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Published: Tuesday, 10 September 2024 at 15:11 PM


by Grant Llewellyn

It was in the middle of Brahms‘s Seventh Variation that I first noticed Leonard Bernstein. I turned towards the cellos and basses, just where they have the countermelody. He was standing in the wings, watching me conducting, conspicuous in a silver lamé bomber jacket. Brahms’ Variations on a Theme by Haydn were all but forgotten in the split second I recognised Bernstein. But Brahms waits for no one, and I still had the elusive Eighth Variation plus the finale to navigate.

Leonard Bernstein conducting, circa 1975. Pic: Erich Auerbach/Hulton Archive/Getty Images – Erich Auerbach/Hulton Archive/Getty Images

It was August 1985, and I was conducting a concert with the Tanglewood Music Centre Orchestra at the Boston Symphony’s summer home in the Berkshire Hills in Massachusetts. I came off stage into the embrace of Leonard Bernstein. He proceeded to tell me how much he could have taught me, and started to demonstrate.

Meanwhile, the audience were applauding, and I wanted some of it, besides which I had to acknowledge the principal flute, the horns and the violas, all of whom played a big role in the Brahms. One curtain call was all he allowed me.

‘Bernstein needed the oxygen of public adoration’

Lenny had come to town and he expected one’s attention. By ‘one’s’, I mean ‘everyone’s’. I soon saw that there was an enormous entourage accompanying him, including at least two film crews. He held court, and performed for them, but quickly got back to the subject in hand – that Seventh Variation. ‘Llewellyn,’ (he’d already got my surname down, pronouncing the double ‘L’ in perfect Welsh) ‘you should beat it like this’. He proceeded to sing and beat time, to everyone’s delight, and further applause.

This, I was going to learn, was typical of the dichotomy that was Leonard Bernstein. The personal, private teacher, who needed the oxygen of public adoration to function.

As for my beloved Seventh Variation, I actually disagreed with him! His beat pattern, I thought, was too busy and clunky. Plus, it slowed down the gently lilting siciliano, which is Brahms’ most heavenly variation. I had the sense to hold my tongue.