Henry Mazer: Making Music in a Distant Land

The Taipei Sinfonietta received two straight standing ovations when it performed at Northwestern University in the United States this July.

"It was really hard to believe! Chicago has always been a very tough town to please. But we got standing ovations. Even Reiner and Solti had a hard time getting that kind of response from audiences there!"

Having left his position as associate conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra five years ago to take over as music director of the Kaohsiung Symphony Orchestra, and having led the Taipei Sinfonietta back to the Chicago area on a recent tour, Henry Mazer could scarcely conceal his delight at the response.

Maestro Mazer's present home is a modest apartment on the top floor of a 12-story apartment building on Hsinhai Road in Taipei. With all his belongings crammed into a single bedroom and living room, there is scarcely room to turn around. But this energetic, mischievous musician with unruly hair that stays in place only when he is on the stage is happier than a clam ensconced in his piles of books and scores.

"Taiwan is my home. I've found happiness and contentment here that I've never known before."

But after you learn that he likes to say, albeit half-jokingly, "I pretend I'm in Vienna"; that his critique of Taipei traffic is, "If you hate somebody, ask him to come here for a walk"; that his Mandarin is still rudimentary despite having been here for five years; and that he prefers a certain restaurant's charcoal broiled steaks to Chinese food, you can't help wondering: Just why does he want to live here anyway?

The prelude to this intricate musical movement goes back ten years ago.

That was when Mazer, who had been conducting for nearly half a century and had worked in Pittsburgh and Chicago with such luminaries as Fritz Reiner, William Steinberg, and George Solti, was invited for the first time to the R.O.C. as a guest conductor. He was deeply impressed with the quality of the string musicianship here, which he considers to be on a par with that of first-rate orchestras the world over.

In 1986, when Su Nan-cheng was mayor of Kaohsiung, he was eager to set up a world-class orchestra to raise the image of the city, and he sought out Mazer to head it up, offering him substantial pay and complete authority as music director.

Mazer had been associate conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra for 15 years at the time. Besides assisting Solti in rehearsing the orchestra, he was in charge of the young people's concerts and the community music program.

"The youth concerts in Chicago had always been notorious for being a mess. The audience would even throw paper clips onto the stage." His solution was to visit colleges, high schools, and elementary schools in the area to introduce students to classical music and raise their appreciation for it. He was so successful in his efforts that personnel from New York, Boston, and Philadelphia came to observe.

As an associate conductor, though, he was often saddled with contemporary American pieces that Solti wasn't fond of and he was not in a position to achieve his own musical aspirations. And given the American penchant for idolizing European conductors, Mazer, who was 65, at the time, had little hope of achieving a big breakthrough where he was.

Personal difficulties were another reason for his departure. His wife had contracted a serious illness, and his depression and moodiness led to friction with members of the orchestra and the management. No longer enamored of Chicago, he boldly decided to pack his bags and head for the Orient. On May 24, 1986, the day he left the orchestra, Mayor Harold Washington awarded him with a plaque and proclaimed the day Henry Mazer Day in recognition of his contributions to raising the quality of music in the city.

After managing the Kaohsiung orchestra for three years, bound down by various government limitations, Mazer realized he hadn't discovered the second springtime for his career that he had initially hoped for. When his contract ran out, he threw himself wholeheartedly into conducting the Taipei Sinfonietta, a private chamber music ensemble he had been involved with in a part-time capacity.

From the U.S. to Taiwan, and then from a professional orchestra to a semiprofessional ensemble, he would seem to have taken a step down in the world, but in point of fact, under his absolute control, this young ensemble (the average age is under 25), made up of outstanding students and instructors from around the island as well as musicians recently returned from study overseas, has been frequent ly hailed as playing "better than their age" and "at or near the professional level." Over the past five years, besides standard works of chamber music from the classical repertoire, they have also performed contemporary pieces very rarely attempted in Taiwan, and they have gradually carved out a niche for themselves between the two main streams of soloists on the one hand and large symphony orchestras on the other.

How did he accomplish it all?

"I only make one demand--professionalism," he says matter-of-factly.

