Over the years, I have done several podcasts with Jeb Bush. They are always interesting and refreshing. For two terms, 1999 to 2007, he was the governor of Florida. Other governors looked to him for inspiration and advice. (I heard several of them say so, on the record and off.)

After his governorship, he established his Foundation for Excellence in Education, otherwise known as “ExcelinEd.” He is its chairman today.

We begin our latest discussion with education policy. How did he get into the subject in the first place? I also want to know: Is there a federal role in education, or should it be strictly a state or local matter? How about the teachers’ unions? Are they villains?

Jeb Bush is from old American families, on both sides. His first ancestor in America arrived in 1647. Some would call him a “Heritage American.” He thinks all of this is nonsense, as you can imagine. He has no use for nativism. (And he married an immigrant from Mexico.)

We talk about immigration, and ICE. And about our $40 trillion debt. When it comes to foreign affairs, we talk about the Iran war, Ukraine, and Venezuela. We look back at the Republican presidential primaries in 2016—could anything have stopped the Trumpian wave? We talk about the Bush family.

At the end, I ask Jeb whether he has anything else to say, anything else on his mind. Yes, he says: Don’t let social media get the better of us.

Q&A is the podcast of this site, Onward and Upward. The site is supported by readers and listeners. To receive new articles and episodes—and to support the work of the writer and podcaster—become a free or paid subscriber. Many thanks to you.

Maybe I could quote from my introduction:

… our guest today is one of my favorites: Steven B. Smith, the scholar of political philosophy. He is a Chicagoan—not a North Shore kid but a gritty South Sider, who would earn his Ph.D. at the local school: the University of Chicago. Since 1984, he has taught at Yale, where he is the Alfred Cowles Professor of Political Science.

He is the author of many books, including Modernity and Its Discontents. Back in 2021, we talked about his then new book Reclaiming Patriotism in an Age of Extremes.

He has now written On Statesmanship. It is a beautiful, learned book, which distills years of study and thinking. And raw human experience, I would say.

For Professor Smith, I have many questions, starting with “What is statesmanship? Who is a statesman? Not just any politician or officeholder, right?” We talk about a range of particular statesmen, including Pericles, FDR, and Lee Kuan Yew.

What was the impetus for this book? Why did Smith write it? I will abbreviate and paraphrase his answer:

For two reasons, really. One is relevant to our public life, and the other is more relevant to academic life.

Clearly, we are suffering from a dearth of great leaders—not just in America, but in many other places as well. In the last generation, there has been a rise of authoritarian leaders, but no rise on the other side: no rise of true statesmen.

We have seen a slow degradation of our politics and our public life. This book is an attempt to say, great democracies need great leaders—and we have lost the language for it. We have lost sight of what the qualities for great leadership are. We barely know how to talk about it.

On to academia:

From the beginning, philosophers have discussed the concept of the statesman. The history of philosophy is replete with profound reflections on statesmanship.

Think of Plato’s philosopher-king. And Machiavelli’s prince. And Rousseau’s lawgiver. And Weber’s thoughts on charisma, etc.

That has all but disappeared from the academy. We think a lot about democracy, and the problems of democracy, but not very much about leaders in a democracy. If you think that democracies don’t require great leaders—think again.

If there is one thing that keeps Steven Smith from despair, it’s this: you never know who will rise, and how. You never know who’s out there, to save the day—or at least to make the day better than it would have been.

Who would ever have identified Lincoln? Yet “he both rose and mastered the occasion,” says Smith.

He also talks about de Gaulle:

Nobody had any idea who he was. He was a military officer, with no public visibility. When he spoke over the BBC from England, people didn’t even believe that that was a real name: “de Gaulle.” They thought it was made up. Yet through force of his personality and intellect, he created Free France and then the modern state.

At the end of our Q&A, I bring up a mysterious and touchy subject: “American exceptionalism.” I have always believed in it, and counted on it, but my faith is waning. And I’m not even sure what it is.

