How a Madison maestro composed his life, career in American music | Entertainment

John DeMain has had an extraordinary life in music, gaining him a unique insider perspective on American music-making and some of its most prominent practitioners.

After this season, DeMain will retire from his 32-year position as artistic director of the Madison Symphony Orchestra, and he will soon step down from his similar post with the Madison Opera. With the closing of his career nearing, DeMain put together a memoir, “Working with My Heroes: A Life in Music,” where he tells stories from his remarkable life and career.

“You know, you come from Youngstown, Ohio, you decide to major in music, you squeak into Julliard, and then after a couple of years you get a scholarship. You’re there and you have no idea what to do when you get out, but you have certain things that you like to do. And then one thing led to another and the career fell in front of me,” he said.

Episodes include brush-ins with the mafia, trained circus animals gone wild during a performance, winning a Grammy and other surprising adventures. DeMain’s stories entertain while they also lay out his principled way of living devoted to music.

The book alternates between stories narrated by DeMain and helpful contextualizations from his co-author, the late Greg Hettmansberger. The unique format gives the reader the impression of listening to the maestro at one of his dinner parties.

DeMain worked with some of the biggest names in the history of music, such as Leonard Bernstein, Luciano Pavarotti, Ethel Merman and John Adams, and in the book, he shares behind-the-scenes interactions with the stars. More than cataloging the singular life of DeMain, each vignette provides a window into the American music scene over the past seven decades.

At the end of chapter 6, Hettmansberger represented DeMain best: “He is, in short, an American musician.”

The Cap Times spoke with DeMain to learn more about his fascinating career and his memoirs. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

You’re an amazing storyteller. Do you credit that to your experiences in music and performance?

Just be happy you weren’t married to me and would hear these dinner stories over and over again. I credit my storytelling to being in theater my entire life. I was a child actor in community theater and all through high school as well. In high school I did dramatic declamation and debate.

My first job as an assistant conductor, no one cared what I had to say. Even when I was at the Houston Grand Opera … I wasn’t the big star. When I got the job in Madison, someone from Houston came to a concert and said they had never heard me speak before. Well, I said that I never had the occasion but I can certainly do it, so my whole time in Madison I’ve just been talking my head off.

I make the joke, but it’s true: When you’re in front of the orchestra, you’re supposed to speak as little as possible, and try to do as much as you can with your arms. When you talk, be concise and efficient in rehearsals. I don’t tell stories or go on and on. They sit down and they want to play, and we play. So I make up for it at dinner parties, which is how the idea for the book evolved.

What was it like working with Greg Hettmansberger on this project?

Editor’s note: Hettmansberger, whose career passions were music and writing, died in December 2020 following a car crash.

Greg at the time was reviewing, and he was such an enthusiastic reviewer and knowledgeable about music — and was a big fan of mine — so he quickly agreed to do this. Once a week, I would talk into a tape recorder and record these stories. The historical context Greg provided was so important. Greg did a great job of explaining who everybody was and why they were important to me, and that is the real success of the book. That is where you get a look of how fertile the last century has been for music. There was just so much activity in the arts. Greg and his research added that dimension to the book.

For readers, the episodes that involve the mafia will surely stick out: your interactions with infamous gangster Joe Gallo, your uncle’s home in Youngstown, Ohio being fire bombed, etc. How did you feel returning to these moments?

I mean, these things really happened to me. And they stuck in my mind. … I love to tell the mafia story because it was so unusual. I am at the City Opera in NYC and here I am playing the wedding of a major gangster (Joe Gallo), and then he is killed three weeks later. There were so many things to retell, including my uncle being the godfather of Youngstown.

You’ve interacted with so many stars and legends over your career. Were there any that made you star struck?

You try not to show it.

Well rather, how did you manage working with such big names?

There was Arthur Guthrie. In the early days of television, he had a big television show and his own office in CBS. He was unhappy so we had to go over to his office to kiss his ass and put him in a good mood, but when he came out to play with The Kenley Players to do “Take Me Along,” he actually worked harder than anyone else. And so if he’s gonna work, you roll up your sleeves and you go to work. And in most instances, when stars came out to do these plays with only seven days of rehearsal, they walked in there and they worked. …

When these artists are in that situation, most of the time, it’s not about ego. It’s about work.

Now that you are toward the end of your career, how do you feel your career has impacted your relationship with music itself?

It’s an interesting question, because when I don’t have the chance to conduct anymore in two years, it’s gonna be very different. I don’t know how I am going to react.

I mean I have been in rehearsals since I was in the fourth grade. … Did I have a need to make music? No, I was just making it. I just woke up and I made music, every day, every day, every day. There was never a period in my life that I was out of work, thank God. …

That instinct to make music hasn’t changed, but the way I work as a conductor certainly has. When I don’t have anything to learn, I sit at the piano and play Chopin, or I do scales and arpeggios, I try to make my fingers work again. And I think that’s great, cause that’s how I came into music, and that’s going to accompany me until I can’t do it anymore. That’s my going back to my childhood, practicing piano and just enjoying it.

In that sense, I am still loving music, and I think I love it more than ever, especially now since I realize it is coming to an end. Like when I am doing a piece, it will probably be the last time I do it, so I am relishing it.

An amazing part of the book is the story of your courtship with your later wife, Barbara, told by her, not to mention the fact that you ended up missing the birth of your daughter because of work. What impact did your family have on your music making experiences?

When I met Barbara, I could tell in our courtship and in our conversations that she had a really deep love for music, and she had been close to the world of the conductor so she understood.

I remember, when I was at Juilliard, I was dating a girl who was absolutely gorgeous, and she was a singer. Well, a singer can’t really sing more than about an hour a day. I would start my day at eight o’clock and end at midnight, and I’d try to see her on weekends. She started putting pressure on me, like, “When do you have time for me?” And I thought, “I don’t.” But when I met Barbara, she would say to me, didn’t you tell me you have a difficult concert coming up? Why aren’t you in the living room studying? The main thing was just that basis of support from her.

From reading your book, I was trying to come up with a “John DeMain Refrain,” and this is what I came up with: Throw yourself into things, realize the power of honesty, value greatly reflection and collaboration, and always work toward a good performance. Would you edit that for me?

I think that was perfect. I would add only: and respect the people you’re working with.

There is so much pressure around classical music to be perfect that you can forget that music is something you love, and the making of music should be a loving experience.