- 08
- Dec.
- 2024
In the fourth article of our series dedicated to Baalbek, we pay tribute to Herbert von Karajan, a major figure in 20th-century orchestral conducting, whose two concerts at the Baalbek Festival in 1968 placed Lebanon at the heart of the international music scene. These performances, characterized by a rare rigor and a personal artistic refinement, highlight the sacred union between the glorious past of Western art music and the cultural longevity of this land, now scarred.
“Is this truly the title?” one might wonder, as though such an article could settle for anything less than a simple yet profound headline. Herbert von Karajan. That is the title, and no other could suffice. Any qualifier would diminish its essence; any superlative would merely skim the surface, falling short of the reality it seeks to capture. This name embodies the full weight of history and legend—the past, as it is often said. But here, the term is used not pejoratively but in its truest sense. Like the sea, which swallows the marks men leave on the sands of life, carrying away what belongs to the earth, it preserves the ephemeral in the salt of eternity. Herbert von Karajan (1908–1989) belongs to precisely such eternity. In this fourth article of our series, dedicated to the City of the Sun, we honor one of the most captivating and paradoxical figures of 20th-century Western art music. His two concerts at the Baalbek Festival in 1968 etched Lebanon into the living history of this European, so-called universal culture.
Obsessional quest
Fiery, even intransigent, Herbert von Karajan was both revered and controversial due to his obsessive quest for perfection and refined balance. And rightly so! Throughout his career, he absorbed the styles of the two giants of orchestral conducting of his time: the Italian Arturo Toscanini (1867-1957) and the German Wilhelm Furtwängler (1886-1954). His orchestral sonorities, meticulously calculated and recognizable among many others, came to be known as the “Karajan sound.” This evolved over the decades but invariably stood out for its sober delicacy, crystalline clarity, and constant refinement in the pursuit of sonic purity. This meticulous approach immediately made Karajan one of the most influential conductors of symphonic music. However, it also sparked harsh criticism, as his approach to composers, from Johann Pachelbel (1653-1706) to Gustav Mahler (1860-1911), passing through Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) and Johannes Brahms (1833-1897), sometimes seemed devoid of the stylistic diversity each era demands. Yet, Karajan was firmly convinced of his artistic vision and demonstrated a methodical stubbornness in his approach.
This almost impenetrable musical universe is largely the origin of his myth. A myth, even a cult, amplified by his fame and influence over the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, which he shaped with the precision of a craftsman into an instrument perfectly attuned to the nobility of great Germanic music. However, this portrait of an absolute perfectionist does not fully capture the complexity of Karajan. His career, often viewed through the lens of a repertoire dominated by Beethoven, Brahms, and Mahler, should not obscure his ventures into a broader repertoire, particularly the Italian opera of Giuseppe Verdi (1813-1901) and Giacomo Puccini (1858-1924), not to mention, of course, the works of Richard Wagner (1813-1883). However, despite his boldness, the conductor showed little interest in postmodern, so-called contemporary music. And rightly so. Karajan wisely chose to fully devote himself to great canonical music rather than the new dogma of deconstructing the very language of music.
Imposing presence
While Karajan’s European tours helped forge his reputation, it was in the intimacy of the majestic ruins of Baalbek that the maestro conducted "his" Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra in 1968 for two concerts that would leave a lasting impression. “I had just returned from Germany, where I had obtained my architecture degree, when Salwa Saïd, then head of the Baalbek Festival, asked me to design a few concert posters,” recounts David Corm, Lebanese architect and intellectual, creator of the festival's solar logo in 1968, for This is Beirut. Among his first creations was the poster for Karajan’s concerts, held on September 3 and 4, 1968. “Karajan particularly appreciated my work, calling it the best he had ever seen. He then asked me to print a hundred copies for him to take with him. I remember making a few prints in German, especially to give him as a souvenir of his visit to Lebanon, as a small gesture of friendship,” he recalls fondly.
With a face marked by angular features and a penetrating gaze, Karajan commands the stage with his authoritative presence. His hair, now white with age, adds to his image of authority. Always impeccably dressed in a black suit, he conducts with his eyes closed, using precise and noble gestures, far from any ostentation, a rigid posture that reflects his discipline and unwavering charisma. For the September 3 concert, the German conductor chose a purely Beethovenian program, featuring the Coriolan Overture Op. 62, and Symphony No. 5 Op. 67 (the Fate Symphony) and Symphony No. 6 Op. 68 (the Pastoral). “I have always been fascinated by his charisma, his radiance, his magnetism, the elegance of his gestures. He conducted with his eyes closed, and he reminded me of a great bird, given the position of his arms, which were like wings,” explains Bernard Fournier, a great European specialist in the works of the genius from Bonn, for This is Beirut.
Truthful content
Herbert von Karajan is widely associated with the interpretation of Beethoven’s orchestral works. His recordings of the German master’s symphonies, in particular, have become references in the world of classical music. His approach emphasizes the authority of the composer, presenting him as a visionary genius, almost superhuman, and highlighting the rigor and grandeur of the musical structure. “Although I generally haven’t used him as a reference in my Beethoven writings, he is, for me, one of the greatest Beethoven conductors of the second half of the 20th century, alongside Klemperer, Giulini, Bernstein, and Abbado,” notes the musicologist. He continues: “I’ve never been convinced by Toscanini's overly fast interpretations or Furtwängler's overly slow ones. With Karajan, you can feel that what matters is not the pursuit of effect (too superficial) but the search for deeper meaning, the 'content of truth,' to use the words of Theodor Adorno. What mattered to him was the idea carried by the work and the sonic material that flowed from it and which the performer had to sculpt.”
For his second concert, given on September 4, the conductor turned to a more eclectic program, while still deeply rooted in the tradition of the German-Austrian repertoire. The program featured Mozart’s Symphony No. 29, K. 201, Richard Strauss’s Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks, Op. 28, and Brahms’s Symphony No. 2, Op. 73. Karajan’s visit to Baalbek was a historic moment, a gesture of faith in culture and music, in the face of the turmoil of the times, including the Israeli attack on Lebanon that would occur in December 1968. This concert not only marked the arrival of one of the greatest conductors of the 20th century at a historic venue but also served as a universal tribute, from the Levant, to the enduring power of art. It also positioned Lebanon as a global cultural beacon, reaffirming its place as a symbol of civilization and refinement, even in difficult times.
The particularly difficult access to detailed information about the Baalbek Festival concerts, especially those organized during the tenures of Aimée Kettaneh (1956-1968), Salwa Saïd (1969-1972), and May Arida (1973-2010), raises a crucial question: shouldn’t these archives, now part of Lebanon’s cultural history, be digitized and made accessible to all? In this regard, it is striking to note that, to obtain this valuable information, we were forced to refer to the German archives of Herbert von Karajan.
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