III
Negative comment on the music life in the United States is as easy to make as it is frequently heard. Less easy, but at least revealing, is an honest appraisal of the factors which make the United States a stimulating place for serious musicians to live. Like so many subjects dealing with the cultural life here, this one is clouded with propaganda, and with the assumptions propaganda nourishes. Yet, as we have previously implied, after one has discounted notonly the propaganda element, but also much that is problematical and immature, there remain facts which become profoundly interesting with increased knowledge.
Such reflections are applicable to the whole range of our music life, but specifically to concert and opera in this country. In no other land, we believe, is there such a divergence between what takes place, on the one hand, in the established concert and operatic life, and, on the other, in musical enterprises supported by universities, schools, or private groups of citizens, enterprises run not for profit but for the musical experience that can be gained from them. These latter aim at such quality as can be achieved under given conditions, but with no pretense that it is of the highest possible caliber. The uniqueness of this situation is remarkable; furthermore, itserves to throw light, the clearest possible, on certain grave problems. Previously we have stressed the fluidity of our culture and the fact that it often presents itself under the guise of a struggle of conflicting forces. This state of affairs is, of course, not peculiar to the United States alone, but it is characteristic to some degree of all cultural life, and in fact of life itself. Here we are concerned with one of these forces, the increasing assertion of an impulse toward productive musical activity throughout a country, and its struggle for a legitimate and effective role in the whole music life. It would be premature to state that that struggle is virtually over. Even to those of us who have participated in it over the years, the problems and obstacles at moments still seem insuperable. Nevertheless, it is necessary to look back over the years to regain one’s sense ofperspective and one’s confidence in the eventual outcome.
Still more important, though difficult, if not impossible to prove, is the fact that, given the actual balance of forces, the obstacles derive from inertia rather than from active resistance. They consist of influences which, though powerful, are modified by so many imponderable factors that the individual at times easily imagines the sight of the road open before him. It is true that the same individual may well find himself, at other times, face to face with barriers which seem almost impenetrable, and such moments are dangerous and decisive. The dangers lie not so much in the isolation which he could expect to experience; the country is large enough, and music life is sufficiently real and benevolent, so to speak, to keep him from ever feeling completely alone, even in his early years. Rather, thedanger lies in that, by coming to terms with the prevalent state of affairs, he can easily achieve a measure of success, and therefore is faced with the constant temptation of compromise. This temptation is supported by a thousand varied types of pressure derived from the nature of the system which is the basis of our large musical enterprises.
One must therefore understand this system in order to understand our music life. In contrast to the countries of Europe, we do not underwrite large-scale cultural enterprises with government subsidies—with the exception, of course, of public education in the strict sense of the word, and of certain indispensable institutions such as the Library of Congress. These exceptions form so small a part of the general musical picture that they are virtually without influence. The more far-reaching question of governmentsubsidies is raised from time to time, but under American conditions it is an intricate and, at the very least, a highly controversial one. Desirable as such subsidies might seem in theory, it is an open question if they would prove to be a satisfactory solution of our problems.
In any case, public music life in overwhelming measure is the creation of private enterprise. Its present condition is the result of the fact that private patronage, which in the United States as in Europe played a great role up to World War I, scarcely exists today. This does not mean that people of means have ceased to interest themselves in music or in cultural undertakings, but rather that their interest has tended to become less personal and more diffused. There are no doubt many reasons for this change. Many of the great fortunes have disappeared or have been scattered; prices haverisen, as we all know; and musical enterprises have become so numerous that they no longer furnish conspicuous monuments as once they did. Finally, the administration of these enterprises has become constantly more involved and so exacting that a single individual must find it difficult to exercise control, and so impersonal that he cannot retain a sense of intimacy and real proprietorship.
The majority of the musical enterprises in the United States, the great orchestral, choral, and operatic societies—certainly the most influential among them—are administered by committees which determine policies, appoint and dismiss the artists, and concern themselves with the economic stability of their organizations. These committees are largely composed of prominent personalities, men and women of affairs and of society who are interested in music. Inevitably they needthe help of managers, businessmen concerned with music for reasons of profit and who bring to music a business point of view. In the absence of subsidies granted on the basis of clear and convincing artistic policies, it is necessary that these businessmen exercise the greatest care in balancing receipts and expenditures. This means that the concert society or opera company is run like a business enterprise—in which profits, to be sure, are not the main purpose, but which must be at least self-supporting, or close to it, if it is to enjoy continued existence.
This state of affairs does not imply “commercialism” in the usual sense of the word, and it would be a misconception were it so understood. Commercialism is by no means absent from our music life, but the problems arise from the necessities imposed by a system such as the one outlined, one in which cultural organizationsare organized in the manner of business enterprises, even though their purposes are basically noncommercial. In the effort to maintain a certain level, the enterprise must stretch its economic resources as far as possible, and in the effort to maintain or increase the resources, it must reach a constantly larger public. One observes the similarity between these processes and the dynamics of business itself, and how motives and ends become adulterated with elements of outright commercialism. It becomes possible to speak of a system, real though in no sense formally organized: it involves the committees as well as the managers, and, in the last analysis, tends to assimilate the various activities which contribute to our music life.
