Julian Prégardien is a tenor from Germany—despite his French-looking name. On his father’s side, he is Belgian, Italian, and Dutch. “A true European,” he says, a real mixture. One of his ancestors is Sweelinck, an important composer in pre-Bach days.

I talked with Prégardien at the Salzburg Festival, while conducting interviews for the Salzburg Festival Society. He was singing Mozart at the festival. And in this sit-down, I open with a question about Mozart.

Prégardien is fascinating on this composer, as on several others. I will paraphrase:

I think the challenge that comes with singing Mozart is that you better follow his idea and not exaggerate your own idea about what is in the music. Mozart is something that lies perfectly between subjectivity and objectivity of expression. To serve Mozart is quite a challenge: vocally, mentally, artistically, and as a human being.

Mozart can never be about you. It has to be about the composer and his ideas.

Prégardien is a leading Don Ottavio, a character in Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni, and many people think that Ottavio is a thankless part (despite two great arias). Ottavio is thought of as weak and bland.

Comments Julian Prégardien:

I would say the image of Don Ottavio reveals a problem of our modern society, because to say that a supportive man is weak is something we should have overcome in the 21st century.

Don Giovanni should not be adored, because he’s the bad guy. Don Ottavio’s the good guy. He is husband material.

Mozart and Da Ponte [his librettist] are holding up a mirror to society. They are saying, “I bet you like Don Giovanni more than you do Don Ottavio. You better think about that.”

Prégardien grew up in Limburg, a medieval town in Hesse. Limburg was spared bombing in World War II. Prégardien owns an apartment in a house built in the 15th century.

He was part of the boys’ choir in town, a choir co-founded by his grandfather. Interesting man, his grandfather. Owing to an accident, he had a wooden leg. He sold walking sticks. He met a woman who sold umbrellas and walking sticks, and she became his wife, Julian’s grandmother.

They had a son Christoph, Julian’s father—one of the greatest lyric tenors of our time.

Did Christoph teach Julian? He had the good sense to let the boy go his own way. Naturally, Christoph was an influence on Julian. He “idolized” his father, he tells us, and still does. But Julian is not a carbon copy. Each singer is his own man.

By the way, father and son don’t argue about who has the more beautiful voice. They agree: Christoph’s father, and Julian’s grandfather, had the most beautiful tenor voice of them all.

I ask Julian, “Did you listen to any pop singers growing up?” Oh, yes, many. He names some German singers, including Herbert Grönemeyer. There was also the Kelly Family. And boy bands, including NSYNC, Caught in the Act, and the Backstreet Boys. Prégardien also mentions Nirvana and Kurt Cobain.

A special treat is that the tenor sings a line or two of a few songs. Pop singers are lucky that Prégardien doesn’t encroach on their territory, professionally.

As he is moving on the subject of Mozart, he is moving—very moving—on the subject of Bach. He has sung Bach his entire life. He and Bach have been constant companions.

Prégardien says,

He is a miracle. He was a giver all of his life. It was never about him. He signed most of his music “Soli Deo gloria” [Glory to God alone]. The buildings that he can construct with his music are both human and divine.

We also talk about Schubert. And the fortunes and fashions of the music industry. At the end, I ask him to give me some of his favorite singers. He names quite an assortment.

Andreas Scholl, the countertenor. Thomas Hampson, the baritone. Bryn Terfel, the bass-baritone. (His Rodgers & Hammerstein album!) The sopranos Pia Davila, Sabine Devieilhe, Dorothee Mields, and Jeanine De Bique. And Frank Sinatra and Amy Winehouse.

And his father, Christoph.

On all of these people, and on our various subjects, Julian Prégardien is thoughtful and interesting. One can learn a lot from him. And simply enjoy him. I’ll stop typing now and let you listen.

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Aryeh Nussbaum Cohen is an American countertenor—a singer from Brooklyn, N.Y. How do you pronounce that first name? As he explained to me, think of three letters: R-E-A. “Ar-ee-é” (with the stress on the first syllable.) And his last name is not “Cohen” but “Nussbaum Cohen.” Delightful guy. Excellent conversationalist. I have sat down with him at the Salzburg Festival.

I begin by asking—for all our sakes—“What’s a countertenor?” I will give his answer in slight paraphrase:

In classical music, a countertenor is still a bit of a rarity, but in pop music, it’s something we’re completely used to. It’s just a man singing in a range we traditionally associate with a woman. A range that is sometimes called “falsetto.” In pop music, you’re used to hearing the Bee Gees or Michael Jackson. Lots of male pop stars sing high like that.

