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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9a9b072 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67239 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67239) diff --git a/old/67239-0.txt b/old/67239-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ceed9c0..0000000 --- a/old/67239-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2781 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Reflections on the Music Life in the -United States, by Roger Sessions - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Reflections on the Music Life in the United States - -Author: Roger Sessions - -Release Date: January 24, 2022 [eBook #67239] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images - made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REFLECTIONS ON THE MUSIC LIFE -IN THE UNITED STATES *** - - - - - - REFLECTIONS - on the MUSIC LIFE - in the UNITED STATES - - - - - This is Volume VI of the MERLIN MUSIC BOOKS (8 volumes). - - Published in this series thus far: - - - I. _Bach: The Conflict Between the Sacred and the Secular_, by - Leo Schrade, Professor of The History of Music, Yale University. - - II. _Tudor Church Music_, by Denis Stevens, British Broadcasting - Corporation, London. - - III. _Stravinsky, Classic Humanist_, by Heinrich Strobel, - Director, Music Division, Southwest German Radio System, Baden-Baden. - - IV. _Musicians and Poets of the French Renaissance_, by François - Lesure, _Librarian_, Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris; _Chief_, - Central Secretariat of “Répertoire International des Sources - Musicales.” - - V. _Greek Music, Verse and Dance_, by Thrasybulos Georgiades, - Professor of Musicology, University of Munich. - - VI. _Reflections on the Music Life in the United States_, by - Roger Sessions, Professor of Composition, Princeton University. - - - - - REFLECTIONS - on the MUSIC LIFE - in the United States - - - ROGER SESSIONS - - - MERLIN PRESS--NEW YORK - - - - - Printed in Germany - - - THIS IS A MERLIN PRESS BOOK - - OF THIS EDITION ONLY FIFTEEN HUNDRED - COPIES WERE MADE - - THIS IS NUMBER 175 - - - - - CONTENTS - - - Page - - I. Background and Conditions 11 - - II. Early History 33 - - III. Concerts 48 - - IV. Musical Theater 74 - - V. Music Education 98 - - VI. Musical Opinion 121 - - VII. Composers and Their Ideas: 140 - - Nationalism 140 - - Quest for Popularity 153 - - Countercurrents 166 - - - - -I - - -The following pages represent an attempt to account for the tremendous -musical development of the United States during the past thirty-five -years--roughly speaking, the years since the end of World War I. We -can safely characterize this development as “tremendous,” even without -recourse to statistical data, so frequently cited, regarding attendance -at symphony concerts, sales of “classical” recordings, new orchestras -which have sprung up during the period, and comparative sums of -money spent on “serious” music and on baseball. Such statistics while -convenient and fashionable, and assuredly not without interest, have -a purely quantitative basis--such is the way of statistics--and of -themselves do not reveal a vital cultural development. Leaving such -matters aside, the achievement remains impressive indeed. - -Let us consider certain facts which likewise tell us little of quality, -but do reveal decisive changes in the conditions determining our -music life. When the author of this volume decided, for instance, at -the tender age of thirteen, to embark upon a career as a composer, -there was no representative musician living in the United States. His -parents sought the advice of two illustrious guests visiting New York -to attend _premières_ of their works at the Metropolitan Opera. -Having received due encouragement, the author pursued his studies and -received some instruction of value; but as he began to develop, one of -his teachers frankly told him that in the United States he could not -acquire all he needed, and strongly urged him to continue his studies -in Europe, preferably in Paris under Maurice Ravel. For good or ill, -the outbreak of World War I made this project impossible. The author -continued as best he could under the circumstances. However, not until -he came into contact with Ernest Bloch, the first of a series of -distinguished European composers who had come to live permanently in -this country, was he able to find the guidance he needed, or even a -knowledge of the real demands of composition toward which he had been -rather blindly groping with the help of whatever he could read on the -subject. It was not so much a question of the content of the studies -pursued with Bloch, as that of attitudes and conceptions which the -latter helped him to evolve. After all, harmony, counterpoint, and all -the rest were taught in music schools and college music departments, -and some of the instruction was excellent. What was lacking, however, -was an essential element: the conviction that such study could -conceivably lead, in the United States, to achievement of real value, -and, above all, in the realm of composition. - -The general attitude was not far from that of a lady of the author’s -acquaintance: having had associations with musicians in many parts -of the world, she probably had heard the best music possible. That -lady asked him, a young student, to call on her, and, waving his -compositions aside without bothering even to glance at them, begged -him for his own good not to dream of a career as a composer. No -American, she explained, could hope to achieve anything as a composer -since he was not born into an atmosphere of composition and--as an -American--probably did not even have music in his blood. She urged him -to aim rather at being a conductor, and, as a step toward that end, -gave him the (somewhat picturesque) advice to take up an orchestral -instrument--preferably the oboe or the trombone--in the hope of finding -a position in one of the large orchestras, as a stepping stone toward a -conductorial career. - -Naturally, we do not mean to speak of ourselves primarily. A whole -generation of American composers faced a similar situation, and each -found his own way of resolving it. Some of our contemporaries, for -instance--and most of those who have distinguished themselves--did go -to Europe for their studies. Since the influence of French culture was -at its height at the close of World War I, they often went to Paris to -study with Vincent d’Indy or, more frequently and conspicuously, with -Nadia Boulanger. Others sought their individual solutions elsewhere and -in other ways. The striking fact is that those who aspired to genuine -and serious achievement, no longer a handful of ambitious individuals -who remained essentially isolated, were young Americans who had begun -to learn what serious accomplishment involved. They were determined -to find their way to it. Such seeking had not occurred before in the -United States, but they did not find what they sought within the then -existing framework of American music life. - -The reason, not surprising, lies in the fact that the prevalent -conception of “serious” music in this country was that of an imported -product. Like the lady who so earnestly advised us to study the oboe -or the trombone, most Americans, even those possessed of a knowledge -of the music world, were, on the whole, inclined to discount the -possibility that a composer of American origin could produce anything -of importance. The young composers of that period had to look to their -European elders not only for the means of learning their craft, but -also for an awareness of what constitutes the craft of composition. -That craft, above all, is a down-to-earth awareness that musical -achievement, in the last analysis, is the result of human effort, -dedication, and love; that “tradition” is the cumulative experience of -many individuals doing their best in every sense of the word, and that -“atmosphere” exists wherever such individuals, young or old, live in -close contact with each other. - -Thus, looking back at the conditions prevailing around 1910, our -decision of that year to become a composer seems reckless almost to the -point of madness. We cannot, of course, conceive of any other we could -have made. Today, however, the young musician, including the composer, -faces quite a different situation. If he wishes really to work and -to produce even on the most artistic level, he can find much in his -surroundings to encourage him. In the important centers he can find -musicians capable of advising him; and in several of the large cities -throughout the country he can acquire the instruction he needs. Today -a composer has a fair possibility to gain at least a local hearing, -and his music will be listened to with attention and interest by an -appreciable number of listeners. With slight reservations it may be -said that it is no longer necessary for a young American musician to -leave his country in order to find adequate instruction and a more -intense musical life. (The reservations concern such special fields -as the opera, in which a degree of European experience is vital due -to conditions prevalent in that field.) It is not necessary for him -to go to Europe to find more severe criteria, more competent teachers -or more sympathetic colleagues, or to find the opportunity to become -acquainted with first-class musicians of an older generation. In the -United States he finds a complex and developed music life. The contrast -with conditions of forty or fifty years ago is indeed noteworthy. - -This book deals with that development, with the questions it raises -and the problems it involves. Above all, this development is -interesting from the point of view of the subject itself--American -music within the total picture of music today. It is fascinating also -from another point of view: various forces have contributed to this -development--historical, social, and economic forces--and action and -effect raise, in one more guise, questions vital to the understanding -of the world today and the state of contemporary culture both in -the United States and elsewhere. In a summary discussion such as -the present, many such questions--regarding the future of art and -of culture itself, the nature and prospects of art in a democratic -society, the fate of the individual today--will of necessity remain -virtually untouched. They are, nevertheless, present by implication. -For the individual artist whose one earnest preoccupation is his own -production, the answers to these questions, as far as he is at all -concerned with them, lie in the realm of faith and premise rather than -in theoretical discussion. Whatever he accomplishes will in its own -measure be a witness and justification of that faith, whether or not he -is aware of it. A cultural movement of any kind is not to be judged in -theoretical terms, but in those of authentic achievement. - -These remarks seem relevant because certain basic characteristics of -our intellectual life affect our attitudes toward a cultural movement -such as the development of music here during the past forty years. -These characteristics have strongly influenced, and continue to -influence, the movement itself, and to some extent they still determine -its character. It may therefore be worth while to consider briefly -certain of these features, freely acknowledging that such summary -reference does not give, nor could it give, a well-rounded picture; nor -will it be necessarily relevant to, say, the situation in literature -or in the graphic arts. - -American life, American society, and American culture are characterized -by a fluidity which, up to this time, has always been a part of -the nature of the United States, and not the product of a specific -historical moment. It derives, in fact, from all that is most deeply -rooted in our national consciousness; it is a premise with which -each one of us is born, and which is carried into every thought and -activity. It not only corresponds to all the realities of the life -Americans live, but stems from all that is most intimate and most -constant in their ideas. However oversimplified we may have come to -regard the popular phrases which have always characterized the United -States in our own eyes and in those of our friends--“land of promise,” -“land of opportunity,” “land of unlimited possibilities”--the -concept underlying them for the most conservative as well as for the -most liberal retains the force of an ideal or even an obligation; a -premise to which reference is made even at most unexpected moments and -sometimes in bizarre contexts. The fluidity of our culture is both -one of the basic assumptions behind these ideas and, in effect, a -partial result of them. It is a result also of American geography and -history--the vastness of the continent, the colorful experiences of -the pioneers who tamed it, and the sense of space which we gain from -the fact that it is relatively easy to move in either direction in the -social scale. These are facts which every American can observe any day. - -If, as we hear in recent years, these underlying factors are gradually -disappearing, such a change is as yet scarcely visible in the everyday -happenings which constitute the immediate stuff of American life. It -is still far from affecting our basic psychological premises. Fluidity, -in the sense used, is one of the most essential and decisive factors -of our tradition. It is likely to remain so for a long time to come. -It is relevant in the present context because contemporary music life -frequently takes on the aspect of a constantly shifting struggle -between a number of contrasting forces. This is more true in the United -States than elsewhere; and the characteristic fluidity of our cultural -life is one of its features most difficult to understand, particularly -for those who do not know the United States well. At the same time, in -this set of facts, conditions, and premises one finds elements which -have caused Americans to misunderstand other western cultures. - -Another important element in our tradition may be derived from the -fact, evident and admitted, that in our origins we are a nation of -_émigrés_. A dear friend of ours, of Italian origin but