Editor’s Note: For the first half of August, Jay Nordlinger was at the Salzburg Festival, hosting a series of public interviews and writing criticism. The criticism will appear soon in National Review and The New Criterion. An online journal started Monday and continued Tuesday. Today is the final installment.
I have noticed this before, and probably mentioned it before: Here in Austria, eleven-, twelve-, thirteen-year-old boys will hold their mother’s hand on the street. Back home in America, we’d rather slit our throat than do that.
A curious cultural difference . . .
‐I meet a very friendly family from Colorado. In the course of conversation, the wife and mother mentions that she celebrated her 50th birthday at the Broadmoor, in Colorado Springs.
I think for a split second: “Dare I mention George W. Bush? People freak out at the sound of his name. They are absolutely crazy on the subject.” These people are so nice, I go ahead.
“Well, you know the Broadmoor is famous for big birthday parties. It was a key moment in George W. Bush’s life. He had his 40th-birthday party there. Immediately after, he swore to give up drinking, which changed his life, pivotally.”
Big mistake: The lady reacts to the sound of “George W. Bush” as a vampire to garlic. Says some ugly things about him (not worth repeating).
There may come a day when it’s safe to mention Bush. That day has not yet come, certainly in my life. Mention him to the Left, and — well, you know. Mention him to the Right, and you’re liable to get a blast of a different kind: “Big-spending squish,” etc.
The man seems virtually friendless. If he ever feels that way, he can come to me.
One more point: If strangers mention Barack Obama or Bill Clinton or someone like that to me, I feel no need whatsoever to express my loathing. Do you?
‐I know I’ve mentioned this before: Very, very hard for me to stand at an intersection, waiting for the light to change. Waiting for the red or orange of “Don’t Walk” to change to the green or white of “Walk.”
It could be 2 in the morning. There could be no car for miles and miles. And those Austrian ladies will stand there till the very last trump — till the light clicks to “Walk.” My feet will barely stand still. Every molecule in me screams “Go!”
Culture, culture . . .
‐Around Schloss Leopoldskron, they’re fishing for carp. I’m trying to remember: Do we fish for, and eat, carp? A southern specialty, à la catfish? Will have to check that out, when I get back home . . .
‐The fourth guest in our Salzburg Festival Society series is one of the greatest singers in all the world — indeed, one of the greatest musicians: Anne Sofie von Otter, the Swedish mezzo-soprano. Smart, smart cookie. And, of course, unbelievably talented.
Very cosmopolitan as well. She grew up all over Europe, the daughter of a diplomat — a diplomat who learned early about the Holocaust and spread the word to others. Anne Sofie speaks English like an Englishwoman.
We talk about a range of things, from Handel performance to Christmas albums to other singers. I ask for some quick opinions on a list of singers. She expresses her great admiration for Christa Ludwig (the German mezzo, now in her mid-eighties). “When I forget how to sing, I listen to her or watch a video and think, ‘Oh, yes: That’s how to do it.’” I’m amazed to discover those two have never met. “Someday I should write her a long letter.”
She also expresses her amazement at the late Pavarotti, as all the best singers do, I’ve discovered. “There was nothing like that sound.” And she says something really interesting about Fischer-Dieskau: “He was clever, maybe too clever.” She says the same of Schwarzkopf. What she means (I feel sure) is: They let their intellection get in the way of their music-making.
I wish I could give you a transcript of the confab with this remarkable figure, ASVO (as I always abbreviate her, when I take notes in concert halls and so on).
‐A friend of mine notices a famous singer on the street, smoking. “Why does he do that?” she says. She seems rather heartbroken. I remind her that Fischer-Dieskau smoked like a chimney. And that René Pape does as well.
Not that I’m recommending it, let me be clear . . .
‐I have lunch with a wonderful Austrian family. They’ve just taken a long trip to America: New York, Bozeman, the Grand Canyon, L.A. — lots of places. The kids were especially pleased to spot a big star in L.A.: Phoebe Tonkin.
It bothers me I don’t know who she is. I remember when older people in my life didn’t know who obvious celebrities were — celebrities who were obvious to me, as famous as Einstein or Napoleon . . .
Frankly, when I heard “Tonkin,” all I could think of was “Gulf of.”
‐Another day, another lunch — this one on the Attersee. The Attersee is one of the glacial lakes in Greater Salzburg — out in the country. The lunch is at a grand and glorious home. I look around outside and think, “This is like some parody of Austria. A cartoon of Austria. A Walt Disney version of Austria.”
Deep blue lake. Soaring, majestic Alps. Cool breezes. If you saw it in a movie, you might think, “Oh, come on — nothing’s like that. Gimme a break.”
What’s more, our lunch includes perch, caught in this very lake. Talk about “eatin’ local.”
