I’mnotagreatwriterorpainter. Isaywhat Iwant to sayinmusic

Composing, says ThomasAdès in a friend’s NewYork loft, is “essentiallya weird, physicalcompulsion you do onyour own. You just haveto do it. It’s almostpathological. If I didn’t I

would become impossible,unmanageable, a gibbering wreckwandering the streetsmutteringwildly.It’s like getting rid of a nervous twitch. Ican’t live in this world unless I’mcreatingmusic.”Adès, 39, one of the world’s leadingcomposers— and, increasingly, arenowned pianist and conductor— ispassionate but also private: he rarelygives interviews, having feltmisrepresented in an early onewhichdepicted him as arrogant. Imposing butstill boyish, he scrunches up andguffaws whenwe get personal, or edgenear controversial topics; strangewhenyou consider this charismatic starmadehis name at 24 with a first opera,Powder Her Face, that featured thescandalousDuchess of Argyll and

fellatio. He prefers his “family” or“children”—his pieces— “speak forthemselves”, but today will open upabout the state of classical musicteaching, the exacting nature of hiswork, why only self-possessedmavericks succeed, his relationshipwith his partner and collaborator TalRosner, and his plans for a new opera,his third, based on a classic Luis Buñuelfilm.Wemeet the day after theNewYorkpremiere of Adès’s piano concerto, InSevenDays, which Adès performedhimself, with a video by Rosner andaccompanied by a “hell for leather”NewYork Philharmonic. On the samenight it was announced that his secondopera, an adaptation ofThe Tempest,would play at theMetropolitanOpera,his debut there. After wemeet hestaged (with a video by Rosner) hispiecePolaris for the opening of FrankGehry’smuch-hailedNewWorldCentre inMiami. “The whole thingwas dazzling,” he later e-mails. “Thehall hasmore technology, video andcapabilities than probably all the

classical concert halls in the world puttogether.”Adès’s schedule is intimidatinglypacked. OnMarch 12 the EmersonStringQuartet will stage the worldpremiere ofThe Four Quarters at theCarnegieHall inNewYork, about theday unfolding in four corners of theworld (coming to theQueen ElizabethHall, London, onApril 7).With theLondon Sinfonietta, there will also be anational tour; concerts at theSouthbank Centre (at the Festival Hallon Friday andQEHonMarch 10) willfeature In Seven Days, Steve Reich’srarely performedTehillim, plus a worldpremiere of aGerald Barry work. “Ilove Steve Reich,” Adès says. “He’s agreat artist, he’s created his ownworld,apart in a wonderful way. I’d like tomovemore into abstraction— towritesomething without a title but everyoneunderstands it, whichmight beimpossible.” Adès and the Sinfoniettawill also be touring In SevenDays andReich’sMusic for 18Musicians toBirmingham (March 11), having playedinGlasgow last Sunday.“Being a composer comes first,” Adèssays. “I’m not confident with being apublic figure, why anyonewould carewhat I said about anything. I have tolook after my family—my pieces—and I do it in isolation. If I was goingaround being all public, my pieceswould go ‘Daaaad’. I would embarrassthem andmyself. I don’t matter, they

do.” Of course, he says, he has“opinions, political views and flawedthoughts, but I’m not someone who canexpress it in words. I’m not a greatwriter or painter. I may not be greatanything, but I say what I want to say inmusic.”Classical music, he says, takes a whileto find “its place” in history, and hedoesn’t want to feel “trapped” by hispast. “PowderMy Face had thisheadline-grabby element to it, but itwas only one part of its design.MaybeI’m self-deluded but I didn’t think thefellatio would end up being the wholepoint. It was around the time ofMonicaLewinsky and her dress.”Was there atemptation to carry on raising thesensationalist bar? “I didn’t want tostart playing that game,” Adès says.Critics don’t bother him: “Nobody

has the power to affect an artist’smotivation. You can’t let those thingsget in the way. The dog barks, thecaravan passes on. I care aboutmakingmy pieces intelligible.” But to be famousso youngmust have been a pressure.“When I was 19, starting out, I learnt ifone person didn’t getmy idea to brushit aside. I wantedmymusic to be heard.”He guffaws. “I’m not famous.We allknowwhat ‘famous’ is. Now people arefamous without possessing a distinctivetalent. That’s fine byme.Haha.” Hepauses. “You see, I can’t trustmyself tosay the right thing. I’mworried I’ll saysomething completely barking.”W

