Speaking music
Jonian Ilias Kadesha looks back on his formative years and the influence of Gidon Kremer’s way of speaking with the violin, and explains how he keeps his love for music alive
Who were your influences growing up?
I was a massive fan of Gidon Kremer, from childhood. My dad was my first teacher. He would choose appropriate recordings for me to play along to, because there was a lack of accompanists in Athens. He would always pick Itzhak Perlman or Anne-Sophie Mutter. The problem was that I didn’t particularly like their recordings, so when he was at work, I would secretly put on Kremer and play with him. When my dad gave me a lesson, I would naively copy Kremer, and my dad would say, ‘What are these things? Who taught you them? Perlman doesn’t do that!’ It showed in which direction and character I was going already, at the age of ten.
What was it about Kremer’s style that you related to?
It was the boldness and fantasy of his playing – the spontaneity. There’s a powerful sense of dialogue with the orchestra, even in the recording situation. I imagine he had arrived at his conclusion about what he wanted to do, but he was still able to present it as if it were played in the moment. I was also attracted to his sense of rhetoric – the feeling that he is speaking with the instrument, rather than simply singing beautifully. Even at a young age, that felt much more real to me. To this day, I strive for speaking rather than singing. That’s not to say that singing isn’t important, but not being beautiful just for the sake of it.
How did your father respond to your musical inviduality?
He grew up in an environment where the Soviet model was powerful, and he was a strict teacher. He cared that I learnt all the basics properly and that I didn’t have any gaps in my technique or in my relationship with instrument. I showed signs of rebellion from an early stage. He was always very measured in how far to let me go. He had his own gypsy band and played jazz. That was not in his nature, but he learnt it out of necessity and became very good at it. As a child, I thought that was very cool, and I would try to copy him. He would always say, ‘Focus on your studies and your serious attitude,’ but from time to time, he would let me have some fun with that sort of music. He was always very careful how much to let me get distracted, though.
What is your approach to learning a score?
The process is always different and has changed a lot during various stages of my life. I have two small children now, so it’s a question of how to be most efficient, which is a good thing. I’ve become quicker at understanding music, patterns and formulas, so the whole process is fast. For example, I’m currently learning the Berg Violin Concerto for the first time. I don’t have time to learn the music and the technique separately. I want to understand it all at the same time, from the moment I open the music, even if I cannot play it yet. This might seem a chaotic way of working, but it’s important for me to feel that I’m becoming the piece – living it – from the first moment I work on it.
It’s all about those three hours, or however long, of practice. Maybe after that, I’m going to forget what I’ve done, because there are two kids screaming to come and play, or I have a trio or quartet rehearsal. However short my practice time is, my goal is to dive in so that nothing else matters. I believe that no matter how well prepared you are, or what is happening in your life, or how well you’re being paid, this is existential. I try to get this across to my students, because it can get lost. If they don’t have an existential fire, at some point they will lose their sense of purpose.
How do you keep that sense of purpose across a career?
You always have to go back to the score. It’s as simple as that. Always love the music. With the score of the Berg Violin Concerto, for example, all kinds of crazy logistical things are happening. It’s easy to feel confused and not to care about one note or another dynamic. Why should I care that it needs to be accurate or beautiful or powerful? There might be things that seem to matter more. But you have to believe in the power of the score, and the sheer wonder that what this person wrote all those years ago still matters. That makes you feel responsible and privileged, and you remember you’re doing this because you love it. Then everything else is forgotten, at least it is for me. That is how I recalibrate myself.
How does directing ensembles from the violin help your playing?
I love the psychology of directing from the violin: bringing people together, coaching them – without patronising them. Even when ensembles are used to playing together, you can leave your own mark and create a special spark. I find it so interesting to be communicating with every single musician, which you don’t get to do if there is a conductor. And musically, when you direct from the violin, you can bring everything to a different level, with everyone striving to play as a true chamber musician.
You have a diverse career as soloist, director, chamber musician and teacher. Why is that important to you?
Until the beginning of the 20th century, it was completely natural to be a musician who does everything. Joseph Joachim was one of the greatest violinists, not just because of his amazing musicianship, but also because he triggered so many composers to write so many concertos that are played still today. He did everything. He was a concertmaster, soloist, teacher, conductor, composer; he had a quartet and a piano trio. This was normal in those times. Being a soloist or a quartet player was not a profession – being a musician was. I find that very beautiful. In terms of musical satisfaction, it’s also more realistic for me. I am ambitious as a soloist, but I can’t imagine myself only playing five or six violin concertos all the time, travelling non-stop. My philosophy is to bring back that element, and I think it is happening. People are doing everything, although not always deeply enough.
You’ve commissioned Francisco Coll to write a trio for your own Trio Gaspard. How did that come about?
We had the idea a while ago. We love playing the Beethoven ‘Triple’ concerto. It symbolises our characters as individuals, but also that of the trio. We spend a lot of time playing together, but it’s important to get out of the group and be a soloist. We’ve always pushed each other like that and don’t mind if one of us ‘cheats’ with other musicians. It’s all part of getting and exchanging information, and bringing something new back to the group. The ‘Triple’ has always symbolised this, saying, ‘Look, we are also soloists.’ Most importantly, it’s great fun to play. It’s a shame there’s so little repertoire for trio and orchestra, and we wanted another work that could match its genius and majesty, and the energy you feel playing it.
We were lucky to find the financial means for a commission and immediately thought of Francisco Coll. I love his musical language. It’s difficult for composers to create something that musicians can relate to, which encompasses the whole history and tradition of music, but at the same time breaks with it, something where you recognise the composer. You can hear Francisco’s voice immediately. Luckily, we’re good friends with Patricia Kopatchinskaja, and she was able to connect us. He knew about us and was up for it. The premiere is set for the end of 2027 and we’re hoping it will get many performances.
What do you get out of playing new music?
It’s wonderful to have a direct relationship with the composer. When you play pieces by dead composers you often hit your head against a wall. What did they mean? Why is this marking here but not there? Notation in classical music is actually very primitive. Very little has changed over the years. That is great, though, because we don’t look for literal precision: we’re always looking behind the message.
You realise this even more when you work with a composer. Everything is flexible. The level of precision depends on the composer. When you meet the composer, you learn their character and their habits. That automatically influences your interpretation and your relationship with a piece. Through that understanding, you also start to have a different relationship with, say, the Beethoven Violin Concerto and quartets or Haydn – anything from the past. You realise how much more you can do with it, and that they would be okay with that. You don’t need to ask for permission. You can be more flexible.
What advice do you give to your students?
The first, most demanding thing I always say to my new students is that no matter what happens – be it in our relationship, or their relationship with the instrument, which might go up and down, or the musical reality around them, or the pressure to get a job before a certain age – there’s one thing they must never forget, and that is to stay curious. It’s simple to say that you must always be in love with the music, but that’s not always easy. Sometimes you hate music. There are times I don’t want to hear music, go to a concert, or even play. That’s okay. If you can stay curious, you can reinitiate the spark. That’s why curiosity is even more important than generic love. Look around you. Be inspired by others. Don’t be afraid to have an opinion about other players. Be respectful, but have an opinion. Most importantly, look at the music. Always look. It’s never enough to just play nicely!
