I once owned a secondhand bookshop located a block from Philadelphia’s Rittenhouse Square. Because of the nature of the business, and its location (around the corner from the Curtis Institute of Music and three blocks from the stage door of the old Academy of Music), I met a number of notable musicians over the years and dealt with even more online.
One day, I was out walking my dog in the park, when who should pass through but Simon Rattle. I hailed him, and though he was on his way to an orchestra rehearsal (as I knew from the time of day, the direction he was walking, and the fact that he was slated to guest conduct over the weekend), he stopped and took the time to chat. Apparently Rattle wasn’t overly concerned with punctuality. A friend of mine told me that a short while later, he saw Rattle taking a leisurely walk around the outside of the Academy, looking up at its roof.
Rattle is fairly gregarious and, I gather, somewhat of a dog lover. So a few days later, when I knew there would be another rehearsal, I was sure to have one of his recordings on me in the park, and he was kind enough to inscribe the booklet. At the time, he commented on how we had similar hairstyles, so he appended a quick self-portrait (see photo; you may have to click on it for a better look). I think I scored brownie points for selecting Nicholas Maw’s “Odyssey,” clearly a labor of love on Rattle’s part, and certainly not the popular choice.
Rattle had been guest conductor of the Philadelphia Orchestra already for a number of years, and I heard him lead memorable concerts of Mahler, Sibelius and Schoenberg (the monumental “Guerrelieder”). The organization at the time was hot to make him the successor of Wolfgang Sawallisch as its music director. As I recall, he had not yet received his knighthood, and he had certainly not yet been named principal conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic, arguably the most prestigious conducting position in the world. I can’t imagine that Herbert von Karajan would have walked to work, much less stopped to chat about dogs and hair (although, given Karajan’s immaculately sculpted coiff, I would have been very interested to hear his thoughts on the latter).
Some time later, I missed out on a third chance to meet Rattle. One of the many interesting figures to wander into my shop was the youngest grandson of Jean Sibelius. I know this, because by coincidence I happened to be playing the old Kajanus recording of the Third Symphony. His grandson was astonished (although if he knew me better at the time, he would not have been, since Sibelius happens to be one of my favorite composers), and I equally so. Who knew Sibelius’ grandson was an independent filmmaker living in Philadelphia?
When I noted that Rattle would be coming back to Philadelphia to conduct Sibelius’ Fifth Symphony, I was determined to get the composer’s grandson into the rehearsals. Why he couldn’t accomplish that on his own, I have no idea. Perhaps he lacked the self-confidence or had an inflated sense of my worth. At any rate, all it took was a phone call, and we were at the Academy watching Rattle put the piece together.
The rehearsal ran long, and I had to get back to open my shop, so that I could be there for all the customers who wouldn’t be coming in that day. Bad choice. Sibelius’ grandson was brought backstage afterward, and not only was he introduced to Rattle, but was done so at the time that a Vanity Fair photographer was busily snapping away to have something to illustrate an article for an upcoming issue. Somewhere there exists a photograph of Rattle planting a big kiss on Sibelius’ grandson – which would be especially funny if you knew the grandson.
Anyway, he told me about this, and of course I was disappointed to have missed out on this backstage love fest. He made it up to me a short while later by introducing me to Einojuhani Rautavaara, who was in town for the premiere of his Symphony No. 8. There is a photo of that meeting as well, but as this was in the days before cell phones and laptops, it is sitting in an envelope somewhere in my apartment with all my other old-style photos. Just as well, since, as I recall, I was grinning like a Tyrannosaurus rex.
I hope you’ll join me for “The Lost Chord” this week, as I celebrate the 60th birthday of Sir Simon Rattle (born January 19, 1955) with an hour of his recordings. The show is called “Simon Says.” You can hear it tonight at 10 ET, with a repeat Wednesday evening at 6, or listen to it later as a webcast at http://www.wwfm.org.
PHOTOS: Rattle at Curtis in 1997 (top); signature with self-portrait
