These are the traits I immediately notice when meeting Andrea Licata.
The Maestro’s personality reminds me of Beethoven’s last quartets.
It’s these traits, combined with a great charisma, which have made this Sicilian violinist one of Italy’s most eminent opera conductors.
Since his Australian debut in 2003, Licata has become a regular guest of Opera Australia, conducting the operas Norma, Nabucco, La Bohème, Madama Butterfly, Il Trittico and, in May this year, Rigoletto.
Licata’s passion for opera was sparked at an early age.
“I wanted to participate in the staging of one of Puccini’s operas, but they rejected me straight away,” he recalls.
“My voice... well, basically there were other children with magnificent voices.”
Licata chuckles.
“But I didn’t give up,” he continues.
“I asked what I had to do to study music.
“They told me to go to the Conservatory.
“I didn’t think twice; I went to my father and told him he had to take me there.”
Licata’s father looked at him, perplexed.
“To the Conserva-what?” he responded.
“To the Con-seeeeer-va-to-ry,” a young Licata exclaimed.
“And where is this Conservatory?”
“Piazza XIII Vittime.”
“Piazza. XIII. Vittime,” his father repeated, emphasising every word.
“Yes. You have to take me to the Conservatory at Piazza XIII Vittime.”
At this point, Licata’s father gave up.
“He grabbed me by the arm,” Licata remembers.
“My father had enormous hands and my whole arm fit in his fist.
“He took me to the Conservatory... and I enrolled that day.”
Licata then pauses.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“I still remember the smell of those rooms,” he says.
“It’s a smell that makes me feel at home.
“It wasn’t until years later that I realised it’s the smell of theatres... all theatres around the world, old and new.”
During his time at the Conservatory of Palermo, Licata studied the violin and mandolin – two instruments his mother had taught him to play.
He spent a great deal of time at his teacher’s house, which had an enormous library.
Then, the time came to make his debut in an orchestra.
“Next week we rehearse Mahler, and we need a mandolin,” his teacher said.
“This is the score... see what you can do.”
Licata, who was still a boy at the time, couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
“I went straight to [Italian publishing house] Casa Ricordi and bought every book on the mandolin,” Licata recalls.
“I read them all and completed all the exercises, and in a week I’d learnt my part.
“The conductor wanted not one, but 12 mandolins and he had to make do... but in the end it all went well.”
Upon graduating, Licata became a concert performer at the Philharmonic in Palermo, where he worked for 11 years.
He then became a conductor, working in Catania, Messina, Palermo and Rome.
It wasn’t long before Licata was conducting on international stages, from the US and the UK, to Spain and Switzerland, New Zealand and Australia... where he returns every year.
“Australia is a beautiful country and a magical place... and the people are extraordinary,” he says.
“Even the Italians here are different; there’s a sense of friendship that you don’t find in Italy.
“It’s a pleasure to work here.”
Licata goes on to say that often, there’s a love-hate relationship between the orchestra and the conductor.
“I say that because I’ve played in an orchestra,” he adds.
“This has taught me that the conductor has a very difficult job: to form a relationship with the musicians from the moment he first meets them.
“It’s not a given and sometimes it doesn’t happen because there’s no understanding between the orchestra and the conductor.
“But when it does happen, it’s something truly extraordinary.
“Here in Australia, that relationship’s been formed; I feel the love that orchestra, the choir and the singers have for me.”
Licata is an old-school conductor.
He demands maximum attention and despises mobile phones, especially when musicians leave them on during rehearsals.
However, one day, it was the Maestro’s phone that rang.
It was an oversight that his orchestra wouldn’t let him forget any time soon.
This anecdote casts a different light on the maestro: perhaps Licata isn’t as old-school as he seems and, just like Beethoven’s quartets, he reveals moments of unexpected lightness.
I ask Licata to explain what a conductor does and why his presence is so vital.
He responds: “A conductor’s main job is what everyone sees: to provide the tempo.”
“But it’s much more complex than that,” he adds.
