French conductor Clément Mao-Takacs is coming to Adelaide Festival 2025 to conduct Kaija Saariaho’s Finnish opera Innocence. We chat to him about opera, conducting and of course what to expect from Innocence.
Clément Mao-Takacs, the opera Innocence is coming to Adelaide Festival in February/March. The score was composed by Kaija Saariaho, a Finnish composer based in Paris. This is her last oper and it is considered one of the most important operas written this century. Have you ever conducted other works by Kaija Saariaho? How do they compare with this one? Why is this one so important?
I’ve conducted a lot of Kaija’s works, vocal as well as instrumental, symphonic as well as operatic. There are, of course, specificities linked to each piece, because Kaija paid great attention to the instruments for which she wrote, the orchestral or ensemble textures, the voices, etc., but she was also careful not to repeat herself from one work to the next: some works dialogue with each other or propose a more in-depth study of certain compositional gestures; but each one has its own universe.
Kaija’s constant research and interest in sound, its analysis and richness, as well as in instrumental and vocal gesture, mean that a highly recognisable ‘Saariaho style’ can obviously be identified; but like the great composers of the past, one can try to imitate Kaija, but this will not produce good results, because her style is born of an inner creative need that has led her to forge her own vocabulary, her own grammar, in order to express herself fully.
Innocence is her ‘last’ opera (but not her last work). Kaija has often presented it as such; I think what she really wanted to say was that the energy and time required to compose an opera were very, sometimes too great, and that she felt she had already explored a great deal through her operatic output since her very first opera L’Amour de loin.
Innocence does not resemble Kaija’s other works. It contains elements of her language, her fascination with languages and their distinctive sonorities, her ability to create atmospheres and express human emotions bordering on the unspeakable. However, it is a work that brings together numerous human and musical resources while being driven by a kind of urgency. In this opera, there is a desire to be as close as possible to the libretto and the characters, never to overflow, to express very different states of being, while maintaining an extreme concentration of time and drama. In a way, this work could be compared and linked to Berg’s Wozzeck, an opera that was very important to Kaija for many reasons; like the Viennese composer, Kaija brought opera into the 21st century in one fell swoop, by reinventing the idea of motif and leitmotif, by proposing a form that is both clear and complex, and by striking a balance between sophisticated, demanding, very modern musical writing and the expression of feelings and emotions that appeal to all audiences.

What are the particular challenges of conducting a score by Kaija Saariaho?
Strictly speaking, there is no difference between conducting a work by Beethoven, Wagner, Brahms or Debussy. You have to master the elements of their musical language to be able to convey them to the musicians ; you need to have a clear idea of « how it should sound ». You need to know to take the time to work in depth to draw the musicians’ attention to the structure within the large orchestral masses and the specific mixture of timbres.
Technically, for a conductor, you have to be able to be both very strict about tempo, contrasts and sound volumes (from the gentlest to the most violent, from the mystery of the birth of sound to its maximum saturation, with all the range that there can be between these extremes), but also know how to allow breathing space, semi-freedom, and never neglect expressivity – even if, sometimes, that means seeking something that is ‘expressionless, ohne Ausdruck’.
From my point of view, this music should be interpreted as naturally as Monteverdi, Mozart, Brahms or Messiaen: you can propose a radical vision, but you must never caricature this music, nor give it something artificial that is completely foreign to it. Even in the use of electronics, Kaija had this sense of accuracy and proportion: it’s always a question of giving an extra aura to a sound, an expression, a character, but without it seeming excessive.
Finally, this is music that constantly raises the question of the relationship with silence: how music is born, returns, disappears or continues through silence. Like the relationship between light and shadow, music in general, and Kaija’s music in particular, questions this relationship between music and silence.
Conductors often work on operas by composers who have been gone for a long time. When the composer is still alive, as was the case here, how does that change the way you approach the opera? Do you ever ask the composer to clarify his/he rintentions? Does this leave you less room for creative manoeuvre?
It’s great to be able to speak to the composer, to be able to ask them questions : even when you find something odd in a score, it’s a real relief to be able to phone, chat, write to find out whether it’s a misprint or not. If we could communicate with deceased composers, life would sometimes be easier, and we’d sometimes feel less like we were perhaps ‘betraying’ them by making a particular decision about tempo or dynamics!
The creators who have departed leave us scores that are halfway between an architect’s plans and a testament: they can be very precise and detailed, with even recordings going back a century and a half, or testimonies; they can also be very vague and almost of the order of a slightly haphazard archaeological reconstruction. But in both cases, there is room for interpretation and undoubtedly for error, and that’s both frightening and wonderful.
