At the point in his extremely
distinguished career at which violin soloist Gidon Kremer could well
be resting on his own hard-earned laurels, he has instead chosen to
redefine his own musical mission. And it is, indeed, a mission. His
1996 creation, the Kremerata Baltica—his acclaimed string orchestra—is
made up of some of the most talented young people from his homeland,
Latvia. With several discs out, including a recent release devoted to
the chamber music of Georges Enescu and another that celebrates the
orchestra's fifth anniversary, Kremer shows no signs of slowing.
The Verbier Music Academy and Festival in Switzerland, where Kremer
was in residence last summer to perform Berg's watershed Violin Concerto,
is an ideal place to have a casual, thought-provoking conversation with
a major player on the world musical stage. It's the sort of place where
pianist Evgeny Kissin can be seen buying shoes or you can catch maestro
James Levine dining on an outdoor patio or perhaps share a drink with
violist Yuri Bashmet at a local after-hours pub. Far removed from the
rest of the world amid the Swiss Alps, the festival favors musical excellence
over cult of personality. From the casual elegance of his room at the
Hotel Vanessa, the sweater-clad Kremer, 55, is at ease, articulate,
and poised to answer questions in a careful but interesting way.
He is a man who is heavily influenced by the toil in his own homeland—as
most Eastern Europeans seem to be—and with good cause. He grew
up in what was then the Soviet Union, and has since witnessed powerful
changes there. "Living long enough in a totalitarian system was
not a holiday," he says, "but it gave me and many of my colleagues
a sense that what we were doing in music—in art—had even more
meaning. We felt it was not just a career, something you do to entertain
people, but something with great spiritual and ethical meaning.
"I guess I was one of those who identified with it, and I am still
trying to identify with it."
The relationship between the former Soviet Union and Kremer has been
one freighted with tension. "In the past, I had a difficult relationship
with the authorities; there were years I was allowed to travel, but
only on a restricted basis," he recalls. "Then I broke the
rules and stayed in the West, so I could not go back to the Soviet Union.
I didn’t keep my Soviet passport; I was no longer considered a
Soviet artist, which I don't regret."
Sadly, as his relationship with the former Soviet Union suffered, he
began to lose his audiences there. They could never see him perform,
so he faded from their memory. But then something rather miraculous
happened: Soviet rule collapsed. "When the Soviet Union broke up,"
he says, "and I no longer had to answer to their authority, I considered
myself much more to be a Latvian, because Latvia had become independent.
Since I formed the Kremerata Baltica, I identify more with the Baltic
region."
Still, Kremer has not forgotten his past, or what it was like to live
in such oppressive conditions: "Now I try to appear in the former
Soviet Union as a soloist with the Kremerata," he explains. "We
give a lot of benefit concerts; I am trying to be loyal to my past."
It's a different time for Latvia—for all of the former Eastern
Bloc countries—and Kremer has strong, mixed feelings about the
changes. When asked how he feels his homeland is doing, he observes,
"I am not one to judge, but there seems that—not only in Latvia,
but in Ukraine and Estonia—there is a big division, whether to
preserve the nation or sever all Soviet ties. We are struggling. Economically
it is quite tough because as a nation we have very little to sell. But
there is a sense of some improvement. The musical life, however, is
not so great. The establishment cannot support all the musicians and
cultural activities, so we have a task just to survive."
The Complete Experience
Kremer was born in Riga, Latvia, in 1947. At age four, he began studying
violin with his father and grandfather, both distinguished string players.
At the age of seven, he entered Riga Music School and nine years later
received the first Prize of the Latvian Republic award. At 18, he began
studies with David Oistrakh at the Moscow Conservatory. Kremer went
on to win the 1967 Queen Elisabeth Competition and first prize in the
Paganini and Tchaikovsky International Competitions, among other prestigious
awards.
Since turning professional, he has collaborated with many of the world's
foremost conductors, including Leonard Bernstein, Herbert von Karajan,
Christoph Eschenbach, Nikolaus Harnoncourt, Lorin Maazel, Riccardo Muti,
Zubin Mehta, James Levine, Valery Gergiev, Claudio Abbado, and Sir Neville
Marriner, among others. His repertoire encompasses many standard classical
and romantic period composers, including Brahms, but he is best known
for his interest in 20th-century works.
However, he performs and records on an 18th-century instrument: a Guarneri
del Gesù "ex-David," dating from 1730.
In 1996, Kremer had the idea to form a democratic orchestra, with himself
not as dictatorial conductor, but as a gentle sovereign and soloist.
But it is an ensemble with a political mission: to help the musical
life in his own beloved Baltic region and to remind the world there
are three Baltic states, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. "I see
it as a cultural mission," Kremer says. "It feels more like
a study group than an orchestra. It also gives gifted musicians from
that region a chance to see the world. And after all of this success,
the country decided they wanted to support the project—which was
good because no group in the world can exist without sponsors, depending
solely on income from concerts."
And it keeps him busy. "I spend more time with the orchestra than
I do anywhere," he says, "including my home."
Most interesting about this orchestra, apart from its dynamic sound
and very live presence on recordings, is the repertoire it has chosen
to record. Each album is a complete experience, very carefully planned
and presented. But Kremer’s musical choices on this level are not
political. "I never considered myself to be a dissident,"
he says, "I just felt I had to do my duty, and to defend the composers
and compositions I believed in."
And his contract with the always-daring Nonesuch label has been a productive
collaboration, allowing Kremer, the visionary, to move forth with his
own musical and spiritual projects. "We work to expand our repertoire,
and put a lot of thought into our recordings."
