Paavo Järvi: The Art of Conducting Is in Danger of Disappearing
- Lucy Cheung
- 1 day ago
- 13 min read
Just two weeks before returning to the Royal Albert Hall to conduct the BBC Symphony Orchestra at the BBC Proms alongside Leonidas Kavakos, I met Paavo Järvi once again in the Estonian seaside town of Pärnu. It was our third one-on-one conversation since 2022, following earlier interviews in Zurich and at the Pärnu Music Festival.
The festival was in full swing. Days were packed with rehearsals, concerts, teaching and the countless demands that come with running an international music festival. Yet there was nothing hurried about Järvi. The late-afternoon sun poured into the west-facing room, making it uncomfortably warm despite two small electric fans humming quietly in the corner. Fresh from rehearsing Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony, he settled into his chair with the calm assurance of someone completely at home.
Watching the rehearsals throughout the week, I found myself wondering whether conducting Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony here carried a different meaning. The conversation that followed ranged from childhood memories and cultural identity to architecture, war, Russian culture, music education and the future of conducting.
You can also listen to our conversation on the podcast platforms.
A conversation with Paavo Järvi
LC = Lucy Cheung
PJ = Paavo Järvi
Home
LC: I’ve been watching your rehearsals of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony these past few days. Does conducting this piece here remind you of Pärnu? Last time we spoke, you told me that no matter where you’ve been in the world, as soon as you come back here, you instantly feel at home.
PJ: Pärnu has a connection because the best memories of my childhood were here -the three months of June, July and August every year—were spent in Pärnu. We had long school holidays, so those were free months. There’s something about this idyllic nature, free time, birds singing, water... all of that somehow is very symbolic of Pärnu. And that’s also, of course, the Pastoral Symphony of Beethoven.
LC: Is there a particular moment that immediately tells you you’re home? A certain place, a view, or even a particular food?
PJ: When I come from Tallinn, where I was born, Pärnu is about an hour and a half away by car. Just before entering the city, there’s a bridge. Every time I see that bridge, I feel like I’m back in my childhood.
LC: What kind of bridge?
PJ: Just a very simple bridge. When I was a kid, it seemed so huge. Now it seems small, like everything. It crosses the Pärnu River, and every time we drove over it I thought, “Now we’re finally on vacation.”
History
LC: The last time I was here, two years ago, I went to see David Oistrakh’s summer house. I went back again this year and saw that it had been renovated.
PJ: But they still have the plaque on it. It’s still the same house. It’s just in a little better shape.
LC: Last time you told me that one of the things you treasure most about Pärnu is that life here still feels familiar, that you can still find traces of the town you knew thirty years ago. Is there anything you fear it might lose over the years?
PJ: Yes. I think there is almost an inevitable sense of trying to hold on to something that you remember. But life goes on. Things develop, and architecture changes. If you look at these wonderful wooden houses, the parks and the old architecture—which is so specific and so endearing—and then look at the modern buildings that are being built today, they clearly belong to a different world. They are much less imaginative, much more cost-efficient, and not as beautiful.
Like everywhere else in the world, people are becoming more efficient in what they build, and they put much less emphasis on aesthetic values. So it’s very important to preserve what has already been built, and not allow people to demolish it because they can make more money. You cannot build an old violin. You cannot build an old opera house. You cannot build a great old building. The value is not only in its beauty, but also in the reminder that it came from a certain moment in history.
Otherwise, we lose connection with our history. And that’s the beginning of an end. We need to remember our history and have reminders of that past in our everyday life—the food we eat, the buildings we live in, the songs we sing. Those are the things that make us special.
Songs
LC: Are there still songs your grandmother taught you that you remember today?
PJ: Absolutely. Many, many. When I was four or five years old, my grandmother and I used to walk around Pärnu together. She always carried a small but thick blue songbook full of lyrics. We would sing every song in it. We knew all the words and all the melodies because she sang them, and I sang along.
