt: Where to? Anita Knoch: That´s what Klaus asks, “Where to?” I say, “I have an uncle and an aunt in Würzburg. They have a big store, ʽSchiborr, Spectacles and Optics’. My uncle actually quite likes me, and maybe they´ll let us stay there.” That night we gave Grandma a sleeping pill [laughs], so we could take our suitcases and leave undisturbed. Klaus says:

23

“I´ll need my things, my violin, and something decent to wear. I can‘t just up and off.” Klaus‘ mother was at the performance that his father was playing for at the theater, so the parents were not there. I say: “You ride your bike home now and pack your jacket, trousers, and underwear in a suitcase.” When that´s done, we´re off on the train. First to some camp in the Harz region. To Friedland? Yes, Friedland, a transition camp. When we get there, there‘s a bunch of people sleeping everywhere, all over the place, frantic goings on. We‘re not really inside yet – and now you‘re going to laugh your head off – Klaus´ name is called out, and there‘s Loreda! Papa Tennstedt had told his childhood friend that Nita has run off with Klaus, and Loreda should go immediately and sweet- Info: Friedland The place is still known totalk him into coming home. Klaus disappears with her, and af- day as a border transit camp ter an hour he comes back and tells for refugees. Since Septemme that he’s sent Loreda home, and ber 1945 it has been the first collection point for Germans says, “I‘m going through with this. expelled from the former We‘re not going back!” eastern territories. In addition, until 1955, hundreds So what happened next? of thousands of returning Well, in the meantime someone had prisoners of war were receistolen a suitcase from me. Klaus al- ved and registered there beways kept the violin with him; it was fore being released to their a very good violin, he never let it out home towns. of his sight. Klaus never neglected his violin playing, he always practiced. He was completely driven to practice the violin, and he was very, very diligent, despite everything. Not tri-tra-trallala, oh no, everything revolved around the violin. We spent two days in the transition camp, then we left for Würzburg. How old were you then? Klaus was nineteen, I was twenty-three; that was in January 1946. It´s not surprising we were young and foolish. It didn´t occur to us that Würzburg might be nothing but a pile of rubble; that we were heading right into the middle of a pile of rubble. That behavior was typical of Klaus Tennstedt in his early years: unpredictable and often irrational. It was part of his character. No 24

clear-thinking person would leave his cozy living room in the bitter cold of winter for such an ill-considered adventure. Anita would have had to adore her Klaus to have gone along with such nonsense. Or was she the driving force?



C OFFEE HOUSE MUSICIANS The city of Würzburg, almost exactly midway between Frankfurt and Nuremberg, suffered a deadly bombardment during the last weeks of the war. The historic old town was almost completely destroyed. Anita Knoch: So we arrived in Würzburg at the railway station, and there was already a large camp made up in the waiting room, where you could sleep. Bed after bed; everyone lying down with their things. The situation in Würzburg was terrible. There wasn´t enough money, wasn´t enough of anything. We really hadn‘t thought it through – just youthful recklessness, and both adventurous. We went to my aunt and uncle‘s shortly afterwards, and the first thing they asked was, “Are you married?” “No.” Würzburg in ruins, 1945 “Then you can´t stay here.” Georg Wübbolt: They didn‘t take you in? Anita Knoch: They did not, and Klaus was very offended. So we stayed in the station waiting room for two or three days, and then I said, this can‘t go on, we´re going to have to earn some money. Café Ludwig on Kaiserstrasse, which is the main street, was one of the few cafés still standing. I went there and told them we would 25

Anita and Klaus

26



photo: ©Georg Wübbolt

entertain the clientele and play dance music every afternoon from three to six and also in the evenings, with violin and piano. I really don‘t know how we managed that, since we were both used to playing Bach and Beethoven! But Klaus stood at the front and fiddled away [laughs]. It was very funny. Where did you get the right sheet music from? I don‘t remember where we got it. I must say, it was a very strange feeling. We had been taught at the Conservatory to listen carefully and feel every note. And the dishes and the coffee spoons clattering away [she makes noises with spoon and cup], that drove me crazy. And Klaus, with his perfect pitch, he kept fiddling – endlessly – the next piece and the next, always hoping that together, somehow, we could make the music work. We played there quite a few times, but we always slept back in the camp. How were you paid, with money or in food? With money. But I was fed up with sleeping in that waiting room. I just couldn‘t take it anymore, and neither could Klaus, who was exhausted. Then I looked at four or five apartments. In Würzburg people are devout Catholics, and the landlords said what we already expected: “Are you married?” “No.” “Then you can‘t have an apartment here.” So, rejected again and again? Well, there was a woman at 1 Gegenbaurstrasse – I must have looked pathetic, and she felt sorry for me. She said, “Well, why don‘t you get married?” So I said, “Klaus, let´s go to the registry office and get married” [laughs]. From Anita´s description, it was she who wore the trousers in their relationship. On 2 February 1946 they both went to the registry office, and up onto the first floor. They told the registrar they wanted to get married right away. Anita Knoch: So she said, “But where are your witnesses?” “What? Do we need witnesses?” [laughs]. I said to Klaus, “You sit here, I‘ll go down and get witnesses.” The first people I met, I asked, “I´m sure you don´t mind acting as our witnesses?” [laughs]. 27

Those two came up – never seen them again – and we were married. We came back to Gegenbaurstrasse and we had nothing, just an empty room. Then Klaus, who was really a lousy handyman, wanted to knock together a bed for us, while I was supposed to organize bedclothes from back in the East [laughs]. Does `in the east´ mean that you had to go back to Halle? Anita Knoch: Yes, and that was the Klaus and Anita ʽin loveʼ photo: ©Georg Wübbolt so-called wedding night [laughs]. I said, “Alright, I‘ll go.” Took the train, and when I got home, my mother was very understanding. I had an old doll´s pram, and my mother put bedding in it, and I went back to Würzburg pushing that doll´s pram [laughs]. Of course, he hadn‘t built the bed. So we put a mat down for the time being. But we were content. Klaus managed to find a bicycle next, although actually he was a bit of a loser when it came to organizing such things. We then got around everywhere on that bike, me on the back and him in front. Getting food, performing in the afternoons. That went on until September 1946, so half a year. Klaus was already smoking one cigarette after another at this point; one pack a day was nothing.

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VIOLINIST in Würzburg CONCERTMASTER in Heidelberg 1946-47 After the war, the occupying forces supported re-establishment of cultural life as quickly as possible, or rather the Western Allies did. They acknowledged the role of the arts and of music in particular in comforting and reassuring a dejected, despairing public. Concerts and opera performances were quickly sold out. On the black market, tickets for a Beethoven concert could be bought for just one packet of cigarettes. But a demoralized population cannot reassert itself in a hurry. It was not only a question of shattered performance venues but involved the lack of artists. Too many had been lost in the war or had returned mutilated and traumatized. Quite a few musicians had lost the ability to play their instruments, resulting in numerous vacant positions needing to be filled as quickly as possible. This state of affairs of course benefited young Klaus. For whatever reason, neither he nor his wife were registered in the Würzburg municipal archives; they perhaps felt it unnecessary to register officially. Nor does the name Tennstedt appear on concert slips or payrolls. However, information from the Heidelberg city archives proves that the family had indeed lived in WürzAnita and Klaus Tennstedt burg and, taking into account their marriage certificate, it appears that the young couple actually lived there from January 1946 to January 1947. Like most of the city, the opera house lay completely in ruins. Despite this, a Würzburg Philharmonic Orchestra survived the war years. It had resumed its concerts soon after the war – and was looking for musicians. Anita Tennstedt, née Knoch: Klaus wanted to audition for the orchestra right away. He needed to prepare a violin concerto. 29

We wanted to play the Max Bruch concerto for the audition committee. I found a garage where there was a piano, Klausi came too and we practiced – practiced beautifully in that garage. The audition date wasn’t far off. We didn´t have long, but afterwards Director Schaller and the audition committee were thrilled. Strange how Klaus never mentioned that time in Würzburg. Was it awkward for him perhaps? Must have been, I suppose. Anyway, Klaus was accepted. “You can start next week, as back desk first violin.” So he went, sat at the back, and played. That was in early 1946, and he then made his way further and further forward in the desks. It was all going well, and on 27 September 1946 we had a daughter. But because I was so underfed, it was a premature birth, a seven-month child, there was nothing we could do about it, nothing. Heidi. Her name was Heidi, and we used to sing, “Heidi heida heidi-hopp-sassa ...” [laughs]. Yes, it was nice: Klaus played outside in the courtyard garden with his orchestra, and I walked by with Heidi in the pram. The memory conjures up an idyllic picture – in the midst of ruins but full of hope for a new beginning. No one can be blamed for tweaking the facts a little. Medical experts have confirKlaus with baby Heidi med that the baby in the photo does not necessarily look like a child born in the seventh month of pregnancy. Let‘s assume that it was a normal full-term child; then Klaus and Anita would have already slept together during their studies. And so Anita‘s statement ʽThere was some independenceʼ takes on a much more piquant flavor. If, around Christmas 1945 and while still in Halle, Anita discovered she was pregnant, they would have had little alternative. Their first thought could have been to get away, to avoid shocking their parents. From that point of view the sudden escape would make sense. A bourgeois family life? We are artists, after all! As it was, Anita soon discovered that Klaus had no intention of remaining faithful – shotgun wedding or not. 30

Anita Tennstedt: It wasn´t easy, of course, because the women found him very nice [laughs], and it was the same the other way around. In Hansel and Gretel, well, Gretel, she got nibbled. You mean the soprano in Humperdinck´s opera? Did you confront him about that? His answer was, “Well, you have to allow me my artistic freedom.” Of course, artistic freedom was at the top of his list. To an extent he deserved it, in some ways. For a marriage though – awful. But otherwise, he behaved himself because he still had plans. He had ambition, didn‘t want to stay a back-desk violinist. The young husband had long since discovered the excitement and thrill of amorous adventure, the tingling in the guts, and over and over again the exhilarating taste of conquest – a Don Giovanni with a violin under his arm. We can surmise that this desire for variety had long since become a habit. Otherwise Klaus would not have turned his back on his marriage after such a short time, and without batting an eye. Free sexual development remained a matter of course throughout his life, as if he had a right to it. We don‘t know if this began in puberty, as usually happens. Often in those years a sexual preference is established and seeks an outlet. With Tennstedt, this strong urge was interwoven with music and musicmaking, like the two strands of a rope. The rigorous daily training on the violin and at the piano was combined with an adolescent sexual awakening. They belonged together, music and sex – two passions, two suns around which Planet Tennstedt revolved, neither of which he could be without. Now all that was missing was a woman who would somehow go along with it all. At the time of the Würzburg adventure, Klaus was not even legally an adult. As the photographs show, Anita was a grown-up, confident woman, and he was an awkward adolescent who behaved in many ways as a youngster. To a certain extent this was something he would never lose and a trait to which many of his contemporaries referred without fully realizing just how shrewd their casual remarks were. Anita clearly remembered the next steps on the ladder of his music career: Anita Tennstedt: All of a sudden, he opened up to me that he had heard of a vacancy for a concertmaster in Heidelberg. I said: “Off to audition in Heidelberg then.” He did, and was taken on immediately, right away. His genius – he always hit the mark. He was only twenty, a very young concertmaster. 31

Did he like it in Heidelberg? Anita Tennstedt: Yes, very much! There were a lot of Americans in the city, so he could always get his beloved cigarettes. In the opera house he was highly praised by his colleagues, too, because he was still so young. And he earned extra money for solo parts. And here Klaus even registered properly. The following entry has been found in the Heidelberg city archives: Klaus Tennstedt, musician, born 6 June 1926, moved from 1 Gegenbaurstrasse, Würzburg, on 22 January 1947. His address was 4 Starenweg, lodging with a family named Barth. He left Heidelberg on 15 August 1947 and moved to Halle. Also living here were his wife, Anita and daughter, Heidemarie. Starenweg is a good mile from the opera house. It’s a leisurely 10-minute bike ride along the Neckar River. There is also a tram stop nearby. The time in Würzburg and with the small opera orchestra in Heidelberg provided the young man with valuable experience. It helped him discover where he wanted to go in life, and take his first steps along that path. He remained true to his goal: becoming concertmaster in a well-known orchestra. Nor, in any sense, had these been lost years. Tennstedt increased his repertoire and was able to free himself from his parental home, especially from his father, at least outwardly. Klaus certainly missed his mother´s good cooking and loving warmth – but he was soon to enjoy them again.

32

FATHER CALLS

A concertmaster in Halle 1948-50

After Klaus had been absent for eighteen months, Hermann Tennstedt prepared the way back home to Halle for his son with an elegant ploy, and without the boy losing face. There is no doubt he would have defied any order from his father! Anita Tennstedt, at that time a housewife and mother, remembers two letters – their contents giving rise once again to an unexpected turn in their lives: Anita: All of a sudden, we got letters; one from his father, one from mine. Of course, they had thought it up between them. His father ran the Tennstedt Quartet. It was well Klaus practicing known in and around Halle. Its excellence had earned it a very good name. They played at spa concerts and the like. Now, of course, our parents were getting too old – eyesight, swollen joints and well, a difficult age – and they asked us to rethink and come back home. My father was a concertmaster and had mainly adult pupils and three choirs. And strangely, neither of them was interested in money. They didn’t care what they earned. The music was paramount, nothing else mattered. Then Klaus said, “Let’s go back to Halle, because the Tennstedt Quartet must not die.” Klaus had just turned twenty-one when he and his small family returned to their home town, this time not covertly but in plain sight, pushing his almost year-old baby and with a wealth of newly-won life experience. The threesome moved in with Anita’s grandmother, where they lived for about a year. The bombed-out opera house in Halle was still far from being rebuilt. Across the city, the business of opera was carried on in various venues such as the Thalia Theater. Klaus earned his money with substitute orchestra jobs and performing with the ʽnew’ old Tennstedt 33

Quartet. Anita taught a few piano students. Despite all this effort, they still had to tighten their belts. Klaus Tennstedt was not earning nearly as much as he had as a concertmaster in Heidelberg. The 1948-49 season saw the young violinist take a huge step towards his dream goal. He was given the position of assistant concertmaster of the first violins in the Halle orchestra. On the one hand this was a cause for celebration but on the other hand the situation remained fraught for the young man whose first desk seat was right next to the highly critical Rebuilt Halle theater, 1951 photo: Bühnen Halle/Theater, Opera and Orchestra GmbH Halle principal of the second violins, his father. Many a stern look will have shot his way. It was definitely not the time for mistakes! Dr Kathrin Hirschinger described the situation in Halle: When filling vacant or newly created positions, the musicians considered were predominantly young, many only in their early twenties or even younger. Among these was the future conductor Klaus Tennstedt, who started as a substitute in August 1945 and was hired as concertmaster in August 1948.9 This is not quite correct. There is a small but significant difference between being first or assistant concertmaster. Karl-Heinz Schuster, then deputy viola principal of the Halle orchestra, is well aware of the subtle differences in orchestral rank. He emphasizes that Klaus Tennstedt was ʽassistant concertmaster of the first violinsʼ. After all, he was sitting at the first desk and was the youngest concertmaster in eastern Germany. In any case, it was a terrific achievement for such a young man. However, Tennstedt preferred to omit the `assistant’ title in all future interviews. Later becoming concertmaster in Schwerin, Werner Mentzel was still a schoolboy in Halle at the time. He explained: 34

Werner Mentzel: The young Klaus Tennstedt was besotted with the violin, performed a great deal of chamber music and was highly respected in the Halle orchestra. I know, my violin teacher played in the orchestra at that time, and he spoke in the highest terms of young Tennstedt. He said, “He just sits down at the piano and can accompany a singer right away.” Anita Tennstedt: Of course, as a violinist he was very ambitious, practiced incredibly hard but suffered from terrible nervousness. With his string quartet, he performed really interesting programs. Even as a young man he was relentless when it came to quality. The cellist in the quartet complained about the general atmosphere: “I’m quitting! I’m not putting up with Tennstedt.” The man was absolutely fanatical about reaching a specific musical goal; the cellist described him as “very demanding, but he gets his way in the end.” Just prior to a concert, Klaus would be in the warm-up room pacing back and forth: “Why am I doing this anyway? I’m quitting, I can’t take any more of this.” He was a bundle of nerves and had no patience with himself and the rest of the world. Even back then, Tennstedt displayed an agonizing state of mind from which he would suffer throughout his life: extreme stage fright. He shared this nerve-racking condition with many great artists Info: Founding of the GDR who would rather be anywhere The four allied powers were unbut backstage before a concert. able to agree on what to do with Probably everyone has expe- a defeated Germany. A separarienced test or examination tion of zones between the USA, stress at some point. Sensitive France and Britain together in artists experience this before the West, and the Soviet Union every performance, throughout in the East became inevitable. After the Bundesrepublik Deutschtheir careers. land (BRD) (BRD) or Federal Republic About ten years later, Werner of Germany was founded in the Mentzel became concertmas- summer of 1949, the East reter at the Schwerin Municipal acted by founding the Deutsche Theater where, as coincidence Demokratische Republik (DDR) would have it, he met Klaus or German Democratic Republic Tennstedt again – by now mu- (GDR) on 7 October 1949. The sic director but basically un- new borders between East and West Germany were drawn, even changed, personally. though the wall had not yet been Werner Mentzel: Before every built across Berlin. concert, extreme nervousness 35

because he didn´t believe he´d be able to do justice to the music. And his fanatical devotion to it – demanding the highest quality – was terribly exhausting for many of us. Where did this fanaticism originate? His father of course played a huge Hermann Tennstedt senior, on the right photo: Bühnen Halle role. Kurt Masur made an interesting observation regarding Klaus´ father Hermann, which sheds some light on the difficult relationship between the two Tennstedts: Kurt Masur: His father was principal of the second violins. Among the orchestra members he was a tremendously respected musician. And he was extremely critical. I was scared of his father too. If something wasn´t right, he would grumble at one of us. So there were plenty of reasons why we didn´t get along too smoothly. On the other hand, we met in the afternoons to play Schubert trios, to practice – with his father, too. But he didn’t like playing second fiddle. In the orchestra, yes, but not otherwise. Tennstedt senior was a pronounced authority, well thought of in the orchestra, and that put his son at a disadvantage, being just as fearful of his father as everyone else was.10 From these remarks emerges the picture of a character whom we would not consider pleasant. Masur had no trouble shaking off this mixture of fear and respect for the older Tennstedt. But Klaus was subjected to a tyrannical, often irascible father all his life! At times, Klaus must have hated him. Hermann shaped the young man and in doing so almost crushed him. It is possible he was projecting his own ʽfailureʼ onto his son, perhaps because he himself did not rise to the position of concertmaster of the first violins. But his son had to! He, Hermann, made sure of that. Klaus Tennstedt set out on his life’s journey with a heavy paternal weight on his shoulders. It was both inspiring and burdensome. However, his father’s expectations were soon to be fulfilled, even if not in the way he had envisaged. 36

So it was that Klaus lived the typical life of an orchestra musician: morning rehearsals at the theater from 10 o’clock, and at noon Anita was ready with a meal – or was it Mother Agnes? After this, only a short rest because a good violinist must practice – tricky sections needed to be perfected, especially if you were a concertmaster. Klaus could not afford faults in his playing, as he had to be a role model and impeccably in control. To make matters worse, his father sat next to him listening for every tiny mistake, every miniscule insecurity. Being well-prepared was vital! Then it was back to the afternoon rehearsal or, after a light evening meal, to the evening performance at the theater. This called for a high level of concentration, as indeed had the whole day. The performance was seldom over before 10 p.m. and, by the time the adrenalin level had returned to normal, midnight and bedtime were not far off. The next morning the cycle began anew. Over the following three years, Tennstedt mastered an enormous portfolio of repertoire at the first violin desk, from late Mozart operas to Beethoven, Schumann and Brahms symphonies and operas by Wagner, Verdi and Strauss. Even contemporary composers were not neglected. It was in Halle that two young men met and would meet again and again, pursuing their careers in a merry dance – sometimes one, sometimes the other leading the way. At first it was pure friendship, based on mutual liking, unclouded, with music their shared commitment. Klaus Tennstedt met Kurt Masur, freshly hired as accompanist and `ballet conductor´ at the Halle Municipal Theater, a complete beginner. He was also required to conduct other smaller orchestras, and Kurt Masur photo: Bühnen Halle incidental music for plays. The pieces included such things as The Princess and the Swineherd and What did the cat drag in? Nothing has changed since then – it’s still the case that great careers are best begun by starting on the lowest rung of the ladder and working step by step to the topmost. Both Masur and Tennstedt are perfect examples of this. Although some feature articles maintain that the two had met at the Music Conservatory in Leipzig, this is not the case, as confirmed 37

by Masur who only began his studies there in 1946, after Tennstedt and his girlfriend Anita had long since thrown caution to the winds, packed their bags and set out on their Würzburg adventure. Kurt Masur reminisced over their budding acquaintance in Halle: Our friendship grew and then things really took off. Klaus wanted to play chamber music with me. We played the César Franck Sonata together with me accompanying him, as well as a Schubert Trio with his father Hermann. It was a very normal and relatively spontaneous collaboration because we not only liked each other but understood each other very well musically. We spent many nights together listening to records, at his place or mine. We went through a lot of them together, holding long discussions about the pros and cons. I have a scratched old record of the Moscow Philharmonic playing Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov´s Scheherazade, with David Oistrakh playing the violin solo. We were drunk on it for nights on end. It was not long before the young violinist Tennstedt also played Scheherazade; Masur was moved by how tender he sounded, and perfectly in tune. Kurt Masur: Then in Moscow once, when I was coming back from a concert, I bought an old Tristan and Isolde recording; the whole Tristan for ten rubles. With Furtwängler. Stuff that thrilled and gripped us night after night. Klaus was so enthusiastic. He was always passionate about whatever music was being played at the time. Remarkably, later on Tennstedt was often compared to Wilhelm Furtwängler, especially because of his unusually gentle and seemingly imprecise conducting style. At the time, Furtwängler was the world’s leading representative of German music. He is still considered one of the greatest conductors of the 20th century. Kurt Masur: In between, Klaus managed to give some solo concerts, which he played really well, for example, the Beethoven Violin Concerto. There are in fact indications that the young violinist even thought seriously about a solo career. In any case, this Beethoven concert appeared in the advance notice for the 1950-51 season, with Tennstedt as soloist. He had mastered it and ought to have been perfectly comfortable with performing, but somehow his left ring finger no longer did what it should. The young assistant concertmaster had to cancel the performance. 38

Klaus as a young soloist

photo: Bühnen Halle/Theater, Opera and Orchestra GmbH Halle

39

40

T HAT WRETCHED LEFT RING FINGER Halle 1951-54

When the bomb-damaged Halle Municipal Theater was rebuilt, a commemorative book was published for its reopening on 31 March 1951. This listed all 81 orchestra members. The list was most probably compiled at the end of 1950 and is not in alphabetical order. Strangely, other names appeared as first and assistant concertmaster. Klaus Tennstedt is listed as first among the tutti THE ORCHESTRA OF THE LANDESTHEATER HALLE: 81 musicians in total first violins. This would I. Violin Walter Höhne suggest he was the so- I. Concertmaster Karl Gehr Adam Busch called Vorgeiger, being Assistant I. Concertmaster Hans Korrmann on the second desk of Christian Redder Helmut Kräher Paul Prescher the first violins. But that II. Concertmaster Erich Spindler Herbert Putzenhardt would certainly be a de- I. Violin Friedrich-W. Hamann motion. Klaus Tennstedt Reinhold Zirkel

Ursula Wolff



Horst Spittler

Anita Tennstedt: ... ... ... Klaus complained – to this day, I have never understood why – he suddenly complained about his hand. All of a sudden he said he couldn’t play the violin anymore. Kurt Masur: He began to lose control of his ring finger. He was a good soloist, I don’t know how it happened. He had lots to do, he was filling in as concertmaster very often, he was always working. He once came to me and was pretty distressed: “My fourth finger isn´t doing what I want it to. Will I have to stop playing? What am I going to do?” A ganglion had developed on the ring finger of his left hand and a benign growth had formed, severely restricting the mobility of the joint. Nowadays a 15-minute surgical operation under local anesthetic would suffice to remove it, and physiotherapy would ensure the return of mobility. Ganglion on the ring finger

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Kurt Masur had already warned of the outcome: Tennstedt was not just busy, he was too busy, probably overworking himself. Plenty of musicians and athletes have ruined their careers by overworking certain muscles or damaging tendons. The doctor examining him ordered a break of at least three months, forbidding him to touch the violin or play the piano. To do nothing that would put any kind of strain on his hand. After the three months, however, there was little improvement. The regression to playing first violin as a prelude to giving up playing altogether did not come overnight – it was incremental. Some days were better and brought fresh hope, but then again it was back to despair. By any standards it was a catastrophe. All his plans for the future and twenty years of hard work seemed to be torn to shreds. To date medical science has been unable to discover why a ganglion develops in the first place. What is known is that it normally resolves spontaneously. Why didn’t this happen in Klaus’ case? Or did it and we are not to know about it? Something more sinister might quite possibly have been behind this development. Was young Klaus exhausted from constantly being watched and judged by his father, sitting at arm’s length? Did his mere presence cause unspoken pressure for Klaus? He could not expect Hermann to suddenly shed his character like an old coat and turn into a friendly, supportive and understanding colleague and parent. For Klaus, despite moments of fulfillment and definite successes, the violin was inextricably associated with his father – in other words, with years of slavery. The cursed ring finger came to symbolize a gesture of defiance towards him. Anita said she still didn‘t understand the whole thing, and the conversation with Masur also seemed strangely meaningless. A ganglion cannot be brought about deliberately but, once there, Klaus could have used it as an excuse to finally step out from under his father’s shadow and establish himself independently. In life, decisions are often made irrationally. They can appear from nowhere and take on the qualities of a lucky fluke or coincidence. This seems to have been the case for Tennstedt since, in the aftermath of this life-changing development, his desire grew to have the creative responsibility for an entire symphony or opera. This is impossible for a violinist from the first desk; for this you need to take the baton in hand. “A concertmaster,” he said thirty years later, “must co-operate closely with the conductor – in mutual respect. And when you sit right next to the conductor you can watch exactly what he does and 42

see how he gets his results.” It seems that at some point an ambition took shape to stand up there on the podium. His period in Halle, as Tennstedt explained in an interview with Robert Baxter,11 was vital, “although I was unaware of it at the time.” Whether a conscious strategy or an unconscious impulse, it was a risky business. It displayed an inner tension pulling at him from several angles, a struggle with an uncertain outcome. Throughout his life and career, Klaus Tennstedt repeatedly maneuvered himself into seemingly hopeless situations. This new development exactly fitted the previous pattern. He continued to take great risks concerning both his life and his music making. Such internal struggles regarding a chosen career path are not unheard of. The Italian conductor Antonello Manacorda, born in 1970, told of his own. For a long while he had been concertmaster of the Mahler Chamber Orchestra under Claudio Abbado, putting the violin aside for good in 2006. “It was a liberation!” he says. “Violin is such a difficult instrument.”12 Herbert Blomstedt, another conductor who started off as a violinist, is a further example: “I simply adored playing. But I couldn´t control my nerves when playing in public. I couldn´t stop trembling. I think conducting was something of an escape.”13 The professional catastrophe was then joined by a private dilemma. Anita was no longer prepared to accept her husband´s nightly excursions. Anita Tennstedt: While we were in Halle Klaus was hardly ever at home, he was out, flitting about – and here it comes: my first love was back! When I was twelve I had a childhood sweetheart, Max, but he didn’t know it at twelve [laughs], and I married him later. Now Klaus was out on the streets again, didn´t come home at night – I have to tell that story! Max says: “My goodness, you’ve led such a nun’s life, we´re going dancing tonight, you and I, to the Tusculum.” So we both went to the Tusculum. Max Walter Staudt was one of the last soldiers to return home from Russian POW captivity in November 1949. Straight out of school, he had been called up in the last year of the war and sent to the Russian front. Like so many others, when he returned he had virtually nothing – no money, no vocational training, no prospects. Anita Tennstedt: So we’re at the Tusculum. It’s about 11 p.m.; a woman hidden under a headscarf comes into the bar, scanning the rows of chairs. That was Grandma Tennstedt [Klaus’ mother Agnes]. Up in the north she had already heard that Klaus’ wife was dancing 43

Klaus Tennstedt as a young conductor 44

photo: Theater Chemnitz

with someone else in the south [laughs her head off]. Then I said, “Well, that finishes me off.” Max says, “Right, let´s go then. I just have to pay first, and we’re going to have a farewell dance too.” He calls the waitress to pay the bill and Klaus walks in [laughs], with a soprano on his arm, called Kretschmer; I knew her too: Rosel Kretschmer. Then Max says, “I’ve had enough now,” and, guess what, he runs over to Klaus. And Klaus, with the violin in one arm and Kretschmer on the other, says “Is my wife here?” [Anita laughs] Anyway, he left right away. Max comes to me and says, “Now let’s get things straight, you can’t go on like this, you’re wearing each other out. Right, we´ll go and find Klaus.” His parents helped us find him; they didn’t think the relationship was healthy either. We finally found him with a lady [the aforementioned Rosel Kretschmer]. I waited outside. Later Max told me that when he rang the bell, this lady opened the door and said: “I can’t let you in, Herr Tennstedt is ill.” Max says: “Let’s see how ill he really is.” “You definitely can’t see him, he´s running a high fever.” Klaus calls from inside: “Max, come on in.” He goes inside, and Klaus says: “Max, you are Anita´s true love, aren´t you? I’m too young, I need my artistic freedom.” And that’s what he was – too young. You can’t tie people down, and he said to Max: “Why don´t you take her?” [laughter from Anita]. But Max had no money at all, he had just got back from being imprisoned in Russia, and Klaus said: “Yes, we’ll have a nice farewell party at Green’s wine bar.” [Anita laughs] “When´s the wedding, then?” Says Max: “First I have to work out what I want to be, what I want to study.” Klaus said, “I’ll help you until then, if it’s not more than two months or so, and you, Max, can have my evening coat, my patent leather shoes and so on for the wedding. Don’t worry, it´ll all be taken care of.” That was our goodbye. We divorced in March 1950. This is how the young violinist skilfully got rid of a big problem. Two months later, Anita married her Max. It was a dream wedding, all in white with a big veil, and little Heidi as the flower-girl. Anita: I know very little about what happened to Klaus after that, except that a few times he came to celebrate Christmas with us. Later Max and I had a son, Hans-Jürgen. 45

I t should not be forgotten that Klaus‘ and Anita’s marriage was not planned at all. It came purely out of necessity, because a baby was on the way and if unmarried they could not have rented an apartment. And at least for Klaus, the vows of marital fidelity were only on paper. However, he from left: Inge Tennstedt (Klaus´ second wife), and Max remained Anita and Max Staudt, Klaus Tennstedt, ca. 1985 good friends all their lives, and the couples shared many a holiday in each other´s company. Now Klaus would be alone for four years, though certainly not every night; enough time to let off steam – his `artistic freedom´? However, the problem with the ring finger was still unsolved. Although the story above reveals a certain joie de vivre, he was still preoccupied with that inner conflict. His lifelong goal was obviously in ruins. Would conducting really be the way out? That would mean starting all over again. Luckily, he wasn´t fired right away. An excellent pianist and sightreader, he was offered the position of repetiteur. He accompanied and taught singers their parts at the piano and also played for the rehearsals. That went quite well, despite his problematic fourth finger. As a young man, Kurt Masur suffered from a similar condition himself, also with the ring finger of his left hand: “At some point it simply refused to work, and so I learned to compensate with the other fingers,” he reported, grinning. A repetiteur can get away with tricks if he is clever, and so Klaus was able to fumble his way through on the piano. He played and conducted small pieces of stage music, helped out, stepped in and played the piano wherever it was needed. He even played the harpsichord. For the rest of his life, no one could better him as to what was playable on the violin and what was not. As so often in life, the skills he was forced to develop during this difficult period only revealed themselves as benefits later on. 46

Newly appointed at the Halle Theater in the 1950-51 season was the music director Horst-Tanu Margraf. He had previously been MD in Coburg and had always shown a soft spot for George Frederic Handel. This was ideal in Halle, birthplace of the famous composer in 1685, and the town where he had spent his early years. Margraf and Tennstedt hit it off right away. The music director recognized the young man’s talent and kept an eye out for a suitable opportunity for him. Klaus Tennstedt remembered: Horst-Tanu Margraf was a good conductor, and he helped me a lot. Not by Horst-Tanu Margraf photo: Bühnen Halle giving me tips, but one day a conductor fell ill. On the program that night was the opera Der Günstling (The Favorite) by Rudolf Wagner-Régeny. I had previously rehearsed it with the soloists and knew it inside out. I had never stood in front of an orchestra though, never even held a baton. Margraf said, “How would you feel about filling in tonight?” I thought the man was crazy, but in the end I said, “Yes.” Kurt Masur: The boss loved him so much that he stood at his side ready to step in if need be, because he wasn´t sure if Klaus could manage the whole performance. Der Günstling had appeared for the first time Info: The Favorite in the Halle repertoire that 1950-51 season. The worker as a hero, When Tennstedt said that he had rehearsed a reference to sociathe piece with the soloists, he can no lon- lism: Gil, a simple ger have been a violinist but, by the spring working man, sacrifices himself to of 1951 at the latest, a repetiteur. That was oust the influential the season which saw his gradual transition queen´s lover, the from violinist to repetiteur. And a little later `favorite‘ and rescue this unexpected task landed at his feet. the kingdom. Klaus Tennstedt: No one knew anything about my taking over, not even my father. He sat at his desk, and in the evening I suddenly appeared in front of the orchestra in my tailcoat. My father almost had a stroke, he was trembling so much he could hardly hold his bow. 47

Margraf wanted to make sure it went well. I didn’t know how I was going to conduct. I was getting slower and slower, lagging behind the orchestra and thought, that’s not right. Then I took the bull by the horns, and suddenly it worked. By the second act Horst-Tanu Margraf wasn´t there anymore. He was sitting in the canteen drinking [laughs], and the opera ended wonderfully. Werner Mentzel, later concertmaster in Schwerin: That must have been – I’m echoing the words of my Halle violin teacher – sensational. Massive applause from the entire ensemble, the orchestra was really pleased, and that just opened the door for him. Klaus Tennstedt: Later I took over Fidelio, which I wouldn´t want to listen to today [laughs]. Then I was given my own pieces to rehearse, which were Il Campiello (The Little Square) by Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari and Tiefland (The Lowlands) by Eugen d´Albert.14 There followed numerous takeovers of existing productions, such as Christoph Willibald Gluck’s Der bekehrte Trunkenbold (The Converted Drunkard) and Georg Philipp Telemann’s Pimpinone, ballet performances with music by Debussy, Ravel and Khachaturian and once even a complete orchestral concert with Robert Schumann’s Fourth Symphony as the main work. He also occasionally appeared as an accompanying pianist or harpsichord player. The gamble paid off! The violin was freed from all paternal pressure. Gradually losing its overpowering connotations with his father must have been liberating for Klaus, for the violin remained his great love. A career as a conductor lay before him, the path leading from violin concertmaster to maestro of an orchestra. Two years later, in the autumn of 1954, Tennstedt left his hometown of Halle. It was time to spread his wings, make his way into the world, and finally conduct the great masterpieces. The violin remained his most precious possession, representing an unattainable dream. Years later, attempting to flee the GDR, it was the only thing he took with him. 48

APPRENTICESHIP IN THE PROVINCES

First Kapellmeister in Karl-Marx-Stadt (Chemnitz) 1954-58

A year before Klaus Tennstedt arrived there, the city of Chemnitz had been renamed Karl-Marx-Stadt because the current GDR leadership wanted to pay homage to the founder of communism. Saxony can certainly boast of nicer places, but its newest citizen had different priorities. Here he was given the opportunity to prove himself as a conductor. Little did he know that he would soon trigger an official reaction that resulted in a serious setback to his career. The imposing Chemnitz opera house had just been rebuilt after being completely destroyed during the war. Gerhard Teichmann, second violinist, and Rudi Chemnitz opera house today photo: Georg Wübbolt Sonntag, clarinetist, were orchestra members in the opera at that time: Gerhard Teichmann: I’d worked in Halle earlier, and that´s where I knew Tennstedt the violinist from. Suddenly I was told a new conductor was coming, Tennstedt from Halle. “What?” I said, “in Halle he was a violinist, hadn´t studied conducting.” Rudi Sonntag: I remember him as always being a bit nervous and fidgety. As a young conductor, he knew exactly what he wanted and he demanded it. Most of my younger colleagues supported him, although he was always a source of contention for the older ones: “The young upstart should study properly first,” and “He should have stuck to the violin.” Personally, I thought he did a great job. Gerhard Teichmann: Tennstedt was almost constantly nervous. He still seemed boyish sometimes, not sure of himself or confident. And he was unpleasant towards his colleagues. If something didn’t work right 49

away he interrupted immediately, and snapped at them. Once he said to the violins, “This passage isn´t that difficult.” So the concertmaster held out his violin and said, “You’re a violinist, you show us how to play it, then” [laughs]. That shut him up.

In an MDR (Middle German Radio) broadcast, Tennstedt claimed to have fond memories of his time in Karl-Marx-Stadt: Klaus Tennstedt: The music director at the time was very ill; his name was [Martin Paul] Egelkraut. I had to take over Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, the operas Die Walküre, Eugene Onegin and even Rosenkavalier at very short notice. It was crazy! I had never conducted those before, but I did well. Then of course I got wonderful new works, all due to the illness of the music director. I did a Falstaff [by Verdi] that caused a furore far beyond the borders of Chemnitz – a difficult opera. I´m very grateful for the time in Chemnitz.15

The new production of Falstaff in particular would benefit the young man later on. He also took on Georges Bizet’s Carmen, Giuseppe Verdi’s Aida and led the rehearsals and performances of Die verkaufte Braut (The Bartered Bride) by Bedřich Smetana. The singer Ingeborg Kollmann played important roles in some of these operas; we will hear much more of her later. Filling in for the boss was easier said than done. Where are the changes and cuts? Tempo transitions especially can threaten the balance between pit and stage. Tempi in general, if taken too fast or too slow, can disrupt a singer’s breath control. Before a performance there isn’t normally a rehearsal; if you are lucky, there will be a brief run-through of the trickiest passages. Although welcome, it was also extremely tough training for Tennstedt, requiring his full concentration. Following his father´s example to a ʽTʼ he understood the importance of working exceptionally hard if you want good results. If time allowed and he did not have to take over unknown works from one day to the next, his first step was studying the orchestral scores for days and nights on end. The work of a conductor is complex. So many things to consider: which instrument has the melody? Where do singers and choir need their cues? Which tempo is the right one, and how does one indicate that in advance with the upbeat? If rehearsal time is short, the most difficult passages still need to be rehearsed. Of course Tennstedt benefited from his years as an orchestral violinist, but now he was responsible for every single detail. 50

Here are listed the extra concerts that he was allowed to take over, due to GMD Egelkraut’s illness. Some of those works he later often included in his programs, such as Benjamin Britten’s Sinfonia da Requiem, the Jupiter Symphony by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart or the Schumann Symphonies No. 3 and No. 4. Tennstedt concerts in Chemnitz/Karl-Marx-Stadt Beethoven, L. van Britten, Benjamin d‘Albert, Eugen Dvořák, Antonín Egk, Werner Haydn, Joseph Hindemith, Paul Hindemith, Paul Mozart, Wolfgang A. Mozart, Wolfgang A. Mozart, Wolfgang A. Pejko, Nikolai Reinhold, Otto Shostakovich, Dmitri Schumann, Robert Schumann, Robert Schumann, Robert Sibelius, Jean Sibelius, Jean Stravinsky, Igor Suchoň, Eugen

Symphony No. 2 Sinfonia da Requiem Concert for cello and orchestra Symphony No. 8 Abraxas-Suite Symphony No. 85 La Reine Concert for cello and orchestra Symphony E flat Major (1940) `Eine kleine Nachtmusik’, Serenade Symphony No. 41 Jupiter Symphony No. 38 Prague (minus minuet) Moldavian Suite Triptych for Orchestra (1954) Concerto for piano, trompet and strings Concert for Piano and Orchestra Symphony No. 3 Rhenish Symphony No. 4 The Swan of Tuonela Concert for violin and orchestra Firebird Suite (ballet) Fantasy for violin and orchestra

Music colleagues began to notice that they were dealing with two Tennstedts: the everyday person and the conductor. The person who enjoyed a game of Skat, was easily tempted by a beer and a cognac, apparently disappeared as soon as he set foot on the podium. There, he was absorbed into this other world, the world of music. The opera house revolved around him and all needed to follow his lead, weaving among the strains of the strings, the velvety sounds from sopranos and the high Cs from the tenors. Everything flowed through him, communicated through his body with hand gestures and facial expression. This miracle came about in a completely involuntary way, simply by lending himself as a medium. In no way could sitting at the first violin desk compare with the fulfillment he found on the podium. 51

Klaus Tennstedt

52



photo: Theater Chemnitz

For the overzealous Tennstedt it was a tough workout. Those were busy days, filled to the last possible moment with music, music, and more music – just what he needed. All the same, many Chemnitz colleagues found their new conductor´s fanatical attitude very hard to take. Gerhard Teichmann: Tennstedt was a great musician; I remember he conducted Falstaff very well. He was particularly nervous during rehearsals. He broke off and criticized and asked the violin section to play alone. He even asked individuals to play alone – difficult passages! That did not make him popular. In the end, nobody was sorry to see him go, because he was so edgy and sometimes quite unpleasant. ʽMinstrels!’ he called us, [laughs] meant as an insult. And he smoked a lot.

It cannot have escaped Tennstedt’s notice that, repeatedly, after the summer vacations, a few musicians were missing. They had ʽrelocated’ to the West or, to put it more accurately, defected, fled – secretly, but still relatively easily, because neither the Berlin Wall nor even barbed wire were yet in place. Many of the fugitives disagreed with the socialist system, but more importantly they were far better paid in the West. Tennstedt was certainly considering following suit, but in KarlMarx-Stadt he could conduct regularly, especially some of the greatest works in the operatic repertoire – a godsend. During his time in Karl-Marx-Stadt, two things happened that affected Tennstedt’s private as well as his professional fortunes. Once again his life was permanently changed by the juxtaposition of luck and misfortune. The good fortune – which held for the rest of his life – was a certain mezzo-soprano named Ingeborg Kollmann, née Fischer. She had been employed as a soloist in KarlMarx-Stadt for five years. Ingeborg Kollmann: Klaus came to conduct a production of Giuseppe Verdi´s Aida, in which I sang Amneris. I was sitting on a table when this young man came in. I thought, should I show respect and stand up? I decided not to. A young Ingeborg ‘Inge’ Kollmann

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As Tennstedt later recounted, he thought to himself: “Who is this arrogant girl?” It wasn’t the best way to begin working together. But as Cupid waited in the wings to fire his first arrows, plenty of opportunities presented themselves during the many rehearsals and performances that followed. Dieter Bülter-Marell: First of all, Inge was a very attractive and beautiful woman. She had a deeply erotic appeal: a natural on stage, a great performer and a very lovable person. Klaus soon found this out for himself. “I have never,” he said, “held so many extra rehearsals with a lady singer before.” That might sound like the beginning of many a romantic involvement, but this colorful love story was to last a lifetime. Little did Inge know she would be piloting his ship through some pretty stormy seas. Dieter Bülter-Marell: Klaus was heavily dependent on her, always. He was certainly under her spell in a physical sense. He needed her, and later, when he was alone in Radebeul, they had hour-long phone conversations, because she was working in Leipzig by then. We might have drunk ten schnapps, but that didn´t stop them having a heart-to-heart for two whole hours. Dieter Härtwig, dramaturge and later colleague: She alone kept Klaus’ affairs in order. If he hadn’t had her ... [wagging his finger back and forth] As an artist, she was already a bit past her best. Such is the fate of many a singer. Inge brought a son into the relationship, Janos, called Janschi. For the most part the boy grew up with his grandparents, since both his mother and stepfather Klaus spent the majority of their time caught up in the world of the theater. Parenting was not a role either of them was Patchwork family (fr.l.): Hannes, Heidi, Janschi, Klaus suited for, and Inge soon discovered just how difficult it was being a sought-after singer with a partner who is married to his music as much as to her. And Tennstedt had a daughter, Heidi, who was in 54

the care of her mother, his first wife Anita, and her husband Max. These two had a son, Hans-Jürgen, named Hannes. Complicated? No, just a perfect patchwork family. Now for the bad fortune: it would be another few years before the Berlin Wall was built, and in the 1950s it was possible to travel from the so-called ʽEastern Zoneʼ to the West. This, though, required a permit which Hannes, Heidi, Janschi only an official political body could grant. Tennstedt considered that unnecessary and thought he could just drive from Karl-Marx-Stadt to Hanover ʽfor loveʼ as Dieter Bülter-Marell put it. Tennstedt had three days off. Georg Wübbolt: That was a six-hour car drive! Dieter Bülter-Marell: Yes, about that. At that time I was working in Radebeul, and he was still in Karl-Marx-Stadt. Klaus was actually due to become principal conductor of the Leipzig Gewandhaus; he had come to their notice. But that fell through for ʽpoliticalʼ reasons. He was then offered the chance to ʽredeemʼ himself at the county theater of Saxony. So he came to Radebeul and became a provincial music director instead. What were those ʽpoliticalʼ reasons? Dieter Bülter-Marell: He went to Hanover ʽfor loveʼ for three whole days without first getting hold of a permit. He just didn’t bother to get one, and he disappeared overnight. Of course, they pinned that on him and claimed he didn’t have the maturity to be head of the Gewandhaus, and that he would have to prove himself first.

That did not bode well; in fact it was a heavy blow and he was sentenced to remove himself – ʽout to the sticksʼ. He was reprimanded like a young boy coming home too late at night. Such humiliation seemed totally unreasonable punishment for such a trifle. It planted a seed of resentment that increased his hatred for the communist regime. Just because of a little out-of-town flirtation – such unjust consequences! It looks as if the system of denunciation was seamlessly continued from the Third Reich into communism. 55

The place they sent him to ʽprove himselfʼ was the small county theater of Saxony (Landesbühnen Sachsen) in Radebeul, near Dresden. No one stayed there longer than they had to, because the working hours were long, the work was poorly paid and there was little artistic recognition. The theater, however, was well-known – it played the outlying districts, on small village stages. In the afternoons the company would get on the bus, travel, change into their costumes, put on their make-up, perform, return home late at night, and drop into bed dead tired. Not infrequently it would be nearing midnight, with the next day´s rehearsal at 10 o´clock in the morning. Nice prospects. Nothing similar would ever have happened to Tennstedt´s friend Kurt Masur. Taking the career ladder in giant strides, he was already music director in Schwerin and soon after at the Komische Oper Berlin – positions seemingly out of reach for Tennstedt.