I will give Smith’s (excellent) answer—again, in my abbreviation and paraphrase:

I’m a little bit hesitant to put it this way, but I’ll go ahead: I believe that, in many ways, “American exceptionalism” is our foundational myth.

The Founders believed that they were creating something new and different. Hamilton said, We’re going to prove that a society doesn’t have to rely on accident and chance. It can be created through reflection and choice. This will be a different kind of society from others in the past.

There’s an old joke. Someone asks a philosopher, “Do you believe in free will?” He answers, “Of course I do. I have no choice.”

I feel a bit that way about American exceptionalism. Of course I believe in it—we have no choice. We have to regard ourselves as an exceptional people who are engaged in a mission that is a light unto the nations. We are a city on a hill …

This is a long conversation—like a seminar—but I feel it is not long enough. You can learn a great deal from Steven Smith, without paying Yale tuition. And the price of the book, On Statesmanship? Worth every penny.

Q&A is the podcast of this site, Onward and Upward. The site is supported by readers and listeners. To receive new articles and episodes—and to support the work of the writer and podcaster—become a free or paid subscriber. Many thanks to you.

The only thing wrong, the only thing regrettable, about this podcast is that it’s out of proportion. What I mean is, Flicka, the legend, the giant, is in a little box and I’m in a bigger box. That’s the way the technology worked out. If I could reverse the boxes—believe me, I would.

“Flicka” is Frederica von Stade, the great mezzo-soprano, and she is the subject of a new documentary: Flicka: A Love Letter. How does she feel about this?

Well, there’s a certain amount of embarrassment, but basically pure joy. It was a wonderful experience. I was treated royally and spoiled incredibly, and it gave me a chance to look back. It was a wonderful, wonderful trip down Memory Lane, and I’m so grateful.

(I have paraphrased—tightened—but only slightly.)

Flicka is an octogenarian, but she is also, if I may, an eternal babe. She is always involved in projects of a charitable nature. On September 26, she will be giving a benefit concert in Fairfield, Iowa.

In our Q&A—not our first and I hope not our last—we cover a range of issues. We talk a fair amount about repertoire: songs and operas.

I say to her,

Flicka, it occurs to me that you are a singer without specialty. You may be known for French songs and French opera roles, and for Mozart, but you have sung pretty much everything under the sun, song-wise and opera-wise. You have done Italian, French, German, English. Any Russian or Czech? Have you done those?

Czech, yes, she answers, but Russian, no. Also: she has sung in Yiddish.

Are there songs she would have liked to sing, but didn’t, or opera roles she would have liked to have, but didn’t? Any “omissions,” any “lacunae,” as Bill Buckley would say?

No.

I feel maybe a little bit arrogant saying so, but I feel that my life has been blessed by opportunity, and I’m grateful for every song I sang and every aria I sang. Every performance I did. I couldn’t want for more, I just couldn’t. It would be indecent, in my mind.

She works with many young singers, at conservatories as far away as New Zealand (where her friend Kiri Te Kanawa, the soprano, lives). “I’m so glad that none of these kids were around when I was beginning,” says Flicka, “because I would never have had a job. They are out of this world.” But “I tremble for their future.”

Why? Because there ain’t jobs. They are getting scarcer and scarcer, as the opera world and the recital world shrink and shrink. Some young singers are starting their own programs, their own series. There is a return to house concerts—music in the parlor.

No matter what, “we have to keep on trekking,” says Flicka. I love this variation on “keep on trucking.” I hope always to remember “keep on trekking,” and to do it.

Are there composers she feels especially close to? Composers who really speak to her? Yes, and one is a living composer, and, not only that, a friend of hers: Jake Heggie. Flicka also names Poulenc, famously (and accurately) described as “half rascal, half monk.”

Frederica von Stade is one of the most recorded artists of our time. She has over a hundred of them—over a hundred recordings. Does she ever listen to them? No, she says (as I thought she would). She does not like to listen to her recordings. She’s apt to feel that her intention—her musical, emotional, or theatrical purpose—does not come through.

