In my introduction to this Q&A, I say,

... our guest today is a college student—a senior at Stanford—and a journalist already, believe it or not. We have known each other for some time. He is John R. Puri—more formally, John Raj Puri.

Isn’t that a great moniker?

John comes from Des Moines, where he has seen the Iowa caucuses up close. Early on, he was drawn to politics and public affairs. When he was in elementary school, he learned the names of the presidents, in order—their full names, including middle names. When John was eight, his brother and his parents dressed up as Batman characters for Halloween. John dressed up as Richard Nixon.

You think I’m kidding? Photographic proof, thank you very much:

Later, when John learned more about Mr. Nixon, he decided that, if he had been a voter in 1972, he would have voted for John Ashbrook in the Republican presidential primaries.

In due course (a Buckley phrase), John found, well, William F. Buckley Jr., Milton Friedman, Thomas Sowell, George F. Will, and others.

Doing this Q&A, I ask John about politics on campus, to the extent that politics plays a part in campus life. (How big a part, really, is the question.) I also ask him what concerns him the most, in the arena of politics. His answer: the durability of our “constitutional design.” He is a man of 1776 and 1789, he says (alluding to the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution).

John R. Puri, it seems to me, is a throwback of a conservative—a wonderful throwback—and he may well give you hope for the future, as he does me.

“I’m glad you exist,” I tell him at the end. I sure am.

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Jeff Jacoby is now part of the furniture—part of the furniture of American journalism, certainly of opinion journalism. Since 1994, he has written a column for the Boston Globe. That is extraordinary longevity in the media. You can also find him at (where else?) jeffjacoby.com.

Though Jeff is a fixture in Boston, he comes from Cleveland. He regards himself as an Ohioan in Boston (as I regard myself as a Michigander in New York).

Jeff is a conservative, of the pre-2016 variety. To a degree, he has held down the conservative fort in New England these past 30 years.

With the regnant Right today, he has many differences, obviously. Maybe the biggest has to do with immigration—which he regards as a boon to our country.

... on a personal level, I’m the son of an immigrant, and I’m the father of an immigrant, and I’m the father-in-law of an immigrant. And I grew up in a community where I was surrounded by immigrants. I have a feeling for the value and the contribution of immigration to American society.

Not long ago, words such as those were standard-issue. Now they are fighting words.

In our Q&A, Jeff and I talk about various subjects, including the media, the Ukraine war, and music. At the end, I ask him to tell one of my favorite stories—a story he told me long ago, about a trip he took with his father to Auschwitz.

An adornment to our scene, a blessing on it: Jeff Jacoby.

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This new Q&A has two guests. With me gabbing too, it is a three-way convo. My guests are Bill Kristol and David French, those sharp and experienced political writers, and two of the people I most value.

You are, by now, familiar with “the Politico story”—the report from Politico about Young Republican leaders and what they say in their private (formerly private) chats.

This is dark, obnoxious stuff—to call it illiberal would be kind.

I have written a column about this matter, here. In it, I ask some questions that I have now put to Kristol and French: Was it ever thus? Can you draw a straight line from Reagan conservatism to Trumpism and today’s GOP?

(I say no—firmly, vehemently no.)

In our Q&A, we talk about our experiences in college and grad school. We ask: Was the “Reagan Right” a “real Right”? Or was it an exceptional, ephemeral Right, a classical-liberal Right, now engulfed by nationalism, populism, and worse?

In 2002, not long after 9/11 and the beginning of the War on Terror, Michael Walzer wrote a famous essay, famously titled: “Can There Be a Decent Left?” Well, can there be? Can there be a decent Right?

We address those questions, too.

Between the wars, in 1935, Sinclair Lewis wrote his novel It Can’t Happen Here. I always resented this book, starting with its title (an ironic one). My former resentment aside: Can it? Can Americans be seduced by fascism and other dark isms, same as other peoples?

David French, in particular, notes the rising popularity of Nick Fuentes. I mention Fuentes in my column today. He is more popular, more influential, than should make any of us comfortable.

A free society, an open society, is a relative rarity in human history. We wonder—French, Kristol, and I—whether we can “keep” this republic (to borrow Franklin’s word).

You can learn a great deal from Bill Kristol and David French. I long have. Make time for this meandering, meaty discussion. I think you will find it worthwhile.

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Kristina Hammer is the president of the Salzburg Festival—which in Salzburg, and Austria, and Europe, and the music world, is a very big deal. She grew up in Germany—the Black Forest—and studied in Mainz and Vienna. As a business executive, she worked in the department-store field for a while. And in cars: Aston Martins, Jaguars, Mercedes-Benzes, and other fine autos.

Get this: She had a role in bringing the Aston Martin back into the Bond movies. (I think that 007 had been driving a BMW for a bit.)

Kristina Hammer has led a busy and multifaceted life, and she has interesting things to say about a range of subjects.

Her life has always been filled with music. She first visited Salzburg when she was five or six. Her grandmother had taken her. Kristina went to the Marionette Theater to see The Magic Flute. She soon “graduated” to other performances.

In the course of our conversation, I bring up the subject of fundraising—fundraising and sponsorship. I recount a conversation I had with Beverly Sills, years ago. (Sills, to remind you, was a soprano, and one of the most famous opera singers in the world. In fact, she was a celebrity, certainly in America. After her retirement from singing, she served as an arts administrator.)

“I raised $100 million for the March of Dimes,” she told me. (I might mention that both of Sills’s children were severely handicapped.) Back then, a hundred mil meant something, trust me. “Medical causes do better than music,” she continued. “If you have some disease to cure, you’re not going to want to fork over millions for another production of La bohème.”

But! “But I say in all my speeches, ‘Art is the signature of civilization.’” And Sills was successful in raising money for the arts, as she was in her sundry other endeavors.

I have typed enough. You will want to hear Kristina Hammer. Unfortunately, my technology was imperfect. She is softer in volume than I would like. (I am loud as ever, I’m sorry to say. Booming.) But she is plenty audible and well worth it.

This episode concludes my series from the Salzburg Festival. Q&A will resume with other guests, in other sectors, shortly.

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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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