Final Years | Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli

Final Years: The Death of a Sphinx

Michelangeli spent years studying the exact

same pieces over and over again. His journey

to Olympus resembles the work of Sisyphos.

In character he was sad, melancholic.

His greatest hate was of the adulation of his followers.

(Noretta Conci, BBC Radio 3: June 1996).

In 1988, Benedetti Michelangeli had suffered a ruptured abdominal aneurysm during a concert in Bordeaux. After more than seven hours of surgery, he overcame this health issue.

In January 1989, he gave his first concert after his illness (this was in Bregenz). A few months later, on 7 June 1989, he played Mozart concertos Nos. 20 and 25 with the Symphony Orchestra of Norddeutscher Rundfunk (NDR) conducted by Cord Garben.

And in that same month, on 9 June in Die Glocke, Bremen, he made live recordings for DGG of those two Mozart Concertos (No. 20 KV 466 and No. 25 KV 503) with the same forces.

In 1990, he again recorded two Mozart concertos, No.13 KV. 415 in C major [January] and No.15 KV. 503 in B flat [February] in Musikhalle, Hamburg, West Germany.

Michelangeli: "I'm reborn" An interview with the great pianist after years of silence: "I always start from scratch, even with music" says Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli in a gentle voice after patiently allowing himself to be bombarded by the flashes of photographers; we are in a small room in a Hamburg hotel, on the already autumn-coloured banks of the Aussenalster, where Deutsche Grammophon has organized a tribute to our great pianist on the occasion of the presentation of his latest album: Mozart's Piano Concertos K. 466 and K. 503 with the Norddeutscher Rundfunk Symphony Orchestra conducted by Cord Garben.

Michelangeli, at 69, has always shunned publicity and dissertations on what he has already expressed unmistakably in his playing; But this time the occasion was worth breaking the rules, because it's been exactly a year since the aneurysm that struck him in a life-threatening way in Bordeaux. Now he's looking at a bouquet of flowers he received from France, containing a candle: "I've turned one," he says, smiling, a year of a new life, marked by a rapid recovery and the first concert after the illness, held in Bremen last June and recorded live on the recently released compact disc. Deutsche Grammophon president Andreas Holschneider presents the first copy to the pianist, who, thanking him, says simply, into a German radio microphone that appeared among the crowd: "I think we did a good job."

A series of questions arises. The first concerns the growing spread of pirated records, that is, makeshift recordings, often unbeknownst to the performers, which twenty years after the event can be released in some countries without the authorization of the first interested party; in the Michelangeli case, this has led to outright fakes, labels with his name on bogus content ("They make me look good"). Other questions follow, in which Michelangeli stands out for the objective brevity of his answers...

A German journalist asks Michelangeli how he manages to renew himself when faced with texts he's been performing since his debut: "I start from scratch every time; I never pick up a composition from where I left off; I have no memory in this sense; I start from scratch, everything is new, with the emotion of the first time." Then the meeting shuffles around, and the first, more official part is followed by a second, more familiar and rhapsodic conversation. Bremen, Hamburg: why so much familiarity with the German North? Perhaps the audiences in those latitudes have preferable qualities, assuming that some audiences are better than others? "But no, it's not because of the audience; audiences change, my career is now so long that I've seen them transformed on several occasions; Munich, for example, once had a reputation as a rough city, full of Bavarian peasants; today it's perhaps the cultural capital of Germany, the musical life is extremely refined."

He talks again about Camillo Togni's cadenza for the Concerto K. 503, included on the album: "Something from when we were kids [Togni is from Brescia, like Michelangelo—Editor's note:], but it still has value for me, and I've remained fond of it."

(La Stampa 1.11.89)

After the recordings of Mozart’s concertos, Michelangeli will return to concert life completely, planning to perform in Bordeaux, Paris, London, among others, and during a small celebration organized for the release of a new CD with Mozart’s concertos in D minor K 466 and C major K 503 117 he declares: “I am returning to my duty, music” and further that “I dedicate the rest of my life to Mozart”, but he will not abandon his “eternal loves, Beethoven, Liszt and Grieg.”

