MAXIM VENGEROV: I was fifteen-and-a-half years old and very
nervous when I arrived at the Musikverein in Vienna to audition
for Abbado. Six months previously, I had been told:
"Abbado will listen to you." I went into a small room expecting to
find him there, but instead saw 20 different people. I recognised
some of them, but nobody said a word to me. Not one of them smiled. I
was very shocked, and asked, "Where's Maestro Abbado?" They told me, "He isn't
coming. You must play for us." So I played the Tchaikovsky Concerto and the JS
Bach Chaconne. When I finished they all got up, without smiling, and left the
room. I was in complete shock.

 Looking back, I think that it was good experience for me. I'm still not sure
who all those people were, but I imagine they were Claudio's committee - Claudio's jury. I must have passed, because soon afterwards I did play for him, and the
orchestra immediately offered me some concerts.

 I was thrilled but I'm sure Claudio had no idea how thrilled I was. He was
so easy to talk to - not at all intimidating. We talked about my teacher, and
all the time he was telling me only very good things. He never gives you
negative emotions, and I always say that just a few minutes with Claudio puts me
in a better mood. The first time I played the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto with
the Berlin Philharmonic, I was so tense. Claudio knew how I was feeling, and
before the concert he came to see me in my dressing room. It's difficult to
explain, but he is the kind of person who can unstress you just by a few quiet
words.

 I've always had tremendous respect for conductors and don't dare call them
by their names - certainly at the beginning of a relationship. To me, "Maestro"
was the only way I could address Claudio. He didn't want that at all and
insisted, "I want you to call me Claudio." I have come to love him like a
father. He's the person I always go to for advice.

 Our times together are usually short but because he is such a warm,
sympathetic human being, I felt, from the beginning, that he was someone I could
talk to about anything. He, like Zubin Mehta and Daniel Barenboim, has been very
helpful with my situation as an Israeli citizen. Like all Israelis of my age, I
have to do military service, which is obviously a problem for any musician.
Claudio was very concerned about me going into the army, so all three conductors
wrote letters for me, and, earlier this year, I was allowed to do just three
weeks' basic training in Israel.

 Although Claudio is a serious musician, he has a natural sense of fun and a
great sense of humour. The audience don't see, I hope, but sometimes, during a
concert, we find it difficult not to laugh at each other. As a conductor, he is
musically very generous and flexible in his ideas.

 This summer, when I was touring with Claudio and the Gustav Mahler Youth
Orchestra, we had a wonderful time. The kids in the orchestra adore him. He
loves football and sailing, but he's also a very private person. Much as he
loves life, he needs periods when he is completely on his own. Claudio likes to
disappear to his home in the mountains, far away from watches, telephones and
people. I can't imagine that at all. After two days, completely on my own, I
think I would go mad.

 Early on in our relationship, there was a situation which I'm sure made him
quite angry. I was 17 and behaved like a real jerk. Claudio had asked me to do
the Brahms Violin Concerto with the Berlin Philharmonic. "You have to study it
and come to me well prepared," he said. "Sure, Claudio, I promise I'll study it."

 Two months before the concert, I hadn't even touched the score and he called
me up. "You are preparing, aren't you?" he asked. "I'm just about to start," I
assured him. I could hear that his voice had a very anxious tone. "Please, make
a start," he said, and rang off. A month later, Claudio called again. "Have you
started yet?" "Not yet," I answered. "But now, definitely, I'm starting."
"Please," he said, "You really have to study." Again, I promised him that I
would. A week later, with 20 days to go before the concert, he called again.
"Have you started?" Again, I lied. "Yes, just today, I've started. In 10 days'
time I'll be ready, I promise you." I could tell that he was getting anxious.
"You know, there is very limited time, Maxim. Which cadenza are you going to
play? What about Kreisler?" I told him that I thought Kreisler was out of style.
"Well then, do Joachim. You know there's a great tradition for the Joachim
cadenza. Study that one." "Well, I'm not sure," I grumbled, and started making
excuses. At that age, I didn't take what Claudio had done for me seriously
enough. "Claudio, 20 days is plenty of time, and maybe I'll even write my own
cadenza."

 It was New Year's Eve and I still didn't feel that I was prepared, so I
called Claudio and made a terrible noise with my throat, pretending to be ill.
"Claudio, it's a disaster. I'd love to come and work with you, but I can't
speak. I'm so sick." Just from his voice, I could tell that he was very
disappointed. The next day, I arrived at the rehearsal - completely recovered -
saying, "I think now everything is perfect." After the rehearsal, he said,
"Which cadenza did you play?" and I told him, "Mine". At first I don't think he
believed I'd written it. "Interesting. It's good," he smiled.

