Daniel Barenboim: the vulnerable maestro

Daniel Barenboim is a classical music phenomenon. The Israeli-Argentinian, born in 1942, was a child prodigy who began playing the piano in public when he was seven years old. He has sustained that phenomenal early success and, in addition to performing on the piano, has become an Olympian orchestra conductor and campaigner for peace in the Middle East. (He was also married to cellist Jacqueline du Pré until her death in 1987). The breadth of his ambition and talent is matched by his ego: Barenboim as conductor and speaker usually dominates the stage with his large personality. When he plays or speaks, it isn’t just the classical world that takes notice.

In the last few weeks, he has been in London delivering a lecture on the importance of music education, and performing 11 Schubert piano sonatas at the Southbank Centre. Barenboim argued that teaching music in schools was as important as teaching literature or biology, citing recent scientific evidence that “systematic exposure to music positively affects the development of the brain,” and is “extremely important for the neural maturation process, which is associated with sociability, general perceptiveness and intelligence.” Speaking as someone whose musical education was virtually zilch, and who has come to classical music later in life, Barenboim’s argument resonated with me.

The lecture was in memory of Edward Said, the Palestinian-American literary critic who died in 2003, with whom Barenboim set up the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra, which brings together Israeli and Arab musicians and is now a regular at the Proms. Barenboim argued for the ethical value of listening to and playing music. In the West-Eastern Divan, he said, for the young players, “music has taught them not only the possibility but the necessity of listening to other voices.” Even if they don’t debate politics, treating the other person with respect is an orchestral necessity.

Barenboim has little time for classical music as relaxing background noise. “Hearing music is meant to enable people to take time out from reality: but that is hearing not listening,” he said. In the very structure of, say, a Schubert sonata, we can hear the flow of life enacted within the piece: its ups and downs, its sadness and joy. As a performer you have to keep the end point of the piece always in mind. This has a corollary in real life he argued. It’s vital, he said, “not to give undue importance to things that are difficult or unpleasant ... There is always a feeling of the long-term in music that is so difficult to find in life. We feel, I will never be able to get rid of this depression—but we do." It is this ineradicable despair and enduring hope that makes Schubert’s music—especially his late sonatas—so wonderfully absorbing.

Before he began his four performances, much attention was paid to Barenboim’s new piano which he has created with instrument-maker Chris Maene. Like pianos of the 19th century, it is straight strung and the sound—to my far from expert ears—was less unified and rich than is usual in a conventional grand. Sometimes it sounded like Barenboim was playing each note as an individual statement, its meaning stretched to breaking point. This was especially the case for his last performance of the last sonata Schubert wrote, the B-flat major, D 960. His playing was what music critics call “expressive,” with emotional interpretation taking precedence over absolute accuracy. You could sense him wrestling with the notes, and the space between the notes, wringing every last drop of meaning from the piece. Did he verge on the over-theatrical? Possibly, yes, but watching Barenboim you sensed a man trying to make music he he has mastered for years sound as radical as when it was first written.

There was something very moving about seeing Barenboim—so often intimidating on stage—as the vulnerable maestro. In his lecture, he said he wanted to take classical music to places where it is not popular (Iran, India, Brazil) so that it could be heard with fresh ears. Here, in the hallowed surrounds of the Royal Festival Hall, he also he did a fine job of pushing himself and seasoned listeners out of their comfort zones.