With living composers, it also depends on their degree of involvement: some put/say everything into the writing; others get involved in the rehearsal process. Kaija was at once very present, attentive and precise about the way she wanted something to sound; and at the same time, she didn’t hesitate to modify notation or dynamics in order to be as close as possible to her ideal of sound realisation, and to make her score as easy to understand and assimilate as possible for those who received it.
You might think that having the composer at your side would inhibit the performer’s creativity: it’s quite the opposite. In fact, it gives you a better understanding of what we try to do on a daily basis with Purcell or Mahler: to grasp the composer’s intentions, to enter into his world. And that actually leaves a huge amount of freedom and room for manoeuvre. Moreover, Kaija has always been extremely open to certain interpretative suggestions, and working with her and seeing her work with ‘her’ favourite performers has also taught me to be increasingly free with all music. Despite everything, Innocence, especially in this stage version, is a very constrained score and certainly the opera that offers the least freedom to the performers!

Does this work by Kaija Saariaho follow in the footsteps of other Finnish lyrical compositions?
In a sense, yes. Kaija Saariaho certainly doesn’t subscribe to the tradition of operas written in Finnish on Finnish subjects, in a half-folkloric, half-nationalist vein – that’s not a criticism: there are some excellent operas in that vein! What is certain is that Kaija had a great deal of respect for Finnish composers like her teacher Paavo Heininen and many others, and although she developed her career internationally and lived in other countries, Finland permeates an important part of her creation.
For example, for several years she had been exploring certain roots of her musical imagination with her work on the kantele, the traditional Finnish instrument; she also talked a lot about sounds she heard as a child. More consistently, the music of the language of her native country and the countries where she has lived has been a source of inspiration from her earliest to her latest works – where the very idea of breathing becomes a musical and compositional gesture.
In Innocence, one of the main characters sings, but not like an opera singer: it’s essentially Finnish folk singing, with guttural or high-pitched sounds, a very marked way of registering the tessitura, and effects and ornaments that are more or less written. But all this is never a copy or rewriting of a traditional song; it’s Kaija’s language mixed with a particular technique from folklore, but which is integrated into the composer’s universe.
You don’t always conduct with a baton – For example in recent images on Instagram from the Terraque festival, you conduct with just your hands. Is the choice of conducting with or without a baton dependent on the day, the occasion or the composition?
As a general rule: you can conduct with or without a baton, it makes no difference: you have to be just as precise, just as expressive, just as technically skilful with or without a baton. It’s important to realise that the baton is a tool designed to make the gesture more visible/readable. It is therefore particularly useful when conducting large orchestras, and especially in opera, where it can facilitate the communication of information despite the distance from the singers and the position of the conductor in the pit.
It can also depend on the circumstances: a box of batons confiscated at the airport or left at home, and then you’re conducting without a baton! Being dependent on a tool is out of the question. However, even if I sometimes like to test fancy batons (like chopsticks for eating Asian food, or a toy lent by a friend), I conduct since the age of 12 with the same batons, made by the same Japanese craftsman. It’s a very simple baton, made of maple and cork, a bit like Harry Potter, it immediately suited my hand.
But it is also true that there is some music that I like to conduct without a wand : the works of Mozart, Debussy’s Prélude à l’Après-Midi d’un Faune, Wagner’s Siegfried-Idyll, Webern’s Pièces op. 10 … Perhaps because I have the impression of holding the music in my hands, caressing it, letting it flow? Or is it because that’s how I learned it? I don’t know. In any case, it’s neither an instrument nor a sign of power.
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In an interview with Mon Analyse you said : ‘My first baguette… There’s a video, I’m told, that shows me conducting at the age of 3 or 4. I must have had my first baton when I was around 7 or 8, but since I was 12, I’ve always used the same model, made in Japan, of which I have around fifty (because they do break sometimes)’. So you wanted to be a conductor from a young age. Who and how were you introduced to the orchestral world and why did you decide you wanted to become a conductor?
It all came very naturally. My parents found that my brother and I had a natural and easy relationship with music, so they enrolled us in various music theory and instrument courses – percussion, horn, clarinet, cello, piano… And then we both sang in professional children’s choirs, which led us to work with great conductors like Ozawa, Abbado, Rattle… on scores from the choral repertoire like Mahler’s symphonies or certain operas. And very quickly, it became obvious that I wanted to become like Mahler, a composer, conductor and pianist – for me, the three are complementary and mutually nourishing.
So I conducted my first orchestras quite early on, and there was never any questioning of my artistic and technical abilities. With hindsight, I think I simply went for the place in the world that suits me best, and where I can be most useful. I also like the fact that I’m between the musicians and the audience, between the stage and the hall, that I know everything behind the scenes and that I’m the captain of the ship at the time of the show.