56

O N THE ROAD

Music director at the Landesbühnen Sachsen, Radebeul 1958-62 “He conducted sometimes as if he were running a fever.” Werner Mentzel, concertmaster The town of Radebeul is mostly known for the German author Karl May and his fictional ʽCowboy and Indianʼ characters Old Shatterhand and Winnetou. The small town is picturesquely situated on the River Elbe, almost exactly opposite the famous cultural metropolis, Dresden. Luckily for Tennstedt, things turned out far better than he had feared. Intended as a punishment, this new phase of his life became an early highlight. Contrary to expectations, the position turned out to be full of excitement. Here, for the first time, the young conductor was responsible for his own programs, and could immerse himself even deeper in his work. He met like-minded colleagues, the directors Dieter Bülter-Marell and Reinhard Schau and dra- Landesbühnen Sachsen, ready for departure photo: Theater Archive Schwarze, Dresden maturge Dieter Härtwig. He was also invited to Hamburg by the impresario Rolf Liebermann, who asked him to conduct the State Opera there regularly, but he turned the offer down! Much was to happen before he finally got there. County theaters are primarily touring theaters, and Radebeul was no exception. Although there was a main theater where they rehearsed and performed, most of the productions took place on the forty or so smaller stages in the wider Dresden area. It was a three-part or multi-purpose theater with opera, drama, and ballet departments* *The GDR had 42 multi-purpose theaters. Considering the per capita size of the state it topped the list in the world. Today, unified Germany is unique in supporting 80 three-sector or multi-purpose theaters. 57

and was considered the largest touring theater in the German-speaking world. Klaus Tennstedt: The ensemble was brilliant, you don’t get anything like that anymore. How can I put it? Air travel was not around then, meaning the conductor was always on the spot. There were still real ensembles. We did great things there.15 As their new music director, Klaus Tennstedt, together with the current general manager Rudi Kostka, was able to select any operas close to his heart. Over the course of the Radebeul years these were Giuseppe Verdi´s Otello and Don Carlos, Leoš Janáček´s Jenufa, Giacomo Puccini´s Madama Butterfly and Carmen by Georges Bizet, all of which figure prominently in the operatic repertoire, and are actually too big for a house of that size. Each season also featured at least one contemporary work, such as Rolf Liebermann´s Die Schule der Frauen (The School for Wives), followed by Der grüne Kakadu (The Green Cockatoo) by German-American composer Richard Mohaupt, and The Moles of Manhattan by Earl Robinson and Paul Robeson, which sings the praises of the working class. The music director has the last word as to who is hired as a singer, so after about two years Klaus brought Inge, who had been working in Leipzig, over to join him: no more traveling backwards and forwards, no more hour-long telephone calls. Nothing stood in the way of their getting married. In Leipzig on 06.06.60* the ceremony took place with an only tightknit group of family and friends Klaus and Ingeʼs wedding – no church, no flowers. Inge´s mother Margarethe Fischer was there, and Klaus´ parents came from Halle, together with Anita and Max and the children Heidi, Hannes and of course Janos, Ingeʼs 14-year-old son. *appropriate, as Klaus was born on 06.06.26 58

The important role Inge would play in their married life was soon obvious. The dramaturge and director Reinhard Schau describes her part in the early years: Reinhard Schau: Inge was always at the center of the action, everything revolved around her. But her life had never been easy, not even with him. She took the role of mediator between Tennstedt and the ensemble, and when he had a falling-out with them, ʽMotherʼ – she was always called ʽMotherʼ – would resolve the problem. She was incredibly important to him. Had she not been there, he would not have survived the later crises. Many a singer said, “I wish Tennstedt would praise me, when I´ve sung well, as much as he praises Inge when she has not” [laughs]. What could be better for her than to be married to the principal conductor? His was the last word in casting roles, and woe betide him if his own wife was not chosen! Ursula Bülter-Marell: When Klaus moved apartments in Radebeul he needed to take his suitcases from one furnished room to another, but he couldn’t do it himself. He was unable to pack his own suitcases and take the tram – he had no car at the time – to the new furnished room. When Inge was still working in Leipzig she had to come to Radebeul early in the morning between rehearsal and performance, pack the two suitcases, deliver them to the new place, unpack them, put everything away again in the new room, and then get back to Leipzig for the performance. That happened a few times. Dieter Bülter-Marell: He displayed an amazing lack of independence, both domestically and in many other things. Dieter Bülter-Marell, then stage director at the main house, describes the typical nerve-racking working conditions at a county theater, especially the almost daily need to travel. Dieter Bülter-Marell: The County Theater played for three months in Rathen, in the Felsenbühne [Theater by the Rocks], not far from the Czech border. That meant getting up around seven o’clock; we got on the bus at eight or eight-thirty in the morning, to take a special ferry across the Elbe to Rathen. Then we had to walk up to the Felsenbühne and start the rehearsal at 10 o’clock. After a lunch break came the afternoon rehearsals, because another descent and climb up in between would have taken too 59

Theater by the Rocks, Rathen

photo: Landesbühnen Sachsen

much time. At nightfall we stopped, then had the half-hour trek down to the ferry. Sometime around 9 p.m. we were back in Radebeul again. A working day ran from 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. Those were exhausting days, but we managed. Tennstedt rolled up his sleeves and got down to business. He was the undisputed boss and demanded absolute discipline. Reinhard Schau: The ensemble really enjoyed working with him. It was clear that they had to be well prepared and have learned their parts thoroughly. But they also wanted to know: what’s his temper like today? Klaus had his moods, and they were often a little afraid of him. It was sometimes difficult keeping things on an even keel. The very first new production was Die Schule der Frauen (The School for Wives) by Rolf Liebermann, a brilliant, witty and sparkling comedy. Molière´s original play was written in the mid-17th century and it was now combined by Liebermann with the musical language of the twentieth century. The plot in brief: a favorite pastime of the elderly and grouchy Arnolphe is breaking up the marriages of his fellow men through gossip. He has taken the precaution of sending his stepdaughter Agnes to a convent school to prevent any man from falling in love with her. After all sorts of confusion and mistaken identities, this is exactly what happens, and in the end, for poor Arnolphe, the joke is on him. 60

The premiere took place on 25 January 1959, its first performance in the GDR. Soon afterwards, Liebermann invited the play´s director, Dieter Bülter-Marell, and Klaus Tennstedt to Hamburg, where he was the general manager of the State Opera. Dieter Bülter-Marell: So we drove to Hamburg, that was in early 1959. We drove there in one of the larger Trabant cars, and for the first time on a West German motorway. We didn’t know anything about parking meters, and when we arrived at the Jungfernstieg we got out and said, “We’re looking for the opera.” Pretty soon people were standing around, marveling at the car, this cardboard box of a thing, and they said, “You must put something in there, it’s a parking meter.” We didn’t have any money with us ’cos we weren’t allowed to export anything. But the Hamburg people kindly gave us a few Rolf Liebermann coins; we put them in the parking meter and carried on looking for the opera. Liebermann then invited us to dinner, and suddenly he said to Tennstedt, “Could you conduct Mozart´s Il Seraglio the day after tomorrow?” Klaus was thrown, of course, and said, “I’d have to think about it but … yes!” Now, we had done Il Seraglio together in Czechoslovakia, which meant we knew it well, even if only in Czech. Klaus only knew the piece from the Czech lyrics but I knew it from the German text too. Two days later he was conducting, and I was sitting in the first row directly behind him. Klaus said, “Since I don’t know the German text, you pat me on the back when the music starts again.” What an unforgettable experience! It was also pretty successful, because afterwards Liebermann made a serious offer to Klaus, asking if he would come regularly as principal guest conductor. I also got an offer. Then we drove home with a small payment because he´d been given something for conducting. Maybe 500 West D-Marks. That was an immense sum for us at the time. 61

We thought long and hard about whether to accept that offer. Klaus said, “I am music director here and the Gewandhaus is next on my list. Rather than rushing into things ...” So we both turned it down and went on working together in Radebeul. What a fatal decision! It was one of the most momentous mistakes in Klaus Tennstedt’s life; he lost ten years of international experience. He could not, of course, have foreseen that only a year and a half later the Berlin Wall and closed borders would cut him off from a career in the West. So, right up to the summer of 1961, he believed he could go on conducting while traveling freely from East to West and back with no reprisals – with the appropriate permits, of course. Thus, the newspaper Hamburger Abendblatt was still able to report on 16 August 1960: KLAUS TENNSTEDT (Dresden) conducts today’s performance of Bizet’s Carmen at the Hamburg State Opera, to introduce its new season. Rolf Liebermann´s protection would have opened so many doors in the West for this talented aspiring young man. After Tennstedt finally fled via Sweden eleven years later, Liebermann very quickly gave him works to conduct from the Hamburg State Opera repertoire. He even offered him a new production, Hans Werner Henze’s ballet Undine. “Nobody has any intention of building a wall.” This famous statement remains forever associated with Walter Ulbricht, the chairman of the GDR’s Council of State. By the summer of 1961, an estimated 2.5 million people had left the GDR, which meant a massive loss of workers and intellectuals for the country. Tennstedt should perhaps have foreseen where the political situation was leading. The border controls and closures were becoming ever more stringent. Typically for him, though, he thought of nothing but his work, the next day´s rehearsal, and the lack of time before the next premiere. 13 August 1961 became yet another black day in Klaus Tennstedt’s life. Reinhard Schau, a freshly-qualified dramaturge and director, worked with the conductor at that troubled time: Reinhard Schau: I arrived in Radebeul in July 1961, and three weeks later the Wall was built. By then Klaus, like myself and most of us, was completely distraught because he could go nowhere, not even briefly over the border to buy his beloved cartons of cigarettes in West Berlin. That hit him hard. 62

From then on the desire to leave the GDR as quickly as possible, having begun, grew more urgent with every passing day. For the time being, though, all he could do was immerse himself in his work. Reinhard Schau: The operas Jenufa, Otello and Don Carlos were pieces that were actually much too big for the house. So was Mahagonny. In 1962, Klaus and Dieter Bülter-Marell launched the first GDR production of Brecht-Weill’s Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny. There are plenty of ways of making a point, hidden in plain sight. I will never forget how, before the performance, the tall young conductor first sold programs in a hoodlum costume at the front of the stalls, and then swung himself over the rail, landing precisely on the podium. There were no symphony concerts in Radebeul; it was purely an opera and theater company. The need to include GDR composers in the repertoire was unpopular and often led to disputes. Dieter Bülter-Marell: In Radebeul, we were also supposed to perform pieces by these Forest and Griesbach16 people, as these non-composers were called. But they were favored by the state and playing their works was obligatory. The mere idea was torture. Several times we were summoned to the Central Committee in East Berlin – both of us – and they made it quite clear that we Info: Building the Wall must stop putting it off and 13 August 1961 is considered as perform works by a GDR com- the day the Berlin Wall was built, poser. We sat it out and didn’t though of course such a strucfollow orders. They were per- ture was not erected in one day. fectly aware of that in Berlin. As early as 1952 the GDR began A Kurt Masur would certainly to secure the border between not have done that. But Klaus East and West Germany with was still unbelievably hard- ever stricter controls, picking working; he worked as much up republic refugees. Between as was humanly possible. 1959 and 1961 their numbers Initially, the Kurt Weill op- increased so dramatically that era The Rise and Fall of the City the GDR leadership was forced of Mahagonny was banned in to act if it did not want to lose the GDR. I had directed anoth- its intelligentsia to the West. er opera, Die Verurteilung des Half the refugees were under Lukullus (The Interrogation 25 years old. In East Berlin alone of Lucullus) by Bertolt Brecht 45,000 jobs remained unfilled. and Paul Dessau. 63

Then came a big discussion about that piece from the umpteenth SED plenum, and after the premiere it was immediately banned. Apparently, its ideological content was ineffective in shaping socialist ideas. Two years later the turnaround came, when suddenly it was decided that Lucullus must be performed on every stage in the GDR. So Klaus and I said, we ought to do Mahagonny, it’s the perfect provocation. And there is so much scope for reading between the lines in the final scenes that we can risk provokDieter Bülter-Marell ing the regime with hidden criticism. Sketches: Landesbühnen Sachsen We did Mahagonny – our premiere was on 11 March 1962 – and it went off like a bomb. The production was then passed around the entire GDR, in Weimar, at the Volksbühne in Berlin. We had a kind of breakthrough with Mahagonny. For Klaus, and for me, it was a vital stepping stone. Klaus Tennstedt: That was fun, it was a success with the audience, the likes of which I never experienced again in my entire theater career, neither in Radebeul nor in Schwerin. The comrades couldn´t understand Weill’s music. Once again they said this was not socialist music, whatever that meant. Weill had fled from the Nazis to the United States of America, after all, and had been widely influenced by jazz and the like. The objection was: But is this really suitable for our proletariat? Klaus, at thirty-five years old, was bursting with energy and drive. With comradesin-arms working passionately along the same lines and joining in making scathing remarks about ʽthem up thereʼ it was posKlaus Tennstedt sible to put up with anything. Inge was there, too. She was very much in love with Klaus. She enjoyed the time with him at the theater and the few precious hours not spent rushing from one rehearsal to another, from one performance 64

to the next. For both of them it was a happy time, perhaps the happiest in their lives. Klaus lived only for his music and was his own master at last: he made decisions, implemented his ideas, and defied the Info: Rise and Fall of the City political bureaucrats. It could hardly of Mahagonny have been better. The collaboration is the biblical story of Sodom with Dieter Bülter-Marell was one of the and Gomorrah retold. In most productive and artistically fruitful Brecht’s version the city is of his career. Each was passionate about destroyed, not because of its his art, but that didn’t preclude friction depravity but because of its between them at times. Dieter Härtwig, reversal of human values. Evdramaturge at the County Theater, reerything ends in a fiery chaos. membered many a storm: The play contains many Dieter Härtwig: Marell and Tennstedt allusions to the crucifixion of were two hotheads who ... [slams his Christ. God also makes an apfists together], but they worked to- pearance; he is chased away gether wonderfully. because he does nothing about the catastrophe. With Inge Tennstedt in between? Inge was the counterweight who brought them back to earth every time. She was always there. If she wasn’t part of the cast, then simply as a listener. Klaus liked to come into my office after rehearsals. He would sit at a desk and grab books, whatever was lying around, and leaf through them hastily, quite without purpose. I remember one score that annoyed him terribly. It was an operetta, and he got hold of it. I couldn’t even say, “Don’t do that.” He grabbed the score, threw it on the floor, stepped on it, and hissed angrily: “I’m not playing that!” Tennstedt was hotheaded and unpredictable, ready to push things to the limits not only in music but also in everyday life. One incident, if short-lived, still makes Dieter Bülter-Marell shiver today: Dieter Bülter-Marell: There stood Klaus at the window on the fourth floor. I said, “Are you insane?” Then he said, “I’m going to jump down.” I said, “Klaus, you are insane!” But I didn’t know how to stop him. If I grabbed him, he would most likely really jump, or my grip might topple him. Why did he behave like that? He loved extremes. Standing there, he was having fun. People were crowding round down below, staring up, horrified, and that’s just what he wanted. After five minutes, he came down and said, “Right, I need a cigarette.” 65

A cigarette! He scared me to death that time. We were just talking, and of course we’d had a drink, and then suddenly he was doing that. I was sweating; I had no idea what it was about: “What are you doing, what are you doing, Klaus, stop this madness, stop this madness, you´ll fall down.” He simply said, “I’m standing up here, and everyone´s looking at me.” The story was news to Dieter Härtwig, and on hearing it he said spontaneously: Dieter Härtwig: That sounds just like him. Something like that would suddenly come into his head and he was literally driven to carry it out. It wasn’t planned, it just happened. His whole temperament, his whole nature was volcanic. When he stood in front of an orchestra there was often criticism. Some musicians are just civil servants, not artists. When they notice the path is being deviated from, is taking a completely different, unknown direction, it triggers opposition. What was the atmosphere like? As far as approval is concerned, the orchestra was pretty divided, let’s say into two halves, to put it politely. And that for a conductor who could have been described as a genius, as Tennstedt undoubtedly was. Without misusing the word. Were you surprised that Klaus had such a career? It didn´t seem likely at the time. He was always threatened by setbacks, which of course were in his nature. Perhaps making the wrong decision – that happened to Tennstedt again and again. He knew what he wanted to achieve and where he wanted to be. But he couldn´t decide how to get there. And his self-doubt, feeling he had to be even better, and at the same time saying: “I’ll never make it,” – that really tormented him. The following program lists demonstrate Tennstedt’s tremendous work output: Seasons and programs at the Landesbühnen Sachsen in Radebeul. New productions at the Landesbühnen; stage director Dieter Bülter-Marell and MD Klaus Tennstedt, GM Rudi Kostka 1958-59 season: Rolf Liebermann: Die Schule der Frauen (The School for Wives), premiere 25 January 1959

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1958-59 season, cont´d: Georges Bizet: Carmen, premiere 17 May 1959 1959-60 season: Richard Mohaupt: Der Grüne Kakadu (The Green Cockatoo), GDR first perfor- mance, premiere 31 October 1959 Earl Robinson (music) and Paul Robeson (text): The Moles of Manhattan [in praise of the working class], premiere 21 February 1960 Giuseppe Verdi: Don Carlos, premiere 27 May 1960 1960-61 season: Giacomo Puccini: Madame Butterfly, premiere 12 October 1960 Fran Lhotka: Devil in the Village (ballet); choreography: Ines Städter, premiere 14 January 1961 Paul Kont: Lysistrate (based on Aristophanes), world premiere, 19 April 1961 1961-62 season: Leoš Janáček: Jenufa, premiere 10 December 1961 Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht: Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny, GDR first performance, premiere 11 March 1962 In addition to these new productions, Klaus Tennstedt was responsible for conducting numerous revivals and works from the repertoire.

A coda should be added here, concerning the end of the opera Carmen. It’s one minor detail over which director Bülter-Marell and Tennstedt could not agree: In the final scene, the jealous Don José stabs his beloved Carmen because she no longer wants anything to do with him. Tennstedt did not agree with the moment at which BülterMarell directed the death blow. Dieter Bülter-Marell: That was typical of him, and it would drive you mad. He had followed the scene in detail and said: “I know exactly where the dagger thrust should come – with this second inversion chord! That’s where the stab must be, and you set it too early.” There were often things like that which annoyed me at first, but later I came round and found them helpful and inspiring. And when I gave in, he was happy: “See, I told you so,” and took off his glasses. Ursula Bülter-Marell: Sometimes all you saw were two red-faced, roaring gentlemen who you expected to start fighting at any second. Tennstedt was only really happy when it concerned music, his art, and even then only for the moment, as in this seemingly trivial argument about the stabbing of Carmen. Fanatical down to the last detail – that remained a trademark of the young conductor into old age. Four fulfilling years passed, and it was time for a change. Finally, his faithful collaboration with the general manager Rudi Kostka paid off. 67

Reinhard Schau: Kostka was a real communist, a completely honest guy. He wasn´t interested in SED party membership from us. He appreciated Tennstedt’s straightforwardness and his performance as a musician. Dieter Härtwig: Kostka was a true believer. He left Tennstedt … I don’t want to say ʽin peaceʼ, but he knew exactly how far he could go in making demands. If Tennstedt wanted to do a piece like Mahagonny, he could be sure that Kostka would support him unconditionally. When Kostka was offered the post of general manager in Schwerin, he wanted to take Tennstedt with him. That simultaneously Heinz Fricke, the former Schwerin music director, took up the post at the Berlin State Opera (a position he kept until the ʽWendeʼ) was perfect timing. This exchanging of positions was apparently condoned by the Ministry of Culture. For Tennstedt a new chapter in his life was opening, and it continued to be full of surprising twists and turns, with personal tragedies, adventurous escape attempts, despair, arguments – in other words, the whole gamut. Life remained a struggle.

With members of the Landesbühnen company

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photo: Wolfgang Müller/ Landesbühnen Sachsen



M USIC DIRECTOR IN SCHWERIN 1962-69

“Tennstedt, that’s also someone destroyed by music.” A chorus director from the Schwerin Opera Initially, it was by no means certain that Tennstedt would be given the post in Schwerin. Rudi Kostka put his name forward, but some obstacles remained. The biggest of these came from the musicians. Concertmaster Werner Mentzel, a young man at the time, remembers heated discussions:

Schwerin castle

photo: Georg Wübbolt

Werner Mentzel: There was a big argument in the orchestra, it was practically 50/50 who to hire and who not, and there were a number of applicants. I fought pretty hard to have Tennstedt’s application considered although some colleagues were not keen on the idea, not for reasons of capability but because he made them uneasy: he could be very difficult. There were still a number of older colleagues who were all for someone calm and comfortable. After a prolonged debate he was invited for an audition performance of Verdi’s Falstaff. Falstaff, of all things! For a conductor, this is one of the most difficult tasks imaginable. It has so much in the way of movement on stage, fast-paced and tricky. But Tennstedt had one great advantage: he had conducted Falstaff several times in Chemnitz and so knew the piece extremely well. Werner Mentzel: And it was amazing! It was absolutely great. With minimal rehearsal time, Tennstedt gave more cues that we’d ever experienced before. It was suddenly a completely different piece! That tipped the scales in his favor. 69

And so on 15 November 1961 the newspaper Schweriner Volkszeitung reported: The successor [to Heinz Fricke] is GMD Klaus Tennstedt, formerly director of the Landesbühnen Sachsen, who will take up his duties on 15 November 1961. `His duties´ meant that Tennstedt had to plan the 1962-63 season in Schwerin, even though Radebeul still kept him very busy. There the premiere of Janáček’s Jenufa was imminent, and Mahagonny would run until March. In between, he conducted Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony at the 1962 New Year’s Concert in Schwerin. The Schweriner Volkszeitung wrote on 4 January 1962: While reserving a detailed appreciation of this Schwerin national theater photo: Georg Wübbolt undoubtedly significant conductor for later, two outstanding moments of his interpretation of the Ninth deserve special mention: The moving revolutionary momentum of the B flat Major passage, “Froh, wie deine Sonnen fliegen” was surpassed by the impressive effect created by the double fugue. It was a convincing, nuanced performance – utterly captivating the audience in its festive mood. This was an excellent reaction to a new appointment. The first half of 1962 brought really big successes in Schwerin and Radebeul, accompanied by sensational reviews. Both were extraordinarily important for Tennstedt. Did the Ministry of Culture notice? Would the Gewandhaus or one of the Berlin operas finally invite him? In Schwerin, Tennstedt initially lived in a hotel. A new friend, Ekkehard Hahn, was an actor at the theater: Ekkehard Hahn: In the evenings we often met in a nice old Schwerin pub, where we had beer, a schnapps and good food, because he couldn’t cook in his hotel. That was near the train station; it was a lousy place, not very attractive. 70

How long did he stay there? A year, and then he moved into an apartment here. Upstairs there lived a teacher, a Ph.D. in Education, with his three daughters. That caused a bit of a problem, because Tennstedt practiced a great deal on the grand piano. They came to an agreement that the children wouldn’t be so noisy when he needed to sleep in the afternoon if there was an evening performance. And in return, he would not play so loudly. That sort of worked. It wasn’t long before the first trouble loomed at work. The more senior musicians´ fears seemed to be coming true: Werner Mentzel: Tennstedt could become incredibly abusive in rehearsal. It was exhausting, when actually he was simply dissatisfied with himself. He couldn’t stand either himself or the rest of the world. And he had a way about him that really got to you. I remember after a Figaro overture he grumbled, “That sounded awful today!” He was just unhappy. In the next performance something didn’t work here, a cue was missing or something else happened there, but he was happy: “That sounded wonderful today.” He was purely driven by emotion, which was a bit unfortunate. But on the other hand, that was the way he built a performance. He conducted sometimes as if he were running a fever. Gebhard Kern: He was a worker, pushing himself to the limit. Even in rehearsals he demanded the same of the musicians. He was tough as nails, he wanted perfection at every performance. He sat in on almost every one. You didn’t know where he was sitting, but he was there, and if something didn’t work, the stage manager would ring the bell and say, for example, “The first clarinet and the two horns, please go up to the boss in his room.” And then there was a talking-to. What he demanded of himself, he also demanded of others. That´s how he got so much out of them. Reinhard Schau, director and dramaturge: His conducting style was different in rehearsal from that in performance. He wanted to achieve so much in the rehearsals, and that was only possible by being extraordinarily strict. Rehearsals were particularly tense. At the end he was dripping with sweat, as if he had run a marathon. Reinhard Schau continued: Then in the concert he could let go both of himself and of the orchestra. He no longer needed to be in the driving seat. There, 71

above all, he chose to be gentle, to make music; that was the most important thing. In a concert, Tennstedt’s whole body radiated an inner glow, and his musicians could sense that. Kurt Masur: Klaus wasn’t very vain. Sometimes the way he conducted looked terrible. He’d crouch down like a spider if the pianissimo wasn’t quiet enough for him. I could never have imitated that stance. A trace of envy there? Masur was principal conductor of the Komische Oper Berlin at the time. It’s quite astonishing that he didn’t offer his best friend Klaus a single guest conducting job. Klaus, on the other hand, was quite possibly envious of the fact that Masur had long been allowed to work in the West and was even invited to Brazil. Their friendship seems to have cooled down considerably. But let’s continue listening to what Tennstedt’s colleagues say about their boss: Werner Mentzel, concertmaster: It was – if you will – a good, well-attuned orchestra, an experienced orchestra, but it was not one hundred percent up to Tennstedt’s demands. Nevertheless, he made something out of us that one would never have thought possible. We performed operas at the highest level, and every symphony concert was practically a gala performance. I looked forward to every concert he conducted. Today’s conductors travel a Klaus Tennstedt, relaxed lot; did Tennstedt? Very little. He was a constant presence in the theater, giving each performance his full attention, and that was a real blessing. He was nearly always there. You only had to say, “Tennstedt is listening up top,” and it was suddenly as if everyone were sitting up straight: it became a completely different performance. He only had to look down from his box, and word spread throughout the theater. 72

Were they afraid of him? I certainly wasn’t. I have never felt as comfortable with a conductor as I did with him. It was perfectly obvious what he wanted, as he was both technically and emotionally precise. I´ve experienced many other conductors with great names where I didn´t feel so happy. Tennstedt was tops, really. Erika Hahn, singer: He threw the score into the orchestra once, in anger. That’s why the musicians said, “He has no control.” Yes, he let fly every now and then, he had a violent temper. But it was all for the sake of art. Only for art. Away from work I never saw him bad-tempered. He was a real mate, a very sociable person. Rolf Oberste-Brink, singer: Tenno – as he was called – got upset. Figaros Hochzeit (The Marriage of Figaro) was running, and I was singing Figaro. Somewhere in the duet I flagged a little, and then he started up, just as we were taking our bows at the curtain: “Oberste, have a look at where you were flagging. You can go over it with the repetiteur in my office tomorrow.” Did you do that? Here’s the thing, I was standing with colleagues by the doorman, and he came in and said, as if nothing had happened, “Shall we play another hand of Skat at my place?” He had some Soviet cognac at home which was fantastic, and we played cards until well after midnight. Werner Mentzel: All the conversations I had with Tennstedt revolved around music and playing the violin. He always lamented the fact that he could no longer play the violin. He always emphasized to me how much it hurt. What was really behind it all? It’s true that if, as an adult, you don’t touch the violin for more than ten years, you can no longer play it – at least, not with the former level of expertise. Nowadays the technical ability to zoom in on photos of Tennstedt’s hand shows no visible lump. The love-hate relationship with this instrument had still not been resolved. For so many hours a

Tennstedt: How did that sound?

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day, for so many years, this magical piece of wood had been his fulfillment, his passion, his hope, covering a wide spectrum of emotions. Nothing seems to have assuaged the hurt, healed old wounds, or even been gracefully accepted. A few months later, the violin would be the only thing he took with him when he fled – no luggage, not even money – just his violin.



TENNSTEDT’S BATTLE FOR PERFECTION IN SALOME Schwerin concertmaster Werner Mentzel is still enthusiastic about his former boss. Werner Mentzel: Salome was coming up, the opera by Richard Strauss. I had a morning off, and was practicing. The doorbell rang and Tennstedt was there. “I must speak to you urgently. Do you have the Salome part with you?” “No, Herr Tennstedt, I don’t have it here.” “Why don’t you have your orchestra part here?”

Werner Mentzel

Was it just before the rehearsals started? That was eight weeks before the premiere! As an orchestra musician, you really have enough other things to do. He told me straight away when I should come to see him: “I’ll be there early, and bring the Salome music, please; I need to dictate bowing strokes for you.” These are signs made in the music for up and down strokes of the violin bow. Right, there is a sign for the down bow [ᴨ] and for the up bow [ѵ]. He always did that before rehearsals because he was a violinist. He had very clear ideas about how he wanted the strokes. So I went to him with my Salome music; he opened his score and began to give me the bow strokes: “There, there I want an up bow, there I want a legato bow.” I said: “Herr Tennstedt, that’s so long, we can’t do that, we have to divide it [into up bow and down bow].” 74

“No,” he said, “don’t divide it, I want it to remain very calm. If you divide it, it’s more marked, I don’t want that. And there’s another place here, really just a few inches away from the frog [the lowest part of the violin bow].” I said: “But that sounds rough.” “Yes, that’s what it’s supposed to be!” So he dictated the bow strokes, and then I practiced at home and thought, “My God, what a lot of crazy strokes! That’s not possible, not possible at all!” But it was do-able after all, ending up with very specific sound effects which one could never have imagined. Then came the rehearsals; I had written the strokes in everywhere. The bow strokes in every single violin part? Yes, and of course my colleagues grumbled, “Ah, that guy at the front there, what ridiculous strokes he’s put in again.” That’s just one example of how Tennstedt approached his work. Obsessive, thorough to the last and with clear ideas of what he wanted. And it paid off. Over the years, the orchestra was trained for it. Without extra prompting we played what an orchestra rarely achieves: real pianissimo. Why is that so hard? You need to bow to the point of almost inaudibility. Our first trumpet player once came up to me after rehearsal and said, “I never imagined strings could play so softly and still make clear, tuneful sounds.” Sometimes it was unbelievable, we were barely touching the strings but there was a sound in the room – it was wonderful! That was the fascinating thing about him. Another example? Again, from Salome: at the very end, when Jochanaan´s [John the Baptist´s] severed head is being presented on the platter, and Salome then has a long bit to sing in final triumph. The orchestra has to play a crescendo [getting louder] to triple fortissimo [fff maximum loudness]. A crescendo over so many bars is one of the most difficult things there is. Many conductors manage by letting it crescendo, go back again and crescendo again, and again, that is a popular trick. Tennstedt found another solution for that, which was absolutely stunning. At first, he just let the strings get louder, while the winds and everyone else remained piano. 75

The winds are notated from the beginning, but stay almost inaudible? Exactly. That means the forte gradually became more powerful because the strings were creating it. The others were practically banned from blowing, they had to stay as quiet as possible. Once the strings reached the greatest possible extent of their crescendo, only then were the woodwind allowed to join in. And again, some bars later, the brass. This meant that he had distributed the crescendo over the individual instrument groups according to their special abilities, depending on the power they could muster. At the last moment, just before the climax, the percussion came in. That was an absolutely continuous crescendo, completely natural. And with such an intense carpet of sounds, because the colors kept growing! I’ve never since heard a conductor do anything like that. It was simply stunning.

A young Werner Mentzel

That cannot become routine. Right. You see, when a piece is played over and over again you tend to switch off a bit. You certainly couldn’t switch off there; it blew me away every time, literally. And that’s what he was able to offer in terms of work. It was like that at practically every stage, it was really great. Conversely, he was also demanding in ways that sometimes went beyond the pale. After all, there are places where you get to a point where you can´t play it anymore. Even a top-class violinist would give up. But that didn’t happen with him. He often had fast tempi. I talked to him about it, and he said, “It’s very simple. I know exactly where the difficult bit comes, and if it’s too fast, it gets messed up. Way before that I slow down gently so we get past that passage in one piece, and then I can pick up again.” It was always smart, what he did, always smart.

This preparation down to the smallest detail – some might spitefully say, this nitpicking – is reminiscent of Carlos Kleiber, who prepared himself just as meticulously but who was also notorious for running out of rehearsals and not coming back. That was not the case for Tennstedt. As far as is known, at this stage of his career he had not canceled a single performance. 76

ESCAPE ATTEMPT NO. 1 The singer Rolf Oberste-Brink had his first job in 1959 at the State Theater, Schwerin. Neither the Wall nor barbed wire had appeared at that point, so the West German bass-baritone was untroubled by the clause in his contract concerning his becoming a citizen of the German Democratic Republic. But when the borders closed in 1961 he became aware of being a GDR captive. You came from the West; couldn’t you go back? Rolf Oberste-Brink: I was walled in. I tried to get an exit permit, but they wouldn’t let me out. When did you get the idea to escape? Pretty soon after the Wall was built. After the official way proved hopeless, I planned several escape attempts, all of which failed. Klaus found out about them. Rolf Oberste-Brink

Oberste-Brink acquired a four-seater collapsible boat with a seven-horsepower outboard motor from Tennstedt’s predecessor in Schwerin, the conductor Heinz Fricke. Only three-horsepower motors were allowed. Secret test runs were made on the lake in Schwerin, always praying that no Volkspolizist noticed. Rolf Oberste-Brink: We planned a long time in advance and had to check everything out secretly first: where to assemble the boat, how and where we could sneak away. The idea was to cross the Baltic Sea to Denmark. The back seat of Rolf Oberste-Brink’s old VW Beetle was removed to accommodate the collapsible boat and outboard motor. Everything was covered up, and the little car was full. As professional musicians, they knew it must be rehearsed beforehand so that once they were on site every move would go smoothly. The collapsible boat

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Rolf Oberste-Brink: This boat was stored in the garage. My wife and I often took it apart, tied it up in packages and secretly brought it into the apartment. We practiced how to assemble the boat in the dark with no torchlight, so no one could see us, and working out whose job was which. We could only try that out inside our apartment. A second car would hold the escapees: Tennstedt, Frau Oberste-Brink and an operetta tenor. A colleague, Kurt Helm, had volunteered to drive this car, and if all went well he would drive back to Schwerin on his own. Officially, they were all going on a ʽholiday tripʼ past Rostock to Darsser Ort, about 100 miles on bumpy country roads. Darsser Ort (Darßer Ort, above right on the map) was a hotspot for escape attempts at that time, as it’s so close to Denmark (about 22 miles distant). The mainland opposite can’t be seen from there as it is too far below the horizon, but a lightship was anchored halfway between Darsser Ort and Gedser Odde, the southernmost tip of Denmark. No longer in existence, it was called Gedser Rev and was moored in the Kadetrinne, lying just inside the Danish twelve-mile zone. This was where the four Republic fugitives planned to board and ask for admission. The four adults could just about squeeze into their boat, two at a time, side by side. Normally such a lightweight craft is good for a nice day on the lake with little or no wind. With the low freeboard of 10 inches, they certainly would have taken on a lot of water. Did they know how to clamber up the ship’s steep sides and onto the deck? They didn´t know. Was the lightship manned at all? They didn’t know that either. Any experience with the wind and waves of the Baltic Sea? None. A suicide mission! Georg Wübbolt: When was that? Rolf Oberste-Brink: 1962, and Klaus had a concert to conduct the night before, Johannes Brahms´ First Symphony. My wife and I were 78

sitting in the front row, weeping. You can imagine, our fate was being sealed. We thought this music was foretelling our freedom – or our doom. Then the applause, and Klaus Info: The Gedser Rev lightship came to take his bow. That figure, After the Berlin Wall was those sunken cheeks, that fanatbuilt in 1961, many East Gerical face, that exhausted face. mans chose to escape by sea My God! It still moves me. And to Denmark. Although most he always did. We had a choir failed and many died in the director at that time who said, attempt, at least 50 were “Tennstedt, that’s also someone rescued by the Gedser Rev. destroyed by music.” As the southernmost limit of How might he have felt? Danish territory and an obI can still see him standing there viously recognisable target, in front of the large orchestra, many aimed for the lightship. giving the upbeat with those great long arms. He was always completely immersed in the music. I got that impression from him more than from anyone else. With Masur, not that much. But from him, from Tennstedt! Then came the farewell from Inge. That was ... I can’t mention it without tears coming to my eyes, even today. She could not go with us – sad, but also scared. Maybe she didn’t want to leave her son Janos in the lurch. Tennstedt merely clamped his beloved violin under his arm. That was it. No luggage? Nope, you couldn’t. And money? Our money was worth nothing. The attempt failed. Arriving at Darsser Ort, Oberste-Brink quickly realized that it was too stormy, the sea too choppy. The wind blew fiercely from the west – it would blow directly against them. No chance. So they all returned to Schwerin, along with the collapsible boat and the violin. Rolf Oberste-Brink: When I think about it today – we would have drowned miserably. I don’t think we would have made it. But at the time I firmly believed in it. Back to reality at the theater. It’s remarkable how few press reports about Tennstedt there are from this period, right up to the 79

Rehearsal with the Mecklenburg State Orchestra photo: Nationaltheater Schwerin

end of 1963. He must have thrown himself into his work, consumed with anger and disappointment, constantly looking for the next opportunity to escape. His anger increased when he thought of the petty disputes with the cultural authorities. In a later radio interview with Norddeutscher Rundfunk he discussed those times: Klaus Tennstedt: I was unpopular with those higher up. I fought back at the Ministry of Culture. Sixty percent of the music I was performing was supposed to be by GDR composers, and they were mostly second- or third-rate at that time. The Schwerin newspaper ran the headline ʽTennstedt and the decadent Western musicʼ. As in Radebeul, so in Schwerin: all programs, whether opera, concert or ballet, had to be submitted to the party leadership for approval. Bach and Beethoven were of course not a problem, but the mostly mediocre GDR composers whose works he was called on to conduct worried him enormously. Schönberg, Berg, and Stravinsky were considered composers of ʽWestern Decadentʼ music. Werner Mentzel: If you held a leading position in the GDR, you had to fight a continuous battle with the authorities, that is, with the prevailing ideology. And today I still find it almost a miracle that 80

Klaus Tennstedt was able to do the pieces he wanted, like Gottfried von Einem‘s Dantons Tod (Danton´s Death), or Cardillac by Paul Hindemith. We had Das schlaue Füchslein (The Cunning Little Vixen) and Jenufa [both by Leoš Janáček], works that were officially banned. He really got them past the authorities, thanks to his untiring energy. I can’t judge if the decision as to whether a piece should be allowed or not was a question of ideology or of royalties. Some of them had to be paid for in West German D-Marks, which they could neither afford, nor did they want to. I think that time just ran out for him. He grew increasingly dissatisfied and was left behind when other conductors had better careers within the GDR. In 1963 his orchestra, the Mecklenburg State Orchestra (Mecklenburgische Staatskapelle) celebrated its 400th anniversary. For this occasion, Tennstedt gave the first performance of the Bach Variations by Paul Dessau. The composer used musical quotations from Johann Sebastian Bach and his son Carl Philipp Emanuel, including the tone sequence B-A-C-H, played in eleven variations. The audience loved Dessau’s catchy, lively music. Television was also present, still in black and white at that time. On 9 June 1963 the gala concert was broadcast live on state television. The audience saw a spindly Klaus Tennstedt, with hollow cheeks and tousled hair, apparently oblivious of either his appearance or how he came across. After the intermission came the main work, La Valse by Maurice Ravel. The old television recording can be found in the German Broadcasting Archive in Potsdam-Babelsberg. Fortunately the camera often lingers on the conductor for several minutes. This valuable document shows an energetic, wiry Tennstedt suffused with an inner glow, with tense and concentrated body language but with clear gestures, a conductor completely devoted to the music. One event in the new year of 1963 must have hurt Tennstedt to the core. On 28 March, at home in Halle, his father succumbed to cancer of the rectum. It had already spread into the lymphatic system, leaving no hope of recovery. Twelve years previously, Hermann Tennstedt had reached the normal retirement age of 65, the very worst time for father and son to realize that a career for Klaus as concertmaster was out of the question. How his father must have suffered, with all his efforts in vain. The hours of practice and years of discipline his son had undergone in his name seemed all for nothing. 81

And then how joyfully – but with what trepidation – must this man then have cheered at his son’s rising from the ashes, as it were, taking his departure for unexpected shores. Only a meter away at the second violin desk, he had trembled to witness how Klaus first conducted, mastering the task brilliantly. Without this father, the future world-famous musician would not have existed. The father, who watched Klaus throw his upbringing in his face and turn his back on him, to prove he was willing and able to stand on his own two feet. Then returning with a wife and baby daughter like the prodigal son, finally falling into step with his father’s plans. It’s a great shame that Hermann did not live to see the later, really successful years of Klaus’ career. We Parents Agnes and Hermann with Klaus shall never know if his father recognized and claimed his part in that. Klaus, at least, knew how much he owed him in the end: Klaus Tennstedt: Of course, in retrospect I am grateful to my father for keeping me on a tight rein, so that I had to practice three, four, sometimes five hours a day. That was no longer youth, that was actually hard work.

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ESCAPE ATTEMPT NO. 2 Roughly a year after the abortive first attempt, by the summer of 1963 preparations for another escape had already long been underway. Once again plans involved the collapsible boat and outboard motor, the same team, and again the route led from Darsser Ort across the Baltic Sea to the lightship. However, this time important parts of the collapsible boat had already been buried near the Baltic Sea beach at a secret location. The four wanted to avoid the risk of inquisitive Volkspolizei stopping and investigating them on the way. This also had the advantage that they all fitted into one car. Arriving at Darsser Ort, everything seemed calm at first. But it was obvious they were not alone. Muscles tensed, pulses quickened. Rolf Oberste-Brink: Obviously I was the escape manager, the captain. From the sandy track I couldn´t miss seeing a car waiting in the distance. Georg Wübbolt: Did you turn round and drive back right away? No, we waited and watched. Suddenly three guys came on motorcycles, loitering around for quite a while. When they finally left it was starting to get dark. With a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I said: “No, that´s it. We’re calling it off.” Klaus grabbed me by the collar and yelled at me: “No way! This is our chance,” his violin still under his arm. I said firmly: “We’re calling it off!” “But why? We have to risk it, what can go wrong?” That’s when I had to get tough: “Enough, no more discussion! We’re going home.” So we’re driving off, and these guys with lights and motorcycles were heading in our direction. I thought we’d be trapped now. The state police are probably lurking around the next corner. These damn guys were stalking us, they were out for the reward. You got a reward for betraying someone? Yes, you got a medal and, more importantly, a bounty payment. I suspected they were lying in wait for us and would have caught 83

us pretty quickly. Had we set up the boat and pushed it onto the beach, that would have been it. But the boys drove past, so we made sure we got out of there fast. That was the only time Klaus and I ever yelled at each other. If we´d listened to him, we would probably all have ended up in prison, locked away for at least three or four years. If it hadn’t been for me, I guarantee he would never have had his career in America [laughs]. Oberste-Brink was probably correct. Tennstedt would no longer have been allowed to conduct and no longer able to work in even the remotest of provinces. His wife and stepson would have been sanctioned and lost their professional and educational futures. A terrible thought! Back in Schwerin, they all continued as though nothing had happened. Shortly afterwards, Oberste-Brink received permission to leave the GDR, together with his wife. Tennstedt had to stay. There is no evidence of further adventurous escape attempts, although the desire to flee never subsided. As border fortifications became increasingly comprehensive, the danger of being caught escalated. That most recent failed attempt must have been hard to swallow for the conductor, who was no longer in the first flush of youth.

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G UESTING One of the most welcome side-effects of being a principal conductor is being able to widen one’s sphere of influence, and a sort of ʽtit for tat’ evolves: you invite me – I invite you back. The twofold advantages are additional income and becoming better known. You also get to know new orchestras and at the same time improve your chance of future engagements. Tennstedt´s yield was poor, however. At first, he was only invited to conduct second-rank orchestras: - Brno (Czechoslovakia), February 1965 (a return invitation) - Skopje (Yugoslavia), April 1965 (a return invitation) - Weimar, National Theater, 1966 (only one concert) - Gothenburg, Sweden, Symphony Orchestra, 6 June 1966 (canceled) - Gothenburg, Symphony Orchestra, 16 August 1967 - East Berlin, Radio Symphony Orchestra, 1967 - Sverdlovsk (today Ekaterinburg, Soviet Union), State Philharmonic, February 1968 (a return invitation) - Leipzig, Gewandhaus Orchestra, April and May 1968 - Salzburg, Austria, Mozarteum, 1969 - Budapest, Hungarian National Philharmonic, September 1969 - Bratislava, guest performance with the Gewandhaus Orchestra on tour, May 1970 - Gothenburg, Stora Teatern: Johann Strauss, Die Fledermaus, January– March 1971 - Gothenburg, Symphony Orchestra, 19 and 20 August 1971

The list is not long for a span of six years. The invitations to Salzburg and Gothenburg stand out, however – both are in the ʽWestʼ! What stopped Tennstedt from using these opportunities to defect? If he had fled, it would have meant leaving Inge behind. Klaus fleeing alone, as in the past, was no longer an option, because in the meantime it was clear: the consequences for Inge would have been cruel. She would have lost her job and have no chance of ever singing again. However, the first Gothenburg concert was canceled. But why was he allowed to go there at all? Tennstedt´s friend Reinhard Schau knew another reason for such invitations – obtaining foreign currency! Reinhard Schau: The GDR maintained excellent contacts with Sweden, there was some kind of economic relationship that worked 85

well there, and so they courted countries that were neutral at the time, such as Sweden and Austria. They were interested in setting them apart from the Western bloc so that, with permission, sporadic trips would be possible. The State pocketed 30 percent of the fee for this ʽfreedom of movementʼ, i.e. for doing nothing at all. It was all part of the system. A series of guest-conducting engagements in the USSR made the Schwerin press, however. The cutting reads thus: Schwerin (SVZ). The musical director of the Mecklenburg State Theater, GMD Klaus Tennstedt, has returned from a very successful tour of the Soviet Union. He conducted two concerts with the Sverdlovsk State Philharmonic Orchestra which were exceptionally well-attended and triggered storms of applause from the audience. Tennstedt was now keenly aware of being confined to the provinces. Brno and Skopje are not Prague and Moscow. Kurt From the Schwerin ʽVolkszeitungʼ Masur, on the other hand, jetted around the world. He was head of the Komische Oper Berlin and was soon to lead the Dresden Philharmonic. Alongside engagements in the cultural metropolis of St Petersburg (at the time still Leningrad) and in Moscow, he was free to conduct all over the Western world.

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P LENTY OF WORK Without any let-up in his very demanding commitments, Tennstedt worked on program after program. The newly-rehearsed operas alone represented an enormous amount of work; each production needed five or six weeks of rehearsals, and months of preliminary conceptual work with the dramaturge, the director, and the set and costume designers. Models and construction drawings had to be created, structural analysis calculated and technology planned. An opera house is like a small village, with its myriad of workers – trades such as cobblers, carpenters, electricians, painters, designers, tailors, wigmakers, hairdressers and make-up artists, not to mention musicians and singers, actors and dancers. Plus the technical and operational management. All must work hand-in-hand towards one goal: the next premiere. New opera productions in Schwerin, 1962-68: The Cunning little Vixen and Jenufa (next to Mozart, Leoš Janáček was Tennstedt's favorite composer at the time) Don Giovanni, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Carmen, Georges Bizet Figaros Hochzeit (The Marriage of Figaro), W. A. Mozart Das Rheingold (Rhinegold), Richard Wagner Die Walküre (The Valkyrie), Richard Wagner Salome, Richard Strauss Katerina Ismailova [Lady Macbeth of Mzensk], Dmitri Shostakovich Cardillac, Paul Hindemith Penelope, Max Liebermann Fidelio, Ludwig van Beethoven Der fliegende Hollander (The Flying Dutchman), Richard Wagner Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute), Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Tiefland (The Lowlands), Eugene d´Albert Ezio, Georg Friedrich Handel Manon Lescaut, Giacomo Puccini Gajaneh, Aram Khachaturian Dantons Tod (Danton´s Death), Gottfried von Einem Tosca, Giacomo Puccini

This was indeed an ambitious list! Some pieces were new, such as Liebermann’s Penelope or Dantons Tod (Danton’s Death) by Gottfried von Einem. Katerina Ismailova by Dmitri Shostakovich was a GDR first performance. 87

It’s the slightly toned-down version of Lady Macbeth of Mzensk, with the splendid intercourse scene in Act 1 made musically audible.17 The concerts were also evidence of high standards. Many ʽWestern decadentʼ and contemporary works were performed by Tennstedt against the will of the political authorities. Among these were stylistically different composers such as Alban Berg, George Gershwin, Boris Blacher, Karl Amadeus Hartmann, Carl Orff, Arnold Schönberg, Igor Stravinsky, Leonard Bernstein, Werner Egk, Benjamin Britten, Paul Dessau, Luigi Dallapiccola – is anyone missing? These well-known composers were the avant-garde of the 20th century in all their colorful spectrum of flower and foliage. Initially the work of Gustav Mahler was not among them, but that was soon to follow. What Tennstedt was asking the audience to listen to was experimental and sometimes quite risky! Compared with other theaters in the East or the West it was daring for the 1960s. No matter that Tennstedt later narrowed his focus more and more to Beethoven, Bruckner and Mahler, none of the great contemporary composers were completely ignored. Finally, with his Schwerin house orchestra, he dared to fulfill a long-held ambition. For the first time, on 16 January 1967, Tennstedt with his Wartburg he performed Gustav Mahler’s First Symphony and gave himself time to let the experience sink in. Not long afterwards, he repeated the work in Dresden and some time later in Kiel, but the other symphonies had to wait. He seemed content to have at least overcome the first hurdle. Almost timidly, he felt his way into the oeuvre of the composer he later so deeply admired. At about the same time, on the other side of the Iron Curtain, Leonard Bernstein was slowly succeeding in getting Mahler played by the Vienna Philharmonic. He had to contend with massive resistance to this ʽJewishʼ composer. Bernstein was not the first to include Mahler on concert programs after the war (as for example Dimitri Mitropoulos did before him), but he was certainly the most effective. Tennstedt 88

was still hesitant, and it took years before he met orchestras capable of realizing his ideas. All of music director Klaus Tennstedt´s Schwerin programs are listed below. It would go too far to include every individual work performed in the concerts. Unless otherwise stated, the operas were new productions. Every single one required days and weeks of rehearsals, preceded by Tennstedt’s immersing himself in the score, both at his desk and at the piano. An immense workload! And before every concert or opera extreme stage fright! Schwerin Programs 1961-62 season: Die Schöpfung (The Creation), oratorio: Josef Haydn Don Giovanni, opera: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Carmen, opera: Georges Bizet Symphony concert: Britten, Lohse, Dvořák Symphony No. 9: Ludwig van Beethoven Symphony concert: Brahms, Telemann, Ibert Two gala concerts with various Beethoven programs Numerous symphony repertoire performances 1962-63 season: Figaros Hochzeit (The Marriage of Figaro), opera: Wolfgang A. Mozart Symphony concert: Honegger, Mozart, Schönberg, Ravel Symphony concert: Shostakovich, Prokofiev Symphony No. 9: Ludwig van Beethoven Symphony concert: Anton Bruckner Don Giovanni, opera: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (reopening) Das Rheingold (Rhinegold): Richard Wagner Die Walküre (The Valkyrie): Richard Wagner Symphony concert: Brahms, Shostakovich Symphony concert: Strauss, Brahms, Janáček Johann Strauss concert Symphony concert: Telemann, Ibert, Britten Der Ring des Nibelungen (The Ring Cycle), four operas: Richard Wagner Symphony concert: Brahms, Shostakovich Symphony concert: Honegger, Mozart, Schönberg Symphony concert: Mozart, Bruns, Schubert Televized concert – 400 years of the Mecklenburg State Orchestra: Mozart, Goerner, Ravel Various concerts with music by Beethoven, Mozart, Bruns, Ravel, Honegger, Schönberg, Brahms 89







1963-64 season: Symphony No. 9: Beethoven Symphony concert: Beethoven program Penelope, opera: Rolf Liebermann Das schlaue Füchslein (The Cunning Little Vixen), opera: Leoš Janáček Fidelio, opera: Ludwig van Beethoven Othello (Otello), opera: Giuseppe Verdi Der fliegende Hollander (The Flying Dutchman), opera: Richard Wagner Symphony concert: Hindemith, Bach, Bruckner Salome, opera: Richard Strauss (directed by Reinhard Schau) Symphony concert: Beethoven, Reinhold, Strauss Ein deutsches Requiem (A German Requiem), Johannes Brahms Symphony concert: Tchaikovsky, Barber, Schubert Symphony concert: Milhaud, Khachaturian, Debussy, Gershwin 1964-65 season: Jenufa, opera: Leoš Janáček, direc. Reinhard Schau Symphony concert: Bruckner, Bach Symphony concert: Brahms, Beethoven, Mozart, Hindemith Symphony concert: Prokofiev, Boccherini, Janáček, Ravel ʽMagic of the Romantic Eraʼ: von Weber, Brahms, Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Prokofiev, Strauss Symphony concert: Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Prokofiev, Stravinsky Gajaneh, ballet: Aram Khachaturian Several symphony concerts with works by Poulenc, Gershwin, Mussorgsky, Ravel, Prokofiev, Boccherini, Janáček, Stravinsky, Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Bruckner Schlosshof concerts (in the courtyard of Schwerin castle): Mozart, Haydn, Saint-Saens, Rossini, Respighi, Prokofiev 1965-66 season: Symphony concert: Liszt, Chopin, Debussy Cardillac, opera: Paul Hindemith (directed by Reinhard Schau) Klaus Tennstedt conducting opera

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photos: Nationaltheater Schwerin

Tiefland (The Lowlands), opera: Eugene d´Albert, directed: Reinh. Schau Symphony concert: Stravinsky, Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Tchaikovsky Symphony concert: Reger, Nowka, Schumann Symphony concert: Gershwin, Ravel, Bach, Mussorgsky/Ravel Symphony concert: Monteverdi/Orff, Handel Symphony concert: Mozart, Saint-Saens, Rossini, Prokofiev Symphony concert: Mozart, Beethoven Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute), opera: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (directed by Reinhard Schau) 1966: Cardillac, opera, Paul Hindemith (reopening) Tiefland (The Lowlands), opera, Eugen d´Albert (reopening) Ezio, opera: Georg Friedrich Handel Several symphony concerts with a variety of composers 1966-67 season: Symphony concert: Wagner, Mahler: Symphony Nr. 1 Dantons Tod (Danton´s Death), opera: Gottfried von Einem (directed by Reinhard Schau) Symphony concert: Britten, Hindemith, Strauss Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute), opera: W. A. Mozart (reopening) Symphony concert: Gluck, Mozart, Schumann, Pfitzner, Rimski-Korsakov Three mixed-program symphony concerts Tiefland (The Lowland) (new cast), opera: Eugen d´Albert Mahler: Symphony No. 1 Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute) (new cast), opera: W. A. Mozart Symphony concert: Liszt, Bernstein, Liebermann, Honegger Symphony concert: Orff, Dallapiccola, Respighi Manon Lescaut, opera: Giacomo Puccini Katerina Ismailova, opera: Dimitri Shostakovich 1967-68 season: Nine symphony concerts, each usually performed twice Tosca, opera: Giacomo Puccini 1969: One symphony concert: Beethoven program

Up to 1967 it’s an extremely impressive list! Then, for no apparent reason, the output decreased. The 1967-68 season´s program was unusually thin, with only Puccini´s Tosca as a new production. The following year´s program was practically non-existent. 91

News about Tennstedt suddenly disappeared from the Schwerin papers. No announcements of concerts, no reviews, and no mentions of future guest conductorships. Often such silence indicated a ʽflight from the Republicʼ. But it couldn’t be that, because Tennstedt and his wife were still living in Schwerin. At first unnoticed, behind the scenes at the theater in Schwerin a massive thunderstorm was brewing. His unyielding, often not very empathetic behavior was increasingly meeting resistance. But before that, the military invasion of a neighboring communist country had ensured that Tennstedt would finally break with his surroundings. A bubbling cauldron of emotions seized him: disappointment, envy, anger and despair.

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F IRED! The West German student uprising in 1968 is regarded as the beginning of a cultural and sexual revolution. For the younger generation the time had come for a paradigm shift, a complete break with their parents’ old ideas. For the citizens of the so-called ʽEastern bloc’ such problems were considered a luxury, plagued as they were by entirely different concerns. They were fed up with shortages and waiting in line outside shops. There was too little of everything vital, but too much of what Info: Prague Spring wasn’t needed: coercion and mind-control, On the night of 21 August arbitrary arrests, mismanagement, every- 1968, about half a million thing that had ostensibly been put an end soldiers from the Soviet to after the war. Under its leader Alexander Union, Poland, HungaDubček, the Czechoslovak Communist Par- ry, and Bulgaria invaded ty dared exercise a little more democracy Czechoslovakia, and with– wanting to free itself from the grip of ʽBig in a few hours occupied airports, radio stations, Brother’, the Soviet Union. The Czechoslo- post offices, railroad stavaks yearned for freedom. Unrest grew. tions, and government Soon afterwards, tanks from the Soviet buildings. It was the larUnion and several eastern bloc countries gest military operation in put down the uprising, bringing a brutal Europe since 1945. end to the short-lived ʽPrague Springʼ. Reinhard Schau, then stage director and Tennstedt‘s close colleague at the Staatstheater Schwerin, remembers this depressing time. Georg Wübbolt: What did all that mean for Klaus Tennstedt? Reinhard Schau: For him that was the last straw – the 1968 occupation of Czechoslovakia. As a result, the Czech conductors of three prominent orchestras in the GDR left, including Václav Neumann who was at the Leipzig Gewandhaus and Martin Turnovský at the Dresden State Opera. They made their posts available, and in one fell swoop three prominent positions became vacant. And Tennstedt applied immediately? Klaus didn’t apply anywhere, of course; he was waiting for either the Komische Oper or the Gewandhaus and, I think, also the Leipzig Opera to offer him a position. He went to the mailbox several times 93

a day to see if any express letters had come. And nothing came. I actually witnessed that. The real trigger for the great crisis was not being called, that was what he’d been desperately longing for. How did he seem to you? On the personal side, I can tell you that he got [shakes his hands in the air] more and more nervous. Because he was expecting those three letters to come. They would trump each other. But he didn´t even get an invitation to guest conduct. As a result, he was increasingly nervous and overly excitable. Another reason for trouble: Tennstedt couldn’t keep his mouth shut when it came to political convictions, a dangerous habit in a police state such as the GDR. The Tennstedts were known to be ʽunreliable’. Klaus´ stepson Janos Kollmann knew about this from his father: Janos Kollmann: In the GDR, where any problems had to be discussed covertly, voicing criticism publicly in front of the whole orchestra meant it was only a matter of time before one would be fired. Tennstedt’s morale was now at rock bottom and his desperate mood led to a terrible quarrel with the orchestra. Gebhard Kern: Seven years is a long time for a conductor to be with an orchestra, and resistance can grow. And if someone is always ambitious and demanding, at some point the musicians are going to say: “Enough now, I want some peace.” Werner Mentzel, concertmaster: His career didn’t really progress at all here. And then came the big bang, which unfortuately I myself triggered. We had just had Beethoven’s New Year’s Eve Ninth – Christmas 1968 was over – and the first symphony concert of the new year was coming up. At that time, this Pacific 231 by Arthur Honegger was on the program. The musical image of a locomotive going faster and faster. Nobody knew it. We got to the first rehearsal and the scores were badly printed. Tennstedt was in a really dreadful mood to start with. The piece begins with a sharp accent on an unusual part of the bar. After only the first bar he stopped: “There are accents here.” “Yes, of course,” and again. “I said there are accents here, can I finally get the accents?” In fact, musically quite easy to realize. He became more and more unpleasant, more and more aggressive. The air was electrically charged, and then something else 94

happened. I, who was actually his friend, suddenly burst into a rage; it just rose up inside me. I jumped up and shouted: “Herr Tennstedt, your behavior makes me sick!” Then he grabbed his case and ran out. I was shocked, too. He went straight to the doctor – his wife probably sent him – and it was confirmed that his nerves were in a very bad state. In the subsequent debate, artistic director Rudi Kostka tried to calm the stressful situation. A faction had been forming against Tennstedt for some time. Dieter Bülter-Marell: An oboist, a party member and new party committee Chairman, said: “Herr Tennstedt, we are a ʽBʼ orchestra,18 we don’t need to improve at all. That’s what you want; you want to make a career, we don’t. You are constantly asking too much of us.” He was a most controversial musician, who actually – from a musical point of view – shouldn’t have been there at all, but who owed his position solely to his party membership. For someone like Tennstedt, devoted to his work and desperate to continue, it was a slap in the face. Cooperation was out of the question at this point, and was effectively terminated. Reinhard Schau: Tennstedt stayed in Schwerin, but he lived a very secluded life, no longer rehearsing or performing with the orchestra. Initially he was on sick leave, but then he took some real time off and spent a short while in a clinic for a change of air – let´s say to recuperate. That was in the spring of 1969. Werner Mentzel: Whatever else, it was really bad for the theater. We were basically without a good boss, and the situation never really got better after that. Tennstedt´s contract was terminated. Schwerin now was history. That did not mean he was completely out of work. He was now better connected: in the two years after the crash in Schwerin, invitations to the Komische Oper in Berlin followed where, in 1970, he was given a regular guest conducting contract. He led a total of eight performances of the ballet Undine by Hans Werner Henze. Further invitations came from the Gewandhaus in Leipzig and the Dresden Philharmonic. Tennstedt had good connections with Dieter Härtwig, associated with him since his time in Radebeul and by then chief dramaturge in Dresden, and the new MD, Kurt Masur. Both made sure 95

Klaus got regular invitations. He had already conducted twelve concerts there, and their cooperation continued for a while with two concerts each in 1969, 1970, and March 1971. Tennstedt was finally able to maintain good relations with three major opera houses in the GDR. Only the State Opera, Unter den Linden, was missing from the list. Perhaps more importantly, contact with Sweden once initiated, had never been broken. He picked up where he had left off and was soon back in action. The concert series at the Kophoto: Wolfgang Müller mische Oper began on 5 March 1970 with the Kindertotenlieder (soloist: Margarita Lilova). It was the second work by Gustav Mahler Tennstedt had performed. This orchestral song cycle, based on Friedrich Rückert´s poems written after the death of two of his children, was probably not chosen at random, since nine months earlier he had suffered a completely unexpected blow.