10 May, 1990: Barbican Hall, London, England

Beethoven: Piano Sonata No.32 in C minor, Op.111
Chopin: Scherzo No.1 in B minor, Op.20

Chopin: Mazurka in B minor, Op.33 No.4

·Chopin: Andante Spianato & Grande Polonaise Brillante, Op.22

13 May, 1990: Barbican Hall, London, England
Beethoven: Piano Sonata No.11 in B-flat major, Op.22

Beethoven: Piano Sonata No.32 in C minor, Op.111
Chopin: Scherzo No.1 in B minor, Op.20

Chopin: Mazurka in B minor, Op.33 No.4

Chopin: Andante Spianato & Grande Polonaise Brillante, Op.22

'Beethoven No.11 was dispatched with seeming indifference and No. 32 with cool dispassionate mastery. The great Mazurka in B minor, Op.33 No.4: 'wonderous inflections, no trace of dance'. (Musical Times, August 1990)

In June 1992 ABM held a series of memorable concerts in Munich, accompanied by the Münchner Philharmoniker conducted by Sergiu Celibidache, on the occasion of the Romanian conductor’s 80th birthday. It was probably the apotheosis of a unique and unrepeatable career, which would end in Hamburg on 7th May 1993.

There had been a rupture between the two musician in 1980 as a result of events in Tokyo.

'In 1992, the signs pointed to reunification, and the Ravel concerto was scheduled. For days, ABM practised, listened, and tinkered for hours alone in the Philharmonie.

Outsiders are not permitted into the hall, even Celibidache doesn't show his face. No meeting, nothing. Sometimes the two sit next to each other, but neither opens the door to the other. Only at the official start of the rehearsal do they meet with cordial coolness. Celibidache: "Carissime!" Benedetti Michelangeli is silent. For the time being, not another word is spoken, nothing personal, nothing about the performance of the work. But the ice is broken, and it melts when ABM gulps astonishing amounts of Dom Pérignon with his old friend at the Hotel Rafael (now the Mandarin Oriental, Neuturnmstrasse 1).

'The Ravel rehearsals are calm and focused. The middle movement, which begins with the long, slow piano solo and only brings the orchestra in later, with a gossamer web of sound, is a magical success. Celibidache: "I'm always afraid to enter with the orchestra." Am I not ruining everything he conjured? Nothing is ruined, the magic remains.

'But a scandal (ein Eklat") looms at the first of their four joint performances. Sony wanted to videotape the performance. During rehearsals, all picture and sound settings were fixed, and all lighting details were determined. Someone must have changed the fixed values later. Who, and whether intentionally or negligently, remains unclear. Apparently, the Sony people found the lighting too dim on the first evening, so they switched things.

'When the two stars finally came onstage together for Ravel (2nd evening), the spotlights blazed mercilessly from the ceiling. Benedetti Michelangelo immediately felt irritated: "I can't play like this," he said, even more deadly serious than usual, "me ne vado" - I'm leaving. Celibidache: "I must have looked like a small child dying or losing his entire family."

'Benedetti Michelangelo stayed. "It's fine," he said quietly, looking even more distressed than usual. If it hadn't been for the joint performance with Celibidache, the pianist, as he subsequently insisted several times, would have left. Celibidache constantly waved his baton during the first movement to draw the attention of the Sony technicians to himself and his protest. Finally, the glare was turned off during the performance, and the recording was aborted. The recording was canceled, and Benedetti Michelangeli immediately canceled the solo piano recitals scheduled for the following Whitsun weekend in Munich.

' "Magic of Perfection," the Süddeutsche Zeitung celebrated the event; 'Ein Wunder" the tz judged. Celibidache a few weeks later said: "It wasn't so great. He started late a couple of times. What was that? I wasn't used to that from him. His hands were shaking terribly.'

