Donato Cabrera

Wonderful, Michael. Thank you so much for— for your invitation. I'm— I'm really excited to speak with you and...

...and have this time together.

Well, Michael, thank you. Gosh, that's a wonderful compliment, and it's something that, uh— and thank you for— for recognizing that, because that is, uh— while I don't feel I am always successful at achieving that, that is indeed my primary goal, I think, for all of us, uh, for conductors who— who have the opportunity to conduct as much as we do. Uh, necessity is the mother of invention in many ways, and I learned that that— that being efficient, being communicative with— with the least physicality but with the most intention, um, I learned that on my the first day of my, um, real full-time professional job, which was as resident conductor of the San Francisco Opera. I was brought in in 2005. Speaking of body of time flies, but I was brought in in, uh, 2005 to be the resident conductor, and my very first production was the world premiere of John Adams' Doctor Atomic. And the first two and a half weeks, the music then-music director, my boss, Donald Runnicles, was not there. Uh, so it was— it was me and— and the cast. And John would sit on my left, and Peter Sellars, the director, would sit on my right. And at that time in— in, uh, San Francisco Opera, there was no company-wide dark day. That has since changed, and now every production must have the dark day on Monday. But— but at that point, all the productions had their own dark day, uh, which was wonderful for the— for the cast and crew, uh, for Doctor Atomic, but because I was the only conductor, I had no dark day. Everyone else had— there were other pianists that could— there were three or four pianists that were assigned that could rotate, and of course, the cast had a cover cast. But— but for the— so for the first 28 days,

I conducted six hours a day, straight— well, there was an hour lunch— and after day— I remember after day three, I woke up and I— I really couldn't turn my head to the right any longer.

And so, what that taught me, again, because I— it— I had— I had no other option, was that I needed to just think about the music and be efficient and that, uh— that really has carried with me for the rest. It was a wo— incredible lesson, because at the same time, I was so lucky. I was working with the greatest singers in the world, with— and with pianists, as you know, these great pianists in the opera houses, they can— their job is to sound like an orchestra and to follow you like an orchestra would follow you. So, during these— these hours upon hours of staging rehearsals, I had at my disposal these incredible musicians to work with and to experiment with. "Okay, I can't do what I normally do, which obviously was too much to begin with, so let's figure out a way to be efficient and economical and musical."

Ah, I was there. I was the assistant conductor for that production.

That's right. I mean, it's— it's— it's a very um— again, I think it— it does— it must, out of repetition— and— and again, I mean repetition by having the uh— wonderful honor of rehearsing for, uh, often, and day-in and day-out— if you just wave your arms around without any meaning, you're— you're— you're not going— you're not going to get any results, number— most importantly. The thing you're supposed to be there for, you become useless. And musicians, whether— and it doesn't matter what form they've come in, whether they're singers, pianists, orchestras—

they can— they will even, I think I would say, subconsciously check out if a conductor gets in front of them and merely beats time. Well, how— and how we all, how we— how we all learn how to beat time— the basic patterns, of course— but if we never connect those beats, those in- physical impulses with musical meaning or philosophical meaning or emotion— again, all tied to what we what we learn while we're studying this music and reading about it— if we don't connect it to— to any impulse, it's— you, they're meaning— they're literally meaningless.

I— I think there's also one con— [Coughs] not to defend those folks, but I would also argue that one— one of the challenges of conducting is that, again, a teacher— this should also teach us to be minimal— is that the more you move physically, the more one moves, the less— less one hears. It's a— it's a— it's a— it's human nature. It goes back to the fight-or-flight, uh, uh, aspect of our inner, inner caveman, that the moment we uh start moving, all of our— our brain starts focusing on what we're seeing and less about what we're hearing, because we— we had to escape those saber-toothed tigers and be ultra-aware of what we're looking at, not necessarily of what we're hearing. And so, the more one moves, by nature, we hear less. So, there— there— there are, I know, there are many well-meaning conductors that are so well-prepared, they really have been at home and they've studied the music and and— [Coughs] and they are really going in there with the best intentions, but they're faced with th— this dichotomy. The moment they set— they stand on podium, they start moving and conducting, and they may not be comfortable yet with these gestures, or even if they are comfortable, they're— they feel that they need to conduct a certain way and they stop listening, because of human nature.

