It may seem curious that, in the age of communication, where information flies through invisible networks at an immeasurable speed, we don’t have time to tell stories, to read them, to understand what we do and what others do. Perhaps we try to make our minds and attention move at the same speed as the internet, trying to get everything in seconds. And if it takes longer, we lose interest. But how can we summarize the motivation of a lifetime in a limited number of characters?
The truth is that we do what we do, the way we do it, for countless reasons. Sometimes, not even consciously. But, one way or another, our essence permeates our actions, flows through them, and, to the attentive eye, reveals who we are.
That’s why I want to use this medium to share some experiences that have shaped my vision of music and, in some way, have guided my priorities along my path.
Chonchi, 2013
A summer music camp in the city of Chonchi, on the island of Chiloé, in southern Chile. February 2013. I had been studying full-time at the Conservatory of the University of Chile for a year when I was invited to participate. They gave me the opportunity to arrange the soundtrack of Up, a High-Flying Adventure and even to conduct it myself. As the days went by, a kind of synchronicity began to emerge among all the participants, a sense of camaraderie and belonging. It wasn’t just about the music or the rehearsals; there, in the boarding school where we stayed, we had to share domestic tasks: cooking, cleaning, tidying up, etc.
A sense of camaraderie and belonging that I perhaps learned to value from my time in the scouts, that feeling of belonging and being part of something bigger than myself. Anyone who has stood on a stage knows how lonely it can feel, especially if it’s your first time… especially if you’re standing there with more courage than knowledge (I was 18). Yet, over those days, such a strong sense of fraternity had developed that, when it came time to conduct, I could feel that we all wanted it to go well, that we all wanted to do our part to make what we were creating happen in the best possible way. That sense of community was so powerful that I understood what could happen in the intimate moment of making music together. An act of complicity.
Rosario, Argentina
Years later, already living in Rosario, the Provincial Symphony of Rosario took me to visit nearby towns to bring music to those communities. As an assistant to my professor at the time, I had the opportunity to accompany the orchestra on that tour. I remember clearly when we arrived in one of those towns, where there wasn’t even a theater, but the stage was set up in a huge barn. In the afternoon, as people began to fill the space and the orchestra was finishing their preparations on stage, some young people my age approached me to ask what was going to happen. I explained that it was an orchestra and that they were going to play a concert. The truth is that they had never seen an orchestra live before (something I’ve unfortunately seen even in Europe), and even though they saw the musicians on stage, they didn’t make the connection. I remember the concert began; the opening piece was Danza de la Ópera Huemac by Pascual de Rogatis, and the final piece was the 1812 Overture. When the concert ended, I turned to look at the audience. The applause was overwhelming; there were people with tears in their eyes.
A Friend and Mahler
Some time later, a secretarial position opened up in the orchestra’s office, which was filled by a girl (whose name I won’t mention for privacy reasons) who, to this day, I consider a friend. I remember she mentioned that she had never heard an orchestra before and that she wasn’t very familiar with classical music. Coincidentally, that same Thursday afternoon, the orchestra was performing none other than Gustav Mahler’s First Symphony. When the concert ended, I remember seeing my friend come backstage, wiping away tears of emotion.
The Concert That Almost Wasn’t
The following year, during another orchestra tour of the towns, two unfortunate events occurred. On Friday (the first day of the tour), an educational concert for schools was scheduled, during which we would include a “young conductors” activity. For this, my professor and I traveled on Thursday night to, at 9 a.m. on Friday, meet with the children who would participate in the activity and train them to “conduct the orchestra.” Unfortunately, in the morning, I received a call from my professor saying he was sick and that I would have to take charge of the class. Already in the class, teaching the children the Carmen Overture, one of the orchestra coordinators informed me that there was a problem on the road and that the orchestra would arrive late. It was 10 a.m., the scheduled start time of the concert; my professor was in a clinic on an IV, and only a few orchestra members had arrived on their own. In the audience were children from two schools waiting for the concert to begin. The atmosphere was growing impatient. The technical team was waiting for instructions. It was time to act.
I spoke with the musicians who were there and asked them to go on stage to buy time until the rest of the orchestra arrived. I remember standing in front of the audience and starting to talk to the children; a technician approached and handed me a microphone. I started talking about music, something I love. I began to explain what an orchestra was; the musicians who were there played a few examples, and suddenly the missing musicians arrived. I remember them walking past me, looking somewhat surprised. The orchestra sat down, we brought the young conductors on stage, and in the end, I was given the opportunity to conduct Tchaikovsky’s Capriccio Italien for the first time.
Didactic Concert Maria Juana 2017 (courtesy OSPR Press)
Mönchengladbach, 2024
The last of these experiences, perhaps the one that confirmed what I’ve learned in these 12 years of learning to be a conductor, took place on April 20, 2024, during an open rehearsal of the Opus 125 Orchestra in the city of Mönchengladbach. As part of the Así suena España project we were doing with the orchestra, I had the opportunity to give a talk to students from a school who were going to document the project. These students had no prior experience with classical music; however, they were tech geniuses.
That Saturday, April 20, a small group of the students came to the open rehearsal to document it. I remember that during the rehearsal, I explained to them what we were working on with the orchestra, why certain passages needed to be rehearsed, why I had to conduct in a certain way, etc. After the rehearsal, a 16-year-old boy approached me to say that he had never imagined what an orchestra rehearsal was like, that he was very grateful for the opportunity, and that he had even thought about starting to learn an instrument.
Epilogue
Clearly, I seek the highest musical level, the greatest understanding of music, and the utmost excellence in my work as a conductor. I am obsessive about achieving the result I need from the orchestra, and I don’t stop until I can’t help but smile with happiness when I hear what I want to hear. But none of that makes sense to me if it’s not to share it with people. It doesn’t make sense if I can’t make the audience understand and experience what I feel when making music. It would be a dream to conduct the Berliner Philharmoniker… yes. But I believe there is more merit in transforming an orchestra into the Berliner and uplifting a community.
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