Conductors: Herr Doktor

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"I am a completely independent man," declares German Conductor Hermann Scherchen. "I do not have to conduct works I don't like." And he doesn't. In fact, for 35 years, Scherchen repeatedly refused invitations to conduct in the U.S. because the programs offered were too conventional for his tastes. "There is an extraordinary prejudice in America," he said, "to do works of commercial interest. Beethoven's 'Eroica,' Tchaikovsky's 'Pathetique' —fine music, but I've done them before. I desire to do things of special interest."

Finally, at the age of 73, Scherchen has come to the U.S. to conduct. The inducement was a specially assembled chamber orchestra of his very own, unlimited rehearsal time and, most important, a program of his own choice. The result was a treat worth the waiting. In five concerts at Manhattan's Philharmonic Hall this month, with the accent on works of "special interest" from Bach to Berg, Scherchen displayed an attack that was clean, intense and boldly original. He braked tempos to the creeping point, intertwining each contrapuntal strand with meticulous care, then revved up the fast movements until the musicians were fairly bouncing off their chairs. To critics' charges that some interpretations were flawed by "exaggerations," Scherchen icily replies: "It is very fine if a man knows absolutely how it should be. I don't know."

Bird in a Storm. Stately and thick-chested, Scherchen on the podium was a study in the fine art of conducting technique. He held the orchestra in tight rein with an economy of direction, each hand working independently with machinelike precision. In climactic passages he carved the air with jabbing, slashing strokes of his baton while his left hand "danced like a bird caught in a storm. At other times he seemingly stared the musicians through their paces, intermittently striking cues with the suddenness of a judo chop.

Conducting, Scherchen contends, is a misunderstood art, and he accepts only students who agree to devote three years to learning his technique. He never takes more than four at a time. They travel everywhere with "Herr Doktor," as they reverently call him, taking lessons at intermissions, in taxis and restaurants. Scherchen, who at eleven knew all of Beethoven's music by heart, insists that before taking baton in hand, a student must have the score indelibly branded on his memory. Then the gestures will follow naturally.

Unknowns. Students hone their craft by conducting Scherchen, who sings the music in a croaking voice and veers off course at the slightest lapse in direction. But mostly they conduct in total silence under the concentrated stare of Scherchen's glinting blue eyes. "Isn't there a crescendo there?" he will interrupt. Says James Harrison, 29, of St. Louis, who is currently the only Scherchen student in residence: "The maestro has no place for mediocrity, and therefore he outlaws orchestras. One has to listen to music within one's mind, using the powerful force of imagination."