Many of them were very old Estonian songs that nobody really sang anymore, even then. In a way, they connected me to her childhood, because she had learned those same songs from her parents. That’s how tradition develops.
LC: What did you sing to your own children?
PJ: A lot of the same songs my grandmother taught me.
LC: Can you remember one?
PJ: (Laughs.) No, I’m not going to sing for you.
But I remember one song about a girl looking for her brother, who was a sailor. She watches the ships and wonders, “Where is my brother? I hope he’s all right.”
There were songs about many different things. Some were sentimental, some joyful, some painful. Songs were a way of immortalising important moments in life.
Estonia
LC: This year marks the 35th anniversary of Estonia’s restored independence. You experienced both leaving and returning. Has Estonia become what you hoped it would become?
PJ: It is a different world now. It is a wonderful place with highly educated people, a democratic government, highly developed infrastructure, wonderful roads, great restaurants, IT, Wi-Fi. People drive fantastic cars and live in beautiful homes. This is everything the Soviets managed to destroy. We have managed to rebuild it in thirty years. The tragic thing is that it takes two days to destroy it all and bring back the so-called Russian world. They threaten us every day. It takes thirty or forty years to rebuild a society based on culture.
We have orchestras. We have opera. For a country of 1.3 million people, we have four opera houses, five orchestras, a music school in every small town, one of the biggest singing festivals in Europe, wonderful festivals, great composers, and young musicians coming from all over the world. All of this is possible because we no longer have to fight for survival or live under oppression. We can put our resources into the things that matter.
Culture is everything. Culture is not just art and music. Culture is education. Culture is food. Culture is the quality of thinking. Books. Paintings. Nature. It’s all culture.
Russia, Culture and War
LC: Over the years, attitudes in Europe towards Russian musicians and Russian music have changed. Do you still believe culture can bridge differences between people?
PJ: I think I need to clarify this whole situation with Russian artists. I have nothing against Russian artists, and I love Russian culture. I grew up close to Russia, and Russian artists are like brothers to me.
Living in a totalitarian system, as Russia is now—and has been for a long time—corrupts people. Some people leave. Others try to find a way to live reasonably well within the system. To do that, they suppress their beliefs and their morals because the alternative can be much more dangerous. So I understand that it is not so black and white.
Personally, I have no issue with Russian musicians, and I have no problem with Russian culture. In fact, I worship the great Russians. Rachmaninoff, Mussorgsky, Tchaikovsky—they have given the world an extraordinary cultural treasure.
But now comes the important—and very, very important—distinction that people have to understand. Throughout history, but especially during the Communist period, Russia used art as camouflage. While millions of people were being sent to the Gulag, they sent the Bolshoi Ballet to London, and everybody said, “Look. Anybody with such wonderful musicians and such wonderful ballet couldn’t possibly be doing horrible things.” They knew how to use art as a cover for their crimes. The other thing is this. If you read the individual histories of the artists whose music and art we admire today, you see how horribly they lived. Some killed themselves. Some were sent to Siberia. Some had to leave. Prokofiev left. Shostakovich lived in an inner exile and wrote anti-Soviet music. Stravinsky left.
LC: Arvo Pärt left.
PJ: Arvo Pärt left as well. Many, many others. If you read Dostoevsky, if you read all these stories, what do they actually say about Russia? You’ll find there’s very little that’s positive. They all tell you what a horrible place it was, what a horrible culture it was. And they were the sons of that culture. They knew. So one has to be very, very careful not to generalise.
Having said all of that, Russian musicians are my brothers. Russian music is something very close to me, and I have no problem whatsoever with it. But at the moment, when somebody is literally bombing civilian homes every single day—when people are dying in their own bedrooms—we have to start thinking about how much we want to elevate Russia through its beautiful arts.
When the war is over, and those responsible have been held accountable for crimes against humanity, then we start playing Russian music again.