This has not always been easy, especially as Kremer is an idealist working
in a capitalist society—a true artist, one of great depth and conviction,
who must answer to the powers that be. "I had to make a commercial
enterprise as well—that meant [pleasing] the record companies,
who mainly want what sells."
For Art's Sake
This subject is a hot topic for him, and as he speaks Kremer becomes
more adamant and animated (though always with dignity and slow composure).
"This is not my goal [to sell records]; mine is to defend values
that relate to art, to history, to quality, and so on," he says.
"It is important to acknowledge that what sells is not always a
product of quality; it is more often something that is designed to be
bought and digested by the majority of people. But I don't want to belong
to a club of composers or performers who create music for a small group
of people, for snobs. I don't believe in music that is, in the words
of Mauricio Kagel, 'by composers for composers.' I believe in music
that is alive.
"You have to differentiate
between music that is attractive and music that is just cheap."
This leads to a discussion
of popular music, both in the classical-music industry and beyond, another
subject on which Kremer has strong opinions. He doesn't believe that
there is no talent in pop and jazz—in fact, he sympathizes with
many of its performers, who have to answer to the masses even more than
classical musicians do.
"Even in that world,
the commercial aspect has taken over, and that’s why certain pop
stars last only for a short while," he says. "This has also
taken over our industry; stars are 'created' for a few years, and agents,
record companies, and promoters squeeze from them as much money as they
can. I have no gifts for finance or marketing," he adds. When asked
if the Kremerata records are selling, he simply isn't sure, "but
I just feel instinctively that the merchandising of classical music
has more to do with being a phenomenon than to actual artistic ability.
"People are led to believe they are getting a big star—to
listen to, to see, to buy—but these so-called 'stars' have little
to deliver. They have no individual message or personality, and are
praised for their 'perfect' performances; but these are not interpretations.
Too much emphasis is placed on the idea of perfection, and too little
on real artistry."
When asked how he might approach the interpretation of a piece, Kremer
smirks, explaining that the answer to that question is in fact endless.
"Creativity is a process by which you are questioning yourself,
every hour, every minute of every day," he observes. "You
have to make mistakes; you have to search for your individual taste—it
is very complex."
Yet he does offer an answer in the fashion of a contradiction, explaining
how he would not go about finding his way into a piece of music—particularly
one that has been performed and recorded countless times. "I would
not do what one of those young, highly acclaimed 'stars' I was talking
about—and I will not give you a name—said when asked how they
approached interpretation. Apparently that person said: 'It's very simple:
I listen to recordings of my esteemed colleagues, and imitate the one
I like best.' That is true—I didn’t make it up.
"I don't want to be one of those pretentious celebrities, those
who make a big name for themselves and—I think I should say it—who
appear beside me at the Verbier Festival, but have little to say."
Still Kremer doesn't find himself infallible. "Occasionally, I
run on empty, too, but going back to my early education and ethics,
the primary goal of my own upbringing was to always do things for a
purpose. It was not just a quest to be 'perfect,' but to give an audience
an injection of novelty, to expand their vision and horizons. This is
why I clung to certain composers; this is also why I created the Kremerata
Baltica. I am not saying that there are no gifted musicians anymore,
no independent spirits. Please don't make it sound like Gidon Kremer
has gotten to that age where he doesn't like anything or see any value
in young musicians. I do."
In fact, Kremer has hired the young musicians in Latvia that he really
believes in. "I can see that the players in the Kremerata, while
they might not all be great soloists, have such a fresh and sincere
approach to music," says. "I have a lot of solidarity for
their struggle, for their interest in different repertoire, new interpretations."
When asked about the Berg Concerto, he declines to comment, saying that
he never speaks about works as he is performing them. That night, his
performance is stellar—all his talk of ethics, of finding the spiritual
in art, is evident in his rendering of Berg’s mystical concerto.
For Kremer, the man who has worked with so many famous maestros and
who has performed with all of the world’s major orchestras, it
is always about finding something fresh, something beautiful, something
truly alive.
Kremerata Baltica on Disc
Gidon Kremer's more than 100 albums have included recordings of Berg,
Bach, Stockhausen, Schnittke, Arvo Pärt, John Adams, and Piazzolla,
among others. Here is a sampling of discs recorded with his own string
orchestra, Kremerata Baltica:
Happy Birthday (Nonesuch 79657). On its latest release, the last
in an initial six-CD contract with the Nonesuch label, Kremerata Baltica
celebrates its fifth birthday with a mixed bag of Schnittke, Heidrich,
Kakhidze, Sevais, Ghys, Tchaikovsky, and Bor.
George Enescu, Op. 7 and 29 (Nonesuch 79682). This immensely
powerful rendering of the Romanian composer's Octet for Strings, No.
7, and Quintet for Piano and Strings, No. 29 was released last year
to broad acclaim.
After Mozart (Nonesuch
79633). This 2001 Grammy Award–winning recording brought together
works by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and his father Leopold, as well as
three works by 20th-century composers inspired by the younger Mozart.
Tracing Astor (Nonesuch 79601). This 2001 disc—the third
in a trilogy of Kremer recordings dedicated to Argentinean composer
and bandoneon master Astor Piazzolla—was hailed by the Boston Globe
as "the best" of the batch of similar tributes.
Silencio (Nonesuch 79582). An intriguing collection of meditative
20th-century works for string orchestra by Part, Glass, and Martynov.
Eight Seasons (Nonesuch 79568). Perhaps Kremer's best-selling
disc. This lush recording from 2000 alternates Vivaldi’s popular
"The Four Seasons" with Piazzolla’s own seasonal-themed
works.
Photo
by Micahel Benabib