This situation tends to compound a confusion, already too prevalent, between artistic quality on the one hand, andthose factors which lead to easy public success on the other. From this confusion arises a whole series of premises and tendencies which affect the character both of prevailing criteria, and, as a natural consequence, of the impact of these criteria on our music life in general. It would certainly be misleading to ascribe all these ideas and tendencies to the said situation; obviously many date from an earlier period in which the American public was much less sophisticated than it is today and our music life far less developed. However, apart from the caution and conservatism of business itself (which must base its policies on facts ascertained by past experience and not on mortgages on the future), many of these premises and tendencies admirably serve the purpose of the system itself. We need only remember a single elementary fact: that a business, in order to survive,at least in the United States of today, must produce its goods as cheaply as possible and sell them at the highest possible price. Or, from another point of view, it must persuade the public to buy precisely what is economically most convenient to produce. In the complex state of affairs which we may term “music business,” these procedures are calculated in an exact manner. The objection centers here. If, for instance, the so-called “star system” as it exists here today were completely spontaneous and natural, one might perhaps speak of the musical immaturity of a large part of the public, recognizing at the same time that the virtuoso as such has been in one form or the other, everywhere and at all times, a glamorous figure. The evils of the situation arise not so much from the fact that adulation of the virtuoso is exploited, but from the obvious mannerin which that adulation has been cultivated and controlled by business interests.
The result is not only an essentially artificial situation but a tendency toward what may be called an economy of scarcity, in which much of the country’s musical talent lies fallow. The fewer the stars, the brighter they shine. The artificial inflation of certain reputations—most well deserved—by means of all the resources of contemporary publicity is relatively harmless. The harm lies in that the relatively few “stars,” in order to enhance their brilliance, are surrounded by an equally artificial and striking darkness. Many young singers or performers, even though extraordinarily gifted and faultlessly trained, are faced with well-nigh insuperable obstacles when attempting a concert career, despite our hundred and sixty million inhabitants.In many cases they do not even find the opportunity to develop their gifts through the constant experience a performer needs; and though they may render useful services as teachers or otherwise, the musical public is deprived of the artistic contributions they otherwise would have made. On the other hand, those who achieve stellar rank often suffer through the strain to which an excessively active, constantly demanding, and extraordinarily strenuous career subjects them. The result is that even mature artists tire too quickly and lose the fine edge of vitality which made them outstanding in the first place, while younger artists have little time and opportunity for the relaxation and reflection so important and decisive for artistic development. The system is ruthless, the more so for being virtually automatic. To be sure, it is not completely impossiblefor the artist to resist the pressures to which it subjects him, but these pressures today are formidable, and he may easily feel that in making the attempt he runs the risk of being left behind in an intensely competitive situation.
This music business for the most part is centered in New York. That fact in itself fosters a tendency toward cultural centralization, one of the basic forces of music life today. There are also centrifugal tendencies which modify it, and which, at least in several of the large centers, may ultimately prevail. These large centers are, however, relatively few and distant from each other, and their musical autonomy is all too often attributable to the presence of one or more exceptionally strong personalities. In any case, the vast majority of American cities and towns receive their principal musical fare from New York. One of the formsin which it is received is “Community Concerts,” a series contracted en bloc by a New York manager through which even small communities may see and hear a certain number of stellar personalities on the condition that they also listen to a number of less celebrated performers. In such a manner certain artists, not of stellar rank, gain the opportunity to be heard and, in rare cases, eventually to pass into the stellar category. Unfortunately, the conditions under which they operate are limited and not favorable to either musical or technical development. Since it is more economical to print a large number of programs in advance than it is to print the smaller number required for each separate concert, the artists are frequently obliged to present the same program everywhere, and, since they perform in the widest possible variety of communities, to suit thisprogram to the most primitive level of taste.
Much is said regarding the educational value of such concerts, and one would not like to deny the possibility that it exists. Anyone who has taken part in the musical development of the United States has observed cases where genuine musical awareness has grown from beginnings holding no promise at the outset. While it would be difficult to pretend that the original purpose of such concerts is educational in the real sense of that word, it cannot be denied that they bring the only chance of becoming aware of the meaning of music to many a community. There are inevitably, here and there, individuals whose eagerness and curiosity will carry them on from this point, and they will eventually make the most of what radio and phonograph can contribute to their growth. It mustalso be said that while “organized audience plans” show the music business at its worst, it is true that of late they tend to be superseded by something better, in a constantly developing situation.