 In the end it was a great concert and I was very well prepared, but I wouldn't
ever behave again with any conductor like I did with Claudio.

 CLAUDIO ABBADO: I'm sorry that Maxim has such an unpleasant recollection of
his audition in Vienna - I knew nothing of it before I heard him play. Whenever
I have the possibility, I hear young artists, singers or instrumentalists. I
can't remember now if it was Zubin or Daniel who originally told me about him,
and said I should see him. Maxim was 15, and not particularly famous, when he
came to play for me in Berlin. He had been recommended by one of the violinists
who was then on the Board of the orchestra. The Berlin Philharmonic are not easy
musicians to impress - especially the string players - because, of course, we
have wonderful string players. I heard Maxim together with several members of
the orchestra, and he didn't seem to be in the least bit intimidated by the
situation. Our common language for the audition was English.

 We were all of us highly impressed by his great talent and outstanding
musicality, and I suggested we engage him for a concert in Berlin as soon as
possible. The orchestra even agreed to change a programme to make it happen. He
played the Tchaikovsky Concerto at that time, and since then he has been back to
Berlin several times, always greatly appreciated by the orchestra, who are crazy
about him. They think he's fantastic. The Tchaikovsky and Glazunov concertos
which we recorded recently are a good demonstration of our congenial music
making. It was, above all, Maxim's wish to record the Tchaikovsky with me and
the Berlin Philharmonic.

 He certainly has this music in his blood, even though I'm a little against
saying that a Frenchman necessarily plays French music well and a Russian,
Russian music. I tend to think that a great musician and instrumentalist must be
able to play everything.

 When we spoke about the Brahms concerto for the Berlin Philharmonic tour,
Maxim had already played this work with Daniel Barenboim in Chicago. It was
good that he had experience on the podium with this concerto before playing it
with us. We did speak on the telephone, but maybe not as often as Maxim
remembers.

 When Maxim told me that he would have to do his service with the Israeli
Army I was, of course, glad to help in any way I could to free him from this
obligation. For a young musician, the army service can be quite destructive
because it interrupts their studies. Continuous playing and practice are
essential, so I was pleased to hear that my letter helped. Maxim only had to do
a brief training period.

 This summer, Maxim joined our concert tour with the Gustav Mahler Youth
Orchestra. The atmosphere there is very different from a professional orchestra
and Maxim, because he is the same age as most of the musicians, was very popular
and, at the same time, a sort of role model for the young players. He's a person
who really likes to have fun and enjoy life. It's very difficult for an
international soloist, but I think he has managed to get the balance right. I've
never asked why he chose to live in Amsterdam, but Maxim is not a typical
musician and I'm sure he enjoys the life there. Sometimes, now he's older, when
I see the way he dresses, he reminds me very much of my son.

 Maxim is someone with a very good sense of humour and, although, of course
we work hard together, we enjoy ourselves too. Sometimes, during a concert, we
try not to look at each other - otherwise we might burst out laughing. I've
never seen Maxim depressed. He's a very constructive, positive person. To be
like that you need a lot of confidence in yourself.

 Musically, he is very mature and disciplined in his work. He knows how to
listen and to accept advice. He is extraordinarily receptive. When we were doing
the recording, every now and then I gave some advice. He's like a sponge - he
absorbs everything he likes and immediately translates it into practice. I also
suggested that it would good for him to take part in the annual Berlin chamber
music event, Encounters in Berlin. This is where experienced soloists work
together with young artists, studying and performing classical and contemporary
chamber music. He learnt a lot in the process.

 As a human being, I value most Maxim's honesty and openness - his
directness. I'd call him an exceptional person who has a very honest way of
expressing himself. His enthusiasm is also honest. There are people who perhaps
sound enthusiastic but don't really mean it. Maxim's honesty comes out in the
way he plays. He constantly surprises me.

 He's the most talented of today's young violinists. Technically, he's
fabulous and he produces a wonderful sound. Intonation is difficult to
describe, but I think Maxim's has something special about it. It's the sound of
a great violinist. As a conductor, I always try to understand the problems of
the soloist. It's like with a racehorse: when you let it run free, it runs
better. It should feel free even though you are holding the reins. It's the same
with a great orchestra or soloist. He must feel free while being controlled.
Like this, we can fly together.