Anton Kuerti, pianist
Anton Kuerti and Morawetz, 1982 |
I got to know Oskar on one of my first visits to Toronto, probably in 1959,
and we remained good friends ever since. On several subsequent visits I
stayed with him, including the very night when his daughter was born!
It was always a treat to visit with Oskar, because of his warm and uninhibited
good nature, and his total, often nearly embarrassing sincerity. He was full
of anecdotes, and he relived them vividly when he told them. He found and
enjoyed humour unashamedly, and laughed heartily and naturally.
But when there was conversation about less cheerful matters, he felt deeply
the pain of every tragedy, whether it was someone he knew or distant political
events. So while it might be easy to suspect a trace of opportunism
associated with works like the "Diary of Anne Frank" or the "Memorial for
Martin Luther King" - and it may well be that part of their success is indeed
attributable to the overwhelming emotions in their subject matter - I know
that Oskar was deeply moved by the events involved and wrote these works out
of profound and genuine concern.
He wrote a small piano piece, at my request, for a book on Whales (to benefit
the "Save the Whales" campaign), for which I served as music editor. He
called his contribution "The Sorrow of the Orphan Whale Calf", showing that he
was able to identify with animal suffering as well.
He was not very well informed about world events, and we often disagreed in
this domain, but he struggled to understand them and often questioned me about
my thoughts. He was serious and full of feeling and empathy about these
matters, and never made a facile, sarcastic or superficial remark. He asked
questions like "do you really think that they did that on purpose?", finding
it hard to believe evil intentions could be possible for the western
nations. He grieved for the sufferings of distant strangers as though they
were his own closest friends or relatives, and was understandably bitter about
the Nazi and Communist dictatorships in his homeland.
When we talked about music, his enthusiasm was palpable, and his memory
uncanny. If we talked about some Beethoven Sonata he would go to the piano
and play any parts of it, a bit clumsily, but he got the essence right. When
I asked him how it could be that he knew all the sonatas by memory, he said,
"When I was 16 I read through all of them a few times, and that just stayed
with me." The same was true for a great deal of music by other composers,
including symphonies, operas, Lieder, etc. Most of us would give anything for
a memory like that!
Just as when talking about world events, if he starting playing, his full
involvement and all his emotions went into the music, poking his tongue into
his cheek as he struggled with the keys. But sometimes he was also quite
content to show off a little and smile proudly while showing how much he
remembered.
In 1962 he completed his piano concerto, and said he had written it for me. Especially for a young person like myself it was quite thrilling to have a
work written especially for me, and I started right away to make a piano
reduction of the orchestra score. But a few weeks later he called me, quite
upset and apologetic, because he had submitted the Concerto to a Montreal
Symphony Competition, and it had won.... but they required that it must be
played by a Canadian (this was 3 years before my immigration to Canada).
The following year, I got a phone call from the manager of the Montreal
Symphony, Pierre Béique, asking whether I could after all play it, in less
than two weeks, as the Canadian pianist had not managed to learn it. I also
had not learned it, and was reluctant to make what would be my Montreal debut
with a new work that I had to learn in an extremely short time, so I said I
would do it only if I could play another work from my regular repertoire at
the same time, especially as Oskar's concerto was quite short. Mr. Béique got
quite mad, and hung up on me. Eventually, in desperation, he phoned again -
now only slightly more than a week remaining before the concert - and although
he remained incensed at me (for the next 30 years or so) for daring to make
conditions, we reached an agreement whereby if the performance was "a success"
he promised to re-engage me for the following season.
So I worked on it day and night, and even played it by memory, which I think
make Oskar very nervous, especially as I slightly flubbed the opening
measures. But it went well after that, and was indeed a fine success.
Oskar loved to talk, and to write letters, and he was also a tireless
self-promoter, never failing to show up backstage when a distinguished
conductor or soloist appeared in Toronto. I don't think he ever actually
begged anyone to play his music, but he just thought it was important to make
contact, to remind people of his existence so they would be more likely to
program one of his works. At most he might hand over a new score. But he did
this in such a warm, genuine and innocent way that nobody could be put off. He just wanted to have his music performed!
There is an apocryphal story about Oskar driving (which itself was not really
to be recommended, he was too easily distracted) in downtown Toronto, and
seeing an old lady trying to cross the street. He stopped the car, got out,
and lent her an arm until they reached the other side. Thereupon he
blissfully walked on, oblivious of the fact that he had abandoned his car in
the middle of the road, thinking that he had just come on foot. Oskar assured
me that there was no truth whatsoever to this tale, but even if that is the
case, it fits perfectly, like a myth that is not factual but still has a
deeper truth to it. He was absent-minded and totally kind-hearted, and
would have been quite capable of such an act.
People with such sincerity and open hearts are rare, and they often expose
themselves to mean and hurtful treatment by others who lack their qualities
and may be jealous of them. This was indeed the case, and Oskar's life at the
University of Toronto Faculty of Music was often painful and depressing for
him. Although he was the most successful and best known of the composers
there, others regarded him as hopelessly old-fashioned because he did not
subscribe to serial, aleatoric or minimalist music nor other recent fads, and
because his music was approachable and had an important and engaging melodic
content which was more related to Britten, Shostakovich and Barber than to
Schoenberg, Carter and Boulez. So in the later years he was prevented from
teaching composition and relegated to teaching keyboard harmony, really a
humiliating task for a musician of his rank and his extraordinary knowledge of
repertoire, style, form and tradition. The most gifted composition students
who did study with him earlier on, like Larysa Kuzmenko, remain avid admirers
of Oskar both as a human being and as a musician.
Oskar was easily crushed by negative reviews, and such wounds were slow to
heal. The dissolution of his marriage also caused
him much pain, and I am sure all these disappointments, together with an
ill-fated trip back to Czechoslovakia in connection with some legal matters
which ended badly for him, were connected with the depression which gradually
enveloped him. Another
important factor was his increasing difficulty in walking, which led to a
great fear of falling, and perhaps even more, the fact that his fingers could
no longer function properly. As he loved to play the piano, and he composed
at the piano, this robbed him of his creative outlets. At times he still
tried to make the best of it, and could be cheerful, but often when I visited
there was a litany of complaints.
Oskar was meticulous in preparing his scores and parts for performances, and
would not leave that to anyone else. This created a lot of time-consuming
work for him. I remember that on one occasion a cello student whom I
encountered in Banff wanted to play the Martin Luther King piece at a
competition, and after I mentioned this to Oskar he could not rest until he
had arranged for the parts to be delivered. He made numerous phone calls to
me about this matter, though I tried to reassure him that the Canadian Music
Centre was certain to take care of it all in an efficient and timely manner. When he became unable to send out materials himself he became very concerned
that his music would no longer be performed.
Though he is unable to compose anymore, I am confident that his music will
continue to be played and heard, even without his own help in promoting it. The integrity of his personality and his deep feelings come through clearly in
his work, and, in details like orchestration, balance, counterpoint and
harmony, his craftsmanship is consistently impeccable. Oskar certainly is one
of Canada's finest composers, and I only wish I could have played more of his
music over the years.
Anton Kuerti, May 2004
Oskar Morawetz and Anton Kuerti were lifelong friends and as well as many visits together in each other's homes,
and at Kuerti's cottage in Parry Sound, they exchanged numerous letters. Here is a small sample of those letters:
Letter, Jul. 21, 1962
Letter, Jan. 17, 1970
