September 18, 2018 marks the 10th anniversary of Mauricio Kagel’s death. We commemorate it with a concert at the Kölner Philharmonie.

What particularly impressed me about Mauricio Kagel was his childlike enthusiasm. And his own enthusiasm was as contagious to us as it was to the audience. He was passionate about music, his music. There was no sense of arrogance, but rather of authenticity and joy. He was delighted with his ideas, and he was even happier when what he wanted worked the way he had imagined. And when the audience got the desired effect, he was happy, and a broad smile went over his face. It made him very likable. And yes, he was proud, proud as a child, and he was honest enough to stand by it. “I know I’m a classic,” he said.

He liked to talk to us musicians and was kind of like a grandfather to us. He was of great stature and had incredible charisma. His strikingly deep sonorous voice still sounds in our ears today. When he entered the room, he inevitably attracted all the attention, and when he went on stage, he owned the whole hall. His huge hands made an impressive performance of his music.

Each rehearsal and each performance became a unique experience full of inspiration. Nevertheless, Kagel was not a reliable conductor, and we musicians really had to be prepared for everything. Since we knew most of the pieces quite well, we were able to master some shaky situations in the performances. He knew that and was always very grateful to us.

So when we wanted to congratulate him after a Windrose performance, he said: “Mea culpa, I couldn’t read the score, I had the wrong glasses on…”, or another time: “A few strange things happened… but we still played music!” And there it was again, that happy smile!

Kagel was very down-to-earth, had a lot of humor and enjoyed celebrating with us musicians after a successful concert. He liked to eat and drink well, telling many stories about his life.

When we had to go to the airport very early the next morning after such a long cheerful night, he saw us waiting for the bus in the hotel lobby without breakfast and unusually silent. He said dryly: “I have a new name for the ensemble…” and after a long fermata accompanied by puzzled faces, he continued: “Cadaverfabrik.”

In our last project with him shortly before his death, he showed up with a beard, which was quite unusual. I had never seen him with a beard before. I greeted him and asked to him about it. “Yes,” he said, “the last proof of my manhood. I was in the hospital, and I couldn’t shave. But my wife said, “Oh, that looks better that way anyway!”

There are small film and sound files from the rehearsals for the last Kagel concert in 2008 that I still have stored on my mobile phone to this day, my personal Kagel memories so to speak. I will never forget him, his voice or his huge hands.
It has been a great personal privilege for me to have experienced such an artist at first hand over several years. I learned a lot from him, but most of all the conviction that an artist must be able to love what he does.

Dirk Wietheger, violoncello