Music: Body English from the Stork

Does the world really need another conductor of Beethoven, Bruckner, Mahler and the other immortals? If his name is Klaus Tennstedt, the answer is a fortissimo yes. Unknown to the majority of American music lovers, the former East German maestro has become one of the most sought-after guest conductors in the U.S. Watching, the onlooker may wonder why: on the podium the man often resembles a stoned stork. Hearing his music is another matter: Tennstedt elicits a sound with the startling ring of rightness. Indeed, his musical logic may be the most profound since the late Otto Klemperer’s. Yet as opposed to the monolithic stasis that sometimes afflicted Klemperer, Tennstedt’s energy is a constant refreshment. Leading an epic Bruckner Seventh Symphony with the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra two weeks ago, or a steely, gleaming Prokofiev Fifth Symphony with the New York Philharmonic last week, Tennstedt presented a rare fusion of intelligence and passion.

Tennstedt is 50. To the young Turks of the conducting life, that is pushing senescence. To the senior members of the breed, it is mere adolescence. To Tennstedt, it is an age at which everything falls into place. Born in Merseburg, Germany, Klaus took up the violin at the age of eight; by 22 he was concertmaster at the municipal theater in Halle. When a nerve disorder damaged a finger of the left hand several years later, he turned to conducting. At 32 he became music director of the Dresden Opera. There were, later on, tours of the U.S.S.R., Czechoslovakia and other Eastern bloc countries. But recalls Tennstedt: “For any musician, travel was restricted, and there were so few possibilities for growth. Modern music from the West was off limits. East Germany has many composers, but very few good ones. Nor does it have many good orchestras.”

It all became unbearable to the maestro, and in 1971 he slipped out to Sweden on a carelessly stamped exit visa. He soon signed on as general music director of the Kiel Opera, then picked up guest engagements in Europe and America. Tennstedt made his U.S. debut in December 1974, conducting the Boston Symphony in Brahms and Bruckner. The complex, granitic Eighth Symphony of Bruckner was hardly an easy choice for a newcomer, but the performance made it clear that a conductor of the first rank had arrived. The Boston had not sounded so brilliant in years. Subsequent appearances — topped by a prodigious Beethoven Ninth Symphony last summer at Tanglewood —confirmed his reputation.

The Heavens. At the moment, Tennstedt has settled in the West German town of Heikendorf on the Baltic Sea, where he sails, plays tennis with his wife and examines the heavens through his portable telescope. But for five months this season, home is the hotels and motels of America. Lanky, high-domed and bespectacled, Tennstedt can be a vertiginous sight on the podium. He will perch precariously on his toes when all hands are playing furiously, or do a deep knee bend during tender moments. In his lexicon of body English, an avian flap of the elbow is as meaningful as a sword thrust of the baton. The fluid gestures may be idiosyncratic, but they rarely fail to communicate. Says Tennstedt: “The musician must have the feeling that what the conductor wants is absolutely right. The musician must want it too. It’s a matter of gaming his confidence.” Tennstedt is going to be engendering a lot of confidence in the seasons ahead. William Bender