a fervid -American convert, G. A. Borgese, once half jestingly remarked, “An -American is one who was dissatisfied at home.” If one takes this idea -of “dissatisfaction” in not too emotional a sense, he can take note of -the variety of its causes and see that its results have proved to be -many and varied. The United States has been created by nonconformists -in flight from Anglicanism or Roman Catholicism, as well as by Roman -Catholics in flight from Protestantism; by Irishmen in flight from -famine and by German revolutionaries in flight after defeat in 1848; -by venturesome tradesmen and by others who, either in the spirit of -adventure or for other motives, wanted to escape from the toils of -civilization; by thousands who sought better economic conditions, -more space, and the opportunity to prosper socially, and by others -with as many other motives of dissatisfaction. Even such a sketchy -summary hints at the variety and even the conflicting character of -the interests which found common ground solely in the element of -“dissatisfaction at home.” It is perhaps not an exaggeration to say -that this tradition of filial dissatisfaction and the variety of its -original forms is the basis of many of the most characteristic and -deeply rooted American attitudes and problems. - -One can find here, for example, the explanation of the dichotomy -so evident in our attitude toward Europe and everything European. -It is, of course, in the final analysis a question of attitude not -so much toward Europe as toward ourselves. In any case, one easily -notes two tendencies which pervade the whole of American cultural -life, and which, though seemingly in clear opposition to one another, -nevertheless often appear intermingled and confused. Let it be clear -that we regard neither tendency as a definitive or final expression of -the United States; on the contrary, we believe that both tendencies, at -least in their obvious forms, are products of an immaturity belonging -to the past, just as in the work of our greatest writers, even though -present and clearly recognizable, they were transcended and transformed. - -For the sake of convenience let us call them _colonialism_ and -_frontierism_. By colonialism we do not mean a specific reference -to American colonial history or to an Anglophile tendency, but -rather to that current in American cultural life which persistently -looks to Europe for final criterion and cultural directive. The term -frontierism is used not in reference to the familiar interpretation -of American history in terms of the influence of border regions on -national life and development, but rather in reference to the revolt -primarily against England and British culture, secondarily against -European culture, and finally against culture itself, so plainly -visible in American thought, American writing, and American politics. -It is not necessary to recall here the various forms which these two -tendencies take, nor need it be stressed that, in simplified form, they -represent currents of diverse tendencies and innumerable shadings. The -two attitudes, however, have deep roots, and they influence American -decisions in cultural as well as in political, economic, and military -matters, and bring us face to face with sometimes serious dilemmas. The -experience of such dilemmas, and of the choices imposed by stubborn -facts, sometimes has determined the direction and hence the character -of American culture. At all events, there is reason to hope that -these dilemmas will gradually resolve themselves into an attitude of -genuine independence, and which therefore is neither subservient to the -so-called “foreign influences” nor unduly upset by them. - -The tradition of “dissatisfaction” has been a decisive factor also -in a different sense. The once familiar metaphor of the “melting -pot” is today outmoded, possibly through thorough assimilation. In -stressing the element of “dissatisfaction at home” in the backgrounds -of Americans of widely differing origins, we are not only throwing -into relief a common and unifying element of these peoples, but we -imply also great diversity of content in the experience itself--a -diversity, which still persists, of motives and impulses in American -life. Without devaluating the concept of the “melting pot,” or denying -the fusion of peoples into one nation, we may recognize the problems -and the consequent modes of thought involved in accomplishing such a -fusion. This process has involved the reconciliation, to a degree, of -the varied and contrasting motives which impelled heterogeneous groups -of people to become American, and which became original, organic, and -sometimes very powerful ingredients of our culture. It was necessary to -build quickly, and to avoid catastrophic collisions of these various -elements. Possibly in a manner similar to the influence of empire -building on the cultural habits regarded as most typically British, -the factors just mentioned have clearly contributed to two tendencies -discernible in our own thinking habits: on the one hand, a certain -predilection for abstractions, preconceptions, and slogans; on the -other, a prevalent tendency to think primarily in pragmatic terms, that -is, in those of concrete situations rather than of basic principles. -Both modes of thinking have admirably served our national ends, and, in -their more extreme manifestations, sometimes worry and exasperate the -thoughtful among us. Those who regard us with a jaundiced eye accuse -us, on the one hand, of pedantry, and on the other, of opportunism; and -it is certainly true that the pedants and opportunists among us know -well how to exploit these tendencies. - -As far as music in the United States is concerned, the influence -of these two modes of thought has been noticeable, if not always -propitious. Fundamentally, however, these tendencies have little to do -with either pedantry or opportunism. We have had the formidable tasks -of both establishing standards which should keep pace with a tremendous -expansion of intellectual and creative activity and which should serve -to give this activity order and direction; and as well, of establishing -a mode of life within which our heterogeneous elements could find -a means of coexistence without dangerous clashes of principle or -ideology--clashes which could easily have proved lethal to either the -unity of a growing nation or our concept of liberty. - - - - -II - - -Music life in the United States must be traced back to the earliest -days, those of musical activity in the churches of New England, -Pennsylvania, and elsewhere. In Charleston, South Carolina, in the -early eighteenth century, a kind of musical drama flourished--the -“ballad opera” of British origin. In New Orleans, a little later, -French opera was established and survived into this century. There -were ambitious composers like Francis Hopkinson, friend of Gilbert -Stuart, and other personalities of the Revolutionary period. There -were amateurs to whom European music was by no means unfamiliar. Even -among the outstanding personalities of the period there were those -who, like Thomas Jefferson, took part in performances of chamber -music in their own homes; or who, like Benjamin Franklin, tried their -hands at the composition of string quartets (which is something -of an historic curiosity). We ourselves own a copy of Geminiani’s -_The Compleat Tutor for the Violin_, published in London in the -seventeen-nineties, which was owned by one of our forbears of that -period in Massachusetts. - -Such facts, of course, are of interest from the standpoint of cultural -history. Musicological research has taken due note of them, and -probably the familiar error of confusing historical interest with -musical value has been made: the awkwardness of this early music has -been confused with originality. The music is in no sense devoid of -interest; one finds very frequently a freshness, a genuineness, and -a kind of naiveté which is truly attractive. We find it hard to be -convinced, however, that the parallel fifths, for instance, which occur -from time to time in the music of William Billings, are the result of -genuine, original style, rather than of a primitive _métier_; -and we well remember our curious and quite spontaneous impressions on -first becoming acquainted with the music of Francis Hopkinson, in which -we easily recognized eighteenth-century manner and vocabulary, but -missed the technical expertise and refinement so characteristic of the -European music of that period--even of that with little musical value. - -Such facts as we know of the music life of that early time are of -anecdotal rather than musical interest. They bespeak a sporadic musical -activity which no doubt contributed tangibly to the music life in the -large centers during the earlier nineteenth century. The city of New -Orleans would seem to be exceptional in this respect. French in origin, -then Spanish, again French, and finally purchased by the United States -in 1803, it was a flourishing music center, and in the first half -of the nineteenth century produced composers like Louis Gottschalk, -who achieved a success and a reputation that was more than local or -national, and that, on a certain level, still persists. The music life -of New Orleans declined after the Civil War, as did the city itself, -for some decades; however, the music life which had flourished there -was of little influence on later developments in other parts of the -country. - -During the nineteenth century the United States seems to have received -its real musical education. In 1825 Mozart’s librettist, Lorenzo -da Ponte, at that time professor of Italian literature at Columbia -University, and Manuel Garcia, famous both as singer and teacher, were -among those who established a first operatic theater in New York, which -city thereby became acquainted with the most celebrated operatic works -and artists of the time. In 1842 the New York Philharmonic Society, -the oldest of our orchestras, was founded. Farther reaching was the -influence of individual musicians like Lowell Mason in Boston, and -Carl Bergmann, Leopold Damrosch, and Theodore Thomas, in New York and -elsewhere--men who worked devotedly, indefatigably, and intelligently -to bring the work of classic and contemporary composers before the -American public. Mason and Thomas, toward the midcentury, organized -and performed concerts of chamber music and provided the impulse toward -an increasingly intense activity of this kind. Bergmann, as conductor -of the New York orchestra, and, later, Thomas and Damrosch, led the way -with orchestral concerts; the list of works which they introduced to -the American repertory is as impressive as can be imagined. In addition -to his activities in New York, Thomas also organized the biennial -festivals at Cincinnati, and eventually became the first conductor of -the Chicago orchestra--a post which he held until his death in 1905. - -Concert life was already flourishing. Those organizations which, -along with the New York orchestra, still dominate our music life, the -Boston and the Philadelphia orchestras, were established, as was the -Metropolitan Opera Company. They were, needless to say, initiated by -groups of private individuals, of whom an appreciable number belonged -to a public well provided with experience and curiosity, a public -which loved music, possessed some knowledge of it, and demanded it in -abundance. It is hardly necessary to point out that there were also -those who cared less for music than for social esteem, prestige, and -“glamor”--the reflected and artificial magic of something which they -neither understood nor desired to understand, since it was the magic -and not the substance that mattered; the more remote the substance, -the more enticing the magic. Such contrasts always exist, and it was -fashionable some years ago to throw this fact into high relief: in that -way healthy and necessary self-criticism was evidenced. - -Among the personalities we have reference to was Major Henry L. -Higginson who founded, and then throughout his life underwrote, the -Boston Symphony; he belonged to the personalities of authentic culture -and real stature who demanded music in the true sense of the word, -and who knew how and where to find it. It is unnecessary to discuss -the artistic levels these organizations achieved; that is general -knowledge. If today we are aware of certain disquieting symptoms -pointing to a decline in quality by comparison with that period, they -are the result of later developments to be considered in the following -pages, in connection with concrete problems of today. - -This necessarily brief and partial summary concerns the development of -the American music public. From this public the first impulses toward -actual musical production in America arose. A natural consequence -of these developments, musical instruction kept pace with them. -Among those who received such instruction there were a few ambitious -individuals. The general topic of music education in the United -States will be discussed later; we here note in passing that much of -the best in music education of the earlier days was contributed by -immigrants--like the already mentioned Manuel Garcia--from the music -centers of Europe. It was inevitable that, until very recent years -(mention of this was made previously), anyone who wished to accomplish -something serious was obliged to go to Europe for his decisive studies; -it is also inevitable that what they produced bore traces of derivation -from the various milieus--generally German or Viennese--in which they -studied. Nor is it surprising that this derivation generally bore a -cautious and hesitant aspect, and that the American contemporaries of -Mahler and Strauss are most frequently epigenes rather of Mendelssohn -or Liszt. Some acquired a solid craft, if not a bold or resourceful -one; in the eighteen-nineties they were following in the footsteps -of the midcentury romanticists, just as, twenty years later, their -successors cautiously began to retrace the footsteps of the early -Debussy. There were, of course, other elements too, such as those -derived from folklore and, even at that time and in a very cautious -manner, from popular music. - -One cannot speak of the composers