The Daily Telegraph - Saturday

Seiji Ozawa

Charismati­c conductor and Leonard Bernstein protégé who blazed a Japanese trail in classical music

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SEIJI OZAWA, who has died aged 88, was one of the few Japanese musicians to make a significan­t mark in the Western classical music tradition. He crossed the East-West divide with remarkable ease, creating some mesmerisin­g music during a tenure of almost three decades with the Boston Symphony Orchestra.

He was also the figurehead of classical music in an increasing­ly westernise­d Japan, suggesting to his compatriot­s that embracing European culture need not diminish their own traditions. Although other Asian artists became well known in Western concert halls – Yo-Yo Ma (cello), Mitsuko Uchida (piano) and Midori (violin) among them – Ozawa was their unelected leader, blazing a trail through Europe and America.

The appointmen­t in Massachuse­tts of a Japanese maestro – at a time when he already held a similar appointmen­t in San Francisco – coincided with a rising fascinatio­n within the US for all things Oriental and a growing anti-Vietnam War feeling. Ozawa, the Boston Red Sox fan, played to the gallery, wearing a turtleneck sweater instead of a dinner jacket on the podium and at first sporting a Beatles-style fringe.

After the ageing European stars who had dominated North American music for so many decades, Ozawa was explosive – startling to some, energising to others. He re-invigorate­d orchestras and inspired audiences with performanc­es that crackled with electricit­y.

However, he also came to epitomise the peripateti­c, rootless and bi-coastal maestro, who spent as much time in airport lounges as in concert halls, flying in to rehearse, conduct and collect his pay cheque, rather than embedding himself within a community. There were some who questioned if, beneath the showmanshi­p, there was in fact much of any substance.

He was equally well-known in Europe, where his charismati­c figure cut a swathe through the concert halls of London and Berlin. Even his presence in an audience could cause a stir among the orchestra. The paucity of Japanese representa­tives among Western musicians meant that he was often associated with his compatriot, the composer Toru Takemitsu, the two of them making a significan­t impact in London in the Japanese Festival of 1991.

Back in Japan he conducted five symphonies for the Winter Olympics at Nagano in 1998, including directing choirs on five continents simultaneo­usly (by satellite) in the finale of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.

On the platform he danced lightly as he conducted, leaning back and jabbing the baton in the air. As he aged his hair seemed to grow ever shaggier and his demeanour ever more laidback, while his English remained only just passable for a television interview.

His Japanese origins were, he claimed, a benefit rather than a hindrance in tackling Western classical music. “It’s very hard for a French conductor to get into the German tradition,” he once said. “But we Japanese can get good musical traditions from all countries because we have none of our own.”

Seiji Ozawa was born on September 1 1935 in China, in Hoten, Manchuria, which at the time was under Japanese occupation. His father was a dentist who is said to have once pulled a piano in a wagon 25 miles so that his son could have an instrument to play.

His mother brought up the family as Christians and an elder brother became a church organist.

By the age of seven, and now living in Japan, his interest had turned to Western music. He came under the influence of

Hideo Saito, a German-trained musician related to his mother, who was almost single-handedly responsibl­e for expanding the influence of Western music in occupied post-war Japan. In his book The Maestro

Myth the commentato­r Norman Lebrecht relates how the young Seiji, unable to afford his teacher’s fees, “spent seven Jacobean years as a servant in Saito’s house”.

At 16 he entered the Toho School in Tokyo in the hope of becoming a pianist, but that ambition was dashed when he broke both his index fingers on the rugby pitch. Instead he turned his attention to conducting. His first introducti­on to the Boston players came during their post-war tour of Japan in his student days. Yet, despite Saito and his influence, Ozawa had never heard a live opera performanc­e or a Mahler symphony until he was 23.

In 1959 in Europe – which he had reached by freighter – he supported himself working as a motorcycle sales rep for a Japanese company. Soon he spotted an advertisem­ent for a conducting competitio­n in Besançon: he roared into the French town on a Japanese motorcycle, entered the competitio­n and won – endearing himself in the process to the venerable maestro

Charles Munch, who was on the jury.

Before long – and still with virtually no English – he visited Tanglewood in Massachuse­tts, where he was the recipient of a Koussevitz­ky Award. Soon he was back in Europe studying with Herbert von Karajan in Berlin.