His music has made him a celebritybut Thomas Adès is wary of fame. It’shis need to work, not the spotlight,that drives him, he tells Tim Teeman

arts

Thomas Adès inNew York: “I’m notconfident with beinga public figure”

‘I thought I was Tchaikovsky,tortured and in pain,and I listened to hismusic thinking he wasteased for being gay’

‘‘

the times | Wednesday February 16 2011 13

The Grail for abeefy WagnerianThe tenor StuartSkelton is sinkinghis teeth into hismeatiest role,says Neil Fisher

XAdès grew up inHampstead, NorthLondon, with a linguist and an arthistorian as parents, the eldest of threeboys, all close. Howwas he as a boy?“Fat,” Adès guffaws. “I would readtortured books and torturedphilosophy and feel tortured but not bethat tortured. I would probably havebeen called pretentious because Iwalked aroundwith copies ofUlysses. Ididn’t understand every word, but I hadspurts of trying to. I sometimes had thesense of having a good brain andsometimes wanted to stare at the sky.When physical activity wasmentioned,I became a bit dicky. I loathed rugbyandwondered why anyonewould putthemselves through the cold andmud.”His father was a classicalmusician:“He played clarinet and sings a lot, he’sa wonderful bass.” The pianowas Adès’sfirst instrument: “My right hand gotrather good at it and I was playing Lisztby 10, butmy left hand couldn’t bebothered. I used tomake littleprogrammes formy parents, thensomebody realised that if I was going togo anywhere with it, I’d have to useboth hands, so I started having lessons.”Adès was thrown out of class for notpaying attention and had a “funnyrelationship with truancy”, but got Asfor everything. “If I had a child who

said theywanted to be a composer, I’dsay, ‘It’s not going towork out’, butmyparents were brilliant: they let me go forit.” He attended the junior Guildhall,andwas “voracious” in creatingcompositions, inspired by “everything,particularly anything with somewhacking in it, anything that could behit, blown or scraped. I’ve always lovedpercussion” (evident in his secondmajor piece,Asyla, whichwas partlyinspired by clubmusic).Adès knew hewas gay from a youngage. “It was pretty tough, it can be verydistressing if you think you are the onlyone. You create this scenario where it’sthis huge tragic burden. It’s not liketalking about a food you don’t like. It’sabout sex. I thought I was Tchaikovsky,tortured and in pain, and listened to hismusic—all thatmisery anddesperation—and thinking it wasbecause hewas teased for being gay.Now I think hewas probably having ariotous time.”Thewriter PhilipHensher oncedescribed Adès’s charismatic presenceat Cambridge (where he achieved adouble-starred first inmusic) as akin to“Mahler on the streets of Vienna”. Thatelicits another Adès guffaw. “I didn’tfeel particularly brilliant so I workedextra hard. I talked to an interviewerfreely aboutMozart, and he thought Iwas comparingmyself toMozart, whichwould obviously bemad. That’s when Iwithdrew. If my personality was goingto be an obstacle, there was no pointputtingmyself out there.”How does he compose? “Bum on thechair, ha ha ha. Pencil, paper, writenotes down. A lot of the time it mightbe a scrap of an idea, three or four notesthat I put on paper and can’t see whatdowith. I pin it to the wall and wait forsomething to happen. By the end, thewall looks like a beautiful nightmare.Some of it has gone in, some ends up inthe bin, some goes into a new piece. Itsounds chaotic, but I instinctively knowwhere page 47 is. If I didn’t, the worldwould come to an end.”He cannot name amost significant ormeaningful piece: “It’s like asking tonamemy favourite child, they all are.But with each one, it’s been likeAlice inWonderland, opening doors, taking sipsfrom bottles that say ‘Drinkme’. Polariswas unusual because it bought togethertwo typically warring elements: what Iwant from thematerial and where thematerial wants to go.”Tevot, written forSimonRattle and the BerlinPhilharmonic in 2007, was a piececritics saidmarked a newmaturity.America—AProphecy, which hecomposed at the turn of themillennium, is his “joker in the pack”.Written before 9/11, it was “very, veryspooky and horrific” watching itassume such cultural significance.

