Currentzis in Madrid

When I first heard of Teodor Currentzis, I thought I was meeting a character from a Russian novel: everything about him just seemed to be so over the top. On one hand, there were people who praised him enthusiastically, giving him adjectives that veered into idolatry; on the other, there were others who pragmatically dismissed everything the other side had claimed. Both claques had something in common, though: Teodor Currentzis seemed to be out of this world.

The first thing that got my attention were his recordings. Critics hailed him as a revolutionary in the art of capturing extraordinary performances alongside his orchestra. Currentzis not only worked extremely hard in the rehearsals (a common complaint among his musicians), but after everything was put on tape, he made big efforts to make sure with the audio engineers that the sound that they were able to catch matched the unique vision he had crafted in his head.

Even when I was really curious about how all of that would sound like, I didn’t have the opportunity to listen to his recordings until last year, when I heard the greatest classical music recording ever made, in my humble opinion: his rendering of Tchaikovsky’s 6th symphony, which I promise to analyze in a future post.

That was it -I immediately became one of his fans. Afterwards, I heard pretty much everything he had recorded that was available. I have to say that I was impressed with most of what I listened to: I loved his take on Stravinsky’s Les Noces, I was fascinated with his selection of Rameau’s pieces, and I fairly liked his Le sacre du printemps. Nonetheless, I ended up befuddled with his rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto.

That last reaction was faithful to what many criticize him for. Currentzis is certainly bold, his choices at times result disconcerting, but does this come from a real conviction, or is it part of his iconoclastic character? No one could really say, but you just cannot stay the same after experiencing his readings.

A few months ago I had the chance to see him live, and I exited the theater absolutely shaken up. He conducted Mahler’s Titan, a work that I love and that I have heard live conducted by another tumultuous figure: Gustavo Dudamel.

Throughout most of his take, Currentzis remained conspicuously conservative. His baton resembled that of other strong Mahler conductors like Bohm and Klemperer, often outweighed by the delicacy of Walter, and even Bernstein.

As with Dudamel, it is as spectacular to hear Currentzis lead the Stuttgart Symphony, as it is to see him in action. He seems to dance totally enraptured by the sounds he is making. He is not self-indulgent, though, I rather take those gestures as something that serves the music.

If you have read my previous posts about the future of classical music, I have doggedly insisted in the fact that if classical music aims to stay relevant in this world overwhelmed by a vast array of entertainment sources, it has to find a way to become exciting. 

And this is exactly how I felt and I was hardly the only one, should I add, in Madrid’s Auditorio Nacional, while experiencing the Currentzis phenomenon. You can love him, you can hate him, but when a thunder hits the ground you just can’t ignore it.