Gewandhausorchester circa 1916
Leipziger Volkszeitung
“Not loh-lolöh – more deih, didieh!”
A rehearsal visit with Herbert Blomstedt, who at 98 years old is performing Bruckner’s Fourth Symphony with his Gewandhaus Orchestra.
Peter Korfmacher
16 April 2026
Wednesday morning, 9:56 a.m.: Orchestra manager Marco Eckertz makes an announcement: “I would like to remind you that the Leipzig Marathon is on Sunday.” That morning, the Gewandhaus Orchestra will play a large concert with its honorary conductor Herbert Blomstedt, and all musicians are expected to be on stage promptly. The reminder can’t hurt. But during the rehearsal, it seems to serve another purpose: Herbert Blomstedt uses the dimming light to inconspicuously make his way to the podium with his walker. At 9:58 a.m., he suddenly sits on the piano bench and smiles. “That looks terrible, my legs are so weak. I’m hiding it a bit,” he says in the dressing room after the rehearsal. And he’s still smiling, after he and his caretakers have devised a plan for how he can get to his workplace for this week’s three major concerts without causing a fuss.
So the honorary conductor is back in Leipzig, with his orchestra, which he led from 1998 to 2005, and which he intends to conduct on his 100th birthday, July 11, 2027 – and half a dozen times before that. Starting with this week’s major concerts. “Good morning,” he calls out cheerfully to the orchestra, which is, of course, perfectly tuned, at precisely 10 a.m. “Good morning,” comes the 100-strong reply, equally cheerful. A bit like a school class greeting their favorite teacher. And he is satisfied: “This is the best school class I know,” he says – and smiles again. That’s enough of the preamble, though. A few seconds later, the rehearsal for Anton Bruckner’s Fourth Symphony is in full swing: “Let’s begin with the second movement,” says Blomstedt, and immediately goes into detail: “Here’s the rule: all dotted rhythms that aren’t legato need a slight pause. So not loh-lolöh—more deih, didieh. This is a march. So not like a funeral march, more like a procession.”
Then he lets them play. He plays over the occasional bubble; polishing those is up to the musicians and will be done by the next rehearsal. Blomstedt is concerned with connections, with development, with meaning. For this, it’s important to him that the dotted rhythms are both clear and easily articulated. He sings them again and again. His voice is fragile, but his intonation is impeccable. He adjusts them in each new setting.
“The brass section plays it very nicely,” he says, and immediately adds a caveat: “At the beginning. Then the triplets come in and exert an overwhelming pull. Their dotted rhythms become triplets. Stay focused, don’t get swept away. That’s a piece of wisdom from Emerson. No, not the one with the string quartet, but the American philosopher: ‘Sit alone!’ he recommended. So let the strings play their triplets, and play your own dotted rhythms.”
And since he’s already at it, Herbert Blomstedt also has to share Ralph Waldo Emerson’s second maxim: “Never miss an opportunity for joy! Have joy and fun, but also give joy and fun. That’s what we get to do every day. Please start with the letter Michael!”
Once again, his Dürer-like hands paint the music in the air with economical clarity, music his ears want to hear fractions of a second later. He adjusts in real time with nods, blinks, and smiles. He joyfully bestows joy. He also shares it with his musicians, who react with astonishing certainty to what the wide-awake old man explains, sings, and demonstrates.
It’s noticeable that Blomstedt looks at the score more often than before. When he was still Gewandhaus Kapellmeister, he conducted symphonies almost exclusively from memory, and consequently didn’t have a music stand in front of him. That has changed in recent years. But the score usually remained closed. Has he forgotten it, then, Bruckner’s magnificent Fourth Symphony, which he, the greatest Bruckner conductor of our time, has conducted so often, and probably studied and performed a dozen times with the Gewandhaus Orchestra alone? No, he hasn’t. But firstly, the physical presence of the score provides reassurance, and secondly, Herbert Blomstedt is once again referring to a new edition. “Benjamin Korstvedt, an American musicologist, published it in 2024. What am I supposed to do? If research yields new findings, I have to take them into account.”
The differences between the Korstvedt and Nowak versions that Blomstedt and the Gewandhaus Orchestra have used so far are minor: “As far as I can see, there are slight differences in the notes. But the dynamics are more restrained, and there are also differences in the agogics. For example, at the beginning of the finale, there’s an accelerando that leads from the introduction to the reminiscence of the first movement. Many have done it this way before because it’s so natural. But now we have it officially, so to speak.”
For Blomstedt, who even at 98 still places the composer’s wishes above all else, this is sacred. Because such details can certainly alter the structure of music.
He knows how it should sound before the first rehearsal. He approaches this ideal as closely as possible, using hardly any different methods than 10 or even 20 years ago: explaining, singing, demonstrating. Again, somewhat more concisely, and more clearly. Yet Herbert Blomstedt still makes the most of his rehearsal time. The work is highly focused, both at the podium and in front of it. The atmosphere is excellent, and the results are remarkable. Like an exemplary class with their favorite teacher. For a good two hours. Again in the evening, and once more on Thursday morning. The major concerts are on Thursday, Friday, and Sunday. Lucky are those who get to be there.