EUGENE - There is a large blue neon sign over the main entrance to
Stuttgart 's central train station.  It is a quote from the philosopher
Hegel, one of the city's most famous sons (besides Schiller and Helmuth
Rilling).

Hegel is difficult to understand in any language, but this
government-sponsored graffito is simple enough in German or English:
"Fear of making a mistake can be a mistake in itself." Many years later,
FDR changed the phrase slightly, turning it into a powerful slogan as
he led the nation out of the fear-shrouded Depression era.

Later still, Royce Saltzman, then a University of Oregon professor of
choral music, defied the fear of adventure and possible failure - he all
the way into the German heartland to invite a young organist/conductor to
give two master classes in Eugene.  The year was 1970, Rilling was 37, and
completely unknown in the US - his name misspelled in the announcement -
although at the beginning of a stellar career of Bach performances and
scholarship in Germany.  Still, Saltzman's engagement of Rilling back then
was risky and hard to justify.  He took a chance, unafraid of making a
mistake.

Fast-forward to 2001, and you see Saltzman as executive director and
Rilling the internationally acclaimed music director of the mighty Oregon
Bach Festival, which grew out of those unusual transcontinental master
classes three decades ago.

And yet, one thing never changed.  The master classes themselves go on here
and, combined with the public Discovery series of lecture-demonstrations
and performance opportunity for the (mostly young) visiting conductors,
they form the core of the two-week long festival, even while the big Silva
Hall concerts get the headlines.

"Education is at the heart of the festival, of everything we do," says
Saltzman.  Giving reality to that mantra, every morning at 9:30, Rilling
stands in front of the class.  It's an awfully early time for any musician,
even those who don't have his staggering workload (he heads three festivals
on three continents, just finished recording a complete set of Bach's
works, etc.), but there he is in the music department's Room 186, never
late, fully involved and centered on teaching music.

In blue jeans and a plaid shirt, holding a paper cup (mysteriously always
half full of coffee), Rilling leads, teaches, observes, exhorts - in turn
strict, hilarious, supportive, no-nonsense, grandfatherly, youthfully
energetic.  Just as in the concert hall, Rilling commands total attention
without ever having to ask for it.  Nobody says "officer on deck" when he
enters the room, but the result is the same silent salute from everyone as
if an admiral just arrived.  There is a fascinating, significant contrast
between his low-key, self-effacing, simple manners and the near-awe
surrounding Rilling.

His right arm moves as though without a bone, fluidly commanding the
chorus, even the audience.  It's an interesting coincidence to see Al Huang
among observers because Rilling's movements very much mirror the tai chi
master's movements gracefully originating from within.  No large gestures,
no effort - just leadership, willingly, gladly followed by one and all.

Watching the conductor's arm, showing how to bend the knees correctly,
speaking about the meaning of the text, the structure of the music,
the intention of the composer, the nature of the relationship between
performers and audiences, Rilling is a consummate teacher, the voice of
unpretentious, selfless, natural authority.  In turn, watching him at work
gives the observer the satisfaction of witnessing somebody completely in
his element, doing a job to perfection.  And later, in clear, memorable,
personal terms, Rilling talks about the Bach Magnificat at the Beall Hall
Discovery series.  It is a lecture-demonstration in the afternoon, before
a full house, followed by a performance, conducted by members of the master
class, each taking a portion of the work.

Rilling relishes the academic-performance connection of master classes
and music-making: "It is very important and something I personally like
very much - to get people thinking about music, not only just doing it, and
to involve other people in music-making," he says.  Chorus and orchestra
members - for whom mast class participation is extra duty - love these
events, and when they return to the festival year after year, this is one
of the major attractions of Eugene, perhaps equally as important as
performances.

"After 12 years, I still learn something from him in every single class,"
says a soprano who, like many others in the chorus, both sings and
conducts back home.  For the conductors - who come from as far away as
Mongolia, Poland, Russia, Korea, and every region of the US - the master
class/workshop/Discovery combination mean not only learning and performance
opportunity, but also living in a world of total musical immersion.
and a chance to work with Rilling.  Even in comparison with the largest
academic-festival combination sites - Ann Arbor, Aspen, etc.  - there is
something unique about Eugene, and most of that difference is the man in
blue jeans, holding a half-empty coffee cup.  In truth, of course, his cup
- and that of the Oregon Bach Festival - is runneth over.

Janos Gereben/SF
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