Creativity Quote by Anton Seidl

Seidl is describing a quiet transfer of power that still shapes how we hear “the classics” today: once a composer can’t physically oversee every performance, someone else has to become the work’s public guardian. The sentence sounds administrative, almost like a memo, but the stakes are aesthetic and political. “Responsibility” isn’t just logistical; it’s authority. The conductor isn’t merely keeping time. He’s being deputized to decide what counts as faithful.

That loaded phrase, “in the spirit in which they had been conceived,” is the rhetorical masterstroke. “Spirit” is wonderfully slippery: it suggests an inner truth beyond the notes, something you can’t fully notate but can claim to intuit. In practice, that gives conductors a kind of moral cover. If tempo, balance, or phrasing is disputed, the argument isn’t “I prefer it,” but “this is what the piece means.” Seidl is legitimizing interpretation as a professional craft, not a personal indulgence.

The historical context matters. Late-19th-century concert life was scaling up: permanent orchestras, larger halls, touring circuits, and a canon that increasingly treated works as museum-worthy artifacts. Seidl, associated with Wagnerian tradition and the emerging cult of the maestro, is also defending a new hierarchy. The composer’s body disappears; the conductor becomes the visible auteur, the one who can promise continuity across distance and time. It’s a practical solution that also invents a new kind of celebrity: the interpreter as inheritor, trustee, and, inevitably, rival.