How did Aryeh get launched, so to speak? If I have understood correctly, he was ten, and he attended the birthday party of a fellow ten-year-old—Elias. The party was American Idol-themed. There was a karaoke machine. And Aryeh’s number was “Respect,” the Aretha Franklin hit. He really let ’er rip.

And Elias’s mother, Frances, was amazed. “That’s a voice,” she said. She urged Aryeh’s parents to do something about it. She badgered them at school pickups and synagogue. Finally, they said, “Okay, okay,” and put him in a children’s choir.

That choir was not run-of-the-mill. They sang backup for—get this—Billy Joel, James Taylor, Sting, and Elton John. “I joke that I peaked at 13,” says Aryeh.

He also sang as a cantor. So did Richard Tucker and Jan Peerce (Rubin Ticker and Jacob Pincus Perelmuth), who became world-famous tenors.

Aryeh went to LaGuardia High School, a.k.a. the Fame school. Fellow students at the time included Ansel Elgort and Timothée Chalamet. He then went to Princeton, planning to go into law and politics. But something happened: he saw an opera (La bohème at the Met, in the Zeffirelli production). He thought, I want that.

He got it (though maybe not La bohème, which is not countertenor-friendly).

Near the end of our conversation, I ask him about his favorite singers. He names Lorraine Hunt Lieberson, the late mezzo-soprano. So did Fleur Barron, on an earlier Q&A. Aryeh Nussbaum Cohen goes on to name some rockers, pop artists, et al.

Crosby, Stills & Nash. Dylan. The Punch Brothers, with Chris Thile. Andrew Bird. Lake Street Dive. Brandi Carlile.

Aryeh and his wife have a four-month-old, Eli, who’s already bouncing around to Beyoncé.

I greatly enjoyed talking with ANC—not “African National Congress” but “Aryeh Nussbaum Cohen”—and I believe you will enjoy him too.

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Rainer Honeck occupies an interesting, and important, perch: he is a concertmaster of the Vienna Philharmonic. I have sat down with him at the Salzburg Festival, in a series of conversations hosted by the Salzburg Festival Society. It was a privilege to talk with Mr. Honeck. He rarely gives interviews. He lets his violin do the talking. He also claims he is not very good in English—but he can certainly express himself, as you will hear.

Mr. Honeck is a native Austrian, a member of a distinguished musical family. (His brother Manfred is the conductor of the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra.) The Honecks are distinguished, yes, but they were not born with silver spoons in their mouths. Far from it. They are musical “Horatio Algers,” I would say. They were privileged in the following respect: their father loved music, and immersed his children in it. (The Honecks’ mother died early on.)

The first question I ask Rainer Honeck is a basic one: What does a concertmaster do? The first thing he says is: Well, you have to be a good player. At least as good as the ones sitting behind you. Otherwise, you have problems.

I would think.

Over the years, I have talked with many violinists, and I usually ask, “Did you have models growing up? Violinists you especially admired and prized?” Often, they name Oistrakh or Heifetz (or both). (Younger ones tend to name Anne-Sophie Mutter.) Honeck says “Arthur Grumiaux,” the Belgian. Grumiaux was from a working-class family, but he was an aristocrat of the violin, an exemplar of taste.

I might note here that Rainer Honeck is a soloist and a chamber-music player, in addition to a concertmaster. He is a conductor, to boot.

What other questions? Well, Honeck plays a Stradivarius—does the quality of an instrument matter? Yes, all other things being equal. But the quality of the player is what really counts.

The Vienna Philharmonic is one mighty orchestra in the German-speaking world—and the world at large—and the Berlin Philharmonic is another. They are the big kahunas, you could say. What is the difference between their sounds?

Honeck says that the Vienna Phil is a “team-player orchestra.” They listen closely to one another, achieving unity. This comes, in part, from playing in the opera. (The Vienna Phil is the “pit band” for the Vienna State Opera, as well as a concert orchestra.) The Berlin Phil? They strive for unity too, of course—but they are also an orchestra of brilliant soloists.

Naturally, I ask Mr. Honeck about conductors he has worked under. He has very interesting things to say about Carlos Kleiber, Herbert von Karajan, and Leonard Bernstein, among others.

He has a lot to impart, and now I should stop typing and let you listen to Honeck himself. A rich musical resource.

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Fleur Barron is a very interesting singer, and an exceptionally versatile one. This summer, she is making her debut at the Salzburg Festival, where I sat down and talked with her. She is singing Mahler—a composer she has been singing a lot lately.

