Hapartitur shel hayai: Zikhronot ("Die Partitur meines Lebens: Erinnerungen" [The Score of My Life: Memoirs]) by Zubin Mehta (Hebrew), translated from the German by Yosefia Simon, Matar, 221 pages, NIS 88.
What is a conductor? Is he a nomadic remnant from the distant aristocratic period that reminds us of the tradition of the courtiers with every rehearsal and every premiere, or a strange but totally modern hybrid condemned to live in two different, albeit intertwined, worlds − one artistic and autonomous, and the other economic, pragmatic and depressing?
One of the conductor's central functions, according to this memoir by Zubin Mehta, is to hold aloft the torch of "conciliation" - The Bridging of the two worlds. This is done by mastering the intricacies of music, which is capable of overcoming "feelings of hatred, because music and hatred cannot exist in the same space," and, at the same time, preserving a chance, even if illusory, for a peaceful human existence that is limited in time and is liberated from tensions and conflicts. Is such a combination possible? Can music "conciliate"?
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For instance, Mehta writes about a historic concert in which the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra and the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra (IPO) appeared on the same stage, while clarifying his belief: "It was thus possible to see this concert as a sort of conciliation, which is congruent with my own credo - we granted the listeners the opportunity to forget, for two hours at least, their problems and conflicts."
What is the nature of the conciliation that is Mehta's credo? That is a difficult question indeed.
On the one hand, we can believe the sincerity of this credo, which is also articulated in other passages in the book and which essentially says that music's spiritual strength and the unique manner of our immersion in it have therapeutic qualities: "I was able to make music, to live with music and perhaps with something more - I was able to make people happy, to offer them the chance of meeting one another, and, for two hours at least, to sever them from their problems and perhaps from their feelings of hostility."
On the other hand, is it at all appropriate to end such an emotionally charged event as the Israel Philharmonic's appearance on German soil (in 1971) with a "conciliatory closing note" (the Israeli national anthem, "Hatikva," played as an encore)? Does not this musical "conciliation" inherently contain the dimension of a confirmation of existence - through those "two hours at least" of pleasant, entertaining amnesia?
This important issue, which the book raises, is discussed in a much profounder manner in other contexts; however, it is difficult to ignore the discomfort accompanying the different forms of "conciliation" presented in this particular book.
Victory concert
The discomfort increases when we read, for example, the following description of the Six-Day War: "Even as the fighting was still in progress, I traveled to Jerusalem, using various dangerous routes, to the King David Hotel. The divided city of Jerusalem was about to be reunited, without overly horrific losses - in terms of military personnel or priceless historical sites. This was a high-priority goal for the Israelis, and Daniel, Jacqueline and I compiled a 'victory concert' program. We wanted to play, together with the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra, Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, after which Daniel Barenboim wanted to play Beethoven's Fifth Piano Concerto and Jacqueline du Pre wanted to play Robert Schumann's Cello Concerto."
Even more disturbing than the phrase about losses that are not "overly horrific" are the very planning of a concert in the midst of a war and the unconcealed megalomania expressed in the choice of the compositions (what does this selection, in a completely different context, say about a Beethovenian longing for "liberty"?), as well as the reference to the disappointment that the Mehta-Barenboim-du Pre trio felt over being "robbed" of its planned "victory concert": "I must admit that I was slightly hurt by the fact that, nine months later, after all remnants of the war had been removed, a huge concert conducted by Leonard Bernstein was held precisely in the spot we had chosen. Subsequently, this performance was called The Concert and it then became a historic event."
How then does this joy over the victory illuminate the "conciliation"? It could be argued - and with considerable justification - that the "conciliation" is inherent in the music itself and that it is irrelevant where and when the music is played. Although it is tempting to surrender to this concept of a musical composition's autonomous harmony (the "conciliation" will be achieved wherever and whenever the music is played, because of the work's internal, independent - perhaps, even magical - powers), the ethical dimension of this "conciliation" should not be overlooked.
Nor should we overlook the fact that something about this "conciliation," as it is depicted in Mehta's book, turns art's basic stance of refusal, its inherent subversiveness and its protest against convention, into a tool to be used in the political arena - in this case the Israeli one, in which ethics and aesthetics become a "conciliatory" dough that embraces everything. It is irrelevant why and where this conciliation was created and why and where it operates: during the war with the Arab armies or during the reestablishment of relations with the "other Germany."
Discomfort of another sort in the face of this "conciliation" is created in a different context, namely the potential hothouse of that conciliation - whether the reference is to "high" or "low" conciliation, from the standpoint of the nature and quality of the pieces played. Here is a description of the IPO's appearance before a Maronite audience in Southern Lebanon in 1982, in the middle of a tobacco field and close to the Lebanese-Israeli border: "Naturally, we did not play a Beethoven symphony or something else belonging to the heavyweight category. On such occasions, it is customary to play 'fluff.' Concerts of this type are intended to entertain; their sole purpose is to make the listeners happy. The fact that we played our music in the sand turned the event into something unique and quite extraordinary."
The custom of playing 'fluff'
This passage alone could serve as a suitable platform for a discussion in courses on the sociology and philosophy of art. First, because of the custom (obligation?) to play "fluff" at such events. Second, the definition of this top-rank orchestra's function as providing "entertainment" and the complexity of the seemingly trivial statement that the "sole purpose is to make the listeners happy" (what is the nature of this "happiness"? Can a work by Arnold Schoenberg or Bela Bartok make an audience "happy"? And who decided that, in Southern Lebanon, sensual pleasure is preferable to the intellectual kind?). Third, the description of the concert having been performed "in the sand" (that is, in the symbolic absence of a stage). Again, a certain distortion is produced by a sincere desire to use art for the purpose of "conciliation."
Generally speaking, Mehta's memoir does not present an abundance of musical distinctions. Regrettably, there are too few interesting notes such as the following: "I sometimes consider an orchestra to be a quartet that has mushroomed to gigantic proportions, with a first violin, second violin, viola and cello. In fact, there have been symphonies in the history of music that should really be played as a quartet - the roots of all the Viennese classics are a stringed instrument quartet."
On the other hand, it is not unusual to discover here catalogs of the prizes and tokens of honor awarded to the author, as well as surveys of performances of various works in which he was the conductor.
Actually, an important phenomenon in itself can be detected in the book: anonymous musicians, such as the 6-year-old girl who played "Hatikva" on the violin at Israel's 40th Independence Day celebrations (gestures of this sort tend to move Mehta), or the violist from Los Angeles, "an authentic musician who truly established his signature in the manner he 'led' the musicians in his group" (unfortunately, his name has sunk into oblivion). The book even has a bizarre appendix listing Mehta's premiere performances with the Bavarian State Opera.
However, perhaps the reason for recording these memoirs was quite modest and did not go beyond the desire to remind the potential purchaser/reader - for two hours at least - that great conductors can make great music with great orchestras and can also conciliate nations.
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