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H EIDI

ʽa daughter just like Klausʼ At the age of twenty-three Tennstedt’s daughter Heidi (from his first marriage to Anita) was an attractive and coquettish-looking young woman, slim, with strawberry blonde hair and light freckles. From her father she inherited her striking chin and above all her highly strung, sensitive nature. As a child she was delicate. Her mother attributed this to the post-war years Heidi Tennstedt of hunger in Würzburg. Heidi began studying music but soon changed courses to study speech therapy. Her mother Anita Staudt described her as ʽa daughter just like Klausʼ in character. She lived with Anita and her second husband Max Staudt in Halle but saw her biological father occasionally. She also visited him in Schwerin, and the two of them never completely lost contact – especially not at Christmas. Anita had an amusing story to tell. On the rare occasions when he was not conducting, Klaus used to visit her and Max. Once he arrived bringing a Christmas present for his daughter. She was sitting waiting expectantly at the window and, seeing him, called out in Max’s direction, “Papa, Papa! Papa´s coming.” Despite outward appearances, inside she was as fragile as glass. Ingrid Hellmann, a family acquaintance, knew the whole story: Ingrid Hellmann: At some point Heidi fell in love with a man who had three

Heidi

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children. They began an affair, and after a while it seems he told her that he didn´t want to leave his wife. Heidi then rode her bicycle to the Hufeisensee [Horseshoe Lake] just outside Halle. She must have lain down – quite probably drunk, judging by the almost empty bottle – having swallowed a whole packet of sleeping pills. In the morning she was found by workers walking past. Klaus Tennstedt – knowing nothing of the secret love story – was notified immediately. What must have been going on in the life of that poor girl, who was like him in so many ways? Had he not paid her enough attention? To what extent was he to blame for her suicide? He was never to find any answers. And now he remembered the song cycle of Kindertotenlieder. Gustav Mahler had completed them in 1904, just after his second daughter Maria-Anna had been born. Alma Mahler, his wife:

Daughter and father

Maria-Anna was entirely his child. Beautiful and defiant. Black curls, big blue eyes. Every morning she went to Mahler’s study, where they talked for a long time. No one knows what about. But they became so close and contented by their conversations that I took my secret pleasure in them.19 The child died of diphtheria at the age of four. Later Alma accused her husband of having somehow brought about their daughter´s death by composing the music to the poems. Suddenly Klaus Tennstedt found himself in a comparable situation. In quick succession three blows had come crashing down on him: being passed over for a conducting position, being kicked out in Schwerin, and now the death of his daughter. Heidi committed suicide on 4 July 1969, at the age of 23. She had been found ʽabout 6 a.m.ʼ, as noted on the death certificate. Heidi had been an unloved, essentially rejected child who had already attempted to end her life once before. If, as her mother claimed, Heidi was ʽa daughter who took after Klausʼ, then it comes as no surprise to see similar conflicts at work in her father: his whole existence 98

a precarious balancing act between devoting his life to music and breaking down completely. Nine months after his daughter´s death Klaus conducted the deeply depressing work, which provides a little consolation at the end, in a concert at the Komische Oper Berlin. It was a private Requiem for his beloved girl, a personal memorial which gave him solace for years to come. He often included it in later programs, especially in America. But hardly anyone knew what connected him with this work. The five poems end with these lines: In diesem Wetter, in diesem Saus, In this weather, in this wind and storm, Sie ruh’n als wie in der Mutter Haus, They rest as though in their mother’s house, Von keinem Sturm erschrecket, No longer frightened and forlorn, Von Gottes Hand bedecket. Sheltered by the hand of God. Sie ruh’n wie in der Mutter Haus! They rest as though in their mother’s house!

With this, the grieving father could identify. From then on, he was held captive by Mahler´s music; it led him on a journey through the whole drama of the human condition. With Mahler’s First Symphony he opened the portal; with the Kindertotenlieder he strode through it. Many years later, he dined with John Willan, his producer at the EMI record company. The conversation turned to Mahler, as Willan explained:

Klaus said: “What my colleagues don’t understand is, to conduct Mahler, you have to have suffered,” and I said to him: “For heaven’s sake, Klaus – you have suffered?” “Tja, you have no idea.” “You drive a Rolls-Royce, you’re wearing a very expensive jacket, you’re a famous conductor, you tour the world,” and he said: “I don´t speak of this to anyone, but I will tell you. If I had one wish in my life, it would be to have five minutes with my daughter.” “I didn’t know you have a daughter.” “Of course not. I´d just like to know why she killed herself.” Now I was lost for words. Klaus continued: “She was twenty-three. I think it was over a man, but I’d so love to talk to her.”

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ESCAPE HELPER M ASUR? Once again Tennstedt was faced with the shambles of his life. His very own home country did not want him! And yet they would not allow him to leave, although he wanted nothing more than to get away. For years he had been longing for the big wide world where he could prove his talent and build a career. It was probably Inge who was once again his salvation, his lifeline. The two must have spent hours discussing the ʽifs and butsʼ and the ʽwhys and whereforesʼ of leaving the GDR. They would have spoken to trusted colleagues, kept their ears open for hints while playing the card game Skat with friends, and also been wary about who was trustworthy, who might be an IM*, spying on them. Another dangerous attempt via the Baltic was out of the question for Inge. Application for an official exit visa would have been the last resort. A few chose this option. Those who risked it had to reckon with unpleasant and permanent reprisals, including criminal prosecution and imprisonment. Tennstedt would no longer be able to conduct – which swept that option off the table. The bitter realization was obvious: no escape. Trapped. That the Tennstedts were unreliable was perfectly clear to the Stasi – especially Klaus, who was often irascible and unable to keep his thoughts to himself. He had already demonstrated his lack of respect for the rules and the communist philosophy in general at an early age. His file swelled with every remark that criticized the system – he was a man constantly at war with the authorities. Word had long been out that nothing would please him more than to be free of this communist state. Klaus Tennstedt: I hated the system – no beating about the bush – and they hated me. I refused to perform works by contemporary GDR composers. We were supposed to; they wanted to force us to play `blah blah´ music. I mean there were some, Siegfried Matthus for example, he was highly talented. And [Friedrich] Goldmann, another very gifted one. But as for the others, I had no idea what to do with *IM is the abbreviation for ʽInformeller Mitarbeiterʼ, being an informant for the ʽStasiʼ, the state security. Sometimes IMs were close friends or even family members. 101

them. And that’s what they demanded. So of course they took their revenge. I had the feeling I had more in my head, my heart, my body, than I would have been able to give free rein to in the GDR. In the late autumn of 2014, Kurt Masur contacted me, the author of this book, wishing to talk about Klaus Tennstedt. This was long after the initial request for his input, which had hitherto remained unanswered. Fortunately he had now decided the time was right for him to talk about their special friendship. Pretty soon we got to talking about the escape. Masur made it clear that the Ministry of Culture had been monitoring Tennstedt´s movements for quite a while. Klaus Gysi (the father of German politician Gregor Gysi) was Minister of Culture at the time. His First Secretary of State and later successor was Hans-Joachim Hoffmann (ʽHead of the Department of Culture at the Central Committee of the SEDʼ). He spoke Hoffmann and Masur to Masur about the matter: Kurt Masur: One day I received a call from the Minister [meaning Hoffmann], referring to my friendship with Klaus Tennstedt, and asking my opinion. They had the feeling Tennstedt wanted to leave the GDR, and asked what I thought about this. I knew that Klaus had been unhappy for years. So I said to the Minister, “Mr Secretary, if you don’t want to destroy Klaus, let him go, give him his freedom, then he will always come back.” And so they did. His phrase ʽthey had the feelingʼ could easily be a euphemism alluding to the fact that the cultural authorities had long been informed about any wishes Tennstedt might have had to escape. The majority of exGDR citizens interviewed for this book made it abundantly clear that such a conversation, as reported by Masur, would have been impossible. Whoever dared flee the GDR – an action considered high treason – risked incurring dire consequences for whatever family stayed 102

behind: occupational embargoes, public ostracism, expelling of pupils from high schools and universities and an unpleasant list of further repressions. Tennstedt was not important enough for an exception to have been considered. Why should Masur have made up such a tale? Did he need to style himself as a hero? To make amends to his friend for something? He implied with this story that his friend Klaus’ release was brought about purely through his intercession, like a bird being freed from its cage. The unlikely possibility that State Secretary Hoffmann viewed the case from a human point of view can’t be ruled out completely. After all, the Ministry of Culture had repeatedly refused to grant Tennstedt one of the big music director positions. Then the man lost his daughter, in the most tragic of ways: suicide. It’s conceivable the authorities recognized that he had reached a dead end, with no way out. No matter how one looked at it, the situation was complex, and some things just didn’t add up. What happened en détail back then can hardly be untangled today. That, unknown to the Tennstedt family, strings were pulled behind the scenes is conceivable. Kurt Masur always had a hotline to the men at the top and thus some influence.

Kurt Masur, Judy Grahame (Marketing director LPO), Klaus Tennstedt

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Although never a party member he knew how to ensnare its leading politicians and wrap them round his little finger for his own purposes. It was thanks to his tireless tactics that the financially strapped GDR was able to afford the construction of the new Leipzig Gewandhaus. Along with the reconstruction of the Semper Opera House in Dresden, this was the most important architectural and cultural feat of the former communist state. Of course, Masur was simultaneously furthering his own career: he remained head of the Leipzig Gewandhaus for 26 years, including a few years after the fall of the Wall. In doing so, he awarded himself the greatest accolade of all. What shape did their friendship really take? Let’s have a look into the nooks and crannies of this lifelong relationship.

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SORT OF BEST FRIENDS

Kurt Masur and Klaus Tennstedt You get pity as a gift; envy, however, has to be earned, as the saying goes. The relationship between the two men, known to each other since their early days as budding musicians, became poisoned by the green-eyed monster. It all began quite innocently at the State Theater in Halle an der Saale: Georg Wübbolt: Herr Masur, when did you first meet Klaus? Kurt Masur: In the late summer of 1948. Klaus was still concertmaster at the time, I came there as a repetiteur and second conductor. To me he was already a seasoned musician, while I was an absolute beginner. We got to know one another, grew fond of each other and learned to get along well.20 What did you think of Klaus, as a person? I was greatly impressed with Klaus´ obsessive nature; it was always `all or nothing’ with him. Klaus was so enthusiastic. All our discussions about music were passionate. Sometimes not even shying away from insulting one another: “That was wrong, you´re not doing that right.” A friendship that can become as deep and as close as ours was, without envying each other, is extremely rare. Here we have to pause for a moment, because the last sentence – as we will see in a moment – may have been true for Halle, but it was far from true for the later period. Let’s stay in Halle for now: Did you visit the Tennstedt family? Kurt Masur: Yes, a few times. What was it like, with his mother and father? Very easy, very straightforward. They were a family with their own circle and didn’t seem particularly spectacular, but had a strong awareness of themselves as musicians. They were proud of Klaus, of course. Especially his father, even if he sometimes scolded him. His mother then said to Klaus, “Look how Kurt works – he´s disciplined and well-organized, and you? If only you were a little more like Kurt!” He told me about those days once: “Just hearing my mother mention the name ʽKurtʼ turned my stomach.” 105

Masur also told this story to the London music writer Norman Lebrecht, who added a subtle observation: Norman Lebrecht: As Kurt is telling me this, what I´m hearing is the unconscious subtext of what he´s saying to himself: “If only I were a little like Klaus. If only I were more liberated, more of a natural genius, who listens to the things that go on within me, rather than having to be the influential kapellmeister.” That came over very strongly. Klaus the chaotic one, Kurt the organized planner. But the young fledgling conductor was still behind. Kurt Masur: We criticized each other, although he of course was sitting at the first desk in the orchestra and I, a novice conductor, was being corrected every now and then. This probably occurred more often than he would have liked. It created a delicate situation, since it should have been the other way round. A conductor should have the authority to correct the musician, and not vice versa. This must have been gnawing away inside Masur, and that it caused discomfort is understandable. He apparently did not forgive Klaus for this breach of protocol. As Norman Lebrecht learned, young Kurt felt as though he were being squeezed in a vice. Norman Lebrecht: Masur said it was terrifying, because you had Klaus on the one side, leader of the firsts [violins], his father on the other side, leader of the seconds, and you, Kurt Masur, twenty years old, had to tell them what to do? Impossible! Sixty years later Masur described the situation somewhat differently. During our interview the passage of time seemed to have softened his memories a little: Kurt Masur: I was grateful for Klaus’ criticism because it helped me to learn and to progress. We were always – which may seem strange now – happy about each other’s successes. This does indeed seem strange, especially in light of the fact that later quite the opposite proved to be the case. Their respective successes during the GDR period are listed below. From the start, struggling with the transition from violinist to conductor, Tennstedt lost a few years on Masur. It certainly hadn’t helped that in the eyes of the state authorities his behavior was seen as unfavorable; that certainly hindered his progress. As a result, while Tennstedt was kicking his heels, Masur was able to overtake him. The list shows the two competitors´ career paths in juxtaposition: 106

Tennstedt Masur 1948-51 Assist. Concertmaster first violins 1948 Repetiteur + 2nd Conductor Halle 1951-53 Repetiteur + 2nd Conductor Halle 1951-53 1st Conductor Erfurt 1953/54 Second Conductor in Halle Principal Conductor Municipal Theater Leipzig 1954-58 Principal Conductor Karl-Marx-Stadt + conductor of Dresden Philharmonic 1958-62 Music director (MD) in Radebeul 1958-60 Music director (MD) in Schwerin `on probation´ 1960-64 Music director Komische Oper Berlin, 1962-69 MD Schwerin, single guest perfor- 1964-67 Beginning of guest performances in mances Eastern bloc, Gothenburg the West, (e.g. Brazil) 1969 Dismissal as MD in Schwerin, 1967-72 Principal conductor Dresden Phil single guest performances in GDR harmonic 1970-96 Chief at Gewandhaus in Leipzig 1971 Defection to West Germany more than 900 international concerts with 1972-76 MD Opera Kiel his Gewandhaus orchestra, Single guest performances in highest possible position in the GDR West Germany 1974 Guest performance in Toronto, Principal guest conductor Dallas Symphony Canada, then international Orchestra 1976-80 breakthrough 1981 Opening of new Gewandhaus, Leipzig

In Bertolt Brecht’s Geschichten vom Herrn Keuner (Tales of Mr “Nobody”), Mr Keuner speaks out against violence in front of an audience. On stage behind him is Violence. “What did you say?” asks Violence. “I spoke in favor of violence,” says Mr Keuner. Asked later if he was spineless, he replied, “I don’t have a backbone to break.” This brings to mind Masur. He did not allow his backbone to be broken, and so his career pathway was smooth. Was he a committed communist? Who knows for sure? Must Karajan be considered a staunch Nazi simply because he was a member of the NSDAP? We should not presume to judge today. Suffice it to say, Masur adapted to the political circumstances; he orchestrated the building of ʽhisʼ Gewandhaus, making sure his name remained forever associated with the concert hall. Peter Alward, EMI: You can say a lot about Masur but, heaven knows, a nice guy he certainly was not [laughs]. At the time the new Gewandhaus opened I went to Leipzig with Karajan and Peter Girth, then general manager of the Berlin Philharmonic. We went to Masur’s office in the Gewandhaus. You wouldn’t believe it, with golden chandeliers and such, and the acolytes in his entourage were kow-towing in front of him. Not in front of Karajan, no – in front of Masur! He was quite the despot. 107

Later, Norman Lebrecht met Masur for an extensive interview and reported how for the first half hour they only talked about Klaus: Norman Lebrecht: What became clear to me is that there was a kind of symbiosis between them. Yes, Klaus was jealous about Kurt. And when he talked about Kurt, he was always a little guarded [wobbly hand movement]. But when Klaus was sick and dying, Kurt went to visit him, to comfort him and boost his morale, and he ... he loved him. Yes, he loved him, in his own Kurt Masur way. And Kurt was, you know, an incredibly difficult man with incredibly difficult situations in his life. Here and now, he did what he needed to do, in order to survive and succeed. But somehow Klaus was his alter ego, the person that he might have been if he´d allowed himself to be free. If he´d let himself go by his instincts instead of his best interests. Klaus never knew what his own best interests were, and if he knew he didn´t care [smiles]. Masur never joined the Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands (SED) party (nor, for that matter, did Tennstedt). In the post-war years the examples of Karajan and Furtwängler were still fresh in his mind: the former a proven member of the NSDAP, the latter remaining in the country without taking a stand against the Nazis. Both were banned from conducting for years after the war. Masur would not allow that to happen to him. Right-wing Nazi Germany and the socialist GDR were ostensibly opposing political factions but shared a policy of tyrannical oppression of dissent. On the other hand, some conducting careers emerged at that time that might not otherwise have succeeded at all. Georg Solti´s career took off because conducting positions became vacant post-war, with replacements being desperately sought. Solti happened to be there at the time, and so he became general music director at the Munich State Opera despite hardly ever having conducted an opera. From this powerful position, and with an enormous amount of diligence and charisma, his international career took off. Tom Eisner, violinist with the London Philharmonic, was surprised by Masur´s remark made as early as 1987, a whole two years before the fall of the Wall. He told him then, “Everything is changing now,” and that the mood in the GDR was about to turn. The time had obviously come for him to shift loyalties, to position himself against Violence – against the GDR apparatchiks, to whom he had been toadying. From that point on, he was treated as the brave hero helping to further a bloodless revolution. 108

Tennstedt, on the other hand, stood upright and his backbone was broken. He paid the price for his insubordination: career opportunities to which he was entitled were denied him or curtailed. That was how the GDR worked. In that respect, it was merely a red left-wing socialist continuation of brown right-wing National Socialism. Masur certainly followed his friend’s career closely. He would most likely have said, “Everyone is the master of his own fate, and you only have yourself to blame if you ignore the political climate, dear Klaus.” Eventually the tide would turn. When Tennstedt celebrated his long-awaited successes in London and America, indeed all over the world, it was Masur’s turn to be envious, even if he could not admit it. Finally Tennstedt could show what he had achieved. Tomoko Masur: One day in the 1980s, he and Inge arrived here in Leipzig in his RollsRoyce. It barely fit in the driveway. I thought, “Wow, what a massive Rolls-Royce!” Kurt Masur: He was very proud of it. He had to sell it later and said, “You know, I couldn’t bear it. The staff always Tennstedt in the latest Rolls-Royce photo: Edith Albrecht parked the car in front of the hotel entrance, and I sat inside where I could see it. Didn´t take long before children started scratching it, but I ran straight out there! Once they even tried to break off the Rolls-Royce `Emily´ mascot from the bonnet.” The predominant emotion remaining between the two was envy. Its sibling is hatred, which was also lying in wait somewhere, in Klaus’ case at least. Masur concluded his recollections with a touching declaration: “When I think back on who I would call the best friend in my life, it’s Klaus.” A small coda: The author was told from London that a TV documentary was planned for the BBC around 1989. It was to be about Tennstedt’s interpretation of the Mahler Sixth. The project had to be canceled because Kurt Masur, despite having promised to do so, had ʽforgottenʼ to obtain the GDR permits for it. 109

Inge Tennstedt, Kurt Masur, Klaus Tennstedt, Tomoko Masur

photo: Judy Grahame

This photograph, taken in a restaurant in London in the mid-1980s, shows the two conductors at the peak of their careers. It’s merely a snapshot, a chance pose taken on the spur of the moment, but it says a great deal about the protagonists. Masur dominates the picture. He looks self-assured and in control of the situation with his arms round the shoulders of both Tennstedts. He might be either a controlling pater familias, still responsible for the well-being of his progeny. Or simply a loving father embracing them all in a hug? Inge looks decidedly doubtful. Her gaze is turned to her husband as if asking him what he thinks of this strange embrace. Klaus is looking at nobody at all. He appears uncomfortable – rather squashed in a stranglehold. His hands don’t look relaxed either. The only carefree person in the photo is Tomoko – a lovely woman. The other three seem to share a pretty complicated narrative.

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G OTHENBURG AND THE CONSEQUENCES Any GDR artist who wanted to work in the West had to fulfill a number of state security criteria. One of them was that he (or she) should leave behind closely-related family members, and preferably also children. It was well known that Klaus depended on Inge. On top of that he had no desire to jeopardize his chances of conducting in Berlin at the Komische Oper, or in Dresden. He would not easily give those up. And his children? His relationship with Heidi and Janos wasn’t close, but their mere existence could have been helpful, allowing him to work in the West. For the first time, in the summer of 1966, Tennstedt received an invitation to conduct a concert in Gothenburg, a lively university town on Sweden’s Baltic coast. However, as explained earlier, this concert was canceled. A year later things worked out better. He applied for and was granted a travel visa for a concert on 16 August 1967, a week’s stay in total including rehearsal time. He probably took the ferry from Sassnitz to Gothenburg. He conducted a colorful program of arias with American soprano Felicia Weathers, accompanied by the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra. And by returning to Schwerin straight away he prepared the ground for further concert trips to politically-neutral foreign Info: Access to Stasi files countries. Shortly after German unification For some reason additional (1989-90), a government agency, invitations did not materialize the Gauck Behörde, was set up immediately. Why was that? to secure and make available the Was Tennstedt now consid- personal files collated secretly by ered unreliable because he was the Ministry for State Security thrown out of the opera house (Stasi). There is a total of almost in 1969? Perhaps he was no lon- 70 miles of files including index ger trusted. His Stasi file could cards, photos, films and tapes. answer many questions, but so Concerned parties are only givfar access to it has been denied. en access to their own personal The third invitation didn’t files. Exceptions for persons of come until spring 1971. Janos public interest, as in the case of Kollmann remembers his moth- Klaus Tennstedt, are granted only er Inge´s account: under specific terms. 111

Janos Kollmann: There was a proposal, which was also officially submitted to the Ministry of Culture, that my father go to Sweden, to Gothenburg, for a fixed amount of time. The orchestra there wanted to engage him permanently. Tennstedt was actually given a permit to work for a limited period at the opera there, the Stora Teatern. He rehearsed and performed a completely new production of the Johann Strauss operetta Die Fledermaus (The Bat). That included several weeks of rehearsal, starting at the beginning of January, for which he now had plenty of time. The premiere was scheduled for 18 February 1971; after this, Tennstedt conducted a series of performances of the opera. Altogether he spent three months in Sweden, and the visa must have covered his entire stay. He came back to the GDR between performances to fulfill his contracts at the Komische Oper and with the Dresden Philharmonic Orchestra. The thought of flight never left Tennstedt for a moment. Nevertheless, he returned to his ‘cage’ after every trip, mainly because Inge had to stay at home waiting for him. He longed for the right moment to arrive. Perhaps Sweden held the promise of escape? Where would he go from there? Would he have to start from scratch again, without the network of friendships and professional contacts he had built up in the East? The opportunity for escape still seemed far away. In the meantime, he concentrated on the work in hand and the vibrant musical life in Gothenburg. He came to the attention of Torgny Gustafsson, today a retired physics professor, who was still living there in 1971. Torgny Gustafsson: Tennstedt conducted innumerable performances of Die Fledermaus (The Bat) at the local opera (Stora Teatern). He became a frequent visitor to the symphony orchestra’s concerts too. And more interestingly perhaps, given the conservatism in the music he later programmed, he showed up at all of the modern music chamber concerts. Not many people did, and we sort of kept count of each other. One of my mental images is of him running out of the hall at intermission at one of these concerts, clapping enthusiastically with both hands, but somehow lighting a cigarette at the same time. He then spent the intermission outside, puffing frenetically, and then returned for the second half. After the second half, it was back to the cigarettes. 112

Of course, it would be nice to be able to say that my friends and I recognized his greatness. One of us, a conducting student, declared that he never wanted to go to his concerts again – Tennstedt’s mimicry, his facial expressions were simply too much for him, and the rest of us agreed. The difference between Gothenburg and Schwerin was enormous. Tennstedt experienced a world in which he was free to express opinions. There was no need to wait in line outside the well-stocked shops, quite a change from where he came from. He loved cars and couldn’t get enough of watching the very latest models driving around the town. A few months earlier, at the end of 1970. An evening performance at the Komische Oper Berlin in the east of that divided city.21 One of many West Germans in the audience was Dr Joachim Klaiber, director of the Kiel theater. From his box he had the evening´s conductor, Klaus Tennstedt, directly in his sights. What he saw and heard gave him goosebumps. There was a reason for Klaiber’s being there, he had a problem. His music director Hans Zender would be leaving at the end of the season to take over the Saarbrücken Radio Tennstedt at the Komische Oper Berlin Orchestra. Zender, himself a composer of modern music, was not popular with the audience. While the musicians loved him, others found him withdrawn and distant. Klaiber was on the lookout for a replacement. It’s not known exactly which Tennstedt symphony concert or ballet performance he attended, but he was immediately enthralled by the experience: the conductor´s temperament and charisma convinced him on the spot. The two met. Asked what he thought of becoming the new music director in Kiel, Tennstedt shook his head. How could that possibly work? The obstacles in the way of a permanent position were too great. He would soon be conducting an opera production in Gothenburg, but he couldn’t simply travel from there to West Germany. How would he bring his wife over? It was all quite hopeless. 113

Klaiber was adamant. He was absolutely convinced he’d found the right man for the job. When would Tennstedt next be in Gothenburg? The Kiel director jotted down the February 1971 Die Fledermaus dates in his diary. They would meet again there. In the meantime, Klaiber set about planning to get the man he wanted. Secretly he investigated possibilities, diplomatic channels, financial levers and deals. The last hurdle was always the same: nothing was acceptable if Inge had to remain in the GDR. End of story. By this time forty applicants were chafDr Joachim Klaiber ing at the bit for the vacant music director position. Only three were to be invited to audition: Gerhard Mandl, previously MD in Kiel from 1966 to 1969, Edward Downes, conductor at the Royal Opera House, London and, should he be available, Klaus Tennstedt. He was only third on the musicians’ wish list – if he was ever on any wish list at all, because it was all a bit opaque. What exactly happened is open to conjecture; many contradictory versions exist. That is hardly surprising, considering the complexity of events more than fifty years ago. The question remains: how did Tennstedt manage to flee? It centered round a vital document, an official three-month visa authorized by the GDR. To complicate matters, he was later unable to remember the precise details, referring sometimes to a three-week and sometimes to a three-month visa. What is certain is that Tennstedt conducted the series of Die Fledermaus performances in Gothenburg in early 1971, for which he needed, and did receive, a three-month visa. Equally definite were the concerts on 19 and 20 August 1971, for which he would actually only have needed a ten-day visa. However, by mistake he was issued one for three months – quite possibly because he had previously been granted one for that length of time. The new document could have been valid from 15 August 1971. This would have given him until 15 November to organize Inge´s escape. He would not be expected back in the GDR until that date. Meanwhile Klaiber busied himself excluding Downes and Mandl from the list. He played a slightly devious hand, somehow circumventing the orchestra’s opinions and putting his choice in pride of place. 114

Robert König, an orchestra board member, was puzzled by an unusual maneuver: Robert König, Kiel: After Downes´ concert, Klaiber was sitting in the Castle Restaurant waiting for him, with a signed contract. Downes arrived and said, “Dr Klaiber,” – he told me this himself – “I cannot accept this position. I have received a letter from the orchestra. If I were to accept the job, I would not get a moment’s peace in Kiel.” That is something we in the orchestra never understood and always doubted. The way was thus cleared for Klaus Tennstedt. Klaiber went to Gothenburg for the concerts in August, where he was able to tell his protégé the good news that he had been accepted as music director. “But,” Klaus insisted, “I won’t go unless my wife can get out.” He was then told that a professional escape agent would have to be involved. Klaus was given the phone number of Organization Loeffler in Berlin and told to call them immediately. His courage failed him when he heard how much it would cost. How could he drum up more than 10,000 West German D-Marks?* Not to worry, he could pay it in installments. A rendezvous in Berlin was agreed upon, the down payment was fixed. Inge had to be informed. How dangerous would it be for her? He briefly imagined what life would be like without her … But no, categorically, no escape without Inge. Were she unable to join him, he would just have to go back – a bitter realization. Back to his home country where, in place of artistic quality, currying favor with the political authorities was the rule. Back to an uncertain future career, hemmed in by barbed wire. East Berlin, Dresden and Leipzig boasted world-class orchestras and opera houses. Surely at some point he would be offered a leading position at one of them. But travel everywhere, like Kurt Masur? Certainly not. He would have to go back to a city he hated. With an opera house that had thrown him out. Back to a political system he abhorred and to which he would never subscribe. What reason was there for that three-month visa? Can it really have been an oversight, or had someone really rolled out freedom´s red carpet for him? Naturally Tennstedt was unaware of the talks between Kurt Masur and Sectretary of State Hoffmann which were possibly behind it all, although GDR afficionados very much doubt that. People put their heads together in Gothenburg. Tennstedt was told that he could travel to the Federal Republic straight after the second *The equivalent in today´s money of 20,000 Euros or US dollars 115



116

Escape contract between Wolfgang Loeffler and Klaus Tennstedt

Transcription of the escape contract for Inge WOLFGANG LOEFFLER A g r e e m e n t:

1 Berlin 47, Britzer Damm 42

Between Herrn Klaus Tennstedt, living in 2 Hamburg 26 Griesstrasse 29 ...... telephone …... and the Escape Agency LOEFFLER the following agreement is reached: Mr Tennstedt commissions the organization to bring the following persons, illegally, from the “GDR” to the BRD, namely to Hamburg. 1.) Ingeborg Tennstedt, date of birth 13.8.24, eyes blue-grey 2.) 3.) 4.) A fee of 11,000 DM per person is due for this task. Of this, 3,000 DM have been paid today to cover costs incurred per person. The remaining sum is placed as security with … If, contrary to this agreement, persons 1,2,3 or 4 are unwilling to leave their home country, or their behavior makes further costs necessary, the organization has the right to consider the down payment their due. The remaining sum is to be paid immediately at the handover of the persons concerned. The organization agrees to carry out the commission by 1 October 1971 at the latest. Should the organization consider it impossible to carry out the agreed commission by this date, the down payment will be refunded. Special Remarks: Travel permits will be obtained by the organization at a cost of DM 1,000 to be paid today. Place of Jurisdiction is Berlin West 1 Berlin 47 Date: 25.8.1971 For the organization:

Client:

(signature W. Loeffler)

(signature Klaus Tennstedt)

Accounts:

Berlin West Post-cheque acc. nr.: 1248 48 Berlin Volksbank acc. no.: 0105 1695 Sparkasse Berlin West acc no.: 144/000548

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August concert. After all, he wasn’t expected to return to the GDR for three months. He had plenty of time to plan his next step. First of all Klaus had to make his decision: return to the hated regime or defect to the West, with all the risks involved. He chose to flee. After the psychological ruin and lost battles of recent years, this was the chance for a new beginning. Inge had to be told. How could she be informed of what was being planned for her? There was no way to contact her from West Germany. He shouldn’t even be there himself. A phone call from Gothenburg would be harmless. He was aware the call would be tapped, so nothing about any potential plans could be mentioned. Best to bore the secret listener with banalities: how amazing the concerts were, how enthusiastic the audience, how perfect the weather. At some point the listener would lose concentration and he, Klaus, could slip in the all-important piece of news, in coded form and merely hinted at. He was handed the phone. Klaus talked and talked and then said to Inge: “If there´s a knock at the door, don´t ask, just go.” “What are you talking about?” “If there´s a knock at the door, just go.”22 The call ended with a few affectionate words. Hopefully Inge had understood the message. Things then had to move fast. The German Embassy in Stockholm had to be contacted. Klaus was advised to go to Hamburg to get the formalities for naturalization under way. He boarded a train and set off across Denmark towards his long-awaited new country. Once in Hamburg he began the protracted procedure all refugees from the GDR had to go through. He underwent medical checkups. He sat through numerous hours of questioning from the Federal Intelligence Agency and other secret services – it was their opportunity to glean information about the workings of the East German state. He was given food coupons, a new passport and a work permit. He was allocated a flat in Hamburg, at 29 Griesstrasse. The mood was definitely encouraging. He was given the laughable sum of 100 DM `welcome moneyʼ. Finally, Klaus appeared before a committee who decided on his future status: here we have a highly qualified opera conductor with many years´ experience. No problem at all. A warm welcome! Everything happened fast. Every day brought new experiences, every hour new twists and turns on that roller coaster ride into his West German adventure. Within him there was a tumult of emotions: fear, doubt, hope. Dared he trust the advice his new friends were giving him? Was it a 118

mistake to have swapped the security of his previous life for an absolutely unknown future? And all these thoughts were accompanied by the debilitating worry that something could easily go wrong with Inge´s escape. At that time, the free section of Berlin was home to West Germans who objected to military service, to soldiers and agents from secret services of various kinds, and to those GDR citizens who had succeeded in escaping. Tennstedt himself lived in Berlin for a time. It was the perfect place for anyone seeking contact with family and friends in the East. A flock of ʽescape helpersʼ stood in the wings, ready for action. They offered their undercover assistance at high prices in hard West German currency. On 25 August 1971 Tennstedt met Wolfgang Loeffler, one of the busiest escape agents in West Berlin and, appropriately enough, also the owner of a travel agency. Tennstedt brought the DM 3,000 down payment plus DM 1,000 in cash to the meeting. Where had the money come from? It was definitely not a bank loan, as no bank would have given him credit. It’s possible that he used his fee from the two Gothenburg concerts: the equivalent of 4,000 DM for two concerts is a credible amount for a little-known conductor. If everything went to plan he would have to find a further DM 7,000, a hefty sum only the well-to-do could afford. Dr Klaiber had no time to lose either. He was in a dilemma: on the one hand his new music director should be presented to the public, but on the other hand his name had to be kept secret. So that the orchestra was at least able to get acquainted with their new chief, a matinée concert was arranged for Sunday 12 September 1971, barely three weeks after his escape. The very next day, the Kieler Nachrichten newspaper published a short announcement: ʽThe new musical head of opera will be Klaus Tennstedt.’ Even that was not without risk. No one in the GDR must know that he was in the West. Robert König, Kiel: It was all kept very quiet, because he had defected via Gothenburg and nobody should know. His wife was supposed to come the same way, and publicity would have jeopardized her safety. Altogether, on the part of Director Klaiber, it was a brilliant coup, clever and cunning. He was still absolutely convinced he had made the right choice. Klaus Tennstedt was in the West. All that remained was to get his wife Inge over safely, too. 119

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ESCAPE AGENT FOR INGE Inge Tennstedt was at a loss. She had been forced into a situation that had been neither discussed nor planned in any detail. It was clear that, since he hadn’t returned after the two concerts, her husband had seized the opportunity to defect. Her thoughts kept returning to the cryptic words on the telephone: “If there´s a knock at the door, don´t ask, just go.” Was Klaus planning to get her out too? She found herself in a quandary: would she have to abandon her son Janos? He was working on a Ph.D. after his chemistry degree. He was old enough to look after himself. But Klaus needed her; he needed her desperately. However, Inge´s reliance on him was just as great. Without him, alone in Schwerin, she would have no artistic support. Her singing career would be as dead as a doornail. A few weeks after the last phone call, a man knocked at her door. “Come with me.” “But I haven´t packed yet.” “You don´t need to; you’ll be back soon.” They left the house.23 The man explained to her what to expect. He made sure she understood the details of the escape plan. She was not allowed to make any notes, but had to memorize everything. It felt as though she were in a spy film, except she wasn’t sitting in a comfortable cinema seat. She had to organize a passport photograph and the documents necessary for a train to Budapest in Hungary. All very conspiratorial, and it was crystal clear this would be the most dangerous journey of her life. Equally obvious was the fact that, should the escape attempt fail and be discovered, she could expect a number of years in prison, and seeing Klaus again would be in the distant future. The risk intensified daily. The GDR State Security had found increasingly clever ways of sniffing out those attempting to flee the Republic. They had started to infiltrate the escape system. Undercover agents placed among the Western organizations planned mock escapes, leading not to freedom but to arrest and imprisonment. Inge had sleepless nights. She was worrying about leaving her son behind. Years later it still lay heavily on her conscience. “Am I a bad mother? What can my son have thought when I chose Klaus?” 24 Janos Kollmann, her son, played an important role in the ensuing escape drama. He was aware of the plan, since he was supposed to drive 121

his mother to Dresden in the car. The risk was substantial, because if discovered it would have meant the end of his plans to study. Herr Kollmann, were you able to talk openly with your mother about the escape? Janos Kollmann: Yes, we spoke a lot. What did you discuss? My mother and I only spoke about the escape when we saw each other. Somehow my father had approached an escape organization; anyway, someone obviously in charge of the escape contacted my mother. How was the escape supposed to go? The actual first meeting place Mother and son: Inge & Janos Kollmann was Budapest, at a restaurant in the train station. But she had to get there first. For that she needed a pass to get from Schwerin via Leipzig to Dresden. From Schwerin she drove by car to me in Leipzig, where I was studying chemistry. From there I took her to Dresden, and from Dresden she took the train to Budapest. She needed a ticket for that, which again needed a special permit. It was complicated, but that’s how it was back then. Incredibly strong emotions were, of course, bound up in this very normal-sounding story. What happened next? In Dresden we had breakfast in a hotel near the train station, and at some point we had to say, “Now it’s time.” Then I took her to the station. There she just walked down the stairs, and I said goodbye. I just thought, that’s it. You’ll never see your mother again! That was the easy part of the escape; from then on it became more complicated, and the risks even higher. One small mistake and everything would be discovered. At any minute a conductor or border guard could become suspicious and notice Inge’s barely concealed nervousness. 122

Janos Kollmann: You won’t see her again! In that second you think the world is coming to an end; it’s terrible, your family is broken. And then she was gone. She was just gone, on a train to Budapest, and Budapest was not even the West. Were there tears? I cried, yes. We both cried. She will have cried less, because a lot of crying at the station is not a good idea when you´re planning something like that. I think we were both thinking about that, too. And then she was gone – the curtain came down, end of scene. I drove back to Leipzig and heard nothing for a few days. On the one hand, that could have been a good sign, but it could just as easily not have been, because everyone knew that if people who wanted to defect from the GDR were caught, they suffered badly. They ended up in prison. What happened once your mother got to Budapest? My mother traveled from Dresden to Budapest with her GDR identity card. She had documents with her, though, that would have made a border guard suspicious if he’d searched her thoroughly. My mother arrived then in Budapest and spent the night in this pre-arranged station restaurant. Apparently she was the first of a whole group. The group grew bigger and bigger. The next morning, after that one night in the restaurant, the group seemed to be complete. Then they were all taken to Budapest Airport and took the flight to Prague. So she was still in the East, and that was really scary. At the airport in Prague, I´ve been told, the group were given new documents. West German passports? West German passports with the corresponding entries. The passport photos matched the refugees, but their names were different. Everyone had to learn the new data, the whole life story. This took place in the transit room, but it was still in an eastern country. It could still have all gone wrong. From there, the whole group flew to West Berlin, unharmed. Were you happy for your mother? Janos Kollmann: Yes, of course. In my heart I was with her every step of the way, and had been well aware of my parents´ despair. It wasn’t just those few months where he was on one side and my mother on the other, but before that it was the two years in Schwerin, 123

filled with worries for the future for both of them. It´s no fun for a family living on the salary of a poorly-paid singer. Not to mention my father, reliant on music for his occupation, not able to work or develop his career. It must have been terrible for him. Of course, that affected me too. When did you see each other again? That only became possible many, many years later, because people who had defected were considered criminals and prosecuted as such. Only years later was there an amnesty, and defectors to the West were no longer considered criminals. We finally met again in what was then still Czechoslovakia. That was in the eighties? Yes, well before the fall of the Wall in 1989. We GDR citizens were allowed to travel to eastern countries, so Czechoslovakia and Hungary were possible. My parents traveled there, too, and that’s how we met again for the first time after they´d fled. Of course, I’m sure people were being watched and spied on in the hotels to find out who was meeting who, because there were lots of Germans there, with Western and East German cars meeting up. Years later, my parents summoned up their courage and visited me in Leipzig.

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P ULSE RACING

Stasi interrogation (GDR State Security Police)

For Janos Kollmann, the story was not yet over. He drove the car, his mother’s Wartburg, back to Leipzig, hoping to finish his chemistry dissertation. Extremely tense, he was aware of how the state took revenge on those who stayed behind. After your mother’s escape, what happened next? Janos Kollmann: I heard nothing at first. A few days later, I finally got a call from my mother [pause]. So it was obvious that the whole thing had succeeded; that was of course accompanied by a lot of crying on the phone. But what happens now? The emotion on the phone … Anyone listening on the line would Stasi emblem realize this was a family completely torn apart. Then I heard nothing again, until two days later I received a call from a gentleman in Schwerin. He asked if I knew where my mother was. I said, “Yes, she called me yesterday from Hamburg.” The Stasi knew that, of course. Janos Kollmann: The second question was: Did I know where my parents’ car was? I said I could tell him that, too: it was in my garage, but it wasn’t drivable. This question and answer game ended with him summoning me to Schwerin at 10 a.m. the following day. That gave me a real shock So the next day I went to Schwerin, to the address that I’d been given. What I didn’t know beforehand was that the Schwerin remand prison was there. That shocked me even more. There I was received by a gentleman who talked to me for two hours or more. How did you feel? I was completely off my rocker! When you come in through an oak door which is then locked behind you, and in front of it is the next oak door, and after this door someone asks you curtly to produce your ID ... that’s not pleasant. And this official ended the conversation with me after more than two hours, after he had asked a whole 125

series of leading questions, such as: “You knew that your parents were going to the West. Why didn’t you report it?” Clever things like that. I suppose he must have been satisfied or otherwise at some point, I don’t know. He released me, and I was allowed back out through the oak doors. That was the end of contact with the State Security – I assume it was them, the gentleman did not introduce himself. That was all extremely shocking, extremely shocking. Were you able to continue your studies? At first, I couldn’t continue at the university. For weeks and months my mind was in a turmoil. But things gradually settled down, and six months later I was allowed to finish my dissertation and could finally graduate. The GDR could certainly use a well-trained chemist. It was a bad experience, but fortunately it turned out well. The Tennstedts´ greatest fear – that Inge´s escape might not succeed – was a thing of the past. Financially they seemed to be managing. There was always another job around the corner for such an experienced conductor and former music director. The 1972 season filled up with numerous performances in different North German venues. Naturally Kiel, his future place of employment, was on the list. Their concerts and guest conducting engagements helped to keep him busy. Tennstedt conducted Salome at the Deutsche Oper in West Berlin in January 1972. He was busy for the first half of the year because there were rehearsals and a number of performances of Der Besuch der alten Dame (The Old Lady´s Visit) – Gottfried von Einem´s opera based on Friedrich Dürrenmatt´s story; the German premiere was on 1 March 1972. Tennstedt also renewed his acquaintance with Rolf Liebermann and the Hamburg State Opera, where for 2 and 11 March 1972 he was offered the musical direction of Janáček’s opera From the House of the Dead, although he had to cancel the second performance ʽfor health reasonsʼ. With René Kollo as guest, he took over the performance of Richard Wagner´s The Flying Dutchman on 7 April. Along with all this, preparations were under way for his first season in Kiel.

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SAFE HAVEN

Music Director in Kiel 1972-76



“Friction creates energy.” Klaus Tennstedt

Director Dr Joachim Klaiber had thus managed to go over everyone’s head and install his favorite, Klaus Tennstedt. The new chief took up his duties on 15 September 1972, with a four-year contract and a monthly salary of 3,500 D-Marks, the equivalent of circa 6-7,000 Euros or US dollars today. For such an important appointment, that is at the low end of the pay scale. The first significant hurdle was thus successfully cleared. The position gave him a new basis on which to start building a career – in West Germany, the country where he had been longing to work. “When I came to the West at the age of 46,” said Tennstedt, “I was completely unknown and grateful for the position in the provinces.” Doubts concerning his future never fully disappeared: “After 50, not so much work comes your way. That’s when the young ones push their way in, the fencing artists” [meant as a derogatory image of a conductor and his baton]. He did not seem to have changed his ways one iota. Anyone expecting ... still a little despondent? photo: F. Magnussen/city archive Kiel him to have become an understanding, polite person was soon disappointed. Gerda Angermann, a solo cellist in the Kiel orchestra, shared her observations: Gerda Angermann: The mood was often tense. He didn’t choose his words carefully but blurted out whatever came to mind. Not everyone was prepared to put up with that, and some were quite rebellious. Gunnar Taubitz, solo clarinet, Kiel: He was irascible and sometimes the rehearsal was interrupted because he had told the first or second violins off. The orchestra board spokesman stood up and said, 127

“You can’t talk to us like that, we’ll interrupt the rehearsal.” We all got up, and the rehearsal was over. Tennstedt was angry of course, stormed off into his office and lit a cigarette. Dieter Reuland, trombonist, Kiel: Klaus Tennstedt was quite unlike the undemonstrative Hans Zender. He was emotional, volatile, sometimes irascible. He had taken over the four operas of Wagner’s Ring cycle and conducted them in his own style, not so consistently, but in an exciting way. Anyone who thought he didn’t listen very carefully was quickly proven wrong. Often he didnʼt make corrections immediately but discussed them after the rehearsals. Then, Tennstedt was an open, very sociable type. But sometimes he had a kind of restlessness about him.

Kiel: the theater and opera house

photo: Georg Wübbolt

Gunnar Taubitz, solo clarinet: Rehearsals were often so tense that we thought we´d never get through them. But after the performance, he hugged us all and told us we were great, first class – everything was fine! His motto at that time was ʽfriction creates energy’.

Now and then it was good to have some help. Heidrun Kuschel (known as ʽHeidi’), was head of the artists’ management office and considered the ʽfairy godmother’ of the Kiel municipal theater. One of her main tasks was to find replacements as quickly as possible in the event of cancellations or absences due to illness. Heidi Kuschel took Tennstedt under her wing and removed many obstacles from his path. She organized things for him, wrote letters and took care of official business. You could say she took on the role of Inge for a while. Since Heidi and Klaus often spent time together, a rumor naturally arose that they were having an affair. This, however, was unlikely. After Inge managed to escape and was finally reunited with her husband, she often emphasized how grateful she was to Heidi, 128

because she had helped Klaus enormously in the early days and had looked after him well. From then on, Inge and Heidi were often seen together. We will come back to this special relationship later. Tennstedt began his work in Kiel with Salome, Klaus Tennstedt and Dr Joachim Klaiber the Richard Strauss opera, which he had already performed in the 1963-64 season in Schwerin. The premiere was in early October 1972, after which the Kieler Nachrichten critic, Rolf Gaska, wrote enthusiastically: Sensation in the orchestra: the tone – rich and unusually varied – sharpens into dramatic action; it withdraws into the edges of a glimmering pianissimo; it moves into the light, then back into the shadow; it changes color like a silken weave; it explodes into radiant rainbow hues. “God, this febrile music!” Richard Strauss’ father had moaned in despair as his son played it to him on the piano. But this febrile music is the best the Kiel performances of Salome have ever offered. Klaus Tennstedt, the new MD of the city, transforms the opera into the orchestra´s greatest hour (...). It came as no surprise that one and three-quarter hours later the audience burst into a long ovation after a gift of such quality. However, the days of consistently good and benevolent reviews such as those Tennstedt was used to getting from his time in the GDR were over. Even at the smallest negativity he seemed mortally wounded. And things only got worse as the years went by, as if there were an evil goblin sitting on his shoulder. Even Rolf Gaska did not always approve of the MD´s sometimes unconventional treatment: Klaus Tennstedt, to put it metaphorically, took Brahms’ breath away by constantly placing him under high tension. He exaggerated. 129

The musicologist and critic Wulf Konold followed suit. He complained about the `exaggeration of all aspects’ in the Kiel performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, especially in the finale: [Tennstedt] was not satisfied with ever stronger dynamic outbursts. Added to which, he simply overtaxed the performers by tearing apart the weave of tempi which were either extremely fast or extremely slow, or dotted with artificial fermati. (...) Why must joy be shouted out loud? The full house still applauded vehemently. At this point one facet of his style could be identified, explaining to a degree why Tennstedt’s musical language was so often rejected in Germany: it was too exaggeratedly emotional! Others criticized him for excessive emphasis, wishy-washy articulation or utterly uninhibited passion. Once again, Rolf Gaska hit the nail on the head: [Tennstedt] is an unusually fiery musician whose premise is a sensuality of sound and who therefore speaks to the ear and the heart more directly than is possible for a more analytically-minded artist. (...) In the Kieler Schloss applause poured forth for both Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony and Mahler’s First. Even the Hamburg newspapers began to take notice of him, and reviewers didn’t hold back their critical remarks. The mere mention of `awakening unrest and tension’ was enough to cause Tennstedt to cancel the next rehearsal. `Due to illness’ was the usual excuse, but at first glance that wasn’t easy to understand. Very few are aware of the amount of work that goes into a performance. Long before the first rehearsal Tennstedt delved into the score: he read the music – hearing it in his head; playing sections on the piano; tried to pin down the reasons behind his musical interpretation; marked bowing for the strings; chose the articulation for the brass and woodwind sections; began rehearsals with all these insights, thus laying the groundwork for the performance; and then sweated and shook with stage fright. Would he achieve what he’d heard with his inner ear? With the first upbeat, he threw himself into this other world, the realm beyond words and meaning. Time and again, contemporaries remarked that he seemed as if in a fever with his fanatical devotion to music. The performance would be met with thunderous applause and all seemed well, but the next morning he was able to read in the paper what had not been well. Had he been self-confident, he might have been able to shrug it off. But he was not like that. 130

In the Kiel opera pit



photo: F. Magnussen/city archive Kiel

For him, music was the only important thing in life. Other people only counted if they were servants of this, the highest of all art forms, and if they agreed with his interpretations. That is why he often clashed with his musicians, who much more pragmatically were already thinking ahead to the next break. He had little ability to empathize with others. His was a singular talent, as with a savant who achieves top results in his profession but cannot accomplish much outside of it. Even when he took up hobbies like stargazing, ballooning, sailing and playing table tennis they were only ever pastimes – he quickly lost interest because all his attention, all his energy was devoted to music. If this basis were challenged, then his entire being was challenged, and then the world fell apart. That was the price he had to pay for his genius – a high price indeed. Who would have wanted to swap places with him? Two months after Salome came the premiere of Mozart’s Così fan tutte. In the ensuing years, new productions of all the other late Mozart operas followed, as well as Wagner’s Parsifal, Richard Strauss’ Elektra and Die Verurteilung des Lukullus (The Condemnation of Lucullus) by Bertolt Brecht and Paul Dessau. In his concert programs, he no longer had to include unloved GDR composers. He was able to concentrate on 131

his favorites: Mozart, Beethoven, Bruckner, Brahms, Richard Strauss and, increasingly, Gustav Mahler. Altogether, in the Kiel repertoire there was a greater focus on classical composers than Tennstedt had allowed himself in the East. Despite the questionable quality of its contemporary compositions, in the GDR more new works were definitely staged. The state looked after its artists, but good political conduct was expected in return. In West Germany, modern composers had long been ʽslipped inʼ among popular classical orchestral pieces. A typical concert program would have included, for instance, an overture that was easy on the ears (preferably Mozart, Beethoven or von Weber), followed by a concerto with a soloist or a rather short modern piece to complete the first half, then intermission and the main work. Such was the 1975-76 Kiel program lineup, the last for which Tennstedt would be responsible. At last, Tennstedt´s dreams were beginning to come true. His field of influence was not limited to Kiel. Invitations from important orchestras were starting to arrive. On 1 November 1973, the Kieler Express wrote of his regular guest conductorships: Among others, there was a concert in Rio de Janeiro last year. In 1974 Tennstedt plans to conduct Hans Werner Henze’s Boulevard Kiel Opera, season 1975-76: Othello (Otello), Giuseppe Verdi Die Entführung aus dem Serail (Il Seraglio), Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Hoffmanns Erzählungen (Tales of Hoffmann), Jacques Offenbach Bluthochzeit (Blood Wedding) Wolfgang Fortner Der Mantel (The Coat/Gianni Schicchi), Giacomo Puccini Don Giovanni, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart An die große Sonne voller Liebe (To the great love-filled sun), Luigi Nono (not conducted by Tennstedt) Così fan tutte, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (reopening from season 1972-73) Figaros Hochzeit (The Marriage of Figaro), Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (reopening from season 1973-74) Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute), Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (reopening from season 1974-75) Elektra, Richard Strauss (reopening from season 1974-75) Die Verurteilung des Lukullus (The Condemnation of Lukullus), Paul Dessau (reopening from season 1974-75) Rigoletto, Giuseppe Verdi (reopening) Parsifal, Richard Wagner (reopening from season1972-73) My Fair Lady, Frederick Loewe (not conducted by Tennstedt)

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Solitude at the Munich State Opera, a concert in Toronto in May, then in Munich the opening of Musica Viva on Radio Bavaria (Bayerischer Rundfunk) and later on, in Vienna, the Vienna Symphony and Philharmonic, and in Berlin a Mozart concert for the Radio in the American Sector (RIAS). This man has hobbies too. For instance, as an amateur astronomer, he studies the stars with his 70x magnification tripod telescope, and he is a keen Skat player. Finally, the newly liberated Tennstedt was able to include his favorites in the programs. These were the big names, though with two notable modern exceptions, Wolfgang Fortner and Luigi Nono. There follows an overview: Concerts: Newer music in Kiel 1972-76, MD Klaus Tennstedt Benjamin Britten, Sinfonia da Requiem. op. 20 Arvo Pärt, Perpetuum Mobile, op. 10 Gottfried von Einem, Violin Concerto (rather `tonal´) Paul Hindemith, Cello Concerto Bernd Alois Zimmermann, Photoptosis Erich Urbanner, Violin Concerto Bela Bartók, Viola Concerto No. 1, op. posthumously (rather `tonal´) Dan-Corneliu Georgescu, Alb-Negru (German premiere) Arnold Schönberg, Five Pieces for Orchestra, op. 16 Wolfgang Fortner, Immagini Paul Hindemith, Symphonic Metamorphoses (rather `tonal´) Heinrich Konietzky, Triadic Violin Concerto (world premiere) Olivier Messiaen, Oiseaux exotiques (Exotic Birds)

Not a single GDR composer featured there. The Kiel period also included some non-secular works: Benjamin Britten´s Sinfonia da Requiem, op. 20 (not to be confused with the War Requiem), the Verdi Requiem, and Antonín Dvořák´s Stabat Mater, op. 58. This was remarkable inasmuch as Tennstedt had until now shown little interest in performing anything with a religious theme. This had also complied with the GDR policy of preventing non-secular works from being performed. Later in America, and especially in London, he was known almost exclusively as a conductor of the great `classics´ from Mozart to Mahler and Strauss, despite continuing to perform an extensive concert repertoire of 20th century music. 133

Having apparently accepted the fact that he would be spending more time in Kiel, the couple rented a detached house at 16 Kolonnenweg in Heikendorf, a former fishing village a little to the north-east of Kiel. A few months later, an eight-storey block was finished nearby and immediately Tennstedt Apartment building in Heikendorf photo: Georg Wübbolt was keen on buying the top one of the roomy apartments overlooking the Baltic Sea. He told the estate agent, “I´ll pay whatever it takes.” Luckily Edith, the wife of his dentist friend Dr Dietrich Albrecht, took the matter in hand. She knew he was not very worldly-wise when it came to business matters. Finally, the Tennstedts became the owners of their ʽsafe haven’. For the rest of his life, Klaus enthused over the immense pleasure he felt in this retreat, with its view from the balcony over the wide Kiel Fjord, almost as far as the Danish islands. The couple could switch off and relax, watching the ferries run to and from Scandinavia and the large container ships and colorful sailboats making their way across the water. “The most beautiful place on earth,” he would rave to every visitor. “California and the Rockies have nothing like this!” Klaus Tennstedt: Look out here, just look at it! The bustling fjord, the open Baltic – incomparable. Central Park [in New York] might be marvelous with its beautiful 20-million-dollar houses. But if you look onto the park, it´s the same every day. Here the fjord is full of life and change. Submarines, or twenty or thirty windjammers on parade. It´s incredible. “A two-million-dollar view,” he enthused to the reporter from Bild newspaper. The flat had five rooms, including a spacious living room and a bedroom each for Klaus and Inge. The address, Roesoll 13 in Kiel-Heikendorf, remained his and Inge’s home for the rest of their lives. 134

View of the Kiel Fjord from the balcony

photo: Janos Kollmann

Gradually Tennstedt began feeling reasonably comfortable, professionally. But would he have to accept that his career was at a standstill? Too much time had been wasted back in the East. In the West, on the free side of the Iron Curtain, his contacts were, as yet, too few to guarantee him a significant role on the international music scene. Time and again he doubted whether he had done the right thing by fleeing. “Kiel was provincial all over again,” he said in a radio broadcast. “But I thought: I´m sure I have more to offer.” He was restless and uncertain, and the musicians noticed it, too. Holger Garbs was a percussionist with the NDR Orchestra in Hamburg and sometimes played in Kiel as a substitute. Holger Garbs: Somehow, he was always unsure. Am I doing the right thing or not? In Hamburg, and when he was music director in Kiel, too, he was always coming into the canteen to get a beer. He would sit down with us and just chat. He was very friendly, not like other `great´ conductors; he was more the `good mate´ type. Robert König, Kiel: You could have very, very good conversations with Tennstedt. Unfortunately, he drank, too. He was never staggering, but he often smelled of drink. He also smoked a lot – he smoked all the time, actually. He dried his cigarettes on the radiator and then smoked them. The alcohol bit came later. 135

The problem did not remain hidden from Peter Alward at EMI. In his opinion the drinking had to do with his daughter Heidi´s suicide. On the other hand, John Willan, Tennstedt’s producer at EMI and later manager at the London Philharmonic Orchestra, didn’t agree with such accusations. John Willan: He and I often sat together and drank, but he didn’t drink any more than I did. He loved his beer. As soon as a recording session was over, he’d say, “Where’s my beer?” And then he’d drink one, or maybe two or three. But that was it. He was never drunk. I never saw him drinking at 9 or 10 o’clock like an alcoholic would. I don’t think he had a drinking problem. I could name you plenty of others.