Where is she from? Well, her bio tells us this: “Born in Northern Ireland to a Singaporean mother and British father, Ms. Barron grew up in Hong Kong and later New York.” Her father was Brian Barron, a war correspondent for the BBC.

Fleur went to Columbia University, where she majored in comp lit. Her studies in college were broad. (She was versatile even then.) In her freshman year, she was thinking of a double major in math and medieval studies. (That is a mighty combo, in my book.)

Go back a little. When Fleur was a schoolgirl, she was cast in Aladdin—as Aladdin. She wanted to be Jasmine, as any girl would. But they cast her as Aladdin, owing to her relatively low voice. (Ms. Barron is a mezzo-soprano.)

My observation: Shouldn’t Fleur Barron get the title role, whatever it is?

In our podcast, I ask her about her life and career, and about music and the music industry. What is the future of classical music? That is a standard question, but not a bad one. In all of these matters, Fleur is wonderfully articulate, and you will enjoy spending time with her.

A very impressive young woman, and “a real individual,” too. (That was one of my grandmother’s highest terms of praise: “a real individual,” someone who doesn’t come out of a cookie cutter.)

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Gilberto Morbach is one of the most impressive young intellectuals I know. He is a scholar of legal philosophy and related fields. He is interested in, and devoted to, the rule of law, above all. He is a Brazilian, and I have consulted him in the past about the politics—the turbulent and complicated politics—of his country.

At the outset of our podcast, I ask him about his intellectual formation. He is an admirer of John Locke and Adam Smith. He also mentions Dostoevsky and Camus as influences.

He mentions a book, too, one that I am keen to read: Liberalism, Old and New, by José Guilherme Merquior (1941–91), a versatile Brazilian writer and intellectual.

For the last many years, Brazilian politics has been dominated by two big figures—two flaming populists, one of the Left, one of the Right: Lula da Silva and Jair Bolsonaro. Gilberto Morbach gives us reads on both of those men.

President Trump has just socked Brazil with big tariffs. Why? Well, we all know that Trump does not interfere in the internal affairs of other countries. He says so when he goes to visit Middle Eastern dictatorships. Yet he says that Brazil deserves to be punished with tariffs because the authorities there are persecuting Bolsonaro—who stands accused of planning a coup d’état.

Is Trump right? (No.)

How ought Bolsonaro to be characterized? Fashy? How about Lula? Commie? Dr. Morbach answers these questions, and all others, with knowledge and care.

For decades now, there has been a joke, and it must be a painful one to Brazilians. It goes something like this: “Brazil is the country of the future—a future that never seems to occur.” Back in the early 1940s, Stefan Zweig, the great Viennese writer, who had sought exile there, wrote a book called “Brazil, Land of the Future.” At the end of our conversation, Dr. Morbach deals with that question.

You will very much enjoy listening to him, I know.

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Seventeen times, Dottie Pepper won on the LPGA Tour. That includes two majors. In the years since, she has been a voice of golf: in particular, an on-course reporter for CBS Sports. With Jay, she talks about her life and this game that enchants, frustrates, and engrosses so many.

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Waad al-Kateab is a Syrian journalist, filmmaker, and activist, in exile. Jay did a “Q&A” with her in 2021. And then wrote a piece about her, “Witness from Syria.” Last month, the House of Assad fell, after about 55 years. Jay has spoken with Waad al-Kateab again. A moving and informative conversation.

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Jay has frequent opportunity to talk with Ramesh Ponnuru and Richard Brookhiser, two of his colleagues at National Review. He figured: why not have a talk with them on the air? He has done that—about politics, the media, conservatism, presidents, America, and more. Join them.

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David Frum was born and raised in Toronto, the son of prominent Canadians. He has since become a prominent U.S. writer, and a U.S. citizen. Nevertheless, there is hardly anyone more knowledgeable about Canada: its history, its politics, its cultures—its spirituality, if you will. With Jay, he discusses Justin Trudeau, Pierre Trudeau, relations with the USA, and so on. Fascinating. (Really.)

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Ivana Stradner is an analyst of international relations. She is affiliated with the School of Advanced International Studies, the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, and other institutions. She was once a Jeane Kirkpatrick fellow at the American Enterprise Institute. Serbian-born, she is an admirer of Ronald Reagan and an advocate of freedom and democracy—one with clear, properly cold eyes. With Jay, she discusses her life and some of the pivotal issues of our time.

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