Close encounters

As Elena Schwarz prepares to make her BBC Proms debut this summer, she reflects on the personal significance of the famous festival, and shares her priorities on the podium and in programming

What is the significance of the BBC Proms to you?

For many years, as a student, I followed the Proms on the radio. I would spend days studying the scores, listening to recordings and immersing myself in the programmes. The broadcasts were carried live on Swiss-Italian radio and I was invited to discuss the performances afterwards. That process of preparing, listening and then reflecting on what I had heard became an important part of my musical education.

I was fascinated by the encounter between preparation and live performance. I would arrive with strong ideas about a work, only to discover a completely different perspective in performance. It taught me how the same piece can reveal itself differently through a variety of artists, orchestras and moments in time.

The Proms represented the very highest level of musical life to me as a student, and they continue to do so today. To make my debut there with BBC National Orchestra of Wales is both a privilege and a personal milestone.

How did you put together your Proms programme?

It grew out of conversations with the Proms team. Initially, I sent a list of pieces I felt particularly strongly about, including Bernd Alois Zimmermann’s Märchen-Suite (Fairy-Tale Suite), an early work from 1950.

Most people associate Zimmermann with large-scale, uncompromising compositions such as Die Soldaten, but this piece reveals another side of his musical language, and his remarkable versatility as a composer. Within a few minutes, the music can move from playful and fantastical to unsettling and mysterious. The orchestration is absolutely gorgeous. I have loved the piece for many years and was delighted that everyone responded to it so enthusiastically.

From there, we began exploring what might resonate with it. Although these pieces are very different, I felt instinctively that there was something that connected them, and I was curious to hear what would happen when they were placed together in the same programme.

Dvořák’s Seventh Symphony was commissioned by the Royal Philharmonic Society and premiered in London. While composing the symphony, Dvořák wrote that it should be capable of ‘moving the world’. It is one of his most ambitious works, written for an international audience, yet deeply connected to questions of Czech identity and self-determination. I love the richness of its orchestral sound, which is dark, dramatic and intensely lyrical.

The Mendelssohn Violin Concerto brings a ray of sunshine into the programme, providing contrast, but also sharing the lyrical impulse that runs through the entire evening. I’m delighted to be working with Alina Ibragimova for the first time. I admire her ability to make a familiar masterpiece feel newly discovered – her playing has a special immediacy and freshness.

What is your approach to the first rehearsal of a programme?

As conductors, we have to be strong advocates for both the music and the programme. The first rehearsal is important because it sets the tone for everything that follows. You need to arrive with clear ideas and a strong sense of direction, but also with enough openness to respond to what the orchestra brings.

Every orchestra has its own sound, personality and way of approaching the music. Part of the excitement of a first rehearsal is discovering that. Things often emerge that you hadn’t anticipated, and some of the most interesting musical ideas come from that encounter – from the very first minutes of rehearsal. 

Students are sold many ‘recipes’ for the first two minutes, but I’m increasingly sceptical of formulas. Every orchestra, piece and situation is different. What matters is arriving with good energy, a strong idea and a genuine sense of curiosity. In those first moments, especially if you’re meeting an orchestra for the first time, you’re not only introducing the music, you’re also beginning a relationship. I’m conscious of making sure everyone feels included in the process and understands what I’m asking for. In the end, it’s like any first meeting. You’re listening, observing, communicating and trying to establish trust – through the music.

One of my teachers gave me the only rule that has really stayed with me: be natural when you step onto the podium. Be as much yourself there as you are in the rest of your life. That sounds simple, but for most people it takes a great deal of work. The challenge is not to become someone else on the podium, but to become more fully yourself. That’s a process that probably never really ends.

Why is it difficult to be natural on the podium?

Conducting is an inherently unusual situation. Very few people spend their lives communicating with eighty or a hundred people at once. The scale changes everything. You have to find a way of communicating clearly, not only through words, but also through gesture, energy and presence.

At the same time, you can’t simply behave as you would in everyday life. The role requires a certain degree of projection. The challenge is finding a way to do that without becoming artificial.

That’s why the advice to ‘be yourself’ is more complicated than it sounds. Most conductors spend years developing the technical tools of the profession, but also learning how to inhabit that role in a way that feels authentic to them. It’s not something you solve once and for all; it’s an ongoing process.

