With Sir Neville Marriner (2010)

I can no longer clearly recall his conducting style or characteristic gestures. But what remains vivid in my memory is the maestro’s refined elegance, his wit, and above all, his superb sense of humor. He was not a tall man, and his movements on the podium carried a certain endearing charm. He treated everyone like an old friend, calling people “brother” with genuine warmth.

Though my English has never been particularly fluent—and I often struggle to understand the humor of many Americans—his jokes, told in that unmistakable British accent tinged with charm, never failed to make me laugh.

An artist, a musician, must first and foremost be a communicator. His relationship with the world was gentle and close. That’s why his conducting never felt forced or fiery—it wasn’t as extreme as Bernstein, nor did it carry the knightly spirit of Zubin Mehta. It lacked the luxurious ease and grandeur of Dutoit, and it wasn’t brimming with the sheer energy of Seiji Ozawa.

And yet, perhaps his taste and artistic temperament embodied the final echoes of a classical ideal: unhurried, unassuming, calm and collected. He never clamored for your attention or demanded your praise. He simply stood at a graceful distance—quietly warming the world with his presence.