GLYNDBOURNE

Gentle man of Glyndebourne

By Andrew Clark

Published FT

There are sheep grazing in the fields but no black-tied City types discussing opera in the foyer. It is too early for Pimm's or pashminas. The picnic lawns are deserted; all you can hear is the sound of silence. Glyndebourne, the summer opera festival, has stopped for lunch. Out-of-hours this quintessentially English haven in the Sussex Downs presents a stark contrast to its exclusive public image.
The very quietness of the rural setting inspires the work ethic, and eating arrangements at Nether Wallop - staff canteen by day with plastic table-covers, £38-a-head restaurant for opera-goers by night - are prudent and democratic.
No one looks up when Vladimir Jurowski saunters across the room to join me at a table in the far corner. The pony-tail, the informal black attire and mildly exotic central Asian physiognomy are familiar to staff at the privately run opera house founded in 1934 by the wealthy opera buff John Christie and his soprano wife, Audrey Mildmay.
But Jurowski has made the music world sit up and take notice ever since he burst on to the international scene with a Covent Garden debut 10 years ago. Born in Moscow to a family of Jewish musicians who emigrated in 1990 to Germany, Jurowski, now 34, is that rare musical beast - a young conductor with nothing to prove. Thanks to his cocktail of Slavonic spirit, Yiddish dedication and Teutonic intellect, he inspires confidence in older musicians without having to try. He has also become the darling of London's critics, who find his Beethoven and Tchaikovsky interpretations more interesting than those of conductors twice his age.
As music director at Glyndebourne since 2002, Jurowski holds what is widely regarded as one of the best jobs in opera. Two months ago he was chosen as the next principal conductor of the London Philharmonic Orchestra, which plays in the Glyndebourne pit every summer and gives concerts at home and abroad in winter. By catching Jurowski early in his career, both organisations are pinning their fortunes to his coat-tails.
Today he is officially off-duty, but there are no free days for a music director at the height of the season. Jurowski has just come from a meeting of the education department, the least-acknowledged but most progressive part of the Glyndebourne operation. After lunch - he eats at Nether Wallop every working day, usually with members of his cast - he will return to his rented home in nearby Lewes, but not to relax. He needs to study the score of Prokofiev's little-known comic opera Betrothal in a Monastery, a new production of which he is to conduct later this month.
These are the unseen, less glamorous fixtures in a conductor's life. So is diet. As we head for the salad buffet, I am on the point of asking Jurowski what he really thinks of the Glyndebourne ritual when I note he is choosing all the healthy things - beans, lettuce, asparagus, broccoli, chicken legs - without the roast potatoes I am piling on to my plate. He explains that as a student of yoga and eastern philosophy he avoids red meat, fatty foods and most dairy products.
"I found that the more pressure I faced in the process of music- making, the worse my body reacted. I needed an overhaul, and it has had a huge effect. My hearing has changed - I am now more sensitive to over- and undertones - and I have more natural tranquility. I haven't necessarily become a better conductor but it helped me develop certain skills I needed."
Such as? Jurowski says conductors are exposed to all sorts of energies, not necessarily positive, that are given out through music and received back from players and audiences. "You have to learn how to deal with them, and block the negative energies. Appreciating other people is important, and it helps if you are at peace with yourself. Often our dissatisfaction with ourselves is the result of bad nutrition. We become... " He hesitates, looking for the right word while pouring us both a glass of tap water, " human beings. For some it helps to work out in a gym or go for a long walk. I prefer yoga. It's not so much a routine, more an endless process of self-discovery. It helps your memory, your concentration and endurance. Standing for three or four hours in a performance has become incomparably easier."
And easier still at Glyndebourne? Jurowski says most opera houses work like railway stations, with singers constantly coming and going. "There's no personal involvement on the side of management or artists. That's why I have reduced my opera engagements elsewhere. Glyndebourne is a wonderful exception to the rules, but you have to learn to distinguish between the glamorous, extravagant surface and the substance. It's a misconception to think of Glyndebourne as a posh place where the ruling classes indulge in their snobbery. That may have been true at one time, but not now. There's a deep affection for the art of opera, paired with extraordinary know-how and very good instincts. The tour [taking Glyndebourne productions to regional English cities every autumn] is genuinely popular, and far more important to me than the black tie and Champagne."
That may be, but I put it to Jurowski that Glyndebourne itself is an anachronism, a throwback to an age when a rich landowner could indulge his love of opera by getting people to dress up and pay for the privilege of sharing it. "No, Glyndebourne is an idealistic concept made real. Where else do you encounter an opera house in the middle of fields and sheep? I wish there were more such bizarre inventions."
Yes, but this "bizarre invention" could only have happened in England, I suggest. Jurowski smiles. "The island mentality is part of the charm of England: its bizarre view of the world is dictated by geography and climate, weather being an indispensable ingredient in the English world-view. But I still see the UK as an integrated part of European culture. If you look at the past, you see figures such as Henry Wood and Benjamin Britten consciously connecting their British roots with French, German and Russian influences. And more recently Britain has been enriched by the sheer number of representatives of foreign cultures living and working here. They have changed the face of British culture to the outside world, and its self-perception. There is no going back to Edwardian times. We stand on the shoulders of previous generations, their achievements and failures."
Pudding? "If you spend every day here, it gets on your waistline. I went off my diet after the first night of Fledermaus, and it affected my energy level. I need to be in work mode." While I dither over strawberries, lemon tart or chocolate mousse, finally compromising with a portion of each, Jurowski takes our dirty plates to the trolley and chats to some singers who have drifted in for a bite.
Jurowski's tone of voice is as gentle and measured as his eating habits, which makes me wonder how he gets such tingling results from the orchestras he conducts. It's time to tackle him on another anachronism - the idea that one man should call the tune for 80 musicians, many of them more experienced than he. Most of the great 20th- century conductors were dictators. How does it work today?
"I see my role more as a spiritus rector. What makes the difference is the passion you bring to the music, and your ability to transmit your taste and vision and views first to the musicians and then the audience. But like any leader, a conductor should be able to be led as well as be the leader. It's a natural law. If you only represent your masculine side, you inevitably cut your own source of life. It's to do with the ying and yang, the masculine and feminine, day and night, sun and moon. Leadership is traditionally associated with the masculine role, but as this is being rethought in society today it's good to come back to some old truths. Tao te king [ancient Chinese scripture] is one of the best books ever written, because this is where the role of any human being - especially a leader, moral or political - is defined. It states that only the one who accepts and uses his own weaknesses can be strong. Only the one who is as fluid and soft as water can overcome difficulty. In other words, you need to be extremely sensitive and flexible to be a successful conductor."
As I take this in, I notice that Nether Wallop is suddenly deserted. The Glyndebourne press officer is standing in front of us, asking if we're "all right", but neither of us is ready to leave. It's time to wind down with some small talk about Prokofiev's Betrothal: is a comic opera easier to conduct than a serious one? "All comedies are difficult. The difficulty is the simplicity of the language and the fact that the words are the leading component in the music. The conductor's job is to make this comedy-machine follow its own laws and necessities without being audibly interpreted. The perfect conductor for any comedy is the one you don't notice."
I make the first move to go. Lunching with Jurowski has been a bit like conversing with a guru - a calming, thought-provoking experience in which short-term preoccupations dissolve in the face of long-term vision. As we rejoin the quiet country air, city life seems very, very distant.

Nether Wallop, Glyndebourne
2 x chicken salad
1 x selection of strawberries, lemon tart and chocolate mousse
1 x jug of tap water
Total: £8.30