It should be a consolation, I tell her, that she’s the only one who knows …

Before Flicka rose to prominence, there was a triumvirate of great mezzo-sopranos (in my mind): Janet Baker, Christa Ludwig, and Marilyn Horne. Could she say something about each of them? She does indeed.

She has sung with many famous singers—as famous as she. Can she give me the name of a singer, a colleague, who is underrated? Who should be a bigger deal than he or she is? Yes: Richard Stillwell, the American baritone.

How about younger singers—singers now in their primes? Who stands out? Von Stade cites, among others, Sasha Cooke and Quinn Kelsey. The former is a mezzo-soprano from Texas and the latter is a baritone from Hawaii (yes, Hawaii, our 50th state).

I can second those nominations if a second is needed, which it isn’t.

At the end of our podcast, I give Flicka a little quiz: When did she first appear in Carnegie Hall? She whiffs the question (as I figured she would). (This woman is not self-absorbed.) The answer: February 1973, with the New Jersey Symphony Orchestra.

In the new documentary, Jake Heggie says, “When Flicka walks into a room, it’s like your best friend just walked into the room—although you may be meeting her for the first time.”

True, so true. Enjoy your friend Flicka.

Q&A is the podcast of this site, Onward and Upward. The site is supported by readers and listeners. To receive new articles and episodes—and to support the work of the writer and podcaster—become a free or paid subscriber. Many thanks to you.

Listeners to Q&A are familiar with Manfred Honeck, and with Rainer Honeck, too. The latter is a concertmaster of the Vienna Philharmonic. I interviewed him last summer on behalf of the Salzburg Festival Society—listen to our conversation here. Rainer Honeck is now retiring from the Philharmonic, though his musical activities will continue.

Manfred Honeck, I have spoken with several times, and he is a favorite guest of our program. He was once a member of the Vienna Philharmonic—a violist (though his primary instrument had been the violin). He then turned to conducting. He and Rainer and their siblings are Austrian through and through, but Manfred has been in Pittsburgh since 2008, serving as the music director of the PSO, the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra.

At the Salzburg Festival this summer, Honeck has been conducting an opera by Richard Strauss, one of the founders of the festival. That opera is Ariadne auf Naxos. In the pit has been the Vienna Phil, including one Rainer Honeck. So, these have been special days for the brothers.

As I remark to Manfred in our new Q&A, their parents would have loved to be in the house.

I have podcasted with Maestro Honeck, once more, on behalf of the SFS, the Salzburg Festival Society. He and I cover a fair amount of ground—and I begin with an odd question.

Like most people, or many people, I love the music of Richard Strauss: his tone poems, operas, songs, etc. (I especially like his songs. So did he, by the way. Toward the end of his life, Strauss told Hans Hotter, the German bass-baritone, “I like my songs best.”) I must say, I have never warmed up to Ariadne auf Naxos.

Does Maestro Honeck like it?

Yes, he does. And he relates a story.

Years ago, he was in the orchestra—the Vienna Philharmonic—for Ariadne. This summer, a violist in the orchestra showed him something touching. The violist in question was using the same score used by Honeck himself. It’s a tradition in the orchestra to sign your name in a score. Manfred Honeck and his stand partner did this, all those years ago.

In our Q&A, I ask Honeck when he first started at the Salzburg Festival. It happened in a memorable, even exciting, way. Honeck was a substitute in the Philharmonic, as I understand it—not yet a full-time member. And he got an emergency call: A member of the first violin section had fallen ill. Could Honeck come in and take his place?

Yes, he could. So, that night, he played in Der Rosenkavalier—another Strauss opera—under Herbert von Karajan (a legendary conductor).

In Pittsburgh, Honeck has a contract that runs through 2033. That would be a 25-year tenure. Such longevity is rare in a music directorship these days. Honeck and I discuss this issue.

We also discuss differences in audiences—Europe vs. America. Europeans tend to applaud on an on. The performers come back for several curtain calls. We Americans tend to jump to our feet, immediately, and give a burst of applause. Then we bolt for the exits.

Does Honeck mind? Not at all. He is a broad-minded fellow.

