Semyon Bychkov: Everything begins with the heart joined by the mind, not the other way around

I went through many of the interviews you have given and, found that you very rarely talk about yourself. You usually focus on music.

You know, in the Russian alphabet, the letter ‘I’ (Я) is the last one. Anyway, whatever we say or do reveals who we are.

Well, I think that our readers are very interested in you as a person, you are a kind of celebrity, but I can only name a couple of things that you revealed about your personal life: you like sushi, fast cars, Edith Piaf and Real Madrid. Can you confirm?

There have to be some modifications, it always depends. For example, Real Madrid, when they play at their best, yes. And when they don't, no. That's football.

Are there any more personal preferences that you could share with your fans? For example, somebody told me, and I don't know if it's true, that you are a dog person.

Yes. I love animals, and we have dogs in the family. I mean, we used to. There was a time when we had three golden retrievers.

Three?

Yes. Because there were two brothers and a mama. And, at the same time, we had an English Cocker Spaniel.

At the same time?!

It just happened that way. It was incredibly joyful. Eventually, their lives came to an end one by one. And ever since the last one left us, we felt that we had to make a pause because with our lifestyle, traveling all the time… You know, dogs are like babies. They need their parents to be around. Maybe, one day, another baby will come into the family.

Do you know this fun fact about the Czech Republic: It's a country with the most dogs in Europe, after Romania, but those are wild dogs.

I didn't know that.

Maybe your passion for dogs and this feature of the Czech public is something that makes you somehow subconsciously close, a kind of proximity.

There must be something to it. Everyone who has this attachment can confirm how extraordinary dogs are. They don't ask for much. All they want is food and love. And that's enough for them.

Happy lives.

Exactly. What they give to us with their sensitivity, their intelligence, and their loyalty is so unique.  In their own way, they share our life, our moods...

When you think back to your early days as a conductor, what surprised you most about the profession, something that you didn't expect when you started? Is there something?

I think the easiest example would be to tell you about the very first experience I had when I conducted an orchestra. I was 17 years old and taking the exams to enter the Leningrad Conservatory to study conducting. It was practically unheard of for a 17-year-old to try and enter orchestral conducting studies at the time.  That year, there were 78 who applied and, after various exams, the number of us left became smaller and smaller. Only one could be accepted.

Finally, there was the last round, conducting a real orchestra. There were eight of us left, the other candidates were considerably older, and some had already tried a number of times unsuccessfully. And they were telling me: “What you will hear from the podium is completely different from what you normally hear when you're in the hall, what you will hear has nothing to do with it! You will not understand who plays what.”

When my turn came, I went on stage to conduct Brahms' First Symphony, and I realized that I could hear absolutely everything. It sounded exactly as if I was inside that living organism, inside that sound, but I was able to completely distinguish the various sections and how they were playing together and how they were mixing or being individual. I felt that this was what I had been born to do. I had always believed it, but here it was absolutely confirmed. 

After that, you keep being surprised because you keep discovering things that you did not know. And you say to yourself: “Oh, God, I wish I had known that a long time ago.” And you realize that there is a reason why we can't know all of it right away. Because if we did, then there would be nothing to discover. It's normal, just not easy to accept.

As a conductor, you lead a huge number of people in rehearsals and during concerts. Do you feel that you take on a different persona when you step on the podium, or are you also a natural leader in your private life? Because leadership is something, I'm sure, that is very important for a conductor. 

It is about leadership, but I don't believe I'm a different person when I work than in my daily life. I think I'm the same person. It's very important to be yourself and not to try to be somebody you're not. But conducting indeed involves leading colleagues, and without those qualities, it would be impossible.

And when it comes to leadership, is there something or somebody who inspires your approach, or is leadership something that was always in you?

I would say that it is a trait of character, and it manifests itself very early in life. But as with any other characteristic, it has to be developed. And it develops naturally throughout life. First, we observe other people and see how they act. Some of them lead in an organic way and others don't. And you learn from all of them.

It also requires sensitivity and a deep understanding of human nature: what makes people who they are and what makes them act or react the way they do? And that means being interested in them. That's essential because everyone needs to feel important – because they are. And it is once they have that feeling that they can also give the best of themselves. When they don't have it, they are a little bit like an oyster that goes inside its shell and doesn’t open, and that is a pity.

So, to be a good leader, you also need to be a good psychologist.

Only in a sense of trying to understand what motivates people, what doesn't, why someone reacts the way they do. Those reactions are not always directly related to the situation. There are lots of things that influence human life on the outside, so to speak. And the more that you are aware, the better you can understand the reaction.

I was wondering how long it takes to study a new symphony or a big piece you have never conducted before, I mean, even before you meet with the orchestra? Because then you only have two days of rehearsal, the dress rehearsal, and then the concerts. What does a conductor need to do even before this process? 