‐An Austrian friend of mine, with considerable knowledge of the English language and American culture, says, “There are just three German words that have made it into English: kindergarten, sauerkraut, and Gesundheit!” Hmmm — it’s hard for me to add to that. Maybe gemütlichkeit?
UPDATE: Readers have reminded me of that shameful human emotion, schadenfreude. Someone added hausfrau, zeitgeist, and, speaking of geists — poltergeist!
‐Our fifth and final guest in the Salzburg Festival Society series is yet another singer — and, again, one of the greatest singers in all the world: Magdalena Kožená. She is a Czech mezzo, currently starring in Salzburg’s Carmen. I first knew her for Bach — and her singing of Bach is truly an example to all.
Previously in our series, Emily Magee said that Wagner singers tend to be nicer than others — more supportive, more collegial. Kožená says this is absolutely true. The material is so hard — Brünnhilde’s, for example — people circle the wagons. Solidarity is the order of the day. Not arrogance or spite.
I can see that — can see how that functions as a rule.
Kožená grew up in the final years of Communism, and has some very interesting things to say on the subject: There was enough to eat, there were clothes to wear. No one had any money, but not much seemed to be needed. Kožená was 16 when the Wall fell — and then, of course, the world was her oyster.
Timing is everything, huh? Kožená’s timing was very good. In the past, I have spoken of, for example, Evgeny Mravinsky — the “Soviet” conductor. He was just 14 when the Communists seized power; he died a couple years before the USSR dissolved. Traveled very little in the West.
Anyway . . .
Kožená was originally a piano student, and broke her hand, just before an entrance exam (if I have understood correctly). She decided to try out as a singer — and, to her surprise, made it.
“When did you first realize that you had a very, very rare ability?” I ask her. “Don’t be shy, you can tell us.” Well, a friend of hers played the lute, and asked her to perform some folk songs with him — just for fun. She said okay. Very soon, people were paying money to hear her sing. And they’ve been paying ever since.
As well they should.
‐In an Impromptus last month, I mentioned being in Dallas, and sitting at dinner with a country singer and actor — Beau Davidson. In some ways, I’m a little out of touch with the culture (as I have demonstrated in the Phoebe Tonkin example, I guess). I asked Beau, “Could you tell me — are you famous? Don’t be modest now. Just tell me if you are, because I’m a little clueless.”
At a reception here in Salzburg, I talk with a sharp, experienced New Yorker. At some point, I ask him what his line of work is. He says, “Well, I’m retired — I was a fashion designer. Now I collect art.” What he has to say about the fashion business is fascinating.
In keeping with my habit, I ask him, “Are you famous? Please don’t hold back. Let me know if you are.” He smiles and allows, “I’m well-known.”
His name is Herbert Kasper. Later, a friend of mine — a lady who knows what’s what — tells me, “There was a time when every woman in America owned a dress designed by him.”
Ah.
‐August 15 is the holiday known as Mariä Himmelfahrt. I have been in Austria on this day for many years running. Someday, I will be mature enough not to giggle a little at this name, I hope. Maybe next year?
‐I remember when I first saw Indian tourists in Europe — I’m not talking about Indian workers or immigrants; I’m talking about Indian tourists. People simply vacationing, seeing the sites, then returning home. This was about six years ago at the Piazzale Michelangelo in Florence. There was a whole busload of tourists, maybe two. I’d had a lot of experience in that city. I thought, “Wow: tangible evidence of this growing Indian middle class you hear about.”
Here in Salzburg, I have seen a good number of Indian tourists — not hundreds, not scores, but maybe a couple of dozen. That is indeed something new under the sun, something very good.
‐I meet a German immigrant, a man who lives in the Bay Area. Successful, entrepreneurial type. The kind of man born to go to California. He is very gloomy about the current state of things — the state of his California. “In our community, we’re laying off teachers in order to pay the pensions of retired teachers.” As he sees it, the state is simply spent — done. And it’s going to take America as a whole a long time to recover. If it does.
That’ll spoil your strudel in a hurry.
‐I find some of the beggars here maddening — for this reason: When they beg, they are bent over — literally parallel to the ground. But I sometimes see them on their “breaks” — when they are upright. Their begging technique must be hell on the back. Plus, there’s the deception of it.
Am I wrong?
‐One thing that’s still startling to me, here in Salzburg: (a) taxi drivers in coats and ties; (b) women cabbies.
Okay, that’s two things, but still . . .
‐Another remarkable sight: elegant old ladies, pedaling their bicycles.
‐Once, when I was leaving for Salzburg, Bill Buckley said, “Say hi to music for me!” Well, music is everywhere, fortunately. But is it especially nice to hear it, and cover it, in Salzburg? It is, yes. It’s especially nice to do almost anything here.
Thanks for joining me, talk to you later.
To order Jay Nordlinger’s new book, Peace, They Say: A History of the Nobel Peace Prize, the Most Famous and Controversial Prize in the World, go here. To order his collection Here, There & Everywhere, go here.
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