of the turn of the century without -expressing the deep respect due them. They were isolated, having been -born into an environment unprepared for what they wanted to do, an -environment which did not supply them with either the resources or the -moral support necessary for accomplishment. If the limitations of what -they achieved are clear to us today--we see it in perspective--they -are limitations inevitably arising from the situation in which they -found themselves, and it would be difficult to imagine that they could -have accomplished more. If their influence on later developments at -first glance seems slight, it must not be forgotten that these later -developments would not have been conceivable had they not broken the -ground. Surely many composers still active today remember with deep -gratitude the loyal and generous encouragement and friendly advice -and support received from them, as did this author from his former -teachers, Edward B. Hill and Horatio Parker, and from older colleagues -like Arthur Whiting, Arthur Foote, and Charles Martin Loeffler--men -and musicians of considerable stature whose achievements were -significant and who worked under conditions incomparably less favorable -than those of recent date. - -Let us again briefly summarize the situation at the beginning of -this century: in several American cities there existed first-class -orchestras, some of them led by conductors to be counted among the -great of the period. Their repertory was comparable to that heard in -any great European music center. There was an abundance of chamber -music, as well as of solo instrumental and vocal concerts. There has -been little change since that time. The change that has taken place -lies in the fact that similar conditions now prevail in almost all -major cities throughout our country, and, at least as important, that -the concerts are presented to an overwhelmingly great extent by -artists resident in America, that the majority of them are American -citizens and an increasing number are natives of America. There are, -to be sure, also complications and disturbing elements in the present -situation; of this we shall speak later. - -As far as opera is concerned, the situation is not parallel. In the -early years of this century, there was in New York not only the -Metropolitan, already known throughout the world, but for several -seasons there was also the Manhattan Opera Company, more enterprising -than the former, artistically speaking. There were independent -companies also in Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, San Francisco, and -the venerable and still existent company in New Orleans. At the time -of this writing there is only the Metropolitan--which has become much -less enterprising and less glamorous--in addition to the more modest -but more progressive City Center Opera. Finally, there is the short -autumn season of the San Francisco Opera. The operatic situation is, -superficially at least, less favorable than concert life. - -No doubt there are reasons why a whole generation of musicians, in the -second and third decades of our century, should have become conscious -of a determination to prevail as composers, performers, scholars, and -teachers. However, these reasons never are entirely clear. World War I -and the experiences which it brought to the United States undoubtedly -played a major role, but these experiences do not afford the full -explanation since the movement already had begun before the war in the -minds of many who had made their decisions even as children. In this -sense the war effected little change. We shall deal with this in the -following pages, and shall attempt to arrive at an estimate of its -scope and meaning. - - - - -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 not only 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, it serves 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 of -perspective 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, the danger 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 government subsidies -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 have risen, 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 need the -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 organizations are 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, and those 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 -manner in 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 impossible for 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 forms in 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 -this program 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 -must also 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 accordance with 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 of people 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 battle _ever_ really 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’s _Wozzeck_. 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 that _Verklärte -Nacht_ and _L’Oiseau de Feu_ are 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 finds _all_ music 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 in satisfying -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 little concern 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 forces characterizing 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 must insist 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, that economic 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. - - - - -IV - - -All that has been said about the business organization of our concert -life applies with at least equal force to our musical theater. The -latter is the most costly as well as the most complicated form of -musical production, and therefore the most problematical economically. -However, the somewhat embarrassing situation of the musical theater in -the United States is not only of economic origin. It may even be said -that the economic difficulties are at least partly derived from other -problems, so to speak anterior to economics. - -These problems may be broadly summarized in the statement that the -serious music drama has shown signs of becoming popular only in recent -years. A certain portion of the public has always shown interest and -enthusiasm for opera, to be sure, and such a public has always existed; -however, there are signs that it has grown both larger and more adept -through the influence of radio programs, concert performances, and -other forces to be discussed later. Of late, it has become customary -to devote a concert to the partial or complete performance of an -operatic work rarely heard in the theater in the United States, and -still more recently this practice has been extended to the performance -of works even from the standard repertory. Significant events were the -concert renditions, by Mitropoulos in New York, of Strauss’s _Elektra_, -Berg’s _Wozzeck_, and Schönberg’s _Erwartung_; and, by Monteux in San -Francisco, of Debussy’s _Pelléas et Mélisande_ and Gluck’s _Orfeo_. -The results were not equally successful; while _Elektra_ achieved rare -acclamation in New York, the success of _Pelléas_ in San Francisco -was less conspicuous, as those who know the opera well will readily -understand. But the fact that such performances are in fashion is -evidence that there is still need for them at this point in our music -life, and the enthusiasm for them is evidence that a public stands -ready to embrace something other than the standard fare ordinarily -offered by our established operatic institutions. This is only one of -many symptoms of the situation. Many enterprises throughout the country -have sprung up during the last twenty or twenty-five years which show -that a public for opera is developing; only the means of satisfying it -is lacking. - -The above statement that serious opera only recently has begun to -show signs of becoming popular requires elucidation. The best way of -approaching the question is to consider the basis on which our operatic -institutions grew. We started with the institutions because, as always -in the United States, there were people in those days who did not wish -to be deprived in the New World of all they had been able to enjoy in -the Old. The ever-present snobs gradually joined their ranks, and at -the time the Metropolitan Opera was founded, twenty years after the -Civil War, their influence was at its height. It was the epoch of great -fortunes, of tremendous expansion of American industry and finance, and -of the arrogance of recently acquired wealth. Much has been made of the -fact that in the original architectural planning of the Metropolitan -Opera House express provision was made for the demands of social -exhibitionism. All this is tiresome, no doubt, but it is relatively -harmless. More important, perhaps, is that the problem of building an -intelligent public was faced in all too casual a manner. The small -European and cosmopolitan nucleus had no need for such education; -the snobs needed little or nothing, since their aims were far from -the desire for genuine artistic experience. Most others contented -themselves with accepting or rejecting what was offered. - -It is worth considering our operatic situation not only in itself, but -in its relations to the environment into which it was transplanted. -There is every reason to believe that the performances of that period -were of the highest quality, and that that level declined only -much later, under pressures similar to those already mentioned in -connection with our concert life, which in both cases arose roughly at -the time of the World War I with the decline of patronage. In the last -years of the nineteenth century there existed not only enough wealth -fully to support such enterprises, but also a willingness to follow the -best artistic advice obtainable. What was wanted was, in the direct -terms, the collaboration of the most distinguished artists of Europe, -and such collaboration was cheerfully and handsomely rewarded. The -latest novelties were desired along with all the standard repertory, -and they were mounted in the most sumptuous manner. Occasional world -_premières_ took place at the Metropolitan; the author has already -referred to the fact that his parents sought the advice of foreign -composers, in this case of Puccini and Humperdinck, who were in New -York for the world _premières_ of _The Girl of the Golden -West_ and of _Königskinder_, respectively. Among the conductors -at the Metropolitan were Anton Seidl, and later, Gustav Mahler and -Arturo Toscanini. While the repertory favored the nationality of the -manager (under Conried German opera and under Gatti-Casazza Italian), -such favoritism was, at least in part, amended by other organizations. -Oscar Hammerstein, for instance, through his Manhattan Opera Company, -introduced the then new German and French operas to New York. This was -early in our century, and though his project was short-lived, operatic -institutions, all different in complexion, were springing up in Boston, -Philadelphia, Chicago, and San Francisco. In the South, in New Orleans, -French opera was still in existence. In the United States as in Europe -the most celebrated melodies of Verdi, Donizetti, Gounod, Bizet, and -even Wagner were played and sung. Why then, one will ask, did opera -fail to become popular? - -The question is not of opera but of music drama, and has nothing -to do with either the dramatic quality of the performances or with -melodies. The author treasures the memory of certainly first-class -performances of _Otello_, _Die Meistersinger_, _Carmen_, _Pelléas_, -even of _Don Giovanni_ and of Gluck’s _Orpheus_. However, certainly -for most devotees opera meant something other than music drama; and -this for reasons ultimately deriving from the fact that opera in the -United States was still a luxury article, imported without regard -for its true purpose or its true nature, and that the circumstances -of its production accentuated that fact. For a public with this -orientation, opera possessed the magic of an emanation from a distant -and glamorous world, one which retained the element of mystery. Since -the artists were highly paid--as a result of a quite natural desire -to have the very best available at any price--it was equally natural -that the public overestimated the importance of individual singers and -their voices, and remained comparatively unaware of the importance of -ensemble. The “star system” did not originate in the United States, to -be sure, but it found fertile soil here, as did the widespread idea -of opera as a masquerade concert, a romantic pageant in which various -celebrities played their roles, and the primary purpose of which was to -provide sumptuous entertainment. - -Such an idea of opera was in part also the result of the fact that -the works were sung in their original languages, or at times in -other non-English languages. The idea was prevalent that English -was a bad language to sing--and such an idea is not unnatural when -it is considered that the singers were mainly of German, French, or -Italian origin, background, or training. There were occasions on which -singers sang different languages in the same performance: Chaliapin, -for instance, sang _Boris Godunoff_ in Russian, supported by an -Italian cast. - -Indisputably from every ideal standpoint an opera should be performed -in the language in which it is written. But properly understood, -opera is at least as much theater as music. Any drama--musical or -otherwise--suffers through translation; yet no one would seriously -suggest a performance in the United States, under any but exceptional -circumstances, of a work by Chekhov, Ibsen, or Sartre in the original -language. Even in regard to opera this problem is beginning to be -understood; and anyone who has attended recent performances in English -at the Metropolitan--or imagined, on the contrary, what might have been -the result had _Porgy and Bess_ or a work of Gian-Carlo Menotti -always been sung in Italian or German--has an idea of the importance of -this question. For a relatively inexperienced public like the American -before the World War I, a public not well versed in opera in English -and unfamiliar with the languages in which the works were