Klaus Tennstedt was a mess. But when he came to Philadelphia, his concerts were always something special. Never pedestrian. He was especially celebrated for his Mahler, a composer with whom he shared a neurotic affinity.
He suffered from a fragile ego, crippling stage-fright, ailments real and imagined, and absolute cluelessness as to how to navigate the world. He lived only for music, cigarettes, and women.
He is a prime example of a magnetic interpreter whose power didn’t always transfer to his recordings. Or if it did, it often seemed as if it was at a remove. Which I realize is a ridiculous thing to say. Listening to a recording can’t possibly be the same as being there. But in concert, you got the full package. The last thing on Tennstedt’s mind was “posterity.” A live performance lives in the moment. You experienced the musicmaking in your heart and in your gut.
I was just thinking about Tennstedt last week and wondering if I was as crazy as he was. On one memorable occasion, I attended one of his concerts with no less than three girlfriends (at the time, two former and one current). To my knowledge, that’s the only time I ever did that.
Tennstedt might have been the sweatiest conductor I ever saw. The guy always looked like he just rolled out of bed, badly shaken by the night terrors. He was an interesting character. The world of classical music is a lot blander without him.
Saluting him on the 100th anniversary of his birth.
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Live performance of Mahler Symphony No. 3
Richard Strauss, “Four Last Songs”
Sweaty Wagner fest!
An interesting write-up, in connection with a Tennstedt biography