It’s a wonderful job: I can help performers give their best, work with celebrities and help young people get their start, bring together artistic and technical forces, bring a score to life, support a director’s vision, propose a humane and humanistic way of working, spend my time in concert halls and theatres… Why would I want to do anything else?

According to Simon Stone, the director of Innocence, it is a a “beautiful exploration about the scars that we carry with us, and the need to sometimes reopen wounds to make sure that we can heal them properly a second time around.” He says it’s heartbreaking and humanistic, with a positive, loving message about humanity. How do you work with such emotions?
It’s the audience who experience these emotions live. My job is to bring them to the audience; that’s why I keep a certain emotional distance from what the characters are going through, while trying to infuse the singers with all the energy possible so that these 1h40-45 of music are of an almost unbearable intensity. So I’m very focused on very technical parameters – the balance between voice and orchestra, the continuity of the dramatic tension despite the many changes of scene and atmosphere, the lighting of certain key moments, paying attention to what’s happening on stage… I’ve been moved myself during piano rehearsals: that’s fine, it’s human, I accept it; but I try not to let it become automatic and overwhelm my work. If my experience is anything to go by, it’s much more difficult for the men and women on stage: they go through this play and are affected by it, and I know that backstage every evening there are performers who cry after certain scenes, and when it’s time to take their bows, I can see that all the performers have very wet eyes…
Of course, I have my own vision and idea of what this work is, but as the years go by, I try to leave my interpretation as open as possible. For example, the last scene: even after conducting this opera almost twenty times, I still haven’t decided exactly what it means, and I want to keep that mystery, that freshness, that question mark. Each performance is different and I explore another dimension of the piece, which leads me to discover it in a different way. That’s one of my favourite things about opera: it’s inexhaustible.
What’s very touching is to feel the emotions running through the audience behind my back. Whether it’s Le Nozze di Figaro, Tristan und Isolde, Falstaff, La Bohème or Innocence, I like to feel that something is flowing between us all, and that we are sharing together, in a theatre, a time of our lives that we don’t devote to anything else. But it’s always amusing after the performance to see the friends who have come to say hello to me in the dressing room, because they’re in shock. They’ve received the work, they’re upset and/or deep in thought or debate, and I, on the other hand, am in great shape, I’m joking, I want to go and have dinner and laugh.
For the performances of Innocence at the Adelaide Festival you will be conducting a fine international cast, together with the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra, the Adelaide Chamber Singers and the State Opera Chorus. How long before the opening night will you be starting the Australian rehearsals?
As usual, it’s a month and a half of work before going on stage. The cast is partly new, so it’s like a partial re-creation. I’m looking forward to seeing how it all works out with the artists who have been with us since the premiere in Aix-en-Provence, and those who are new. I’m very confident, because Innocence is a powerful work that forces you to think in terms of a team, a group, and artistic solidarity. In that sense, it’s the opposite of Tosca, which is often performed by a trio of stars + a conductor + a director, each of whom wants to shine! Innocence goes back to the very essence of opera and of any performance: a group of people come together to show, to represent and to achieve a catharsis that can teach us something. It’s a work that requires us to think of art in a way that is both total and collective.

The world premiere of Innocence took place on 3 July 2021 at the Grand Théâtre de Provence in Aix-en-Provence. It is a co-commission and co-production of the Festival d’Aix-en-Provence, San Francisco Opera, the Dutch National Opera in Amsterdam, the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden in London, the Finnish National Opera and the Helsinki Ballet. All in partnership with the Metropolitan Opera. Have you been involved with the opera since its debut in Aix-en-Provence in July 2021? How did you get involved in this project?
I was involved from the very beginning without knowing it! Kaija spoke to me regularly about this opera, and I was delighted with this new project; but I had no idea that I would one day be conducting it. I followed its genesis, sometimes page by page. And then, after she’d finished it, she told me she wanted me to be part of the creative team. The pandemic arrived at that point, but we still rehearsed the piece in 2020, before premiering it in 2021. So I conducted the opera in rehearsals in Aix, then gave the Finnish premiere in Helsinki (11 performances) and the American premiere in San Francisco (6 performances), before the Australian premiere in Adelaide (2025), which will probably be the last I conduct – unless New York or Paris call me! I’ve lived and breathed this work for almost ten years now, and I think it’s time to put it to one side for a while and devote myself once again to the classics of the operatic repertoire.
You are also founder and artistic and musical director of the Secession Orchestra, artistic director of the Intervalles festival in Paris and the Terraqué festival in Carnac, and co-founder of La Chambre aux Echos, which works at the intersection of theatre and music. Do your different roles allow you to use different parts of your creativity and your brain?