Toward that end, he begins with himself.

Despite having conducted hundreds of concerts and being familiar with thousands of pieces, he still spends five or six hours a day studying scores, correcting errors, reading, and making notations. His diligence is what impresses musicians and composers who have worked with him the most.

Mazer, who scolds himself as a "dummy" when he performs poorly, is equally strict in his demands on musicians. He doesn't want musicians to rehearse like government workers at their jobs every day (professional orchestras in the U.S. rehearse no more than five times for each performance) but he doesn't permit tardiness or absence without good reason. "Musicians that have worked with me all know that I'm clear about what I want, and I don't waste time."

With efficiency as a watchword, the five rehearsals before each performance are packed with drive and energy. "Our rehearsals are never dull. It's always up, up, up!" he says, eyes sparkling.

Besides never being dull, the rehearsals probably see some fireworks too, don't they? Mazer does indeed crackle and thunder when people "aren't behaving," flautist Liu Huichin reveals, but the storm quickly passes over, and he returns to his usual sincerity and good humor. "He's like a big child sometimes," she smiles.

Strict as he is, he also has a warm and tender side. Cellist Li Tze-yun, who is now in France for further training, recalls that he would arrive early for rehearsals and arrange the chairs and stands for the musicians, like a doting father for his children. And he would often give them a big smile and a hug when they arrived--he isn't haughty or overbearing in the least.

Mazer's expertise and professionalism have been even more effective in winning them over.

First violinist Lin Hui-chun believes that the key to Mazer's success is that he communicates the sound he wants at rehearsals directly with the baton, without any extra gestures, instead of wasting breath on explanations. As a result, he can still keep tight reins on the ensemble in a formal performance, when speech is out the question anyway.

"Mazer can clearly distinguish between the sound he has in mind and what a musician is playing and gradually make adjustments until it reaches a level he's satisfied with," says Chang Chi-jen, chairman of the music department at Soochow University, "He can fuse a group of musicians into a single sound in a short time, an ability to harmonize that's rare among musical groups here in Taiwan."

The average person thinks that a conductor has to act like a tyrant, jump up and down, or knit his brows in a painful expression to bring out the power and individuality of the music, but Mazer?

"I've never been interested in putting on a show. I forget about the audience as soon as I take the podium and just pay attention to What's happening on stage, to whether it's going the way I want it." He holds the highest esteem for Fritz Reiner. "He listened carefully and conducted without a lot of bluff and bluster."

The ultimate aim of a conductor, after all, is to brand his ideas on his musicians' performance. As for how that is done, each has his tricks of the trade.

Karajan and Bernstein were inveterate showmen, he says. Solti isn't that type, just rather excitable and prone to the grand gesture. Giulini was capable of wringing the last drop out of a piece and moving the listener to tears.

As for Mazer himself, the music critic Wu Mu has described his conducting style as "meticulously crafted." Under his baton, pieces like Barber adagios and the nocturnes of Mozart and Tchaikovsky exude a sweet, soft, and tender loveliness that can properly be called the "Mazer style."

Among the composers that Mazer is best at, Mozart is his favorite.

"His music is seemingly accessible to everybody, but actually very few people really understand him." Flipping through a biography of Mozart that he first read in college, its pages now yellowed with age, he says that the greatness of Mozart's achievement lies precisely in the non-national character of his music. "To me, grand music transcends national boundaries. It's international." The Sinfonietta often plays works by Taiwan composers and "traditional national melodies do indeed have their value, but if you're talking about greatness, you have to pick and choose."

In addition, he laments Mozart's ill fate in life. "Mozart was a genius, but he made a lot of enemies, and never got a good job because he always said just what he thought," he says with a faraway look in his eyes.

At that moment, the ineffaceable air about him of being an "outsider," of not fully belonging, suddenly becomes understandable. Mazer has always been known for his outspokenness, for his disregard of the social niceties, and he ended up offending various figures in the music world. It led him to leave his homeland, and it also prevents him from ever really becoming fully part of his present time and place.