I think with— with, uh— Leonard Bernstein and I— I'm— I'm reminded of this because I've just now started to read the, uh, his— his letters, uh, that were published about 15 years ago or so.

And— and I love the early letters because you really get a sense, first of all, especially, you know, to his school chums, because you— you get a sense of— of him as a real person, not as this incredible—

But— but you sense that he not only had enormous respect for Fritz Reiner, in totally in awe of what he was doing, because he— he would go see him conduct, you know, the— the New York Philharmonic, and then the next day, he'd do Der Rosenkavalier at the Met. And— and so, you know, this, not only as his teacher in Philadelphia, but as a performer in New York City, you uh— Leonard Bernstein had a real, wonderful, um, way— way of observing. Like, this not on— you know, a lot of teachers only sh— sho— you know, show you in class. They, very few teachers are on the world stage exhibiting exactly what they're showing you day-in and day-out. So, he had that— he— he— he had this model that he obviously didn't follow in terms of gesture. But, equally important to Leonard Bernstein's development, and what is so wonderful about him was that he was— he— he was, at the same time, under the tutelage or or mentorship of Serge Koussevitzky in Boston, who was this incredible, Dionysian, a- all about emotion conductor. I love watching the videos, especially between the two, Reiner and Koussevitzky, who, again, couldn't be more different. And Bernstein was able, as you said, said so beautifully, he was able to be both if he needed to. Both at the same time, and one or one or the other depending on the situation in rehearsal. And also, another very important men— a mentor to Bernstein was Dimitri Mitropoulos. Again, an in— another incredibly, uh, a volcanic, uh, emotional conductor.

I did, not— not through, uh— I never— I didn't get a degree in composition. But, my— my exposure to classical music was, I grew up in Reno, Nevada. On the one hand, for a small Western town, it had an incredible vibe— incredibly vibrant, still does, uh, art— art scene, especially music scene. Um, so I had a— I had a— I had decent examples and wonderful teachers. But, my journey began when— with classical music when I was 15 with my best friend. He played bassoon, I played French horn. He— he immediately started becoming interested in composition, I became interested in conducting, and somehow, we both ended up doing what we loved. He— he became a composer and taught at Washington State up until just last year and taught bassoon, and I became a conductor. I— I no longer play the French horn, but we discovered— we discovered music in this wonderful way together on the bus to school, where we would share uh our discoveries in composition and conducting simultaneously. And I tried to compose— I was nowhere near as uh good at it as Ryan was— but he would show me some things, and I would show him things about conducting. And so, we both had this interest and exposure to conducting and and composition in— in a very healthy, wonderful way.

First of all, it's— it's— it's it's interesting you— you bring up Brahms' Second Symphony, because I am— I will be conducting it this summer in Ch— in Chile with this orchestra th— that I'm finally getting to return to, since the pandemic. And, I actually had submitted Symphony Number One because I have recently been— I have recently conducted Brahms' Second Symphony quite a few times, and so I didn't want to conduct the Second Symphony. But they came back and they said, "Well, Maestro, we— we need— we need one of the symphonies— the only symphony that has a tuba," in these, again, practical terms, "is the Second Symphony, and our tuba player needs the services, so we can— can you please think about..." And so, I— I— not reluctant, of course, I... But, it's, to answer your question, it's not about me, always. It's often about what the orchestra needs,

about what the— about what the audience needs. Now, why should I re- why should I revisit—

Because, first of all, these masterworks are— they're masterworks because of the— the main reason is that every time you revisit them, you learn something new about the piece, and you learn something new about yourself. And the way I approach a piece like Brahms' Second Symphony or the— or a Beethoven symphony, it's i— it— it constantly is evolving because I'm growing as an artist, I'm growing as a musician. And it's— and it would be the same to say that, you know, you— you go to the— to the Louvre and you see David, and you say, "Okay, I've seen it. I don't need to see it any longer." No, because, every time you go to Paris, you should try and get in there to that lobby, fight the crowds, and see David every five or 10 years because—

Yes.

Sorry. I'm thinking of, um— what's the—

Yes, the Winged Victory, thank you.

Yes, thank you. Winged Victory.

But you get— but you get the idea. Whether it's Mona Lisa...