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T ORONTO 1974 – START OF A NEW LIFE The Czech conductor Karel Ančerl fled his homeland in 1968 – the dramatic year of the ʽPrague Spring’ – out of anger and disappointment. He emigrated to Canada, soon becoming head of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. After a mere four years in office, at only 65, he died unexpectedly. So the orchestra’s general manInfo: Walter ager Walter Homburger set off for Homburger Germany in search of a successor. was born in He wanted to find a replacement Germany in who embodied the old European 1924 and conducting tradition. Surely the emigrated to German-speaking countries would Canada with have someone to fit the bill? his family By chance, Homburger heard of in 1940. He a principal conductor in the prosoon manvincial capital of Kiel, and he was aged artists in the audience for a concert of such as piaBeethoven´s Violin Concerto (with nist Glenn Gould, whom he mentored soloist Itzhak Perlman) and the for around 20 years. In 1962 he became general manBruckner Seventh Symphony. The impression was so over- ager of the Toronto Symphony Orwhelming that Tennstedt was im- chestra and remained there for 25 mediately invited to Toronto for years. His preference was less for two concerts in May 1974. Despite modern music than for the old masters. Tennstedt seemed just the right his initial excitement, he did have man for him. second thoughts: Klaus Tennstedt: My first feeling was fear. It’s like a general practitioner suddenly being appointed head of a university hospital. He´s not too comfortable about that at first, either. With mixed emotions, he left for his first engagement on the other side of the North Atlantic. He had drawn up a purely Beethoven program: the Egmont Overture, the Violin Concerto (soloist again Itzhak Perlman) and the Fifth Symphony, all pieces that Tennstedt knew down to the last quaver. He had even played the violin concerto once himself. In the Toronto Symphony rehearsal room he took his place in front of the orchestra with a sinking feeling in his stomach, hoping to be 137

able to conceal his nervousness. He knew his English was poor. Hopefully, he’d be able to string the right words together. Walter Homburger introduced him to the musicians, none of whom had ever heard the name Tennstedt before. Fortunately, musicians all over the world speak enough Italian to know what molto piano or crescendo means. The first hour of the rehearsal seemed to go quite well. When, after the break, the orchestra finished tuning up and Tennstedt headed again for his place at the podium, he was greeted by a pleasant surprise: clattering and tapping with violin bows on the music stands – that’s what hearty applause sounds like among musicians! This was an unusual honor, rarely given. Klaus Tennstedt had the orchestra on his side! Surely nothing could go wrong now. Both audience and critics were thrilled with the concert that followed. The news of this sensational `no-name´ debut spread like wildfire. Walter Homburger had already suggested that Columbia Artists (CAMI), the world’s most powerful music management company, send a scout to Toronto. He reported that a new star had risen in the conductors´ firmament. CAMI wanted to secure his services immediately, and put him in touch with the music director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, who also happened to be under contract with CAMI. But before his newly discovered jewel was snatched out of his hands, Walter Homburger made sure of future dates. Tennstedt had to promise to come regularly. In addition, their personal contact was intensified. Invitations, sightseeing tours and an exciting new thrill followed. Homburger took his friend on a few flights in his Cessna and gave him control of the plane for a short while.25 However, he didn’t ever get as far as the skilled tasks of take-off and landing. Nevertheless, Tennstedt claimed in interviews that he could fly an airplane, which may well have been true – in the air. But some journalists turned this into the possession of a pilot’s license, which was a long way from the truth. But who cared? In Canada the air was clear, and the people generous, hospitable and much more relaxed Tennstedt with chipmunk than in Germany. 138

Walter Homburger also introduced his maestro to the Rocky Mountains, far to the west of that vast country. Hundreds of kilometers of virgin landscape were spread out there, barren of human life but with bears and moose and the occasional hut on a lake. It was like discovering another world. Tennstedt loved Banff and its surroundings, and he and Inge were to spend many summers relaxing at nearby Lake Louise. They used to invite close friends to join them, neighbors from Heikendorf: the dentist Dr Dietrich `Dracula´ Albrecht and his wife Edith and Dieter Bülter-Marell, the stage director from the Radebeul days, and his wife Ursula. Heidi Kuschel, in charge of the Kiel artists´ management department, was often there too. Heidi played an increasingly important role in the life of the Tennstedts, not only from an organizational point of view but also privately. For Klaus, the first name naturally brought back memories of his dead daughter Heidi, and over time a strong emotional bond developed between the two Tennstedts and Heidi Kuschel. She called Inge `Frau Mutter´ and Klaus `Herr Vater´, much to the astonishment of some present. Heidi seemed happy to have found something like a family, and she sometimes accompanied Klaus and Inge on concert tours. With her fluent English she proved invaluable; negotiating and tactics were in her blood. Klaus could relax among the mountains. But we should not believe he’d left all his idiosyncrasies behind! Dieter Bülter-Marell recalled this incident: Dieter Bülter-Marell: He would suddenly get the craziest of ideas. We went for a walk by the lake, and he said, “This rock, we’re going to roll it into the lake now.” And he really wasn’t the strongest person. Besides, think of his hands. Even though he no longer played the violin, he played the piano for rehearsals. I said, “Klaus, you’re going to hurt yourself,” and he replied, “We have to do it, now!” And then we got these tree trunks and tried to lever that huge rock in there. We actually managed it, in two hours or so. Tennstedt and Bülter-Marell: roll ‘n rock It was unbelievable.



photos: Ursula Bülter-Marell

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Edith Albrecht has a story about Klaus which, she believes, is characteristic of him: Edith Albrecht: He always wanted to be the best, always the greatest. Once they took me fishing, even though I didn’t like it. My husband gave me a rod and put a worm on the hook. Klaus felt he ought to teach me how to fish. I put the line into the water, and ʽpoof’ – I caught a big trout! In again, and another one. We got four fish altogether. And Klaus got annoyed. He didn’t like it at all. When we went back to our cabin, my husband said, “Come on, give the Tennstedts two fish.” But Klaus wouldn’t accept them. No! He just didn’t want to – he was sulking. I found that childish. In those beautiful surroundings Tennstedt discovered another new passion – hot-air ballooning. “I like to do this in Banff, floating 2,000 meters up in the air,” he said. Above all it was the stillness that overwhelmed him, “moving with the wind, while the wind is silent.”26 Inge preferred to stay on the ground. “I’m not crazy,” she said indignantly, “it’s enough if I can drive after him and pick him up again at the end.” Tennstedt’s time in the mountains wasn’t Dr Dietrich Albrecht all relaxation, though. For three seasons he conducted the Canadian Chamber Orchestra; this consisted of music students hosting their summer arts festival in Banff. For Tennstedt, one could call this a ʽbusman’s holidayʼ, and he declared: The Canadian Rockies are the most beautiful mountains I have ever seen. I come here to fish and rest and to work a little with the remarkable students here.27 These young musicians hung on his every word. They were finding out how a world-class conductor can conjure up something marvelous from a simple piece of music. 140

A mere six months after his debut in Toronto, a series of seven concerts was arranged for December 1974 with the Boston Symphony Orchestra, one of the top five orchestras in the USA. Asked what he would like to conduct, the maestro´s astonished reply was, “You mean, I get to choose?” He did! His choice fell on Johannes Brahms´ Fourth Symphony, preceded by the Academic Festival Overture, op. 70 and the Violin Concerto, op. 77 (with soloist Miriam Fried). The dates were 12, 13, 14 and 17 December. These were soon followed, on 19, 20 and 21 December, by Bruckner´s Eighth Symphony – a program of pure Romanticism with one of the best orchestras in the world. Tennstedt arrived in Boston with his heart pounding. Would this work for him? Was he, a humble conductor from the provinces, worthy to be standing in front of this great orchestra? Seven concerts in quick succession – seven opportunities for failure. The completely new environment, the jet lag, the unfamiliar language – suddenly the waves of expectation came crashing down on him, and he threatened to throw in the towel. “Inge, I can´t do it,” he cried on the telephone. “I’m coming home.” “Are you crazy?” she shouted. “Go in there and conduct. So, bitte!” 28 Tennstedt´s nerves were wearing thin, and in the Boston dressing room he took another drag on his cigarette. The first rehearsal was looming; he would then discover if the musicians were behind him or not. Right after the break he was greeted by an enthusiastic tapping on music stands – had the word been passed on from Toronto? And there was more to follow. “If I had a dollar,” said Boston Globe critic Michael Steinberg, “for each time someone asked me, ʽWho is Klaus Tennstedt?ʼ I could take a week off. His name is as good as unknown here.” After the first concert Steinberg wrote that Tennstedt had introduced an astonishing number of new perspectives, and the Academic Festival Overture was an unheard-of show of fireworks. Nevertheless, he was not entirely satisfied: Michael Steinberg: Tension, understandable in such circumstances, may well have been the problem, and the orchestra, which clearly liked the conductor and did some superb playing for him, fell now and again into surprising nervous mistakes. Tennstedt´s worries evaporated after the next series of concerts, which featured Anton Bruckner´s Eighth. This time, Michael Steinberg was utterly overwhelmed: 141

20 December 1974 Bruckner, Tennstedt, BSO – Once-in-a-lifetime music. There is a story that Handel, describing what it was like to compose the ʽHallelujahʼ Chorus, said, “I thought I saw the heavens open, and the great Lord Himself.” I haven’t any idea whether the story is true, but if it is, I wish Handel had waited for Anton Bruckner to say it, for it is his music that it describes perfectly. Last night, the Boston Symphony gave us one of those great Brucknerian epiphanies – the Eighth Symphony under Klaus Tennstedt, conducted and played as one hears few things conducted and played in a lifetime. The orchestra played beautifully, with a glorious nobility in the brass, but above all, with a luminous and deep string tone that probably has not been heard here in decades. At the end, there was a yelling, foot-stomping ovation, and it is clear that Tennstedt’s appearance is one of the best things to have happened to the Boston Symphony in a long time. He will surely be back. This threw the door to the great symphonic world wide open. Tennstedt was to return to Boston, including Tanglewood, for a total of thirty-five concerts. He could hardly believe it himself: Klaus Tennstedt: This giant continent becomes a village after you succeed in a concert that causes a sensation, and word spreads. Word got around so fast that the so-called Magic Five, the five great American orchestras, jumped at the opportunity. The first was the Boston Symphony – God knows, a terrific orchestra. Then came Cleveland, then Philadelphia, then came the New York Philharmonic and the Chicago Symphony. And that, of course, meant my career had taken off. I didn’t have time to conduct in Germany anymore, except for the Berlin Philharmonic. People sometimes asked me later, “Good heavens, why aren’t you a bigger name in Germany?” But while ʽno timeʼ was always a popular excuse, ʽstill not wantedʼ might have been more appropriate. Henry Fogel, later general manager of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, received a call from his colleague Richard L. Kaye in Boston: Henry Fogel: Dick Kaye said excitedly, “We just had a conductor nobody has ever heard of, Columbia Artists has already contacted him.” But that wasn’t good news for orchestra managers, as we’ll see in a moment. For Tennstedt it was the start of a new life, a life he had hardly dared hope for but always dreamed of. He was 49 years old. 142

C ONDUCTOR OF CONDUCTORS Columbia Artists Management Inc.

Columbia Artists Management Inc. (CAMI) was founded in 1930 by the legendary Arthur Judson (1881-1975). He was the first music executive to wield great power, serving simultaneously as artistic director of the Philadelphia Orchestra and the New York Philharmonic. He invested early in the new medium of television, in a station called the Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS), still one of America’s largest today. He adopted the first part of the name for his new music management company: Columbia Artists Management Inc. (CAMI), based in New York. Meanwhile, Ronald Wilford (1926-2015) was their boss. Like a puppet master, he pulled strings for his clients: Karajan, Kleiber, Abbado, Levine, Ozawa, Blomstedt, Muti, Masur, Gergiev and now Tennstedt – were contracted to him. For most of the 20th century, Columbia Artists remained the world’s leading musicians’ agency. At the time of its greatest power, two-thirds of all top artists belonged to CAMI, including about 100 conductors, 800 singers, and 300 instrumentalists. Wilford thus had almost complete power over the world’s concert halls and opera houses. His conductors led such institutions as the Metropolitan Opera, the New York Philharmonic, the Boston Symphony, the Philadelphia Orchestra, the Berlin Philharmonic, the Salzburg Festivals and several top London orchestras, all at the same time. Thus he was able to fix prices shamelessly and almost at will, and he had no qualms about blackmailing managers. You can still see today how uncomfortable Henry Fogel, the longtime artistic manager of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, felt: Henry Fogel: Occasionally they wanted you to hire one of their young artists. “If you want our star, you must take those unknowns, too, on these terms [with a dismissive hand gesture], and for the following fee.” Wilford could both build careers or destroy them without a second thought, and he let them know that. For conductors he demanded ever higher fees, because the jet age allowed them to take over several orchestras at once: three months 143

on this continent, three on that, and the rest around the world as a guest conductor, first class of course, paid by the organizer. Nobody could get past Wilford. “I’m very unimportant,” he told the New York Times. The opposite was true. This agency was desperate to take Tennstedt under its wing, but he was already under contract elsewhere – with the Sudbrack agency in Hamburg. So Wilford had to pry his new discovery away from them. Joachim Nerger, the present owner of the company, described an almost surreal encounter between the two: To negotiate the takeover, Rolf Sudbrack met Ronald Wilford in the elegant Hotel Atlantic on the shores of Hamburg’s Outer Alster Lake. The atmosphere was generous and accommodating. It was agreed that Sudbrack would keep the German and European business for a transitional period and hand over the rest to Columbia Artists immediately, including a not insignificant transfer fee. As soon as the new contract was signed, the American lost his friendly interest, becoming quite the ice-cold manager who had just ripped off his victim. “It was really brutal,” said Nerger. “There was an abrupt end to any interpersonal relationship.”* For Tennstedt, there was no let up. The Big Five orchestras showered him with offers. 1974 was only the beginning; 1975 saw the launch of a breathtaking international career.

*Wilford’s power waned only when some of his top executives allowed themselves to be lured away or started their own companies, and when the record business generally became more difficult due to the Internet and streaming services. Ronald Wilford died in New York in 2015. In the summer of 2020, the agency had to file for bankruptcy because of Covid-19. The organization that succeeded it, Camimusic, has yet to attain the same degree of success. 144

T HE YEAR 1975

Back from Boston, the triumphs he had recently experienced overwhelmed him. He suspected what kind of avalanche was heading his way and was afraid it would bury him. It came as no surprise when he suffered a severe breakdown. “I can’t do this, I’m not good enough.” The sudden pressure, the enormous expectations were too much for him, and for several weeks he dropped out completely. An insurmountable chasm of doubt appeared, setting apart his humbler, earlier self-image as head of a medium-sized North German opera house from this new persona, caught in the dazzling spotlight of the world stage. Norman Lebrecht: He couldn´t bridge that. Inge, of course, tried to put him back together again. He said to me: “At that time, that´s when I discovered Mahler. I sat down at the piano and started studying Mahler´s scores. It was a Zäsur,” he said in German, “a caesura, a clean cut!” So far he had performed only the First Symphony and Kindertotenlieder, plus the Fifth Symphony once in Kiel. Tennstedt used the self-imposed break to immerse himself in Mahler´s remaining orchestral works. Alongside various other obligations, over more than three years he familiarized himself with the scores, following the course of motifs, melodies and moods. Delving into the ever-growing literature, he researched the composer´s life to find links to the music so he could reflect them in his performances. His series of Mahler´s symphonies began in 1977 in London, where – first of all in the studio – he recorded them all. “You can only conduct Mahler if you have suffered,” was repeated like a mantra in interviews. Was he referring to the long series of setbacks in his GDR career? The suicide of his daughter, over which he grieved for so long? Probably that as well, but it was rather the inner struggles he was fighting with himself. It seemed as if the already thin layer of self-confidence no longer held, as if a hidden drawer opened, from which a series of contradictory feelings sprang forth. He had finally got what he always wanted, and it merely increased his anxiety. He knew there was more to him, but now that he could show it, did 145

his courage fail him? He got foot-stomping applause, but did he even hear it? Finally he stood in front of the best orchestras in the world, and at the end of the day he´d say, “Inge, I can’t do it.” At last, a cornucopia of dollars poured over him. Why had he been so envious of Kurt Masur? Finally he could show that damned friend of his what he, Klaus, was capable of. If only he had nerves of steel and a thick skin like him. “If only you were more like Kurt,” he heard his mother scolding him. How right she was. To top it all, he had obligations to fulfill in Kiel – upcoming rehearsals and performances, bureaucracy to deal with and paperwork – annoying burdens. Things grew increasingly hectic. Dates had to be juggled to accommodate last-minute engagements in America. Despite it all, somehow the routine helped him finally get back on his feet! March 1975 saw him in Caracas with the Filharmonia Nacional de Venezuela. In July, while the Kiel Opera was on its summer break, he captured audiences in Cleveland. Shortly afterwards he gave concerts with the Boston Symphony, this time at the orchestra’s annual summer festival at Tanglewood. Want a few reviews? John von Rhein, for the Akron Beacon Journal, Cleveland, 12 July 1975, wrote: It has been a long time since I have heard the Cleveland Orchestra play so brilliantly, so clearly, so radiantly as in this opening concert. A conductor of rare inspiration and authority was in charge. His name is Klaus Tennstedt. His mannerism-free manner, his impeccable ear, his knack for securing beautifully blended sonorities, his complete understanding of the architecture of a musical phrase and its place within the whole – all these put him leagues ahead of several of today’s better-known young lions of the baton. Judith Eckelmeyer, for The Sun Press, Cleveland, 17 July 1975: As if a Merlin were concocting his earth-shaking magic, he so controlled and soothed and danced and flowed, virtually demanding the music he wanted to hear. The orchestra responded with its best performance so far this season. In September 1975, the Kieler Nachrichten reported that Tennstedt would not be renewing his four-year contract with the state capital’s opera company. The maestro, suddenly in tremendous demand, was unwilling to enter into any firm commitments in the near future. Thirty concerts were planned for the coming year in America alone! Adding rehearsal and travel time, this meant Tennstedt would be busy in the USA for half the year. He dreamed of spending six months on one side 146

of the Atlantic and six months on the other. In addition to these concerts and his existing Kiel commitments, Igor Stravinsky´s opera The Rake’s Progress at Munich’s Cuvilliés Theater was on the list. But too many dates collided, so Tennstedt had to cancel the production. Of course, he had to give a farewell concert in Kiel. Did they have any real understanding of what they were about to lose? On 10 June 1976, Susanne Materleitner’s headline in the Kieler Nachrichten read: Ovations for Tennstedt. The Kiel MD conducted his farewell concert ... a storm of applause broke out. The Kiel concert audience celebrated a music director who, after four years, had become too big for this city. At long last Tennstedt could enjoy his flourishing international fame. His 1977 calendar was packed with fifty-seven concerts, for the most part in North America. Just the main works are listed in the synopsis below: Calendar 1977 (excerpt) 5, 8 & 11 Jan. 1977 Boston. Schubert: Symphony No. 9 Great C Major* 13 & 15 Jan. 1977 Boston. Mahler: Symphony No. 4 25, 27 & 28 Jan. Toronto. Prokofiev: Symphony No. 5 1 & 2 Feb. Toronto. Dvořák: Symphony No. 8 8 & 9 Feb. Washington D.C. Bruckner: Symphony No. 4 18 & 19 Feb. Cincinnati. Bruckner: Symphony No. 7 24, 26 Feb., 1 Mar. New York. Prokofiev: Symphony No. 5 11 & 12 Mar. Dallas. Brahms: Symphony No. 4 23 & 26 Mar. San Francisco. Prokofiev: Symphony No. 5 30 Mar & 1 Apr. San Francisco. Schubert: Symphony No. 9 Great C Major* 8, 9 & 12 Apr. Philadelphia: Bruckner: Symphony No.7 25, 26 & 27 Apr. Berlin Philharmonic. Bruckner: Symphony No. 2 2 May Toronto. (program not known) 7 May London, Mozart: Symphony No. 41 Jupiter 8, 9 & 11 May Hamburg, NDR, Stravinsky: Firebird 12 July 1977 Munich, Radio Bavaria. Prokofiev: Symph. No. 7 22 July 1977 Cleveland. Bruckner: Symphony No. 7 23 July Cleveland. Stravinsky, Firebird *According to latest findings, the Schubert Symphony No. 8 `Unfinished’ was composed after No. 9, the `Great C Major’, so that in new publications the numbers have been switched. We are retaining the old numbering. 147

25 July 29 July 30 July 31 July 4 Aug. 8, 9 & 10 Sept. 15, 16 & 17 Sept. 26 Sept. 4 & 5 Oct. 4 & 5 Oct. 29 Oct. 30 Oct. 3, 4 & 5 Nov. 14 Nov. 1 & 2 Dec. 29 & 30 Dec. 1977



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Toronto. Dvořák: Symphony No. 8 Tanglewood. BSO. Beethoven: Symphony No. 7 Tanglewood. BSO. Beethoven: Symph. No. 3 Eroica Tanglewood. BSO. Beethoven: Symphony No. 2 Philadelphia. Orff: Carmina Burana Toronto. Beethoven: Symphonies Nos. 1 & 2 Toronto. Beethoven: Symphony No. 3 Eroica London. STUDIO – Mahler: Symphony No. 1; Abbey Road Studios London. STUDIO – Mahler: Symphony No. 1; Abbey Road Studios London, LPO. Bruckner: Symphony No. 7 Croydon, Fairfield Halls, London Symphony. Brahms: Symphony No. 1 London, London Symphony. Brahms: Symph. No. 1 Boston, BSO. Bruckner: Symphony No. 7 Hamburg, NDR SO. Mahler: Symphony No. 1 Munich, Radio Bavaria. Prokofiev: Symphony No. 5 New York. Bruckner: Symphony No. 8

photo: Louis Hood/University of Minnesota Performing Arts Archive

AMERICA AT HIS FEET Minneapolis

“It might as well have been yesterday, that‘s how excited I get when I talk about Klaus.” William Schrickel, Minnesota Orchestra Tennstedt did not have to worry about whether the American orchestras wanted him or not. He was lured, caressed, and showered with warmth and personal invitations. He was the man of the hour. Thunderous applause and abundant money awaited him on this continent. William Schrickel, then double bass player with the Minnesota Orchestra, placed him on a high pedestal. “Off the podium he had a somewhat childish nature, but on the podium he was god-like.” In Kiel, Tennstedt was earning 3,500 DM a month. In America he got more than double that, 3,500 dollars for a single concert. He usually conducted three in a row, raking in, together with the rehearsals, over US$10,000 in a week and a half. On top of that came the firstclass flights from and to Hamburg for both of them – Inge always had to accompany him. He usually paid for bed and board from his own pocket. Inge was thrifty. She went shopping by bus, not in a taxi. It was she who compared the prices of apartments and chose them, importantly always making sure that they had a kitchen. Klaus, of course, always expected his food to be on the table. Although Tennstedt earned so much money that he could have afforded the most expensive hotel rooms with minibars and all the extras, the lean years in the GDR had made a great impression on him, and even more on Inge. Back then, they had spent little because there was little to spend it on. The Bernsteins and Karajans of this world traveled with large entourages. For Klaus Tennstedt his wife was enough. She embodied cook, organizer, driver, financial supervisor and secretary. He called her ʽMotherʼ, and yes, without a doubt she was his faithful wife. Of course he knew how lucky he was to have her: “My wife is pure gold.” The agency made a good living. It is said that CAMI claimed a handsome 20 percent of the fee. Naturally, Ronald Wilford was adamant he would decide which orchestra should have the benefit of the maestro´s next appearance. He was of the opinion that his artist conducting the Minnesota Orchestra was tantamount to casting 149

pearls before swine, and he tried to limit their cooperation. On the other hand, Richard Cisek, the orchestra´s manager, was keen to en gage Tennstedt as often as possible. He made him principal guest conductor in an attempt to help the situation. The members of the orchestra were enthusiastic from the start. “Playing for Klaus was a tremendously thrilling experience,” said cellist Mina Fisher. “What a musician,” added Joseph Longo, clarinetist. “He managed to make us play well beyond our ability. I´ve never seen that kind of excitement again, neither in the players nor in the audience. He was a nice guy, and he was all music, from head to toe.” Neither Minneapolis nor Toronto fitted into Ronald Wilford´s plan of action – they didn’t belong in the top rank of North American orchestras. This honor, deservedly or not, is given to the so-called Big Five: the New York Philharmonic, the Boston and Chicago Symphonies and the Philadelphia and Cleveland Orchestras. Richard Cisek vividly remembered the fights with Wilford. The man from Minneapolis went to enormous lengths to keep his star German conductor loyal. A snowed-in Christmas was spent together. They went to California, and flew to Florida for a Disney World visit. Everything was done to keep the famous man happy. An interview with the late Richard Cisek took place in the Minnesota Orchestra building. He was joined by the double bass player William Schrickel, who had been in most of the rehearsals and performances under Tennstedt. Their respect for the maestro remained undiminished. Mr Cisek, Mr Schrickel, when did you first meet Klaus Tennstedt? Richard Cisek: That was in 1976; we had to replace a conductor who became ill. I called Boston and they said, “We just had this fellow from Germany, who came out of nowhere and was a big hit.” So I called Ronald Wilford immediately, and we were able to arrange a performance here with Klaus Tennstedt. How did the concert go? Richard Cisek: Extraordinarily well. Our musicians perked up and suddenly wanted him to become best friends with them. So I said to Klaus, “I’d like to have you here regularly.” And that´s what happened.

Richard Cisek

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Is that how you felt, Mr Schrickel? William Schrickel: I think ʽloveʼ is the right word. I know it sounds sort of corny – we would do anything he wanted, and he knew that. What a great feeling for a conductor to come somewhere and have them follow your every whim! He could even choose his repertoire. What impression did he make? William Schrickel: When he was off the podium, he was childlike. Not childish, but very child-like. He was fun, he was conversational, he loved things the way a child does.

William Schrickel

Richard Cisek: Other conductors cover themselves with a kind of artificial patina to make people think they’re special. Not so Klaus; he was only interested in being special on the podium. The rest of the time, he was like an old shoe: very comfortable. And the rehearsals? William Schrickel: Klaus came in and it was like a matter of life and death. Except it was more important than life or death. That was the feeling that we got, even if we were just accompanying a piano concerto or something like that. You could see how he was sweating, when he was going like this … [makes sweeping gestures], giving everything that he had. That´s how he was in rehearsals, too. He wasn’t just saving it for the concert. What was so special about him? William Schrickel: He had an overwhelming sense of emotional perfection. He was the greatest and most sincere conductor I ever played under. After some things, like Bruckner´s Fourth Symphony with Klaus, the place was ecstatic. People were shouting as they never had before and haven´t really since. How often in the year did he come to Minneapolis? Richard Cisek: As Klaus was the principal guest conductor from 1979 to 1982, Ronald Wilford, that ʽintrepidʼ manager, had to agree to four or five weeks a year. But later on that changed, unfortunately. The highlight, and the exception to the Wilford rule, was Tennstedt´s contract to conduct a seven-week-long series of seventeen concerts from the end of December 1980 to mid-February 1981. Immediately 151

prior to this marathon, Klaus and Inge spent a relaxing Christmas with the Cisek family. 31 December 1980 - 3 January 1981 (3 concerts, with rehearsals beforehand) C. M. von Weber: Invitation to the Dance (Einladung zum Tanz) C. M. von Weber: Concert piece for piano and orchestra (Konzertstück für Klavier und Orchester) (Soloist: Garrick Ohlsson) Shostakovich: Piano Concerto No. 1 for Piano, Trumpet and Strings, (Soloists: Garrick Ohlsson, Charles Schlueter) Johann Strauss, Jr.: Overture to The Bat (Die Fledermaus) Johann Strauss, Jr.: The Emperor Waltz (Kaiserwalzer) 7-9 January 1981 (3 concerts) Haydn: Symphony No. 64 Mozart: Horn Concerto No. 4 (Hornkonzert Nr. 4) (Soloist: A. Kendall Betts) Beethoven: Symphony No. 4 14-17 January 1981 (4 concerts) Glinka: Overture to Ruslan und Ludmilla Glasunov: Violin Concerto (Soloist: Silvia Marcovici) Dvořák: Symphony No. 9 (From the New World) 4-7 February 1981 (4 concerts) R. Strauss: The Citizen as Nobleman (Der Bürger als Edelmann) R. Strauss: Thus spake Zarathustra (Also sprach Zarathustra) 11-13 February 1981 (3 concerts) Mahler: Symphony No. 3 (Soloist: Ortrun Wenkel)

There was hardly a day´s pause between rehearsals. The time in Minneapolis remained an exception because Tennstedt was never again allowed to stay for so long. Ronald Wilford was determined not to let his ʽsuper maestro’ waste his talents on this orchestra. For the 198283 season, he offered them a mere week. That caused plenty of agitation behind the scenes. Richard Cisek knew that Heidi Kuschel had great influence over the Tennstedts. He asked if she could persuade them to let Klaus conduct more often in Minneapolis. Being a shrewd diplomat, Heidi cautiously answered that she wanted to try, but it was Ronald Wilford of Columbia Artists who was pulling the strings. Nothing could be decided without his say-so. Richard Cisek had an idea how to thwart Wilford´s scheme: he need only strengthen the attachment between himself and Tennstedt. 152

Georg Wübbolt: Did you befriend Klaus so that he would come to you more often? Richard Cisek: Certainly not. We were simply friends; we liked each other. Was his wife Inge always with him? Richard Cisek: Well, interestingly, it was Wilford who said to me, “His wife Inge is the one who is really going to make the decisions” [smiles meaningfully]. I looked forward to meeting Inge. I was prepared to meet a dour, strict, tough woman. When I arrived at their apartment to take them out for dinner, I knocked on the door; she opened it and I immediately had this feeling, I´m going to like this woman! And a wonderful friendship developed. She encouraged the relationship. So we were able to be friends with the two of them for four blessed, wonderful years. William Schrickel: I remember at one point he went to Disney World, and how The Tennstedts with Mickey Mouse much he loved that. In California or Florida? Richard Cisek: In Orlando, Florida. My wife Carroll and I flew there with him and Inge. ʽMy two boysʼ, Inge used to call us [a little amused]. She was the adult, and we were always looking for ways to have fun. ʽLazy, lousy, killer Klausiʼ [laughs], that´s what we called him. As a matter of fact, I have a picture of him conducting our orchestra which he autographed, and he signed it, ʽL.L.K.K.ʼ. But he was very careful; he wouldn´t go on the roller coasters at Disney World. He was worried about his heart even then, concerned that they would affect him. So he´d stand down there smoking [makes smoking gesture, laughs]. And interestingly, also at Disney World, we were passing by an area where they served drinks, and two college kids, young boys, said: “Look, that´s Klaus Tennstedt!” And they rushed over to him. He was really taken by that. Where else did you go? Richard Cisek: We went to several places; we went to California once – they were great to travel with, Inge and Klaus. Not at all demanding, and eager to soak up as much American culture as they could. 153

What other kinds of fun did you have? William Schrickel: After a rehearsal, we would set up a ping-pong table downstairs. Klaus loved to play ping-pong, but he hated losing. I heard a story from our former principal horn, Phil Myers. He said that in New York they had a ping-pong table set up all the time, and Tennstedt did a lot of guest-conducting with the Philharmonic. At one point during the lunch break they played ping-pong, and Phil made the inexcusable mistake of beating Klaus. When the rehearsal resumed, Tennstedt was just all over him: Phil could do nothing right. Phil said that when the rehearsal was over he went to him and said, “You can´t do that. I´m sorry I beat you at pingpong, but you can´t take it out on me in rehearsal!” Richard Cisek: And he wasn´t modest in the least. I remember an interviewer asking him, “What do you think of yourself – as a conductor?” And he replied, very quickly, “I´m fantastic” [laughs]. William Schrickel: My understanding is that it was really good that his wife traveled with him. She cooked for him; she took care of him. He couldn´t cook for himself – couldn´t do anything. And then he was smoking these Gitanes cigarettes, and he was known to partake of a little sip [makes drinking gesture] of something to drink. Richard Cisek: There was one personal weakness he had that caused me a lot of anguish. Caused him more. Whenever he got a bad review, it really was as if someone had driven a stake into his heart. And I had to say, “Klaus, one review – and it´s only one part of one review, and …” [shakes his head]. That happened many times? Richard Cisek: He had an extremely thin skin. Once he had something wrong with his throat. The doctor diagnosed it as possibly cancer. I went into his room, and Klaus was sitting there – a picture of misery. He had simply fallen apart. He made no concessions though [smirks] – the doctors could never get him to stop smoking. And drinking, I suppose. Beer and any kind of single malt whisky, too. But I never saw him drunk or anywhere close to losing control. You´d rather not talk about women? No [pause]. It went both ways: They loved him, and he loved them [smirks]. He was always chasing young women. That didn´t stop. And Inge? She was aware of the issue. 154

A disastrous ending

NDR Symphony Orchestra Hamburg – Principal Conductor 1979-81 What demons might have driven Tennstedt to want to become head of the Symphony Orchestra of the North German Broadcasting Corporation (NDR)? He was already conducting all the great ensembles in America and, according to the New York Times, ʽthe world’s most wanted guest conductorʼ. His recording career had also taken off with a firmly-scheduled recording of all Mahler’s works for EMI. What more did he want? Was he hoping for additional media exposure, such as a concert series for television? Bernstein and Karajan had shown the way. For them the money was rolling in, and even the musicians in Vienna and Berlin were making enough to buy themselves a holiday cottage in Majorca. The NDR recorded practically all its concerts for radio, which would be another bonus point towards worldwide fame. Or was it – God forbid! – the insatiable longing for recognition in the fatherland? Probably a combination of all those things. When Tennstedt stood in for the first concerts in Hamburg in 1977 he found nearly every event was recorded live. It was also post-edited, but he clearly preferred that to studio recordings. The broadcaster turned up with its microphones at almost every concert; after all, it was a public service network. What if Tennstedt could have all his concerts recorded? That would indeed be an attractive consideration. The situation at the NDR Orchestra at the end of the 1970s was totally unsatisfactory. Not only had the orchestra drifted apart from its previous chief conductor Moshe Atzmon but its very future was in doubt: too expensive, a weight around everyone’s neck, so why not dissolve it altogether? And the orchestra was no good to anyone without a chief conductor in place. It was vital to fill that position as soon as possible. So the orchestra board members – violinist Karl Henke29, trombonist Waldemar Erbe and bassist Ekkehard Krüger – set about contacting current podium celebrities. There was no point in asking Karajan. Bernstein was invited but declined. Karl Henke still remained over-confident: “For us, only the best should be considered.” And so a list was drawn up of the other top conductors who were also on the market: Carlos Kleiber, 155



Kleiber

Sawallisch

Solti

Previn

Maazel

Celibidache

Wolfgang Sawallisch, Georg Solti, André Previn, Lorin Maazel, Sergiu `Celi´ Celibidache. This was certainly ambitious. Tennstedt was not on the list. They began with Celi, meeting at a secret location in Stuttgart. He received them with the words, “Must I, a foreigner of all people, teach you Germans your culture?” This was typical of Celi, for he had never been a friendly character. He would have loved to accept the offer, but nothing came of it: how could a conductor who categorically refused to make broadcast recordings ever consider becoming the head of a radio orchestra?* And so the delegation moved on to the two Munich conductors: Wolfgang Sawallisch, who declined with thanks, and Carlos Kleiber, who was listening to a lunchtime concert led by Leonard Bernstein at the appointed time. When they finally sat down together in his kitchen and the NDR executives put their request to him, the maestro, as ever, was coy: “I have so little repertoire, I can be of no use to you,” which was of course sheer nonsense, yet he continued: “And it always takes me so long to learn new things, that wouldn’t work for broadcasting.” Annoyed, his wife Stanka countered: “Don’t believe him, he can do much more than he says.” Carlos dug in his heels, his wife kept pushing him, and in the end this attempt also came to nothing. Georg Solti canceled after conducting the orchestra once. “To be honest,” said NDR solo cellist Bernhard Gmelin, “I was glad, because Solti was a terrible person.” Maazel said he’d like to, but he was too expensive, and with the others on the list it didn’t work either. Now what? By chance, Klaus Tennstedt took over three programs as guest conductor with the NDR Symphony Orchestra in May 1977. He stepped in *Strangely, in later years Celi allowed CD, radio and video recordings. I myself as a TV director recorded a Verdi Requiem with him. After his death, the son Sergiu junior – in character quite like his father – presented a stack of `secretly-made´ recordings with great press hype. A legacy in jingling coins. 156

at relatively short notice while the three NDR executives were still searching. Beggars can’t be choosers, so why not consider Tennstedt? It seemed that his career was skyrocketing – but only in America; in Germany he was still not appreciated. He was said to be unreliable and there were rumours of cancellations. And, lo and behold, he was on the verge of having to cancel his first conducting engagement with this orchestra too, as Carl-Heinz Mann, critic of the Hamburger Abendblatt, reported on 9 May 1977: The NDR symphony concerts yesterday and today were (and are) hanging by the proverbial thread, or more precisely: by an inflamed, admittedly extremely painful leg vein. Guest Klaus Tennstedt conducts against the advice of his doctor. Having to cancel is repugnant to him, especially when there’s a very important guest waiting in the concert hall: his 81-year-old mother. She came over from Halle to see her son, who has become famous almost overnight. His mother! Tennstedt couldn’t visit her in the GDR, the wall was still there. Father Hermann had been dead for fourteen years, but at least he had been able to see his son’s career starting to take off. Recently it had become possible for older people to travel to the West and even to stay there, so the East wouldn’t object at all to a pensioner leaving. However, his mother returned to Halle. Mother, Agnes Tennstedt In America there was concern that the man so well-known in their country had his eye on the NDR orchestra. Even his German manager Rolf Sudbrack was highly skeptical, as principal cellist Gerda Angermann was well aware: Tennstedt himself told me that his management was not at all interested in him taking over the NDR Orchestra. Tennstedt himself thought it was a great honor. But nothing had been decided yet, so the search for a new chief conductor continued. The second rank were now being invited to audition: János Ferencsik (Hungarian National Philharmonic), Bernhard Klee (leader of the NDR Radiophilharmonie Hannover) and the young Christoph Eschenbach, then a world-renowned pianist but not yet fully fledged as a conductor. 157

Finally came the turning point. The second concert series in November 1977 with Tennstedt and the NDR Orchestra was such a huge success, according to the Hamburger Abendblatt, that the maestro finally let his heart rule his head and gave in to the long-held desire for recognition in his homeland. The majority of the orchestra voted in favor of this new prospect, and white smoke rose just before Christmas: the new leader was Klaus Tennstedt! The contract would run for three years and begin with the 1979-80 season. In the meantime, Tennstedt undertook a few more NDR-SO concerts, which also received enthusiastic reviews, such as this from CarlHeinz Mann in the Abendblatt, 26 September 1978: Enthusiasm at the first concert: Klaus Tennstedt and the NDR Symphony Orchestra In the main work of the evening, Bruckner’s Fourth, Tennstedt’s astonishing success in the US as well as his unconventional position in today’s music field became understandable and clear: as an espressivo musician with great, moving naiveté and unadorned honesty – the sheer opposite of the usual podium star. So far, critics had kindly overlooked the fact that Tennstedt was not a lover of new music – but only until the first press conference. Appearing with Professor Uwe Röhl, head of the music department at Norddeutscher Rundfunk, Tennstedt presented his plans for his first season. For the Hamburger Abendblatt, Carl-Heinz Mann was in the auditorium again. The next day we would read: Tennstedt’s plans as head of the NDR Symphony 20 April 1979 Routine without any risk Klaus Tennstedt, the new head of the NDR Symphony Orchestra and conductor of eight of the twelve planned concerts, explained in full detail yesterday to the press where the focal points of his Hamburg activities will lie in the future: Bruckner and Mahler, Mozart and Brahms – those four who propelled him to world renown – will be the gods to be sacrificed to above all others. The title didn‘t bode well, but the opening was friendly. Then the tone changed. Carl-Heinz Mann cited Igor Stravinky’s Petrushka and Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana, saying that they were ʽmore original fareʼ. But ʽModernismʼ, he then declared scathingly, ʽis very thin on the ground. Soloists as usualʼ. These soloists were, after all, stars like Gidon Kremer, Brigitte Fassbaender, Alfred Brendel, Kyung-Wha Chung, and the wonderful Arleen Augér. He ended his piece with a damning criticism which was bound to cut Tennstedt to the quick: 158

Imagination has been sacrificed to routine. The tried and true, the risk-free, are the only things on offer. Even Hamburg’s poorly paid symphony orchestra has proved to be more courageous and unconventional in its program and choice of soloists, compared to the comfortable, well-paid NDR men. This reliance on the familiar, this total lack of challenge in their programming, makes all their efforts seem superfluous. This was too much, Tennstedt was beside himself. He immediately called in sick, and the orchestra was in turmoil. He hadn’t even started yet, and already the press were tearing him apart! He wanted to quit on the spot. The Americans were just waiting for him with open arms, and here at home he was about to get a resounding slap in the face. Uwe Röhl had great difficulty in calming the anger of his new chief conductor. Violinist Karl Henke already knew his new boss quite well: He always had his wife fetch the reviews before breakfast in the morning, after which he was either healthy or sick, or he canceled right away.

Caricature: Walter Bösch

Of course, Carl-Heinz Mann could not have known what he had done. But why should he consider an artist’s sensitivities? A critic is allowed to say what he or she thinks. Helmut Söring, later chief feature writer of the Hamburger Abendblatt, about his colleague Mann: That was a difficult guy, and he often took things very personally. It’s possible that someone, perhaps Tennstedt, had a go at him at the press conference. Whenever someone answered Mann’s 159

questions in a gruff way, he took it badly. I experienced that with him several times. That’s just the way he was [laughs]. No one knew if the skirmish was still raging. Apart from a dutiful counterstatement by Uwe Röhl nothing more was seen in the Abendblatt. Presumably all sides were caught off guard by the new chief conductor’s violent reaction. A more self-confident person would have brushed it off. Tennstedt could not. Every criticism was a body-blow against which he had no defense. Such a start naturally left everyone involved skeptical, especially the musicians, with whom it wasn’t easy to get along anyway. And getting along with Tennstedt could be even more difficult. But he had these problems exclusively with East and West German orchestras, not with American or English ones. The reason, they said, was that the way he spoke was somewhat awkward, linguistically. In Germany, hardly anyone understood why this man had such success elsewhere. The musicians joked, “That can only be because no one understands his English.” NDR musician Dieter Göltl told the following anecdote, the punch line of which consisted of a pun between the words ʽjuiceʼ and ʽJewsʼ: Dieter Göltl: That concerned the New York Philharmonic. Some passage probably sounded too homespun to him, and then he requested ʽmore juice, more juiceʼ. After the third time, the concertmaster stood up and said, “Sir, we’re all Jews” [laughter]. Musicians enjoyed making jokes about their boss. One of them was about the special license plate of Tennstedt’s car, registered in the district of Plön with the abbreviation PLÖ. Dieter Göltl again:

PLÖ-TK

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He had this brand-new BMW with the number PLÖ-KT or TK. That stood for Klaus Tennstedt. He’d make an announcement, for example, when there was a problem with the rhythm, “Gentlemen, you must make a difference between an eighth note and, eh ... ” That was then a PLÖKT. And PLÖKT became the word for any vague instruction. We

used that a lot. If a person wanted something and we didn’t understand him, then we said, “Now you have PLÖKT again.” Just a harmless joke. Quips like that are probably made about every conductor. Tennstedt began his first NDR season on 24 September 1979 with Anton Bruckner’s Eighth Symphony, a work with which he had caused a furore in Boston. The review in the Abendblatt was positive, and not from Herr Mann. Shortly thereafter, from 27 September to 3 October 1979, the new boss and his orchestra went on their first concert tour to Switzerland, visiting Neuchâtel, Montreux and Locarno. It was a success, there were good reviews; the misunderstandings seemed to be over. However, the hope for many NDR television productions had not been fulfilled. The yield was meager: Gustav Mahler: Kindertotenlieder, with Brigitte Fassbaender Works by Richard Strauss: Tod und Verklärung, Till Eulenspiegel and Don Quixote. Two local Nordschau interviews of just under four minutes in length.

It was not until 1992, when Tennstedt had long since ceased to be head of the orchestra, that NDR produced another television recording with him and the Beethoven Violin Concerto (soloist: Nigel Kennedy) along with Brahms´ First Symphony. Tennstedt’s list of radio productions with the NDR Symphony Orchestra was, in contrast, impressively long, with virtually every one of his concerts recorded. There were 56 works in all, covering only a year and a half. The critic was wrong to accuse Tennstedt of neglecting modernism, as the following names prove: Alban Berg, Béla Bartók, Arnold Schönberg, Tadeusz Baird, Bernd Alois Zimmermann, Alfred Schnittke, Wolfgang Fortner. Composers still largely committed to tonality were also included: Sergei Prokofiev, Igor Stravinsky, Dimitri Shostakovich and of course Richard Strauss. The leading soloists had been chosen: Alexis Weissenberg, Gidon Kremer, Kyung-Wha Chung, Arleen Augér, Alfred Brendel, Claudio Arrau, Martha Argerich – to name but a few. Tennstedt´s favorite composers were there as well, the two M´s and the three B´s, Mozart and Mahler, Beethoven, Brahms and Bruckner. Concert reviews were now mostly positive, including a later one by Carl-Heinz Mann. But in the orchestra reservations were growing; this temporary musical marriage could never be called a honeymoon, 161

even from the outset. Waldemar Erbe, at the time an orchestra board member and solo trombonist, pointed out a problem that was already apparent in Kiel: Waldemar Erbe: He came from America by plane and went straight to the NDR to rehearse. When he sat down next to you he smelled of cigarettes and beer. That was one side of it; the other is that we can’t get a better conductor at present. A stopgap. And some people didn’t warm to the maestro‘s overromantic interpretations: Dieter Göltl: Tennstedt’s way with many pieces didn’t follow the score; I couldn’t make anything of them. Even in Mahler, which I found exciting, he often cared little for the musical text. Karl Henke’s wife Gerda Angermann was a solo cellist who knew Tennstedt from their time together in Kiel. She also knew him personally, because from time to time she and her husband would take him sailing with them on the Kiel Fjord. Gerda Angermann: When I think of the NDR Orchestra, his way of speaking was a problem. What he said was always very direct and often not very polite. The musicians reacted badly to this, the NDR brass players being particularly arrogant. Most of the crossfire directed at him came from them. Gradually a vague discomfort was grow- ... as a skipper photo: Karl Henke ing towards this boss, who didn’t seem like a boss at all. He completely lacked the charisma of a podium celebrity like Lorin Maazel. Tennstedt was the exact opposite of those self-assured ʽbaton wielders’. His moods weren’t taken seriously, nor were the rages that erupted from time to time; one just shrugged them off. Of course it was all behind closed doors, but Tennstedt was sensitive enough to notice it. During rehearsals the musicians were restless and there was a constant hum of low-level conversation: ʽSomeone like that is successful in America? Who on earth can understand that?ʼ ʽHe looks just like the Second Secretary of the Central Committee of the 162

Caricature: Walter Bösch (former first violinist of the NDR-SO) – drawn in rehearsals

Communist Party.ʼ ʽAnd as for that East German accent.ʼ “He was always on the run,” says Dieter Göltl, “always looked pale and exhausted.” And the musicians were expected to give their utmost even in rehearsal. Holger Garbs, NDR-SO percussionist: He was sweating before we had even started. He was always soaking wet. And those eternal self-doubts: “Did I really do that well enough?” He was constantly haunted by that question. Just an artist? He was a thoroughly honest musician. But he was never sure of his own abilities. It was as if he didn’t believe he belonged there. “The press write that everything is wonderful, they mention me in the same breath as the greats, but am I really good enough?” I don’t think he understood that at all. 163

But there was adverse criticism too. Yes, but why didn’t he say: Just let him scribble what he wants? I guess it wasn’t enough to be a musician. I mean, not only was he incredibly sensitive, he was also lacking in self-confidence. I myself was rather like Tennstedt. Often I didn’t feel satisfied, and I’d ask myself: “Did you really play well enough today? You could have done a little better.” It wasn’t just Tennstedt! As a percussionist I sat high above my colleagues on stage, and I could see how the clarinetist’s fingers trembled and the trombonist was always touching his lips because his solo was coming soon. Life as an instrumentalist isn’t that easy either. The relationship between the orchestra and their chief conductor continued to be very difficult – it lacked any real warmth. Peter Schmidl, a member of the Vienna Philharmonic, put it like this: “I wouldn’t want to stand in front of an orchestra. They’re like piranhas that can bite anywhere, at any time.” But the conductor could also bite back! A year and a half later, a concert tour took them to neighboring countries – Switzerland, France and the Netherlands. Joining them in Paris on 6 March 1981 was Martha Argerich, piano superstar. The program: Mozart Symphony No. 32 in G major, K. 318, lasting about eight minutes, then the Chopin Piano Concerto No. 2 and after the interval Gustav Mahler’s First Symphony. Karl Henke: We arrived in Paris after a long bus journey and had to go straight to the Salle Pleyel, where we had a really exhausting rehearsal with Argerich. Tennstedt did a great job accompanying, but it was all very stressful. In the evening, the pianist received rapturous applause. The critic from the magazine La Vie Musicale30 spoke of her ʽincomparable lightness of touchʼ and ʽconsummate eleganceʼ. The First Symphony by Gustav Mahler followed after the interval. The critic thought Tennstedt seemed unsettled, and his abrupt, uncoordinated manner had a bad effect on the orchestra. Their performance, he thought, was adequate but nothing special. 164

And indeed, all was not well with them. Tired? Lacking in concentration? Drained of energy by the long bus ride through the villages? Certainly the trumpets in particular were not on their best form: Karl Henke: Tennstedt was very annoyed; he was already exhausted after the long concerto with Martha. And perhaps something else wasn’t perfect in the Mahler. At the end, thunderous applause, and the audience roared: “Bis! Bis! Bis!” We assumed that he‘d just heard something like a hiss from it. Was it all a misunderstanding, as so often happened with this sensitive man? Was the problem that he didn‘t speak French? ʽBisʼ [pronounced: beess] means ʽencoreʼ, but the exhausted maestro perhaps thought he was being hissed. And he blamed it on the mistakes in the concert, especially from the trumpets and trombones, which for quite some time hadn‘t met his exacting standards. A simple lack of foreign language skills could indeed have been the cause. Karajan, Kleiber, Solti, Bernstein, Maazel – they all spoke from three to six languages in addition to their mother tongue. Tennstedt didn‘t even speak one Paris program properly. And so disaster loomed. Karl Henke: At the end he turned to the orchestra and raised his fist to the brass, probably because of what happened at the start of the symphony. Then he ran past us violins and shouted above the applause: “I won’t let you ruin my career” or something like that. He was beside himself, it was the last straw. Peter Alward, then a representative of Tennstedt’s record company EMI, and with a professional ear for quality, was present that evening and delivered a devastating judgement: Peter Alward: They played dreadfully that evening. The trumpets and trombones in particular sounded out of tune, and that made him furious. Klaus could be terribly quick-tempered and angry, 165

lashing out verbally. He was furious and said, “I’m not going on, you can go f*** yourselves.” Not even Inge, who as usual was with her husband on the tour, could reason with him. She emerged from the green room looking extremely worried – not at all her normal expression. Violinist Karl Henke then tried to salvage something from the disaster; he rushed backstage in the hope of calming the conductor. Karl Henke: I went to his room but he wouldn’t let me in, he kicked the door from the inside. Then he said that ʽcareerʼ thing again and: “You can go on without me.” Panic ensued. Finally, Uwe Röhl, head of the music department at NDR, tried to persuade the furious Tennstedt to get a sense of proportion. Karl Henke: We went to his room together. He still hadn’t calmed down. Then he told Herr Röhl in no uncertain terms that he was giving up the tour. The next day we were supposed to play in Amsterdam.