'While the Gasteig audience is still applauding vehemently, a chair is carried onto the podium on all four evenings. "Homage to the eighty-year-old maestro," the first concertmaster explains the procedure to the audience, a few days after the maestro's eightieth birthday. A touching encore: Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli plays a birthday serenade for his old companion. Before that, there are long, momentous minutes of concentration, as if the well-wisher couldn't think of anything to say, then Chopin mazurkas, Debussy's Hommage à Rameau,... It was almost a private evening in front of 2,300 guests. What no one suspects in this beautiful evening moment: the closest and most lasting relationship Celibidache has ever had with a musician ends.' (Klaus Umbach, 1995)

5, 6, 8, 9 June , 1992: Munich, Germany
Ravel: Piano Concerto in G major

– Sergiu Celibidache / Munich Philharmonic Orchestra

Encores: Chopin: Mazurka in G minor, Op.67 No.2/ Chopin: Mazurka in B minor, Op.33 No.4; Debussy: Reflets dans l’eau (Images, Book I No.1), Et la lune descend sur le temple qui fut (Images, Book II No.2), Hommage à Rameau (Images, Book I No.2), Grieg: Lyric Piece in E major, Op.68 No.5 (Cradle Song).

Friedrich Edelmann, Munich Philharmonic's principal bassoonist for 27 years, said that during 2 weeks of rehearsals (1980/ 1992?), Celibidache advised the members of the orchestra not to smile, laugh or talk as this would upset the pianist - this might 'distract him or cause him some turbulence'. Michelangeli arrived with two pianos, which he alternately tried out. But the hall was too moist (the Deutsches Museum being next to the River Isar). The pianos were taken to the cellar, and the technicians worked on them throughout the night, drying every key. Celibidache and ABM stood there, watching them! Work was finished at 4am. Pianist and conductor, then walked in the Englischer Garten, and when they got hungry, Michelangeli roasted a duck in his apartment.

(Edelmann's book Memories of Celibidache is only available in Japanese)

"Thus, Celibidache and Benedetti Michelangelo set off on their Far Eastern journey. The announcement triggered a presale record in Japan, and prices rose to the equivalent of 365 marks; in just under forty minutes, all tickets were sold out. 'It goes without saying that Michelangeli tickets in Tokyo were traded like a rare drug among addicts,' reported Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung from the Far East.'

Japan, October 1992

Klaus Umbach: Not even the one great relationship spanning a long human life lasts: Celibidache is over eighty, Benedetti Michelangeli over seventy, when this friendship too breaks up—quietly, as if by chance, apparently for good.

On September 26, 1992, the two, after months of planning, rehearse for their joint tour of Japan: Robert Schumann's A minor concerto. No work connects them more closely. Munich, Gasteig. Celibidache accompanies extremely reservedly, almost a little indecisively, as if, for God's sake, he doesn't wants to endanger anything and unsettle anyone. Benedetti Michelangeli falls unmistakably short of his former solitary mastery: Eusebius and Florestan display a senior-like moderato, the upswing is stunted, the reverie strangely distant – everything is classically restrained.

' "A summit meeting [ein Gipfeltreffen] of difficult grandmasters... that everyone wanted to witness and paid exorbitant black market prices for the last tickets. And afterward?" asked Klaus Bennert in the prelude to his review in the Süddeutsche Zeitung, subtitled with the apt, apt line: The tragedy of perfection.

A week before his first performance, Benedetti Michelangeli had already entered a seclusion with his piano tuner to drill himself into peak form and perfect his instruments accordingly. Apparently, the result fully met the expectations of the Tokyo audience: "In any case, both maestros," writes Manfred Osten in the FAZ, "succeeded in putting their listeners into a hypnotic state that lasted even after the last chord of the piano concerto, only to then erupt in frenetic applause and a standing ovation."

The critics on site, however, are less in a hypnotic state than in a wide-awake, extremely alert state. >>>We missed, from both maestros, the energetic performance we had actually expected,<, writes Yomiuri Shinbun, and H. Iwai summarizes in Mainichi Shinbun under the heading >>The musical energy is dwindling” and more harshly,

We must accept these slow tempos and dull rhythms because the two are eighty and seventy-two years old. In the past, they radiated a sense of bliss... I have a bad feeling about the aesthetics of the two old people....

