Staying young

To mark his 90th birthday on 27 November 2025, Ensemble Modern is dedicating several concerts to composer Helmut Lachenmann in Berlin (3 September), Cologne (19 November), Frankfurt am Main (26 November) and Hamburg (29 November). The programme centrepiece is ›Concertini‹, a large-scale work closely associated with the Ensemble and a prime example of the decades-long collaboration between Lachenmann and Ensemble Modern. Unsuk Chin’s ›Graffiti‹ provides a tonal counterpoint. Ensemble Modern joins forces with the IEMA-Ensemble 2024/25 to form a cross-generational collective under the musical direction of Sylvain Cambreling. On 2 December, Helmut Lachenmann will also be the focus of a ›Happy New Ears‹ concert at the Frankfurt Opera, where his ›Mouvement (– vor der Erstarrung)‹ will be performed.

Michael Rebhahn: When did you first become aware of a new, young ensemble called Ensemble Modern?

Helmut Lachenmann: Oh, that was a long time ago – it must have been in 1981 or 1982. I think the conductor and percussionist Bernhard Wulff got in touch with me. I have no idea what he or the ensemble musicians knew of my music. Perhaps my ›Intérieur I‹ for a percussionist, which had its premiere in Darmstadt in 1967, brilliantly performed by Christoph Caskel? Perhaps also my percussion concerto ›AIR‹, which was horribly interrupted during its premiere in Frankfurt in 1969, stopped by the conductor Lukas Foss and repeated from the beginning? In any case, my first encounter with Ensemble Modern, a group entirely unknown to me, involved a tour through South America — Uruguay, Argentina, and Chile. I had never heard any performances by Ensemble Modern before this tour and only have vague memories of a work by Friedhelm Döhl played in Buenos Aires. But what I remember most, after repeatedly experiencing or enduring resistance from overwhelmed orchestra musicians in this country (and not only with my music!), was the meticulous care the ensemble members took in trying out the notated sounds. I found them respectful, engaging, offering friendly advice and – like myself, incidentally – equally eager to learn and embrace adventure. This care was also evident in the way they handled the pieces entrusted to them by the often inexperienced and undoubtedly lonely experimental composers from Argentina and Chile. In my case, it was my ›temA‹ for flute, voice and cello with Dietmar Wiesner, Monika Moldenhauer and Sabine Pfeiffer – a home game of sorts, transposed to South America, but still full of adventure.

MR: In my view, your compositions are remarkably musician-savvy – particularly with regard to the nuanced actions on the instrument. What, then, gave rise to the reservations?

HL: Well, »savvy« for which musicians, exactly? Musicians, especially orchestral musicians, have largely been influenced by the instrumental practice they were taught during their studies, with a focus on the music they knew and loved. To put it mildly, the »reservations« in almost all orchestras stemmed primarily from an aversion to technical demands that they were not prepared for in their usual instrumental training. For example, the instruction to string players to press the bow with their fist on the string winding behind the bridge and nowhere else in a precisely prescribed rhythm, without recognising the musical meaning; or to produce an absolutely toneless yet intense bow stroke noise on the upper or front surface of the bridge; or playing precisely specified pitches as dabs with the bow stick while simultaneously damping the strings with the fretting hand; brass and clarinet players, on the other hand, had to produce toneless hissing and blowing sounds with clear gradations between light and dark, sometimes even with a reversed mouthpiece. Putting this into practice with such rhythmic precision and musicality was a demand that forced some performers to be torn from their cherished habits. They felt both overwhelmed and that their professional pride was being undermined. And they had no desire to embarrass themselves as more or less clumsy learners and feel »abused« for having to perform technical tasks that had nothing to do with their understanding of music. They experienced this – and in some orchestras it is still the case today – as a degrading intrusion and an affront to their philharmonic-sanctioned sense of security. Strangely enough, however, such reservations were often forgotten in the dressing room or during casual get-togethers. But I’m approaching ninety – those days are pretty much over. By the way, there were never any such problems with chamber musicians, and certainly not with Ensemble Modern. But they did occasionally find themselves facing horrified audiences!

MR: Some of your key works (›Mouvement‹, ›Concertini‹, ›Schwankungen am Rand‹, ›Ausklang‹, ›NUN‹, ›Zwei Gefühle‹) were important milestones in the history of the Ensemble Modern. Does the Ensemble Modern have a special connection to your music among other new music ensembles? A kind of »Lachenmann sensibility«?

