Freedom in the mind
Interview |
Musikverein last October: The ORF Radio Symphony Orchestra performs Alexander Zemlinsky's symphonic poem The Mermaid, playing with a fascinating variety of color shades, elegance, beauty of sound - and all carried by an extraordinary transparency. On the podium: Markus Poschner, a world-renowned Bavarian conductor who will be the orchestra's chief conductor from the 2026/27 season. Currently head of the Bruckner Orchestra Linz and the Basel Symphony Orchestra, he is one of the most distinguished masters in his field. He has won awards such as "Conductor of the Year", has an impressive arsenal of recordings, constantly receives international praise and is highly regarded as a clever speaker. He told Oliver Láng what an opera house has in common with a stone age cave and how much freedom is necessary and possible with the Fledermaus.
There is a nice photo of you: In a conducting pose, but with your eyes closed. I immediately ask myself the question: what goes through your mind in such an internalized state? Are you thinking about the next bar, the big picture?
Yes... thoughts while making music, that's always one of those things, and it's almost impossible to talk about it... Because the goal must actually be the absence of all thoughts. All the technical necessities that are required for an evening to run smoothly must take a back seat. In other words, away from the mental checklist, away from what is the main focus during rehearsals. The ideal state during a performance is: completely free and free of all ballast. Only then are we completely in the moment. You float and feel carried by the music - then true inspiration and creativity is possible. How to achieve this is, of course, a mystery. Because even after the most intensive rehearsals, there is no guarantee of actually getting there. An unforgettable evening, an unforgettable concert - none of that can be planned. So we should do what is possible, but then leave ourselves entirely to the moment. The nice thing is that an evening always has something unpredictable about it. If only because, in contrast to the rehearsals, the all-important element is now added, namely the audience.
But what does the immediate preparation look like, half an hour before a performance? Do you look at the three tricky parts again? Or do you try to unbuckle yourself and get into that state?
I have to admit that I don't follow a fixed and regular ritual. Of course, I try to tune into the work and calm down inside. But basically, a few moments of silence are enough for me and then: take a deep breath and get started. But these things also vary from evening to evening.
In other words, the work must be finished with the last rehearsal.
Exactly. Everything has to happen beforehand and be completed with the dress rehearsal. A perfect rehearsal process is extremely hard work. Of course, you can also think too much about tricky parts. But going into a performance with anxiety is actually the worst thing.
When you tell a joke, you can tell from the very first words whether it will hit home or not. Is it the same as a conductor? Do you know how the evening is going to go after the first 22 bars?
An incredible amount can happen during an opera performance. This huge apparatus: orchestra, choir, soloists, technology, audience. Even if you get off to a perfect start, that doesn't mean it will automatically continue as well. But you're right, it's a bit like surfing, you soon feel whether you've caught the wave that carries you and on which you can glide. And then it doesn't matter if any little things or lapses in concentration happen. Or if there are disturbing noises from the audience. Conversely, it's difficult when you realize: Hm, today this state of ease isn't really happening. So how you get into a performance usually says a lot about how it will go. Getting started is perhaps the most difficult thing of all.
You've mentioned the audience several times now. As a conductor, you are turned away from it - and yet you feel it, and it has an effect on you?
Tension is the ultimate state of mind! Energy, intensity, even breathless silence! The audience plays a key role in this. Ultimately, a performance is a collective spiritual exercise. What it needs is focus, immersion. And above all, unconditional passion. All emotions are allowed and welcome! On both sides, in the audience and on stage. And yet another mystery: this invisible bond between audience and artists has something symbiotic about it. We on stage and in the orchestra pit become one big overarching community of souls, together with the audience. And, as is so often the case, the result is more than the sum of its parts. An opera evening consists of more than just the individual people who create it or listen to it. There is something that is magnified into a great mystery that has the potential to change a life forever.
"Tension is the ultimate state of mind! Energy, intensity, even breathless silence! The audience plays a key role in this. Ultimately, a performance is a shared spiritual exercise."
Is this a cultural exercise? In the sense of: We have learned it this way?