sung, hence, -in reality, with the works themselves, the foreign language becomes an -obstacle. It fosters the sense of remoteness referred to above; not -only the words, but in some cases even the titles of the works remain -mysterious even when the plots may be familiar. The public, as a whole, -remains in the dark not only as to what Isolde and Brangäne, Isolde and -Tristan, or Tristan and Kurvenal are saying in the respective acts of -_Tristan_, but also it cannot fully participate in the musical -and dramatic unfolding of _Otello_, the infinitely delicate -articulation of _Falstaff_, or in the complications of the last -two scenes of _Rigoletto_. In such instances the drama is missed -if the meaning of the words is not understood; and when the words are -not completely understood in every detail, at least the experience of -an enacted libretto can convey some of the power of the music. - -It must be emphasized, however, that for any public a drama is -drama only if it can become the reverse of remote. It must be truly -and intimately felt; and a living theater cannot exist entirely on -imported fare. In order really to live, an opera must be felt as drama; -otherwise results different from those noted are scarcely obtained. -Neither composer nor performer can breathe life into opera unless its -drama is felt, and the public takes fire only from things it has lived. -It remains basically indifferent if there is no point of contact with -whatever is dramatic in its own world or age; from its own epoch the -public learns what drama _per se_ is, and only from this point of -departure can it understand dramas of other periods. For this reason -we speak of French, or German, or Italian, or Russian opera. With few -exceptions, what was lacking at the Metropolitan of the period in -question were operas written in English, in quantity and in quality -sufficient to solve this problem and to lay the foundations for a vital -operatic tradition. - -Meanwhile the economic problems characterizing our music life are -becoming more acute in the field of opera. Our nonoperatic theater -is doubtless the weakest point in the whole of American cultural -life; it may be, and often is, summarized in the words “Broadway” and -“Hollywood.” The reciprocal action of the vast economic power of our -theatrical and, above all, our motion picture enterprises, of increased -prices and therefore increased risks, and, finally, of the huge -American and even international market results in a kind of spiral: -economic risks and caution operate constantly so as to keep standards -at a low level. The same forces are at work, in a restricted way, in -the operatic field. Little by little the operatic enterprises of which -mention has been made, had to be abandoned, with the exception of the -Metropolitan and the curtailed autumn season of the San Francisco Opera. - -Under the pressure of rising prices, the fundamental limitations -of the system became clear. The repertory remained facile, without -novelties of consequence, without daring of any kind. Whatever new -works were heard in the United States--_Mavra_, _Lady Macbeth -of Mzensk_, _Wozzeck_--were performed under special auspices; -and while later the performance of _Peter Grimes_, and still -later, _The Rake’s Progress_ seemed hopeful beginnings of a -possible change, the fate of these two works served only to point up -the real dilemma. Broadly stated, one must admit that the performance -of any new work is a serious risk in a situation where rising costs -have vastly increased the economic hazards to which the enterprise is -subjected. This is true even under best conditions. On the other hand, -if an institution is to survive, it is imperative that fresh blood be -constantly injected, and for an institution like the Metropolitan this -means freshness and novelty in repertory as in everything else. One -cannot permanently live on the past; even revivals are not the answer. - -Much has been accomplished at the Metropolitan since 1950, the advent -of Rudolf Bing as its director. In the period prior to his arrival, -artistic quality had seriously declined, owing in part certainly -to the steadily deteriorating economic situation, but in part also -to ineffectual leadership. Inevitably, some of the preconceptions -indicated were responsible for the decline which economic stresses -threw into higher relief. The problem of creating a satisfying operatic -ensemble from casts composed of singers drawn from different parts of -the world, with different backgrounds and engaged as individual stars, -is great; but when rehearsals are inadequate, as they assuredly were at -the time, the results are disastrous. Surprisingly good performances -were achieved on occasion, especially by Bruno Walter, Fritz Stiedry, -and George Szell, and tentative beginnings were made in using English -translations for some Mozart performances. In general, however, -standards were lower than ever before. - -Unquestionably, Bing has brought some changes for the better, both -in repertory and standard of performance. The essential problems, -however, remain, since they are not created by artistic directors, but -by prevalent misconceptions. Composers, and, above all, the regulation -of financial support can contribute to their solution. Certainly they -are not insoluble, and there is reason for believing that forces are -gradually working in the direction of a satisfactory solution. However, -one must remain aware of problems and obstacles. They are formidable. - -Numerous attempts are now being made in many parts of the country to -further the production of opera by contemporary American composers. The -response has been indeed surprising. For many years thinking in terms -of what might be considered genuine American opera was the rule; one -peered into the void for the “real” or the “great” American opera in -much the same way as one looked for “the great American novel,” and -one attempted to forecast its characteristics. This is not only an -example of the bent toward abstraction discussed before, but also one -of a primitive and mechanistic view. In other words, the search, less -for truth or artistic necessity and more for a product most likely to -make headway on the American market, was in the foreground. Sometimes -the answer was found in the use of so-called “American” subjects--plots -taken from our history, folklore, literature, or landscape. At other -times, such efforts were combined with the use of folk tunes: the -object was the creation of a kind of folk opera. A solution was sought -in the evocation of American scenes and memories, a worthy aim only -if not considered the final answer to the fundamental question. Some -advocated the use of “contemporary” subject matter instead--texts -seeking to incorporate characteristic aspects of modern life. Again, -one cannot object, except to an irrelevant dogmatism. Solutions were -sought, in fact, with reference to everything--contemporary drama, -the spirit of Hollywood and Broadway, and, of course, jazz. At least -one work of real value, _Porgy and Bess_, may be associated with -these attempts, though it certainly represents them in the least -self-conscious manner. However, no such program can ever be regarded as -the answer to the problem. - -The achievement of a genuine “national style” in any sphere whatever -depends on something deeper than evocation, nostalgic or otherwise; and -if what one seeks is timeliness, machines, ocean liners, or nightclubs -on the stage do not suffice. What is required is _drama_, felt -and communicated, whether it be comedy or tragedy; and this, if it is -real, _becomes_ both contemporary and national--just as _Julius -Caesar_ is both English and Elizabethan, and _Tristan_ neither -Irish nor medieval. So far as this author knows, no one has thought -of reproaching Verdi for having written Egyptian, Spanish, French, or -English--even American--opera in the various instances which come to -mind. It is a heartening sign that American opera composers of today -seem to be fully aware of this problem, however they differ as to -outcome. - -In any case, this is the central problem of American opera. How can -one hope for the growth of an American opera tradition under the -conditions prevailing in our established operatic institutions, and in -view of the fact that throughout the country there are only three or -four which continue to exist, and those not on a desirable economic -basis? One must insist once and for all that a vital American music -life cannot be confined to the established conventions of concert -and opera. We have already given attention to radio and recordings, -which play so decisive a role, and interest us for manifesting sharp -contrasts with features discussed in connection with concert and -theater. Later comment is reserved for what may well be regarded as -the most noteworthy aspect of American music life today: the multitude -of impulses all over the country, the yearning for musical experience -our concert and opera life does not offer. These impulses center -largely in educational institutions--in schools, conservatories, and -universities. Above all, one here finds the beginnings of what may be -called a different mode of opera life. In an already considerable and -ever-increasing number of schools and opera departments, problems of -opera production are being studied, with an undaunted willingness to -experiment and, if necessary, even to fail, and with a vitality which -amazes all who have the opportunity to watch it closely. At least -one happy result has manifested itself, even within the framework -of music life. It has shown Americans that satisfying results can -be obtained in the operatic field without recourse to the luxury of -stellar personalities or sumptuous modes of production. Notably at the -City Center Opera in New York--an offshoot, in a sense, of the opera -department of the Juilliard School--some performances provided even -valid competition in quality of ensemble and vitality of interpretation -to identical works at the Metropolitan. - -The question of adequate financial support for opera is not easily -solved. There is much discussion of a Ministry of Fine Arts in -Washington, and of the possibility of government subsidies for various -types of musical enterprise. Some of the discussion has ignored -matters involving American politics, and which contain many a snare. -Governmental subsidies for the arts on the European continent date back -to the pre-Revolutionary era, and carry on a long tradition in which -cultural matters for the most part were kept out of politics. At the -moment it seems Utopian to think that such a state of affairs could be -easily achieved here at the expense of the ever-vigilant taxpayer. -If subsidies, at least those at the Federal level, do not seem likely -or wholly desirable at the present time and under present conditions, -solutions must be sought elsewhere--in municipal or state subsidies, or -in large foundations. For the moment we must content ourselves with and -draw encouragement from the great variety and vitality of the various -forces which flourish and prosper luxuriantly throughout our music -life. It is difficult to believe, in view of all these impulses and -purposeful activities, that ultimately a solution should not be found. - - - - -V - - -We have attempted to show that the business mentality that directs -so many of our musical institutions fosters an economy of scarcity -as regards talent and repertory. We have tried to show how it tends -drastically to restrict opportunities for young artists and their -careers and to limit repertory. The aim of a cautious policy, as -we have stated, is to satisfy the immediate wishes of the greatest -possible number of listeners. To maintain prices, as well as the -prevalent values, as high as possible, the tendency is, among other -things, to restrict the number of goods for “sale.” - -Curiously enough, the effect of this business point of view in radio -and with respect to phonograph and recordings is quite different. -No doubt the business mentality is as predominant here as it is in -the concert and opera business. In radio and recordings, however, -it fosters an economy of abundance. One may guess why it works that -way. Fewer, not more recordings would be sold if the output were -restricted to performances by celebrities, even if they were more -highly priced. In view of the nature of the product, the policy must -be to sell as many recordings as possible. To that end, policy will -always center on variety of both performances and works performed. In -the service of an economy which favors expansiveness and flexibility, -it is also necessary to maintain an even higher degree of technical -perfection. The result is that there is already available a large and -representative selection of recordings of music from every period, -including our own. This repertory is steadily growing larger. - -Similar conditions prevail in radio, though in a less striking and -more sporadic manner, since American radio is largely supported by -commercial sponsors. Competition plays so great a role that giving -programs a conspicuously individual character is every sponsor’s aim, -and since many radio programs consist of concerts of recorded music, -the tenor is abundance rather than scarcity. - -A discussion of music education in the United States must consider -the educational impact of both recordings and radio performances -during the past twenty-five years. Anyone interested in music has a -range of musical experiences previously unheard-of at his disposal; -and it is the rule that a young person wishing to undertake serious -study of music already has acquired an appreciable knowledge of music -literature, a rather experienced sense for interpretation, and even -a certain musical judgment--sometimes surprisingly good--before he -embarks upon such study. - -There is a negative side. The knowledge acquired is not necessarily -intimate nor profound. It is knowledge different from that resulting -from studying scores and reading them, in some manner, at the piano. -Teachers are aware of the deceptive familiarity of American students -with music of all periods and nations and of their frequent glibness -which astonishes one until he discovers that