https://www.theguardian.com/music/2026/feb/26/steven-isserlis-on-the-formidable-gyorgy-kurtag-at-100 [p] Skip to main contentSkip to navigation Close dialogue1/3Next imagePrevious imageToggle caption Skip to navigation Print subscriptions Newsletters Sign in US[ ] * US edition * UK edition * Australia edition * Europe edition * International edition The Guardian - Back to homeThe Guardian [ ] * News * Opinion * Sport * Culture * Lifestyle Show moreHide expanded menu * [ ]News + View all News + US news + US politics + World news + Climate crisis + Middle East + Ukraine + US immigration + Soccer + Business + Environment + Tech + Science + Newsletters + The Filter + Wellness * [ ]Opinion + View all Opinion + The Guardian view + Columnists + Letters + Opinion videos + Cartoons * [ ]Sport + View all Sport + Soccer + NFL + Tennis + MLB + MLS + NBA + WNBA + NHL + F1 + Golf * [ ]Culture + View all Culture + Film + Books + Music + Art & design + TV & radio + Stage + Classical + Games * [ ]Lifestyle + View all Lifestyle + The Filter + Wellness + Fashion + Food + Recipes + Love & sex + Home & garden + Health & fitness + Family + Travel + Money * Search input [ ] google-search Search + Support us + Print subscriptions + Newsletters + Download the app * + Search jobs + Digital Archive + Guardian Licensing + Live events + About Us + The Guardian app + Video + Podcasts + Pictures + Inside the Guardian + Guardian Weekly + Crosswords + Wordiply + Corrections + Tips * Search input [ ] google-search Search + Search jobs + Digital Archive + Guardian Licensing + Live events + About Us * Film * Books * Music * Art & design * TV & radio * Stage * Classical * Games Gyorgy Kurtag is awarded the diploma of Doctor Honoris Causa from the Liszt Ferenc Academy of Music in Budapest, earlier this month, in recognition of his life's work. [ ] Birthday honours ... Gyorgy Kurtag is awarded the diploma of Doctor Honoris Causa from the Liszt Ferenc Academy of Music in Budapest, earlier this month, in recognition of his life's work. Photograph: Attila Kisbenedek/AFP/Getty Images View image in fullscreen Birthday honours ... Gyorgy Kurtag is awarded the diploma of Doctor Honoris Causa from the Liszt Ferenc Academy of Music in Budapest, earlier this month, in recognition of his life's work. Photograph: Attila Kisbenedek/AFP/Getty Images Classical music 'Play like a dog biting God's feet': Steven Isserlis on the formidable Gyorgy Kurtag at 100 Their friendship and musical partnership spans four decades. As the legendary Hungarian composer turns 100, cellist Steven Isserlis celebrates a musician of boundless imagination, humour - and his vivid way with words Steven Isserlis Thu 26 Feb 2026 07.50 ESTLast modified on Thu 26 Feb 2026 08.04 EST Share Prefer the Guardian on Google I vividly remember my first meeting with Gyorgy Kurtag. It was 40 or so years ago at the International Musicians Seminar in Prussia Cove, Cornwall. I was sitting in the dining hall there, when a man with grizzled hair and an unusually fervent countenance came up to me and, with barely any introduction, started talking about my pizzicato playing in a performance he'd heard of the Schubert quintet some years earlier, in which I'd taken the second cello part. This man was none other than Kurtag - accompanied then, as almost invariably during those years, by his wife Marta; she hung back somewhat, but didn't miss a word. I was immediately struck by his magnetic intensity, his fierce passion for music and his unique way of speaking English - punctuated by frequent utterances of "er-er-er" (Many years later, Kurtag was to tell me: "Stuttering is my natural mode of expression.") He and Marta simply embodied - he still embodies - music. I had never met anyone to whom each note mattered so much. They both reminded me of what a friend once said about Beethoven: "He didn't know the meaning of the words 'it doesn't matter'." At some point early in our friendship, Kurtag handed me a piece of his for solo cello, Gerard de Nerval, and asked me to play it for him. Knowing nothing about his music apart from its sterling reputation, I looked at the short piece, managed to learn the notes after a fashion, thought that it seemed poetic - it was based on a poem, in fact - and a few days later played it through for him and Marta. It was then that I understood that I had understood absolutely nothing! He took me through the piece note by note, explaining, singing, demanding, creating visions and weaving a spell of emotional profundity that was a revelation. Animals often figure in his teaching. I have notes telling myself to play 'like the neighing of a horse', 'like a snake', and 'like a dog biting God's feet' From that time on I have played to him as often as possible. (Also to Marta, herself a gifted pianist, who was almost always at his side, making comments as probing and helpful as his; her knowledge and understanding of every note of his music was astonishing.) For the most part, we work on Kurtag's own pieces, though very occasionally he coaches me on music by others. Playing to him is transformative in every way. His imagination is boundless; he will produce startling, unexpected images - or point out connections, musical or extramusical - that illuminate his meaning. For instance, at the beginning of his short work for solo cello entitled Schatten (Shadows), a scurrying, dark piece with frequent abrupt silences, played with a "hotel mute" on the cello bridge to bring the sound almost to the point of inaudibility, he told me to think of the opening scene of Hamlet, where the ghost of Hamlet's father flits tantalisingly across the castle battlements, impossible to pinpoint. ("'Tis here ... 