All these activities are in fact a way of working with other people, supporting their work and bringing it to light. I love designing the programme for a festival: it’s a mixture of constraints and bets that I find very stimulating, intellectually, artistically and… economically. Having my own orchestra also allows me to imagine programmes that I wouldn’t be able to do with more institutional formations, to propose new ways of interpreting, to work in depth, to dare more radical readings of certain works… I regret that we don’t entrust more responsibility for halls, theatres and festivals to artists – or, at least, to those who like it and understand what’s at stake.
You work with Aleksi Barriere on Innocence, but you are both co-founders of the musical theatre collective La Chambre aux Echos. How did you meet? Why did you set up La Chambre aux Echos?
Meeting Aleksi was both a friendly and artistic encounter. It was Kaija who brought us together, and our understanding was immediate, leading us to create this structure that we co-direct. Aleksi is a richly gifted individual, combining intelligence with sensitivity. His theatrical work and dramaturgy are always extremely respectful of the works (he is himself a creator – writer, poet, translator…) but with a fresh and always exciting eye. He knows how to strike a rare balance between what is seen and what is heard, and how to create the ideal stage conditions for audiences to experience a work of art. With La Chambre aux Echos, we wanted to show that the classic opposition between conductor and director, a source of tension in opera productions, has no place, and that we can instead propose a different way of working, by exploring existing forms or proposing new ones.
You have some long flights to come to Australia – what music will you listen to during these flights ? Do you listen to things that might surprise people?
I am not sure I will be listening to much music. I’ll probably be watching films and …sleeping ! It will also depend on my upcoming concerts: I might be working and so listening to music related to my projects. But it is not impossible to spend a whole flight listening to a Donizetti opera seria, Wagner’s Parsifal, jazz and pop ! I listen to very different things, from Monterverdi madrigals to an album by Ariana Grande or Kylie Minogue! I also like to take the time to thin, write and compose, even on a plane…
How do you deal with the unexpected during a performance?
There’s always something unexpected: that’s what’s so exciting about opera. In general, I’m very attentive to what’s happening on stage and in the pit, so I know and sense fairly quickly if there’s a technical or artistic problem. Then you have to decide whether it’s minor or serious. I try to be as calm as possible, like a surgeon faced with a surprise haemorrhage: you have to manage everything at once, but also have a sense of priorities, and if possible make sure that it doesn’t interfere with the duration and quality of the operation. It remains a live show, but so far everything has gone very well in this production under my baton, so I hope it will be the same in Adelaide!
Why should audiences come to see Innocence at Adelaide Festival? Do you need to be an opera lover?
Not at all! Anyone can come. It’s a major opera of our time, and opera lovers can’t miss this opportunity to hear it; but someone who’s never been to the opera can make a perfect start to their operatic life with Innocence!
If you don’t go to the opera often: COME! It’s a real thriller, you’ll be captivated, it’s like a series but with living characters who speak, sing and act. The stage set-up is fascinating, and the music will plunge you into an absolutely incredible world of sound, sending you into intense emotions.
If you love opera, if you’re a music lover, a lyricophile, but you’re afraid of contemporary music: COME! You’ll rediscover the intensity and emotion of the great operas, from Orfeo to Elektra, via Tosca, Wozzeck, Tristan and Don Giovanni. Innocence is like a dramaturgical synthesis that recaptures the essence of the opera genre. You’ll find ensembles, arias, preludes and interludes.
For everyone: COME! This opera deals with an essential subject for our time, but beyond its topicality, it is the way it looks at the past and the present, at what is hidden and discovered, about secrets and lies, that will move you. What is shown and said in this opera concerns us all, and speaks of situations we have experienced at different levels and different times in our lives: what is it to be innocent, and can one be completely innocent? How do we deal with violence, pain and grief? How do we accept what is unacceptable? How do we live through and overcome an ordeal? How do we live with others?
COME ALONG! Believe me, you won’t regret it.
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We thank Clément Mao-Takacs for this interview and cannot wait to see Innocence at Adelaide Festival (stay tuned for our review in March).
KEY INFO FOR INNOCENCE
WHAT: Innocence, by Kaija Saariaho / Original Finnish Libretto by Sofi Oksanen & Multilingual Libretto by Aleksi Barrière / Conducted by Clément Mao-Takacs / Directed by Simon Stone
WHERE: Festival Theatre, Adelaide
WHEN: Four performances only:
- Fri 28 February, 7:30pm
- Sun 2 March, 5:30pm
- Tue 4 March, 7:30pm
- Wed 5 March, 6:00pm
HOW: Purchase your tickets to Innocence at Adelaide Festival via this link
HOW MUCH: Ticket prices range from $89 to $369.