Shostakovich
LC: I have two questions. The first is about younger musicians. Compared with your generation, their experience of war is completely different. When they perform Shostakovich, do you think they can really understand his music? Because it’s such a different time.
PJ: That's a very, very good question. The real test of a great piece is whether it still works as a piece of music. If it is still powerful, even when people don’t know what it is about, then it’s a great composer.
With Shostakovich, of course, it would be a better performance and a more meaningful experience if you know about Stalin, the Gulag, the repression, and everything that happened at that time—everything that Shostakovich writes about. But his music is so well written. His genius and his mastery are so extraordinary that somehow the music itself tells a powerful story, even to people who don’t know the history. Take Gustav Mahler. We don’t really know all of his inner thoughts, but we can guess. Somehow it becomes universal.
But for people like us, whose grandparents were sent to Siberia, it’s different. We have a much closer personal connection to that music because we have a much closer connection to the people who survived—and to those who didn’t.
LC: You also met Shostakovich when you were little.
PJ: In Pärnu.
Becoming My Father
Throughout the festival, I watched Paavo working alongside his father, Neeme Järvi, and his brother Kristjan. One evening, Neeme unexpectedly walked onto the stage during the Järvi Academy concert to conduct The Waltz of the Flowers from The Nutcracker.
LC: Watching you work with your father and your brother these past few days made me wonder whether you’ve become more like your father over the years.
PJ: It’s scary, but it’s so true. Sometimes I find myself saying something and I think, “That sounded exactly like my father.” Sometimes my father looks at me and says, “You know what? You look exactly like my brother.” His brother died many years ago. He was thirteen years older than my father. Somehow there is this strange genetic connection. You can’t escape it. And I have no problem with that. I think it’s great.
LC: In your own musical career, did you ever consciously try to find your own path? Did you ever try not to become too much like your father?
PJ: No. Quite the opposite. I always tried to be as much as possible like my father. He was a very good teacher in the beginning. From very broad musical ideas to very specific conducting technique, he taught me so much. I always tried to master that technical side as well as he did.
I never tried to find my own path because I knew I would be different anyway. I’m a different person. I’m the child of my father and my mother, who is completely different. I’m shorter. I’m thinner. I was born in a different time. So it was never really an issue. My goal was always to try to be as good as he is, because there are very few people who are as good as he is at what he does.
LC: When you say “as good as he is”, what exactly do you mean?
PJ: Today we are living through a rather strange moment in history. The art of conducting, as far as I can tell, is in danger of disappearing. Now conducting is often seen as a good skill set to have. A violinist learns a little conducting, stands in front of an orchestra, and people think that is conducting. It’s not even close.
No instrumentalist automatically knows how to conduct without really studying it. But because they are wonderful musicians, because they are admired by audiences and by their colleagues, they are given opportunities, and they can manage. But a real conductor... people like Carlos Kleiber, my father, Riccardo Muti or Daniel Barenboim—those were conductors. Many musicians today are instrumentalists who also conduct. That is different.
Teaching Conductors
LC: Every year at the Järvi Academy, you teach many young conductors. You mentioned earlier that the art of conducting is disappearing. Is there something you hope to teach them here that you think is missing today?
PJ: What happens in this Academy—and in masterclasses in general—has to be very clearly understood by the students. This is an alternative point of view from somebody who doesn’t know them very well. From a little distance, I can look at them objectively, point out certain obvious things, and hopefully help them fix them. If we’re talking about what I find most interesting—music, the interpretation of music, studying scores—this isn’t the place to do it. Everybody has very little time, and there are a lot of conductors.
But I can tell one person to figure out how to breathe. Another person needs to stop moving around. Someone has a very dysfunctional left hand. Someone else needs more eye contact with the orchestra. Another person needs to think about long-term phrasing. You can point out certain things and give them information they can continue to work on later. Everything is filmed, so they can always go back and watch it again.
