Lahav Shani keeps his distance, nursing a seasonal cough. After the rehearsal at De Doelen, ginger tea and segments of mandarin are brought to him. The chief conductor is in good hands.

‘I find it a joy to be here,’ says Shani as he settles comfortably onto one of the benches in the conductor’s room. How come? ‘I don’t know, but from the very first minute I have felt at home in Rotterdam. And I can tell you that our bond, the connection between me and the orchestra, has only grown stronger in recent years.’

Shani remembers it clearly, ten years ago. In this very room, the conductor’s room, he sat during the break of his very first rehearsal with the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra, Tchaikovsky’s Sixth. He thought: I would like to stay here. He had never experienced such a feeling with an orchestra before. ‘That combination of excitement and relaxation: something happened inside me. What it comes down to is the curiosity of these musicians — and of myself — always being willing to try something new, in repertoire and in interpretation. The players are driven by emotion, they are spontaneous and fully engaged in the moment when they make music; they dare to take risks.’

Spontaneity
‘The music happens’ — that is the feeling Shani has when he stands on the podium in Rotterdam. He does not feel that he is conducting. ‘Making music, conducting, it has to feel effortless, but it is almost impossible to achieve that. I will probably strive for it all my life. Sometimes you come close, and we, with this orchestra, have come very close.’

In his view, what a conductor must be able to do very well is listen and remain flexible. Imposing your own will automatically takes away the spontaneity of a group of musicians, a form of expression they naturally bring. It is better to respond to that, according to Shani. ‘Under no circumstances do I want to take away the musicians’ creativity. They are on stage, they play, they must feel the necessity of what they are doing. Conducting is not initiating, but inviting. There is a flow, an energy stream, and you need a conductor to keep it going, not to determine it.’

The cup of ginger tea is still full; Shani only stirs it now and then. He is absorbed by the subject of conducting. ‘In Rotterdam I learned how an orchestra responds to me. For example, if I thought: hmm, today the group feels a bit cool — it took me a while to realise that it was actually me. You get back what you give; the musicians hold up a mirror to me. You need each other, and the more I give, the more I receive in return.’

Chamber music
Shani succeeded Zubin Mehta as music director of the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra and in September this year he will take up the position of chief conductor of the Munich Philharmonic. Two orchestras is the maximum for him. ‘You have to be present, you have to be prepared, you have to focus, and you also want to be at home from time to time.’

In May, Lahav bids farewell to the orchestra with five concerts. These also include chamber music, which he performs with orchestra members at the piano. Piano and double bass are Shani’s instruments. From the very beginning in Rotterdam, it was a conscious decision to make chamber music together. In that way you get closer to each other, not only personally but also musically. You can discuss musical ideas in detail. ‘And,’ Shani emphasises, ‘this allows the musicians to be in the spotlight, rather than just forming part of a larger group. That is also very enjoyable for the listener — to see who someone is.’

‘Another programme features Schoenberg’s Verklärte Nacht, which I am very much looking forward to. We have long wanted to perform something in which the strings receive all the attention. Fantasy, colour — those are things you often discuss when rehearsing with wind players. Strings are a different story. You can speak in colours and metaphors, but you also have to be very precise. Verklärte Nacht may well be the finest piece ever written for strings — it is extremely expressive, rich and profound.’

Would he not prefer to play himself? ‘I admit that I often miss the feeling of producing sound myself. When I embrace the double bass and play, my whole body vibrates. It is an illusion that as a conductor you make sound, and yet after many years you feel as if the sound comes from you. I also miss being part of a group, the human aspect. As a conductor you focus entirely on the music. In an orchestral section you can share a joke with your stand partner.’ That is why Shani fell in love with the symphonic repertoire; it was through playing in an orchestra that he came to conducting.

Soprano Chen Reiss will also take part, in Mahler’s Fourth Symphony, during another programme. She is a close friend and compatriot of the Israeli conductor, and was previously Artist in Residence with the orchestra.

A sip of tea at last. Shani perseveres, speaking in between a dry cough. ‘Every season you need Mahler,’ he says with a smile. ‘The Rotterdam players perform Mahler as if the music were written for them. Grand, symphonic, rich in colour — the orchestra excels in it. At the same time, this music allows room for individuality. Mahler is chamber music in its own way.’

Child prodigy
Shani also wanted to perform a commissioned work. He had Tsotne Zedginidze on his radar (see the interview on page 14), an interesting case: Georgian, very young, born in 2009. ‘When he was twelve, he played his own music for me on the piano. I could not believe what I was hearing. I have met several child prodigies; they can do something extremely well at a young age, but is what they do interesting? I heard Tsotne and thought: this is someone with a unique voice — what he played sounded natural and intuitive. I had encountered the first truly twenty-first-century composer. Someone who leans strongly towards Berg and Shostakovich. Debussy is old-fashioned to him.’

Was Shani himself a child prodigy? ‘Well, I was quite handy at the piano; I could play a symphony on eighty-eight keys. But what matters is what happens afterwards: what do you absorb, do you have a strong personality? I was different, but whether I was a prodigy, I’m not sure. What I did know was that I wanted to become a musician. I had one goal, and that was to make music with excellent musicians — not to be successful. I did not want to make compromises, musically or in expression. I want to be surrounded by people who can lift me up and whom I can lift up. And that is exactly what happens here in this orchestra.’

Shani’s ideal is to make music from a combination of intuition and analysis. ‘What is a piece about, where does it take you? First I want to understand what a piece is about, to feel its style and structure. And then to free myself from the rational — that is what I strive for. Understanding a piece must become part of your musical DNA.’

He saw this in Daniel Barenboim, his most important mentor. Shani was around twenty when they first met. He describes Barenboim’s musicianship as an example of the right balance between analysis and spontaneity. ‘And my goodness, how much I have learned from him about what an orchestra can do: balance, colours, types of sound, harmony, atmosphere. I was able to study closely how he worked with singers in opera. Truly great musicians are musically flexible. They are not fixed in one interpretation, and yet you always recognise their signature — their sense of beauty, of articulation.’

Another example: Martha Argerich, surely? ‘Absolutely, a wonderful person. She will play Beethoven’s First Piano Concerto next season; I will be back as honorary conductor. Besides, Rotterdam is my family — I am not really leaving. It is an art to leave an orchestra as chief conductor at the right moment, not when you have grown tired of one another.’

Back to Argerich: Shani grew up with her recordings; he never imagined he would meet her, let alone become friends. ‘She is sensitive, introverted, not someone focused on success or career. She works incredibly hard, even now, to maintain this level. At the same time, everything comes so naturally to her. No one over eighty plays like that — we can only dream of it. She questions everything, takes nothing for granted. The remarkable thing is: when you hear her, it feels like the only possible way — and it is entirely spontaneous.’

Obsession
What does making music mean to Lahav Shani? ‘Music is part of my identity. It is also a social identity, like language. Music is another shared language. If you were to drop me on a desert island, I would never be alone; I can hear music in my head, without instruments. Music is there all the time — not when we are speaking now, because I am thinking about what I want to say — but otherwise: always, even in my dreams. Call it an obsession. It is like the air you breathe: music is always there.’