Well, for me, I don't think about that. I think about what happens after that. Using now, this is something that also Bruno Walter talks about and also Erich Leinsdorf, is that the tempo of a piece is often, more often than not, at the beginning. It's somewhere in— in the music later on that it must be at a certain tempo, or that gesture, musical gesture, will either sound too— not sound together or not come off or not have the— the emotional content. So, for me, I always think of... [Sings] That's what I was think— I think about that very um, that— that disjunct, arpeggiated uh melody or part of melody that— that needs time to be s- to be played. I don't think of... [Sings] I don't think of that, because that can be done in a variety of ways successfully, but that moment, later on in the movement, can really only be done at a certain tempo.

Well, I— I— I definitely believe that helps. In terms of phrasing, [Coughs], I often think of language just in its basic formation. So, for instance, speaking of Brahms, going back to Brahms, I don't think of— I try my best, even though I'm your classic American in that I didn't grow up learning other languages and— and uh— uh, etc., etc. So, German to me is is a— is a language as I've had to struggle with as an adult. But, I try my best when I'm I'm studying Brahms to think of the Germ— German language and how the German language flows, how it's sung, and that to me starts to reveal the a— the phrasing and in a Brahms' symphonic work, more often than not.

Yeah. [Laughs]

You, and— and this is— this is the thing that when you start reading, especially if you— if you start reading the letters of— of composers and theorists of the day, they— they reveal so much of how things should be performed, because they did it. They were in contact with these composers. And it's not to say, I don't want to take away from composers— oh, excuse me, conductors who may or may not do that, and— and you know, Karajan was a great conductor. I— I have a lot of respect for him. But his traditions o— can often come from, uh— as Furtwängler used to say, "A tradition is just another— another bad performance." Now, I won't go that far, but you know, traditions can start, start and you— you get— you get these traditions, especially, um, in orchestras that— that— that play more often, you know, the more the larger orchestras, they have their own traditions of how things should go. And there's no real reason why they do they— they, if you were to stop any of these, "Why— hey, why do you slow down there?" they're like, "Well, that's just how we do it." And— and you, you know, you need to ask, always ask like, okay, first of all, why do they do that? And— and if it's something that you can justify for yourself, you should always, this— when in rehearsal, I believe, uh, have a sense of, hey, this orchestra does things a certain way. There there must be a— a reason. What are those reasons? And to take, take those in and, or and or, disregard them and do still do it the way you wanted to do. It's always a give-and-take.

Well, e— the first— the first question, I think, is a little easier to answer than the second question. Uh, first, for me, uh, I— I when I became the music director of the California Symphony, I was lucky enough to take over as— as part of this my duties as music director, the selection and nurturing of their already existing, uh, what's the— it's called the Young American Composer-in-Residence of the California Symphony. And prior to my prior to my time there, there have been wonderful composers who have gone th— that have had this— this residency over the years, have gone on to wonderful on, off to, uh, wonderful things. But one of the things that I— I wanted to introduce to this process was a complete anonymous application procedure. Now, it's— wh— before, it would have been difficult to do, because people would send their, literally, scores in paper— paper copy, and every, you know, everything had to would have had to been marked out, etc. But online, now everything is online, so everything's is sent via PDF. And our our wonderful staff, we get over 100 and— the last o— last application, we had over 180 applicants. And they erased all names, all titles of the song— of the compositions. I don't even look at the— the— the reference. So, what I— the only thing that I have are the MP3s, which I actually don't really even listen to, but the score and the music. So, what turns

Of course. You know, it's just— it's just— it's not a commitment to— to bringing the audience along on a— on a multi-year journey. I— ooh, I'm so lucky, because I— I have a composer for three years, so the first piece, I— I almost always ask them to say, "Listen, you need to write an overture piece that every orchestra can take, because that's what people are asking for." The next pieces you're going to write, however, can be longer if you want. If you want to write a concerto, even if you want to write a s— a something that approaches a symphony, I am there for you, because, on the other side of the spectrum, they may never have that opportunity again. So, that's— that's a very important aspect. But— but just to answer the first question quickly, what I— what gets me going are the foundations of music, which are counterpoint and melody.

Thank you so much, Michael Shapiro. Thank you very much.

Absolutely. My pleasure.