It is a very complex subject, because you study the scores all your life. And inevitably, each one of them will have to be conducted for the first time or played for the first time. There is the initial process of absorbing a work of art, all the information that is in it, in the score itself, which means the notes, the indications from the composer. Sometimes there are few, as in early music, and sometimes there are very many as in the music of later composers, Mahler, Strauss, etcetera. But it means absorbing all of that information and researching the composer and the period in which the composer lives or lived as well.

In a way, it is simpler with contemporary composers because they live in the same world in which we do. And even if we perceive it differently, it's still the same world. But with earlier composers, you have to try to imagine a world which is very different from ours, without forgetting that human nature never changes - how it manifests itself will be different, but human nature itself is the same. Nevertheless, those ways influence a creator. And so, it is researching and trying to sort of travel back in time. And all of that has to begin when you first approach a piece of music. All of it before the first rehearsal, because the first rehearsal may be your first with that piece, but not necessarily the first for some, or all, of your colleagues.

As the leader, your role is to have a vision of the piece and share it with your colleagues. Naturally, as you are making music with others, the vision evolves. It's as if you start with the trunk of the tree, which is what you bring, and then the branches spread. The more they spread, as a result of what others bring to it, the richer the interpretation will become. But that initial vision has to be there, otherwise, you have no right to stand on the podium.

That is the first step. Later, while living with the piece all your life, you will never stop learning about it. It has so many possibilities for expression! The work remains the same, but we are the ones who change as we go through life. There is no limit to how much we can discover in those creations. That is completely inexhaustible.

What you described is very intellectual work. And you said that you are inspired by performing with different colleagues, different orchestras. While studying a new piece of music, do you also listen to historical recordings, or do you prefer not to be influenced? 

I do want to know how that music has been viewed by others, whether it is in the very distant past or in our time. I don't see why one needs to be afraid of that.

You mentioned the word influence. We are all influenced, and it is a question of what is convincing in those influences and what is not. You also learn from those who don't convince. I'm absolutely in favor of that. Look at the composers themselves. It's really funny how they all steal from each other.

Really?

Oh, yes. You will see a tiny little tune from one composer and say to yourself: “My goodness, I’ve already heard that in a piece by another composer!” They are completely aware of what their colleagues are doing or have done, and they are influenced by them. But if you are strong enough to have your own personality, to have your own independent vision, this influence is positive. It takes nothing away from you and does not prevent you from finding your own way.

I don't think anyone is actually able to copy someone else’s interpretation. Superficially, yes, the tempo of the piece can be more or less copied. But the infinite details within the interpretation cannot. You mentioned “intellectual process”, and intellect is indeed working. But without the heart, it will not give you anything. I believe today that everything begins with the heart joined by the mind, and not the other way around.

You are regarded as one of the best opera conductors, yet Czech audiences haven't had the chance to see you conduct a staged opera here. I'd like to ask you, what is more demanding, conducting Mahler’s 3rd symphony with the Czech Philharmonic or Tristan und Isolde at Bayreuth?

Opera is the most complex art form that exists, simply because several different genres are combined. Each one will be influenced by the other, and that makes it unbelievably complex. When it works well, it is the most gratifying and enriching experience one can ever have. When it does not, it is a tragedy.

Also, in a practical sense, you perform a symphonic program two or three times, and then you move on to other things. It is prepared over a short period of time. With opera, it's weeks of preparation for a single production. If it is a new production, it usually involves about six weeks of rehearsal, and during that period, you stay with the piece, you stay with the production, you stay with all the elements that are coming together and make it grow. And until the general rehearsal – sometimes even later – you have no idea what the end result will be.  

But then, the performances go on. If it is a successful production, it's an incredible period to live through. But if it is not, it is just a frustration because you cannot be happy with what has been done, and it can be very depressing. That is the main difference.

I wouldn't say that conducting Tristan is more difficult than conducting Mahler, for instance, his Third Symphony. In terms of length, yes, Tristan is much longer. But there is a story behind every piece of music, and whether in an opera or in a symphony there is a story that needs to be told. Some stories take four hours to tell, and others take 30 minutes. No matter what, the investment is total.

Still, it seems to me that a four-hour story must be more difficult to handle than a 30-minute one.

Conducting music like Tristan can be compared to a marathon. With time, you find the pacing, the development of the story, as well as the evolution of each of the characters. If you conduct an opera, you have an orchestra in front of you in the pit and the singers in front of you on the stage. And each singer has their own character to portray. And those characters live their life: sometimes it's incredibly happy; sometimes it's unbelievably miserable; sometimes it's very peaceful. But, inevitably, there will be a conflict, a huge one. Otherwise, the opera would never be successful. Who wants to stay for six hours and not see a fight?