It was there that Leonard Bernstein saw him and invited the young conductor to be his assistant at the New York Philharmon­ic, a post he held from 1961 to 1965 – during which time he appeared on the US TV show

What’s My Line? He also served as artistic director of the Ravinia Festival in Chicago.

Ozawa was musical director of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra (1965-69), with whom he had his first real taste of internatio­nal touring. However, his big US break came when Dmitri Shostakovi­ch, who had been scheduled to conduct in San Francisco, fell victim to Cold War politics and the West Coast orchestra urgently needed a substitute.

The California­ns appointed him music director in 1970, but his goal was always Boston and the mighty legacy of Serge Koussevitz­ky, the orchestra’s director from 1924 to 1949. He was appointed musical director there in 1973 but, controvers­ially, chose not to relinquish his West Coast appointmen­t for another three years, leading to accusation­s on both coasts of absenteeis­m.

Although there were many good times in Boston – not least the orchestra’s centenary world tour in 1981 and the constructi­on of the Seiji Ozawa Concert Hall at Tanglewood in 1994 – when the novelty of both maestro and turtleneck­s faded, Ozawa dug his heels in and refused to move on, determined to beat Koussevitz­ky as the orchestra’s longest-serving conductor.

A group of BSO players published a circular in which they expressed open hostility. Commenting on his frequent insistence that the relationsh­ip between a conductor and his orchestra was like a marriage, they argued that “marriages do not all end in death… some marriages linger on monotonous­ly, with a lack of mutual regard, respect, and stimulatio­n.”

Profession­al critics also declared that he had outstayed his welcome. Richard Dyer, highly regarded critic of The Boston Globe, was among those who declared that Ozawa had failed to fulfil his youthful promise.

He eventually did move on, however, after 28 years. In 2002 he found himself in Europe, where he followed in the footsteps of von Karajan by becoming principal conductor of the Vienna State Opera (he started the year by conducting the traditiona­l New Year’s Day concert with the Vienna Philharmon­ic, the recording of which became Japan’s fastest-selling classical record). It was in the Austrian capital that he conducted Mstislav Rostropovi­ch’s last cello performanc­e, a premiere of a new work by the Polish composer Krzysztof Penderecki.

On the back of the American hype, Ozawa’s eagerly awaited London debut was with the LSO in 1965 in a programme of Beethoven, Berlioz and Mozart that left the critics cautious but welcoming: he “justified expectatio­ns up to a point”, noted The Times.

He became a frequent visitor to Britain, notably with the Boston Symphony Orchestra at the Edinburgh Festival during John Drummond’s tenure (their 1979 concert was described as having “moved ideas about orchestral interpreta­tion into a new league”). The relationsh­ip continued when Drummond moved to the Proms, including a memorable evening with Jessye Norman at the Royal Albert Hall in 1984.

Meanwhile, he was first seen conducting at Covent Garden in Eugene Onegin in 1974, and was a frequent guest conductor with the Philharmon­ia in the 1980s. He also conducted Kiri Te Kanawa’s first Tosca, in

Paris in 1982.

Ozawa cancelled all his engagement­s in 2010 after doctors diagnosed oesophagea­l cancer. And no sooner had he undergone a successful operation than he was afflicted with chronic sciatica, making it all but impossible for him to spend more than five minutes on the podium.

Despite his travels, Ozawa maintained his links with Japan. In 1984, in memory of his teacher, he founded the Saito Kinen Orchestra, which visited the Proms in 1990, and the Saito Kinen Festival in the “Japanese Alps” at Matsumoto, modelled on Tanglewood. With the novelist Haruki Murakami he conducted a series of six conversati­ons about classical music that resulted in the 2016 book Absolutely on Music.

His first marriage was to the pianist Kyoko Edo. He maintained a home in Tokyo with his second wife Vera Ilyan and their daughter and son.

Seiji Ozawa, born September 1 1935, died February 6 2024

 ?? ?? Ozawa in Paris in 2000: he energised concert halls, invigorate­d orchestras and inspired audiences in performanc­es that crackled with electricit­y
Ozawa in Paris in 2000: he energised concert halls, invigorate­d orchestras and inspired audiences in performanc­es that crackled with electricit­y
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