all is based on a facile -and superficial experience with little to back it up. This is a problem -of education, and a state of affairs which our teachers are trying to -correct. - -In this connection a leitmotif which frequently comes up in a -discussion of music in America is: what can and should music mean to -us? Is it an article we buy for whatever effortless enjoyment we can -derive from it, or is it a valid medium of expression worth knowing -intimately, through real participation, even on a modest level? In -other words, are we to be content with superficial acquaintance, or -do we want genuine experience, and the criteria derived only from the -latter? - -Such alternatives are often not clearly formulated, and that fact -alone is both the result of, and a contributing factor to causing -a confusion of ends often observed in our situation. The confusion -derives from the fact that until a relatively short time ago music was -for us predominantly an _article de luxe_ which was to be enjoyed -without the obligation of intimate knowledge. As pointed out, at times -we even doubted whether we were, by birthright, entitled to, or capable -of fulfilling such an obligation, and the growing impulse toward vital -musical experiences developed from this basis. Gradually the ideas -of education, at least on the elementary or nonprofessional level, -obtained. A result of the schism even today is the wide divergence -between instruction considered adequate for the layman and that -required by the professional musician--a divergence which, as far as -this author knows, has no parallel in any other field of education. - -We are accustomed to justify such divergence, or at least some of its -results, in terms of a somewhat pragmatic philosophy; this author -disagrees with that philosophy. Present criticism concerns, however, -but the effect of this confusion on our musical development. It must -be admitted that much of the musical or quasi-musical instruction given -in our elementary and high schools has little or no value whatever from -this point of view. This is said with due reserve; conditions vary -not only because of individual and local differences, but because the -organization and even the underlying concepts of education vary from -state to state. However, instruction at those levels is limited too -often to lessons in “sight singing,” a kind of primitive solfeggio, to -a small degree of facility on instruments designed to equip players for -the school orchestra, and finally to the “appreciation” course. While -the results are varied, in certain localities energetic teachers or -groups have accomplished impressive feats and sometimes, in the cases -of gifted students, have reached an almost professional level. Too -often, however, the prevailing idea behind the teaching has little to -do with truly musical achievement, and the gifted youngster may well -find himself quite lost in truly artistic surroundings. If he wishes to -work seriously, he must have recourse to the conservatory or to private -instruction; and he must pursue his studies outside of, and in addition -to the school curriculum. - -The above picture, of course, is generalized, even though it is -doubtlessly accurate. Aside from exceptions, the system is less rigid -than a brief summary could demonstrate. Again, our culture is fluid -and development rapid. One recalls the establishment, nearly two -decades ago, of the High School of Music and Art in New York, and -similar establishments come to mind, but such practical institutions -scarcely answer the problem of fares suitable for both amateurs and -professionals. - -In the universities the picture is different and the development -impressive, though not devoid of problems. To understand what is -going on, let us consider the role which the university plays in our -culture. In our universities the most independent forces of American -culture seem to gather--influences free from political or commercial -pressures; the universities, more than any other institutions, sustain -their role as strongholds of independent and liberal thought, and, -with a few regrettable exceptions, they are jealously committed to the -conservation of that independence. They shelter the cultural activities -which have difficulty acclimatizing themselves to the excesses of -commercialism, and they provide means for the independent existence of -worthy activities within their own walls. - -The policy is general, even though it is not everywhere equally -pronounced, and but few of the larger universities are in a position to -carry it out on a broad scale. This endeavor is organized in various -ways. Some universities such as Yale, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Illinois -possess Schools of Music which are genuine professional schools -similar to our medical and law schools. Others such as California, -Columbia, Harvard, and Princeton have music departments which, though -integrated in the Colleges of Liberal Arts, include in their curricula -not only composition courses frankly professional in standard and -aim, but also generally high-quality courses in the performance of -choral, orchestral, and chamber music and, frequently, in opera. Some -universities support “Quartets in Residence,” generally established -ensembles which are under contract to contribute their services during -a certain portion of each year for campus concerts and instruction as -well. The Pro Arte Quartet at Wisconsin, the Griller Quartet at the -University of California at Berkeley, and the Walden Quartet at the -University of Illinois are examples. - -In some respects, this program constitutes a radical departure from -the traditional role of the university as established in Europe. -It is the result of a long and frequently complex evolution. Some -academicians, even in departments of music, deplore this departure, -while others feel that it should be limited. No doubt the idea has -brought about new problems including that concerning the relationship -of scholarship and creative production, a problem existing already on -the elementary technical level, and one that cannot as yet be solved. -All of these problems involve various aspects of academic life and -undeniably are difficult in the extreme. The greatest pitfall, as far -as the production of music is concerned, is the danger of confused -mentalities. What are the ultimate obligations of the practical -musician as compared to those of the scholar? There is a tendency in -some quarters to train the former in terms appropriate to the latter, -inculcating in him criteria which are taken from music history and -aesthetic theory rather than from music as a direct experience. Often -an exaggerated reverence for music theory as a source for valid -artistic criteria can be observed. However, contact of scholars with -practical musicians often is fruitful: one can give the other something -valid by way of sharpened insight into his own task. - -The divergence between what is proper for the layman and essential -for the professional is a problem for both scholar and musician. Many -a university music curriculum still bears traces of such divergence, -and the history of university music in the United States could easily -be covered from this point of view. What is involved here as elsewhere -is the shift from a frankly amateurish--in the best sense--approach, -however enlightened in premise, to one based on a serious and -eventually professional outlook. The transformation has been anything -but facile. The situation is still in process. - -In the older curriculum, courses were offered in harmony and -counterpoint, to be sure, and sometimes also in fugue, instrumentation, -and composition proper. It was scarcely envisaged, however, that the -student would aim at serious accomplishment in such courses, and those -who taught them for the most part had learned to accept the conditions -prevailing in our music life, conditions which gave scant encouragement -to those nourishing illusory ambitions. The instruction given aimed, -therefore, at theoretical knowledge of traditional concepts; as has -been pointed out, there was little inclination to examine either the -premises or to delve into the ultimate effects of traditional theory. -The demands of the general curriculum in fact would make it difficult -genuinely to attack the problems of adequate technical training. The -student was obliged to be satisfied to learn “rules” or “principles” -without adequate opportunity, through continual practice, to master -them; and since our music life at the time was what it was, he had -no opportunity to become aware of what genuine mastery involved. -The result is quite obvious: either he gave up the idea of serious -achievement, or he resigned himself, often painfully no doubt, to the -necessity of lowering his sights. - -In the field of scholarship similar conditions prevailed: generally -the curriculum was limited to superficial courses in music history -or literature or, at best, to scarcely less superficial studies -of selected composers. Most characteristic was the course in -“appreciation.” The term itself is used today mainly in a deprecatory -manner since--even if the term is retained--both the idea and the -content of such courses have long become outmoded and relegated to -secondary schools or a few provincial colleges. The appreciation course -usually consisted of propaganda for “serious” music, and it can be -stated frankly that its true aim was often to attract as many students -as possible to the music department in order to win the graces of the -university administration, which in the old days frequently retained -a degree of skepticism regarding the legitimate place of music in -the university. In spite of their superficiality and irrelevancies, -however, such courses unquestionably helped to prepare the public -for the later developments on our music scene. As has been observed -before in connection with Community Concerts, genuine, decisive results -sometimes spring from unpromising sources. - -Such efforts are not needed today, for it is no longer necessary to -entice a public to accept, through radio and recordings, what is -available every day. Courses for amateurs still exist but more and more -become good introductory courses to music to which instructors dedicate -serious thought and effort, and in which they try to lay a basis from -which the student, if he wishes, may develop a real knowledge of music -and train himself to listen to it with greater awareness. The aims, -too, of such courses have become more dignified; and while music can -be approached from many angles and while many kinds of introductory -courses are possible, the effort at least is made to solve a problem -thoughtfully. - -The courses in music history and literature today are on a level quite -different from former days and are frankly conceived as a valid means -of preparation for scholarly accomplishment. Attention is given to -musicology in nearly every major university; names of distinguished -scholars may be found on the faculties and opportunities for all -kinds of research are offered. Little by little, the universities are -building up valuable collections of microfilms in order to bring to -the United States whatever European libraries and collections have to -offer. As in other fields of scholarly research, an effort is made to -establish highest standards and rigorous demands. - -As regards musical composition, perhaps the most striking fact is that -the important recent developments have taken place in the universities, -at least as much as in the conservatories. There are reasons for this -emphasis. The universities, due to their independence, seem more ready -to experiment and are therefore less bound by tradition. They are more -willing to adapt themselves to changing conditions. Since they are -in no way bound to the exigencies of the large-scale music business, -they are, as a rule, aware of the character of contemporary culture -and especially of its creative aspects. It is significant that the -universities were able to offer asylum to eminent composers among the -European refugees, and, as well, positions to American composers. Of -Europeans, Schönberg taught at the University of Southern California -and later at the University of California at Los Angeles, Hindemith at -Yale, Krenek at Vassar and at Hamline College, Milhaud at Mills, and -Martinu at Princeton. As regards native American composers, one finds -more or less distinguished names on university faculties all over the -country, and of the young native composers a characteristically great -number are university graduates. - -That fact alone has had a strong influence on university curricula, and -also has given rise to new problems. It has added an importance, and -in fact a different character, to preparatory studies. It has thrown -into conspicuous relief the necessity of reconciling the requirements -of the all-important and indispensable basic technical training of -the composer with those of general education. No one would claim -that the problem has been solved in a satisfactory manner; and the -composer who teaches composition in a university or elsewhere often -faces problems which arise from the great disparity not only between -the requirements of the craft and that which institutions can offer in -this respect, but also between the degrees of preparation offered in -various institutions. Perhaps the greatest of these problems is the -cleavage between the age and general musical sophistication of students -(who in the United States begin their music studies relatively late) -and the elementary studies with which they must begin if they are to -build a technique on a firm basis. In the last analysis, standards -are often far too low; yet we must underline that there are also -serious curricular problems which await solution. Some results shown -in universities furnish convincing proof that these problems, on the -whole, are soluble. - -It may be asked why in this discussion of music education the music -schools, the conservatories, have been left to the very end. There -has been no thought of disparaging or underestimating what our -conservatories have contributed to musical development. What they -have accomplished, in the main, is precisely