I would venture a bold thesis: tens of thousands of years ago, when we sat around fireplaces in caves, we ate, drank, sang and danced. This gave rise to this great sense of togetherness through community. An identity! A unique cohesion. All of this probably made our survival as a human race possible in the first place. This archaic and emotional experience is still inherent in us. That is why a performance, a cultural event, is still a highly complex and almost spiritual process.
Does this mean that, whether around the Stone Age campfire or today in the music club, we seek and create a bond?
It is about resonance. It's about not feeling alone, about being in good hands, about reasoning, about feeling yourself as a society, as a particle in a larger context. There is also something cultic about it. It is not for nothing that a performance is similar to the dramaturgy of a church service. It requires silence, there are agreements, it has something to do with staging, the audience devoutly follows an event and the altar, i.e. the stage area, is brightly lit. What we are doing is trying to bring ourselves into harmony. Just like thousands of years ago, when shamans tried to do this. Culture is an ideal way to connect with our counterparts, i.e. with other people - and with ourselves, beyond all barriers and hurdles.
This is impossible to achieve through everyday language alone. But through art - and music in particular - we enter a world behind the world, a meta-world. Music is something like a meta-language that moves us and magically casts a spell over us. And that's why a concert, a performance, is always an archaic act that makes us human in the first place, because we suddenly understand what we would otherwise not understand. As you can see, I am a great cultural optimist. Because what I am trying to describe will always play a major role when it comes to being able to feel ourselves and being connected with ourselves.
Then what is the conductor, what are you? The head shaman?
I am nothing more than a presenter. Someone who tries to pass on these experiences and promote how important art and music are for our lives. I try to share my great passion for music. Sometimes you have over a hundred people on stage when you play a big symphonic program. In an opera performance, there are even more people involved, think of the choir, the technicians, the soloists and the orchestra. Someone has to give the whole thing an idea, a form, a direction that everyone can follow.
You are an incredibly busy conductor who leads several orchestras around the world. How do you juggle it all? You must have an incredibly well-organized schedule, otherwise it wouldn't work.
It is not only an absolute prerequisite to be well organized, but also to manage your resources and use them correctly. I've been in the business for many years now and I'm realizing more and more that focus is the most important thing. The deeper you can get into the artistic subject matter, the more intense the experience. So if the chemistry is right, then it makes sense for me to focus my attention on a few selected bodies of sound.
In podcasts, you talk about very exciting new ways of seeing and listening to Johannes Brahms or Anton Bruckner. What about operetta? With Die Fledermaus? Are there also changing lines of sight? Can or must we rediscover Die Fledermaus?
What is written in the score, what is between the covers of the book, is not the work of art itself, but always just a roadmap to the piece, a kind of map to the actual experience. This is no different with Die Fledermaus than with a great Bruckner symphony. The work, which has only been handed down to us in a toneless musical notation, i.e. a kind of inadequate description, must therefore always be breathed new life into it, it must first be produced. As a result, it will automatically always be new and contemporary. And you don't have to worry about the Fledermaus becoming obsolete anyway, because it is incredibly modern, socially effective and taken from real life. A real-life satire, albeit with a great deal of melancholy, alongside all the famous waltzing bliss. Of course it has something to do with history and tradition. But it is precisely in Die Fledermaus, through the character of Frosch, that the topicality of the day is implemented. The production may be decades old: The truths are always being uncovered anew, and all deep psychological processes are constantly being renegotiated. This does not necessarily require a new production. The cast of singers and a great frog like Michael Niavarani alone make the work completely contemporary. And the music ... it's always lively thanks to the level of the waltz, which you can't really write down and explain anyway. Especially with this great and unique orchestra, which I'm really looking forward to. The freedom with which music is played here, the agility, flexibility and elasticity, is unmatched anywhere in the world!
So it's about the lightness you mentioned at the beginning.
Exactly! The Fledermaus is about lightness, about serenity. And about forgetting and forgiving as a survival strategy! When the stage goes hand in hand with the orchestra, almost every bar can have a different tempo, then you can go to extremes. It's always a ride on the razor's edge. You ask yourself: how far can you push it without the whole place blowing up in your face? Pushing the envelope and pushing the boundaries has a lot to do with the Fledermaus itself. In any case, it's not about repetition, but about a great sense of freedom. And that's what I really hope for in the performances!