Nightmare of an NDR musician

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Caricature: Walter Bösch

A hasty attempt was made to find a replacement conductor. Herbert Blomstedt was in the Netherlands at the time, as was the Russian Kirill Kondrashin. Conveniently, the latter lived in Amsterdam. Karl Henke: Blomstedt couldn’t help. Then overnight they somehow managed to get Kondrashin to take over at the Concertgebouw. We only had an hour with Kondrashin before the concert, but we were absolutely thrilled with the way the elderly gentleman handled the rehearsal. We put a nice bottle of cognac in the conductor’s room for him, and when we went in to see him after the concert he had already toasted the success with friends. The very next morning I came down to breakfast and was met with the news that Kondrashin was dead. My God, that was such a dramatic turn of events. Kirill Kondrashin died of a heart attack in his Amsterdam apartment on 7 March, three hours after the concert he had conducted that afternoon. Karl Henke: Really tragic. And so we had another conductorless period in 1981; terrible. Following the catastrophe in Paris, Tennstedt canceled all further concerts with the NDR Symphony Orchestra. The newspapers were left in the dark about the real reasons. Rumors abounded: they had ʽparted amicablyʼ, Tennstedt collapsed with a heart problem, and so on. After that there was silence for eleven long years. And then, contact having been re-established with Karl Henke, there came a kind of reconciliation. On 11 and 12 June 1992, the great hall of Kiel Castle was transformed when NDR brought their huge outside broadcasting vans to record a television concert with Tennstedt and his old orchestra. The soloist was Nigel Kennedy, with the Beethoven Violin Concerto, op. 61. Karl Henke and Klaus Tennstedt This bird of paradise among violinists caught the eye with his punk hairstyle and pirate sash. Later his very individual rendering of Antonio Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, with its popstyle rhythm and brash tempos, would sell millions of copies on CD. 167

Tennstedt was not at all enthusiastic when his record company EMI suggested he work with Kennedy, this ʽterrible punkerʼ, as he called him. But after the first rehearsal, the maestro threw his prejudices overboard: Klaus Tennstedt: He is a fantastic violinist, I think one of the best today. He always called me ʽbig monsterʼ[laughs]. Nigel Kennedy: It was the Tennstedt and Nigel Kennedy most ideal musical collaboration you could ask for, really. We hardly ever talked about anything we did. We just played and responded to each other. He was a brilliant musician, and a sweet guy. That was the last time the NDR Symphony Orchestra and its former chief ever shared a concert platform. Tennstedt and Germany never got on. An old comrade-in-arms from the GDR days, Reinhard Schau, came to the obvious conclusion: Tennstedt only found his true self when he freed himself from all these things – from Germany, West and East alike. A successor as chief conductor was found surprisingly quickly: after just ten weeks 69-year-old Günter Wand, who had been head of the Gürzenich Orchestra in Cologne for decades, took over the role and, until he retired in 1990, enjoyed a much-admired partnership with the NDR orchestra. Just one month after the 1981 scandal, Tennstedt was back in America with the Philadelphia Orchestra. The New York Times carried an enthusiastic review. All seemed to be well with the world again. Tennstedt was now 54 and the only German of his generation, apart from Carlos Kleiber, to have made it into the top ten of international musical rankings. The disaster in Paris marked a major turning point in his life, more than he probably realized. During his time in the GDR there is no record of him ever canceling a concert or an opera performance. It looked as if that was about to change. 168

EMI – on the path to eternal fame?

Once again, it was Ronald Wilford with his manifold connections who helped Tennstedt´s career along and was responsible for his first recording contract. He set him up with EMI whose head office at the time was in London, with a number of branches spread across the world. The intention was to record all the Gustav Mahler symphonies, which is about as challenging as it gets. At the time, it hadn‘t been decided with which orchestra the Mahler symphonies would be recorded. Tennstedt hadn’t yet conducted the London Philharmonic and so didn’t know the orchestra, but it’s possible that contact had already been made with their management. Convinced that his protégé was the right choice, Wilford started putting out feelers. In May 1977 Tennstedt met the LPO for the first time and, six months later, recording commenced, for the most part in the studio. At first, no one at EMI seemed interested in the German conductor. “We had no idea who he was,” said John Willan, producer with EMI. “I wasn´t very impressed with him at all and thought this was another mistake made by the management of the international classical division.” The German wing of the company declared the personnel matter completely crazy: “Not long ago he was music director of the provincial opera house in Kiel, and now you want him to record all the Mahler symphonies?” John Willan was given the unwelcome task of being in charge of Tennstedt, and it took quite a while for him to realize just how wrong his John Willan and Klaus Tennstedt first impression had been. Peter Alward was also at EMI, responsible for artists like Simon Rattle, Itzhak Perlman und Nigel Kennedy. He was in close contact with Karajan and would often have dealings with Tennstedt. 169

Georg Wübbolt: What did you think of Klaus Tennstedt? Alward: He was his own worst enemy. Always doing self-de Peter structive things that perhaps even he himself knew wouldn´t work. But that was also why he – with the exception of the NDR, we´ll leave that aside – was so loved by his musicians. He gave no ground, there was no compromise. He was not interested in fame or his image, they didn´t matter to him at all. He wasn´t particularly vain either. It was not the choreographed beauty of Carlos Info: EMI Kleiber conducting. No, music Founded 1931 as the Electric was his master, and the musi- and Musical Industries Ltd, for cians liked and respected him many years EMI was the bigfor that. That´s why he achieved gest record label in the world. such extraordinary results. In the same year EMI opened its In America, the musicians´ en- legendary Abbey Road Studios, made famous by the recording thusiasm knew no bounds. In other places too. He was a god and sales of Beatles records, in Japan. Each piece was different which earned EMI billions. During and after WWII, the every time he performed it. Every piece you thought you knew company produced radar and guided weaponry, as did its comfrom him, came as a surprise. petitor Decca. After a checkered And in Germany? history, the Classics Catalogue Peter Alward: The Germans simply didn´t like him. They pre- has continued since 2011 on the Warner Music label. ferred fossils like Günter Wand. I’ve worked out roughly what he must have earned in a year in America. Did his manager Ronald Wilford make him a millionaire? I never could stand that man, but I have much to be grateful to him for. Not least for bringing Klaus to us. He really did make a great deal of money for a while, and I don´t begrudge it him at all. But it was only for a short time. He was lucky to have been involved in a period when the record industry could fulfil a plethora of wishes. EMI alone produced nearly 50 records with him. What did he spend his money on? I remember when he was making so much he could afford a RollsRoyce Corniche for £75,000.* It had to be light blue, then a green one – absurd, all appalling colors. I went with him once and he drove like a madman, terrible. He enjoyed finally being famous and earning lots of money. *At that time about US$125,000 170

Could it be said that he destroyed himself with the years of drinking and smoking? He was always trying to cut back on his smoking, but that never lasted very long. He was always telling Inge, “You´re too fat.” But he got angry when she said anything about his smoking. What was Inge like? She was a wonWith Edith Albrecht and a new Rolls-Royce derful woman; he could not have wished for a more caring wife. I very rarely saw her angry. He didn’t treat her well. On the perfect-wife scale from one to ten she was a twelve. Inge was an angel, and what he put her through sometimes was more than anyone should have to bear. What did she have to put up with? That was the problem – he was quite a ladies’ man. Inge knew about it. I think for him she was more of a mother figure. She fitted the bill perfectly. Still, she certainly knew how to give him a piece of her mind, she was no ʽgood little wifeyʼ but a strong woman. And she knew her Klaus inside out. Did he show you his ʽwall of fameʼ at home? Definitely, of course [laughs]. It pleased him enormously. And he was aware that his audiences really admired him, loved him. Now it was Kurt Masur´s turn to be envious? Of course, of course. Masur was all about power. Inge was skeptical; I got the impression she didn´t care much for him. Quite apart from the fact that so many conductors are creeps. Tennstedt wasn´t a creep as such, he was what he was. But hurting people, tyrannical behavior? That wasn’t his thing. I could name you plenty of others ... It was interesting just how many great names he worked with, and not just once: Lucia Popp, Brigitte Fassbaender, Itzhak Perlman, Alfred Brendel, Martha Argerich. They all wanted to work with him and came back over and over again because they felt that, working together, they were a unit. He was not the star conductor while they were just the soloists. And he was an amazing accompanist. 171

You forgot to mention Jessye Norman. There´s a very funny story about her. They had liked each other until 1987. We were planning to record Wagner excerpts with Klaus and Jessye. It was all set up for the recording to take place at the Abbey Road Studios With Jessye Norman in London. A couple of months before the day, Klaus had told Jessye he wanted to meet up with her for a piano rehearsal. She refused. Klaus wanted the rehearsal? He was adamant, but she didn´t want one. They couldn’t agree about it. Then Klaus said, “We´ll put a piano in one of the studios and go through it on the day.” She arrived and still refused. Klaus was extremely angry and threatened to call the whole recording off. I begged him to continue, saying it´d be all right. First session: Klaus rehearsed with the orchestra, and then Jessye arrived. They started, but weren´t together. He tapped the baton to interrupt; they started again and still were not together. Broke off a second time and in front of the orchestra he shouted, “You see, if we´d had a piano rehearsal this wouldn´t have happened.” She was insulted and left the room. The whole session was a catastrophe. Both were furious and Klaus said, “I´m not speaking to her again. If she wants anything she´ll have to tell you.” And that´s how we got through the rest of the recording. Was everything all right in the end? When we´d finished the final recording session and Jessye had left, Klaus stormed over to the tape recorder. He wanted to tear the tapes out and destroy them. I chased after him and caught my first ever slap in the face! Inge was beside herself; stood between us both and told us to stop all this nonsense! Klaus’ reaction was, “I´ll never allow this s**t to be released!” By then it had unfortunately cost us a good deal of money. 172

Were you able to post-edit everything? Oh yes, we edited it in London and then we waited. I was in cahoots with Inge. Klaus was in Chicago a few months later where we were doing Mahler´s First. Inge said: “Bring the tapes to Chicago and find a studio where we can let him hear them.” So off I went to Chicago. It was all ready, and the next day I said, “Klaus, I´d like you to come with me for a moment.” “What do you want?” “I´d like you to listen to something.” We drove to a radio station in Chicago where I´d set it all up. We went in and I played it for him. His reaction was: “That´s impossible! It was dreadful with Jessye in London.” And a little while later, “Hmm, it´s not so bad really.” That was it, we had the go-ahead. The record was released and was a huge success [laughs]. That´s the sort of thing we went through with him sometimes. Did he cancel often, like Carlos Kleiber? No, for a start he gave many more concerts than Carlos Kleiber. He is not alone in his unwillingness to compromise. If you make a compromise that goes against your inner voice, you‘ll be angry for the rest of your life. Why is he almost forgotten in Germany today? I believe the longer he´s been gone the more people realize just how extraordinary he was. His records never sold astoundingly well but received fantastic write-ups – with rare exceptions – and stayed in the catalogue.

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THOUGHTS OF HOME Many years later, the Tennstedts dared to visit their home country. They no longer needed to fear repercussions for their defection from the socialist republic which earlier would have meant arrest and prison sentences. Their first port of call was the home of actor Ekkehard Hahn and his wife Erika – good friends from the Schwerin days. Ekkehard and Erika Hahn: One day in the 1980s, who was standing outside? Inge Tennstedt, and she asked shyly: “May I come in?” “Sure.” “We lived here for so long. Klaus is sitting outside in the car” – a big shock for us. We were afraid we would get into trouble for having contact with someone who had fled the Republic. “Can he come in?” “Sure.” Then he came in and, in his old way, put his cigarettes on the radiator. Georg Wübbolt: Why was that? So that the moisture would evaporate, making the nicotine even stronger. The brand back then was called Karo, a very famous filter-free brand, the whole apartment smelled of them. The cigarettes were popularly known as ʽlung-bustersʼ. Klaus fumbled in his pocket and said: “Here’s 100 Deutschmarks, buy yourself a nice whisky,” or something like that. The next day two gentlemen suddenly arrived, one in shorts, and sat here on the balustrade: “We’re from the Ministry of State Security. May we come in? You had a visitor yesterday.” “Yes.” “What did Herr Tennstedt want?” “He used to live here, it was a service apartment for the theater. He wanted to see his old home again.” “Was he trying to enlist you?” “Certainly not.” 175

Such a visit from the dreaded State Security immediately made the pulse race. One could be taken away right after the interrogation. Ekkehard Hahn: The Stasi people kept inquiring: “Surely he didn’t just visit you? Which other colleagues was he with?” I knew exactly which ones, but I didn’t let on. Were there unpleasant consequences for you both? Erika Hahn: No, Inge and Klaus even came here twice later. We didn´t feel threatened by the Stasi anymore. Inge brought salmon from the West. Then we had a real little reunion party, with a few more colleagues. Klaus also went to the theater cafeteria and spoke to his former orchestra musicians. We simply took that risk. Ekkehard Hahn: It was a sensation. “The Tenno” – that’s what he was called back then – “the Tenno is here! Come to the canteen, everybody.” There were big hugs with the singers and the orchestra musicians, right there in the canteen. Erika Hahn: By then the orchestra already knew that he was a world star; old confrontations had long since been put into perspective. “Tenno is here, the great Tenno is here at the Schwerin Theater.” Info: Amnesty On 21 June 1973 (two years after Tennstedt’s escape), the Grundlagenvertrag [Basic Treaty] between the Federal Republic of Germany (West) and the German Democratic Republic (East) came into force. It was an attempt to improve the relationship between the two German states. One consequence was that all so-called republic refugees could be amnestied and released from GDR citizenship. In total, there were eleven such amnesties in the GDR. For those in power, it was a sign of ʽsocialist humanity’. The fact that they received many millions of Deutschmarks for this, about 40,000 DM* per prisoner, later up to 100,000 DM*, was not mentioned. Along the way, space was made for new prisoners in the completely overcrowded GDR prisons. For the Tennstedts, however, these improvements came too late. If Klaus had been caught in 1962/63 during one of his escape attempts, he would have had to serve a long prison sentence. Likewise Inge, if her escape had failed in 1971. *This corresponds to today‘s value of ca. 50,000 respectively US$120,000 176

THE FOUNDATION Inge Tennstedt



“I am Klaus´ unpaid full-time secretary.” Inge Tennstedt

“On the scale of one to ten for wives, she was a twelve.” This witty compliment about Inge deserves repeating and is followed by a eulogy, intended in fact for Klaus. As John Willan, his friend and manager, declared: “Klaus Tennstedt is the most difficult person one could ever encounter. No one knows this better than his wife, Inge. If it´s true that behind every great man there´s an even greater woman, then Inge is the proof. Klaus said that you cannot conIngeborg ʽIngeʼ Tennstedt photo: Judy Grahame duct Mahler unless you´ve suffered in your life. By that definition, Inge should be the greatest Mahler conductor the world´s ever seen. She´s had to face his illnesses, his cancellations and postponements, deal with disappointed, even angry managers, record companies, soloists, agents and audiences single-handed. Above all, she´s had to steer Klaus round the terrible frustration of being prevented from conducting on so many occasions. She ought to have a medal.” This sounds amusing, but was actually quite serious. Inge Tennstedt31 was the woman without whom there would have been no Klaus Tennstedt as we know him. On his own, he would have been unable to deal with life – just a leaf blowing in the wind. As the saying goes, for a marriage to succeed it requires give and take. If we apply this classic example to Inge and Klaus, then during the early years it was mainly Klaus who gave – at least professionally: the promising young conductor helping a singer, perhaps past her best 177

vocally, to obtain contracts and roles. That definitely paid off for Inge, as she got parts in Schwerin and even a few in Kiel. She would have done anything for that. This became apparent early on. Inge had to travel from Leipzig to Radebeul between her rehearsal and perKlaus and Inge Tennstedt photo: Greg Helgeson/ formance to pack her University of Minnesota Performing Arts Archive husband’s suitcase and lug it from one furnished flat to another. In return, Inge no longer needed to worry about her future. She was well organized and looked after her husband – exactly as his mother Agnes had done. Inge even made the same meals his mother had cooked. She sometimes thought her life on tour consisted of hunting for the identical ingredients in grocery stores all over the world. His amazing lack of independence probably stemmed from the way his mother had spoiled him as a child. He knew nothing different. He never really grew out of it. Without either of them noticing, the symbiotic pairing of giving and taking gradually changed direction. Over time Klaus became almost exclusively the partner doing the taking. He became increasingly dependent on Inge. Norman Lebrecht: Inge was rock solid. She was the kind of person you would want with you in a crisis. And if she happened to be your wife in that crisis, then you were going to get through it. She was, I think, fairly uncomplicated. She didn’t go shopping for clothes or for luxuries, the way a maestro´s wife would do. She was a strong personality. He was really, really dependent on her, and I think to some extent he used her as a go-between. If he upset people, then Inge would have some chocolates or flowers ready. That was sort of how it went. Could it be said that she sacrificed herself for him? Well-meaning friends asked her, but her reply was a helpless, “What else can I do?” Some would say that was true love. Others, that there is never justification for sacrificing one´s own needs. These must first be identified, 178

however, and Inge seems never to have got that far. Certainly not at the side of this man, lacking in empathy, egotistical and ruthless, loving nothing except his music. A person who walked all over his wife instead of respecting her as a partner, all the while being completely unable to cope without her. Did Inge ever consider leaving him? Hardly. Just as Klaus never dreamed of leaving Inge behind in the GDR when he was suddenly able to flee. She knew of course that he had intimate relationships with other women – recurring, mostly short-lived, but more than just a few. She knew about the drawer full of ʽsouvenirsʼ. How could she not – in her own apartment? She allowed him his little childish games. And she knew even more. Judy Grahame, marketing director of the London Philharmonic, described an incident that took place during the 1985 concert tour of Australia. Inge had gone to a performance at the famous Sydney opera house, so Klaus was left alone. He went out for a stroll and met two ʽladiesʼ walking along the street. Judy continued: Klaus said: “I went up to one of them and spoke to her.” “So what?” “I asked her how much she charges.” “OK, then what happened, Klaus?” “Nothing. Inge didn´t leave me any money.” [Judy laughs] Didn’t Inge enjoy flying first class around the world and staying in top hotels? I don´t think it mattered to her. She was such a warm person. I think wherever she went, she would have found many friends. She would have been quite happy in her little provincial opera house, going out, having tea without Klaus watching her eating cake. He was always terribly critical of what she ate, which was ridiculous. But I don´t think she was impressed by stardom. Whenever we went there, she made the same soup. She was a German Hausfrau, that´s what made her happy, and her job was to look after her husband. Unfortunately, he became a famous conductor. When Klaus was happy, she seemed to be, too. “We used to joke,” Judy grinned, “that Klaus´ genius and Inge´s personality in one person would be the perfect combination!” However, genius and peace of mind are unlikely bedfellows. Soon after their hasty wedding Anita, Tennstedt´s first wife, had remarked that her husband was “a dead loss with everything technical,” 179

not even able to put a bed together. And later? Once, when he couldn´t push a window open,32 he called for a carpenter in a panic to put in a new one. And he can’t mow the lawn either. If Klaus wanted to work, as he said, he needed peace and quiet. At such times, Inge had to leave the flat. She went for walks, did plenty of shopping and visited friends in the village. One of these was the dentist´s wife, Edith Albrecht. Another was ʽTäubchenʼ (little dove), Annemarie Taube, the housekeeper: Annemarie Taube: Inge very often came and sat here. But he needed her! He was no good without Inge. He was sometimes like a little child, I suppose you´d say. So awkward, somehow. I don´t believe he was even able to bang a nail into the wall. But he had to have his freshly squeezed orange juice for breakfast. When they were at home he enjoyed fish; down at the harbor you could buy this fresh from the boat. Fried herring was a favorite – preferably with potato salad and bacon bits. Inge was responsible for all the non-musical things in life. She baked, cooked, cleaned and did the laundry, in fact everything one could expect from a ʽgood housewifeʼ. She was also his manager for all professional and financial matters; in other words, ʽhis unpaid fulltime secretaryʼ. Inge and Klaus – ʽin tandemʼ photos on this page: Judy Grahame

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A G ERMAN IN ISRAEL

Israel Philharmonic Orchestra From its humble beginnings the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra (IPO) had developed into an ensemble of remarkable quality. Since 1969, when he was a relatively young conductor, it had been led by the Indian Zubin Mehta. A regular guest with the Berlin and Vienna Philharmonic Orchestras, he was in favor of the idea of inviting Klaus Tennstedt to Tel Aviv. Tennstedt was still partly being represented by his old Hamburg agency. Rolf Sudbrack was able to set up a first series for the autumn of 1978: twelve concerts comprising two alternative programs, all focused on Bruckner. Only the matter of his fee remained open. Abe Cohen, the orchestra‘s manager at the time, made a suggestion: US$5,000 for all twelve concerts, a return plane ticket to Israel and accommodation for one to two persons in the IPO guest house. That amounted to US$417 per concert. Tennstedt had long ago outgrown such sums of money. Sudbrack replied two weeks later that Tennstedt was “very pleased with the idea of working with your splendid orchestra, but he felt the fee was really too small. In Germany he was being paid 4,000 DM per concert.” He was perfectly aware that the IPO would not pay such fees, but ... … would the following be acceptable? - Net fee of US$9,500 tax free, payable to an account outside Israel. - Travel expenses, accommodation and meals for Herr Tennstedt and his wife. Yours sincerely, Rolf Sudbrack The haggling went on until they met almost in the middle, at US$7,500 for all twelve concerts, still far below Tennstedt´s market value. Why did he agree to such a small fee? The need for recognition was more important to him than anything else. He told everyone how incredibly proud he was of being the only German considered acceptable to conduct in Israel. The only one! When Tennstedt and his wife arrived in Tel Aviv in October 1978, only a mere 30 years had passed since the end of WWII and the liberation of the concentration camps. For many Israeli Holocaust survivors, the psychological wounds had not healed, and everything German turned 181

their stomachs. We can also assume that the Tennstedt file had been discreetly examined and the reassuring conclusion reached that this man had nothing to do with National Socialism. Tennstedt was too euphoric to notice how cold the reception was – at times even hostile. Menahem Breuer, violinist of the Israel Philharmonic, still raises his eyebrows when he thinks about how Tennstedt used his mother tongue, of all things, during rehearsals: “He was the only one to speak in German.” He seemed unaware of the slippery ground he was treading. “But he was a fantastic musician, so completely immersed in the music that much was overlooked.” Reactions from audience and press were overwhelming. The daily newspaper Havar´s critic enthused over a performance of Mahler´s First Symphony: I do not believe this work can be performed more convincingly than what we were permitted to experience. The conductor succeeded in creating a sublime atmosphere of majesty and beauty in sections which otherwise often sound banal. He gave shape to dynamic contrasts, raising us to heights of ecstasy, sometimes drawing the listener into spheres unknown. At the end of this successful introduction, costs were deducted from Tennstedt’s fee, costs which had not appeared in the contract: a trip to Masada as well as telephone charges: Cash Drawings 19.000,- Shekel Trip to Masada 3.548,- Shekel Telephone calls 973,71 Shekel Total 23.521,71 Shekel = US$1,273. Subtracted from US$7,500, fee, remains payable US$6,227 This trip to Masada, a castle ruin high above the Dead Sea, is the only documented tourist activity from Tennstedt‘s numerous visits to Israel. It would be typical of him to prefer poring over a score to sightseeing. Having conducted a number of concerts in Jerusalem he and his wife would definitely have been shown the original old city with the Dome of the Rock and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. But the Sea of Galilee or Bethlehem? Nothing is known of such visits, and it is unlikely that he saw them. Despite having been baptized in the Protestant faith Tennstedt displayed no interest in religion. The second invitation to Israel followed in 1981, with fourteen concerts in twenty days in Tel Aviv, Haifa and Jerusalem, under marginally improved conditions. Once again he was bombarded with enthusiastic reviews. 182

Two years later, he was in Tel Aviv for the third time. At the end of an orchestra rehearsal his path led him past the large hall where a piano competition was taking place. Spellbound, he stopped and asked who was playing. It was twelve-year-old Maya Weltman, one of several ʽchild prodigiesʼ competing. “Our appointment had been postponed,” said her mother Esther, “and it was fate that Mr. Tennstedt heard Maya.” Maya Weltman: When I finished playing, he came up to me and asked me how old I was. I did not understand English very well and thought he asked how many years I had been playing. I said four. Maya Weltman Tennstedt was so impressed that he immediately invited the girl to perform with him and the London Philharmonic. Over the next few years Maya played – among others – the Grieg Piano Concerto and Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 1 for London audiences.

What then followed is a template for future music managers. As of now, it would be Tennstedt’s American agency Columbia Artists that handled appointments and fees. When the 1983 invitation was in the offing Avi Shoshani, freshly chosen successor to Abe Cohen, was in the process of closing the deal for the next series of concerts. Suddenly a new broom took over and the fees demanded were raised dramatically. From then on, negotiations were in the hands of Judie Janowski. She was one of Columbia Artist´s vice-presidents and was now representing Klaus Tennstedt. Sentimentality was not part of her vocabulary. Did she tender a careful offer? No, her demand was unconditional: twelve concerts for US$1,000 net fee per concert, plus first-class flights for two, plus accommodation. Avi Shoshani had little choice but to accept the deal. He requested the dates for the series be telexed to him. That was not going to be so simple. Judie had an effective tool for driving her protégé‘s market value even higher – scarcity. Tennstedt had little time to spare. Actually – none. Deftly she let the Israeli dangle on the hook: Judie Janowski, Telex: It is doubtful if a single gap can be found for the 1983-84 or even the 1984-85 season. At the moment it looks impossible. I think we have to wait until 1985-86. So be patient, please. 183

What a different tone! Her tactics were now delay, and keep expectations low. A further anxious enquiry brought even less hope; the most important thing now, Judie said, were the dates with the London Philharmonic Orchestra: Judie Janowski, Telex: I won´t be able to tell you in the near future whether Maestro Tennstedt will be available at all for the 1985-86 season. I can only ask that you be patient and let you know that as soon as I can, I will get back to you with an offer. But you must realize that might not be for a year or more. That was a turn-up for the books. Not the orchestra inviting and tendering an offer, but Columbia Artists deigning to offer dates – and even then only ʽpossiblyʼ. A good month later Shoshani accepted the proposed fee of US$1,000 per concert, plus extras, still much below the normal rates. Soon after that came a telex in reply from Judie: Dear Avi … if you can guarantee that no other conductor is paid more than the US$1,000 then of course Mr Tennstedt agrees. Best regards, Judie Janowski. Did the query come from Judie or from Inge Tennstedt in Klaus´ name? It would be just like Klaus. He needed the whole world to see him, if not as the greatest, then at least on a level with them. And more problems followed. Judie´s telex: Inge and Klaus have just received tourist class tickets, although they should have had first class tickets. Would you please organize these and send them? Judie Janowski No ʽregardsʼ or ʽbest regardsʼ; between the lines the aggravation was obvious. And it continued. When director Shoshani mentioned that Klaus had assured him that he would also be available for the orchestra’s fiftieth anniversary coming up in 1986, Judie replied: We never promised to keep dates free for the 1986-87 season, we only promised to try. Klaus has two important opera productions in the season and it is quite impossible to find even a couple of days free. Shoshani saw no option other than to call the Tennstedts personally. Now it became clear that Judie had not mentioned a number of the queries to her client. Judie telexed: Klaus is very upset that we were unable to find any dates for your anniversary season. He asked me to double-check his dates. Do 184

you have any slots free for 1987? I could perhaps rearrange some engagements. At the end of the game, a few suitable dates in the anniversary year were in fact found. Tennstedt conducted thirteen concerts in three weeks at various venues across Israel in June 1986 and was still ʽthe sole German conductorʼ, as he proudly pointed out. Within ten years the fees rose from US$625 to US$2,500 per concert, an increase of 400 percent, and that was just the ʽgoodwill’ price. Altogether, Tennstedt conducted over eighty concerts in Israel in the years 1978, 1981, 1983, 1986, 1988 and 1991; December 1993 was canceled.

Planting trees Repeatedly, and with great pride, Klaus Tennstedt told the story of the planting of thirty-six young pine trees. The year 1988 saw a double celebration: Klaus’ ten years with the Israel Philharmonic coincided with forty years since the founding of the State of Israel, and so he was given a special honor. Klaus Tennstedt: A friendship had developed with the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra, and they gave me something that perhaps no one else in the world had received. And that is a grove of thirty-six trees in a pine forest. In Israel the number eighteen is the lucky number, and so translated it means: We wish you a double long life.33 That´s quite something.

Certificate for the 36 trees

It´s possible that Tennstedt was indeed the first to be given this honor, but he was not to remain the only one. Claudio Abbado and Kurt Masur both wielded the spade and planted some pines and olive trees. Only a few people still know where these groves are – off the beaten track along a dusty path between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. Inge Tennstedt remarked wryly: “The only problem is that I have to go there every year and water them.” 185

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C ARLOS KLEIBER about Klaus Tennstedt What might they have said to each other, had they ever met? They were worlds apart. On the one hand, Tennstedt: rather naive, sometimes linguistically awkward and coarse, a chain-smoker, always up for a game of Skat with colleagues. On the other hand Kleiber was wordly, fluent in six languages, with an ironic sense of humor, elegant, charming in appearance and reluctant to allow anyone to see what was going on behind the mask. Unlike Tennstedt, Kleiber cared little for Gustav Mahler. Did he ever conduct one of his symphonies? As far as concerts go, there is merely a CD of his Song of the Earth from 1967, when he was 37 Carlos Kleiber years old. He would rather keep to the good old Classics and Romantics. Mahler´s music was not to his taste. That changed, at least for the moment, when the reclusive gentleman from Munich watched a video of Mahler´s First Symphony, conducted by Klaus Tennstedt. Much moved, Kleiber put his impressions on paper. The recipient was Charles Barber, a conductor at Stanford University in California, with whom Kleiber regularly exchanged letters. Barber had sent him a VHS cassette of Tennstedt conducting the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in 1990. Kleiber wrote:34 Dear Maestro [Charles Barber], 4 May 93 An unarmed, unpremeditated word re: Tennstedt with Mahler´s First (I just watched it a minute ago). I don´t love Mahler, but this time I succumbed, thanks to Tenn. He is a most sympathetic conductor, never ʽcleverʼ or perfunctory, never self-conscious. His love for the piece makes it irresistable (the piece). There are plenty of demonic ghosts around him (as were around Gus Mahler), nerve, lilt and grit, body language sans 187

exhibition – it´s all there. GENUINE. Enough of it for other ʽeminencesʼ to cut big pieces off without diminishing Tenn´s funds. In short, at last someone to admire! The orchestra (what this says about them!) appreciates and does wonders. It is love. I hope Tenn is OK healthwise?* It seems that his sensitivity and openness make him, physically, psychically a victim of many influences which `our´ elephantine hide shields `us´ from. I hate going overboard like this. I hope it won´t last. (…) Long live those Chicago musicians! Just look at their faces!! And, of course, listen to that … er … that whatever it is we wait for and, mostly, don´t get. Don´t tell anyone that I liked a conductor! (of Scheisse, Mann!) The old C. K. * (I hear he is almost always ill?) But then, the eleph. Hide, though helpful living-wise, would not allow Tenn to make music like that. Real enthusiasm sparkles with each turn of phrase, introducing a Carlos Kleiber who permitted a glimpse into his soul. He immediately recognized Tennstedt as a brother in spirit. He was acutely aware of his colleague´s warring demons, perhaps similar forces caused turmoil in himself. The two conductors had much in common, if not outwardly, then certainly in terms of their art. For both men, the father was the formative figure. More unconsciously with Tennstedt, as described; painfully consciously with Kleiber, since his conductor father Erich seemed to be an unattainable ideal. Like their fathers, they brooked no compromise in the hunt for (in Kleiber´s words) ʽwhatever it is we wait for and, mostly, don´t getʼ. Tennstedt would have named it ʽSternstundeʼ [pinnacle]. For each new task they both threw themselves into time-consuming, intensive preparations. The bowing marks were mere details. They knew perfectly well what the second clarinet or third horn played. That was hardly worth mentioning – and yet it formed the foundation of a successful performance. It didn‘t stop there. Both musicians had turned their backs on the world of opera from which they had come. During performances, they both plunged into this other realm of music ʽas though feveredʼ – while maintaining perfect concentration. Towards the end of their lives, they kept to a surprisingly narrowed-down choice of repertoire. Neither performed during the last four years of their lives. Why 188

was that? Poor health was one reason, but also fear, irrepressible fear, because each time they had set the bar higher and higher. They feared being unable to attain, let alone surpass, the levels of musical excellence they had set over the years. You´ve conducted Brahms´ First twenty times? The next time must go deeper, and into unknown spheres, otherwise why bother? The result was disabling stage fright. Or cancel right away, or best of all: don’t even try. And who needs critics? Their sheer presence poisons the atmosphere of free musical expression. They had a mutual friend who valued them both highly: Herbert von Karajan. His Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra remained the sole German orchestra Tennstedt had enjoyed conducting over a period of many years. He knew the greatest orchestras of the world but considered the Berlin Philharmonic the best. Kleiber would have been able to go on conducting them, but chose not to – too much respect, too much fear. The two men had one last thing in common. Throughout their lives, both constantly sought fresh amorous adventures. And yet they still needed the embrace of a tolerant wife who was well aware of such escapades. Inge outlived her husband by many years. With Kleiber it was different. When his wife Stanka died he lost his footing – so fundamentally that he took refuge in suicide months later. In another letter, Kleiber replied to Barber concerning a VHS cassette he had sent him with the title: ʽEverything you always wanted to know about conductors ... but were afraid to askʼ. Many famous orchestra leaders – among them Lorin Maazel, Zubin Mehta, Georg Solti – comment on the subject; at the end also Tennstedt, short and halting. Most poignant, however, is an excerpt from Mahler’s Eighth Symphony with Tennstedt conducting. Carlos then writes to Charles Barber:35 Dear Charles (…) … the one [video] about “what you always wanted to know about conducting etc” I have consumed. The bottom line always seems to be: no one on earth can tell you anything accurate or intelligent about conductors or conducting, least of all musicians, critics, and … CONDUCTORS, including yours sincerely. Why? Because all and sundry don´t have the faintest, including, again, me. Mehta, that benighted thug; Christoph von Dutch Nanny, the slob snob; why even Sir Salty – who oughta 189

know better – and, to my horror, my revered Tennstedt: they all shoot off their mouths to pitiable effect. The ʽmontageʼ Karajan/Nazi-parading is the worst possible taste. Nobody ever seems to get around to Karajan as a musician and conductor (in which rôles he swam circles around other stickwielders like a dolphin around oceanliners) ´cause they all are caught in the commercial part of his image. I feel very deeply that you can only (and even that is very difficult) talk about Maestro X doing Piece Y. Not Maestro X as such. One performance at a time, no generalizations, no anecdotes, no “he was a Nazi”, no nothing. I was glad that Tennstedt got a lot of appreciation. I think he is really very special. To say (as some a..h..e does on the Video) that “he has no technique” is so absurd, it sets my teeth on edge. He has a splendid ʽtechniqueʼ; it just isn´t (Gott sei Dank) the kind that any idiot can ʽlearnʼ. But the fact that people don´t understand the least little bit about the whole thing at least keeps the discussions going, inane as they are. I also got an award, quite a nice one. I am now externally awarded. But my inside award leaves everything as it is. I’m a silly, empty, old coot; but I still like my food and, yeah!, my drink! You betcha! (Evviva C2H5OH!)* Your grateful old pen pal and Video-Tape worm. Carlo *C2H5OH is the chemical formula for alcohol.

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LONDON P HILHARMONIC O RCHESTRA – ONE Principal Guest Conductor 1980-83

“He was only free after freeing himself from Germany – East and West alike.” Reinhard Schau, about Tennstedt It would not be correct to claim that Tennstedt felt happy and contented for long (apart from when he was high on the drug of infatuation). There was never any outward show of enjoying his achievements or resting on his laurels – or that he felt accepted and even loved unconditionally. Intermittently perhaps, during the early days when he was in charge in Radebeul. Possibly even in Minneapolis or in Toronto, but the rest of North America could not make him feel he belonged. He rushed from one event to the next, was happy to be known as ʽthe most wanted guest conductorʼ, but was never able to relax and feel at home. All that changed in London. This cosmopolitan city welcomed the still unknown maestro with open arms. Ronald Wilford pulled the strings and initially placed his protégé with the London Symphony Orchestra (LSO), whose music director André Previn was also on CAMI’s books. On 14 October 1976 Tennstedt made his London debut, the main work being Bruckner’s Fourth Symphony; there followed a total of seven more concerts with the London Symphony Orchestra. Six months later he moved to their competitors, the London Philharmonic Orchestra (LPO). He didn’t know it at the time, but the collaboration with this orchestra would become the real highlight of Klaus Tennstedt‘s life. Gustav Mahler‘s First Symphony was on the opening program, as it had often been recently when Tennstedt wanted to get to know an orchestra previously unfamiliar to him. Or was it a trial run for the planned recording of all the Mahler symphonies, which would soon be getting under way? But, almost as though he foresaw how things would end in London, he pulled out of this first concert. In his place on the podium on 2 May 1977 was Charles Mackerras. It’s quite possible that once again nerves played a part; the fear of failure made him throw in the towel. However a mere five days later he conducted his inaugural performance with the London Philharmonic Orchestra. It was a lighter program: Johannes Brahms’ First Piano Concerto (soloist: Garrick Ohlsson) and Mozart´s Jupiter Symphony No. 41. 191

The LPO musicians and colleagues were soon aware that the conductor before them was truly something out of the ordinary. Rachel Masters, harp, LPO: This man was so unusual; ego in the right place, musicality, soul. He didn´t have the greatest conducting technique, but the result was sublime, absolutely sublime. I´ve played so many symphonies of Mahler now, but he was the only one [makes a sweeping gesture] who understands the journey of the music. Judy Grahame, marketing director LPO: He wasn´t people´s idea of what a maestro should look like. He wasn´t sophisticated like Muti or Karajan. You’d look at them and think: this is a great conductor – but Klaus? My son said: If you were in a room with fifty people, and Klaus was sitting somewhere, you wouldn´t know that this was a great man. John Willan, producer & LPO managing director: I would never even touch Muti, slap him on his shoulder and say: “Hi Riccardo!”, but you would with Klaus. And Klaus was no less a musician. Bob Truman, principal cello, LPO: Without question, Klaus was my favorite conductor. He might be the most difficult man I have ever worked with, but on the night, I´d forgive him everything. Laurie Lovelle, double bass, LPO: My image of him is of a bird of prey, hovering. With his arms outstretched [widens his arms] like that, encompassing the whole orchestra. And the performances were just epic. He had such presence! He didn´t talk a lot in rehearsals, usually he only needed half the allotted time. He would say [imitates the strong German accent and croaky voice]: “I vant you to giff me van hundret percent, zen you cen go home” [laughs]. The following programs are testament to the performances with which the fifty-one-year-old thrilled his audiences. Since his debut with the opera Der Günstling, when he took over at the last minute to conduct in his home town of Halle, twenty-six years had passed. There had followed successes and crashing defeats, but mainly years of constant concentration on the music, studying the scores, rehearsal after rehearsal, and innumerable performances. Only months after his first appearance, Tennstedt began his huge project of recording all Mahler´s symphonies for EMI. The recordings were mostly made in the famous Studio 1 in London´s Abbey Road (indicated in the following by: STUDIO). 192

Concert program & recordings: Tennstedt & LPO 1977-79. Part 1 Principal Conductor, LPO, until 1979: Bernard Haitink. 2 May 1977 Mahler: Symphony No. 1: Charles Mackerras replaced Tennstedt 7 May 1977 Mendelssohn Bartholdy: Overture Fingal´s Cave; Brahms: Piano Concerto No. 1 (Soloist: Garrick Ohlsson); Mozart: Symphony No. 41 Jupiter 26 Sept. 1977 Schumann: Piano Concerto (Soloist: Horacio Gutiérrez); Mahler: Symphony No. 1 4 & 5 Oct. 1977 STUDIO – Mahler: Symphony No. 1; Abbey Road Studios 10 & 13 May 1978 Mahler: Symphony No. 9 10-12 May, STUDIO – Mahler: Symphony No. 5; & 8 June Abbey Road Studios 5-7 Oct. 1978 STUDIO – Mahler: Symphony No. 10, Adagio; Abbey Road Studios 11, 12 & 14 May 1979 STUDIO – Mahler: Symphony No. 9; Abbey Road Studios

Despite spending most of his time working with American and British orchestras, Tennstedt struggled with the English language. Jeremy ʽJerryʼ Cornes, percussion, LPO: He was not always able to say clearly what he wanted. He would say: “We can it.” He used to say that a lot. Gordon Hunt, principal oboe, LPO: After five or ten minutes one of his favorite things to say was: “This is not your style”, that meant: play better. Georg Wübbolt: I heard he once said: “Please go home and practice your private parts.” That´s exactly what he said [laughs], which of course brought the house down. Everyone just laughed their heads off. In front of him? Of course! Then I think he asked David Nolan, the concertmaster: “What did I say?” and David had to tell him [laughs]. There were a lot of things like that, really. Laurie Lovelle, double bass, LPO: He always used to say, to our principal horn [imitates]: “Mister Busch” and to someone else: “Mister Evans” [laughs], instead of their first names, as usual. That 193

was probably his upbringing. I think he was quite shy. He didn´t talk a lot. Only in terms of what he wanted from the music. He wasn´t a chatterbox. Judy Grahame, public relations manager, LPO: He always had a dictionary beside him when he phoned me because he wanted to look up the right words. Perhaps he only spoke so little because he was unable to speak colloquial English. Tennstedt had to translate every word and every sentence mentally, instead of speaking freely off the top of his head. Quite possibly this handicap constituted an advantage. He had often been accused of speaking out of turn, of being inconsiderate, behavior which created a bad atmosphere between himself and the orchestra. In England and the USA, he simply lacked the adequate vocabulary to be offensive. At the beginning of 1980, after only two and a half years, Tennstedt was officially announced as principal guest conductor of the LPO. He was already in place when Georg Solti took over as music director. Solti’s life over the ten years from 1961 to 1971 had centered round his position as principal conductor of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden. He had become a naturalized British citizen and received a knighthood from the Queen. He was living with his wife Valerie and their two daughters in the elegant London suburb of Primrose Hill. One could ask why Georg Solti made no mention of his time with the LPO in his autobiography ʽSolti on Solti: A Memoirʼ. Those four years did not even merit a side note. Equally, any mention of Tennstedt as his successor is missing. Most likely the two had little to say to each other. It would not be surprising, since the differences between their musical understanding and conducting styles could not have been more pronounced. Tennstedt and Solti photo: LPO

Keith Millar, percussion, LPO: Solti never explained what he wanted, he just did it by force of personality. It was a rather difficult atmosphere. Tennstedt was much more sensitive, even uncertain. He would even say: “I don´t know what to do.” Solti would never have said such a thing.

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John Willan, producer & LPO managing director: Solti had tremendous charisma; he was more charisma than conductor. He had more Grammy Awards than anybody has ever had, because he wanted to collect. He changed his nationality so he could become ʽSir Georgʼ. Klaus would never have changed his, and Haitink didn’t either. Klaus would have said: “Ach, I’m German.” Tennstedt worked a great deal with the London Philharmonic over the years. Ronald Wilford of Columbia Artists would already have made sure of that. More importantly, Tennstedt was making the orchestra money. The recording company EMI paid well for a day´s recording at Abbey Road Studios. Not long now, and the series of nine Mahler symphonies (plus the Adagio of the Tenth) would be complete. And there would be more to follow – it all boded well for further cooperation. Here’s an overview: Concert program: Tennstedt, principal guest conductor LPO Principal Conductor 1979-83: Sir Georg Solti.

Part 2

21 & 28 Oct. 1979 25 Oct. 1979

Mahler: Symphony No. 3 (Soloist: Ortrun Wenkel) Blacher: Concertante Musik; Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 16 (Soloist: Malcolm Frager); Beethoven: Symphony No. 3 Eroica 27 & 29-31 Oct. 1979 STUDIO – Mahler: Symphony No. 3 (Soloist: Ortrun Wenkel); Kingsway Hall, London 29 Aug. 1980 Edinburgh Festival. Mahler: Symphony No. 7; Usher Hall 16 & 19 Oct. 1980 Mahler: Symphony No. 7 20-22 Oct. 1980 STUDIO – Mahler: Symphony No. 7; Abbey Road Studios 28 Oct. 1980 Weber: Oberon Overture; Tchaikovsky: Violin Concerto (Soloist: Salvatore Accardo); Schubert: Symphony No. 9 Great C Major 5 May 1981 Mozart: Figaro Overture; Violin Concerto No. 5 (Soloist: György Pauk); Bruckner: Symphony No. 4 7 May 1981 Mozart: Symphony No. 36 Linz; Piano Concerto No. 23 (Soloist: Sir Clifford Curzon); Beethoven: Symphony No. 5 10 & 12 May 1981 Mahler: Symphony No. 2 (Soloists: Heather Harper, Doris Soffel) 14-16 May 1981 STUDIO – Mahler: Symphony No. 2 (Soloists: Edith Mathis, Doris Soffel); Kingsway Hall, London 195

28 Aug. 1981 Edinburgh Festival. Glinka: Ruslan and Ludmilla Overture; Bartok: Piano Concerto No. 3 (Soloist: Michael Beroff); Brahms: Symphony No. 1; Usher Hall 20 & 25 Oct. 1981 Wagner: Die Meistersinger Overture, Siegfried Idyll & Die Walküre Act 1 (Soloists: Jessye Norman, Robert Schunk, Marius Rintzler) 29 Oct. 1981 Bruckner: Symphony No. 8 28 & 29 Mar. 1982 STUDIO – Strauss: Tod und Verklärung; Abbey Road Studios 4 May 1982 Schönberg: Verklärte Nacht; Mahler: Symphony No. 4 (Soloist: Felicity Lott) 5-7 May 1982 STUDIO – Mahler: Symphony No. 4 (Soloist: Lucia Popp); Kingsway Hall, London 9 & 16 May 1982 Brahms: Academic Festival Overture, Violin Con- certo (Soloist: Boris Belkin) & Symphony No. 1 24-26 Sept. 1982 STUDIO – Bruckner: Symphony No. 8; Abbey Road Studios 5 Dec. 1982 Bruckner: Symphony No. 8 (last-minute replace- ment for Eugen Jochum) 6 Feb.-10 March 1983 European Tour,14 Concerts. Sir Georg Solti & Klaus Tennstedt; (Soloist: Anne-Sophie Mutter) 28 March 1983 Strauss: Tod und Verklärung, Vier Letzte Lieder (Soloist: Lucia Popp); Don Quixote 31 March 1983 Mahler: Symphony No. 6 7 April 1983 Brahms: Tragic Overture, Piano Concerto No. 1 (Soloist: Radu Lupu), Symphony No. 3 10 April 1983 Brahms: Academic Festival Overture, Piano Con- certo No. 2 (Soloist: Garrick Ohlsson), Symphony No. 3 28 & 29 April 1983 STUDIO/Live – Mahler: Symphony No. 6; Kings- way Hall, London (instead of Elektra) 3 & 5 May 1983 Beethoven: Egmont Overture, Bruch: Violin Con- certo (Soloist: Boris Belkin) Beethoven: Symphony No. 3 Eroica 22 August 1983 Prom. Mahler: Symphony No. 6; Royal Albert Hall, London 29 August 1983 Edinburgh Festival. Mozart: Violin Concerto No. 4 (Soloist: Miriam Fried); Mahler: Das Lied von der Erde (Soloists: Brigitte Fassbaender, Hermann Winkler); Usher Hall 196

30 August 1983 Edinburgh Festival. Strauss: Don Juan; Wagner: Götterdämmerung - Dawn & Siegfried‘s Rhine Journey; Strauss: Burleske for piano & orchestra (Soloist: Claudio Arrau); Weber: Konzertstück for piano and orchestra (Soloist: Claudio Arrau); Johann Strauss II: Emperor Waltz; Usher Hall

There it was, the world career Tennstedt had always dreamed of. For the most part he was working in North America – his diary full to the brim with bookings. The orchestras of Cleveland, San Francisco, New York, Chicago, Montreal and Detroit were clamoring for him, and he was invited back again and again. Interest grew in the rest of the world, too. Karajan cast an eye in his direction. Even Bernstein got to know him from a distance, stood in for him when he was ill and even sent him a get-well telex. This success caused Tennstedt to raise his level higher and higher. He no longer made any compromises, and as a result he not only infuriated his producer John Willan time and again, but even the team around his London Philharmonic Orchestra was not immune to sudden changes. A recording of Richard Strauss´ opera Elektra was planned for the end of April 1983 – a magnificent work bordering on almost complete atonality and a favorite of Tennstedt’s. His recording company EMI brought in some top-class singers: Ute Vinzing in the title role, Christa Ludwig as Klytaemnestra, Éva Marton as Chrysothemis. The London Philharmonic Orchestra was booked. The first piano rehearsal for the leading roles got under way. When it ended, Tennstedt was stony-faced. John Willan recounted: Klaus whispered to me, “I have to talk to you.” So we went to his room. He said: “I´m not doing it.” “That´s the funniest thing I´ve ever heard, Klaus. Let´s go and have some lunch.” “I´m not doing it. The soprano roles have been cast the wrong way round. Éva Marton should be singing Elektra and Ute Vinzing Chrysothemis.” “But Klaus, they sing their roles all over the world.” “I don´t care, I can´t do it like that. They have to swap.” “OK,” trying to hide my shock, “no problem at all, I´ll just tell 197

them they need to swap roles.” He knew Jessye Norman well, but he had heard Marton and Vinzing only on recordings. What can have triggered this radical turnabout? Probably his intensive experience with this opera and with singing voices in general. Tennstedt knew Elektra extremely well. He had studied and then rehearsed it as a new production in Kiel and conducted it a number of times. He was now faced with the problem that the casting could not fulfill his ideal. So he canceled. Of course he should have listened to the two sopranos beforehand, but singers of that calibre no longer audition. It is quite possible that Tennstedt was unconvinced of the expressiveness of his Elektra. Ute Vinzing´s special vibrato was certainly not everyone‘s cup of tea. A review from the New York Times read: A good deal of the problem lay in the lack of temperament of the evening´s Elektra, Ute Vinzing. She (…) was miscast as the daemonic figure of revenge simply because she could never suggest the daemonism or the urgency. She seemed like a lady next door, looking for a lost garden tool, and her final dance of ecstasy would not have embarrassed a bishop. Éva Marton´s expressive and heartfelt soprano might have pleased Tennstedt much better. He was trapped. Suggesting the two singers swap their roles was a desperate maneuver intended to save the production. He knew it would not be quite so simple. Can we even begin to guess what conflicts were churning inside him? In any case it was not merely a whim but well-founded artistic reasoning that made him cancel. Who can blame him? His name bound for all time with an imperfect Elektra? – never! As far as the bases of his creative work were concerned, insecurities and sensitivities did not figure at all. As always, he maintained the highest standards. This meant that the planned recording had fallen through. That the singers had to be paid goes without saying. At least the orchestra could be otherwise employed. They were booked for seven sittings and in place of Elektra they recorded Gustav Mahler´s Sixth Symphony. For the previous seven years Tennstedt had conducted nothing but orchestral concerts. At last he was turning his attention back to his original métier. And it was only fitting that performances should take place at one of the most famous venues in the world, the Metropolitan Opera in New York.