On October 5, 1902, Corriere della sera printed, under the heading "Spettacoli," an interview with Celibidache, conducted in Munich before the tour began, about the Italian star pianist and artist friend Benedetti Michelangeli.

"He, Celibidache, is frightened by his partner's endless loneliness. The question: Where did this loneliness arise? Answer: From the absence of a human heart in his life. Sometimes he changes completely. If, for example, he particularly likes a woman, he becomes a different person—full of wit. Then he talks, is brilliant, and highly entertaining. Question: Did you visit him in Lugano? Answer: Yes, he lives a simple, sometimes strange life there. Once, he shivered from the cold all winter long. But when I returned months later, I found the house surrounded by three-meter-high piles of wood, all preparations for winter. For all the wood, you couldn't even find the entrance."

With this trifle, a revelation the size of a footnote, a tacit agreement that had lasted more than half a century seems to have been broken—Benedetti Michelangeli, the hermit behind the wooden wall, sees himself and his privacy criticised.

The most reliable, most discreet friend has, needlessly, lifted the curtain and given the multimedia gawkers a glimpse into the other's intimate sphere: "He truly needs," Celibidache is heard to say, "a person who loves and appreciates him and who doesn't criticise him." And the reader must assume that this person doesn't exist.

Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli is disappointed and annoyed. He signals that he considers the human and artistic partnership to be over: no more joint concerts, neither in Munich nor on tour. Attempts at repair undertaken by Celibidache's entourage remain unsuccessful: the petulant maestro cannot bring himself to make a gesture of reconciliation, and the letter that could perhaps undo the feud remains unwritten.

15, 16 October, 1992: Showa Women’s University (Hitomi Memorial Auditorium), Tokyo, Japan
Schumann: Piano Concerto in A minor, Op.54

– Sergiu Celibidache / Munich Philharmonic Orchestra

28 October, 1992: Suntory Hall, Tokyo, Japan

Chopin: Prelude in C-sharp minor, Op.45; Piano Sonata No.2 in B-flat minor, Op.35
Debussy: 12 Preludes (Book I). A comment on YouTube says that Andante Spianato (G major) & Grande Polonaise Brillante in E flat major Op 22 were played at the end of first half of this recital (before intermission and immediately after the Chopin Funeral March Sonata) and this is confirmed by the Suntory Hall website archive. Listen

1992 was his final visit to Japan. He was scheduled to perform two collaborations with Celibidache and three recitals. While he performed his collaboration with Celibidache and his first recital as scheduled [28 October?], the venue and date of his second recital was changed, and the third recital was cancelled. There were plans for another visit to Japan the following year, in 1993, but his doctor ordered him to stop performing due to a worsening of his chronic heart condition, and the plan was scrapped.

(Japanese Wikipedia, unsourced)

'Michelangeli's recital at Suntory Hall on November 1, 1992, was canceled just before the scheduled performance date. As I recall, the concert was scheduled to begin at 12:30 p.m. on a Sunday, but the doors were delayed from opening at 12:00 p.m., and the cancellation was announced around 12:45 p.m., but since it was so long ago, I'm not sure. In fact, the concert had been scheduled for Hitomi Memorial Hall much earlier, but the date and venue were changed to Suntory Hall.'

'While I adore Schumann's magnificent concerto, I wanted to take this rare opportunity to focus solely on Michelangeli's music. I wanted to listen solely to Michelangeli's exquisite piano playing, uninterrupted by any other sounds. On the day tickets went on sale, I visited the Kajimoto Music Office in Ginza early in the morning and joined the queue of passionate fans. It was a Saturday, late in the morning, but the long queue had already formed in the corner surrounding the Kajimoto Music Office building, creating an eerie scene.'