His thirties were a period helaughingly calls his “teenage years”:after composingThe Tempest, hissecond opera, in 2003, he “went out andsaw theworld”. Adès and Rosnermetthrough friends six years ago and had acivil partnership in 2006. “That’s beengreat. It’s opened up all sorts of doors:legal protections and, for Tal,citizenship rights.”Has the relationshipchanged him? “I’m sure it has, but it’shard to say how. I feel different everyday.” He roars. “I’m a Pisces. I knowsome people aremore stable. I’mup-and-downsey.When somethingworks it’s wonderful; when it doesn’t it’sa great big black cloud.”Has he had therapy? “No. I think thatthing of a person not being aware oftheir problem but it being veryapparent to everyone else applies tome. I don’t want to know.” Hewondersif he is bipolar. “That’s howwe talkabout it now, if wewere Elizabethanwe’d say ‘the humours’ or ‘melancholia’.I just know it as being human. I’mfortunate not to be clinically anything.There are parts of my personalitywhich correspond to autism. It allmakesme themusician I am.”Adès’s third opera is “finallybeginning to form after havingcopyright issues”, he reveals; he has

completed drafts of the libretto and“scraps” ofmusic to his version ofBuñuel’s 1962 filmThe ExterminatingAngel, about a partywhere guests areprevented from leaving by an unseenforce. “By the end they’re throwingthemselves at the door. It’s a sort ofentropy, and forme stands for that senseof ‘I’ve beenmeaning to do that for ages’but never getting around to it.” The filmunpeels the perversemystery that haskept them trapped. Adès jokes that“we’ve all been to parties like that”, butsays the opera’s truth ismore profound:“I recognise that door.Writing an operais like that—you get to a point whichyou can’t get beyond. You have to getthrough it.” The operawill premiere at

the Salzburg Festival in four years, hehopes, then come toCovent Garden.Adès is also writing a song cycle forthis year’s Proms deriving from amedieval German text about “howdeath comes to us and that’s notdepressing. I think aboutmortality allthe time.” As for turning 40 nextmonth, “I keep thinking, ‘Oh god I’m soold’, then realise I have friends who aretwicemy age.” Since hewas a youngcomposer, he thinks he has becomemore patient “and patience issomething I don’t naturally have”.His career seems gilded, some havesaid cosseted. Adès roars. “I haven’t hadterrible illness or privation, but thesepieces don’t get written because I waslucky inmy upbringing. They getwritten because I crack the whip withmyself. It’s hard work, sitting downwriting. It’s annoying when people saythat aboutme, because it’s like saying itdoes itself and it doesn’t. I wish it did.”Is classicalmusic being taughtproperly to children?Adès demurs toanswer, then says, abruptly: “I’d be verysurprised if it was. Classical music isseen as luxury and elitist and that’sstupid: everyone loses. There should bemore of it in schools. It would be nice toget rid of that fear of it being ‘difficult’.Children are not stupid. They don’tneed to be spoon-fed something andtold it’s simpler than it is. I sound like anold codger, but I wish everyone couldbe taught how towritemusic ratherthan have amicrophone shoved intotheir hand and told to sing.“I can’t standTheX Factor because itcelebrates people not doing somethingwell being told they are. It’s unfair to tellchildren they are all equally talentedbecause it’s not true. I got great thingsfrommy teachers, but when you’retrying to forge your way you’re saying,‘No, it should be like this.’ You’reresisting your teachers and risk themthinking you’re an a-hole or an idiot. Igot shouted at at school: ‘Why are youbeing so idle, why can’t youconcentrate?’ I was trying to work outwhat the truthwas forme. The trulytalented will do what they do, despiteeveryone and everything.”For such a reticentman, that’s somerallying call and cri-de-coeur. Hisaudiences, Adès says, are “likeme.People don’t want to be givenwhat theywant. They want to find whole worldsthey didn’t know they could want.”Helaughs again, rather soberly this time.ThomasAdès and the LondonSinfonietta: Feb 18, Festival Hall,London;March 10, Queen ElizabethHall, London;March 11, SymphonyHall, Birmingham(londonsinfonietta.org.uk).The FourQuarters: QEH, April 7(southbankcentre.co.uk)

For amoment, I’m not sureif Stuart Skelton and I arecomparingWagneriansingers or swapping noteson a forthcoming rugbyfixture. “There’s PeteSeiffert, a monster of aman, he’s 6ft 5in,” Skelton

observes. “Then there’s Johan Botha—he’s not as tall, but obviously a very bigguy. SimonO’Neill, Chris Ventris . . .we’re all probably 6ft or better and allmore than 15, 16 stone. And then thereare theWagnerian basses! Those guys. . . aremonsters .”