what one would expect. -With exceptions such as a new (still problematical) approach to the -teaching of theory at Juilliard, they have developed along normal -lines. Instrumental and vocal instruction is often first class, they -feed excellent players to our orchestras, and produce--as has been -noted--an overabundance of young singers and instrumental performers. -At Juilliard, the opera department deserves highest praise. For many -years its productions have served as a model for those now almost the -rule rather than the exception in music schools and music departments -throughout the country; and in recent years it has given New York -several of its relatively few experiences of contemporary opera. -Equally impressive have been the achievements of the Juilliard School -orchestra, which on repeated occasions has proved adequate to the -demands of most difficult contemporary music. - -We cannot terminate this discussion without some lively praise for the -American student of today. It seems that in these postwar years a new -generation of students has entered upon the scene--a generation which, -in the purposefulness and the courage with which its representatives -undertake most exacting tasks, and in the devotion and the maturity -with which they seek out the real challenges music can present, is -sufficient proof that we have moved forward. They, above all, give us -the liveliest, most unqualified sense of musical vitality, and the -certainty that it will continue to develop. - - - - -VI - - -Throughout this discussion we meet recurrent motives which should be -remembered if we are to understand what “goes on” in our music life. -These motives will continue to come to mind in connection with specific -and concrete instances. It may be useful, therefore, to mention some of -them as a point of departure for the discussion of music criticism, or -better, musical opinion in the United States. - -We have repeatedly referred to the characteristic fluidity of culture -in the United States, to the fact that it is in a constant state of -rapid development and under the lash of incessant self-criticism. It -is impossible to exaggerate the significance of these facts which -runs through the whole of our cultural life; but while it is easy -to understand that one of their effects has been the extraordinary -musical development of the past forty or fifty years, it must also be -noted that they bring with them the danger of attitudes not entirely -favorable to genuine artistic achievement. There is the easily and -occasionally noted lack of spontaneity, not only in artistic judgment, -but in relation to music itself. In a drive toward maturity, one can -lose sight of the necessity for a full and rich musical experience. -The danger lies, then, in a search for shortcuts to maturity, while -actually maturity can be the result only of experience: in striving, -as we sometimes do, to arrive at judgments in advance of genuine -experience, which can be acquired only through love, that is, through -an immediate and elementary response to music. The American public may -gradually learn to surmount this danger as American listeners acquire -more and more experience. However, the musical public is in constant -growth, and we can scarcely be astounded that that public, being in -part musically inexperienced, has not as yet learned to have confidence -in its judgments. Newspaper criticism, therefore, wields far greater -power here than it does in other countries; and a marked predilection -for abstraction in musical ideas may be noted. We readily embrace or -reject causes or personalities, and readily form our judgment with -relation to them, rather than to individual works of art. While this -is a tendency characteristic of the period in which we live, it seems -to be carried to a greater extreme here than elsewhere. - -Another principal motive in our discussion is the conflict between the -idea of music as an imported European commodity and the indigenous -impulse toward musical expression. Obviously, in music criticism this -conflict is clearly visible; for in the beginnings of our musical -development we imported not only music but musical opinion as well. -In the period before World War I, the task of American criticism was -precisely that of imparting some knowledge of the music to which one -listened in the concert halls and opera houses; to introduce the -public to the criteria, controversies, and, above all, to the then -current ideas relating to music; to inform it on composers and their -backgrounds, musical or spiritual, and on the backgrounds from which -music had sprung. The critics of that time were often men of genuine, -and even deep culture, and with cosmopolitan experience; but their -criticism was neither bold nor original. Like the composers of the -period, American critics remained circumspect and cautious in their -judgments of contemporary music. They did not wish to be considered -unorthodox. How could they have done otherwise? They knew perfectly -well that decisive judgments were not made in the United States, and -that intellectual boldness would fall on deaf ears when few people -were in a position to understand what they conceivably had to say. At -most, they could allow themselves an occasional word of encouragement -to the efforts of some American composer, who understood well that it -amounted to no more than a friendly gesture. In the case of young -composers, such gestures, almost always benign, were often coupled with -an express warning not to take themselves too seriously. But even such -judgments were not problematical, since there was virtually nothing in -the American music which offered a challenge to accepted ideas. In the -United States of 1913, the Fourth Symphony of Sibelius was regarded -with suspicion; the _Valses Nobles et Sentimentales_ of Ravel were -controversial; Strauss’s _Elektra_ seemed a shrewdly calculated -shocker which the composer himself had repudiated in a much touted -and likewise suspect _volte-face_ in _Der Rosenkavalier_. -Stravinsky was but a name; and as for Schönberg, his First Quartet -seemed quite obscure and the _Five Orchestral Pieces_ wholly -incoherent. - -The third of the recurrent principal motives to be recalled here -is the divergence between professional instruction and instruction -designed for laymen. As has been pointed out, this divergence is found -in no field other than music, and this author has tried to show that -it is related to the idea that music--valid music, at least--is an -imported article. He has tried to demonstrate, too, that it led, as -far as music education is concerned, to a confusion of aims, creating -problems for both teachers and gifted young men and women whose aims -were serious. These problems still survive. A similar divergence -is reflected in music criticism in a somewhat different form. It -is evident that the principal task of the critic, certainly of the -exacting critic, is that which has a bearing on the musical production -of the time and place in which he lives. The music which comes from -abroad or from the past calls for a serious attitude, to be sure, -but it is not comparable to the critic’s responsibilities toward the -culture of his own land and epoch. It does not inevitably imply a -motive for attacking the real problems of either music or culture. Even -research in regard to it is gratuitous to a point, for the very impulse -toward research derives from a curiosity which, like the creative -impulse, is a symptom of vitality or at least of restlessness in the -general atmosphere of the time. It is an indication of an already -highly developed music life. - -Generally speaking, music criticism in the United States remained -amateurish for a long time; but if such a state of affairs adequately -served conditions in the years before World War I, it was insufficient -in the twenties, when young composers were beginning to take both -themselves and their musical aims seriously. The influence of the -critics was as powerful in those days as it remains to this day, up to -a certain point; but the criteria which criticism furnished had little -or nothing to give young composers. There was little understanding for -either the needs or the demands of these young creators or for that -which they wished to accomplish. - -We think of a well-known and extremely important personality of -that period: Paul Rosenfeld. He was very friendly to young creative -musicians, and a sympathetic promoter of everything they wished to -accomplish. He was a passionate amateur, especially of music that was -new, and above all of the music of the young Americans he knew. In -this respect he stood virtually alone; he dared to write with great -passion and enthusiasm of everything in the “new” music that interested -him--of Schönberg, Stravinsky, Bártòk, Scriabine, and Sibelius--and he -conducted a bold propaganda for new music in a period when the attitude -of other critics, and certainly of the public, was at best cautious -and hesitant. He was also a personal friend of Ernest Bloch, from the -moment the composer, a completely unknown figure in the United States, -arrived here in 1916; Rosenfeld worked tirelessly for the recognition -of Bloch’s music and personality. It is impossible to overestimate -Rosenfeld’s contributions as a writer and as an enthusiastic -propagandist for the contemporary music of his period, and for the -development of music in this country. It is not surprising that this -contribution is still remembered. - -True, Rosenfeld had little understanding for the real and -characteristic tendencies of the period between the two wars, and his -ideas remained _au fond_ those of postromanticism, with a strong -admixture of American nationalism. There is no doubt, however, that he -played a significant role in the formation of the musical generation of -the twenties. The present author belongs to that generation; Rosenfeld -was not in complete sympathy with him, but Rosenfeld’s interest and his -willingness to discuss issues were of the greatest possible value to -all who came in contact with him. One found in him, as in few others -of that time, a genuine awareness of the issues, and a desire to -understand the motivating forces behind them. - -The foregoing notwithstanding, Rosenfeld was in no sense of the word -a music critic. It may seem paradoxical to say that he possessed -neither authentic musical knowledge nor, very probably, strong -musical instinct. Not only did he shy away from acquiring technical -knowledge which he considered an obstacle to feeling and intuition; he -even refused to speak of music in concrete terms. If he made casual -reference to facts, as occasionally happened, he often was in error; in -speaking of the instrumentation of the _Sinfonia Domestica_ of Strauss, -for example, he referred to the use of the _viola d’amore_ instead of -the oboe--likewise _d’amore_, but hardly to be confused with the viola! -His relation to music remained that of a litterateur to whom music -furnished a stimulus for ideas, sentiments, and attitudes, and, in -consequence, for words. - -In spite of his association with mature musicians such as Bloch, -Rosenfeld never learned to regard music as something other than a -means of evocation, an art completely self-sufficient as a mode of -expression, completely developed, an art which demands of its devotees -all their resources of craft and personality. He was therefore not in a -position to help young composers as a connoisseur, to give them a sense -of the demands of their craft or of the essence of musical expression. -He did succeed, to be sure, in giving them something much needed at -that time: a lively sense of belonging to the whole cultural movement -of the period. Other critics gave them not even that feeling. Confined -to the limits of their profession and the premises discussed, they -reported, more or less competently, events and the _faits divers_ -of the daily music life. They concerned themselves little, and only -incidentally, with contemporary music. The composers were growing -and developing independently; and when, as toward the end of the -decade, they found performers like Koussevitzky who took an interest -in their music, the critics were neither conspicuously hostile nor -conspicuously friendly, but remained indifferent to the prospects of -a development of music in the United States. They were also reluctant -seriously to consider either the issues involved or the influences -which would have favored such a development. The critics contented -themselves by “going along,” at least tentatively, with Koussevitzky -and others of established reputation showing interest in this music. - -We state these facts without malicious intent. We can understand why in -such a situation the critics, confronted with something new, failed. -The appearance on the music scene of an entire group of young American -composers who, so to speak, thought for themselves and were searching -for their individual attitudes and modes of musical speech, forced -the critics of the time to face a series of unaccustomed challenges. -It demanded, for the first time in the United States, that they come -to terms, repeatedly, with music of serious intent, music which had -arrived fresh and free of previous critical judgments. At the same -time, the development of a number of these native composers may well -have been a threat to the _status quo_ and vested interests, -which included the supremacy of the critic in all that concerned the -formation of public taste. There is no evidence, as far as we know, -that any critic actually thought in such terms, and it is not a -question of accusation. Such considerations seem natural at least as -subconscious forces and would adequately explain the reserve which the -music journalists of twenty-five years ago displayed, not toward this -or that young composer, but toward American composers as such; their -reluctance to admit American music to the category of things to be -discussed seriously, either for its own sake or for its significance in -relation to the music culture of the country as a whole, was apparent. -Certainly they were aware of the names of some of these creators and -had thought about them, possibly in a stereotyped concept of their -musical