'A year later, in the fall (autumn) of 1993, it was announced that Michelangeli would be coming to Japan again. The dream would be realized once more. Japanese audiences were eager for this, and I believe Michelangeli himself wanted to visit Japan again and rediscover himself. This time, I was extremely excited, as his All Debussy concert in Hamburg in May 1993 had been extremely well-received, rumored to be close to Michelangeli's former peak. Since I had missed the 1992 concert, I was able to secure tickets through a special ticket sales. Two programs, totalling four concerts, were scheduled, but learning from my experience the previous year, I decided to choose the earlier dates for both programs. The program consisted of all Debussy and a selection of works by Beethoven, Brahms, and Chopin. As Michelangeli enthusiasts will know, these were all pieces that Michelangeli had been confidently performing since his youth, and had long considered his favorite repertoire. For me, the most anticipated piece was Debussy's Preludes, Book 2, which was a wonderful selection. However, Michelangeli's health continued to decline, and his doctor advised him not to perform, which would have involved long trips.' (from the Japanese, found on tsukimura.art.coocan.jp)

Final recital

In May 1993, Michelangeli cancelled four concerts in London due to the organisers' failure to comply with the terms of the contract: this document specifically prohibited the sale of tickets to groups of people, regardless of nationality. When he learned that 85 Italians were to come to London thanks to an "all-inclusive" package offered by an organisation from Bologna, he left London with the explanation: "I am not a tourist attraction". Michelangeli had been intolerant of commercial exploitation and speculation throughout his life. This is why he said of his recording of Mozart's concertos: "I don't know if I will like it, but that is not important". Corriere della Sera, 18.5. 1993

On the 7th of May 1993, he nevertheless attended a concert in the Hamburg Musikhalle, which became the last concert of his career. “The perfect Michelangeli, who worried that not even a single eyebrow would move while playing when he was being recorded by cameras during his concerts, in Hamburg, where he had played many times, he would start singing while he was playing.” COTRONEO, Roberto. Il demone della perfezione. Neri Pozza editore, 2020. str. 32

Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli's final recital (he canceled some concerts in London)

7 May 7, 1993: Musikhalle, Hamburg, Germany

· Debussy: Children’s Corner (Suite)

· Debussy: Images (Book I)

· Debussy: Images (Book II)

· Debussy: 12 Preludes (Book I)

'First of all, [in this recital] Michelangeli does not have the usual, impeccable, controlled posture to which his audiences have become accustomed and which has become a fundamental part of his iconography. This time he moves, "opens" his gestures, raises his hands from the keyboard, as Gian Paolo Minardi recounts (his recollection of that day is found in Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli's book Il suono ritrovato), but he does more, and it's unheard of. He sings. The audience groans during the performance. Some are outraged because someone in the audience apparently isn't respecting the order of silence, and yet it's none other than him, the austere Michelangeli, who sings. (Bruno Giurato)

In June 1995 he was admitted to the Cantonal Hospital in Lugano after suffering another heart attack. He died during the night between 11th and 12th June. He was buried in the small cemetery in Pura, in a very simple grave which, in accordance with his wishes, is without a headstone.

He requested a modest ceremony, attended by one hundred and fifty people, including Martha Argerich and Maurizio Pollini, also his piano tuner. He was buried in bare ground and asked for a wooden cross instead of a tombstone.

Carlo Maria Giulini, an Italian conductor who collaborated with him for a long time after his death, declared: “I can tell you who the pianist was, but who the man was remains a mystery. An almost insurmountable barrier separated the artist from the man, imprisoned by his personality. […] We always remained a bit of strangers when we worked. I never once saw a smile light up his face, and even worse, in the darkness of his face you can see how much he suffered. It seems that you, Arturo, lived in darkness, except for the moments when you played the piano. At that moment, it was you who gave people this joy and this light that you perhaps lacked and which you are missing and which you have now perhaps found.”

COTRONEO, Roberto. Il demone della perfezione. Neri Pozza editore, 2020. str. 99

Mysterious In Death As In Life
After a life of indifferent health, Michelangeli died in Lugano on 12 June 1995 aged 75. Even his death is shrouded in mystery. The doctor who attended him requested anonymity and said that the pianist had asked him to keep the cause of his death secret, though most say he died of a heart attack.

Giuliana Guidetti Benedetti Michelangeli - his widow (they separated in 1970 but didn't divorce) dies 12 Apr 2015, aged 94, in Villanuova sul Clisi, Provincia di Brescia, Lombardia, Italy.

