Strauss in translation

"You do not speak Czech?" asked Natsumi Ikeda, the mortified Japanese interpreter who had been assigned to assist The Prague Post's interview with Maestro Ken-Ichiro Kobayashi.

A regular guest-conductor with the Czech Philharmonic, Kobayashi, on this day, was preparing to lead the orchestra in an evening performance of Beethoven's symphonies 1 and 7. But first he had an interview scheduled with an American journalist.

And, because of some unfortunately crossed signals, Ikeda didn't speak English.

So began one of the most challenging and moving interviews this writer has ever attempted.

Kobayashi, 71, has for more than 30 years been known as one of the more flamboyant and charismatic conductors in the world, leading orchestras across the globe, including stints as music director of the Japan Philharmonic and Hungarian State Symphony. He's known for prancing from one side of the stage to another as he directs his musicians and is prone to dramatically twirling the tails of his tuxedo jacket while his long, wispy, jet-black hair flails violently as he shakes his head in rhythm with his baton.

But four hours before his performance, Kobayashi was perched on a chair in the cavernous conductor's room at the Rudolfinum, smiling unassumingly as Ikeda tried to figure out if this interview was going to happen. It was initially agreed that the questions would be asked in English and translated into Czech by The Prague Post's photographer for Kobayashi's still-flustered Japanese interpreter. She would then ask Kobayashi the questions in Japanese and translate them into Czech for the photographer, who would complete the game of telephone by delivering Kobayashi's replies in English. Third-hand.

How could this go wrong?

The first question was intended to be an easy one:

"While studying Western classical music in Japan, was it always your desire to live and work in Europe as you have done for much of your career?"

The question went through two interpreters, then to Kobayashi. Once he received the question, he shifted his tiny frame on his chair, positioned in the center of the room between its only piece of furniture - an oak desk - and a beautiful concert grand piano. He lowered his head, looked up, took a deep breath and began speaking. His voice sounded confident, elegant. He spoke for what seemed 90 seconds, uninterrupted. Then he finished, lowered his head again and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Meanwhile, Ikeda spoke for a moment to Kobayashi's wife, Yoko, who was also in the room, before translating his answer into Czech.

When she finished, our photographer smiled at me. Roughly two minutes after I'd asked my first question, I got my first answer:

"This question is difficult for him," Walter told me. "He says he cannot answer."

This went on for another 40 minutes, without much variation. Here's what we were able to gather:

Kobayashi first heard Beethoven's Ninth Symphony when he was 10 years old, and it was "like waking from a dream," he said. He was inspired to learn music, which went against the plan his father, an educator, had for him. He would break into his school in order to teach himself Beethoven - as well as compose his own works - on the grand piano in the music room. He first left Japan in 1974 after winning the International Conductor's Competition on Hungarian Television and began leading orchestras in Germany, Austria and the Netherlands, as well as in Tokyo.

With the collective patience of everyone in the room growing thinner with each question, at last there was one last question on the agenda: whether being in Europe made Kobayashi feel closer to the music of the great composers he loved - especially Beethoven, his favorite. He seemed to understand the question without translation, and he suddenly snapped to attention. He sprang from his chair and bolted across the parquet floor to the piano.

"For example!" he exclaimed, in clear, if broken English. "I'm very sorry, but I will play for you my answer!"

"Johann Strauss," he said, before beginning a deliberately lifeless and elementary version of the familiar opening bars of The Blue Danube Waltz. "That is how I hear Blue Danube before I ever see the Danube River. But when I go to Budapest for the first time, I hear..." and he launched into a rich, textured rendition of those same bars.

When he finished, the room was silent. Nobody dared move.

"Same with Beethoven," he continued, starting the first of two versions of the Pastoral Symphony - one indicating his interpretation of the piece prior to visiting Germany, the other representing how he hears it now. When he finished the breathtaking second version, his body nearly collapsed on the piano bench. He looked up, smiling, but with tears in his eyes.

He stood up, his hand patting his chest.

"In Europe, all of this music, I feel it much closer in my heart," he said.

He kept talking in Japanese, but the rest of his words were not translated. By that time, it didn't really matter. Kobayashi had accomplished in three minutes what several people had failed to do in the previous 46: We had finally communicated.

Maybe I should have opened with another question.

- Walter Novak contributed to this report.

Jack Buehrer can be reached at
jbuehrer@praguepost.com