So, those are the people in front of me, and I have to identify with every single one of them as if it were me living their life. That is empathy. It's knowing who they are, what motivates them, what they feel, and what they need to do. It's very interesting because every single one of them, myself included, knows how the opera will end. Even the audience, those who have heard the opera before, also know that Violetta will die, but somehow, each time it will be different. Everybody knows. But the question is how. That's why people keep coming back.

It's very schizophrenic because when someone is singing, the other characters are not only listening, but they are also reacting as any human would when observing someone else. My reactions have to be connected to each one of them individually, and all of them collectively. And again, it is, of course, about empathy. And what’s more, the reactions of those characters will vary from performance to performance. It is never a copy.

I will never ever forget a production of Verdi’s Don Carlo, when Ferruccio Furlanetto, a dear friend and one of the greatest living Italian singers, sang the role of Filippo II, King of Spain.  

Furlanetto, a very famous name.

There is a scene where King Filippo is having a conversation with his servant, Posa. At the end of the conversation, the King dismisses him with a motion of his hand. That motion that Ferruccio made in every performance was never the same – the way he would dismiss Posa, the gesture itself. I always waited for that moment. And that tiny little gesture was an indication of how Ferruccio imagined the King felt about his servant and, one way or another, how the servant felt about being dismissed. That is what conducting opera is about.

And then, of course, you will have different artists singing the same role. Each one of them will have a different voice, a different physical capacity, a different look, a different temperament, a different everything. You have to be each one of them, but specifically the one who is with you in that moment, not the memory of somebody else.

We share music with lots of colleagues, some of them will touch us more and affect us forever, like Furlanetto with Filippo II or Boris Godunov, or Johan Botha, who was with me through Lohengrin, Daphne and Tanhäuser. He was a miracle of a heldentenor, as well as a miracle of a man who died very suddenly when he was still young. I have not yet returned to the operas that I did with him. I need my time to mourn. But, usually, it's better to accept those who are there rather than living with memories. We have to live in the present.

I know that your schedule is incredibly busy, much like a top executive in a global corporation.

God forbid!

And your profession requires an extraordinary level of focus and commitment. My question is, how do you cope with it? Do you have some time management tricks? What do you do to relax, to release the pressure?

Nothing. I don't really do anything, but it happens from other things that interest me. For example, I always have music inside me. I mean, not because I ask for it. It's just there. And most of the time, I'm not even conscious of it until it starts bothering me. Because it can be disturbing.

For instance, in the middle of the night, the score goes through your head. And suddenly, at some point, you have a memory lapse, and you can't remember it. It is like a long-playing record that gets stuck, and it keeps repeating itself and stopping at the same place. It can happen.

What is really important is to be engaged by whatever is happening at the moment. If it is watching a football or rugby match, then to really be watching it, with whatever emotions go with it. Sometimes it's boring, there's plenty that is boring, so it is better to do something else.

But I don't feel stressed. It's different when you go on stage; that stress is created by a responsibility to the music, to your colleagues, and to your audience. Because what you absolutely want is to touch them. It is similar to the stress that athletes experience before a match or a competition.

Having played volleyball for Dynamo Leningrad, I know the pre-match feeling very well. You want to win. You have to win. It's the same with a performance. The win in the performance will mean that the piece is revealed to the audience in its full glory. That is a stress. It's a great stress. Absolutely amazing stress.

But in everyday life, I think it's important to engage with the same intensity in whatever you happen to be doing or, whoever you are communicating with at a given time.

So, you say that the feeling before a sports match is somehow similar to what you and other musicians feel before a concert?

It's very similar. We live near the city of Biarritz and there are two teams who are essentially neighbours – one is Biarritz and the other is Bayonne – and they're only separated by a few kilometers.

Rugby?

Yes, rugby. One day I was invited to a match, and I have no idea why, but I was given the honor of kicking the ball to start the match. I was taken to the tunnel, where the players of both teams were waiting to go on to the pitch. And I was looking at these people, and the tension I saw could have been cut with a knife.  

Going on stage is very, very similar.  Of course, it's a win or a loss of a different nature, that's clear, but the physical and emotional engagement is the same. The difference is that you cannot measure art the way you can measure sport. And sometimes it's not very fair because one team may dominate and still lose the match.

It's not the same in music. Music is very subjective, and everyone feels differently. Musicians on stage have their own sensations: sometimes they will feel the performance was tremendous, and be disappointed by the response. Sometimes the opposite is true. The same goes for me. And it will be the same for the audience. But the stress and tension are in the desire. In sport, it's the desire to win. And here, it's the desire to reveal the music in all its glory. 

We, who are not musicians, very often listen to music to relax, to empty our minds. Can you relax by listening to music? Or does your mind go on and on, analyzing and comparing?

