The Music of Nosferatu Revives with the OSCyL Under the Baton of Maestro David Hernando Rico
The challenge of conducting Murnau’s 1922 classic.
Few experiences on the podium are as demanding and, at the same time, as intoxicating as synchronizing an orchestra with the ghosts of silent cinema. On that unforgettable October 28, 2016, as part of the Extraordinary Concerts series and within the vibrant context of the SEMINCI film festival, I had the immense privilege of taking on this challenge. I conducted the live soundtrack for the screening of Nosferatu (1922), F.W. Murnau's undisputed masterpiece, leading the Castile and León Symphony Orchestra (OSCyL).
The challenge of the frame as dictator. Conducting live cinema is an exercise in musical tightrope walking. Unlike the traditional symphonic repertoire, where the conductor has some leeway regarding tempo and agogics, in this format, the footage is the absolute boss. A one-second delay in a timpani strike or a rubato that stretches a breath too long can completely shatter the tension Murnau built visually a century ago. My baton had to be the precise, invisible bridge between the horror projected on the big screen and the collective breathing of the musicians.
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The darkness and virtuosity of the OSCyL. The music for this gem of German Expressionism demands an ensemble that can transition in seconds from the most naive lyricism to the most suffocating anguish. And what a formidable instrument the Castile and León Symphony is. The low strings—cellos and double basses—achieved textures of almost palpable density, evoking the dampness of crypts and Count Orlok's creeping threat. Meanwhile, the woodwinds and brass cut through the hall's acoustics with overwhelming poise during the climaxes of terror, demonstrating the enormous sonic plasticity and maturity of this great orchestra.
A dialogue across a century. However, the truly magical part of the evening happened behind my back, in the stalls. Feeling hundreds of people hold their breath at once, caught in a choreography of lights, shadows, and purely acoustic sound, reaffirms my devotion to this format. Live symphonic music tears Nosferatu from the archives of film history and restores its original danger. For a couple of hours, the vampire ceased to be a black-and-white myth to become alive once again, lurking among us.
It was an exhausting week of rehearsals, stopwatches, click tracks, and sideways glances at the screen, but artistically transformative. To the musicians of the Castile and León Symphony Orchestra: thank you for your absolute dedication, your virtuosity, and for daring to walk among the shadows with me so brilliantly.
And to the audience that filled the hall on that gloomy and beautiful autumn night: thank you for letting yourselves be bitten.
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