A Tokyo-New York-Hamburg Classic Connection : Sony Classical’s president Gunther Breest intends to carry out his company’s commitment to dominate the field--from Germany

The great media revolution has begun. The logistical machinations are confusing. Also portentous.

A Japanese electronics giant has purchased a distinguished yet faltering American organization and placed its destiny in the hands of a veteran of mighty phonographic wars from Germany. In the process, Tokyo has moved institutional headquarters from New York to Hamburg.

The recording of so-called classical music--both audio and video--may never be quite the same again. Here is the basic, convoluted libretto:

Once upon a time, there was a company named Columbia. Its history could be traced to 1891. It made seminal contributions to the evolution of take-out music. After World War II, it pioneered the long-playing vinyl record, liberating sonic art from the clumsy confines of 78-rpm shellac discs.

Columbia could boast some very important names on its roster of conductors, instrumental virtuosos and opera stars. Nevertheless, as time wore on, the company devoted the bulk of its energy to pop endeavors. These produced the quickest, easiest and biggest financial rewards.

When the focus of corporate activity shifted, so did the name on the label. Columbia became CBS Records. At the time, CBS Masterworks--the branch that half-heartedly produced symphonies, operas and chamber music--accounted for a paltry 5% of CBS Record sales.

Then, as the American economy teetered, the industry looked eastward. Far eastward.

Two years ago, the Sony Corp. of Japan, which enjoys annual sales above $16 billion, purchased CBS Records. It was worth noting that both Akio Morita, the co-founder of Sony, and Norio Ohda, the president, happened to be avid champions of the sort of music CBS had neglected. Ohda, in fact, had been trained as a baritone, and his voice actually graced a few records.

In January, 1989, Ohda formed a new label: Sony Classical. It would encompass the existing CBS catalogue as well as treasures from the vaults. More important, it would produce new records and videos for the global consumer market on an unprecedented scale, and take advantage of state-of-the-art technology.

This may be the day of the compact disc (a.k.a. CD). For better or worse, the long-playing record (a.k.a. LP) is rapidly being forced into extinction, as if it were a 78-rpm dodo bird. The wealthy and generous geniuses at Sony, however, already are thinking ahead to Digital Audio Tape (a.k.a. DAT) and Laserdisc prerecorded software.

Whereas CBS was sometimes accused of settling for shoddy recording techniques, Sony Classical is eagerly exploring futuristic concepts. Mind-boggling press releases boast of 20-bit enhanced digital audio for “high definition” sound and of comparable HDTV video.

Clearly, Sony Classical intends to be a world leader, probably the world leader, in its field. The investment of Japanese funds is staggering. So is the deployment of international talent.

The key figure, as regards talent, is Gunther Breest. Ohda lured him away from the all-powerful firm of Deutsche Grammophon (a.k.a. DG). Breest had long ruled that imposing Germanic roost as executive vice president and chief of production.

Given the title of president of Sony Classical, he will concern himself with a broad variety of problems. These range from talent acquisition to introduction of new technology to product realization to in-depth marketing.

Born 49 years ago in Leipzig, he learned his craft the old-fashioned way. In 1965 he earned a diploma in sound engineering (the Germans, who have a title for everything, officially dubbed him Tonmeister ). The following year he received a performance degree in Detmold, having specialized in organ and harpsichord. After working in Iceland and for the Bertelsmann corporation, he joined DG in 1970, working his way up the ranks as engineer, producer and director of artists and repertory (a.k.a. A&R;).

He was personally involved in the creation of numerous recordings that have become historic landmarks. The secret of his success, it was generally acknowledged, involved his sensitivity to the needs and quirks--artistic as well as personal--of such difficult musicians as Herbert von Karajan, Carlo Maria Giulini, Claudio Abbado, James Levine, Maurizio Pollini, Leonard Bernstein, Itzhak Perlman, Placido Domingo, Jessye Norman and the members of the Amadeus Quartet.

Although the terms of Breest’s current employment are unavailable for public scrutiny, informed sources speculate that his Sony contract affords him anywhere from $400,000 to $800,000 annually for 5 years, plus “incredible perks.” Those perks don’t even include the frequent-flyer miles that he will accumulate commuting from his new home office in Hamburg to his bosses’ office in Tokyo and to his auxiliary office in New York.

Whatever the actual salary happens to be, Breest must be the best-paid executive in the international arts arena. He may also be the most powerful.

Breest obviously doesn’t come to New York often. The befuddled receptionist at Sony’s local bureau doesn’t seem to know who he is. When finally located within the maze of offices and sales rooms, he is characteristically jovial.

“I’m not surprised she didn’t recognize my name,” he laughs. “Perhaps that will change.” This remark may rank as his only excursion into understatement all afternoon.

He remains agreeably candid, chronically enthusiastic, hopelessly optimistic and only slightly diplomatic as he discusses his new life over simple pasta and very dry white wine in the elegant restaurant next door. His language reflects a beguiling fusion of tech talk, biz talk, Americanism, slang, textbook English and fine German syntax.