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UPROAR AT THE OPERA HOUSE:

Fidelio at the Metropolitan Opera, New York, 1983-84 Ludwig van Beethoven´s sole opera Fidelio was old hat for Tennstedt. At his first encounter, in 1951, he had been playing the violin at the re-opening of the bombed-out opera house in his home town of Halle. Only two years later he was conducting it (Tennstedt: “I wouldn’t want to hear that anymore today!”). Repertory repeats followed in Chemnitz, and as music director in Schwerin he brought out a new production. The piece accompanied him his whole life through. He picked up where he had left off. In New York Tennstedt enjoyed cult status after his concerts with the New York Philharmonic, but he’d always emphasized he simply had no time for opera. He certainly did not want to follow in some of his colleagues´ footsteps. They would arrive just before the performance, greet everyone, clarify how the transitions would be made – we´ll do this here and that there – and off they would go. “That is not my style.” After more than thirty years‘ experience with the Beethoven opera he had his own very definite requirements: Klaus Tennstedt: If it´s to be done properly, you need intensive rehearsals with the soloists, rehearsals with the orchestra, rehearsals with the chorus. And you cannot limit yourself to the music, you have also to concern yourself with what happens on stage.36 The production, however, wasn’t new but a revival of that by Otto Schenk. Most of the singers were new to their roles, so he required a lot of rehearsals. Discovering that the chorus had only 43 instead of the expected 60 singers, Tennstedt exploded for the first time. As work continued, a severe dispute developed between himself and Jon Vickers, cast as Florestan. Vickers was known for never dodging a confrontation, but Tennstedt did not back down either. They had such different ideas about how the role should be played that Vickers called in sick for the duration of the entire production, but changed his mind later and rejoined the cast. Initially, Edward Sooter stood in for him. Éva Marton was Leonore,* alternating with Hildegard Behrens. Further roles were filled by Roberta Peters, Matti Salminen, Franz Mazura and Aage Haukland. Feverish anticipation awaited the premiere on *Éva Marton about Tennstedt: “My God, that man is a genius!” 199

14 December 1983. Tickets for the other performances (on 17, 21, 27 and 31 December and 4 and 7 January 1984) were almost sold out in advance.37 On the day after the premiere, Donal Henahan from the New York Times wrote: Even before Tennstedt lifted his baton, he was given a long, fervent ovation. The cheering was repeated at every subsequent opportunity, perhaps as an expression of the audience’s gratitude at finding one of the world’s foremost conductors in the Metropolitan’s pit. Lynn René Bayley: So help me Beethoven, the audience went absolutely, positively nuts after the Leonore Overture No 3. In all of my years of listening to Met broadcasts, I have never, ever heard a Met audience go crazy like that.38 On the same day, in the New York Post: This was no polite Beethoven. Tennstedt wielded tremendous power, making every effort to convey the composer’s spirit to each one of the approximately 4,000 people in attendance. At the final curtain no one moved; they were fixed in their seats. Then jubilation, applause, shouts of ʽbravoʼ. The Met had big ideas for him: one opera a year until 1990, but sadly that remained Tennstedt´s sole excursion into opera on American soil. In December 1984 plans for Richard Strauss´ Elektra had been well under way. Tennstedt had demanded his preferred cast, including Éva Marton from the scuppered EMI production the previous year, but this time in the title role. That project failed. James Levine took over, and once again Ute Vinzing sang Elektra. Klaus Tennstedt: I long for opera, because that´s where I come from. It‘s a question of time. If you can work with the best orchestras in the world, you don’t like to give that up for the time it takes to rehearse an opera. And so it happened that he would no longer work in this genre. It was a terrible pity. He gave only concert performances of Strauss´ Salome and of Elektra in London. The plan to perform Don Giovanni at Glyndebourne came to nothing. Tennstedt had long ago become uncompromising as regards his artistic demands.

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KARAJAN AGREES TO RECORDINGS with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra

Tennstedt found it extraordinarily satisfying to be invited to this orchestra a total of eleven times. From 1977 on he conducted it almost every year, each time with two or three consecutive concerts. John Willan was once again the EMI producer involved. For what seemed an eternity the principal conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic had been Herbert von Karajan, certainly the most influential maestro in Europe at the time. He did not normally allow either his repertoire or his orchestra to be poached. The rule was: recordings are made only by the boss, no one else. The first for whom the master broke that rule was Klaus Tennstedt. Klaus Tennstedt: Karajan allowed me to conduct his repertoire, Bruckner´s Fourth, and Schubert´s Great C major. I was the only conductor in the world he allowed to do that. But Karajan needed to get to know him first; Peter Alward arranged a meeting.

Herbert von Karajan photo: Karajan-Stiftung

Georg Wübbolt: Mr Alward, what did Karajan like about Tennstedt? Peter Alward: He was a kapellmeister of the old school! That was something Karajan recognized. At their first meeting, in Karajan´s suite in the Kempinski Hotel – I was only there for the first half hour – they sat there till three in the morning, laughing and drinking and telling stories. That means they liked each other personally? Totally, and Karajan confirmed it later. I have a feeling that Karajan saw in Klaus what he would have liked to be – had he not fallen prey to the desire for glamor and worldwide fame. He recognized Klaus as an honest musician, someone who was there because he wanted nothing more than to make music. 201

And Klaus? Alward: You can´t believe how nervous he was before the Peter meeting. He was panicking. When I told him, “Herr Karajan wants to meet you,” he got pretty agitated. “But why?” I said: “We´d like to do some recording with you in Berlin. He heard your Mahler First and wants to know what sort of person you are.” Klaus was extremely tense but, as I said, the two of them liked each other on sight. That´s why Karajan let him take the podium a number of times in front of his Berlin Philharmonic. And we from EMI were allowed to record what we liked. Klaus came to Berlin more often than many other conductors. He passed the test. Karajan would have spotted a charlatan immediately. Before recording commenced, though, the question of the recording team had to be dealt with. For Karajan it was obvious: his balance engineers Michel Glotz and Wolfgang Gülich. No one else could guarantee the quality he required. However, Tennstedt insisted on bringing his own trusted team, including balance engineer Neville Boyling, from Abbey Road: “If I don´t get my producer John Willan and a team of his choice, I´m not doing it.” To argue with Karajan was certainly brave. But the maestro agreed. Tennstedt gave 25 concerts with the Berlin Philharmonic. Peter Alward: Karajan even said he could imagine Tennstedt as his successor. However honest that might have been, had Tennstedt been chosen it would have been the death of him. He simply no longer had the energy, neither physically nor mentally, to fulfill such a post. Never. Tennstedt was already sick with cancer when Karajan died in 1989. But he was certainly pleased to have been considered. The search for a successor for Karajan proved difficult. The Berlin Philharmonic is an independent orchestra, which means they choose Tennstedt´s recordings with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra Schumann: Concert piece for four horns 1978 Schumann: Third Symphony 1978 and Fourth Symphony 1980 Wagner: Excerpts from The Ring of the Nibelung 1980; from other Wagner operas 1982; Mendelssohn Bartholdy: Fourth Symphony `Italian´ 1980 Bruckner: Fourth Symphony 1981 Schubert: Symphony No. 9 Great C Major (No. 8 according to present-day numbering) 1983.

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their own principal conductor. Karl-Heinz Duse-Utesch, solo trombone, was a member of the orchestra board for many years and took part in the search. Karl-Heinz Duse-Utesch: It began with a secret vote. Every orchestra member could write down in order which conductors they liked best. The cards were collected and a team of lawyers worked out who had received the most votes. That was all secret. Then we discussed it among ourselves. The strong favorite was Lorin Maazel. This however was contentious; Maazel had conducted a concert with two Beethoven symphonies and had risked asking for unusual bowings. (Like Tennstedt, he was a violinist.) The string section didn’t like them, so they were against his being offered the position. Rainer Seegers, solo timpanist with the Berlin Philharmonic from 1984 until 2018, understood why: Rainer Seegers: Maazel was brilliant, but when he had a bad-tempered five minutes he was unbearable. And Tennstedt was always bearable, really. I think he was not considered merely because he was, how should I put it … too fragile for this pack of thieves. In the end, Claudio Abbado won the race, despite initially not even being considered as a possibility. Karl-Heinz Duse-Utesch: I was really angry, I can tell you. I could have imagined any conductor but him. Rainer Seegers played in a number of concerts conducted by Tennstedt. In his opinion, there were skeptics as well as fervent admirers in the orchestra. The mood seemed to have been 50:50, for and against: Rainer Seegers: In rehearsals, Tennstedt was notorious for nagging until everything was just the way he wanted it. That was the exact opposite of what we were used to – normally we hardly rehearsed at all. Half the orchestra was fine with rehearsing the pieces properly. The other half would have preferred to go on playing as we had under Karajan. When he started – if I can believe my older colleagues´ stories – he also held endless rehearsals. Not for the last twenty years, though. What was so special about Tennstedt? He embodied a cross between perfectionism and emotionalism. That’s why America loved him. There, all the right notes were often played but with no soul or emotion. He fitted the bill. Before him America only had the type who conducted like field marshals. 203

Karajan thought Tennstedt was really good. Personally, I´d place him in the second rank with people such as Ozawa, Mehta, Muti, Haitink. In the front rank I´d have just Karajan and Kleiber. And Bernstein of course – he was the greatest of them all. But Bernstein hardly ever conducted the orchestra. Yes, because he didn´t get on with Karajan. Bernstein was the only one Karajan considered as his rival. I remember how on the Festbühne stage in Salzburg they wanted to make a point of shaking hands, quite theatrical. Bernstein stood off the stage to one side, Karajan to the other. But neither took a step out of the wings. Neither wanted to make the first move? Neither wanted to be the first. Like little children. And Bernstein never conducted there again. What was special about Kleiber? For me the most important thing, and it applied to Tennstedt too, is that they were completely authentic. They made these tiny gestures, and musicians could understand and follow them. Nowadays, most conductors are in the market to show off their airs and graces. That´s exactly what Tennstedt and Kleiber did not do. Tennstedt didn´t put himself up there as a theatrical god, gesturing around, hoping people thought it great. Nope. He made music. Concerts Tennstedt + Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, Berlin Philharmonie 1977-91 25, 26 & 27 Apr. 1977 Hindemith: Piano Concerto (Soloist: Walter Klien); Bruckner: Symphony No. 2 29 & 30 Apr. 1978 Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 3 (Soloist: Gerhard Oppitz); Mahler: Symphony No. 1 17 & 18 Oct. 1978 Recording. Schumann: Symphony No. 3 Rhenish; Schumann: Konzertstück for Four Horns in F, op. 86 18-20 & 22 Apr. 1980 von Webern: Passacaglia for Orchestra; Paganini: Violin Concerto No. 1 (Soloist: Mark Kaplan) Recording. Schumann: Symphony No. 4, Recording. Mendelssohn Bartholdy: Symphony No. 4 ʽItalianʼ 7, 8 & 9 Oct. 1980 Pfitzner: Das Käthchen von Heilbronn Overture; Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 23 K. 488 (Soloist: Babette Hierholzer); Dvořák: Symphony No. 8 Recording. Wagner: Excerpts from The Ring of the Nibelung 21 & 22 Nov. 1981 Bach: Violin Concerto No. 2 BWV 1042 (Soloist: Thomas Brandis); Bruckner: Symphony No. 8 13,15 & 16 Dec. 1981 Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 2 (Soloist: Bruno Leonardo Gelber); Recording. Bruckner: Symphony No. 4

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19 & 20 Apr. 1983 13 & 14 Mar. 1984 2 & 5 Apr. 1985 18 & 19 May 1985 19 & 20 May 1991 15 & 16 Sept. 1993

Dvořák: Violin Concerto, op. 53 (Soloist: Peter Zazofsky) Recording. Schubert: Symphony No. 9 Great C Major Mussorgsky: Night on the Bald Mountain (by Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov); Prokofiev: Piano Concerto No. 2 (Soloist: Horacio Gutiérrez); Dvořák: Symphony No. 9 (From the New World) Salzburg, Festival Hall. Mozart: Symphony No. 35 K. 385 Haffner; Bruckner: Symphony No. 4 Mozart: Don Giovanni Overture; Mozart: Piano Con- certo No. 26 K. 537 (Soloist: Israela Margalit); Mahler: Symphony No. 4 (Soloist: Edith Wiens) Berlin, Gendarmenmarkt. Mahler: Symphony No. 6 Canceled

Easter 1985 saw Tennstedt take the podium as the first conductor other than Karajan ever to conduct the Berlin Philharmonic at the Salzburg Festival. He chose Anton Bruckner’s Fourth Symphony as the main work. Of all things, it was from the orchestra which meant so much to him that he suddenly thought he sensed resistance. His vague feeling of unease was strengthened by the first of the two concerts. The symphony begins calmly, with dotted fifths on the solo horn. Not really a problem but, exposed in the opening of the piece, this calls for steady nerves. Judy Grahame: In the first concert, the horn fluffed the opening a little, and it completely unsettled him. And I think he, at least, found the entire concert awful. Inge told me that no one came to see him backstage afterwards. He blamed it on himself, and it made him even more nervous. Then he disappeared to his hotel room. For the entire three days they were there he wouldn´t talk to anyone. He was so upset. He was deeply hurt that in Germany he wasn´t loved the way he was in England or America. So strange, such a contrast. Peter Alward: On top of everything else, he was torn to shreds by the Austrian critics, who went to town on him. Karajan had offered him the chance to conduct Richard Strauss´ Capriccio in the summer. The minute he was criticized, he called that off. It was convenient timing, though, because he had just been diagnosed with severe cardiac arrythmia. A perfect reason to cancel. We see once again how Tennstedt allowed old wounds to open up. This came close to an obsession, a constant preoccupation for which he could find no remedy. No musician deliberately plays badly, but 205

Tennstedt seemed to feel this a direct attack on himself. Because of a small thing quite outside his control, the whole ʽGermanyʼ complex reared its head again: the sacking in Schwerin, the problems in Kiel, the trouble with the NDR orchestra and this time the Berliners! They all surfaced once more and affected him inwardly. Yet such small mistakes are part of the normal pattern of a concert. Rainer Seegers: Karajan – he risked everything. He held no grudges if anything happened, none at all. He never held one single person responsible for a mistake, but the orchestra as a whole. He simply said: “Just listen.” That was all. Tennstedt took many risks, and things didn‘t always go well. Shaky entries and imprecise ensemble can certainly be found in his performances. There he was less the orchestral educator than the bridge builder who knew how to wield a bow in a Mahler or Bruckner symphony. And so throughout his life Tennstedt never achieved the control and stability of a Herbert von Karajan when something actually went wrong. He remained trapped in his own insecurity and sensitivity. All this may seem strange to us. But it does so because no one else lives in this inner Tennstedt world, or can empathize with it. It’s his hypersensitive and vulnerable nature that gives us such music. Tennstedt had to endure this, and is not to be envied for it. The concerts on 19 and 20 May 1991 with the `Berliners´ were among his most intense; they remain unforgotten by many who experienced them. Gustav Mahler´s Sixth Symphony was performed in the Berlin Schauspielhaus at the Gendarmenmarkt. It was to be the last time Tennstedt conducted the orchestra. Berlin´s respected critic Klaus Geitel gave the much-revered artist this final tribute: Berliner Morgenpost, 22 May 1991 (excerpts): (…) A suicide mission (including their hellish falls) – yes, that too is Mahler’s A minor symphony. Tennstedt knows this, and with the symphony he transmits a piece of life experience to the musicians, who are almost feverish in their expressive eagerness. The result is something to remember: a worldclass concert of the kind that has been rare even for the Philharmonic in recent times. The fact that Tennstedt has returned to the podium of the orchestra after a long absence due to illness, and – as it seems – knows so much more about the tragic aspects of Mahler’s work, gives hope for the future. This rare guest received fervent standing ovations. No one seems to have a deeper understanding of Mahler than Klaus Tennstedt. 206

G USTAV M AHLER “I came late to Mahler,” Tennstedt said in an interview, “and I think maybe that is better. Except for Mahler’s First Symphony, you need experience in life before you can be a good interpreter of Mahler. Everything he composed in his works – love, hate, fear, joy, cynicism, all that – cannot be fully understood when you are young.” And elsewhere: “All human emotions flow into his music. He composed his life.”39 In Mahler´s life Tennstedt found a connection with his own. Like Mahler, he was a man of extremes: his pain and grief knew no bounds. He found echoes of his own personal experience within each work and allowed the performances to evolve from them. It was never enough for him merely to play the notes correctly, the meaning hidden within them must be discovered and brought to life. Kurt Masur: Actually, Klaus was a conductor whose fantasy was sometimes greater than that of the composer. His ideas of sound, his often ecstatic way of making music was almost deadly for some composers but for others, such as Mahler, just right. He had no fear of exaggeration or gravity if he thought it was needed. That in my opinion made him a Mahler conductor who was able to portray this gruelling Mahlerian music perfectly. One could feel how possessed by it he was. For some time, his experience with the other symphonies had been coloring his interpretation of the First. The New York Times from 8 April 1981 described a performance of this symphony with the Philadelphia Orchestra under Tennstedt´s baton: This was a throat-grabbing performance of that sort that strips the skin away from the sonorous surface, exposing the disturbed psyche that already was beginning to appear in Mahler´s music. Everything was done in bold colors and high relief. None of this interested Mr Tennstedt, who reveled in the bizarre and drove the work to the edge of craziness in a way that reminded one more of Mahler´s middle symphonies than his first. But the Second Symphony! With the studio recording of 1981 the reactions were still restrained. The live production of 1989, however, was highly praised and raised Tennstedt to Olympian heights. Excerpts from the YouTube community regarding this symphony: 207

Onehe30: I was there at this 1989 performance in the Royal Festival it was a mind-blowing, transformational and transcen Hall and dental experience that still lives inside me vividly to this day, more than 30 years later. The electric atmosphere, utter commitment that was palpable from Tennstedt‘s every move is unforgettable. I return to this [recording] many times. There are many great and good performances of this masterpiece but as a single experience, this is unparalleled and unsurpassed. TheLastOfTheFinest80: To me it is criminal how so underrated Klaus Tennstedt is. Neil Simon: I don’t think anyone can touch him these days. Vishnu Bachani: Absolutely mind-blowing. Most powerful recording of any music I have ever heard in my entire life. eugenio mota: Without any doubt this is the best performance I‘ve ever heard either on CD or live, and I do own some 80 different versions of this unique Symphony.

The Sixth Symphony “He has to take you by the throat if you want to conduct him properly,” Tennstedt said, referring to Mahler, “otherwise you can never get to grips with him.”40 He described the Sixth as his favorite. It was with this very work that he had enormous success world-wide. In an interview with Edward Seckerson for Gramophone,41 Tennstedt said: The Sixth is a terrible thing. Terrible. In this symphony Mahler was a prophet. He knew nothing of the wars that were yet to come. How could he? But during his time in Vienna he saw the beginnings of the Jewish persecution – he saw the stones being thrown through Jewish shopkeepers´ windows – and somehow in his music we feel he is foretelling the future. Just listen to the march in the first movement. Now Mahler loved marches – the Bohemian, Hungarian, Austrian marches. He loved military band music. He grew up with these sounds, and we hear them throughout his symphonies. The joyous March of Summer in the Third. (...) Then there is the first movement of the Seventh and the funeral marches of the Second, Fifth and Ninth symphonies – very slow, very serious. But never anything like the Sixth. Never. 208

The quotation demonstrates that Tennstedt studied the Mahler literature very carefully, as well as that for other composers. To fully appreciate their works, it is vital to have an in-depth knowledge of their lives and times. Alma Mahler told the story of the day her husband played his Sixth to her on the piano: Alma Mahler: None of his work came so directly from the heart as this. We both wept that day. The music and what it prophesied moved us deeply.42 In 1904, when he completed the symphony, Mahler was at the height of his career. He was director of the Vienna Court Opera, at the time probably the most important opera house in the world. Both on stage and in the orchestra pit, he had got rid of outdated ideas and shaken things out of their complacency, bringing a breath of fresh air to the performances. He was highly respected as a composer, and in his private life, too, these years were among the happiest. His second daughter had just been born. The love for his wife Alma seemed serene. And yet he composed a work of impending doom, a symphonic Dies Irae. The grief-stricken Kindertotenlieder were also completed in that year. Little of those halcyon days is found in the Sixth Symphony. In the first movement, his love for Alma – represented in a lyrical theme – is the sole Gustav Mahler source of light surrounded by rhythmic brutality, `vehement but vigorous´, as written in the score. There are a few moments of respite such as when the celesta, together with glockenspiel and cowbells, creates an enchanted realm – in the purest air and mountain heights, perhaps a vision of how the world could be. The prevailing mood however, is martial. Tennstedt said of the beginning: This is a German march, a Nazi march – a terrible march of war. A premonition.43 The second movement, a Scherzo, is not jocular at all. Tennstedt called it a `dreadful caricature of a Ländler´, and so he creates a soundscape of horror reminiscent of Hieronymus Bosch. The bass drum beats are subdued, the timpani play off-beat. The tuba takes us into the darkest of catacombs. The xylophone recalls the bony clattering of the Grim 209

Reaper. Frequent bar changes disrupt the flow. The ground sways restlessly like a barge on choppy water. At numeral 79 we hear that ʽa small wooden stick is beaten on the wooden rim of the drumʼ, as written in the score. But with Tennstedt this little stick mutates into a rod. It strikes ever harder, more mercilessly. In the last recording from 1991, you can feel the beating as if on your own body, so strong is the impact. And again and again, after an apparent calm, a volcano spits its fire. At the climax of this little horror show, the strings glissade like a ghostly breath (numeral 83). The powerfully beaten tam-tam is meant to put us in fear of imminent death. The oboes (ʽbells raised; shrillʼ) and muted trumpets complete this terrifying set piece until it finally descends, with the bass clarinet and contrabassoon, into the darkest of shadows. But how different is the Andante moderato that follows! ʽTender, but expressiveʼ, the violins – Tennstedt’s very own instrument – convey a celebration of love: Klaus Tennstedt: The third movement is a wonder. To me, this is Mahler’s only slow movement without uncertainty – without a contrasting undercurrent. This movement is love, nothing else. No caricature, no cynicism. Love. I don’t know, but maybe, just maybe, Mahler would have liked to have said to Alma: “Forgive me for the other three movements ...” The fourth movement is best known because of its hammer blows, which still give rise to much speculation. They perhaps represent fate’s brutal strokes – suffered or feared. Alma Mahler interpreted them as both: the anticipation of her daughter Maria Anna´s death at the age of four and her husband´s premonition of death due to heart problems. Mahler never said more than that the symphony would be ʽenigmaticʼ. Tennstedt related the negative highlights to himself; the death of his own daughter Heidi and the never-ending concerns over his own poor health. Klaus Tennstedt: The Sixth Symphony is for the orchestra the most tiring one. At the end of it [he breathes out hard] the orchestra is wet. And tired, you know, but that‘s not the problem. The problem is to interpret all these different things, much more than in other Mahler symphonies. His ideas are sometimes crazy. And the harmony is not so clear; often very dissonant, there´s a lot of extreme polyphony. In other symphonies, it‘s necessary that you have a good balance between emotion, that means heart, and intellect. But in this symphony, you must have more heart. They have to play like devils and angels. They have to exaggerate almost the 210

whole symphony. You can never relax, never in those eighty minutes. That´s unbelievably tiring for the orchestra and me, and the audience.44 Since Tennstedt had been diagnosed with throat cancer, his interpretation of the symphony became harder, rougher. He went to even greater extremes. Of all Mahler’s symphonies, it was the Sixth that he conducted most often, permanently facing up to the infinite depths of the soul and, finally, to his own end.

The Eighth Symphony Tennstedt first attempted to record this tremendous ʽSymphony of a Thousandʼ for CD in 1986. A studio production had been planned, but no studio was large enough for the hundreds of instrumentalists and singers. An alternative venue was found at the town hall at Walthamstow, a suburb to the east of London. Initially, it seemed as though Tennstedt would fail in the attempt to conquer the challenge. He had a deep-seated fear and respect for the piece. The major part of the first session was spent on details without their recording a single usable passage. Uncertainty and nervousness affected everyone. Things did improve later, but Tennstedt was never The Mahler complete CD package satisfied with the end result: “This photo: Konrad Bockemühl work is so difficult – 750 players and only one baton to control them all.”45 By then it had become clear to him that recording a live performance would have been far preferable. The outcome of the studio experience with Mahler´s Eighth was “Never again!” Klaus Tennstedt: All live! Yes, you get older and have more and more experience – and that is what it´s all about with Mahler. As a young man – wischt! – forget it! Just conducting it is easy, of course. But involving the soul, the heart, the intellect – all that is vital for Mahler because he composed his own life. 211

A good four years later, Tennstedt tackled the huge Eighth Symphony for the second time, and it had to be live. Despite poor health, he risked the logistical nightmare of performing the symphony on 27, 28 and 30 January 1991. He had been diagnosed with diabetes the previous autumn, having once again to cancel numerous concerts. But now he felt his strength returning. The scheduled BBC TV recording was to be one of the first made using the brand-new ʽhigh definitionʼ standard. Cameras at that time still needed to be brought in from all over Europe. The BBC producer responsible, Donald Sturrock, had also been instrumental in setting up the project. Donald Sturrock: Klaus said, “I would really like to do Mahler Eight live.” In London you normally do it in the Royal Albert Hall, because it’s got space. But we wanted to do it in the Royal Festival Hall, where it never had been done before. But suddenly the Philharmonia Orchestra announced that they were also going to do their Mahler Eight in the Festival Hall, with Giuseppe Sinopoli conducting. But you need space because of the many choruses and eight soloists … … and where do you put them? So Klaus sent Inge to watch and listen to the Sinopoli Mahler Eight. She went there in disguise and sat at the back of the auditorium, so no one would recognize her. Sinopoli had all the singers on either side of him at the front. The conventional way. When Inge came back and told him about it, he did things a different way by having the soloists at the back of the orchestra and in front of the chorus. He wanted to be able to see them all. Did the singers go along with it? Donald Sturrock: Julia Varady, one of the solo sopranos, had quite a tantrum in rehearsal. In the interval Klaus went in, kind of calmed her down. Afterwards she came out like a kitten, and I remember joking to Klaus, “What did you say to her?” and he just grinned at me: “Oh, I know how singers work.” I remember that after the first night Kenneth Riegel, the tenor, was virtually in a delirium of excitement. He came up to me with tears streaming down his face and said, “I waited all my life to get this performance. I sang it under Bernstein, but this is just in a different league.” He was ecstatic at the end. For Klaus it was certainly one of the highlights of his entire performing career. 212

LIVE VERSUS STUDIO There are musicians, and more to the point conductors, who prefer the unique fire of a live performance to the often-agonizing precision of a studio recording. Tennstedt was certainly one of those. He was no friend of making music bit by bit. He needed the grand sweep of a whole movement, or even an entire symphony, to find his stride. It didn’t suit him to extract sections and repeat them bar by bar. All the same, it took quite a long time for him and his comrades-in-arms to recognize and accept the value of recording live performances. Even during studio recording sessions, he was happy to leave well alone. When instrumentalists fluffed a note somewhere, he often refused to repeat the section. “Have you any idea how hard it is to play that In the studio photo: Peter Alward (2nd from left) part?” he once asked. “Leave it as it is.”46 William Schrickel, double bassist with the Minnesota Orchestra, experienced something similar: His studio recordings were different, because someone else was giving him feedback. It´s much more a collaboration with an engineer, going for a certain kind of technical perfection. That wasn´t the priority in his concerts. What you had was an overwhelming emotional perfection that I don´t ever expect to experience again. Rachel Masters, harpist, LPO: I hate playing for recordings. I find them very inhibiting. Play live, don´t go into a studio, no! It´s not the same thing at all. Peter Manning was concertmaster in various London orchestras. He conjured up the unique moment of creation: Peter Manning: Klaus´ vision of a performance like Mahler´s Sixth Symphony was as close to human artistic perfection, live music perfection, as I’ve heard in my whole life. But you could never recreate it. It’s ... ʽevanescentʼ is the word. And recordings never capture that feeling. Never. That´s why Klaus understood live music. 213

And that´s what interests me the most about music. Because all the rest is processed, supermarket music. It’s not really interesting, itʼs great ʽfor products and brandsʼ, but not for performing live. Those musicians who played for Klaus, he changed them forever. In a way, this returns music recording to its live beginnings. In its infancy there was only one run-through and that had to suffice. No one contemplated cutting the tape with scissors and replacing the cuts with improved bits. That was soon to change. The perfectionism of a faultless recording, well and truly cut and re-worked, really got going after the Second World War. Recording companies such as Deutsche Grammophon, EMI and Decca and their balance engineers started editing music recordings until every last mistake had been eradicated. It was not long before they had become the conductor´s closest colleagues – if only behind the scenes. A man like Georg Solti was perfectly suited to this way of working: “Again, again and again” was his motto. For a few old hands like Hans Knappertsbusch this went too far: “People won’t hear that anyway,” he remarked tersely, and he was probably right. The conductorʼs colleague Otto Klemperer – after listening to one of his first edited recordings – commented to his daughter: “Lotte, a fraud!” While editing the 1991 Mahler Eight, Donald Sturrock made a fascinating discovery. Of the three live concerts, the first two were recorded. Normally you would pick the best parts and jump back and forth between the recordings. It was soon obvious that this was going to be impossible. Donald Sturrock: Of the three performances, each was different! They were really significantly different in terms of tempo, in terms of pacing, sometimes even in terms of where his climaxes were. I remember thinking, it´s almost impossible to edit one performance into another. Because you spoil this sense of flow that he had from beginning to end. That was really fascinating to me. He was a conductor who was somehow able to produce an organic performance. It was not something that was entirely predictable. It was like something being invoked, it was born, it came organically into existence.

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LONDON PHILHARMONIC O RCHESTRA - TWO Principal Conductor 1983-87

With its impressive collection of museums, cinemas, theaters, concert halls and musical venues London could quite rightly be called the cultural center of the world. Which other city can be as proud of its whole handful of internationally famous orchestras, each able to draw huge audiences? The London Philharmonic Orchestra, the LPO, is one of these. Like the Berlin Philharmonic, the LPO is self-governing, choosing its own conductor independently. That, though, is where the similarity ends. For the most part, the LPO is responsible for its own income. At this time, every tenured musician holds a share in the `company´ – London Philharmonic Orchestra Ltd. Its own constitution requires, for instance that, with the exception of the leader and his assistant, all

London Philharmonic Orchestra, principal conductor Klaus Tennstedt

photo: LPO

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musicians be paid equally. If the orchestra does not perform, they earn no Although their budget is subsidized by roughly 20 per income. cent in recent years , that doesn‘t allow them to be choosy when it comes to customer contracts. Pop events, film scores, classical symphony concerts and even more recently the sound-track to a computer game – they are all candidates for performance. This broad spectrum helps them become the London orchestra with the highest number of annual performances, tightly-scheduled tours and a rather loose acquaintance with union regulations. The result is often a seven-day week, leaving scarce time for practice. Since summer 1979 Georg Solti had been principal conductor of the orchestra. But after a relatively short time the atmosphere between him and the musicians deteriorated, and he decided to give up the London orchestra and concentrate entirely on Chicago. It therefore made sense to offer the succession to the principal guest conductor, and the orchestra elected Tennstedt as its new chief from the start of the 1983-84 season, unanimously and with great relief. Such were the tempestuous years in which Klaus conducted his way into the hearts of both the musicians and the London audiences. Over the following three seasons Tennstedt performed a cornucopia of concerts. In addition to the German-Austrian classics, these included composers such as Kodály, Mussorgsky and Messiaen. However, the majority of works were not new to him – merely the result of a fanatically busy 30-year life as a conductor. Astonishingly, he made almost no cancellations. An overview of his first three years as principal conductor with the LPO: Concert programs for Tennstedt as principal conductor, LPO, 1983-84 Part 3 19 & 20 Sept. 1983 Beethoven: Symphonies No. 8 and No. 9 (Soloists: Linda Esther Gray, Anne-Sophie von Otter, Chris Merritt, Robert Lloyd) 21 & 22 Sept. 1983 STUDIO - Brahms: Symphony No. 1; Abbey Road 22, 23 & 26 Sept. 1983 STUDIO - Kodály: Háry János Suite; Prokofiev: Lieu- tenant Kijé; Abbey Road Studios 27 Sept. 1983 Mussorgsky: Night on the Bald Mountain; Tchaikovsky: Piano Concerto (Soloist: Ivo Pogorelich); Strauss: Also sprach Zarathustra 6 Feb. 1984 Mozart: Magic flute Overture; Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 3 (Soloist: Annerose Schmidt); Brahms: Symphony No. 4 12 Feb. 1984 Stravinsky: Petrushka; Orff: Carmina Burana (Soloists: Janet Perry, James Bowman, John Rawnsley)

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16 Feb. 1984 Messiaen: Oiseaux Exotiques; Prokofiev: Piano Con- certo No. 3 (Soloist: Peter Donohoe); Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 6 Pathétique 19 Feb. 1984 Haydn: Die Schöpfung (Soloists: Lucia Popp, Anthony Rolfe Johnson, Benjamin Luxon) 20 Mar. 1984 Mozart: Symphony No. 35 Haffner, Mahler: Symphony No. 5 29 Mar.- 19 April 1984 Hong Kong and Japan Tour, 12 concerts in 13 days 7 May 1984 Wagner: Venusberg bacchanale from Tannhäuser; Tristan and Isolde, Prelude and Love Death, Sieg- fried´s Rhine Journey, Funeral March and Immolation Scene from Götterdämmerung (Soloist: Jessye Norman) 10 May 1984 Walton: Overture, Portsmouth Point; Haydn: Cello Concerto (Soloist: Heinrich Schiff); Bruckner: Symphony No. 7 11 & 12 May 1984 STUDIO - Beethoven: Symphonies Nos. 6 and 8; Overtures: Prometheus, Egmont, Leonore No.3; Abbey Road Dec. 1982 & 25 Aug.1984 STUDIO - Mahler: Das Lied von der Erde (Soloists: Agnes Baltsa, Klaus König): Abbey Road Studios Principal conductor, LPO, 1984-85: 19, 20 & 23-25 Aug. 1984 STUDIO - Brahms: Ein deutsches Requiem (Soloists: Jessye Norman, Jorma Hynninen); Abbey Road Studios 26 Aug. 1984 Mozart: Serenade K 388; Brahms: Ein deutsches Requiem (Soloists: Lucia Popp, Thomas Allen) 27 & 29 Sept. 1984 Brahms: Piano Concerto No. 2 (Soloist: Maurizio Pollini); Beethoven Symphony No. 3 Eroica 4 Oct. 1984 Schubert: Symphony No. 8 Unfinished; Mendelssohn Bartholdy: Piano Concerto (Soloist: Maya Weltman); Dvořák: Symphony No. 9 (From the New World) 7 Oct. 1984 von Weber: Oberon Overture; Schumann: Piano Con- certo (Soloist: Jorge Bolet); Schubert: Symphony No. 9 Great C Major 14 Oct.- 9 Nov. 1984 US Tour, 18 concerts in 17 venues 5 Feb. 1985 Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 4 (Soloist: Alfred Brendel); Bruckner: Symphony No. 4 12 Feb. 1985 Mozart: Symphony No. 41 Jupiter; Mahler: Symphony No. 1 20 Feb.- 7 Mar. 1985 Australia Tour, 8 concerts in 15 days, Leeuwin Estate, Margaret river (vineyard), Perth, Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane; Co-conductor: Avi Ostrovsky (Soloist: Igor Oistrakh) 1 May 1985 Britten: Sea Interludes from Peter Grimes; Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 4 (Soloist: Cecile Ousset); Strauss: Also sprach Zarathustra

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2 May 1985 5 May 1985 12 May 1985

STUDIO - Brahms: Schicksalslied; Abbey Road Studios Beethoven: Symphonies No. 6 Pastoral & No. 7 Wagner: Rienzi Overture; Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 3 (Soloist: Radu Lupu); Janáček: Glagolitic Mass (Soloists: Sheila Armstrong, Ameral Gunson, Robert Tear, William Shimell)

Principal conductor, LPO, 1985-86: 13 Sept. 1985 Prom. Mozart: Symphony No. 41 Jupiter; Beethoven: Symphony No. 9 (Soloists: Marianne Häggander, Alfreda Hodgson, Robert Tear, Gwynne Howell); Royal Albert Hall 18 Sept. 1985 Verdi: Requiem (Soloists: Julia Varady, Waltraud Meier, David Rendall, Paata Burchuladze) 29 Sept. 1985 Andrew Litton replacing Tennstedt. Brahms: Violin Con- certo (Soloist: Kyung-Wha Chung); Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 5 3 Feb. 1986 Vladimir Ashkenazy replacing Tennstedt. Schumann: Manfred Overture; Piano Concerto (Soloist: Radu Lupu); Strauss: Ein Heldenleben 18 Mar. 1986 Mahler: Symphony No. 6 23 Mar. 1986 Stravinsky: Firebird Suite (1919); Orff: Catulli Carmina (Soloists: Janet Perry, David Rendall) 25 Mar. 1986 Kodály: Háry János Suite Liszt: Piano Concerto No. 2 (Soloist: Jon Kimura Parker); Mahler: Symphony No. 4 (Soloist: Teresa Cahill) 20-24 April 1986 STUDIO - Mahler: Symphony No. 8 (Soloists: Elizabeth Connell, Edith Wiens, Felicity Lott, Trudeliese Schmidt, Nadine Denize, Richard Versalle, Jorma Hyn- ninen, Hans Sotin); Walthamstow Town Hall, London 4 May 1986 Strauss: Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme; Orchestral Songs: Cäcilie, Zuneigung, Wiegenlied, Ruhe meine Seele, Meinem Kinde, & Final scene from Salome (Soloist: Jessye Norman) 7 May 1986 Brahms: Piano Concerto No. 2 (Soloist: Peter Donohoe); Symphony No. 4 12 May 1986 Beethoven: Leonore No. 3 Overture; Violin Concerto (Soloist: Shlomo Mintz); Symphony No. 5

A year and a half after Tennstedt´s appointment as principal conductor, the orchestra management entered a serious crisis. For too long, problems had been ignored and so remained unsolved. Also at Tennstedt´s behest, from 1 April 1985 John Willan was brought in 218

Kurt Masur, John Willan, Klaus Tennstedt

photo: Judy Grahame

as the new managing director. They had known each other very well since the EMI recordings began in 1977, and a sincere, trusting friendship had grown up between them. Willan was expected to put the orchestra back on its feet, both artistically and in monetary terms. He brought in financially-sound sponsors and broke up the rigid structures that had been in place. He made exclusive deals with great conductors – Bernard Haitink, Riccardo Muti, Simon Rattle and Wolfgang Sawallisch, to name but a few. No one (with the obvious exception of Inge) had spent longer with Klaus Tennstedt than this manager. He and Judy Grahame (who were a married couple at that time) became something of a second family for Klaus and Inge. This explains, to an even greater extent, why London was the true artistic home, the spiritual focal point for the German musician. John Willan talks about his change from skeptic to best friend. Georg Wübbolt: What was your first encounter with Klaus like? John Willan: I didn’t rate him much. He smoked like a chimney, and I confess his conducting struck me as average. But I had to get on with it. We had nine Mahler symphonies to record, for starters. 219

What changed your mind? The recording of Prokofiev’s Lieutenant Kijé. It wasn’t his thing and I was worried sick. It needed the kind of absolute precision which I thought was beyond him. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He took my breath away. As we produced one fantastic recording after another, I realized I was working with a great artist. With him, from the first downbeat there was a magic which gripped players and public alike; and, despite his poor English, he got exactly what he wanted. How did he pull it off? His beat was imprecise, his gestures ungainly – players called him ʽthe demented storkʼ – and sometimes he propelled his baton into the orchestra. What else caught your eye? He hated critics. He wanted to be praised all the time, like a little boy. He expected the orchestra to love him, the audience to love him, everybody to love him. Quite quaint, and not very intelligent. I certainly think he was an insecure man. The impression most people got of him was that he was a brilliant conductor. He was a peasant. He came from nowhere, was not educated and dressed badly, although terribly expensively. He would always go to places in London like Harrods and spend a fortune on clothes, but they didn´t match. Awful. To me though, he was simply Klaus. We talked about sex a lot. He was a very sexual man. Not in a nasty way. For him sex was a very sophisticated art form. He was very reliant on Inge. I think he treated her very badly. He didn´t set out to be nasty, it was just his way. We spent a week together and went out for lunch on Saturday, and he made her sit in the car. And she did! Why did she go along with it? I think she was desperately in love with him. He didn´t have to do anything, she did it all for him. My impression – from being with her a lot – is that she got up in the morning and ran Klaus´ life. She was there for every concert, every rehearsal. Everything that he achieved, she did for him. It was astonishing to watch. I don´t know whether she was so convinced of him as a musician or whether she just loved him. I suspect she worshipped him. Did you see the ʽwall of fameʼ with all his awards and honors? Yes. I think he was quite self-centered in a way. It was: ʽKlaus is the most important thing on this earth.ʼ But in a nice way. He was 220

like a little boy, had his pat from the teacher [pats himself on the shoulder], and was proud of showing off his car with its Emily mascot on the bonnet. I went to Heikendorf an awful lot. Usually we would sit in his kitchen. Inge would produce some food. Klaus would have all his cigarettes laid out on the radiator, to dry them out. And then he´d have cigarette after cigarette, one beer after another, and we´d talk, and we´d talk, and we´d talk about the orchestra, when to conduct, which repertoire. I really wanted him to work. I went every two months. Did you spend the night in his apartment? Never. They slept in separate bedrooms. And when the weather was nice, we would sit on his balcony looking down towards Kiel harbor. He always told me the same thing: that is the busiest harbor in the world. Standing there you could see the Danish Islands … ach … After lunch or dinner, he would say: “We have to watch my Mahler Eight.” “I´ve seen it before, Klaus.” “But we´re going to watch it.” “OK.” And he´d always put on the second part. There are musicians who can´t watch themselves, who can´t listen to themselves, but he was captivated by his own image. Tennstedt was at the height of his career: principal conductor of the London Philharmonic Orchestra, beloved by all, in demand from the best ensembles in the world. It didn’t take long for nearly all the Mahler symphonies to be recorded, as well as many other great works. His schedule was full for a number of years to come, and he was flattered to be considered ʽthe world´s most wanted guest conductorʼ. The list of orchestras and opera houses where he conducted is impressive (starting in 1971, the year of his defection to the West): Bamberg Symphony Orchestra Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra Bavarian State Opera Munich Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra Boston Symphony Orchestra Canadian Chamber Orchestra Chicago Symphony Orchestra Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra 221

Cleveland Orchestra Cuvilliés-Theatre, Munich Dallas Symphony Orchestra Danish National Symphony Orchestra Detroit Symphony Orchestra Deutsche Oper Berlin Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra Gothenburg, Stora Theater Helsinki Symphony Orchestra Kiel Opera and Symphony Orchestra Komische Oper Berlin London Symphony Orchestra London Philharmonic Orchestra Metropolitan Opera New York Minnesota Orchestra Montreal Symphony Orchestra Munich Philharmonic Orchestra National Symphony Orchestra Washington National Radio Orchestra France North German Radio Symphony Orchestra Hamburg (NDR) New York Philharmonic Orchestra Orchestre National de France Philadelphia Orchestra Pittsburg Symphony Orchestra Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra Amsterdam Radio Symphony Orchestra Berlin San Francisco Symphony Orchestra Southwest German Symphony Orchestra (SWR) Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra Toronto Symphony Orchestra Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra (Compilation by Mark Hood) He has conducted some of the American orchestras several dozen times, with New York and Boston reaching 35 concerts each, his London Philharmonic more than 100, plus 62 days of studio recordings and more than 100 touring concerts in Europe and overseas. The list of American orchestras easily outnumbered the rest. But there were nine German ones, first and foremost the orchestra of the Kiel Opera and the symphony orchestra of the North German Broadcasting Corporation (NDR). If you add the Berlin Philharmonic, then he was quite well-represented in Germany. 222

He is very familiar with all the world‘s most important conductors: Norman Lebrecht, the London-based journalist, blogger, radio presenter and bestselling author. For him, Klaus will for all time figure in the top rank of orchestra leaders. When I, the author of this book, interviewed him a few years ago about my film biographies of Georg Solti and Leonard Bernstein, we also got to talk about Tennstedt. Norman bubbled over with enthusiasm – and from then on I put myself on the track of this unique conductor. We met at Norman‘s London home. Georg Wübbolt: What was your first impression of Klaus? Norman Lebrecht: He was just the anti-maestro! I can´t tell you how refreshing it was, because the music world was so regimented in those days. You had to conform, and Klaus was one who didn´t conform. He was a perfectly natural musician. There was nothing artificial about him, he was the antithesis of the publicity-driven star of those times. If he liked you, he was incredibly warm and friendly. It was so refreshing, it was so un-German [laughs]. What mattered to him was the desire to make music, the joy of making music. Food, drink, cigarettes, women [laughs]. Which is not bad.

Norman Lebrecht with Klaus Tennstedt

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Why did the musicians like him, what was so special? Leonard Bernstein once said that a conductor is not there to make the orchestra play. He´s there to make the orchestra want to play. And if you watched Klaus in front of an orchestra – in front of the right orchestra! – they wanted to play [with emphasis]. They absolutely wanted to play for this man, who was going to give his everything. Yes, that was Klaus. What was that story about a banner? He came back to London after being ill for a couple of months, it was Mahler Two. People in the audience held a banner with [widens his arms] `Welcome back, Klaus´. Where do you see something like that? There was such affection for him, there was such warmth, and that was not an easy orchestra. They were divided into many factions, some of them really hated each other. The only thing that united them was Klaus. Which concert impressed you the most? Norman Lebrecht: I remember the Mahler Five that he did where, for whatever reason, he decided that the Adagietto was going to be the slowest that anybody had ever done. You know the span of time in the Adagietto? Mahler thought it would be about nine minutes, he wrote that in the score. Mengelberg does it in just under eight, the average is ten or eleven. Klaus, on that occasion, did about five seconds under fourteen minutes! It was the slowest and most Adagietto one could possibly imagine. And when it finished, he did exactly as Mahler said in the score: no break, go straight into the Finale. And Klaus by that time was so covered in sweat that he couldn‘t see through his glasses. So he put down the baton [imitates the action], took his glasses off and wiped them on his shirt-tail [imitates], giving the beat with his left kneecap, that´s all they had, going at a tremendous pace in the Finale. The orchestra was following his kneecap! Kneecap, maybe with a bit of elbow. Put his glasses back on and picked up the baton, that´s all [shakes with laughter]. Those were the things that made Klaus unique! Nobody would attempt that, nobody would attempt that!

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W ORLD TOURS

Hong Kong and Japan, USA (1984) Australia (1985)

Tours are stressful. That was apparent on the Hong Kong leg of the 1984 tour. There was an extremely tightly-packed schedule with a concert almost every day, followed in Japan by a chase across the country with usually at least one rail journey on the day of a concert. Without sufficient sleep or rest, and suffering from jetlag, the musicians had to give top performances every evening. Despite its being torture, it also left unforgettable memories. Tennstedt was still at the apex of his abilities; his psychological condition was pretty stable with no looming threat of a breakdown. All the same, it was better to be on the safe side. His recording label EMI asked the Berlin music journalist, Klaus Geitel, to accompany their protégé on the tour. Not as a critic but as moral support, someone Klaus could talk to – in German. Klaus Geitel: Tennstedt always seemed slightly other-wordly, totally lost in the music. The orchestra musicians were all enthusiasts and quite simply loved playing under him. Neither before nor since have I encountered a more idealistically-minded orchestra. Tennstedt was undoubtedly a conductor after their own hearts, and his art consisted of speaking to the heart. Music was his elixir of life, it ruled his thoughts, feelings, his entire existence.47 The LPO publicity manager Judy Grahame also did all in her power to make her friend´s life as pleasant as possible, securing medical care, first class flights and keeping interviews with the press to a minimum. On this tour the Londoners had four different programs in the bag. As the Hong Kong concerts demonstrated, all four were heavy-duty. At home they would only have played one concert with such a weighty program, in case the repeat performance was not sold out. In this instance they played Mahler´s Fifth, Bruckner´s Fourth (five times each) and Brahms´ First and Fourth in quick succession: altogether a mammoth sixteen concerts in nineteen days. Japan experienced a growing love for the great symphony orchestras of Europe in the 1950s, barely a decade after the devastation of the bombs on Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Herbert von Karajan was one 227

of the first to be invited, with his Berlin Philharmonic, causing a furore in the Land of the Rising Sun. Only hours after the concert, his musicians were amazed to see themselves playing on television in their hotels. While on a shopping spree the next morning, they were greeted warmly and asked to sign autographs. The whole country knew who they were. Karajan discovered the power of television with regard to his own person. In Japan conductors were worshipped like deities, their fees rose to dizzy heights. A huge record market opened up. Fan clubs were founded. Travelling by air was a nightmare though, because at the time it still took more than two days from London with propeller-driven machines and a number of transit stops.

Queuing for an autograph

photo: Akira Kinoshita

Tennstedt experienced a good bit of the ongoing euphoria which stretched even as far as the hotel staff. A chambermaid gave him a going-away present, explaining that she had been to all his concerts and wanted to show her gratitude. On another occasion, he was resting when a knock at his hotel door revealed the entire cleaning staff waiting in line for autographs. This was all new for Tennstedt. His first big world tour seemed like a fairy tale – in stark contrast to his experience on the old continent. In Asia he was bowled over by the attention and admiration he received. Klaus Geitel witnessed how a television team was waiting at every train stop in readiness for their arrival. Tennstedt turned round every time to see who the recipient of such attention could be! An amused Geitel described how “the Japanese television pundits created a series of films of Tennstedt´s back”.48 228

Concert tour: Hong Kong and Japan 30 March - 21 April 1984 30 March 1984 Flight London-Gatwick - Bahrein - Hong Kong 31 March 1984 Day off in Hong Kong 1 April 1984 Hong Kong City Hall. Wagner: Die Meistersinger Overture; Mozart: Symphony No. 35; Brahms: Symphony No. 4 2 April 1984 Hong Kong City Hall. Mozart: Symphony No. 35; Mahler: Symphony No. 5 3 April 1984 Hong Kong City Hall. Haydn: Symphony. No. 94; Britten: Sea Interludes; Brahms: Symphony No. 1 4 April 1984 Hong Kong City Hall. Schubert: Symphony No. 8 Unfinished*; Bruckner: Symphony No. 4 5 April 1984 Flight to Tokyo (11:30am- 4:20pm) 6 April 1984 Tokyo. Mozart: Symphony No. 35; Mahler: Symphony No. 5 7 April 1984 Tokyo. Haydn: Symphony No. 94; Britten: Sea Inter- ludes; Brahms: Symphony No. 1 8 April 1984 Yokohama. Wagner: Die Meistersinger Overture; Mozart: Symphony No. 35; Brahms: Symphony No. 4 10 April 1984 Shizuoka. Mozart: Symphony No. 35; Mahler: Symphony No. 5 11 April 1984 Tokyo. Schubert, Symphony No. 8 Unfinished*; Bruckner: Symphony No. 4 12 April 1984 Nagoya. Mozart: Figaro Overture; Schubert: Symphony No. 8 Unfinished; Bruckner: Symphony No. 4 13 April 1984 Osaka. Mozart: Symphony No. 35; Mahler: Symphony No. 5, recorded by Tokyo FM 14 April 1984 Osaka. Haydn: Symphony No. 94; Britten: Sea Inter- ludes; Brahms: Symphony No. 1 15 April 1984 Kumamoto. Schubert: Symphony No. 8 Unfinished; Bruckner: Symphony No. 4 17 April 1984 Fukuoka. Wagner: Die Meistersinger Overture, Mozart: Symphony No. 35, Brahms: Symphony No. 4 18 April 1984 Okinawa. Mozart: Symphony No. 35; Mahler: Symphony No. 5 19 April 1984 Okinawa. Schubert, Symphony No. 8 Unfinished*; Bruckner: Symphony No. 4 20 April 1984 Return flight: Tokyo - Anchorage - London Heathrow (Saturday 21 April) *According to recent findings, Symphony No. 8 `Unfinished´ was composed after No. 9, the `Great C Major´, so that in new publications the numbers have been switched. We are retaining the old numbering.