It's exactly that. I'm always amused when I hear from people who are not musicians that they like this or that composer because they are so relaxing. I mean, everyone is free to have whatever pleasure they will from music. So long as it gives them what they need, that's great.

But for me, it's not possible because inevitably, how I receive music or a performance, will be a combination of heart and intellect. It can never be relaxing. 

You spent much of your life traveling with the Czech Philharmonic and conducting orchestras all over the world, and therefore, you spend most of your time in hotels, rehearsal rooms, and on stage. While in cities like London, Tokyo, or New York, do you have a favorite place? Perhaps a restaurant or something you'd like to visit while you're there?

There are many restaurants that I like to visit. La Finestra in Cucina here in Prague, for example. But when we are touring, we arrive one day and leave the next. Travel and then play, leave and travel, and change places. With the constant traveling and playing, it is rare that I have time to visit those places that I know and like.

Once again, I would compare it to the life of athletes. We have to be fit at the moment of performance. This involves arranging everything that takes energy in such a way that allows you to be at peak capacity for the performance. If you travel during the day and perform in the evening, and then leave the next day, you have to watch out. If you go to a party after the performance, clearly you will pay for it the next day.

It is the kind of life which is absolutely fantastic, but it means that even though we seem to be everywhere, somehow we're nowhere, except in our hotel room and the concert hall.

I understand that this is incredibly demanding and exhausting, and you need to be prepared for the performance. But is there a city or a country you look forward to visiting, where you feel particularly at ease, or where you feel at home?

I am most at home in the places where I have been able to spend a considerable period of time, like Prague and Paris, where I have had my own orchestra. Through doing opera productions at Covent Garden, I discovered London, and I discovered Madrid through productions at Teatro Real, Florence and Milan because of Maggio Musicale and La Scala, Vienna because of the Staatsoper and so on and so forth. Getting to know the cities also brings new friendships.

Do you ever take normal holidays? I can imagine that with this kind of life, you don't want to spend your free time in another hotel.

I would not call it a vacation or a holiday. I don't even know what that really means. But I try to protect periods that are free from conducting, concerts, and travel, and I always spend them at home. I’m there so little that I don't want to go somewhere else. I want to be home.

Those free periods are very precious. They give me the space to walk in the silence of the countryside, swim in the ocean waves, hear the birds debating their lives, and notice the endless change of light over the valleys and the mountains. The space to read and watch movies: the latest being Conclave with Ralph Fiennes and One Hundred Years of Solitude, an adaptation of the great classic novel by Gabriel García Márquez.

Those are also study periods to prepare for future projects. Otherwise, it would be impossible. It's strange because our life is programmed years in advance and, often in great detail - not just three months or one year in advance, but four or five years. You have to be engaged in the present to ensure that projects planned five years ahead succeed. You are always working towards that.

I think I sort of understand: everybody wants to spend Christmas at home. Nobody wants to travel.

Definitely.

This might be a strange question, but I was wondering if you were born again without musical talent or perfect pitch, what career do you think you would have pursued? 

I'm not sure I can be completely specific, and I will tell you why. If I were frustrated in this life because I was doing something that I didn't particularly love, then I would be able to give you a very clear answer. But that just isn’t the case.

It is very hard to speculate. There are certain things for which today I have absolutely zero talent, but maybe it would be different in my next life. Whatever it was, it would have to be connected to the opportunity to improve the human condition.

Would you consider politics?

I very much doubt it. Maybe if I came back a very different person. Maybe at that point it would attract me.

Do you follow politics at all?

Of course. It's part of life. Whether our democratic society or a totalitarian one, each has its own political life, which influences the human condition. I'm interested in life, and therefore, I'm interested in this process.

You are working at the highest level of classical music. Do you ever worry about the future of the art form, especially in our fast-paced and digital world?

My worry is about our evolution as a human race and human society, and the evolution of our understanding and connection to the values that made us human to begin with. When I think of the progress in medicine in the last decades, it is simply phenomenal. We all wonder how it is possible, and yet it continues. Somehow, we all live longer. I mean, those who are lucky enough live longer than those of previous generations and life can be made more comfortable for those who suffer through medications or surgeries or whatever.

We have learned how to do that.  And, at the same time, we have learned other things that technological and scientific progress have also made possible – how to kill others faster and more efficiently. There is the paradox. To improve life on the one hand and, by more or less the same means, to take it away and destroy it. While trying to go to Mars, maybe we should try to learn how not to destroy life and lives on this planet of ours?

For that, I'm worried. But I have no concern about human creativity. That is something that nothing and no one can ever stop. It is impossible. No one can stop ideas from being born in somebody's head, or emotions being born in someone's heart, and the capacity to bring them together in such a way that it will be a work of art. For that, I have zero worries.