In every generation, people worry that classical music is fading away—that no one is interested anymore. I have often quoted Charles Rosen, the late pianist-scholar: “The death of classical music is perhaps the oldest tradition of classical music.”

So I know I’m embodying a stereotype when I say: I’m worried as hell, especially about America—the health of classical music on our shores. It seems like music and high culture in general are going downward, fast.

Manfred Honeck is not unconcerned. Music education needs to be shored up (or even reestablished). But he says, Have faith in music. Trust music to draw people, as it always has.

I can buy that.

What music is Manfred Honeck especially close to these days? He speaks movingly about Bruckner and Mahler. And, at the end of our conversation, I ask him what pieces he would like to conduct that he has not yet conducted. What is he looking forward to? Does he have anything in reserve?

In interviews over the years, Riccardo Muti, the Italian maestro, has told me that he waited a long time to conduct Beethoven’s Ninth. He waited until he was ready. He waited an even longer time to conduct Beethoven’s Missa solemnis. And he waited still longer to conduct the Bruckner Eighth.

That was two years ago, when Muti was 83.

Honeck understands the Italian maestro very well. He himself is waiting to conduct Mahler’s Eighth. And a masterpiece of Bach: the St. Matthew Passion.

It would be good to be present, when Honeck tackles these works. Meantime, I know you will enjoy this Q&A with him. He is a superb musician, a thoughtful interviewee, and a real gent.

Q&A is the podcast of this site, Onward and Upward. The site is supported by readers and listeners. To receive new articles and episodes—and to support the work of the writer and podcaster—become a free or paid subscriber. Many thanks to you.

Eric Cutler is one of the best tenors in all the world, and he is my latest guest on Q&A. He is singing this summer at the Salzburg Festival, where I am also working (in different capacities!). I have sat down with him on behalf of the Salzburg Festival Society.

Eric is from Adel, Iowa, about 25 miles west of Des Moines. In his sophomore year of high school, something interesting happened. It was “one of those serendipitous things,” as he says. There was an exchange student at school whose father was a tenor. There were lots of recordings in the home.

This made an impression on Eric Cutler.

He went to Luther College, in Decorah (Iowa). He studied with an excellent singing teacher, Ed Andereck. The first opera Eric ever saw, he was in. This is true of a great many singers: they never had a chance to see an opera until they were in one.

Eric was in The Elixir of Love, in the leading role of Nemorino.

He was soon at the Met, in New York. What was that like?

“You know, here’s this kid from the sticks, from the farms of Iowa, and then all of a sudden I’m let loose in New York in the ’90s. I mean, it was terrifying, but it also expanded my world exponentially.”

In 2005, he won a big award: the Richard Tucker Award. The world was his oyster.

The next year, in 2006, he was singing in Edinburgh—The Magic Flute, under the baton of Claudio Abbado. The German soprano Julia Kleiter was also in the cast. They married.

Julia is the niece of Christoph Prégardien, the tenor, and therefore the cousin of Julian Prégardien, also a tenor. Lotta singing in that family. I interviewed Julian here in Salzburg last year.

With Eric, I talk about a number of issues, several of them touchy. Take amplification (please). There is creeping amplification in the opera world—microphones and all that. If it creeps too far, says Eric, that’ll be the end of the art form.

He is worried about the future of opera, on various counts. He is also worried about the future of voice recitals. Many, many of us share these worries.

Did I say “future”? There’s plenty to worry about where the present is concerned.

One problem plaguing the opera world, says Eric, is screwy productions—productions out of harmony with the operas they’re intended to serve. People are “pissed off,” says Eric (and I can vouch for this).

Another touchy subject, a touchy question: Do some people—administrators, critics, politicians, operagoers—have a problem with American singers? Singers with names like “John Smith,” or “Eric Cutler,” rather than “Giovanni Martinelli”?

Yes.

In any event, Eric is a happy warrior, and a grateful warrior. We talk about some of his favorite singers, all-time. Jussi Bjoerling is just about No. 1.