Such is the stuff of life for theWagnersinger, where the physical challenge isjust as significant as themusical one.“When I started singing,Wagner wasnot what I was looking to do. But all ofthe advice was, ‘This is the stuff thatyou were physiologically designed tosing.’ And so far they’ve been right.”Turning himself into a tousleddreamboat is therefore less of a priority.“The bottom line is you’ve got to get tothe end of every performance in goodvocal health. If you can do that andlook like Jonas Kaufmann . . . well, thenyou’re Jonas Kaufmann.”The blond, barrel-chested, 6ft 5inSkeltonwas once a regular on the rugbyfield when hewas growing up in thesuburbs of Sydney. “Sure, everybodywanted to be aWallaby, clearly, but Iwas never that good. And I had otherthings. I was singing in the SydneyCathedral Choir, I was playing thepiano. So that keptme out of trouble.”Skelton, who returns to EnglishNational Opera tonight inWagner’s

Parsifal—his fourth production in fiveyears at the Coliseum—has retainedthat sort of no-nonsense approach.Finding himself starstruck on the firstday of work at the Coliseum last month,his Twitter update was short and sweet:“Rehearsing Parsifalwith Sir JohnTomlinson. OMG!”“Well, I’m singing with Sir JohnTom!” he protests. “It’s the coolest thingever! I am so rapt about that.”Skelton now sings nearly every tenorrole in theWagner repertory. But thefirst time he reallymade his mark onLondon, however, was as Britten’stormented PeterGrimes at ENO in2009, which won him anOlivier awardnomination and a clutch of goldenreviews. “That was a big turning pointforme, no question,” he says.But it’sWagner who has drawnhim back to the Coliseum. Tonightmarks curtain up on the first ENOrevival of Nikolaus Lehnhoff’sfascinating production of Parsifal inmore than ten years.Wagner’slast stage work remains hismost controversial:Wagnerites revere it, whileWagner-agnostics turnqueasy at its “pure”GrailKnights and heavy religiosity.“There’s a desperate needamong directors to strip Parsifalof its Christian overtones,”Skelton says. “Formymind it’s

impossible to do that, and I don’t knowwhy people try. It’s an integral part ofthe story and if it’s completely removedit weakens the piece.” Lehnhoff’sproduction is less Christian than spaceage but it is particularly sensitive to thethemes of ritual and redemption.“There’s ceremonial there, but it’s notovergilded,” Skelton agrees.When the agony and ecstasy is overfor another run ofWagner, Skeltonheads for his Florida home: a retreatfrom the eightmonths a year that hespends on the road. Otherwise, R&Rmeans following his nose, in particulardreaming up baroque cocktail recipes.He promisesme that his “breakfastmartini”—madewith bacon and eggwhite— is a flyer.He saves his admiration for thelate Joan Sutherland. Heremembers her legendary voice,but also her approachability. “Inwhatever field they’re in, themost successful people inAustralian endeavour are theones who are perceived to haveretained the common touch. Ihope I’m able to do the same.”It surely can’t be long until

some up-and-coming singertweets: “Rehearsing ParsifalwithStuart Skelton. OMG!”

Parsifal opens at the LondonColiseum,WC2, tonight(www.eno.org, 0871 9110200)‘‘

artsmusicCOVER IMAGE ERIKA LARSEN / REDUX THIS PAGE MARK ELLIDGE FOR THE TIMES

Thesepiecesgetwrittenbecause Icrackthewhipwithmyself

artsopera

Joan Rodgers inAdès’s Powder HerFace, his controversialfirst opera; below,Cyndia Sieden andSimon Keenlysidein The Tempest

The Australian tenorStuart Skelton withthe space-age armourhe will wear as Parsifalat the Coliseum

14 Wednesday February 16 2011 | the times