“For the time being,” he says, “I will be here every six weeks, for a week each time. Eventually, I want to cut back on that. We will have meetings via closed-circuit television, with me in Hamburg, my associates here and in Tokyo. That will save my flying back and forth.”

He owns a house in Hamburg, where he lives with his wife and two teen-aged daughters, both of whom happen to play the cello. He already has acquired an apartment for quick vacation escapes in Florida. In New York and Tokyo, however, he calls a hotel room home.

He sighs patiently when asked why Sony/CBS Classical headquarters had to move to Germany. He has tried to answer this question before.

“It is very simple,” he claims. “These days, you cannot run a classical operation from a desk in the States. CBS was so successful in the pop field--so successful with fast return of its investments. The company expected the same fast return with its classical product. Unfortunately, that is typical of American thinking. If you don’t come back with 30%-plus in two years, they won’t let you operate.

“I felt we had to get away from this counter-productive attitude. It is so against the nature of classical music, which really needs to be nursed and developed. In this field, you hope to start with an artist at 18 and still have him when he is 80. In this field you need long-term thinking. You need support. That is not in the American business mentality. I cannot operate in such an environment.”

The meandering answer makes sad sense, despite its partial evasion. Breest refocuses.

“The main reason for going to Hamburg?” he asks himself. “No. 1: The sources are in Europe. I wanted--needed--to be where the artists are. I wanted to be near the action.

“No. 2: CBS is literally non-existent in Europe. The records are just not available. You don’t see any product there. CBS is to my best experience too Americanized. I must change that.”

He takes into account the crumbling of the Berlin wall. “We must record the Berlin Philharmonic with (Claudio) Abbado. The new political situation makes that even more important than ever before.

“I am certain the center of intellectual and musical activity will now go to central Europe, and Berlin will be the nucleus with a much broader opening to all of Eastern European countries. Sony Classical must be nearby.

“I see an opening and a market. We may record in Leipzig and Dresden.”

He isn’t likely to record with the local conductors in those East German cities, however. When pressed, he states that Kurt Masur (the newly appointed music director of the New York Philharmonic) and Hans Vonk are “not good enough.”

Originally, he had planned an extensive series of Russian operas to be taped in Bulgaria. Now, with the advent of perestroika , he is happy to move the project directly to Moscow. This man values authenticity, wherever practical.

He recognizes the irony in Japanese money funding an American effort based in Germany.

“I would not be surprised if this were some sort of a trend,” he reflects. “You see, the support from Tokyo is not primarily financial. Tokyo provides the philosophy, the understanding that really is in accordance with the needs of classical activity. Tokyo provides a strong view, a vision. It wants to build a catalogue that can still be exploited in 15 years.

“No one in the United States is willing to think that way today. It may have been different in the past, but I don’t see anyone on a high management level of any American corporation willing to accept this way of thinking.”

Ironically, Breest got the Sony job as an indirect result of a commercial counteroffensive on Japanese territory.

“When I first heard that Sony intended to take over CBS, I worried about the impact of that merger on Deutsche Grammophon. I thought that we--DG--simply had to go to Tokyo and show them who is No. 1. So we took all our equipment there and taped the program with Jimmy Levine, Kathleen Battle and Placido Domingo. I served as producer. We were shooting and recording busily.

“Ohda came to observe a session. He was sitting quietly in the last row of the hall. He asked to see me, and made me the offer. It was strange. Here I was, being hired by the competition that I had come to fight.”

After 18 years at DG, Breest left with mixed feelings. “It was a very hard decision,” he says. When pressed, he concedes that there were some extenuating circumstances.

“I did not see at DG the necessary exploitation of the hardware. I was in that a little bit disappointed.”

He recounts some increasing frustrations. “I was always out to get fascinating artistic things. I was in permanent contact, for instance, with (Riccardo) Muti. I wanted to wait for the right moment, and it finally came when Karajan’s shadow was begining to fade away. Just then, someone on a higher level at DG decided that Muti should go to the Philips division. I could not do anything. I was not in a strong enough position.”

That sort of history isn’t likely to repeat itself at Sony.

“I tried to accept the disappointment,” Breest adds. “I was a corporate man. But I resented the corporate interference. I think that DG got a bit too huge, that it had too many interests.”

At Sony, he gets to make artistic as well as management decisions. “I report only to (Walter) Yetnikoff, the head of CBS, and to Ohda,” he declares with a grin that stops just short of smugness. “They accept that.”

Even with Sony’s lofty technical standards and massive budget, Breest admits that he will have to keep an alert eye on Deutsche Grammophon.

“Now they are my chief competitors,” he says. “But I like competition. It is a weakness of mine. I need stimulation. In that sense I am happy to stand up against DG. When I joined DG, it had 10 to 12% of the market. When I left it had 24%.”

The challenge is obvious.

Breest used to visit Los Angeles with some regularity when DG recorded Giulini and the Philharmonic. Now he may return from time to time.

Within two years, he hopes to film and record the Music Center Opera/L.A. Philharmonic production of Wagner’s “Tristan und Isolde.” The hero is to be a rather controversial, potentially dangerous choice: Domingo.