“A conductor is a musician who plays a large instrument: the orchestra.
“He has to have a clear vision of what he wants to get out of his instrument.
“Through his personality, his gestures and his words, he has to convey his idea of the sound and convince the orchestra that it’s the right idea.
“This is perhaps the most difficult thing: the conductor has to make the orchestra share in his musical idea and achieve the best result based on that.”
This is why it’s essential that the conductor arrives at rehearsals with a clear vision of the vocal and musical effect they want to achieve.
All of this requires long and elaborate preparations, and very intense studying.
“When I conduct an opera – even if it’s one I’ve already conducted – I have to study it as though it were the first time,” Licata explains.
“I look for the nuances and those details that have escaped me.
“Every time I discover something new, something worth exploring; if that detail is there, it’s because the composer wanted it to be.
“For example, I will never fully know the ins and outs of Rigoletto; I’ll never know with certainty what Verdi wanted to say when he created that character.
“All I can do is try to understand the composer’s intentions by studying the score.
“My job requires continuous research; I know that I’ll never discover the truth and this upsets me.
“But at the same time, it motivates me to keep moving forward.”
This research isn’t limited to just the score.
Conductors also have to create the character with the type of voice they’re working with.
Every character – whether it’s Rigoletto, Don Carlo or Turandot – has its own personality and psychology, which the singer has to express with their voice.
The conductor’s job is to help the singer achieve this.
“During rehearsals we do a first reading of the parts, accompanied by the piano,” Licata says.
“The singer and I exchange ideas about the character, to find out what each of us has in mind.
“In order to decide which interpretation to go with, the conductor has to have a clear idea of what the composer wanted to express when he created that character.
“This requires continuous study of the score, the libretto, other operas by the composer and the interpretations of other conductors.”
Licata’s experience playing in an orchestra has helped him understand the dynamics of the orchestra and the rehearsal phase.
“I’ve learnt what concert players love, and what they hate, in a conductor,” he says.
“To talk too much or too little, to read the score or not... then there are things that the conductor can say clearly to the musicians, and some which should be expressed thoughtfully.
“The thing that counts the most is the end result... if that’s good, then even the musicians – who may not have loved you during rehearsals – will end up appreciating you.”
Maestro, what’s it like to conduct an orchestra?
Licata looks pensive, then he smiles.
“I feel the same way I felt when I was a boy,” he responds.
“I thought that I’d get used to it one day, but I was wrong.
“When I’m about to go on stage, right in that moment, I’d pay another person to take my place.
“And just when I’m wishing I was somewhere else, they call me to go on stage... and in that moment, everything changes and I enter into another dimension.
“I step onto the podium, I open the score, I look at the orchestra, I raise my hands and I begin to conduct.”
Licata looks straight ahead, as though he’s imagining the moment.
Then his tone becomes decided.
“All of this happens without any emotion... I’m completely focused on the score,” he says.
“It’s only at that point that I can give my interpretation.”
In May, Licata conducted Rigoletto in Melbourne, for Opera Australia.
Was he happy with how it went?
“Very,” he says.
“Lyndon Terracini, the artistic director of Opera Australia, put together an amazing quartet.
“Amartuvshin Enkhbat, the baritone who played Rigoletto, has an absolutely natural voice... he’s a real baritone.
“Then there’s Liparit Avetisyan, the tenor who played the Duke of Mantua, and who’s one of the best contemporary opera singers.”
“Stacey Alleaume, the soprano who played Gilda, sings with an Italian accent that is perfectly clear and natural.
“It’s not easy to put together such a harmonious cast; credit to Lyndon for finding the singers best fitted to each role.”
I ask Licata if he himself deserves any credit.
He smiles.
“I move my hands... I do nothing more,” he replies.
He then moves his hands, pretending to conduct.
“I do nothing else,” he repeats.
“But it works... the orchestra plays, the singers sing.
“I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
Licata looks at me and smiles again.
Thank you, Maestro.
