A Voyage of Discovery for the L.A. Philharmonic

“O-mi-age,” a Japanese tradition that mandates the bearing of gifts on any visit.

When my father visited postwar Japan in the 1950s, he took bundles of used clothing as his formal o-mi-age from the family. Western classical music in Japan was a specialized commodity catering to the tastes of a fervent few. Veteran members of the Los Angeles Philharmonic recall that during their 1956 tour the audiences here listened with rapt fascination and absolute silence. Japanese performers of that time (Michiko Sunahara, Nejiko Suwa, Yoichi Haraoka) were praised in their ability to copy the Western style.

In 1965, I made the first of my continuing visits to Japan. My o-mi-age consisted of UCLA sweatshirts, Disneyland artifacts, Snoopy dolls, anything that hollered “American!” Legend has it that the British motion picture “The Red Shoes” was met with wild popularity here, and could have been the trigger for Japan’s fascination with Western performance arts. I recall that the Philharmonic concerts were received with an almost voracious kind of enthusiasm, albeit arguably naive.

During one of these early tours in the late 1960s, the Philharmonic played a concert in Tokyo that began with a performance of Stravinksy’s “Petrouchka.” The applause was hesitant, self-conscious. Perhaps the audience was unfamiliar with the work and was puzzled by its tentative and quiet ending. Or perhaps the audience was merely following their own traditional protocol in reserving the ovation until after the final piece had been played. In any case, at the end of the concert the ovation finally occurred. And Zubin Mehta, somewhat condescendingly, turned to the audience and intoned a question that is to this day still quoted and re-quoted through the Philharmonic locker rooms: “Why you no like ‘Petrouchka’?”

Today my suitcase is full of home-baked cookies. My mother and I can think of nothing I can bring as o-mi-age that cannot be easily found here. Similarly, the commodity that the Los Angeles Philharmonic is bringing (the music of Beethoven, Mozart, Sibelius, Bartok, Stravinsky, et al) represents nothing new or unfamiliar to the Japanese. Indeed, our performance of these works will be compared to concerts by the orchestras of New York, Philadelphia, Berlin, Vienna, etc., etc., all of whom have appeared here.

Japan’s own musical accomplishment is represented by such acknowledged and formidable voices as Midori, Mitsuko Uchida, the Tokyo String Quartet, et al. Relevant musical ideas are now originating here.

Our two-hour flight from Taipei into Osaka seems to have deposited us into another century. There is a palpable shift in travel attitude among the musicians. We are now confident enough to extend the radius of our food foraging quite far beyond the hotel.

Audiences still listen with an almost frighteningly respectful silence--that much has not changed in 30 years. I am challenged, sometimes intimidated, by their attentiveness. There is an absolute minimum of extraneous noise . . . must be those Japanese cough drops! And not a single composition played thus far has been violated by inappropriately timed applause.

Backstage, there is an aura of excited confidence. We are here because our ability has been defined as “world class”; our commodity has caught the curiosity and attention of a ticket-buying public not made up of our own community supporters, nor our friends, nor our relatives.

The confidence to do this is not easily won. We have the advantage of Esa-Pekka Salonen’s leadership. His musical choices and decisions are, and always will be, open to anyone’s scrutiny. However, he presents his ideas to us with such intelligence, conviction and consistency that the orchestra willingly gives him complete musical autonomy. This unanimity of purpose defines the craft of what we do.

The clarity of his baton technique and the succinctness of his rehearsal strategy serve to help us know exactly when and how to play securely and without hesitation. He can undeniably be called “a friend of the player.” And considering all of the variables we encounter under touring conditions, we can use all the friends we can get!

And sometimes, inexplicably, once in a very rare while, something magical happens . . . a new level of excitement is reached . . . a different kind of discovery is made. This defines the art of what we do. The odds for this happening with Salonen seem to be in our favor.

Tonight, some 25 years later, we play “Petrouchka” again.