physiognomies, and certainly they did not ignore them when -their music appeared on important programs, yet clearly they made no -effort to study such music closely, to seek out and discover young -or unknown personalities, or to interest themselves in events which -took place off the beaten path. In short, what they lacked was genuine -sympathy for what was happening. - -Such sympathy, actually, was reserved for another generation of -critics, which arose toward the end of the thirties. No doubt, the most -influential of recent years have been Virgil Thomson, who retired -two years ago from the _New York Herald-Tribune_, and Alfred -Frankenstein, still of the _San Francisco Chronicle_. Both served -modest apprenticeships before arriving at positions of power. Above -all, both are notable for their close relationship to contemporary, -and especially American music, as well as for their experience and -knowledge of the life and the repertory of concert and opera. Thomson -is known also as a composer; as a critic, he is a lively and often -brilliant observer of the contemporary music scene. He makes his -readers constantly aware of his own predilections (he has every right -to do so as a composer) and his predilections are for the French music -of the twenties. One must give him credit also for the efforts made -to understand music of other types. Above all, one must admire his -consistent and tireless emphasis on the work of younger composers, -and the energy with which he reported on interesting and vital events, -however distant they might have been from Fifty-seventh Street or Times -Square. - -Frankenstein, for at least twenty-five years, has battled for the cause -of music in the United States. He gave careful attention to the state -of music here, and there is probably no one more qualified to speak of -it authoritatively. He became personally acquainted with the principal -composers who live in our country, but, better still, he familiarized -himself with their music. Possessing an unusual degree of knowledge of -music history, he combines it with an equally rich knowledge of, and -carefully considered judgment on, the problems of contemporary music. -Like Thomson, he brings to his task a deep sense of responsibility for -everything in our music life. One need not always agree with Thomson -and Frankenstein, but it is difficult not to recognize their sincerity. - -It is evident that our discussion of music criticism in the United -States has dealt primarily with its relation to the general subject of -our musical development. The music itself and the composers and their -ideas remain to be discussed. - - - - -VII - - -The principal concern of music in the twenties was the idea of a -national or “typically American” school or style and, eventually, a -tradition which would draw to a focus the musical energies of our -country which, as Rosenfeld once said to Aaron Copland and the author, -would “affirm America.” The concern was not limited to composers, and -in fact it was sometimes used as a weapon against individual composers -by those whose preconceived ideas of what “American” music should be -did not square with the music in question. In spite of the abstract and -_a priori_ nature of this concern, it was a natural one in view of -the historical circumstances. - -Actually the nationalist current in our music dates back to a period -considerably earlier than the twenties. Its underlying motives are as -curiously varied as are its manifestations. Cultural nationalism has -special aspects which, since they derive from our colonial past, may -be considered as reflex actions, so to speak, of American history. -American musical nationalism, too, is complex. In its earlier phases -it developed gradually on the basis of a music culture which came -to us from abroad. It consisted, as it were, of a deliberate search -for particular picturesque elements derived for the most part from -impressions received from ritual chants of the Indians or from -characteristic songs of the colored people in the South; equally, it -included efforts, such as MacDowell’s, to evoke impressions of the -American landscape. These and similar elements strongly contributed to -the renown of this sympathetic figure, and MacDowell’s name for many -years was virtually identical with American music. - -A different feature was furnished by a Protestant culture which in -the beginning came from England, but developed a character all of its -own in the English colonies, especially in New England. Against this -background grew our “classic” writers and thinkers, and the character -found expression in music and painting, though in the latter it is -admittedly less important. Next to MacDowell the most significant -figure in the American music of that time was undoubtedly Horatio -Parker, who, especially in certain religious works, displayed not only -a mature technique, but also a musical nature and profile which were -well defined, even though they were not wholly original. - -These men, however, did not represent a genuinely nationalist trend, -but rather idioms which, in much more aggressive and consistent form, -contributed to a nationalist current that was to become strong in the -twenties. The figure and the influence of Paul Rosenfeld again comes to -mind, yet the question was not so much that of an individual per se as -that of a personality embodying a whole complex of reactions deriving -from a new awareness of our national power, of the disillusionment of -the post-War period, and of a recrudescent consciousness of Europe and -European influence on the United States and the world in general. - -We know the political effects of these reactions and their -consequences for the world. As far as the cultural results are -concerned, they led to a wave of emigration which took many of our -gifted young writers, artists, and musicians to Europe, especially -to Paris. It was a revulsion against the cultural situation of the -United States of those years. The same reactions also produced a wave -of revulsion against Europe, however, as far as music was concerned, -against the domination of our music life by European musicians and -European ideas, against the mentioned wave of emigration which seemed -to have carried away, if but temporarily, so many young talents and -therefore so much cultural energy, a revulsion, finally, against the -whole complex world of Europe itself. That European world seemed -exigent, disturbing. It was a world from which we had freed ourselves -a century and a half earlier, but which for so many years thereafter -had constituted an implicit threat to American independence, and which -presented itself to American imagination as a mass of quasi-tyrannical -involvements from which our ancestors had fled in order to build a new -country on unsullied soil. The most pointedly American manifestations -were sought for, not always in the most discriminating spirit or with -the most penetrating insight as to value; and the effort was made -to call forth hidden qualities from sources hitherto regarded with -contempt. - -The situation indicates an extremely complex movement, partly -constructive and based not just on reflex impulses, and has left -traces which persist in our culture. As a primary motive, it has long -since been left behind; for, though it was an inevitable phase, the -time arrived when it no longer satisfied our cultural needs. One -may, in fact, observe the manner in which (more obvious here than in -Europe since our country is so vast and the distances so great) such a -movement tends to shift, also geographically, and finally to die in the -provinces where it had survived for a certain period after losing its -force in the cultural centers. - -From such a background of reflex and impulse the facets of American -musical nationalism grew. Let us distinguish three, though perhaps they -are overdefined. One is the “folklorist” tendency characteristic of a -group of composers of differing types, from Charles Wakefield Cadman -to Charles Ives. Folklore in the United States is something different -from European or Russian folklore. Here it does not involve a popular -culture of ancient or legendary origin, which for centuries grew among -the people and remained, as it were, anonymous; here it is something -recent, less naive, and, let us say, highly specialized. It consists -largely of popular songs originally bound to precise historical -situations and the popularity of which, in fact, derived from their -power to evoke the memory or vision of these situations--the Civil War, -the life of the slaves in the South, or that of cowboys or lumberjacks -in the now virtually extinct Old West--only nostalgia remained. Though -these songs are in no sense lacking in character, they fail to embody -a clear style; and it is difficult to see how, with their origins in -a relatively sophisticated musical vocabulary, they could conceivably -form the basis of a “national” style. Not only a musical, but also -a sociological and psychological basis for such a style is missing. -Therefore, apart from jazz--which is something else, but equally -complex--folklorism in the United States has remained on a relatively -superficial level, not so much for lack of attraction, but for lack of -the elements necessary for expansion into a genuine style or at least -into a “manner.” - -Certain composers such as Henry Gilbert, Douglas Moore, and William -Grant Still have made use of folklorism with success. However, even -in the music of these composers the element is evocative rather than -organic; and the success of their efforts seems commensurable with the -degree to which the whole remains on the frankly “popular” level. The -extraordinary figure of Charles Ives might be considered an exception. -He certainly is one of the significant men in American music, and at -the same time one of the most complex and problematical. But among the -various elements of which his music consists--music which sometimes -reaches almost the level of genius, but which, at other times, is -banal and amateurish--the folklorist is the most problematic, the least -characteristic. - -Another aspect of our musical nationalism is just that _evocative_ -tendency. It makes reference to a quasi-literary type in the -theater, in texts of songs and other vocal works, or to “programs” -in symphonic poems. Many Americans have made use of such reference -in a self-conscious manner. However, the term is used here also to -refer to an effort to achieve a musical vocabulary or “style” apt, -in some manner, to evoke this or that aspect of American landscape -or character. Howard Hanson, for instance, in his postromantic and -somewhat conventional music, has tried to establish an evocative -relationship with the American past as well as with the Nordic past of -his Scandinavian ancestors. - -More ambitious and possibly more interesting was the effort of Roy -Harris to achieve a style that could be called “national” in a less -external sense. His point of departure was the evocation of American -history or American landscape; but from these beginnings he goes on -to technical and aesthetic concepts aimed toward defining the basis -of a new American music. It cannot be denied that Harris accomplished -some results. For a time during the years just preceding World War II, -his music attracted the attention of musicians on both sides of the -Atlantic and achieved considerable success. His ideas and concepts, -however, must be considered quite by themselves; music and technical -concepts belong to different categories: it would be an error to judge -either in terms of the other. Harris’s ideas of technique often have -little or nothing to do with specifically American motivation, but -to a large extent consist of a strange brew composed of anti-European -revulsion, personal prejudice, and the projection of this or that -problem, or a solution with which he has become acquainted. What -is lacking, as in the entire nationalist movement in our music, is -awareness of the fact that genuine national character comes from within -and must develop and grow of itself, that it cannot be imposed from -without, and that, in the last analysis, it is a by-product, not an -aim, of artistic expression. - -A third type of American musical nationalism may be dubbed -“primitivist,” a term implying something different from the primitivism -which for a time was current in European culture. Reference here is not -necessarily to an interest in the culture of the Indians, whether the -primitive of North America or the more highly developed of Central -and South America. Primitivism of this variety is related to frank -rebellion against European culture and is a vague and overstrained -yearning for a type of quasi-music that is to be completely new, -and in which one could find refuge from the demands, conflicts, and -problems of contemporary culture manifesting itself everywhere. It -is expressed in superficial experimentalism, not to be confused, in -its basic concepts, with experimentalism concerned with the problems -of contemporary music and culture. Actually, as happens frequently -in matters of contemporary art, the two types of experimentalism are -sometimes found in association, in a rather strange admixture. It would -require special analysis--one which has no bearing on the present -discussion--to dissociate them. One cannot entirely ignore this trend, -however, a current always existing in one form or the other, though -never achieving importance. - - * * * * * - -One might possibly add one more brand of nationalism to the folklorist, -evocative, and primitivist--the attempt to base a national style -on jazz. Such classification is of course artificial and of purely -practical value. While folklorism, the evocation of American images, -and the type of primitivism we have been discussing, are related -exclusively to American backgrounds, jazz, on the other hand, though it -originated in this country and is considered a product of our culture, -has had an influence on music outside the United States. It has taken -root in Europe and developed European modes on European soil, not as -an exotic product, but as a phenomenon which is modern rather than -exclusively American. - -This author will never forget an occasion at a little restaurant