Near the end of our talk, Eric says, “My great love since I was 15 years old has been the feeling of singing an open-throated operatic high note. It feels like hitting a 350-yard drive down the middle, or knocking a baseball out of the park.”

I know the feeling. I mean, I don’t, but I can imagine.

You will enjoy getting to know Eric Cutler, a superb singer, and a warm, thoughtful person.

Q&A is the podcast of this site, Onward and Upward. The site is supported by readers and listeners. To receive new articles and episodes—and to support the work of the writer and podcaster—become a free or paid subscriber. Many thanks to you.

Alexander Malofeev is a Russian pianist, born in 2001. He left Russia in 2022 and lives in Berlin. Last night, he played a recital at the Salzburg Festival. The day before that, I sat down with him for a podcast on behalf of the Salzburg Festival Society. I will write an article about Malofeev, and his recital, in due course. In the meantime, here is our discussion, our podcast. Sasha (as he asks me to call him) is not only a brilliant pianist, he is also a wonderful interviewee—thoughtful, candid, endearing. You’ll see.

Oh, one more thing: In this podcast, we talk about Mikhail Pletnev’s transcription of the Grand pas de deux from Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker. It is a frequent Malofeev encore. To hear Sasha in it, go here.

And one more one more thing: interviewee and interviewer:

Q&A is the podcast of this site, Onward and Upward. The site is supported by readers and listeners. To receive new articles and episodes—and to support the work of the writer and podcaster—become a free or paid subscriber. Many thanks to you.

The “D” stands for “Daniel,” actually. But when I introduce him on this latest podcast of ours (we have done many), I’m inspired to say, “… my guest today is my longtime friend and colleague Kevin Williamson—Kevin D. Williamson, and the ‘D’ is for ‘Damn Right.’”

He is, too, reliably.

Kevin is the national correspondent for The Dispatch, and his latest book—penetrating and stylish, in his accustomed fashion—is Big White Ghetto.

In our Q&A, we traverse many issues, of many types: political, literary, economic … One of our first issues is Homer’s Odyssey, and the new Christopher Nolan movie. Everyone with a pen has written about it. A piece by Kevin is one of the best: here.

What have the Greeks and Romans and antiquity in general meant in Kevin’s life? That’s what I want to know.

We then talk about—be prepared for three explosive words—“the common good.” Sounds good. Is it, and if so, how and when?

We move on to policing, and ICE in particular. (Are these guys police—actual cops—or do they belong in a different category?) Then we get into conservatism, and the state of the American Right.

Here is a general statement made by Kevin, one I fully endorse: “Our crisis in our politics is I think fundamentally a spiritual and moral crisis. It’s not an economic crisis.”

And yet, there is economics to discuss. Recently, I had a column headed “A Screaming Yet Quiet Problem, &c.” I was talking about our nation’s fiscal house: the federal budget deficit, the national debt. I ask Kevin to scream about it, as he has been doing for many years.

In truth, he does not scream. He addresses the problem in a cool and collected manner, while sparing nothing.

Another issue: the Haitians in a little Midwestern town. Two years ago, Kevin published a piece called “The Exotic Cat-Eaters of Springfield, Ohio.” (Marvelous, memorable piece of reporting and thinking.) In our Q&A, I quote to him a tweet from Noah Smith:

I will never forget the “Haitians eating cats” lie. I will never let it go. It was so deliberate and monstrous and unprovoked and cruel, and no one has ever apologized for it.

Something to think about. Something to burn about.

Toward the end of our conversation, we talk about language, accents, where we’re from. Kevin has lived all over America, and abroad (India). Is he always a Texan, wherever he goes?

Before signing off, I say, “Kevin, you provide your readers edification, laughs, and I would say comfort. You make one feel less alone, and thank you so much.” He answers, “Man, if people are turning to me for comfort, God help us.”

Well, so be it.

Q&A is the podcast of this site, Onward and Upward. The site is supported by readers and listeners. To receive new articles and episodes—and to support the work of the writer and podcaster—become a free or paid subscriber. Many thanks to you.

Gabriel Sterling was one of those human guardrails. There are guardrails written down—in the Constitution, in our laws. But what do they matter, if there are not officials who will do their duty?