But Mazer is still Mazer. "I can't lie about music. What's good is good, what's bad is bad," he maintains.

Mazer's weak point in getting along with others has fortunately been made up for this time thanks to the all-out support of Yu Bing-ching, the Sinfonietta's executive director, who is adept at sales and who hosted Rostropovich and other noted musicians when she worked for New Aspect Promotion Corp.. She helped Mazer draw up a plan back when he was invited to take over the Kaohsiung orchestra, and she assists him with even more work now. "I don't know anything about music," she says modestly, "but I feel strongly that if he is willing to make a contribution to Taiwan, it would really be a shame if we didn't make good use of it."

Lead violinist Su Hsien-ta also says that a lot of credit for the ensemble's cohesiveness under the circumstances of limited rehearsals must go to her direction and management. "She comforts us and pulls for us a lot, and it's really hard to turn her down when she asks you to do something."

"She's the one that has made it all happen," Mazer says with gratitude.

Yu Bing-ching and her family have become Mazer's closest friends in what is for him a distant land, and it was through her that he began to have ties with Buddhism.

When she took him to see Lung Shan Temple a couple of years ago, thinking to use it as a means of introducing Taiwan culture, he unexpectedly stopped in front of the temple and gazed silently at the statue of Kuan-yin for a long time. Later he revealed that "Buddha was speaking to me," although he didn't say what.

Every month after that, they would go to the temple to worship. He doesn't eat vegetarian or chant the scriptures, but he has dipped into the scriptures. "The Buddha's theories are extremely logical. They just talk about things the way they are."

He is fully wrapped up in running the Sinfonietta for now. His greatest wish is to make it a model ensemble, operating independently, with professional training, and earning the affirmation and acclaim of the public. His ambition: "I want people to recognize the Taipei Sinfonietta as a jewel of Taiwan, that it really plays at a professional level. I can't stand it when people say the group 'is good enough for Taiwan.'" They have already been invited back to Canada and are counting on a tour to France later.

Maestro Mazer keeps talking excitedly about music, reiterating how fortunate he is to have been immersed in music all his life. "The greatest music transcends national boundaries"--that is his heartfelt message to Taiwan and a rubric he has spent his whole life illuminating.

[Picture Caption]

(Above) With his seasoned expertise, Henry Mazer inspires young musicians to perform at a professional level. Here he conducts the Kaohsiung Symphony Orchestra.

(Right) Harold Schonberg, the famous music critic of The New York Times, once said, "Mazer made a remarkable impression. This was major-league conducting."

Mazer's conducting is straight and to the point, without any fancy showmanship.

(Right) When Mazer was conducting the Taipei Sinfonietta this September, he became so excited the baton snapped in two and stabbed his finger. The pieces have now become a "wall decoration."

Mazer conducts rehearsals with rapt attention.

"I can't lie about music. What's good is good, what's bad is bad," he stubbornly insists.

Kneeling in front of the statue of Kuan yin at Lung Shan Temple, Mazer learns the proper method of praying from Yu Bing-ching's son, Metor.

Comics, mementos, fortunes from Lung Shan Temple and Metor's masterpieces adorn one wall of his bedroom-cum-study.

When the talk got around to music, Mazer became so excited he started demonstrating on the spot.

With his seasoned expertise, Henry Mazer inspires young musicians to perform at a professional level. Here he conducts the Kaohsiung Symphony Orchestra.

Mazer's conducting is straight and to the point, without any fancy showmanship.

When Mazer was conducting the Taipei Sinfonietta this September, he became so excited the baton snapped in two and stabbed his finger. The pieces have now become a "wall decoration.".

Mazer conducts rehearsals with rapt attention.

"I can't lie about music. What's good is good, what's bad is bad," he stubbornly insists.

Kneeling in front of the statue of Kuan yin at Lung Shan Temple, Mazer learns the proper method of praying from Yu Bing-ching's son, Metor.

Comics, mementos, fortunes from Lung Shan Temple and Metor's masterpieces adorn one wall of his bedroom-cum-study.

When the talk got around to music, Mazer became so excited he started demonstrating on the spot.