How do you find a balance between preparation and spontaneity in concerts?

Sometimes spontaneity comes from having lived with a piece for a long time. If you’ve already conducted a work or spent a long time with the score, it begins to live in your body. That’s certainly the case with the Zimmermann, which I’ve carried with me for many years and which feels personal.

We prepare intensely and then comes the encounter with the orchestra, which changes everything, as it should. Every orchestra brings its own sound, personality and perspective to the music. That’s one of the things I love most about music: a piece continues to evolve through the people performing it. It's never exactly the same twice.

For me, spontaneity doesn’t mean the absence of preparation. Quite the opposite: the better you know a piece, the more freedom you have in the moment. I’m sure that at the Proms, with that extraordinary atmosphere and connection with the audience, performers get carried by that energy.

How important is the orchestra’s own sound?

An orchestra’s sound culture is incredibly important. When an orchestra has lived with a certain repertoire for a long time, that experience becomes part of its identity. There are traditions of sound, phrasing and style that have been passed from one generation of musicians to the next, and I find that fascinating. At the same time, an orchestra’s sound is not something fixed. It continues to evolve with every generation of musicians and every artistic encounter. The challenge is to respect that heritage while also remaining open to new possibilities.

You’ve just won an Opus Klassik award for your recording of Elsa Barraine symphonies. Why is her work important to you?

I have always been fascinated by the repertoire that has fallen out of view during the 20th century. Working with living composers will always remain central to what I do, but I am equally interested in asking why certain composers entered the canon while others disappeared from it.

Elsa Barraine is a remarkable example. During her lifetime she was an important figure in French musical life. She won the Prix de Rome, received significant commissions and was widely respected. Then history intervened. She was active in the French Resistance and, after the war, devoted much of her energy to teaching and cultural life. Her music gradually disappeared from the repertoire.

When you encounter her scores today, it is difficult to understand why. They are powerful, imaginative and beautifully crafted. Bringing this music back is not about correcting history. It is about enriching our understanding of the 20th century and expanding the range of voices we hear in the concert hall.

This question of rediscovery has become increasingly important to me. Alongside my work with living composers, I’m interested in the extraordinary artistic voices that history has left at the margins. Many of the most fascinating musical stories of the 20th century remain untold. Exploring those forgotten paths and understanding how they connect to the repertoire we know today is something I hope to continue developing.

For me, these works are not museum pieces. They belong in the mainstream of musical life. When they are programmed alongside established masterpieces, they often reveal surprising connections and help us hear familiar repertoire in a new way.

What needs to happen for more forgotten music to return to the concert hall?

It takes conviction from many people: conductors, orchestras, artistic planners and marketing teams. But I think the willingness is there.

What interests me most is bringing these works into mainstream concert life rather than presenting them as isolated discoveries. Audiences are more adventurous than we imagine. If a piece is programmed with conviction, the audience is often remarkably open to it.

Zimmermann’s Märchen-Suite is a good example. Zimmermann himself is not a forgotten composer, but this particular work is rarely performed. I love the idea that audiences might come for Mendelssohn or Dvořák and leave having discovered a piece they didn’t know before.

Where does new music fit in with your programming philosophy?

For me, music exists in a continuous conversation across time. That’s how I like to programme. 

This is a wonderful moment for new music. The diversity of voices and approaches is extraordinary. At the same time, it is increasingly difficult for composers to find opportunities for their work to be commissioned and heard, so I believe we have a responsibility to continue advocating for those voices and creating opportunities for audiences to discover them.

I am drawn to programmes that bring different periods and musical worlds into dialogue with one another. I often go to museums for inspiration. You can stand in front of a Renaissance masterpiece and then walk into the next room and encounter a work created last year. Sometimes those works resonate in unexpected ways. I think about music in a similar way.

This is also one of the most exciting ways to bring audiences into contact with new repertoire. They may come for a piece they already know and love, but leave having discovered something completely new. At a time when almost any recording is available instantly on our phones, the concert hall offers something different: a moment suspended in time, and the possibility of discovery, connection and surprise. Creating those encounters is one of the most exciting parts of my work.

Elena Schwarz conducts BBC National Orchestra of Wales in Zimmermann’s Fairy-Tale Suite, Dvořák’s Symphony no.7 and Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto with Alina Ibragimova on 4 August.