A conductor who defied easy labels

The Lorin Maazel I remember

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2 minute read
His favorite composer surprised me.
His favorite composer surprised me.

Most of Lorin Maazel’s obituaries described him as coldly intellectual and clinical. I saw a contrasting other side.

After a performance he conducted, I asked Maazel why he took a certain movement so slowly. He paused for a moment, then asked, “Why not?”— thus revealing an impetuous, impulsive side.

And this: A colleague asked Maazel to name his favorite composer. “Brahms,” he replied. That seemed odd; Brahms isn’t the most revered of the Three B's nor is he cherished by most 21st-century musicians. But when I asked him what was the first piece of music he remembered hearing, Maazel answered, “Brahms’ Lullaby,” sung to him by his mother.

So — under that chilly surface was a sentimental man.

These two anecdotes surely don’t represent the last word about Maazel, who died on July 13 at the age of 84. But they demonstrate the folly of affixing simplistic labels to anyone, especially a highly intelligent musician with diverse interests like Maazel.

He was born in Paris in 1930 to American parents with Russian roots, learned violin, and became a prodigy who guest-conducted the New York Philharmonic at the age of 12. At 16, Maazel entered the University of Pittsburgh, where he studied languages, mathematics, and philosophy and played violin in the Pittsburgh Symphony.

He spoke more than six languages and studied in Italy on a Fulbright scholarship.

During his 77-year career, Maazel became music director and chief conductor of six orchestras: the Cleveland, Pittsburgh Symphony, New York Philharmonic, Deutsche Opera Berlin, Vienna State Opera, and Munich Philharmonic. He leaves behind a wide repertory of recorded performances. One of my favorites was his own 75-minute arrangement of music from Wagner’s Ring des Nibelungen, on the Tel-Arc label with the Berlin Philharmonic, titled The "Ring" Without Words.

(To see a video excerpt, click here.)

Maazel clearly anticipated many more years of life; his father lived to 106. But an undisclosed illness overtook him recently. He announced more than a month ago that he was canceling all future engagements. At the June 28 opening of the Castleton Festival at his 550-acre Virginia farm, he looked frail. Then came the unexpected announcement that he died from complications of pneumonia.

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