“I like the idea,” Breest insists.

The choice of heroine remains uncertain. The Philharmonic has announced a rather lightweight British soprano: Anne Evans. Breest mentions the possibility of the German mezzo-soprano Waltraud Meier, who has never undertaken a role like this. In any case, the conductor will be Zubin Mehta, and the designer David Hockney.

Breest points out that he will not shoot a live performance. He is not required to abide by in-house casting decisions.

“This must be special. It must be done very professionally. It will be a most sophisticated visual as well as musical production. There may be some changes in the staging. Hockney must be involved from the beginning to create this video art form. The lighting is very sensitive.

“I am bored with all these videos that are designed for television and that merely record an opera-house performance in progress. We can do so much more.”

Sony Classical also has some interesting projects for Esa-Pekka Salonen, both with and without the Philharmonic.

“I think he will sell records,” Breest predicts. “It will take five years. I have high hopes for him, especially when I look at the existing catalogue. It is a question of repertory, and a question of context.

“CBS made some wonderful recordings of modern music in the old days, with Stravinsky, for instance, and with (Pierre) Boulez. They were never looked after, never properly focused. They were just smuggled into the catalogue, as if by accident. We will remaster them and make them available internationally. We will focus on a special line: the music of this century. We will put effort in it, and tell the customers that we believe in it.

“Esa-Pekka can be a tremendous help in support of the new. He will record adventurous things. He also will record Sibelius, Shostakovich and Stravinsky. There is much more interest in such things than the pop-minded--the Michael-Jackson-minded--people ever think there is.”

Having said that, the top salesman supports the A&R; director. “I will get influence in all the major markets. The orders and priorities will come directly from me. It won’t just be in the big, the obvious markets.”

Though Breest insists that he offered no pressure and no special lures, many famous artists are following their former DG leader to Sony.

“I don’t go after them,” he claims. “They go after me.” He attributes this to his personal penchant for tender, loving care.

“A key executive,” he says, “must have a personal relationship with his artists. He must understand their weaknesses, their vulnerability, what makes them function. That--not money--makes them want to work with you.”

Giulini wants to continue working with Breest. So do Abbado and Levine. The latter will begin a series of Met productions for Sony with an “Aida” featuring Aprile Millo and Domingo. Further plans include an “Otello” conducted by the elusive Carlos Kleiber, the release of Vladimir Horowitz’s final recital, and a series of Bruckner symphonies conducted for video only by the eccentric Sergiu Celibidache, who refuses to submit to ordinary audio recordings. For many, the ultimate coup of coups, however, will be Sony’s release of the massive, self-glorifying video output of Herbert von Karajan.

Then there is Zubin Mehta.

“It is true,” Breest says. “Mehta’s sales have been amazingly slow. I am happy that he is leaving New York. He doesn’t function well here. He likes the social life too much, and the speed. That distracts him. The demands, the power, the pressure of this city are not what he needs for music making.

“In Berlin and Vienna he will have tremendous steps forward. He is an entirely different musician there. I was so surprised.

“He had been such a promising musician at the beginning, and then it stopped. Nothing developed really. Now there will be a tremendous change.”

Breest frowns at the mention of Mehta’s Los Angeles recordings, made for the rival firm of London/Decca.

“They are not good,” he asserts. Subject closed.

Breest has inherited some valuable talent from CBS. “I will continue to build up the existing catalogue,” he says, “with artists like Midori, Wynton Marsalis and Murray Perahia.”

He isn’t happy, however, with all his legacies. He finds a recording of Donizetti’s “La Favorita” with Alfredo Kraus and Agnes Baltsa “not as good as it could be,” and is tempted “to pay everyone off and not do it.” He is disappointed in a “Tosca” recorded by Eva Marton and Jose Carreras in Hungary under Michael Tilson Thomas. “If it can’t be done at La Scala,” he asks, “why bother?”

The problem is practical. “I was able to stop certain things I disagreed with when I took the job. There were others that were too late to stop. Commitments had to be honored.”

One of the most bizarre commitments involves another Hungarian effort, Boito’s “Mefistofele,” as realized in 1987. Faust was assigned to Carreras, who had to abandon the project prematurely when stricken with leukemia. The recording was completed without him. It was hoped that he would dub in his part at a later date when he was well.

Carreras is now well, but he no longer wants to sing this demanding role. It is being over dubbed instead by the ubiquitous Placido Domingo. The final product will include such curiosities as a love duet enlisting a tenor who sang his lines in 1990, a soprano (Marton again) who sang hers in 1987, and a conductor (Giuseppe Patane) who now happens to be dead.

“We will explain the special circumstances,” Breest assures us. “We will be honest. The listeners won’t hear the difference, but they will know.”

“Every situation is different. One must analyze each one. One must try to do something special involving visionary powers,” says Gunther Breest.

He isn’t looking back.

“I don’t want to copy what I have already done. I have dreams. I will fight for them.”

The master of Sony Classical may just achieve his goals. He is a pragmatic idealist. He seems a benevolent dictator.