Postcards from Enrique: Tokyo

As with most other conductors of international renown, Maestro Enrique Mazzola doesn't go on vacation when his home company's season comes to an end. Instead, the summer brings a busy itinerary of engagements — and, for Enrique, that's especially true this year. By the time he returns to open Lyric's season with Medea on October 11, he will have conducted in Japan, Germany, Italy, France, and both Colorado and Wyoming.
We thought it would be fun to keep in touch.

Here's the first in our series of conversations with Maestro Mazzola. He spoke to us from Tokyo, where he was wrapping up performances of Madama Butterfly with the Tokyo Philharmonic at the New National Theatre Tokyo.

You are finishing a run of Madama Butterfly. Is the work popular there?
All the performances were nearly sold out. The management said, 'Well, you know, it's Butterfly, so of course, it's sold out' — like it's obviously something this audience loves. For them, it's a Puccini drama involving Japanese people. When you see Cio-Cio-San, Suzuki, the servants and family arriving, it's perfectly styled.

Tell us a little bit about the production and the theater.
The New National Theatre Tokyo is a very beautiful place — all wood, around 2,000 seats, a perfect acoustic. They present a lot of work, mostly revivals. This Butterfly, by director Tamiya Kuriyama, originated here in 2005 — and in fact our performance the other evening was its 100th performance. We had a little celebration, with photos. So clearly it works very well. It's very straightforward, very simple — I would say extremely minimalistic. The power is in the use of the lights. The set is essentially a large curved stairway coming down from upstage, and Butterfly's house is just a platform.

How does communication go? Did you hold rehearsals in English?
The stage rehearsals are done in Japanese. There is an English translator there for the artists in the roles of Pinkerton and Sharpless — and for me. But because I speak a little bit of Japanese, the translator doesn't usually talk to me. When I am working with just the orchestra, I do a mix of Japanese and English.

You speak Japanese?
I can order in restaurants. Or take a taxi, or buy tickets in the Metro.

How did you learn this?
I have been to Tokyo probably 35 times. The first trip was in 1981, on tour with La Scala in the children's chorus. We were at the New Otani Hotel, which is in the center of the city, and we were performing in the NHK Hall in Shibuya and in the Bunka Kaikan Hall in Ueno Park. Boheme in one and Otello in the other, both conducted by Carlos Kleiber. It was really a historic tour for La Scala.

Japan was booming.
They could invite any opera company, any orchestra in the world. We stayed here quite a long time, around three weeks — and it was one of the major experiences of my life. I grew up in Milan, and here in 1981, I saw my very first McDonald's. And KFC. They weren't in Milan yet. It's more than this, of course. I was studying English at school. And like every kid, you never use the language, you just study. Here, I was confronted with the fact that if I wanted to communicate with anyone, I had to use English. Only a few members of our Scala children's chorus went to Japan, so we had Japanese children joining the chorus. And by necessity, for staging, we had to speak with them. English was what we used. You have to run here! No, there! So English quickly went from being a theoretical language to a practical one.

And your subsequent professional experience in Japan has been significant.
A decade later, I started accompanying a lot of vocal recitals in Japan with Japanese singers, and getting invited back four or five times per year. In '93 or '94, a very small opera company here began to invite me every year. I did my first Boheme, my first Tosca, here in Tokyo. Later, I came back with Giorgio Strehler's famous Così fan tutte, which he had created for the Piccolo Teatro in Milan. That Così went all over the world. My two men were Markus Werba and Jonas Kaufmann. I have done some symphonic concerts, and in 2012 I did Don Giovanni here at the New National Theater.

As a guest, can you enjoy some free time?
When I'm in Berlin, in Paris, in Tokyo, the best time starts when the dress rehearsal is done. This is true for conductors. Usually there are a couple of days before the opening, and then the rhythm of performance, two or three days off, performance begins — and that's the moment for museums, sight seeing, shopping.