But if you really want to create a clear path for a young conductor whom you teach regularly, that’s something completely different. You need at least two lessons a week. You need real repertoire to study. Most importantly, you need to discuss music. Not technique. Technique has to be taught just as seriously, but in parallel with music. Most of them don’t have that. And unfortunately, many of the people teaching them are not really qualified. So they hear one thing from one teacher, something completely different from another, and they become confused. They don’t know which way is the right way.
London Philharmonic
LC: You’re going to take over London Philharmonic next year. At the same time, you’ll continue your work with Bremen and Zurich. What kind of sound do you hope to shape with London Philharmonic?
PJ: London Philharmonic is really one of the great orchestras of the world. The sound of an orchestra is always shaped by repertoire. If we talk about the great German orchestras and Brahms, that Brahms sound came from playing Brahms over and over again. Karajan conducted the Brahms symphonies every year, together with Beethoven, Bruckner and Richard Strauss. Over time, that sound became part of the orchestra.
Today’s world is different. London Philharmonic performs everything—from Bach and Handel to contemporary music. Everything in between has to sound authentic. As a result, many orchestras today have developed a certain understanding of different styles. Of course, they don’t play Baroque music the same way as the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment. And they don’t approach Classical repertoire in quite the same way as the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen, because those orchestras specialise in it. One works with the sound according to the composer that’s in front of you. That’s what one tries to do.
London Philharmonic is such a fantastic orchestra because they can switch styles so naturally. I was amazed the first time I conducted Russian music with them. It requires a completely different colour from German Romantic music, or even Czech repertoire. One of the reasons I’m so excited about working with London Philharmonic is exactly that versatility.
Estonian Composers
LC: This year’s festival has featured quite a number of Estonian composers. Apart from Arvo Pärt, whom everybody knows, which other Estonian composers would you recommend to someone who wants to explore Estonian music today?
PJ: We somehow have such an abundance, and such riches, of composers. I’m not even sure why. If you love Arvo Pärt, then listen to Arvo Pärt. But after Arvo Pärt, there’s Lepo Sumera, Erkki-Sven Tüür, Tõnu Kõrvits, Helena Tulve. Those are the big names.
Then there are many younger composers. During this festival you’ve already heard Evelin Seppar, and tonight we’re giving the world premiere of her new piece. There’s also Elis Hallik, and many others. We’re also working on a recording devoted entirely to Estonian women composers. There will be five or six works on the album. I think it’s important to encourage women composers. Then, of course, there are composers like Eduard Tubin, a great symphonist, Heino Eller, Artur Lemba and Veljo Tormis.
There are so many good composers here. Once you become curious about Estonian music, you’ll discover there are many people to choose from. And many younger composers are now beginning their careers, and we’re trying to make this festival a place where they can first be discovered.
LC: Last night I really enjoyed the Tubin piece Kratt—the percussion work.
PJ: Yes. We actually recorded it with the Estonian Festival Orchestra in its original version. This percussion version was brilliant. But what impressed me even more was the first piece for two violins.
LC: Tõnu Kõrvits?
PJ: Yes. I love that piece. It’s beautifully written and beautifully conceived. I was completely taken by its simplicity, its originality, and how convincing it is. We really do have a lot of good composers.
LC: I thought it was quite warm as well.
PJ: Yes. Listen to Tõnu Kõrvits in general. His music is romantic, but he has a very interesting harmonic language. At first you think, “Wait a minute. This can’t be right. This must be a mistake.“ Then you keep listening and realise, “No, that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.” And after a while, you begin waiting for those moments, because they’re what give the music its spice.
LC: Does the festival commission new works every year?
PJ: I’d say almost every year. Last year we commissioned an accordion concerto for Ksenija Sidorova. We’ve already recorded it, and it’s now available on CD. You can also find it on Spotify under my name or the Estonian Festival Orchestra.
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