I'm told that Vladimir Ashkenazy is as approachable a maestro as I'm ever likely to encounter, just before I catch up with him in Japan, a fortnight out from his appearance with Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra on Thursday - eventually.
First I have to survive a guardhouse receptionist at his Osaka hotel, who punctuates my laborious spellings-out of the conductor's name with blasts of a Haydn minuet when I'm put on hold. The man himself is the soul of geniality and looks forward to visiting us again.
"Although I don't know your country so well, I always feel at home there," he tells me. "It's like being in England or Australia. I can communicate absolutely naturally and always feel comfortable spiritually."
Before he took up a baton, Ashkenazy was (and still is) a pianist of legendary proportions. Three years ago, he celebrated his half-century with the record label Decca by releasing a handsome 50-CD set, even if aficionados still search out some of his early Soviet albums, recorded before he moved West in 1963.
When I ask Ashkenazy why he took up conducting in the 1970s, he pauses, sighs and then tells me the seeds for this move were sown in Russia in his childhood. "My very first experiences in the music world were with symphony orchestras," he says. "Although I was studying piano, I always went to more orchestral concerts than piano recitals, apart from those which featured Emil Gilels or Sviatoslav Richter."