Do you typically eat local cuisine, wherever you are?
Only local. Only local. I'm here in an apartment and I made the decision not to cook at home. I go out for lunch and dinner every day. So I have been exploring the many small Izakayas around here. I'm going to say, for Americans, it's a family bar. Very limited seats — let's say, two or three tables, or sometimes there is only a bar section with seven seats — and they have a small menu that they cook in front of you, and maybe a larger selection of drinks. For many Japanese, an Izakaya is a place to relax after a long day of work, and maybe to speak with the owner. It's a very local thing. At this moment in West Shinjuku, where I am staying, there are ever more, more, more Izakaya, and fewer restaurants. And I like to explore. The last Izakaya I visited was in a small house, just like all the other houses, so it was hidden. But I knew. Google Maps told me.

Sounds like fun.
There is always a lady or a man shouting Irashaimase! [Welcome!] Immediately they ask, Ego menu? It's in English. Of course, I say, Hello, yes, thank you, the Ego menu. But now there is a fantastic translator function in the iPhone — that's better. Because sometimes the original menus are richer. More detailed. It's an adventure. I also went to a delicious yakitori restaurant with my assistant here. They grill right in front of you, and you have a very cold beer, and you go home and your clothes smell terrible, but it's a fantastic experience.

I saw on your Instagram that you were shopping for batons.
Tokyo is dangerous for shopping. I came with one extra suitcase, almost empty, because I knew I would need it. At the moment, the Yen is weak. To speak more broadly: The global market is such that more or less what you find in Chicago, you find in Paris, you find in Milan, you find in Berlin. You find it in Tokyo as well. But the fact is that in Tokyo, you also find original things that you can't find very often in Berlin, Chicago, New York, and so on. The Asian market shares some things but not everything. And Ginza! Ginza Street is like the Magnificent Mile, like Fifth Avenue in New York, and there is one of my favorite music stores in the world: Yamaha. They have different floors with instruments. The famous Yamaha pianos. There is a floor with all brass, fantastic brass instruments. There is one floor which is only scores.

Only?
Only scores. They do fantastic orchestra scores here because they buy the rights, for example, of the Bärenreiter catalog, and print them for a much lower price than the original. When I come to Tokyo, I usually buy so many scores.

And batons.
I often use my Muramatsu K-13. When I buy them, I buy — I don't know, 10 of them. I don't often break batons but it does happen. I think last time for me was during Dutchman [opening work of Lyric's 2023/24 Season]. We started the overture, and after seven bars, broken. This is in rosewood. It's very beautiful. It's very comfortable. There's another brand here called Pickboy. A similar weight, a little more balanced, more elaborate — I don't even need to close my hand because it stays in there. It's Greek rosewood, and the shaft is white-painted maple. I'm very happy I discovered these batons, and I bought three.

What does a typical Muramatsu cost?
A beautiful baton like this was around $10, which is impossible to find. I mean, if you want to buy an American-made Mollard like this, it's probably around $40, $50 with a rosewood handle like this. They are very good, and I use them often. But the Muramatsu is super light. When I do bel canto repertoire, especially Rossini, I love to have a super light baton. I don't have to work. I will use this for Cavalleria and Pagliacci next season. For Medea, I will still use the Muramatsu. And definitely for Così fan tutte. Definitely. But Carmina Burana will be one of these Pickboys. Or maybe one of my old Mollards. They can be quite heavy in the hand.

It's amazing that an artist at your level can use a $10 tool.
The baton is a tool that you use to be seen better, to communicate better. It's an amplification of the arm — very useful for big distances. When you conduct Aida, you want to have a baton. You'll have chorus members who are 40 meters from you. I didn't use one for our Mozart Requiem at Lyric. Sometimes you just feel, OK, I need my hands here. It isn't about technique as much as it is instinctual. I don't think about what to do when there is a difficult passage. The technique is there. The music, the expressivity — that's just instinct.