By Roberta Giaconi e Antonio La Cava
When his father sent him for learning the blacksmith‘s craft, Nicola Luisotti could not figure out he would have become one of the most acclaimed conductors in Europe. “You have to learn to gain things by yourself” his father told him and he did it, now stating: “I feel like a privileged doing my craft. Conducting is not for me a work, but it is a passion, a dream, a privilege”. His Madama Butterfly, from 14th February to 10th March, touched the Royal Opera House’s stalls in London. Starting from the season 2009/2010 his way will lead him to hold the position as Musical Director at the San Francisco Opera, the second biggest Opera Theatre in North America. On Tuesday 20th March, interviewed by Christopher Cook at the Italian Cultural Institute of London, Luisotti, happy and smiling, talked about himself, about opera and the importance of music, to his audience and GIORGIOSTUDIO.
Madama Butterfly is the second opera [after Il Trovatore – Author’s Note] that you stage at the Royal Opera House: why just this opera by Puccini?
Madama Butterfly arose in part right in London. Puccini was in fact in London when he knew that the Madama Butterfly by David Belascowas being staged. He decided to go watching it, and though he did not know a single word in English, he loved the performance so much that he would rush to Belasco. “Give me the rights, I beg you” he asked him with his hands joined and Belasco, seeing this much passion, agreed.
Besides, I have to confess that this performance has a particular significance for me, because it is the first opera I saw. I was then 12 year-old and had been playing the organ in the church of Torre del Lago, a small town in Tuscany, famous just for its annual Puccini’s festival. Paoletti, conductor, heard me playing and asked my father the permission to take me attending Madama Butterfly. It was my first opera and I remember I fell asleep so happily seeing it, rocked by music.
Your passion for music was very precocious, though your family had not the means to let you study. But how did you approach music for the first time?
Maybe my passion for music is inborn: my mother sang in the church choir, my father played the clarinet.
I was 7 year-old when, going to church, I was charmed by the organ. I went closer and tried to touch it and the priest ran after me to hit my hands and turn me away. Nevertheless, by seeing my interest was very strong, instead of slapping me he let me try and after five days I was playing the organ in the church thanks to my strong passion and my ability to play by ear what I heard.
Music had always been for me a dream. I was the youngest of five children and my parents could not afford to support my studies: in fact I studied for four years in a seminary. “We are sorry, Nicola, but we cannot pay for your music studies – my father said to me – but if you want that, you can work to maintain yourself”. And I did so: during the day I worked and by night I played. I studied composition, singing, guitar and piano. At the beginning I did piano-bar to pay my studies. I worked, too, as a blacksmith, as my father wanted me to learn a craft. When I was a teenager, together with my pals, I formed a band called Il Punto Morto – The Dead Point – and we played the songs by the Pink Floyd. The straitened circumstances stimulated me more to become keen on something I liked, like music. Music taught me how wonderful life is, and opera became like a woman to whom you give all.
Many sacrifices before attaining success: when did you realise that things were about to change?
One day I read on a Florence newspaper that there was an audition at La Scala theatre in Milan. I had never been there. “But why should I not try?” I asked myself. All started this way: after a few days from the audition I was summoned to communicate that I was appointed to work with Muti. I remember our first meeting and his severe face: I was so scared!
What is the most important lesson that you have learnt in these years?
Muti taught me that a conductor has to always respect a composer: a very precious lesson. And the same is valid for the scenography: you cannot carry away an opera in the future! Some time ago [February 2005 – Author’s Note] in Monaco a Rigoletto was staged with the main part played by an astronaut who landed to a monkeys’ land: what nonsense! If conductors want complete independence, they have to compose their own work, and not changing works by others.
Is the Italian language still the language of opera?
It is not only the language of opera, for I want to say that the knowledge of Italian is an advantage for a conductor, as it is difficult to conduct an opera if you do not know its language; and this reason induced me to study German, so that I could conduct operas in German language.
From the outside a conductor looks like a despot: is it true?
A conductor has not dictatorial power: an opera is a team and we take decisions altogether. A good conductor has to be mainly precise: the members of the orchestra are specialists, they know their instruments better than the conductor does, hence what they expect from him is that he says precisely what he wants, that he speaks clearly.
You gained your major satisfactions abroad, not in Italy: why?
The Italian governments has followed one another without taking any decisions about opera: it would need a bigger interest on culture and instead funds are cut off more and more, whilst theatre should have popular prices in order to involve the youth, too. Italy could and should make a living on culture: we have not any oil to export, but we have a rich and admired artistic heritage. But we need to go abroad to see it fully carried out. It is really a pity.
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