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Tennstedt made himself scarce again, staying put in his hotel room studying his scores. The Stern magazine journalist at the time, Jürgen Kesting, remembers how the maestro finally went along to a restaurant after much coaxing. He was persuaded to have an exquisite seafood platter, but acknowledged the treat with an “I‘d rather have a sauerbraten at home.”49 It is tantamount to a miracle that Tennstedt managed to stay the course. But huge applause and standing ovations were underpinning his self-confidence. From Tokyo, with a stopover at Anchorage in Alaska, he returned to London trying to relax in first class, able to smoke and, of course, to drink whisky. Sounds like a pleasant time, but let‘s hear what Tennstedt had to say about it: It is awful, I hate it! When we flew back from Japan, the whole trip took 32 hours, and I didn´t sleep at all in these 32 hours. I can´t sleep in planes. But you forget it when you´ve had a successful tour. Six months later, another tour – this time across the United States, from 14 October to 9 November 1984. It was even more comprehensive, involving even greater stress. The main sponsor was Bacardi. Once again there were four different programs, with ʽRomanticʼ main works similar to those on the Hong Kong and Japan tour: Brahms‘ First, Mahler´s Fifth, Beethoven´s Third Symphony ʽEroicaʼ and, fittingly, Dvořák´s Ninth (ʽFrom the New Worldʼ). Almost always they traveled to their next venue on the actual day of the concert. U.S. Tour, Tennstedt & LPO, 14 Oct.-9 Nov. 1984: New Orleans (Louisiana) Fort Worth, College Station, San Antonio, Austin (all Texas) Phoenix (Arizona) Las Vegas (Nevada) Pasadena, Los Angeles, Torrance, San Francisco (California) Salt Lake City (Utah) Denver (Colorado) Minneapolis (Minnesota) Washington DC New York, Carnegie Hall, two concerts Boston (Massachusetts)

The tour comprized eighteen concerts in seventeen different locations. For the most part they traveled by Greyhound bus (another sponsor), but reached a few venues by plane. The daily routine was exhausting. After the concert, on the bus to a hotel, unpacking suitcases; after 230

breakfast back on the bus with hour-long journeys or driving to the airport, checking in, checking out, cases, buses, the next hotel, often on the same day as a concert, all the while crossing four different time zones. There were some enjoyable exceptions. A few musicians organized a trip to the Grand Canyon from Phoenix, Arizona. In Los Angeles they spent a luxurious four whole nights in the same hotel. In Pasadena Judy Grahame went looking for an ashtray for her boss. She was told there were none and anyway, smoking was strictly forbidden in the entire concert venue. ʽIt´s in the contract – no smoking for anyone, anywhere in the buildingʼ. Klaus was hidden in a wardrobe, and some perfume was sprayed to conceal the smell of tobacco smoke. Thus far Tennstedt had managed to keep up with the strenuous pace of the tour, inspiring his musicians to surpass themselves in performance; critics were mostly enthusiastic. In America the German had become a cult figure. A super-hero. Sadly, it was to be the last time he pulled off a tour program on his own. At the end of the tour, after the last concert in Boston, he collapsed. This time the breakdown was so severe that he called off all performances for the next few months, and postponed the booked recording sessions. The result was once again a major block of cancellations. His manager, Ronald Wilford, maintained the fiction that ʽthe show must go onʼ. Questions as to his star conductor´s health were met with a flippant “Oh, he´s fine.” For him Tennstedt was merely a hypochondriac. His musicians, on the other hand, were concerned because they witnessed him falling apart. Gordon Hunt, 1st oboe, LPO: He smoked 100 cigarettes a day. It killed him; he couldn´t stop smoking. He had no care for his health. He was a talented schoolboy all his life. He never quite grew up. The balcony at home in Heikendorf was where he was able to relax best. A cigarette, the occasional beer and his amazing view over the Baltic Sea. Holding a huge pair of binoculars, he followed the paths of sailing boats, submarines and ferries. He had hardly recovered at all before the next tour dragged him off to the other side of the globe. He trekked across Australia with his London Philharmonic for two weeks, mainly sponsored by the Leeuwin Estate Winery which is located some 200 miles south of Perth in Western Australia. The first concert was in the open air on the vast 231

Leeuwin Estate concert

vineyard estate. Between four and five thousand guests came, including the governor and local dignitaries. Although the rehearsal was canceled due to the very high temperature – the muscians were concerned for the safety of their instruments – the evening cooled down enough for the performance to take place. Unfortunately, the musicians had some unsolicited competition from feathered friends. In the pleasant evening air groups of kookaburras felt inspired to join forces and offered a counterpoint to the classical items on the program. It sounded like mass crazed laughter. No wonder the bird is otherwise known as the `Laughing Jackass´. Even a few curious kangaroos are said to have been spotted. There was one drawback. Kookaburras With the idea of lightening Tennstedt´s load, a co-conductor had been appointed, in the person of Yevgeny Svetlanov. But just before departure he suffered a heart attack. At the last minute a replacement was found: the Israeli Avi 232

Ostrowsky. This was a decision which was destined to cause a problem on the tour. In Melbourne the Russian solo violinist Igor Oistrakh refused to work with that man. He found it impossible to be on the same stage, offering instead to both play and conduct the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto himself. Otherwise they would have needed to find another conductor. The phones rang off the hook, and when the management rejected his demands, Oistrakh found it necessary to call in sick for the day due to an ʽunfortunate muscle painʼ. The critic Kenneth Hince from the Melbourne daily paper The Age was lucky enough to experience the same orchestra on two successive evenings with two different conductors. He described the performance with Ostrowsky: In the whole of the first half the orchestra’s response to him was nervous, unstable, and half-hearted. His handling of the Fifth Symphony of Tchaikovsky was unsympathetic, rhetorical but empty, played for the last pennyweight of showy effect and, in the end, vulgar. Yet on the next night, under Klaus Tennstedt, this same orchestra gave a stupendous, cataclysmic performance of the Seventh Symphony of Bruckner. Tennstedt conducted like a man possessed, and I suppose that at the time he was possessed. There was hardly a nuance or an accent in this towering score that escaped his notice, and his fidelity to Bruckner was clear in his every gesture. Australian Tour: 20 Feb.-7 March 1985, Tennstedt & LPO Co-Conductor: Avi Ostrowsky 20 Feb. 1985 22 - 24 Feb. 1985 26 Feb. 28 Feb. 1 March 2 March 3 March 4 & 5 Mar. 7 March 1985

Arrival Perth, Western Australia Leeuwin Estate Winery, Margaret River Perth. Tennstedt conducting, Soloist: Igor Oistrakh Melbourne, Concert Hall. Tennstedt conducting, Soloist: Igor Oistrakh Melbourne, Concert Hall. Co-conductor Avi Ostrowsky. (Oistrakh canceled concert) Sydney, Opera House. Tennstedt Sydney, Opera House. Ostrowsky Brisbane. Tennstedt/Ostrowsky Departure

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The reviewer admitted that, after his forty years venerating Bruckner, he had never experienced such a magnificent performance. This tour, at least, was completed without its principal conductor suffering a breakdown.

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LONDON PHILHARMONIC O RCHESTRA - THREE Conductor Laureate from 1987

As early as 1985 Tennstedt had been complaining of having difficulty swallowing, and his voice had become more of a croak. His wife Inge had been concerned for quite a while, as her husband‘s normal sonorous bass had changed to a hoarse, rasping sound. She told herself it was hardly surprising after decades of extreme tobacco consumption. Klaus was due to conduct in Philadelphia in September of that year. Richard Cisek flew in from Minneapolis to see his friend. Richard Cisek: I asked the manager: How is Klaus getting on? And he said: Well, he had something in his throat, and the doctor looked at it right after the concert and said, it could possibly be cancer. That's when Klaus just fell apart. I came in to look for him, and he was – metaphorically speaking – under the bed, that´s how badly it hit him. He could not deal with it. The diagnosis was confirmed the next day when Klaus visited the doctor´s office for an examination: carcinoma of the larynx. It was a devastating blow. Even the doctor´s prognosis of a 90 percent recovery for such early diagnoses did not reassure him. Inge understood her husband´s state of mind: “There was still the other 10 percent left to worry about.”50 Despite there being no urgent need for treatment to begin immediately, all performances were canceled on the spot. The shock was too severe. The first to be affected was the London Philharmonic Orchestra, then the Berlin Philharmonic and a whole schedule of recording sessions. For the first time, after eight months of non-stop concerts, Tennstedt was unavailable for a long period. So he sat on his beloved balcony looking out over the Kiel Fjord, but this time he was anything but relaxed and content. He was troubled with a gnawing feeling of uncertainty and the fear that, give or take 90 percent, he might not have long to live. How could he run a rehearsal if he lost his voice? No rehearsal – no performance. Did that mean the end of his career? Such thoughts went round and round in his head. The time had obviously come to quit smoking, because cancers of this kind often occur in combination with alcohol consumption. 235

His doctors made it perfectly clear: abstinence was vital. The internal was enough for Klaus to forgo his beloved cigarettes and turmoil chew licorice. In the following six months he was given a total of 70 radiology treatments, roughly three each week. It would have been a good time to delve into scores or learn new pieces, but instead Klaus was obsessed with the diagnosis, focusing on the potentially fatal outcome of the cancer. The setback was so severe that Tennstedt questioned his ability to continue as principal conductor of the London Philharmonic Orchestra. It was a position that involved not only rehearsals and performances but also painstaking administrative duties currently undertaken together with John Willan, the new managing director. These were planning programs, inviting other conductors and soloists, dictating correspondence, holding auditions, dealing with the press and much Tennstedt with friend Max Staudt more. Keith Millar, percussion, LPO: We always gave him a very relaxed schedule, as much as possible. But rehearsals, six hours a day? It was still very draining for him. Klaus Tennstedt: There wasn´t a moment I could forget the cancer. It was omnipresent, the whole time. My head was full of my sickness. Whatever I did, the thought of it would not go away.50 He was even unable to put on a record and listen to music; neither his own nor that of colleagues. However he said he did play chess, read Hermann Hesse and Thomas Mann51 and – amazingly – played a little Johann Sebastian Bach on the piano. Until now he had pretty much avoided this composer. During his time in Schwerin he may have included an Orchestral Suite or a Brandenburg Concerto in his programs, but never a St Matthew Passion or a B minor Mass or anything similar. Tennstedt had no interest in non-secular music. Now though, he was moved by it. His life would conceivably end soon. “I didn´t kneel down to pray to God,” he said, “but maybe I prayed inside.” 236

Six months later, his doctor pronounced the reassuring news that his laryngeal cancer was no longer visible; he was healthy. Shortly afterwards he conducted the first of three concerts in the Royal Festival Hall with his two favorites, the London Philharmonic Orchestra and Gustav Mahler´s Sixth Symphony. He was still hoarse – not from the cancer, he insisted, but from the radiology treatment. It soon became apparent that he was not perfectly healthy, since the radiology had considerably sapped his strength. It was a tightrope walk, a balancing act maintaining his vitality, his artistic confidence and his optimism. The first couple of weeks in London feeling fine were followed by a breakdown in Boston, a further start in Philadelphia, but then canceling the tour to Italy and Germany.52 It was a horror scenario for his managers, and an unqualified disappointment for fans waiting eagerly for his comeback. John Willan: It was terrible, we regularly had to find somebody else. On the other hand, being cynical, it meant he was in great demand. So when he did come, you couldn´t get a ticket. Principal conductor LPO 1986-87: KlausTennstedt Part 4 18 & 21 Sept. 1986 Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 5 (Soloist: Maurizio Pollini); Symphony No. 7 19 Sept. 1986 STUDIO - Strauss: Also sprach Zarathustra, Don Juan, Till Eulenspiegel; Walthamstow Assembly Rooms, London 25 Sept. 1986 Cardiff. Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 20 K.466, (Soloist: Mitsuko Uchida): Beethoven: Symphony No. 3 Eroica 26 Sept. 1986 Swansea Festival. Gluck: Iphigénie en Aulide Over- ture: Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 1 (Soloist: Maya Weltman): Strauss: Ein Heldenleben 28. Sept. 1986 Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 2 (Soloist: Peter Donohoe): Symphony No. 3 Eroica 1 Oct. 1986 Gluck: Iphigénie en Aulide Overture; Beethoven: Pia- no Concerto No. 1 (Soloist: Maya Weltman); Strauss: Ein Heldenleben 3 Oct.1986 Dvořák: Five Slavonic Dances; Bernstein: Symphonic dances from West Side Story; de Falla: Three- Cornered Hat Suites 1 & 2; Ravel: Bolero 5 Oct. 1986 Mahler: Symphony No. 3 (Soloist: Waltraud Meier) 8 - 10 Oct. 1986 STUDIO - Mahler, Symphony No. 8; Westminster Cathedral, London (organ only recording for STUDIO from 20-24 April 1986) 4 Nov. 1986 Neeme Järvi replacing Tennstedt Bruckner: Symphony No. 8 1 Mar. 1987 Stanislaw Skrowaczewski replacing Tennstedt Mahler: Symphony No. 2

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5 Mar. 1987 Franz Welser-Möst replacing Tennstedt. Sibelius: Violin Concerto (Soloist: Elmar Oliveira); Beethoven: Symphony No. 6 Pastoral 25 Aug. 1987 Prom. James Loughran replacing Tennstedt. Barber: Adagio for strings; Mahler: Kindertotenlieder (Soloist: Brigitte Fassbaender); Brahms: Symphony No. 4; Royal Albert Hall

Conducting one of the Promenade concerts in the Royal Albert Hall is an outstanding occasion for any musician. It is London´s largest concert hall, offering standing room and seating for 8,400 people. Klaus Tennstedt had always enjoyed the very special atmosphere. In previous years his concerts had been enormous successes, particularly Mahler´s Sixth. A `Prom´ concert was scheduled for 25 August 1987 with Johannes Brahms´ Fourth Symphony, preceded by Kindertotenlieder, again featuring Brigitte Fassbaender as the soloist. Three days prior to the performance Inge was already deeply concerned about her husband, who had been nervous for some time. A month before that a small node had been removed from a vocal chord. He did not make it public, merely said he did not feel ready to stand in front of the orchestra. All the same, he flew with Inge to London. The press conference was quickly canceled, to avoid taxing his voice unnecessarily. The maestro was persuaded to begin the rehearsal. The first movement of the Brahms symphony seemed to go perfectly and the musicians were relieved. After the break, though, he refused to return to the podium. His friends Judy and John begged him to at least try to continue. The German Stern reporter Jürgen Kesting was present and was asked to lend his weight. Tennstedt turned his attempts down: Klaus Tennstedt: I started the rehearsal with lots of energy simply because I felt so low. Then I blacked out. I had another operation four weeks ago, for the sixth time. And what can I expect in four days if I have to go back to the doctor? I am 61 – and I keep asking myself how all this is going to end …”53 “But you must conduct,” Kesting tried again. David Nolan, his concertmaster, could take over the rehearsal. He, Klaus could conduct from his seat. He would only need to sit there and the musicians would play as if their lives depended on it. But it was hopeless. “Where do you expect me to find the energy? I can´t do it.” Outwardly there was no sign of weakness or fatigue. The doctors had written him a clean bill of health. What was going on inside was 238

a different matter. It demonstrated perfectly the level of energy required to perform at a hundred percent – even for a rehearsal. He was not there simply to beat time. He needed to experience the music wholeheartedly, body, mind and soul, with his intuition, his unique, individual musical understanding. Every time it was a matter of life and death. No, far beyond life and death! The day dealt yet another blow for Klaus Tennstedt. He saw no recourse but to make the toughest decision of his life: he resigned his position as the orchestra’s music director. He no longer had the stamina to conduct the London Philharmonic Orchestra, to lead his beloved ʽSaitenspielʼ, his divine strings. Dismay and disappointment were beyond measure. Everyone feared that this meant the end of their collaboration. Rachel Masters, harp, LPO: There is nothing worse than seeing a sick man on the podium who shouldn’t be there. It was very, very disappointing. Maybe he just didn´t have the self-belief. Like I said, there was this vulnerability about him. Laurie Lovelle, double bass, LPO: He showed a real affection for the orchestra, which was reciprocated. This is not very common among conductors. So there was a mutual warmth. Geoffrey Lynn, 1st violin, LPO: He was one of the best in terms of how the orchestra played for him. He gave the orchestra a new lease of life. There was no one like him. Orchestra and management were faced with a dilemma: should they start looking for a successor? Tennstedt proudly stated: “They refused to look for a replacement because they were hoping for my comeback.” As a special honor he was named ʽconductor laureateʼ – their honorary conductor for life. And come back he did! After a nine-month break he conducted a concert with the LPO in May 1988 in the Royal Festival Hall, which in the meantime had become their exclusive venue. This was also thanks to John Willan. Tennstedt resigned August 1987, becoming conductor laureate

Part 5

24 Sept. 1987 Charles Groves replacing Tennstedt. Webern: Passa- caglia; Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 4 (Soloist: Maurizio Pollini); Brahms: Symphony No. 1 30 Sept. 1987 Hans Vonk replacing Tennstedt: Wagner: Prelude and Love Death from Tristan and Isolde; Bruckner: Symphony No. 7

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29 Oct. 1987 Semyon Bychkov replacing Tennstedt. Verdi: Forza del Destino Overture; Grieg: Piano Concerto (Solo- ist: Maya Weltman); Mahler: Symphony No. 1 6 May 1988 Wagner: Tannhäuser Overture and Venusberg bac- chanale; Rienzi Overture; Siegfried´s Rhine Journey and Funeral March from Götterdämmerung; Meistersinger Overture; encore: Ride of the Valkyries 18 Sept. 1988 Beethoven: Symphony No. 8; Schubert: Symphony No. 9 Great C Major 7 - 26 Oct. 1988 Hong Kong and Japan Tour, Hong Kong, City Hall. Japan: Ichikawa, Tama, Matsudo; Tokyo, Nagaoka, Sapporo, Osaka 13 Dec. 1988 Schönberg: A Warsaw Survivor (Narrator: John Shirley-Quirk); Mahler: Symphony No. 5, live recording 18 & 20 Feb. 1989 Mahler: Symphony No. 2 (Soloists: Yvonne Kenny, Jard van Nes), live recording March 1989 STUDIO - Strauss: Also sprach Zarathustra; Watford Town Hall 1 May 1989 Yuri Simonov replacing Tennstedt. Von Weber: Obe- ron Overture; Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 23 (Soloist: Maya Weltman); Schubert: Symphony No. 9 Great C Major 7 May 1989 Yuri Simonov replacing Tennstedt. Strauss: Don Juan; Till Eulenspiegel; Johann Strauss II: Overture & Act 2 of Die Fledermaus 14 Aug. 1989 Prom. Kurt Masur replacing Tennstedt. Liszt: Piano Sonata in B minor (Soloist: Peter Donohoe); Beethoven: Symphony No. 9 (Soloists: Mechthild Gessendorf, Hanna Schwarz, Anthony Rolfe Johnson, David Wilson-Johnson); Royal Albert Hall

The second far-east tour, from 7-25 October 1988, took Tennstedt back to Hong Kong and Japan. He seemed to have recovered and regained his health. There had been no cancellations in the previous six months. All the same, concern that they could suddenly occur at any time remained in the minds of the management. He himself was optimistic: “I´m pleased to be back here again,” the maestro said, “it was a fantastic experience last time.” A comprehensive article in the Hong Kong Standard even named him `the world´s most sought-after conductor‘, which Tennstedt must have found very flattering. It described how the maestro was once again accompanied by his wife, as well as a personal physiotherapist to take care of the back pain from which he was suffering. His hip was bothering him again, too. 240

However, it could not be overlooked how exhausted Tennstedt was by the end of every concert. It seemed as though every last drop of strength had been drained. There was hardly enough energy left for him to take his bows. He was drenched in sweat and unable to hide the pain walking was causing him. It was noticeable how he pressed his hand to his hip while conducting, sometimes changing the baton to his left hand. 7-26 Oct. 1988 Hong Kong and Japan Tour 9, 10, 11, 12 Oct. Hong Kong, City Hall. Four concerts. Beethoven: Symphony No. 8: Schubert: Symphony No. 9 Great C Major; Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 5 Japan: Ichikawa, Tama, Matsudo, Tokyo twice, Nagaoka, Sapporo, Osaka. 15 Oct. Ichikawa. Beethoven: Egmont Overture; Strauss: Don Juan; Beethoven: Symphony. No. 3 Eroica 18 Oct. Tokyo, Suntory Hall. Wagner program. NHK-TV broadcast (and DVD) 23 Oct. Tokyo. Program as 15 Oct. 24 & 25 Oct. Osaka. Strauss: Don Juan: Beethoven: Symphony No. 3 Eroica or Wagner program

On 18 October 1988, in the splendid Suntory Hall in Tokyo, the audience experienced one of the most magnificent concerts of the tour. Ludwig van Beethoven´s Eighth Symphony had originally been booked for 17 October, with the Great C Major from Franz Schubert the following day. The organizers, however, insisted on a huge Richard Wagner program and that is what took place: Tannhäuser Overture with Venusberg Bacchanal, the Rienzi Overture, the final scenes from Götterdämmerung and the Meistersinger Overture. The television network NHK brought its large outside broadcast vans. Tennstedt was filmed in several often lengthy sequences. When his music stand collapsed loudly in the middle of Götterdämmerung (Twilight of the Gods), and he had to bend down low to turn the pages of his score, this was recorded in sound and pictures (the video has been seen over two million times on YouTube!). When, for an encore, the orchestra finished with the Ride of the Valkyries, the audience went wild. The Japan Music Journal critic, Mariko Okayama, was inspired to write an almost celestial hymn of praise: The deep, introspective brass sound at the opening of the overture to Tannhäuser was as solemn as the hands of God opening doors in the hearts of the audience one after another. The music warmed 241

the souls of everyone present, where God, Wagner and Tennstedt reached out to grasp each others‘ hands firmly. This tour was also an astounding success. From there on, each performance was a gift for his musicians as well as for the audience. All the while, the list of his medical problems grew longer. In June 1989 he was given a hip replacement at the Endo-Klinik in Hamburg.

Tennstedt after hip operation, Inge, Edith Albrecht

photo: Dietrich Albrecht

Barely able to hobble about on crutches, he then fell and broke a rib. Still reliant on those devices, in November he was able to visit his good friend Richard Cisek in Minneapolis. After a seven-year absence he finally conducted the Minnesota Orchestra again. Klaus Tennstedt: People say, you only conduct the ʽMagic Fiveʼ American orchestras. No, you can now say the ʽMagic Sixʼ. The Minnesota Orchestra is really a fantastic orchestra with a fantastic hall.54 It was often sadly noted that Tennstedt seemed only to perform symphony concerts, although the opera world was second nature to him. A new opportunity opened up in the summer of 1991 at the Glyndebourne Festival, situated in East Sussex, about an hour´s drive south of London. For years, the LPO had been the Festival´s resident orchestra. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart´s Don Giovanni was scheduled. Tennstedt had staged the opera in Schwerin as well as in Kiel and conducted it dozens of times. He knew the score inside out. 242

And, as always, he had intervened in the staging. In Glyndebourne, this lay in the hands of Sir Peter Hall, a pretty conservative director in the United Kingdom. Once again, conflict was forseeable. The bone of contention was the ending of the opera. There are two versions. In the world premiere in Prague in 1787, Don Giovanni found himself where many contemporaries felt he deserved to be – in Hell. The subsequent Viennese version required a happier, rather moralising finale in a sextet of the remaining characters. It was this second version that the director Peter Hall wanted, but to which Tennstedt could not agree. He became very angry: That damned sextet! It replaces a dreadful ending in the wrong key of D major, with trombones – Mozart only used them when he wanted to describe death. Whenever I try to direct [sic!] the opera this way, there´s a great argument with the director.55 Since their differences could not be overcome, Tennstedt left the production. It was really a pity, because as it turned out, that was his last chance to perform an opera on stage. The following is Tennstedt’s program in the 1989-90 to 1991-92 seasons with the London Philharmonic Orchestra. The cancellations piled up dramatically. Klaus Tennstedt Conductor laureate, LPO, 1989-90 Part 6 24 Sept. 1989 Andrew Litton replacing Tennstedt. Tchaikovsky: The Tempest; Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 5 (Soloist: Peter Donohoe); Rachmaninov: Symphonic Dances 28 Sept. 1989 Myung-Wha Chung replacing Tennstedt. Beethoven: Prometheus Overture, Violin Concerto (Soloist: Kyung-Wha Chung); Dvořák: Symphony No. 8 21 Nov. 1989 Glinka: Ruslan und Ludmilla Overture; Grieg: Piano Concerto (Soloist: Radu Lupu); Beethoven: Symphony No. 7 22 Nov. 1989 The Royal Concert. Brahms: Violin Concerto (Soloist: Nigel Kennedy); Beethoven: Symphony No. 7 14 Dec. 1989 Beethoven: Symphony No. 1; Bruckner: Symphony No. 4 28 Jan. 1990 Debussy: Gigues; Benjamin: Cascade and At First Light; Mahler: Symphony No. 1 29 Jan. 1990 Mozart: Serenade in C for Wind; Tchaikovsky: Varia- tions on a Roccoco Theme (Soloist: Heinrich Schiff); Mahler: Symphony No. 1 6 May 1990 Mussorgsky: Night on the Bald Mountain; Bruch: Violin Concerto (Soloist: Kyung-Wha Chung); Brahms: Symphony No. 1

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10 May 1990

STUDIO - Mussorgsky: Night on the Bald Mountain; Abbey Road Studios 30 Aug. 1990 Von Weber: Oberon Overture; Brahms: Piano Concerto No. 1 (Soloist: Alfred Brendel); Beethoven: Symphony No. 5

Conductor laureate, 1990-91 27 Sept. 1990 Yuri Simonev replacing Tennstedt. Von Weber: Der Freischütz Overture; Beethoven Piano Concerto No. 3 (Soloist: Alfred Brendel); Prokofiev: Symphony No. 5 30 Sept. 1990 Yuri Simonev replacing Tennstedt. Beethoven: Sym- phony No. 4; Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 6 Pathetique October 1990 Great Britain Tour with Mahler: Symphony No. 4 (tour canceled due to diabetes diagnosis) 27, 28 & 30 Jan. 1991 Live & TV recording: Mahler: Symphony No. 8 (Solo- ists: Julia Varady, Jane Eaglen, Susan Bullock, Trude- liese Schmidt, Jadwiga Rappé, Kenneth Riegel, Eike Wilm Schulte, Hans Sotin); Royal Festival Hall, London 2 April 1991 Smetana: Overture to The Bartered Bride; Dvořák: Symphony No. 8; Janáček: Sinfonietta 31 Aug. 1991 Prom. Beethoven: Symphony No. 9 (Soloists: Jane Eaglen, Kathleen Kuhlmann, Anthony Rolfe Johnson, John Tomlinson); Royal Albert Hall, London Conductor laureate 1991-92 21 - 25 Sept. 1991 Italian tour. Perugia and Pompeii. Beethoven: Symphony No. 9 26 Sept. 1991 Beethoven: Egmont Overture; Mahler: Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen (Soloist: Thomas Hampson); Beethoven: Symphony No. 3 Eroica; CD recording live; Royal Festival Hall, London 3 Oct. 1991 Beethoven: Triple Concerto (Soloists: Gidon Kremer, Misha Maisky, Olli Mustonen); Beethoven: Symphony No. 3 Eroica; CD recording live; Royal Festival Hall, London 7 & 10 Oct. 1991 Wagner: Siegfried Idyll: Meistersinger Overture: Die Walküre Act 1 (Soloists: Eva-Maria Bundschuh, René Kollo, John Tomlinson) 4 & 7 Nov. 1991 Mahler: Symphony No. 6 live & CD recording; Royal Festival Hall, London 21 Feb. 1992 Beethoven: Symphony No. 6 Pastoral & Symphony No. 5 23 Feb. 1992 Beethoven: Coriolan Overture; Berg: Violin Concerto (Soloist: Shlomo Mintz); Beethoven: Symphony No. 5 28 Feb. - 21. Mar. 1992 World tour: Japan, Mexico, USA (Tokyo, Osaka, Hita- chi, Mexico City, Los Angeles, New York), Franz Welser Möst replacing Tennstedt throughout. (Soloists: Teiko Maehashi, Young Uck Kim).

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5 May 1992 Glinka: Ruslan und Ludmilla Overture; Prokofiev: Piano Concerto No. 2 (Soloist: Dimitri Alexeev); Stravinsky: Petrushka 10 May 1992 Schumann: Carnaval; Debussy: Nocturnes; Strauss: Till Eulenspiegel; Stravinsky: Firebird Suite 26 May 1992 Franz Welser-Möst replacing Tennstedt. Ravel: La Valse; Prokofiev: Violin Concerto No. 1 (Soloist: Young Uck Kim); Stravinsky: Oedipus Rex 20 Aug. 1992 Prom: Wagner: Tannhäuser Overture and Venusberg bacchanale; Rienzi Overture; Siegfried´s Rhine Jour- ney and Funeral March from Götterdämmerung; Meistersinger Overture; Ride of the Valkyries (encore); Royal Albert Hall 25 Aug. 1992 Edinburgh Festival. R. Strauss: Vier Letzte Lieder (Soloist: Felicity Lott); Beethoven: Symphony No. 7

John Willan remembered the Italian tour at the end of September 1991. The first stop was Perugia, with Beethoven´s Ninth. Having checked in at the hotel, Judy Grahame suggested a trip to Assisi, since it was only half an hour away. Would Klaus like to come along? “No, I have to study my music.” Judy got angry: “What do you mean, study your music? It´s Beethoven´s Ninth Symphony, you´ve done it a hundred times.” “Ach, I have to work, I have to study my score.” “You´re a boring old man,” she exploded, “you know nothing about history or anything. You just sit there and study your stupid boring old score. Why don´t you get a life!” “Ach, out” [dismissive gesture]. So they went to Assisi without Klaus. That evening they arrived far too early at the church where the concert would take place. Judy wondered why Klaus wanted to see her before the concert. As she got to the conductor´s room he said: “Sit down please, I want to tell you something.” He let loose a stream of information about Saint Francis of Assisi and the story of the town, as though he had been there many times and knew all about it. Could he really have done? John suspected that Klaus spent the afternoon swotting up on it – hoping to avoid the idea that he was not interested in world affairs. John Willan: He certainly was. We spoke a great deal about politics, too; there was more in his head than just music. Sometimes his knowledge was far more comprehensive than it seemed. Not everyone shared this opinion. Dieter Härtwig, dramaturge from the old days in Radebeul, painted a different picture: 245

Dieter Härtwig: He had no profound general knowledge, was not a man of the world. An incredibly gifted musical genius, that´s what he was. Norman Lebrecht´s impression was different yet again. In his opinion Tennstedt was not interested in philosophical details or in considering the meaning of life: Norman Lebrecht: He called me up once and said: “I´m reading a book.” “Klaus, really … [laughs] which book?” “Stephen Hawking´s ʽA Brief History of Timeʼ. Everybody told me I should read it.” “How far have you got, then?” “About halfway through page two” [laughs]. It´s true – unless it had something to do with music he did not read much or often. While Herbert Blomstedt speaks proudly of the 30,000 books he possesses, Tennstedt may have had a cou- In the Tennstedtsʼ living room photo: Konrad Bockemühl ple of hundred consisting of non-fiction such as biographies of composers and a little light reading. To make up for it, unlike even most musicians, Klaus had the gift of reading a score like a book. We can all realize the meaning behind the letters when we read and let our mental cinema run. Tennstedt could do that with a score. For him it was an eternal search, to get behind those little black dots on the page and discover their true content: images, feelings and perhaps stories that help fill the music with life. “I´m not here to give the beat,” he once said,56 “I am here to unite the orchestra in my own personal musical truth” – a mystery he himself was unable to explain. He could only discover this truth by endlessly submerging himself in the musical material. That is why he preferred to withdraw to his hotel room and study scores instead of chasing round tourist attractions. It was enough for Inge to tell him afterwards what she had seen and he had supposedly missed. 246

T HE LAST YEARS Would Tennstedt get through another tour? That was the concern of both orchestra and management of the London Philharmonic. The next would be even more taxing since the plan was to travel once round the globe, from 28 February to 21 March 1992, with concerts in Japan (Tokyo, Osaka, Hitachi), Mexico City and the US (Los Angeles, New York). The young Austrian Franz Welser-Möst was then music director of the orchestra. His was not an easy job since he was constantly compared with his predecessor, Klaus Tennstedt. Many of the musicians made it perfectly clear who they really wanted to see in front of them. The plan was for Welser-Möst to conduct only the first few concerts and then, for the rest of the tour, be on standby to take over if necessary. Publicity Manager Judy Grahame contacted several German critics in preparation for the tour, to see if they wanted to accompany the orchestra. The only person to show any interest was Wolfgang Sandner from the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung. Judy Grahame: So I invited him to join us on tour to Japan, and he came. Tennstedt said he was very pleased, but highly nervous, because that was an important German critic. We flew to Japan. Klaus and the orchestra were already there, with Franz Welser-Möst. Sandner came a couple of days later, before the first concert that Klaus was due to give. But Klaus went home before the concert, he just said he wasn´t well. I think he was so anxious about the fact that Sandner was there. I am convinced Klaus was just scared. According to Norman Lebrecht, Tennstedt left because of an ear infection. Without Klaus, he wrote, the London Philharmonic was like the Rolling Stones without Mick Jagger.57 It was yet another of the catastrophes the orchestra was becoming used to. It meant they were forced to finish the tour with the unpopular stand-in conductor ʽFranziʼ.* Before long Tennstedt had to cancel every concert. He was physically weaker. His voice sounded hoarse. The hips hurt. He was unsteady on his feet. Walking on and off stage before and after the concert was torture for him; he shuffled more than he walked. His self-esteem *Since those early days Franz Welser-Möst has had a world career and is the highly-respected music director of the Cleveland Orchestra. 247

– never very stable – was threatened. After another hip operation, doctors warned him about further exposure to the mental and physical strain of the concert circuit. Jeremy Cornes, percussion, LPO: It was very, very sad because he had such an enormous influence on the orchestra. A great man … I remember at the end of a concert he hardly had the energy to walk off and back on again. All he could manage was one bow, and one for the orchestra. Tom Eisner, 1st violin, LPO: Some musicians have said about our other conductors: yes, he is good, but he’s not Klaus. Laurie Lovelle, double bass, LPO: It would never be repeated, that situation. The golden days! And that´s for all these now [pointing over his shoulder to ‘these other conductors’]: Those were the golden days. The young ones get a bit fed up with the stories about Tennstedt. Conductor laureate Klaus Tennstedt 1992-93 Principal conductor Franz Welser-Möst

Part 7

7 & 8 Oct. 1992

Saxton: Paraphrase on Mozart´s Idomeneo; Mendelssohn Bartholdy: Why do the Heathen rage? Jeremy Jackman replacing Tennstedt; Beethoven: Symphony No. 9 (Soloists: Lucia Popp, Ann Murray, Anthony Rolfe Johnson, René Pape) 13 & 14 Oct. 1992 Beethoven: Violin Concerto (Soloist: Nigel Kennedy); Brahms: Symphony No. 1 9 &11 Feb. 1993 Roger Norrington replacing Tennstedt Haydn: Die Schöpfung 14 & 15 May 1993 Mahler: Symphony No. 7 & CD recording, live !!! his very last concert 25 & 26 May 1993 Bernard Haitink replacing Tennstedt. Schubert: String Quartet No. 14 (Death and the Maiden) Borodin String Quartet; Schubert: Symphony No. 9 Great C Major Conductor laureate 1993-94 Principal conductor Franz Welser-Möst 2 Nov. 1993 Bernard Haitink replacing Tennstedt. Mozart: Quar- tet in e-Minor for piano, oboe, clarinet, horn and bassoon (5 soloists); Haydn: Symphony No. 86; Prokofiev: Symphony No. 5 7 & 8 Nov. 1993 Jukka-Pekka Saraste replacing Tennstedt. Brahms: Schicksalslied (conducted by Jeremy Jackman); Mahler: Symphony No. 5

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15 Feb. 1994 Roger Norrington replacing Tennstedt. Beethoven: Coriolan Overture; Symphony No. 8; Brahms: Symphony No. 4 20 Feb. 1994 Franz Welser-Möst replacing Tennstedt. Benjamin: Sudden Time; Brahms: Ein deutsches Requiem (Soloists: Felicity Lott, Thomas Hampson) 7 April 1994 Bernard Haitink replacing Tennstedt. Barber: Adagio for Strings; Strauss: Vier Letzte Lieder (Soloist: Felicity Lott); Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 6 14 & 16 April 1994 Herbert Blomstedt replacing Tennstedt. Brahms: Violin Concerto (Soloist: Kyung-Wha Chung); Beethoven: Symphony No. 7 13 Aug. 1994 Prom: Libor Pesek replacing Tennstedt. Britten: Sinfonia da Requiem; Beethoven: Symphony No. 3 Eroica; Royal Albert Hall. London. Nine further cancellations from Tennstedt

Richard Cisek, Minneapolis: I knew he was hospitalized for a while, and I was told that the doctors even allowed him to smoke in the hospital, because he just insisted on it [laughs]. He could not be without a cigarette. Poor health was not the only reason why Tennstedt wanted to stop conducting. The second half of 1992 saw an event that angered him deeply. John Willan, his best friend and artistic companion, was about to be fired. After more than seven years as the orchestra’s managing director, there were rumors behind the scenes. On his watch, much – and for some too much – had changed. He had probably stepped on some people’s toes. Whatever the case, he was accused of ʽgross misconductʼ and sacked. Tennstedt could not understand what was happening. John Willan: Klaus conducted two more concerts and then never performed again. Not because he was ill – but because his best friend and confidant was no longer there. Nevertheless, I tried countless times to get him back to the orchestra. He just didn’t want to. On top of everything else, ʽhisʼ orchestra, the London Philharmonic, had changed considerably in personnel. One after another, the leading players left. The first was Gordon Hunt, Tennstedt’s ʽfavorite oboistʼ. He was followed by David Nolan, the concertmaster with whom Klaus had been on very warm friendly terms, then the solo cellist Matthias Feile, and finally Jonathan Snowden, solo flutist. They all left to join the competition – the Philharmonia Orchestra. It seemed no coincidence that the departure of these vital core musicians was timed simultaneously with John Willan´s being fired. Even Franz Welser-Möst 249

as their new music director was unable to smoothe the waves and keep them all together. Tennstedt´s hips continued to cause problems. The second operation on the other hip joint did not go well.58 When he took to the stage, he limped. More and more, pain was encroaching on his concentration. The maestro stood before his orchestra for the last time on the 14 and 15 May 1993, in the Royal Festival Hall. Gustav Mahler´s Seventh Symphony was on the program. Possibly it was an attempt to continue his life’s project: to record all the symphonies of his favorite composer once again – this time live. In the end, only three were missing for EMI, the Second, Third and Ninth symphonies. Instead these can be found on other labels.

Caricature: Walter Bösch

A year later, Gordon Hunt traveled to Heikendorf for Tennstedt’s birthday on the 6th of June, with a bottle of expensive whisky in his luggage. “You traitor,” his former boss welcomed him, “you abandoned me,” and took him in his arms, beaming with joy. Of course, the discussion soon turned to when and whether Klaus would conduct again. Gordon begged him, everyone was waiting for him eagerly. But Klaus left no room for sentimentality: “I don´t think I can conduct anymore, because when I stand up and try to conduct, I´m so unsteady. My legs won´t hold me up. I´m afraid I´ll fall forward into the orchestra without any warning at some point, because I´ll get too involved in the music and I´ll lose my balance. I don´t think I´m going to conduct anymore at all.” “You‘re not even seventy! You can sit down.” “No, I can´t possibly sit down, I can´t.” “Many people do.” “I just couldn´t do it. But there’s something I do want to say: If I ever did come back to London, it would have to be to the London Philharmonic. I´m too loyal to them to conduct any other London orchestra.” 250

AWARDS AND HONORS The Tennstedts’ flat had a large living room. Its walls were covered with framed certificates, awards and photos of him with illustrious people. This gallery he presented proudly to all his guests – like a huntsman showing off his collection of mounted antlers. These trophies represented the crowning points of his successful career. Everyone should see this. One of these documents was from Yehudi Menuhin. He and Tennstedt narrowly missed each other in Leipzig. The Israeli violinist left him a brief note in the hotel. Dear friend, Dec 23, 1991 I am so sorry to find our paths crossed – as ships at night – without greeting. I would have loved to pay you my respect and wish you a Happy Christmas and a fulfilling New Year devotedly Yehudi Menuhin He was particularly proud of the select German honours. Richard von Weizsäcker, President of the Federal Republic at the time, was a great admirer of his, sending him regular telegrams wishing him luck, and in 1986 he presented him with the Federal Cross of Merit Note from Yehudi Menuhin First Class. A series of ʽBest Mahler Interpretations’ followed, as well as a dozen accolades from international music magazines such as Gramophone and Fono Forum. The New York Times voted him ʽMusician of the Year’ four times in a row. He was made honorary member of both the Royal Academy of Music (patron HRH her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II) and Kiel Opera. It is, of course, no coincidence that most of the awards came from the English and American worlds. There he was revered, and this is 251

still true today. He was particularly proud of the two honorary doctorates, from Colgate and, above all, from Oxford University. Klaus Tennstedt: I am the only German musician in 800 years to receive this honor. The first was Joseph Haydn, who was not a German of course [laughs]; he wrote his famous Oxford Symphony in recognition. The second was Karajan, also an Austrian. The third was one of the best pianists in the world, Sviatoslav Richter, the Russian.59 He was unique for something else as well – during his lifetime he had an active fan club. Honorary degree They called themselves the ʽKlausketeersʼ, photo: Edith Albrecht traveling throughout the United States, trying not to miss a single performance. There was a regular newsletter posted to the members, a special achievement in times before the Internet existed. Its publisher was David Grundy, an engineer from Pittsburgh. Many conductors had fan clubs, but these were only formed after their deaths: the Toscanini Society, the Bruno Walter Society, the Fritz Reiner and Wilhelm Furtwängler societies to name but a few.

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A REHEARSAL IN O XFORD As marketing director of the London Philharmonic, Judy Grahame was in charge of public relations and often spent time with Klaus Tennstedt. She was about the same age as his daughter Heidi would have been, had she not taken her life. Judy was one of the few to know about this catastrophic event. A kind of father-daughter relationship evolved between them, an emotional connection which grew in importance for Klaus. It seemed the Tennstedt era was irredeemably over. Everyone hoped he might make another comeback, but that was out of the question – unless and until he had fully recovered. Tennstedt had plenty of bad examples in mind: Herbert von Karajan, barely able to drag himself to the podium and only able to conduct Tennstedt and Judy Grahame sitting down, Otto Klemperer and Karl Böhm who continued in front of the orchestra into their dotage. Kurt Masur even directed from a wheelchair. An unbearable thought for Tennstedt. “I have to conduct standing,” he said. “It‘s an essential part of me to have freedom of movement.” It all needed to flow, to come about easily and yet still be exact. What the thoughts conjured up, his body needed to express and be able to demonstrate how the music should sound. Nor was it merely the body: he had to have the mental and psychological stamina for an entire symphony. Every time was a journey requiring an acutely sharp mind, and a mind that could rely on the body. But his breath was labored, his hips ached and and his insecurities had increased more than ever. Was this the end? With Judy Grahame 253

Judy Grahame had an idea. She knew her protégé well and unhis constant need for recognition, prizes and awards. How derstood about a doctorate honoris causa from the renowned University of Oxford? Could that be temptation enough for him to feel up to conducting? To bring him back to the podium for a few more concerts? She put out feelers and set her contacts in motion. Inge was informed. As soon as the award was within reach, Klaus was let in on the secret. Judy Grahame: I told him that a condition of the doctorate would be that he conducted the Oxford University Orchestra for a rehearsal, and he believed me. So he did this one rehearsal. Klaus chose the overture to Oberon by Carl Maria von Weber, a roughly ten-minute-long piece, just the right length to work on intensively with a student ensemble. It had been over a year since he last stood in front of an orchestra, and Tennstedt was still unwell. His hip, in particular, was giving him pain again. Turning over in bed, the femoral tip had sprung from the socket – the dislocation was agony. New pains, new operations, and being bedridden once again with only a vague notion of recovery. And now he was expected to conduct in Oxford. It´s 22 June 1994. Tennstedt, almost helpless: “I am pretty nervous”. His features were strained. “I’m really frightened. When I contemplate getting up there, I just feel like running away.” The young students in the Oxford University Orchestra sat restlessly on their chairs. Most had come in casual clothes – it was only a rehearsal. They had tuned up and were excitedly awaiting the arrival of an icon of the global music scene. Would they be up to the standards he was used to from the New York and London Philharmonics? Would he be happy with their playing, or disappointed? A man with drooping shoulders made his way to the podium. Inge, his wife, supported him. Silence fell. She took his crutches from him in front of the orchestra and their fears were dissipated as he spoke in his hoarse voice: “My hips are bad, my eyes are bad, my voice is bad, my English is bad – but we make music.”60 The overture begins with a long-drawn-out cantilena which demands steady nerves from the horn player, while the second half requires some rapid runs from the strings. Tennstedt worked with the young musicians as though they were members of a top-class orchestra. Now it was all about the music, every single note. He started, and stopped after a few bars, corrected, took a couple of unsteady steps 254

Right-hand page: the last rehearsal

photos: Tom Pilston

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closer to the strings and explained the mood of the opening bars. Never before had these young musicians experienced such a highly concentrated rehearsal. His body swayed with the music, expressing how he needed it to sound. David Lister of The Independent was one of the few journalists invited to attend the occasion. He reported Tennstedt as saying, “The whole overture is in a big forest and the moon is out and there are nymphs and there are glow worms.” And he whistled the length and feel of the note he wanted to convey ʽan army of glow wormsʼ. Judy Grahame was cautiously hopeful. She would have liked nothing more than that Tennstedt should find his way back to his London Philharmonic Orchestra from there: Judy Grahame: It was just wonderful to see him conducting again. With that amateur orchestra he still managed to get that ʽTennstedt soundʼ in those few hours. So he got his doctorate. I have a little letter from him that he wrote to me afterwards. He always called me ʽdarlinkʼ, with a `kʼ at the end. Later Tennstedt said to me, “Will I conduct again? What can I say? I don´t know. My doctors don´t know. No one knows.”

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ʽO H, MY DEAR A UGUSTIN, ALL IS LOST!’ Song of a ballad-monger

London in January, gray winter weather. Judy Grahame played me a private video of the two of them, she and Klaus Tennstedt. His affection for her was obvious as he repeatedly sat down at the grand piano to play by heart the bits of music that came to mind. Those pieces that, all his life, had wanted to find expression through an orchestra. Sound bites of Also sprach Zarathustra by Richard Strauss, the climbing C major chord. Then a piece of a Mahler symphony. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a very well known melody in Germany: ʽO du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin.ʼ Not sung, just played on the piano.

The three words ʽalles ist hin’ – all is lost – permitted a glimpse into his soul. Hope was lost. All that remained was silent despair, a resigned farewell. The journey is over. And this simple, downright simplistic melody expressed what was left after all the great operas and earth-shattering symphonies. But gently, not noticed by anyone present. Klaus was certain he would never again stand before an orchestra. All was lost. Judy Grahame and John Willan, his London friends, his family – none of them wanted to believe it. Surely, Klaus had often been severely ill and had always recovered. Why not this time? His orchestra waited hopefully for his return. He was still their honorary conductor and would remain so for the rest of his life. The London audiences would have loved to queue up again in the hope of garnering tickets. Oxford was to have been his final attempt, but in vain. It showed in all its brutality how fear had taken hold of him. He claimed he had no strength left. He was worried that with an uncontrolled jolt he might dislocate his freshly-operated hip yet again and he would collapse on stage in front of everyone. Wasn´t it much more the high sensitivity that had become increasingly refined over time? This was the man who ran away from a German critic from the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung and canceled his part 257

of an entire world tour. “That is also someone destroyed by music,” as the choir director from Schwerin had described him. It was mental exhaustion. An almost superhuman effort that neither mind nor body could muster. Augustin continues. Tennstedt did not play the second part, although he certainly knew it:

ʽGeld ist weg, s´Mädel ist weg, alles weg, alles weg. O du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin.ʼ ʽMoney´s lost, girl is lost, all is lost, all is lost, O my dear Augustin all is now lost.ʼ Tennstedt loved earning good money, boasting with his showy Rolls-Royces. They were merely substitutes for praise and recognition. All that was now lost. Even sadder, the second phrase: ʽs Mädel ist wegʼ, the girl is lost. His life´s elixir, the fountain of youth, the thrill of falling in love – all lost. The catastrophe was complete. Ah, but complaining did not help matters – let’s continue on the piano: a section of a Beethoven symphony here, a line from Salome there, and then again, suddenly, as though it meant nothing, ʽO du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin.ʼ 61

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FINALE

Adagio lamentoso

In good weather he lay in a special armchair on his balcony in Heikendorf. He let his gaze wander over his beloved Kiel Bay – far out over the Baltic Sea – lighting one cigarette after the other, drinking his beer and proudly showing visitors his ʽwall of fameʼ. John Willan came every two months, sometimes Judy Grahame joining him. Inge made her soup and the visitors made plans for the future. At some point, however, it became clear that there was no future. Klaus had been stating the fact for a long while. He had beaten the laryngeal cancer some time ago but his hip was still painful. Far worse was the recent diagnosis of esophageal cancer, which was already far-advanced and basically inoperable.62 Alcohol and tobacco head the list of potential contributing factors. The prognosis: at best a few years to live, perhaps not even a year. Did Tennstedt imagine what he would leave behind? The medals and prizes and golden discs were material witness to his career, but the recordings he left the world are his legacy. His live performances cannot be relived. His unparalleled stage presence – unique and irreplaceable. The only things to afford him a little relief were occasional visits from old friends. Kurt Masur looked in with his wife Tomoko, and his comrades-in-arms from the days at the Opera in Kiel had not forgotten him. Shortly before Christmas 1997, barely three weeks before his death, Klaus had a visit from Dieter Härtwig, his old friend from Radebeul and Schwerin: Dieter Härtwig: Those were his final days, and I was there again. By then he was spending most of his time in bed. They agreed on a performance with the Dresden Philharmonic Orchestra of Mahler´s Sixth Symphony, his favorite, ʽthe terrible symphonyʼ. Never stop hoping. They chatted, wallowing in anecdotes from the old days. “Do you remember Die Schule der Frauen? We were so young and full of enthusiasm!” Not to mention Mahagonny, “where you sold programs at the door and then leapt over the balustrade to give the first downbeat? Do you remember?” 259

Dieter Härtwig: He was just able to drag himself out of bed, and he showed me around a big room. The walls were covered with his certificates. It was a side of him I didn´t know at all. Leading me along like a museum guide, explaining all the details, showing me all the awards, the honorary doctorates, my goodness! It made me think of Kurt Masur: he didn´t manage anything like that. So much! Tenno was definitely in the lead at last. And a large photograph with the heir to the British throne, Prince Charles; another with Princess Diana. He thoroughly enjoyed showing me all this. There was so much, filling the walls, one picture after another – that blew my mind, because I thought, this can’t be true. This cannot be true. With Princess Diana For me these were the two lasting images of the aging Tennstedt: lying helpless in bed, then dragging himself up – only just about able to throw a dressing gown over his shoulders – and then how he showed me all that. And the view over the Baltic [holds his hands over his mouth as if in disbelief]. The eleventh of January 1998 was a colorless winter´s day, remnants of snow lying outside, the sea calm. Inge had some shopping to do, so she asked her friend Annemarie Taube (ʽTäubchenʼ – little dove) to keep an eye on the patient. Annemarie Taube: I was there that afternoon, and he was sleeping peacefully. Good, I thought to myself, he´s apparently feeling better, because he wasn’t having trouble breathing. Then he woke up and we chatted a little – nothing in particular. Soon Inge came back. Later on that evening she called me and said: “He´s not well at all.” “Inge, I‘m coming.” “Yes,” she said “should I call the doctor?” “That´s probably better.” 260

And as soon as Dr Meissner, his GP, got there he said, “This is the end.” He gave him an injection to make it easier for him, you know – to let go, and we sat there holding his hands. He just slipped away. “Inge, would you like to come and spend the night with me?” I asked. “No, I’d like to stay here.” Klaus Tennstedt passed away late on the evening of 11 January 1998, in his flat in Heikendorf, from the ravages of esophageal cancer. As usual, the obituaries had long been written – there was a last rustling in the newspaper forest, and then all was still.