The principal problem remains, however. The business dynamism which affects so much of our music life constantly perpetuates itself, and, as can be observed in matters remote from music, often achieves a quasi-ideological status, fostering as it does a system of values favorable to business as such. There is nothing new in the ideas themselves: the taste of the public—that is, supposedly, the majority of listeners—is invoked as the final criterion, the court of last appeal. Much effort and research is devoted to the process of discovering what this majority likes best, the objective being programs and repertory in accordancewith the results of this research. Actually it is not that simple, especially since, with the beginning of radio and the spectacular development of the phonograph and recordings in the twenties, the musical public has grown enormously in size. Instead of numbering a few thousands concentrated in a few centers it now numbers many millions distributed over all parts of the country. It still continues to grow, not only in the provinces, but also in the centers themselves. Such a public shows the widest possible variety of taste, background, and experience. Hence it makes specific demands. As one looks at the situation from the point of view of a large musical enterprise, one may well ask which public it aims to satisfy. The tendency must be to try to satisfy, as far as possible, the majority of listeners, to offer programs which will draw the greatest possible number ofpeople into the concert hall, and to convince them that they hear the best music that can be heard anywhere. The result is a kind of business ideology which bears a curious resemblance to the sincerely and justly despised ideology of the totalitarians, even though the coercive aspects are absent. There are signs that the tendency may be gradually receding as a more alert public is becoming constantly more mature and more demanding, and before the ceaseless self-criticism, another characteristic feature of our cultural life. Perhaps, and above all, through the courageous efforts of some leading personalities (such as the late Serge Koussevitzky, who always insisted on the recognition of contemporary music, and especially our American, and like Dimitri Mitropoulos who has waged a fight for music which is considered “difficult”) a change is in store.These efforts have often been surprisingly successful, and while the battle is far from won—is such a battleeverreally and finally won?—one remembers, for instance, the spectacular success which Mitropoulos achieved in the 1950/51 season with a concert performance of Alban Berg’sWozzeck. One also remembers the case of Bélà Bártòk—it is frequently asked, especially in the United States, why this great composer had to die almost ignored by our musical public, while scarcely a year after his death he became, and, on the whole, has remained virtually a classic whose music today is heard, played, and even loved all over the country. Such cases, however, do not alter the fact that there still exists a curious disproportion between the reputation, accepted almost without challenge throughout the country, of a Stravinsky or a Schönberg, and the fact thatVerklärte NachtandL’Oiseau de Feuare still their most frequently performed works, while their mature and more characteristic music is relatively seldom performed. This disproportion is partly rectified by the existence of many recordings of Schönberg’s music, as it was, momentarily, balanced by performances of his works in his memory just after his death.
The great public findsallmusic difficult to grasp, not only contemporary music. Contemporary music meets with opposition in the United States because it is unfamiliar and hence difficult. On the other hand, with only slight exaggeration it can be pointed out that tradition has very little value as a weapon against those who would prefer hearing a concerto by Rachmaninoff to one by Mozart. If, in the policy governing the choice of programs, one succeeded insatisfying only the majority of listeners, nothing would be left for the elite, the certainly much smaller public wishing to hear contemporary music and, as well, the more exacting and profound music of the past. The prestige and glamor of the great names of the past rather than tradition checks this trend, opposing to it the growing demands of a considerable segment of the public. That public is gradually developing in size and experience. Furthermore, the artistic conscience of several leading musical personalities in the United States (unfortunately not all of them, whether of American or European background) oppose the “system,” the rewards of which are naturally great for those who come to terms with it; many a European performer, during the whole course of our development, has been willing to seek success in the United States at the lowest level, with littleconcern for the musical development of our country. Such performers usually excuse their departure from standards with the supposedly low level of culture in our “backward” country and are supported in their attitude by business interests and as well by a certain element of cultural snobbery, still persisting. Fortunately there have always been others, such as Theodore Thomas of earlier days, or Karl Muck, forty-five years ago in Boston, or like the pianist Artur Schnabel, and there are still others who maintained the highest standards here as elsewhere and thus manifested fundamental respect for the American public, themselves, and their art. These personalities created, in the largest measure, our music life, and their inspired followers today obstruct its debasement.
In such a brief résumé of the forcescharacterizing our music life much is necessarily omitted, and oversimplification is inevitable. The emerging picture is gloomy in certain respects, but it can be counterbalanced by such considerations as were voiced at the beginning of our discussion. One sometimes hears the question: if things are really so, if there is an absence of genuine tradition and we have to consider the existence of economic forces pervading our music life in an almost mechanistic fashion, is it not chimerical to hope for the development of a genuine music culture in the United States? Part of the answer will be given later when, after consideration of the even gloomier situation of the musical theater in the United States, attention must be given to the various forces which are rapidly developing outside our organized music life and which constitute a real and perpetual challenge. One mustinsist once more on the fluidity of our culture, which is in constant development, or, as the German philosophers would say, in a constant state of “becoming.” It is interesting, at least to this author, to observe how in such a discussion one passes from a negative to a less pessimistic point of view, and one wonders why. The answer lies not only in faith in one’s own national culture, but in thousands of facts which crowd in, sometimes emanating from unexpected sources. These facts support that faith. They point to the genuine, the most vital need for musical experience in the United States, and drive toward it; they constantly seek and possibly discover fresh channels through which these experiences can be achieved. The development, in fact, is so rapid that any discussion such as the present may seem outdated even before the ink is dry. It should be remembered, finally, thateconomic forces, however mechanistic, are, in the last analysis, the projection of spiritual forces and eventually are subject to them. In this respect, as in most others relating to our musical development, the best antidote to pessimism is retrospection.