HL: I’m stuck for an answer. I don’t think so. There were also some really awful pieces by other composers. Ensemble Modern never shied away from anything; instead, their professional approach and attention to detail allowed them to convey the unique beauty of even the most obscure pieces. My ›Mouvement‹ was perhaps the first real technical and aesthetic challenge in every respect that they had to deal with – or one of the first, but correct me if I’m wrong! Of all pieces, this one – much as I admire it – struck me as a relapse into overly familiar musical conventionality and I actually wanted to withdraw it. But then I would have had to cancel the premiere with the Ensemble intercontemporain, who had commissioned it. So I was kind to myself and gave the piece and myself another chance, turned a blind eye and made friends with it again.

MR: How important are musicians as – loyal – companions to composers? What makes a »true, fine and good« musician?

HL: Intelligence, respectful and responsible, perhaps even critical curiosity, a discerning, self-critical ear. A willingness to take risks. The ability to think for oneself, not only in terms of playing technique and notation, but also in an expressive and aesthetic sense. Patience and perseverance, both with oneself and with one’s surroundings. All of this in no particular order – and maybe, in the end, I always mean the same thing.

MR: Were there any musicians who had a tangible influence on the development of your compositional aesthetic?

HL: Yes, there were. I credit them with broadening my compositional horizons – and since I am constantly evolving as a composer, there are always new ones. But if I name the ones that come to mind, I will disappoint those I forget to mention.

MR: You once called the Ensemble Modern »pioneers of intelligent musicianship«. What constitutes musical intelligence?

HL: Surely there were and still are other pioneers in different contexts. In addition to the qualities already mentioned, which ultimately stem from any true musical intelligence, ensemble musicians also bring a passion for thoroughly studying the score, becoming aware in the process of how the very concept of music is constantly being redefined.

MR: Can the performance of a score be separated from knowledge of its aesthetic implications?

HL: That’s inevitable. But I’m sure that even the very first concerts given by the Ensemble Modern were always learning experiences for the performers. They were required – and perhaps still are? – to repeatedly learn what it means to engage with the somewhat suspect notion of »committed music-making« in order to move away from the merely paralyzing, letter-by-letter rendering of the music.

MR: How has the performance practice of new music changed in recent decades? Is its growing acceptance perhaps softening its »sting«?

HL: Sting? That sounds too melodramatic! I see no sting, neither in John Cage nor in Karlheinz Stockhausen. However, in a civilisation that is becoming increasingly spiritually shallow, the communication of art could well become a liberating or jarring sting. But woe betide anyone who allows themselves to be inspired by speculation of this kind. Goethe says: »One feels the intention, and one is displeased.« Staged provocation is ridiculous entertainment, a service for simpletons. Anyone who feels seriously provoked should treat it as a sign that their nerves are still working and embrace the invitation to open up.

MR: In 2003, the Ensemble Modern founded the International Ensemble Modern Academy (IEMA). You have participated in several seminars at this institution and once said that »anyone who has been there once, [...] is a different person afterwards«. Is the concept of the academy particularly close to your heart?

HL: Yes, that was quite a bold statement. Wherever I broaden my horizons, I become a different person. I don’t know of any firmly articulated concept. But I assume that the IEMA’s concept boils down – in two senses, in fact – to awakening and encouraging all forms of responsible curiosity as a music lover in the aesthetic sense and, at the same time, in the purely practical sense as a performing musician in the field of instrumental technique.
It should be about accepting oneself as a lifelong learner and staying young at heart in the process; enjoying musical endeavours and making others curious about the ever-changing definition of music, which draws our attention to the wealth of antennae still waiting to be discovered within us.

MR: In November, you will turn 90, which means you have experienced the history of new music from the young post-war avant-garde to the present day »in vivo«. What is a composer with such an immense horizon currently engaged in? What troubles him, what gives him hope?

HL: I can’t speak for other composers. But what I hope doesn’t just bother me is the widespread, obviously unstoppable and recklessly promoted intellectual dumbing down and, welcomed by some, usefulness-driven stupefaction of our civilisation – not only, but also in the cultural sphere. This is also responsible for the current threat of the reckless and harmful abolition of the different classifications and supervision of so-called »U« (popular) and »E« (art music) by GEMA (Society for Musical Performing and Mechanical Reproduction Rights). As questionable as the terms »U« and »E« may be, they stand for two indispensable and equally respectable but fundamentally different human needs: On one side, spirited entertainment; on the other, a reminder of our intellectual capacities – and the inner richness they foster.
And hope? I still have friends who refuse to be brainwashed and who see through the terror of the disinformation and stupidity that numbs us all. It is not only in relation to art that I think of Wilhelm Busch’s threatened bird:

»A birdling, trapped by birdlime,
sat and flapped in vain.
A bold black cat,
sharp-clawed, bright-eyed,
sneaked up and neared, little by little,
the luckless bird.
The bird considered: Well, that’s that:
I’ll soon be eaten by the cat!
No time to waste,
I’ll trill some more,
and pipe as gaily as before.
A bird – here’s how I look at it, – «