Sterling is an elections official in Georgia, a Republican. He refused to say that the 2020 presidential election in his state was anything other than what it was: scrupulously fair.

Stephen Richer was such an official in Arizona. I podcasted with him in April 2024, and I have now podcasted with Sterling. (A sterling guy, he is.)

We talk about many subjects—with an emphasis on the 2020 election—but I will be brief in this accompanying text.

Many people say of Mike Pence, “Yeah, he did not betray his oath on January 6. He did not betray his country. Big deal. You wanna give him a cookie for that? You wanna praise and hail him?”

You can say something similar about Gabriel Sterling, Stephen Richer, and others. I understand the sentiment very well.

There is a story I’ve told many times, in different contexts. It is about Bobby Jones in the 1925 U.S. Open. He called a penalty on himself—a two-stroke penalty. No one had seen the infraction. But he had, and golf is a game of honor.

He wound up losing the Open by one stroke.

When people praised him for his sportsmanship and honesty, he would have none of it. He scoffed, “Sooner praise a man for not robbing a bank.”

I get it, I get it—and I agree with it. But …

What if everyone else is robbing a bank? What if powerful people, and your fellow party members, are pressuring you to rob a bank? What if it takes courage, guts, not to rob a bank?

This is why I think the likes of Pence deserve our thanks.

In our podcast, Gabriel Sterling tells a story or two, and I will quote him in one (paraphrasing slightly):

Not long after the election, I was at a Publix, a supermarket, here in Metro Atlanta, and there was a young African-American man, wearing a mask. He was mopping. He was down on the floor, cleaning up a spill, and he saw me, and he got up immediately. He said, “Mr. Sterling, Mr. Sterling.” I’m like, “Yes?” He said, “I just want to thank you so much. This was my first vote. I’m so proud to know that you were defending it.”

I’m getting teary-eyed now thinking about it.

Same here, honestly.

Q&A is the podcast of this site, Onward and Upward. The site is supported by readers and listeners. To receive new articles and episodes—and to support the work of the writer and podcaster—become a free or paid subscriber. Many thanks to you.

Alexander Browder is an extraordinary young man. A 17-year-old Brit, he has just been sanctioned by the Russian government. His “crime”? Alexander has uncovered the Kremlin’s cryptocurrency racket—its money-laundering operation.

For details, go here.

He has also uncovered eye-popping things about North Korea and Iran, and their exploitation of cryptocurrency.

Alexander is the son of Bill Browder—Sir William Browder—the financier who has devoted his life to opposing Putin and his dictatorship. In 2018, I wrote a piece: “A Family in History: The strange odyssey of the Browders.”

At the end of our conversation, I tell Alexander that I’m worried about him. Bill has long been in the crosshairs of the Kremlin, and now this teenage Browder has rattled the Kremlin’s cage too?

Says Alexander, “I think that if you live in fear, it really constricts you and what you are able to do.” Think of the people in Ukraine, he says, who are assaulted by Putin’s military daily. “So, if I can have any effect, why shouldn’t I be doing something?”

An amazing young man, and a chip off the old block.

Q&A is the podcast of this site, Onward and Upward. The site is supported by readers and listeners. To receive new articles and episodes—and to support the work of the writer and podcaster—become a free or paid subscriber. Many thanks to you.

As regular readers know, one of my favorite writers, and favorite people, is Mark Helprin. His new novel is Elegy in Blue. (Marvelous title, and utterly suited to the book.) (It wouldn’t be so marvelous if it weren’t so suited, true.) The book includes some familiar Helprinian themes: love, New York, the sea, courage. In our new Q&A, we discuss those, and more.

Mark ends our discussion by emphasizing the beauty and protean wonder of the English language. He is both a guardian of our language and a pride of it.

This fellow is important to me and many others.

Q&A is the podcast of this site, Onward and Upward. The site is supported by readers and listeners. To receive new articles and episodes—and to support the work of the writer and podcaster—become a free or paid subscriber. Many thanks to you.