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EPILOGUE “There is no one today who has a fraction of his magnetism.” Norman Lebrecht Aristotle once said that genius always contained an element of madness.63 This applies to Tennstedt. In the previous pages there has been sufficient proof that he stood out from the ‘normal‘. We have referred to him as a savant, because this also befits Tennstedt: he achieved extraordinary results in one particular area, but otherwise was rather average. This would put him in good company: Mozart, Einstein and Sir Isaac Newton have also been suspected of being savants. As we approach the end of our journey, let‘s take another look at the object of our investigation as if through a kaleidoscope. The underlying tension, present throughout his life, was caused by an implacably strict father. To him he owed an enormous amount, in fact everything. But he also needed to break free. His father insisted on extremely high standards from the outset. That young Klaus managed to endure this without breaking down was thanks to his mother, who showered him with love, that self-sacrificing love that needs no justification. In contrast, his father‘s approval was always dependent on achievement. He struggled to succeed, but quickly became insecure due to low self-confidence, as former colleagues confirm: Caricature: Walter Bösch

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Dieter Härtwig, Dresden: Patience, however, was never a virtue. Inhe was restless, hectic, nervous, even driven. He was under stead tremendous pressure to achieve. He always wanted to get the best, the greatest possible quality out of an orchestra or ensemble. Doubts about the right way to reach that goal plagued him constantly. Even when fishing or playing table tennis, he had to win – and couldn‘t stand it when others were better. He was certainly one of the best at playing the violin; this formed the basis of his later career. Klaus Tennstedt: This experience is pure gold when I work with my orchestra. The musicians trust me when I give them a specific instruction, and trust is crucial. Most conductors are pianists and know very little about violin fingerings and bow strokes. Yet this is extremely important. Nothing develops conducting skills better than opera. On countless evenings Tennstedt was the centre of attention in the house. Everything focused on him and depended on him. Here he developed the self-confidence that made his later successes possible. He was able to conjure up an atmosphere that captivated every performer. Peter Manning, then concertmaster of the London Philharmonic Orchestra, also experienced this: Peter Manning: He created an incredibly electric tension. He brought something out of musicians that they didn‘t even know they had in them. You had to be a real artist! He showed each musician what level they could reach. I was only with Klaus for three years, but those were the most intense years of my life. And he still had so much left to do! Sorely lacking are professional recordings of the two Richard Strauss operas Salome and Elektra.64 The four evenings of Richard Wagner‘s Ring des Nibelungen were also still on the wish-list. In his eyes, Mozart and Mahler were the two great geniuses, ‘so incredibly different and yet related’. But if he could only conduct one more concert, it had to be Beethoven‘s ‘indescribably brilliant Ninth’.65 With this as with other works, Tennstedt took astonishing risks. He was prone to colossal exaggerations of tempo and dynamics. He could be annoyingly careless about such trivial matters as keeping the orchestra together. He was accused of ignoring the scores. He would read into them things that weren’t there, be it a ritardando here, an additional fermata there, a sharp accent somewhere else. That may 264

well be true. It was, as the maestro laconically remarked, ‘my own very special interpretation.’ How many times did he conduct Bruckner? Altogether, well over one hundred times and, with very few exceptions, always the Fourth, Seventh or Eighth symphony. Bruckner‘s works are meditations; they need time and tranquility to unfold, and Tennstedt gave them both. Laurie Lovelle, double bass, LPO: It can be a bit annoying at times, but you have to sit there and wait. The more you slow down, the more impact it has, until suddenly something happens. And Tennstedt was great at that. To me he was the maestro of the baton. He was all embracing. Even when he leaned over to one section, he´d still have a sense of the whole orchestra. His main preoccupation musically was the broad phrase, the extended phrase. He didn´t go into a lot of little things. Some conductors delve, you know, they go digging into the score, find these little things and come up again, and it sounds just the same. But his was a broad vision. ‘Bruckner sat at the organ in St. Florian and composed surrounded by God,’ says Tennstedt in an interview,66 ‘the symphonies are full of this.’ And Tennstedt himself? It seems that for him, God and music were one – if the question of God arose at all. In any case, he wasn‘t looking for him, he had the music. Through it he could express everything there was to say. And where the Christian religiosity became too much for him – as with Johann Sebastian Bach – he gave it a wide berth. It was the listeners who felt a special aura in the concerts. Some described their feelings with religious metaphors. We are reminded of the critic of the Boston Globe who saw the heavens open in Bruckner‘s Eighth, like Handel in his ‘Hallelujah’ chorus.67 Another, Bruce Morrow of the Minnesota Daily, noted after a concert of Gustav Mahler‘s Third Symphony:68 This is the closest thing to a religious experience I´ve ever encountered. Tennstedt again and again succeeded in bringing this dimension into his interpretations. Television producer Donald Sturrock also evoked the special atmosphere of the concerts: Donald Sturrock, London: I was not the only one who canceled a holiday in order not to miss a Tennstedt performance. This was the Golden Age of Mahler conductors like Bernstein and others. Even in 265

this overwhelming company, Klaus‘ performances were something very special, that‘s difficult to describe. ‘Religious’ is not the right word, but one came to have a unique experience. Not just to sit in a concert hall, have a nice dinner afterwards, and then take the train home. It was more like you‘re waiting for inspiration and something deeply spiritual and exciting. William Schrickel, Minneapolis: It‘s very close to a shared religious experience. It‘s better than religion. It‘s better than church, and he brought the audience into it. They couldn‘t help but be drawn into this incredible vortex of music. I don‘t think I will experience that again. The phenomenon that Tennstedt brought about in the concert hall is unlikely to be repeated. It can‘t be put into words. One simply has to have been there. Many who had the privilege of experiencing his performances were changed by them. All that remain to us almost three decades after his death are the recordings, especially the live ones. They allow us to glimpse the spellbinding charisma of this conductor.

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Acknowledgments An invaluable help for this book has been Judith Webb. Unlike me, she always kept track of things. She was the one who kept finding new information, pointing out inconsistencies, spurring me on, cheering me up, and just being there for me. The number of emails going back and forth is probably in the thousands. Without her, the book would have quite a few errors. And for the rest – if any – I alone am responsible. I owe it to Mark Hood for introducing us. Both are steadfast Tennstedt fans. Mark has posted several of the maestro‘s concerts and operas on YouTube. Dr Janos Kollmann, Inge Tennstedt‘s son, supported this project from the beginning and provided many pictures from the estate of his stepfather and mother. It was Anita Staudt (née Knoch), Klaus Tennstedt‘s first wife, who brought a breath of fresh air to my research. She gave me an enthralling and always good-humored account of Klaus‘ early years and left me a treasure trove of pictures. She passed away in 2018. Dr Hans-Jürgen Staudt, Anita‘s son, gave me valuable suggestions, especially concerning the spiritual life of his uncle Klaus and the wider family. Tennstedt’s early artistic associates, Professor Dieter Bülter-Marell, Professor Dieter Härtwig and Professor Reinhard Schau (d. 2019) played a decisive role in helping me to paint a vivid picture of the young conductor. We are all indebted to Rolf Oberste-Brink for aborting the last escape attempt and thus saving Klaus for posterity. Schwerin concertmaster Werner Mentzel gave me a fascinating insight into the highly detailed working methods of his former boss. I would like to make special mention of Kurt Masur. I learned a lot from him about Klaus‘ artistic depths. Even if, on these pages, Masur‘s light does not always shine as brightly as he perhaps deserved, I have no doubt that he considered Klaus his best friend in life. Good friendships are rare, and they are even more valuable when they can withstand the occasional controversy. I am indebted to the Halle, Chemnitz, Radebeul, and Schwerin opera houses for providing me with extensive pictures and ample opportunities for research into their archives. I would like to thank 269

Ilka Hermann, Mecklenburgisches Staatstheater Schwerin; Johannes Frohnsdorf, Theater Chemnitz; Clara Pauline Schnee, Landesbühnen Sachsen; Dr Boris Kehrmann and Christiane Loertzer, Bühnen Halle. From Kiel I received support from Professor Hartmut Lange, Monika and Siegfried Römer-Jacobs, Andreas Hundt and Robert König. Karl Henke (d. 2021) gave me first-hand insights into the sometimes dramatic events at NDR. I still think fondly and also wistfully of our conversations. Björn Groth and Volker Donandt, both NDR musicians, left me the inimitable caricatures drawn by Walter Bösch. They enrich this book enormously. Walter Bösch was a first violinist in the NDR orchestra. It‘s akin to a miracle that he could produce such skilful sketches during the few minutes when he wasn‘t actually playing. Gwen Pappas was a great help to me in Minneapolis, USA. Londoners Judy Grahame and John Willan showed me many of the lighter – and a few darker – sides of their friend Klaus, while always respecting the essence of their former boss. Special thanks to Judy for the wonderful private photos. Graham Wood provided many contacts within his London Philharmonic Orchestra. The ever-helpful musicians and staff would fill a whole page if I were to list them all. It was impressive to see how much love still existed between them and their former boss. Without Norman Lebrecht, this book might not exist. Thanks to him for a special, very stimulating conversation. Peter Alward gave me valuable insights, especially about Herbert von Karajan and Jessye Norman. It was thanks to Donald Sturrock that the 1991 video recording of Mahler‘s Eighth came about. We are thinking about a film project. Edith Albrecht and Annemarie Taube, the two friends from Heikendorf, knew and were happy to chat about many small details of the famous couple´s everyday lives. Edith let me browse through her extensive photo album. I like to think back to my days in Tel Aviv, Israel. Gabriel Volé spent a lot of time giving me access to his Israel Philharmonic archives and putting me in touch with his old colleagues. A special thanks to John Lambert, North Carolina, USA, for his generous support. My wife Amy has been there for me at all times. Last but not least, I am very grateful to my fabulous translator Jennifer Stephens for her patience. 270

Notes 1 Charles Barber: Corresponding with Carlos; Rowman & Littlefield, 2011, p. 211, with kind permission of the author. 2 There are several versions floating around, for example that he began piano lessons at seven and a half years old and violin lessons a year later. The enrollment certificate mentions a much later period (page 16). Anita Knoch‘s version seems credible. 3 `At home with Klaus Tennstedt’, (ʽZu Gast bei Klaus Tennstedt‘), DDR Radio, Potsdam, May 1967 4 Klaus Tennstedt: “Strauss explained to my father all sorts of details about his music that you can‘t find in books“, in: Edward Greenfield: ʽThe Joker in the Pack‘, from The Guardian, 4 October 1984 5 Interview with Richard Stokes, for a planned BBC production with Tennstedt. 6 The only surviving Tennstedt composition was called ʽFor Nita’ – unplayable, as Anita Knoch laconically remarked. It´s in the author's possession. 7 `At home with Klaus Tennstedt‘ (ʽZu Gast bei Klaus Tennstedt‘), DDR Radio, Potsdam, May 1967 8 Dr Kathrin Hirschinger: The profession of orchestral musician reflected in social and political change -- illustrated by the development of the Halle opera house orchestra from 1885 to 1990, Dissertation 1998; (Dr Kathrin Hirschinger: Der Beruf des Orchestermusikers im Spiegel sozialer und politischer Veränderungen - dargestellt an der Entwicklung des Orchesters des Opernhauses Halle von 1885 bis 1990, Dissertation 1998) 9 Dr Kathrin Hirschinger: Sound Tracks: 100 years of the Halle Opera House Orchestra 1897-1997 (Klangspuren: 100 Jahre Orchester des Opernhauses Halle 18971997) 10 Interview with Kurt Masur, 10 November 2014 11 Robert Baxter, in the American magazine Opera News, 7 January 1984 12 Hamburger Abendblatt 23-24 May 2020, p. 23 13 Julia Spinola: Herbert Blomstedt, Mission Musik, 2017, p. 129f 14 Tennstedt probably forgot that the first piece he conducted was Marc Roland‘s Der lange Pfeffer, a piece that no one knows anymore today. 15 http://www.chemnitzgeschichte.de/pers-kat-liste-top/263-klaus-tennstedt 16 Jean-Kurt Forest and Karl-Rudi Griesbach 17 The lovers are Katerina and Sergei 18 German orchestras are classified as A, B, C or D according to their size and quality. 19 Alma Mahler-Werfel: Mein Leben, 1960 20 Interview with Kurt Masur, 10 November 2014

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21 At the time West Germans were allowed unhindered access for just one day to East Berlin. A day´s visa allowed them through the checkpoints to go shopping, to have a meal, etc. They had to exchange 25 DM West for 25 Mark DDR – a lucrative transaction for the regime. 22 Information from John Willan 23 According to John Willan, who heard it from Inge. Other sources report that this meeting took place in East Berlin. 24 Interview with Annemarie Taube (Täubchen), later the Tennstedts´ houskeeper. 25 Der Spiegel, ʽQuartet at the bedside‘ (‚Quartett am Bett‘), 13 February 1978 26 Peter Conrad: ʽCrazy conducting among the clouds’ in The Observer, 20 June 1993 27 Eric Dawson, Calgary Herald, 30 July 1981 28 Norman Lebrecht: The Maestro Myth, p. 241 29 Information from Karl Henke 30 Mihaï de Brancovan of La Vie Musicale – Nouvelle Revue des Deux Mondes, March 1981, pp. 478-485 31 Inge Tennstedt, née Fischer (11 August 1924 – 3 August 2011) 32 German windows open wide from one side as well as being able to be tilted open at the top. 33 The IPO musician Menahem Breuer explained precisely: in Hebrew, numbers are represented by letter: a is 1, b is 2, c is 3, etc. The number 18 is made up of the numeral 8 (h) and 1+8=9 (i). Together they make up `Hi´, the Hebrew for `Life´. The number 18 therefore reads `life´ and 18 times 2 equals ´life twice´. Hence 36 trees. 34 Charles Barber: Corresponding with Carlos, Rowman & Littlefield 2011, p. 211, with kind permission of the author. 35 Charles Barber: Corresponding with Carlos, Rowman & Littlefield 2011, p. 232f, with kind permission of the author. 36 Robert Baxter, from Opera News, 7 January 1984 37 This Fidelio, with a slightly altered cast, can be found in the Metropolitan Opera archives under https://archive.org/details/Fidelio1 (with Éva Marton). Or on YouTube on Mark Hood‘s channel (with Hildegard Behrens). 38 Lynn René Bayley: The Art Music Lounge, The Great Klaus Tennstedt, 7 April 2016 39 Interview for the BBC by Michael Oliver (1987), available on YouTube 40 Jürgen Kesting: ‘The survival artist,’ Stern magazine, 1989 41 Edward Seckerson, Gramophone magazine, March 1987 42 Alma Mahler-Werfel: Mein Leben, 1960 43 Edward Seckerson, Gramophone magazine, March 1987 44 Klaus Tennstedt on the Legacy CD: Mahler, Symphony No. 3, ica Classics. Taken from an interview with Michael Oliver for the BBC, 1987.

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45 Peter Conrad: ʽCrazy conducting among the clouds’, from The Observer, 20 June 1993 46 CD-booklet ʽKlaus Tennstedt – The Great EMI Recordings‘ p. 20 47 Klaus Geitel: ʽBorn to wonder: the life story of a music critic‘ (`Zum Staunen geboren: Stationen eines Musikkritikers‘) p. 145 48 ibid, p. 142 49 Telephone conversation with Jürgen Kesting, 16 June 2022 50 Sally Brampton: ʽOrchestrating a cure for a man of musical genius‘, The Times, 19 March 1986 51 In fact, he was reading the novel Doktor Faustus by Thomas Mann, quite heavy fare. It‘s about the composer Adrian Leverkühn, who invents a kind of twelve-tone technique in a pact with the devil. But Arnold Schönberg claimed this for himself and fell out with Thomas Mann over it. 52 Norman Lebrecht: The Maestro Myth, p. 270 53 Jürgen Kesting: ʽI can‘t do it anymore‘ (ʽIch kann nicht mehr‘), Stern magazine, September 1987 54 Michael Anthony, Minneapolis Star Tribune, 3 Nov. 1989: “Tennstedt, orchestra work musical ʽmagic´“ 55 Peter Conrad: ʽCrazy conducting among the clouds’, from The Observer, 20 June 1993 56 Kieler Nachrichten No. 142, 20 June 1992, p. 3, Christoph Munk: ʽI am there, with the orchestra ...‘ (‚Ich bin da, um das Orchester …‘) 57 Norman Lebrecht: ʽTaking on the World‘, The Independent, 11 April 1992 58 The basic disease is, as mentioned, a so-called femoral head dysplasia. In this, the most severe case of hip dislocation, the head of the femur slips out of the socket. 59 MDR broadcast interview with Günter Pohlenz 60 David Lister, The Independent, June 1994 61 The same musical quote is included by Arnold Schönberg in one of his first ʽatonalʼ compositions, the 2nd String Quartet, op. 10, second movement. 62 Letter from Prof. Dr. Heinrich Rudert to Inge Tennstedt, 14 January 1998 63 Michel de Montaigne: Essais, Anaconda Edition 2005, p. 179 64 Both these operas are available as private audio recordings on Mark Hood‘s YouTube channel. 65 ʽCan´t let go of Mahler‘ (ʽVon Mahler will er nicht lassen‘), by Konrad Bockemühl, Kieler Nachrichten for Tennstedt´s 70th birthday, 6 June 1996 66 ʽRound Two‘ – Klaus Tennstedt discusses Mahler with Stephen Johnson, 14 & 15 May 1993 67 p. 142 in this book 68 Bruce Morrow: `A Religious Experience´, Minnesota Daily, February 1981

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Picture credits



KT = Klaus Tennstedt

Front cover: Minneapolis Tribune/University of Minnesota Performing Arts Archive Back cover: Caricature of Klaus Tennstedt Walter Bösch Pre-Impressum: KT as young violinist Photo: Bühnen Halle/Theater, Opera and Orchestra GmbH Halle P. 9 Caricature of Klaus Tennstedt Caricature: Walter Bösch P. 11 Map: from Harz region to Berlin Graphic: Georg Wübbolt P. 13 Little Klausi Photo: Anita Staudt,©Georg Wübbolt P. 14 Parents Agnes and Hermann Photo: Anita Staudt,©Georg Wübbolt Tennstedt with Klaus P. 17 Air Force helper Klaus Photo: Anita Staudt,©Georg Wübbolt P. 18 Certificate of enrollment Hochschule für Musik and Theater „Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy” Leip- zig, Bibliothek/Archiv, A, I.2, 18440 P. 20 Klaus at about 16 Photo: Anita Staudt,©Georg Wübbolt P. 21 Anita Knoch Photo: Anita Staudt,©Georg Wübbolt P. 21 Klaus playing violin Photo: Anita Staudt,©Georg Wübbolt P. 23 Bomb-damaged Halle theater Photo: theaters Halle/Theater, Opera and Orchestra GmbH Halle P. 25 Anita and Klaus Photo: Anita Staudt,©Georg Wübbolt P. 27 Würzburg in ruins, 1945 Photo: US Air Force P. 28 Anita playing the piano, with Klaus (1) Photo: Anita Staudt©Georg Wübbolt P. 30 Klaus and Anita ʽin love‘ Photo: Anita Staudt©Georg Wübbolt P. 31 Anita playing the piano, with Klaus (2) Photo: Anita Staudt©Georg Wübbolt P. 32 Klaus with baby Heidi Photo: Anita Staudt ©Georg Wübbolt P. 35 Klaus practising Photo: Anita Staudt,©Georg Wübbolt P. 36 Rebuilt Halle theater, 1951 Photo: Bühnen Halle/Theater, Opera and Orchestra GmbH Halle P. 38 Hermann Tennstedt senior, Photo: Bühnen Halle/Theater, Opera on the right, 2nd violins and Orchestra GmbH Halle P. 39 A young Kurt Masur Photo: Bühnen Halle/Theater, Opera and Orchestra GmbH Halle P. 41 Ganglion on the ring finger Drawing: Georg Wübbolt P. 44 Portrait Tennstedt Photo: Theater Chemnitz P. 46 The Tennstedts and Staudts Photo: Anita Staudt ©Georg Wübbolt on vacation P. 47 Horst-Tanu Margraf Photo: Bühnen Halle/Theater, Opera and Orchestra GmbH Halle P. 49 Chemnitz opera house today Photo: Georg Wübbolt P. 52 Klaus Tennstedt portrait Photo: Theater Chemnitz P. 53 A young Ingeborg `Inge´ Kollmann Photo: private/Janos Kollmann P. 54 Patchwork family, with Klaus Photo: Anita Staudt ©Georg Wübbolt P. 55 Hannes, Heidi, Janschi Photo: Anita Staudt ©Georg Wübbolt

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P. 57 Landesbühnen Sachsen, ready Photo: Theater Archive Schwarze, for departure Dresden P. 58 Klaus and Inge´s wedding Photo: private/Janos Kollmann P. 60 Theater by the rocks, Rathen Landesbühnen Sachsen P. 61 Rolf Liebermann Photo: Louiseville Times P. 64 Dieter Bülter-Marell Both scetches (p. 64): LandesP. 64 Klaus Tennstedt bühnen Sachsen P. 68 With members of the Photo: Wolfgang Müller/ Landesbühnen company Landesbühnen Sachsen P. 69 Schwerin castle Photo: Georg Wübbolt P. 70 Schwerin national theater Photo: Georg Wübbolt P. 72 KT relaxed Photo: National Theater Schwerin P. 73 Tennstedt: How did that sound? Photo: Horst Mehring P. 74 Werner Mentzel Photo: Georg Wübbolt P. 76 A young Werner Mentzel Photo: National Theater Schwerin P. 77 Rolf Oberste-Brink Photo: private/Rolf Oberste-Brink P. 77 The collapsible boat after photo from Rolf Oberste-Brink, Drawing/graphic: Georg Wübbolt P. 78 Map: Rostock and Darsser Ort Graphic: Georg Wübbolt P. 80 Rehearsal with the Mecklenburg Photo: National Theater Schwerin State Orchestra P. 82 Parents Agnes and Hermann with Klaus Photo: private/Janos Kollmann P. 86 From the Schwerin ʽVolkszeitung‘ Photo: Georg Wübbolt P. 88 KT with his Wartburg Photo: private/Janos Kollmann P. 90 Klaus Tennstedt conducting opera 5 photos: National Theater Schwerin P. 96 KT conducting Photo: Wolfgang Müller/ Landesbühnen Sachsen P. 97 Heidi Tennstedt Photo: Anita Staudt,©Georg Wübbolt P. 97 Heidi Photo: Anita Staudt,©Georg Wübbolt P. 98 Daughter and father Photo: Anita Staudt,©Georg Wübbolt P. 102 Hoffmann and Masur Photo: Groff P. 103 Masur, Judy Grahame, Tennstedt Photo: John Willan ©Judy Grahame P. 109 Tennstedt in the latest Rolls-Royce Photo: Edith Albrecht P. 110 Inge Tennstedt, Kurt Masur, Klaus Photo: Judy Grahame Tennstedt, Tomoko Masur P. 113 Tennstedt at the Komische Oper Berlin Photo: Komische Oper Berlin, archive P. 114 Dr Joachim Klaiber Photo: F. Magnussen/city archive Kiel P. 116 Escape contract Photo: G. Wübbolt/Janos Kollmann P. 122 Mother and son: Janos & Inge Photo: Janos Kollmann Kollmann P. 125 Stasi emblem iStock P. 127 ... still a little despondent? Photo: F. Magnussen/city archive Kiel P. 128 Kiel: the theater and opera house Photo: Georg Wübbolt P. 129 Klaus Tennstedt + Dr Joachim Klaiber Photo: F. Magnussen/city archive Kiel

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P. 131 In the Kiel opera pit Photo: F. Magnussen/city archive Kiel P. 134 Apartment building in Heikendorf Photo: Georg Wübbolt P. 135 View of the Kiel Fjord from the balcony Photo: Janos Kollmann P. 137 Walter Homburger Photo: Toronto Symphony Orchestra P. 138 Tennstedt with chipmunk Photo: Ursula Bülter-Marell P. 139 Tennstedt and Dieter Bülter-Marell Photo: Ursula Bülter-Marell P. 140 Tennstedt and Dieter Bülter-Marell Photo: Ursula Bülter-Marell P. 140 Dr Dietrich Albrecht Photo: Edith Albrecht P. 148 KT conducting Photo: Louis Hood/University of Min- nesota Performing Arts Archive P. 150 Richard Cisek Photo: Georg Wübbolt P. 151 William Schrickel Photo: Georg Wübbolt P. 153 The Tennstedts with Mickey Mouse Photo: Minnesota Star Tribune P. 153 Letter excerpt: `LLKK´ Edith Albrecht P. 156 Kleiber, Sawallisch, Solti, Drawings: Georg Wübbolt Previn, Maazel, Celibidache P. 157 Mother, Agnes Tennstedt Photo: private/Janos Kollmann P. 159 Caricature Tennstedt Caricature: Walter Bösch P. 160 KT and his license plate PLÖ-TK Photo: Edith Albrecht P. 162 As a skipper Photo: Karl Henke P. 163 Caricature – drawn in rehearsals Caricature: Walter Bösch P. 164 KT sweating Israel Philharmonic Orchestra P. 165 Paris program NDR Hamburg P. 166 Nightmare of an NDR musician Caricature: Walter Bösch P. 167 Karl Henke and KT Photo: Gerda Angermann P. 168 Tennstedt and Nigel Kennedy Photo: Georg Wübbolt P. 169 John Willan and KT Photo: John Willan P. 171 With Edith Albrecht and a new Photo: Dietrich Albrecht Rolls-Royce P. 172 With Jessye Norman Photo: private/Janos Kollmann P. 173 Wagner LP cover EMI/Warner Classics P. 175 Karo cigarettes DDR-Museum, Berlin P. 177 Ingeborg `Inge‘ Tennstedt Photo: Judy Grahame P. 178 Klaus and Inge Tennstedt Photo: Greg Helgeson/University of Minnesota Performing Arts Archive P. 180 KT mowing lawn Photo: Judy Grahame P. 180 Inge and Klaus – `in tandem‘ Photo: Judy Grahame P. 183 Maya Weltman Photo: private/Weltman P. 184 KT in rehearsal Photo: Klaus Hennch/city archive Zürich P. 186 Certificate for 36 trees Photo: Janos Kollmann P. 187 Carlos Kleiber Photo: private/Georg Wübbolt P. 194 Tennstedt and Solti Photo: LPO yearbook P. 203 Herbert von Karajan Photo: Karajan-Stiftung/trust

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P. 205 Bruckner LP cover EMI/Warner Classics P. 209 Gustav Mahler Photo: Archive/Facebook P. 211 The Mahler complete CD package Photo: Konrad Bockemühl P. 213 In the studio Photo: private/Peter Alward P. 215 KT and his LPO Photo: London Philharmonic Orch. P. 219 Masur, John Willan, Tennstedt Photo: Judy Grahame P. 222 KT in Concert, 3 times Photos: Klaus Hennch/city archive Zürich P. 224 Norman Lebrecht with Klaus Tennstedt Photo: private/Norman Lebrecht P. 226 KT in concert Photos: Klaus Hennch/city archive Zürich P. 228 Queuing for an autograph Photo: Akira Kinoshita P. 232 Leeuwin Estate Wine estate Leeuwin, Margaret River P. 232 Kookaburras Adaptation: Georg Wübbolt P. 236 Tennstedt with friend Max Staudt Photo: Edith Albrecht P. 242 Tennstedt after hip operation Photo: Dietrich Albrecht P. 246 In the Tennstedts‘ living room Photo: Konrad Bockemühl P. 250 Caricature: Tennstedt‘s head Caricature: Walter Bösch P. 251 Note from Yehudi Menuhin Photo: Janos Kollmann P. 252 Honorary degree Photo: Edith Albrecht P. 253 Tennstedt and Judy Grahame Photo: John Willan ©Judy Grahame P. 253 Tennstedt and Judy Grahame Photo: John Willan ©Judy Grahame P. 255 KT rehearsal in Oxford, 3 times Photos: Tom Pilston P. 256 Note to `Darlink‘ Judy Grahame P. 260 With Princess Diana Photo: Janos Kollmann archive P. 265 Caricature of KT´s face Caricature: Walter Bösch P. 267 KT in rehearsal Photo: Klaus Hennch/city archive Zürich Despite careful research, some photographers could not be identified. If there are any legal claims please report them to the author, who would pay a standard industry fee.

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Discography First and foremost are the recordings with EMI, mainly produced by John Willan and mostly recorded at Abbey Road Studios in London. EMI has long since ceased to exist, the records have migrated to the WARNER CLASSICS catalog. Look for www.warnerclassics.com/de. The Mahlerbox also contains the live symphonies No. 5 from 1988, No. 6 from 1991 and No. 7 from 1993, the maestro‘s last concert. Of course, almost all of them were recorded with ʽhis‘ London Philharmonic Orchestra. Some in the second box The Great EMI Recordings are also recorded with the Berlin Philharmonic. In addition, there is a boundless number of recordings made in secret. The most common method: the ʽpirate‘ has a slim briefcase on his lap and inside, a batterypowered recording device. The microphone is disguised as a button somewhere on the top. The important thing is that the distance to the orchestra is not too great and the recording distance reasonably free. Of course, the quality would drive any sound engineer to suicide if he had to answer for it. But in this way a few valuable live recordings were preserved. These include Salome from the Deutsche Oper Berlin and Elektra from the Kiel Opera. Also included is the first Boston concert from December 1974 (the Bruckner that followed can be found at St-Laurent Studio). Mark Hood has collected, in collaboration with friends, a considerable number of private recordings. The infamous Paris concert with the NDR, after which Tennstedt broke off the tour, has been ferreted out from the Radio France archives. Just listen to some brass passages in the Mahler First on YouTube. One will understand a little better why Tennstedt reacted so violently. The TESTAMENT label has picked up the concerts with the Berlin Philharmonic: https://testament.co.uk/. Some can be found on YouTube. The St-Laurent Studio has a large collection of 47 Tennstedt remastered recordings: www.78experience.com – remarkable! These are mostly of professional quality, as is the December 1974 Boston Bruckner Eighth, which marked the beginning of Klaus´ world career. Hänssler has a box set of eight CDs, the KLAUS TENNSTEDT EDITION (PROFIL Edition Günter Hänssler). The box consists of various radio recordings with the orchestras of the Bayerischer Rundfunk (BR), the SWR orchestra Baden-Baden and Freiburg as well as the Norddeutscher Rundfunk (NDR), with a magnificent Mahler Five. Very special: the only Tennstedt Bruckner Third with Bayerischer Rundfunk. The BBC LEGENDS series has been discontinued, but can be found under other labels. www.discogs.com/ has a lot to offer. Here, 39 collected editions with other conductors are added to the 80 recordings listed. Many BBC LEGENDS are on YouTube. Also to be found at ica classics - https://icaclassics.com/releases/bbc-legends-vol-3. A special treat: the Metropolitan Opera New York has the audio recording of Fidelio on its website, with Éva Marton, Jon Vickers, Paul Plishka and Franz Mazura, https://archive.org/details/Fidelio1. Leonore III can be found at No. 17 – Mark Hood presents another performance with Hildegard Behrens on his YouTube channel.

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Tennstedt on video/DVD GDR television concert: 400th anniversary of the Mecklenburg Staatskapelle Schwerin, live 9 June 1963; Deutsches Rundfunkarchiv Potsdam-Babelsberg. Program: - Bach Variations by Paul Dessau, world premiere. - Concerto for solo winds, strings and percussion by Hans-Georg Görner - La Valse by Maurice Ravel ZDF: Tennstedt conducts the Bamberg Symphony Orchestra, recorded 1977, broadcast ʽDas Sonntagskonzert‘ on 26 March 1978; program: - Carl Maria von Weber: Oberon Overture - W. A. Mozart: Clarinet Concerto K. 622, Soloist: Ulf Rodenhäuser - Johannes Brahms: Academic Festival Overture The following DVDs have been released by ica classics: - Anton Bruckner, Symphony No. 7, Boston Symphony Orchestra 1977 - Gustav Mahler, Symphony No. 4 (Soloist: Phyllis Bryn-Julson) and - W. A. Mozart, Symphony No. 35 ʽHaffner‘, both Boston Symphony Orchestra 1977 - Gustav Mahler, Symphony No. 5, London Philharmonic Orch. 1988 DVDs on EMI CLASSICS: - Richard Wagner, orchestral highlights, London Philharmonic Orchestra, NHK recording at Suntory Hall, Tokyo, 18 October 1988 - Gustav Mahler, Symphony No. 1, Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Symphony Hall, Chicago 1990 and Symphony No. 8, London Philharmonic Orchestra, Royal Festival Hall 1991 NDR Symphony Orchestra (not published). Beethoven: Coriolan Overture; Beethoven: Violin Concerto with Nigel Kennedy; Brahms: Symphony No. 1 - Gustav Mahler: Kindertotenlieder with Brigitte Fassbaender (this one is currently on YouTube) - Richard Strauss: Death & Transfiguration, Till Eulenspiegel, Don Quixote

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Index Not included are composers and orchestral works within the gray text boxes (concertand opera programs). Abbado, Claudio 143, 186, 203 Abbey Road Studios 170, 172, 192, 195 Accardo, Salvatore 195 Age, The (Australian newspaper) 233 Akron Beacon Journal 146 d´Albert, Eugene 48 Albrecht, Dietrich, Dr. 139f, 276f Albrecht, Edith 134, 139f, 171, 180, 242, 270, 275-277 Alexeev, Dimitri 245 Allen, Thomas 217 Alward, Peter 107, 136, 165f, 169-173, 201f, 205, 213, 270, 277 Ančerl, Karel 137 Angermann, Gerda 127, 157, 162 Anthony, Michael 273 Argerich, Martha 161, 163f, 171 Aristotle 263 Armstrong, Sheila 218 Arrau, Claudio 161, 197 Assisi 245 Atzmon, Moshe 155 Augér, Arleen 158, 161 Australia 179, 231-233 Bach, Carl Philipp Emanuel 81 Bach, Johann Sebastian 20, 28, 80f, 236 Bachani, Vishnu 208 Baird, Tadeusz 161 Baltsa, Agnes 217 Bamberg Symphony Orchestra 279 Banff, Canada 139f Barber, Charles 187-190, 271f Bartók, Béla 161 Baxter, Robert 43, 199, 271f Bayley, Lynn René 200 BBC Legends 278f Beatles, The 170 Beethoven, Ludwig van 20, 28, 39, 50, 70, 80, 88, 132, 137, 161, 167, 183, 203, 230, 241, 245, 258, 264 Behrens, Hildegard 199f, 272 Berg, Alban 80, 88, 161

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Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra 107, 142f, 155, 189, 201-206, 215, 221, 223, 235 Belkin, Boris 196 Bernstein, Leonard 8, 88, 149, 155, 165, 197 212, 224f, 266 Beroff, Michael 196 Betts, A. Kendall 152 Bizet, Georges 50, 58, 62, 67 Blacher, Boris 88 Blomstedt, Herbert 43, 143, 167, 246 Bockemühl, Konrad 211, 246, 273, 277 Böhm, Karl 253 Bösch, Walter 9, 159, 163, 166, 250, 263, 274-277, back cover Bolet, Jorge 217 Bonecutter, Max see Impressum page Boston Globe 141f, 266 Boston Symphony Orchestra 141-143, 145f, 150, 161, 189, 223, 237, 278f Bowman, James 217 Boyling, Neville 202 Burchuladze, Paata 218 Brahms, Johannes 39, 78f, 132, 141, 158, 161, 191, 227, 230, 238, 241, 266, 279 Brampton, Sally 273 Brancovan, Mihaï de 272 Brandis, Thomas 204 Brecht, Bertolt 63, 107, 131, Brendel, Alfred 158, 161, 171, 217, 244 Breuer, Menahem, IPO 182, 272 Britten, Benjamin 51, 88, 133 Bruch, Max 32 Bruckner, Anton 88, 132, 137, 141f, 151, 158. 161, 181, 191, 201, 205, 227, 233, 265f, 279 Bryn-Julson, Phyllis 279 Bülter-Marell, Dieter, Prof. 54f, 57-59, 61-67 95, 139, 269, 276 Bülter-Marell, Ursula 59, 67, 139f, 276 Bullock, Susan 244 Bundschuh, Eva Maria 244 Cahill, Teresa 218 Camimusic 144 Canadian Chamber Orchestra 140 Celibidache, Sergiu 156 Celibidache, Sergiu jun. 156 Charles, Prince of Wales, now King 260 Chemnitz/Karl-Marx-Stadt 49-55

Chicago Symphony Orchestra 142f, 150, 173 187f, 197, 216, 221, 279 Chopin, Frédéric 164 Chung, Kyung-Wha 158, 161, 218, 243, 249 Cisek, Carroll 153 Cisek, Richard 150-154, 235, 242, 249 Cleveland Orchestra 142, 146, 150, 197 Cohen, Abe, IPO 181, 183 Columbia Artists Management Inc. (CAMI) 138, 142-144, 149f, 183f, 191, 195 Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS) 143 Connell, Elizabeth 218 Conrad, Peter 272f Cornes, Jeremy, LPO 193, 248 Curzon, Sir Clifford 195

Dallapiccola, Luigi 88 Danish National Symphony Orchestra 223 David, Johann Nepomuk, Prof. 22 Davisson, Walther, Prof. 22 Dawson, Eric 272 Debussy, Claude 48 Denize, Nadine 218 Dessau, Paul 63, 81, 88, 131, 279 Detroit Symphony Orchestra 197 Deutsche Oper, West Berlin 126 Diana, Princess of Wales 260 Disney World 150, 153 Dohnányi, Christoph von 189 Donandt, Volker 270 Don Giovanni, Mozart 200, 242f Donohoe, Peter 217f, 237, 240, 243 Downes, Edward 114f Dresden Philharmonic 86, 95, 112 Dubček, Alexander 93 Duse-Utesch, Karl-Heinz, Berliner Phil. 203 Dvořák, Antonín 133, 230 Eaglen, Jane 244 Eckelmeyer, Judith 146 Egk, Werner 88 Egelkraut, Martin Paul 50f Einem, Gottfried von 81, 87, 126 Einstein, Albert 263 Eisner, Tom, LPO 108, 248 Elektra, R. Strauss 131, 197f, 200, 264, 278 EMI 155, 168-173, 192, 195, 214, 250, 276-8 Erbe, Waldemar 155, 162 Eschenbach, Christoph 157

Falstaff 50, 69f Fassbaender, Brigitte 158, 161, 171, 196, 238 Feile, Matthias 249 Ferencsik, János 157 Fidelio 48, 87, 90, 199f Fledermaus, Die (The Bat) 112, 114 Fischer, Margarethe 58 Fisher, Mina 150 Fogel, Henry 142f Fono Forum 251 Forest, Jean-Kurt 63, 271 Fortner, Wolfgang 133, 161 Frager, Malcolm 195 Franck, César 37 Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung 247, 257 Fricke, Heinz 68, 70 Fried, Miriam 141, 196 Friedland, transition camp 26 Furtwängler, Wilhelm 40, 108, 252 Ganglion 41f Garbs, Holger, NDR 135, 163 Gaska, Rolf 129 GDR, founding of the 37 Geitel, Klaus 206, 227f, 273 Gelb, Peter 107 Gelber, Bruno Leonardo 204 Gergiev, Valery 143 Gershwin, George 88 Gessendorf, Mechthild 240 Gewandhaus Leipzig 55, 62, 70, 93, 95, 104, 107 Glotz, Michel 202 Gluck, Christoph Willibald 48 Glyndebourne 242f Gmelin, Bernhard, NDR 156 Göltl, Dieter, NDR 160-164 Görner, Hans-Georg 279 Goldmann, Friedrich 101 Gothenburg, Sweden 85, 111-115, 118 Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra 111 Grahame, Judy 103, 179f, 192, 194, 205, 219 227, 231, 238, 245, 253-257, 259, 270, 275-7 Gramophone 251 Gray, Linda Esther 216 Grieg, Edward 183 Griesbach, Karl-Rudi 63, 271 Groth, Björn 270 Grundy, David 252

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Gülich, Wolfgang 202 Günstling, Der (The Favorite) 47 Gustafsson, Torgny 112 Gutiérrez, Horacio 193, 205 Gysi, Klaus/Gregor 102 Häggander, Marianne 218 Hänssler, Günter: PROFIL Edition 278 Härtwig, Dieter, Prof. Dr. 54, 57, 65-68, 95, 245f, 259f, 264, 269 Hahn, Ekkehard 70f, 175f Hahn, Erika 73, 175f Hall, Sir Peter 243 Halle an der Saale 11-16, 22-24, 35-50 Hamburg State Opera 61f, 126 Hamburger Abendblatt 62, 157-160, 157161, 271 Hampson, Thomas 244, 249 Haitink, Bernhard 193, 219, Handel, George Frederic 47, 142 Harper, Heather 195 Hartmann, Karl Amadeus 88 Haukland, Aage 199 Havar, Israel newspaper 182 Haydn, Josef 252 Heidelberg 33f Heikendorf-Kiel 134f, 139, 221, 231, 235, 250, 259 Hellmann, Ingrid 97 Helm, Kurt 78 Henahan, Donal 200 Henke, Karl, NDR 155, 162, 165-167, 270, 276 Henze, Hans Werner 62, 95, 132f Hesse, Hermann 236 Hierholzer, Babette 204 Hince, Kenneth 233 Hindemith, Paul 81 Hirschinger, Kathrin, Dr 36, 271 Hitler, Adolf 16 Hodgson, Alfreda 218 Hoffmann, Hans-Joachim 102f, 115 Homburger, Walter 137-139 Hong Kong 227-229, 240 Hong Kong Standard 240 Hood, Mark 223, 269, 272, 278f Howell, Gwynne 218 Humperdinck, Engelbert 33 Hunt, Gordon, LPO 193, 231, 249f Hynninen, Jorma 217f

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Independent, The 256 Israel Philharmonic Orchestra 181-186 Janáček, Leoš 58, 70, 81, 126 Janowski, Judie 183-185 Japan 227-230, 240, 247 Japan Music Journal 241 Jerusalem 182 Johnson, Anthony Rolfe 217, 240, 244 Johnson, Stephen 273 Judson, Arthur 143 Kaplan, Mark 204 Karajan, Herbert von 107f, 143, 149, 155, 165, 189f, 192, 197, 201-206, 228, 253, 276 Karl-Marx-Stadt/Chemnitz 49-55 Kaye, Richard 142 Kennedy, Nigel 161, 167-169, 243, 248, 279 Kenny, Yvonne 240 Kern, Gebhard 71, 94 Kesting, Jürgen 228, 238f, 272f Khachaturian, Aram 48 Kiel 126-137, 145f, 149, 162, 167, 223, 251, 259 Kieler Nachrichten 119, 129, 146f, 273 Kim, Young Uck 244f Klaiber, Joachim, Dr. 113-115, 119 Klausketeers 252 Klee, Bernhard 157 Kleiber, Carlos 9f, 76, 143, 156, 165, 168, 170, 173, 187-190 Kleiber, Erich 188 Kleiber, Stanka 156, 189 Klemperer, Otto 214, 253 Klien, Walter 204 Knappertsbusch, Hans 214 Knoch, Anita, m. Tennstedt, m. Staudt 12-14, 21f, 25-37, 39, 41-46, 58, 97 179, 269, 271, 274f Kodály, Zoltán 216 König, Klaus 217 König, Robert, Kiel 115, 119, 135 Kollmann, Ingeborg, see Tennstedt, Ingeborg Kollmann, János, Dr. 54, 58, 94, 111f, 121126, 269, 274-277 Kollo, René 126, 244 Komische Oper Berlin 56, 86, 93, 95f, 111f, 113 Kondrashin, Kirill 167 Konold, Wulf 130 Kostka, Rudolf (Rudi) 58, 66-69

Kremer, Gidon 158, 161, 244 Kretschmer, Rosel 45 Krüger, Ekkehard, NDR 155 Kuhlmann, Kathleen 244 Kuschel, Heidrun (Heidi) 128, 139, 152 Lachenmann, Helmut 22 Lambert, John 270 Lebrecht, Norman 9, 106, 108, 145, 178, 224, 246, 270, 272f, 277 Leipzig Conservatory 17-22, 39f Leipzig Gewandhaus, see Gewandhaus Leipzig Opera 93 Levine, James 143 Liebermann, Rolf 57f, 60-62, 87, 126 Lilova, Margarita 96 Lister, David 256, 273 Locarno 161 Loeffler, Wolfgang 115-119 London Philharmonic Orchestra LPO 8, 143, 169, 191-198, 211f, 215-225, 235-250, 279 London Symphony Orchestra 143, 191 Longo, Joseph 150 Lott, Felicity 196, 218, 245, 249 Lovelle, Laurie, LPO 192f, 239, 248, 265 Lloyd, Robert 216 Ludwig, Christa 197f Lupu, Radu 196, 218, 243 Luxon, Benjamin 217 Lynn, Geoffrey, LPO 239 Maazel, Lorin 156, 162, 165, 189, 203, Mackerras, Charles 191 Maehashi, Teiko 244 Mahagonny, Rise and Fall of the City of 63-65 Mahler, Alma 98, 209f, 271f Mahler, Gustav 9f, 88, 96-99, 109, 130, 132f, 145, 158, 161, 164, 169, 173, 177, 182, 187, 189, 191f, 195, 198, 206-212, 221, 225, 227, 230, 237f, 250, 257, 264, 266, 279 Mahler, Maria Anna 98, 210 Mahler Chamber Orchestra 43 Maisky, Misha 244 Manacorda, Antonello 43 Mandl, Gerhard 114 Mann, Carl-Heinz 157-161 Mann, Thomas 236, 273 Manning, Peter 213, 264 Marcovici, Silvia 152

Margalit, Israela 205 Margraf, Horst-Tanu 47f Marton, Éva 197-200, 272 Masada, Israel 182 Masters, Rachel, LPO 8, 192, 213, 239 Masur, Kurt 15, 21, 38-40, 42, 46f, 56, 63, 72, 86, 95, 102-110, 115, 143, 146, 171, 186, 207, 219, 253, 259f, 269, 271 Masur, Tomoko 109f, 259 Mathis, Edith 195 Matthus, Siegfried 101 May, Karl 57 Mazura, Franz 199 Mecklenburg State Orchestra 81, 279 Mehta, Zubin 181, 189 Meier, Waltraud 218 Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Felix 18, 22 Mentzel, Werner, Schwerin 36-38, 48, 69-76, 80f, 94f, 269 Menuhin, Yehudi 251 Merritt, Chris 216 Merseburg 11f Messiaen, Olivier 216 Metropolitan Opera, NY 143, 198-200, 272, 278 Millar, Keith, LPO 194, 236 Minnesota Orchestra 149-154, 191 Mintz, Shlomo 218, 244 Mitropoulos, Dimitri 88 Mohaupt, Richard 58 Montaigne, Michel de 273 Montréal 197 Montreux 161 Morrow, Bruce 273 Mozart, Leopold 12 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus 12, 39, 51, 61, 73, 130-133, 161, 164, 191, 242f, 263, 264, 266, 279 Munk, Christoph 273 Murray, Ann 248 Mussorgksy, Modest 216 Mustonen, Olli 244 Muti, Riccardo 143, 192, 219 Mutter, Anne Sophie 196 Myers, Philip (Phil) 154 Neuchâtel 161 Nerger, Joachim 144 Nes, Jard van 240 New York Philharmonic Orchestra 142f, 150

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(N.Y. Philharmonic) 154, 160, 197, 199, 223 New York Post 200 New York Times 144, 155, 168, 200, 207, 251 Newton, Sir Isaac 263 Nolan, David, LPO 238, 249 Nono, Luigi 133 Norddeutscher Rundfunk (NDR) 80, 135 Norddeutscher Rundfunk, Sinfonieorchester (NDR) 155-168, 170, 223, 278f Norman, Jessye 172f, 196, 217f Oberste-Brink, Rolf 7, 73, 77-79, 83f, 269 Ohlsson, Garrick 152, 191, 193, 196 Oistrakh, David 39 Oistrakh, Igor 217, 232f Okayama, Mariko 241 Oliveira, Elmar 238 Oliver, Michael 272 Opera News 271f Oppitz, Gerhard 204 Orff, Carl 88, 158 Ostrowsky, Avi 232f Otter, Anne Sophie von 216 Ousset, Cécile 217 Oxford University (Orchestra) 252-256 Ozawa, Seiji 138, 143 Pape, René 248 Paris 164-168, 278 Parker, Jon Kimura 218 Pauk, György 195 Perlman, Itzhak 137, 169, 171 Perry, Janet 217f Peters, Roberta 199 Philadelphia Orchestra 142f, 168, 235, 237 Philharmonia Orchestra, London 249 Pogorelich, Ivo 216 Pohlenz, Günter 273 Popp, Lucia 171, 196, 217, 248 Pollini, Maurizio 217, 237, 239 Prague Spring 93, 137 Previn, André 156, 191 Prokofiev, Sergei 161, 220 Puccini, Giacomo 58, 91 Radebeul, Landesbühnen Sachsen 56, 191 Rappé, Jadwiga 244 Rathen, Felsenbühne 59-61 Rattle, Sir Simon 169, 219 Ravel, Maurice 48, 81, 279

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Rawnsley, John 217 Rendall, David 218 Rhein, John von 146 Richter, Sviatoslav 252 Riegel, Kenneth 212, 244 Rimsky-Korsakov, Nicolai 39 Ring des Nibelungen, Wagner 87, 89, 128, 264 Rintzler, Marius 196 Robinson, Earl and Robeson, Paul 58 Rodenburg, Amy 270 Röhl, Uwe, Prof., NDR 158-160, 166 Rohden, Anton, Prof. 22 Rolling Stones, Mick Jagger 247 Royal Academy of Music 251 Rudert, Heinrich, Prof. Dr. 273 Rückert, Friedrich 96 Salminen, Matti 199 Salome, R. Strauss 74-76, 90, 129, 200, 258, 264, 278 Salzburg 85, 143, 205f Sandner, Wolfgang Dr. 247 San Francisco Symphony 197 Savant 131, 263 Sawallisch, Wolfgang 156, 219 Schau, Reinhard, Prof. Dr. 57, 59f, 62f, 68, 85f, 93-95, 168, 269 Schenk, Otto 199 Schiff, Heinrich 217, 243 Schlueter, Charles 152 Schmidl, Peter 164 Schmidt, Annerose 216 Schmidt, Trudeliese 218, 244 Schnittke, Alfred 161 Schönberg, Arnold 22, 80, 88, 161, 273 Schrickel, William 149-154, 213, 266 Schubert, Franz 38, 147, 201, 241 Schule der Frauen, Die Liebermann 60-62 Schulte, Eike Wilm 244 Schumann, Robert 39, 48, 51 Schunk, Robert 196 Schuster, Karl-Heinz, Halle 36 Schwarz, Hanna 240 Schwarze, Theater Archive 57 Schwerin 56, 69-95, 258, 279 Schweriner Volkszeitung 70 Seckerson, Edward 272 Seegers, Rainer, Berliner Philharm. 203-206 Shirley-Quirk, John 240 Shoshani, Avi 183-185

Shostakovich, Dmitri 87, 161 Semper Opera, Dresden 104 Shimell, William 218 Sinopoli, Giuseppe 212 Smetana, Bedřich 50 Snowden, Jonathan 249 Soffel, Doris 195 Solti, Sir Georg 108, 156, 165, 189, 194f, 214, 216, 224 Solti, Valerie 194 Sonntag, Rudi 49 Sooter, Edward 199 Sotin, Hans 244 Spinola, Julia 271 Stasi files 111 State Opera Berlin, Unter den Linden 96 Staudt, Anita, see Knoch, Anita Staudt, Hans-Jürgen, Dr. 45, 54f, 58, 269 Staudt, Max 43-46, 58, 97, 236 Steinberg, Michael 141f Stokowski, Leopold 16 Strauss, Richard 13, 39, 50, 131-133, 161, 197f, 205, 257, 271, 279 Stravinsky, Igor 80, 88, 147, 158 Sturrock, Donald 212, 214, 266, 270 Sudbrack, Rolf 144, 157, 181f Sun Press, The 146 Sverdlovsk State Philharmonic 86 Taube, Annemarie 180, 260f, 270, 272 Taubitz, Gunnar, Kiel 127f Tchaikovsky, Pyotr Ilyich 50, 232f Tear, Robert 218 Teichmann, Gerhard 49f, 53 Tel Aviv, Israel 181-183 Telemann, Georg Philipp 48 Tennstedt, Agnes (mother of Klaus Tennstedt) 11-14, 26, 39, 43, 58, 82, 105, 157, 178, 263 Tennstedt, Anita, see Knoch, Anita Tennstedt, Heidemarie (Heidi, daughter) 32, 34, 45, 54, 58, 97-99, 111, 253 Tennstedt, Hermann (father) 11-16, 18f, 24, 27, 38, 41, 47, 58, 81f, 105, 157, 188, 263 Tennstedt, Inge 46, 50, 53f, 58f, 64f, 79, 110 115, 118f, 121-124, 128f, 140, 149, 153f, 166, 171, 175-180, 220f, 235, 242, 246, 254, 259-261 Tennstedt Quartet 35-37 Tomlinson, John 244

Truman, Robert (Bob), LPO 192 Uchida, Mitsuko 237 Ulbricht, Walter 7, 62 US tour 230f, 247 Varady, Julia 212, 218, 244 Verdi, Giuseppe 39, 50, 53, 58, 69, 156, 266 Versalle, Richard 218 Vickers, Jon 199f Vie Musicale, La 164 Vienna Philharmonic/Symphony Orchestra 133, 155, 164 Vinzing, Ute 197f Viotti, Giovanni Battista 20 Vivaldi, Antonio 167 Volé, Gabriel, IPO 270 Wagner, Richard 39, 50, 87, 126, 131, 172f Wagner-Régeny, Walter 47, 192 Wall, building the 7, 62-63 Wand, Günter 168, 170 Warner Music/Classics 170, 278 Weathers, Felicia 111 Webb, Judith 3, 269 Weber, Carl Maria von, Oberon 254-256, 279 Weill, Kurt 63f Weissenberg, Alexis 161 Weizsäcker, Richard von 251 Welser-Möst, Franz 247-250 Weltman, Maya 183, 217, 237, 240, 276 Wenkel, Ortrun 152, 195, Wiens, Edith 205, 218 Wilford, Ronald 143f, 149-153, 169, 191, 195, 231 Willan, John 99, 136, 169, 177, 192, 195, 219-221, 236f, 238, 245, 249, 257, 259, 270, 272, 275-278 Wilson-Johnson, David 244 Winkler, Hermann 196 Wolf-Ferrari, Ermanno 48 World tour 1992 247 Würzburg 27-33 Würzburg Philharmonic Orchestra 29f Zazofsky, Peter 204 Zender, Hans 113 Zimmermann, Bernd Alois 161 Zukerman, Pinkas 172

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About the author Georg Wübbolt After studying music at the Hanover Academy of Music and Drama, he turned to opera, serving as a stage co-director at the Hamburg State Opera and Dresden’s Semper Opera. This was followed by more than 250 productions as a TV director for German and international television broadcasts: classical concerts, operas, ballets and plays. His films about conductors such as Herbert von Karajan, Georg Solti, Carlos Kleiber and Leonard Bernstein won numerous international awards. He now turns his attention to an equally fascinating maestro, Klaus Tennstedt. This book is the result of a ten year search for the full story of one of the most underestimated conductors of our time.

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