Envoi

'[Michelangeli's long-time secretary and partner] Marie José Gros-Dubois accuses the media: "Stop talking about the black handkerchief he placed on the piano, stop saying he wore an antique tailcoat to concerts, and stop with the nonsense that he destroyed three pianos a year playing them so much. I want the truth. He was good, he loved clean things. Why do you enjoy saying he canceled concerts at the last minute? If he canceled them, it was because he knew he couldn't perform, it was because he respected the audience. It wasn't a whim. How much anguish I felt! He was attacked and couldn't defend himself, he never gave an interview. Give him the truth now."

She recalls: "In his last letter, the Maestro said: 'If you want to do something for me, stop the piracy of records.' How can anyone think that someone who worked at the keyboard for seventy years would be robbed of a concert? Robbed of technical fidelity, of study, of effort, of passion. They even stole the rosary I had placed between his fingers in his coffin."

Paolo Mettel, president of the Cotonificio Olcese and a friend of Benedetti Michelangeli, also says it's time to move away from the flowery tales. There is a truer, more secretive Michelangeli. The one of his invisible days in the rented house in Pura, the village above Lugano where he had lived since 1979. "Days marked by detachment, simplicity, spirituality," says Mettel. "Music is the most abstract art, the most distant from reality: those who cultivate it also abstract themselves, practising an asceticism. So did the Maestro, to the utmost degree. A seemingly bare life, his."

Michelangeli could get up very early, even at four. Or late, if he had studied hard during the night. He would immediately go to one of the three pianos in the sound-proofed studio: "For him, a concert was not a performance but the result of tireless and never perfect work on an composer." His only distractions: a cup of Japanese tea, scented or smoked; a caress, a game with Attila the cat, a stray; a walk in the park and the orchard, among the cherry and apricot trees. He had no children: he liked children: "He joked with my children," Mettel recounts. "He would pretend to steal a slice of cake from them, as if he wanted to eat it himself."

He relaxed with friends: "He would discuss Formula 1, compression ratios, and carburettors, with the same expertise he showed the action of a piano. He appreciated Niki Lauda because he was also a great tester. It was he, the Maestro, who suggested to his tuner Angelo Fabbrini the B flat he wanted. He even persuaded Steinway to modify some parts of the pianos they produce, and Steinway in Hamburg kept his two concert grands."

"Let's erase the falsehoods," says Don Antonio Sfriso, 88, in a retirement home in Sonvico, a few kilometres from Lugano. "I was his confessor, I was his friend for twenty years. We often ate together. Last Sunday, a few hours before the end, he couldn't wait to enjoy my niece Bice's chiacchiere [fried sweet pastry]. Michelangeli was a man of little food. It's not true that he was a vegetarian; he had no passion for meat, that's all. He tasted everything. He even cooked, and he didn't want anyone around. When he taught, he was the students' chef. He made an excellent roast chicken. He drank a glass of wine, and to finish, he smoked Tuscan classics...

Don Antonio recounts: "Michelangeli suffered from his character. He was proud, aware of his art, but also shy. He couldn't stand being admired... He was often confined to bed by illness; he had several bypasses. I sat next to him in his room, white as a cell. One early morning I went to visit him: he was awake, on the bedside table he had a book on the Novissimi, the mysteries of the Afterlife: 'These thoughts,' he told me, 'instil in me the nostalgia of arriving where my heart has longed to arrive.' Dear friend, you are there."

He will be buried in Pura, ten kilometres from Lugano, where he had lived since 1972 in a small house among oak and chestnut trees. No one ever saw him. A music critic, Vittore Castiglioni, lives in Pura: "In all these years, I've only met him twice," he says. "One morning he was standing next to his house, staring grimly into the woods. Another time he drove past me, and I just had time to catch a glimpse of his black moustache and black sweater. He had his piano in tow, hoisted inside an enormous case on a small trailer." He wouldn't let anyone get close. He was in exile everywhere, or perhaps everywhere was his homeland because—he said, remembering Seneca—everywhere he could see the sky.

La Stampa, 13 & 15 June 1995