Riccardo Muti - a one way ticket from Philadelphia to Milan
by Steve Cohen

Riccardo Muti turned 60 on July 28. An assessment of his career is appropriate at this turning point, especially by this writer from Philadelphia, the city where he was music director for twelve years and where we frequently spoke.

American music lovers have been talking about him a lot recently. Many in New York are annoyed that he turned down a chance to succeed Kurt Masur as music director of the Philharmonic, while others say ‘thank God.’ Critic David Patrick Stearns expressed that opinion in a Philadelphia Inquirer

story a few days ago. A lot of Philadelphians are angry that Muti has returned here for only one guest engagement in nine years after saying he’d be available for such appearances.

Management of the Orchestra has certainly courted him, especially during this period of limbo between the announcement of Wolfgang Sawallisch’s retirement and the start of Christoph Eschenbach’s tenure. No recent Philadelphia Orchestra conductor except Simon Rattle has had the box-office appeal that Muti did when he returned for his guest appearance in 1998. Despite that, Muti has not agreed to any more guest shots here in the foreseeable future.

You have to go to Milan, Italy, to understand why Muti prefers to stay there, rather than conduct the Philadelphia Orchestra or the New York Philharmonic. When you arrive in Milan, as I did a few months ago, you understand. The evidence is all around you.

The first thing you notice is that Muti’s conducting makes the front page of Italian newspapers. Even the sports paper – La Gazzetta Dello Sport – has a page one headline drawing analogies between soccer and opera. It said that Muti "failed to go for the goal when he was in scoring position." Its story referred to the fact that Muti didn’t allow his tenor to sing the optional high C’s in "Di quella pira," in Il Trovatore, using words like blasfemo – blasphemy – to describe Muti’s action.

Bookshop windows in the high fashion mall across from the Duomo, next to the Prava and Valentino boutiques, feature coffee-table picture books of Muti. A record store has a huge photo of Muti on its wall, equal in size to its picture of Giuseppe Verdi.

The Italian TV version of Who Wants To Be a Millionaire includes a question about Muti – What’s the most recent opera that he conducted at La Scala? – and, sure enough, the contestant knows the correct answer without using a lifeline.

Inside the opera house you see even more evidence of Muti’s eminence. Five minutes before show time, house lights are turned off. If you don’t arrive early, you have to tip-toe to your seat in the dark. Then everyone sits quietly awaiting the maestro’s entrance. Even in Stokowski’s glory days in Philadelphia, when he scolded dowagers for leaving early, he never did anything this bold to ensure prompt arrivals.

Muti basks in a spotlight that American cities could never provide. As one who worked with the New York Philharmonic when Leonard Bernstein headed it, I can report that Lenny didn’t have the star aura that Muti enjoys in Milan now.

Going to Muti’s reception room after a La Scala performance, I saw more evidence. When he led the Philadelphia Orchestra from 1980 to 1992 he was always pleasant but with a reserve – a holding back. Many felt that he was unwilling to give of himself. But backstage at La Scala he was relaxed, cordial, jovial, outgoing. Totally at home.

His magnetic brown eyes sparkle and his long hair is still jet black. He was quick to voice blunt opinions.

Let’s back up for a moment and remember that Philadelphia journalists for generations have said that the Philadelphia Orchestra’s home, the Academy of Music, is a copy of La Scala. As recently as November’s telecast of the Orchestra’s 100th birthday, that claim was repeated for an international viewing audience. Immersed in this legend, Philadelphians couldn’t understand why Muti criticized the Academy and preferred La Scala.

But anyone who enters La Scala can see vast differences. La Scala’s auditorium is much wider, longer and taller. While the Academy of Music has three balcony tiers, La Scala has six. La Scala has twice as many seats on its ground floor than the Academy. Also, the Academy rises to a dome while La Scala’s ceiling is flat. When I saw Muti after the performance, I told him that the extent of the differences surprised me.

"You see," Muti said. "You are absolutely right. The two houses are nothing alike, but people in Philadelphia try to say that they are. I tried to tell them but they wouldn’t listen. This is an example of the lies that some Philadelphians tell. There were many other lies. I love Philadelphia and I lived there for years, but people said that I didn’t."

Muti refers to the frequent criticism of him as an outsider. Some Philadelphians compared him unfavorable to Eugene Ormandy who made a permanent home in Philadelphia. Muti kept his principal home in Italy, where he raised his family, and rented an apartment in Philadelphia. But Muti perceives that he genuinely made a home in Philly yet was rejected as a carpet-bagger.

I remember my first interview with him, for All Things Considered on National Public Radio, right after he was named to his Philadelphia position. I mentioned then that some commentators wished the title had gone to an American. "Well then, let them hire an American," he said. "I didn’t ask for this job. I’ll go back to Italy and they can hire whomever they wish."

During his years at the helm of the Philadelphia, he often complained about the dry acoustics at the Academy of Music and wanted faster action on building a new hall. La Scala is acoustically superior. The Teatro Alla Scala is vast, yet the singers’ softest pianissimi can be heard clearly. But Muti never convinced Philadelphia patrons and board members. He is an extremely bright man and he speaks English articulately, but there was a communications gap on this issue that frustrated him.

Muti was critical of a lot of things in Philadelphia. When he’d dine at restaurants he’d spot a misspelling – such as linguini – on a menu, cross it out in ink and write in the correct linguine. He’d shake his head over the ignorance of the proprietors. Keep in mind, however, that his dining companions, and many others, found him to be a jovial and interesting friend.

In turn, some Philadelphians criticized Muti for producing a dry sound from the orchestra, in contrast to the lushness of his predecessors Stokowski and Ormandy. He didn’t want a sound as ripe as theirs and critics say he went too far in the other direction. He didn’t compensate for the Academy’s acoustics, nor did he accept Philadelphia’s unwillingness to change from its tradition. In the face of criticism, he dug in his heels and didn’t yield.

He’s never been known as a compromiser. At La Scala he drives orchestral players and singers hard. Many of them feel emotionally exhausted after rehearsing with him. Singers that I met in Italy spoke of a "Muti diet," a bland diet that’s needed to calm their stomachs and their nerves after Muti performances.

Is he curious to see and hear the new concert hall opening this December in Philadelphia? Not particularly. "I have so much work to do with this [La Scala] orchestra that I can’t consider other engagements." Muti is honoring a previously-made obligation to guest conduct the New York Philharmonic in the Spring of 2002.

Despite his sharp words, Muti was not in a fighting mood. He was smiling as we talked. The lies and misunderstandings he speaks of are in the distant past. He’s comfortable now, where he is.