'Tis here ... 'Tis gone.") That concept really helped me to capture the unsettled, unsettling atmosphere of the music. Or he will describe silence: in my notes on the same piece, I see a quote from our session: "Rests represent motifs you don't play; only the essential is told." Gyorgy Kurtag with Steven Isserlis, after his final public concert, at London's Queen Elizabeth Hall.View image in fullscreen Gyorgy Kurtag with Steven Isserlis, after his final public concert, at London's Queen Elizabeth Hall. Photograph: Joanna Bergin Animals often figure in his teaching. I have notes telling myself to play "like the neighing of a horse", "like a snake", "a cat's miaow" and, most surprisingly, "like a dog biting God's feet". (That one remains a challenge!) Or he will point out veiled references - from Gesualdo, for instance, or Beethoven's Grosse Fugue - within his pieces. There is always a tonal centre to his music, so he will sometimes tell me to bring out the colour of a certain key. And he will always - after some searching ("... How to tell you?") - find a new way to describe the phrase on which we are working. Lessons can go on for a long time, but I've never felt tired, only elated. He gives you the feeling that you are working towards the same end, searching together for a reading that makes sense, that reflects the formidable vision behind the notes. I find it hard to describe the satisfaction I feel when he is finally satisfied - perhaps it's something akin to the sensation a mountaineer experiences on reaching a seemingly unassailable peak? He always insists, when our work together has reached a natural conclusion, that the piece is now mine, and that it is henceforth up to me to play as I feel. But the feeling of responsibility, of doing his music justice, is quite palpable, whether he's present or not. Anyone who attended one of the few concerts given by Kurtag and Marta will have witnessed something extraordinary. I was lucky enough to catch their final recital, at the Queen Elizabeth Hall in London. There they sat, close together on a wooden bench, their backs to the audience, playing on a specially softened upright piano - being amplified by their son Gyorgy - weaving a magical spell, alternating seamlessly between Bach arrangements and original Kurtag. We were transported, and it was especially moving to see their bond played out in music. Not that their relationship was always without tension ... My favourite story about the two comes from a day on which they were rehearsing for a concert down in Cornwall. At one point, Kurtag did one of his signature gestures - his arm descending through the air infinitely slowly to land on a note, producing an almost inaudible pianissimo. Marta turned and snapped at him: "Why are you playing so aggressively today?" Gyorgy Kurtag at the piano in 2001 in Budapest, watched by his wife, Marta.View image in fullscreen Knowledge and understanding ... Gyorgy Kurtag at the piano in 2001 in Budapest, watched by his wife, Marta. Photograph: Katalin Sandor/EPA Today, Kurtag, despite alas losing Marta some years ago, is - touch wood - remarkably active, continuing to compose, as well as teaching regularly. While he is physically frail in some ways, his mind is as alert as ever. On one of my recent visits to him in Budapest, he informed me that he was free only until 7.30pm. "And what are you doing at 7.30?" I asked. "I have a Latin lesson." Ah yes, of course ... In fact, the latest of the four pieces he's written for me (so far) is based on a Latin text. Circumdederunt for solo cello, composed in memory of our beloved mutual friend Rita Wagner, is a characteristically powerful testament, sparsely textured, full of intense grief, but tempered with hope. During my first lesson on the piece, he kept urging me to play it more violently - or, in his words: 'More stinking' The first draft he sent was entirely in the key of F major, but then came a new version, with the faster middle section now transposed to F sharp - a startling, quite jarring change, exacerbated by the fact that it is to be played "sul ponticello" (on the bridge). During my first lesson on the piece, he kept urging me to play it more violently - or, in his words: "More stinking." It took me many tries before I was able to convey the passion he was demanding. I couldn't keep up with his energy. But of course it made absolute sense, throwing into sharp relief the radiantly peaceful ending. Kurtag lives today on the top floor of the Budapest Music Centre, where he is adored by everyone - even the staff at the building refer to him as "Uncle Gyuri". There are two concert halls on the lower floors; occasionally, he will take the lift downstairs and attend a performance, emerging in his wheelchair from the lift doors, being treated as a living deity. His presence ensures that musicians will give absolutely all that they have in them - everyone is so desperate to earn his approval. Long may this great man and musician prosper. My opening to any conversation with him is to ask him how he is. I always await the answer anxiously, ardently hoping that I will hear the familiar words: "Thank you. Working." Then I can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that all is well in planet Kurtag. Kurtag's 100th is celebrated in concerts featuring his compositions at Glasshouse, Newcastle on 27 February; at the Royal Festival Hall, London, on 1 March with the Philharmonia and Vikingur Olafsson; and at Bridgewater Hall, Manchester, on 23 April with Thomas Ades conducting the Halle. 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