What keeps a violinist endlessly curious? Through five revealing questions, violinist Augustin Hadelich explores his bond with the instrument, the magic behind practicing beloved concertos, the grounding power of chamber music, and the rare moments when music moves him to tears.
Well, the violin can sometimes be a bit of a prima donna instrument, kind of, and create that sort of personality in people too. It’s important not to become too self-centered.
Chamber music helps a lot with this—playing with other people, so that you’re always listening and reacting, and realizing the music is actually built up from the bass, not from the top down.
That I never tire of playing or practicing?
This is important, because there are a lot of pieces I don’t tire of performing, but practicing them isn’t as much fun anymore.
I think the Tchaikovsky Concerto is up there, among the pieces I can’t imagine not playing. Brahms’ concerto and Beethoven’s are too.
In the Brahms, in particular, I don’t really get tired of the practicing and studying part either, because every once in a while, there’s still, somehow, something new to discover—or always another layer you haven’t reached yet.
Augustin Hadelich plays Brahms’s Double Concerto with Gauthier Capuçon and the Vienna Philharmonic, conducted by Christian Thielemann.
Oh, that’s a good question. I would probably learn the most by going back to the Baroque period. And so you can see, well, how did they really play? Because there’s a lot of reconstruction. It would be amazing to see how it actually was.
I think it would be most entertaining, but also maybe upsetting, to go to the premiere of the Beethoven concerto and see just how badly it was played. It must have been horrific by all accounts.
It would be painful to watch such a great work get, sort of, butchered.
If you were time traveling, you could just go up and show them how it’s done. But of course, you can’t change history—because then, suddenly, you’ve killed your grandfather.
It was only when I was a teenager that I cried for the first time, really, when I heard music. Before that, I found many things beautiful, but to be truly moved… I don’t know.
It was probably a Schubert song, because before I started playing the violin—when I was just a toddler—my family would sing these songs in the evening at the piano. Not singing well—amateur playing—but they’re very beautiful songs.
There isn’t really a separation between this German song and German folk song. It’s kind of the same thing.
And since this was the first music that I heard, it somehow is in there very deeply. So when I hear it again, there’s all sorts of emotions that come back that are tied to it.
Probably what happens to us musicians—and it’s a little sad—is that violin playing can’t really move me to tears. I don’t think it’s possible. Whenever I hear violin playing, I’m thinking about how I would play it, and that breaks the spell. But cello playing, piano playing, especially singing, and orchestral playing—these things can move me very deeply.
The violin pieces, even though I know they’re moving, and in a way they do move me, of course. I feel it. But it’s not overwhelming in the same way, because I’ve experienced them so much.
There’s a kind of magic and mystery that disappears when it’s a piece you yourself know how to make.
My routine is not so complicated or unusual. Basically, I’m very careful about what I eat and when, and that I get some sleep and rest—saving energy, especially when concerts are at night. That’s important.
I don’t think I do anything crazy, just pay attention to these basics.
Sometimes, when it’s just a rehearsal day, you don’t think about it much—you can always somehow play.
But in a concert situation, you suddenly notice if your body is at 100% or only 95%, because you didn’t sleep enough or didn’t eat the right thing. I become very aware of everything that’s wrong, in a way I don’t during rehearsals.
Of course, it’s mostly in your head, but it still shows physically.
Things just work better when you’re at your best. I mean, anyone who has to perform something very intense under pressure has to sort of think that way. Athletes are very careful about exactly when and what they do, and I think musicians are not that different in that way.
