Classical music stars are sometimes quite demanding. But usually for good reasons.
They require six deciduous ground plants and an arrangement of pale pink Casablanca lilies in their wardrobe, 20 international phone lines or no synthetic fibres in the clothes of the people they deal with. The bowl of M&M's must have the brown ones removed, the deep-cleaned carpet must have an animal skin pattern, and only a certain type of avocado may be used for the freshly made guacamole: That's pretty much how you imagine stardom. But is this fiction or truth?
The answer is: it depends on the industry. The demands mentioned were all actually made - by pop stars. If you ask the Artistic Operations Office of the Tonhalle-Gesellschaft Zürich, you won't hear anything comparable. Of course, the stars (and not only them) often have specific requests here too, and the agencies send them to the concert halls in so-called riders. Bananas are particularly popular for a quick energy boost, only Paavo Järvi prefers blueberries; nut mixes, certain types of tea, pasta (with meat!) or magnesium powder are also occasionally ordered. Some want to go to the gym, others need a doctor, and a babysitting list has also been useful.
Some want to be picked up from the hotel because they are no longer able to walk well or are being harassed by a stalker. A pianist who tended to have cold fingers had the cloakroom preheated to 28 degrees (the agent spoke of Sahara temperatures). And once a conductor asked for a special 10-year calendar that is only available in Switzerland. But nobody seems to behave in such an eccentric way.
There are three main reasons for this. Firstly, unlike in the pop scene, even the biggest names in classical music are not irreplaceable, at least from an organisational point of view. While a Madonna can drive an organiser to ruin if she leaves immediately out of indignation at the mere 19 international telephone lines in her dressing room, a symphony concert takes place even if pianist X or conductor Y cancels. Usually even with the same programme.
Secondly, not only the organisers, but also the artists, at least in renowned houses, are usually interested in long-term collaborations. It is therefore not advisable to harass people with diva-like demands. Trashing dressing rooms is also not a good or bad thing to do in the classical music industry. What's more, because everyone backstage carries a mobile phone with a camera and social media access in their pocket, it could do lasting damage to their career.
Thirdly and finally, times have changed. A conductor who loses his suitcase may still have to rely on someone to get him replacement clothing. But he will hardly dare to order underwear with funny motifs (something that happened with another Swiss orchestra a few years ago). There are also no more pianists on the road who have their shoes tied. And when a famous soloist sends a text message at three o'clock in the morning asking how her concert went, it probably has something to do with the fact that many artists on tour lose a regular daily routine.
In other words, for fans of wild stories, the classical music business today is undoubtedly less exciting than it was in the days of Callas or Toscanini, at least in the major theatres. For those who work in an artistic management office, on the other hand, they have probably become more pleasant. The diva-like behaviour they have to put up with is usually only to be found in the subtle: in the tone of voice, which is a little too harsh or flirty, or in the matter-of-factness with which someone assumes that the coffee will be served separately despite the coffee machine in the cloakroom.
The opposite is now far more common: That a special service is also particularly appreciated. This was once the case with violinist Vilde Frang, whose sun-yellow concert dress urgently needed a quick clean - which was not easy to organise on a Saturday. It worked out anyway, and the colleague responsible still has her thank-you WhatsApp on his mobile phone: "I'll dedicate the concert to you!"