in -Assisi, in the shadow of the church of St. Francis, when he had to ask -that the radio, blaring forth genuine jazz, be lowered so he might -talk quietly with his colleague Dallapiccola; or another occasion -in an Austrian village hotel, where jazz--also genuine though not -of the highest quality--was constantly heard, either from a local -dance band or on the radio: it was craved more by the young German, -Dutch or Danish guests than by the Americans there. Jazz--unless one -insists on an esoteric definition--has become, or is about to become, -an international phenomenon like other mass-produced goods which, -originally manufactured in the United States, lose their association -with it and are assimilated elsewhere. - -This is not to minimize the fact that jazz developed via American -popular music, and that it contains a strong primitive ingredient -from this source. However, other elements were added, as it were, -by accretion, elements which derive from a predominantly rhythmic -vitality and are supposedly inherited from the African past of the -negroes. Long before the name jazz was given to this type of music, -its rhythmical and colorist, and to a degree its melodic elements had -attracted the attention of European musicians. Beginning as early as -Debussy’s _Golliwogg’s Cake Walk_, one remembers a series of works -by Stravinsky, Casella, Milhaud, Weill, and others. The influence -remained active for a short time, and by the end of the thirties it -had virtually disappeared. - -Similar things happened in the United States, yet with far-reaching -implications. Certain composers had hoped to find in jazz the basis -for an “American” style and their efforts may be considered the most -serious of all ever made to create an American music with “popular -style” as its foundation (even though jazz can really not be called -folk music in the accepted sense of the word). These composers in -jazz saw characteristic elements which they believed rich enough -to allow development into a musical vocabulary, one of definite -character, though limited to certain emotive characteristics in turn -believed to be typically American. Aaron Copland in his _Music for -the Theatre_ and his Piano Concerto (written in 1926) showed his -audience novel points of departure such as had been suggested by -Europeans; other Americans felt capable of carrying these beginnings -still farther and discovered idiomatic features not only in the musical -vocabulary, but in the American personality as well. - -Copland, of these composers, undoubtedly was the most successful. -However, he dropped the experiment after two or three works of this -type, which can be counted among his best, in order to write, over a -period of several years, music of a different kind, characterized by -certain lean and harsh dissonances, angular, sharp, and at moments -melancholy and which no longer had a connection with jazz. There is -much more to say about this composer, whose music has passed also -through other phases. It may be asked, however, why he decided to -abandon the idiom chosen at the outset of his career, one based on -jazz. Probably he saw the limitations of nationalist ideas as such -and, like the European composers mentioned, came to the realization -that by its very nature jazz is limited not only as material, but -emotionally as well. Jazz may be considered a _genre_ or a type, -yet one discovers quickly that, passing beyond certain formulas, -certain stereotyped emotive gestures, one enters the sphere of -other music, and the concept of jazz no longer seems sensible. The -character of jazz is inseparably bound to certain harmonic and rhythmic -formulas--not only to that of syncopation but, if incessant syncopation -is to make its full effect, to the squarest kind of phrase structure, -and to a harmony based on most primitive tonal scheme. While immobility -of these bases makes a play of rhythmic detail and of melodic -figuration possible, this always is a question of lively detail rather -than of extended organic development. The result is exactly what might -have been expected: for the last twenty years, leaving aside occasional -instances where jazz was frankly and bodily “taken over” for special -purposes, it has ceased to exert a strong influence on contemporary -music. On the contrary, it has borrowed incessantly from “serious” -music, generally after a certain interval of time. - -Though different from Copland, the equally gifted George Gershwin -travelled in the opposite direction; from popular music he came to the -extended forms of “serious” music. He remained a composer of “popular” -and “light” music, nevertheless, for they were native to him. If his -jazz is always successful and unproblematical even in his large works, -like the _Rhapsody in Blue_ and the opera _Porgy and Bess_, -it is because in its original and popular sense jazz is his natural -idiom, and Gershwin never felt the need for overstepping its limits, -musical or emotive. True, he wanted to write works of large design, -but herein he never succeeded. He never understood the problem and the -requirements of extended form, and remained, so to speak, innocent -of them. But since his music was frankly popular in character and -conception, it developed without constraint within the limits of -jazz; and since he was enormously gifted, it could achieve a quality -transcending the limits of jazz convention. - -In other words, Gershwin’s music is in the first place music, and -secondarily jazz. Those who may be considered his successors in the -relationship to “serious” or, let us say, ambitious music, set out from -premises no longer derived from nationalism. There is no longer the -question of, in Rosenfeld’s words, “affirming America,” but of gaining -and holding the favor of the public. This was the concern of American -composers during the thirties. Perhaps above all, American composers -for the first time had won the attention of an American public; and it -is natural that they wished to win and to enjoy the response of this -public, and that some felt a challenge in the situation not altogether -banal. For the American composer any vital relationship with a public -was a new experience, one which seemed to open new perspectives. He -felt for the first time the sensation of being supported by a strong -propaganda for native music--something quite new in American music, -though not without unexpected effects. Since the propaganda was in -behalf of American composers as such, since it was always stated in -terms of these composers, since their right to be heard and their -problems rather than the satisfactions which the public would derive -from them were stressed, or the participation which that public would -gain from listening to American music, the effect soon was that of -giving nationality as such a value in and for itself. Quality and -intention of the music soon seemed nonexistent; performers satisfied -the demands of Americanism, presenting whatever music they found most -convenient, and often whatever was shortest or made the least demand -on performer and listener. It seems as if our music was obliged to pay -in terms of loss of dignity for what it gained in terms of, at least, -theoretical acceptance. - -Many composers during those years were attracted by ideas derived from -the quasi-Marxist concept of mass appeal. Their ideas of a cultural -democracy drove them toward a type of music which consciously aimed -at pleasure for the greatest number. Such ideas suited the aims of the -music business, which, with the help of business ideologies, encouraged -these endeavors. - -The music produced, however, bore no longer a specific relationship -to jazz, which latter continued to develop along the lines normal to -any product that has become an article of mass consumption, a variable -product excluding neither imagination nor musical talent, but always -remaining a _genre_ and, by reason of its inherent restriction, -never becoming a style. The features which once attracted attention -by now had been absorbed into the contemporary musical vocabulary to -which jazz could make no further contributions. Jazz, on the other -hand, takes the materials of contemporary music, adopts those of -its technical methods it can absorb and transforms them for its -own uses. Infinitely more than even in the case of “serious” music, -the composition and performance of popular music are controlled by -commercial interests representing millions of dollars; in the economy -of music business this fact constitutes a chapter in itself. - -The “serious” composers during the thirties were attracted by the -two tendencies which years before had dominated the European musical -scene: the _neoclassic_ tendency, and that which is roughly -summarized as _Gebrauchsmusik_, literally _utility music_. -In Europe, these tendencies were closely allied since one term implies -an aesthetic, the other a practical purpose, and since they have the -impulse toward new simplicity and a new relationship with the public as -a common basis. As a result, _neoclassicism_, aiming at a clear -and accessible profile and derived from more or less self-conscious -evocations of music of the past, efficiently served as an idiomatic -medium appropriate to the purposes of utility music. In the United -States, explicit “returns” to this or that style or composer were few, -and the neoclassic tendency was by no means always connected with a -drive toward better relations with the public. Widely adopted, however, -was a radical _diatonicism_, in the last analysis derived from the -_neoclassic_ phase of Stravinsky and adapted to utilitarian ends -(as in music for film or ballet by Aaron Copland or Virgil Thomson), to -fantastic and parodistic purposes (as in the opera _Four Saints in -Three Acts_ of Virgil Thomson and Gertrude Stein), or to “absolute” -music as in certain sonatas and symphonies of Aaron Copland. - -The name Copland is always present when one speaks of the differing -tendencies within the development of the past forty years. A large -share of the various phases through which our music has passed during -these decades is summed up in his work. He not only passed through -them himself, but guided many young composers as friend and mentor. -Notwithstanding his manifold transformations--and it is altogether -possible that there are more to come--he has remained a strong and -well-defined personality, easily recognizable in the differing profiles -his music has assumed. - - * * * * * - -This final section, while of necessity dealing with the author of this -book, will not engage in a polemic against the ideas outlined on the -preceding pages. The bases and motives of these ideas have constituted -part also of this author’s experience, and he has tested them, as the -Germans say, _am eigenen Leib_, and has tried to present them in -such a manner as to demonstrate that they were inevitable phases of -American culture. - -But there is more. If we nourish the hope of surmounting the dangerous -crisis through which western culture is presently passing, we must make -clear distinctions, and if we wish to surmount the particular, so to -speak, accessory crisis of American musical maturity, we must not lose -sight of the difference between ideas of an aesthetic or sociological -nature on the one hand, and, on the other, the individual works of art -which supposedly embody them. The valid works and personalities are -infinitely more complex than the ideas which constitute merely one of -many components. - -At the same time, ideas influence not only the conscious efforts of -composers, not only the criteria and the judgments of critics, but they -influence, in the United States far more than in Europe, education and -the general tenor of music life. Repeated mention has been made of a -predilection, in the American mode of thought, for abstraction. This -tendency derives from the necessity of building, fast, a foundation -where a strong, complex influence of ancient tradition is lacking. -Other peoples are inclined toward abstraction, too, but in comparison -at least with Europe, here the ascendancy of certain concepts, ideas, -and personalities is, at least on the surface, nearly uncontested. -Equally striking is the finality, at times not as real as it may seem, -with which the same concept, idea or personality can be superseded. - -These processes may be observed in many aspects of American life; and -the concern with which they are viewed by those following the currents -of opinion, is well known. However, countercurrents exist, frequently -lost from view even when they are strongest. With the full glare of -publicity concentrated on whatever is momentarily in the ascendance, -countercurrents easily grow in quasi-silence and emerge at the -appointed moment with a strength disconcerting to those not acquainted -with the processes of American life (which often seems to run from one -extreme to the other): therefore it is good to remain aware of the -strength, real or potential, of opposition. - -What we term countercurrents to the manifold tendencies heretofore -discussed, may already in part have superseded former attitudes, and -in part may become dominant at the present time. Countercurrents -continually attract a large number of gifted and intelligent young -musicians who regard cultural nationalism with irony, as a formula too -facile to constitute a definitive solution of our musical problems. -They look with irony at the quest for audience appeal, which to them -lacks musical conviction, even though occasionally it may be motivated -by certain social beliefs. They are restive under the older attitudes -aimed at helping the American composer as a matter of principle. They -feel that such aims do not imply necessity, real desire, respect for, -or interest in, the music Americans are writing, and to which they give -all the resources they possess. - -This segment of our young people has observed that musical nationalism, -whatever its special orientation, by this time has lost the freshness -of a new approach and has acquired the character of a provincial -manifestation. This segment sees quite clearly that jazz remains a -particular _genre_ admirably suited to its own aims, but in no -sense capable of becoming a style, since style, if it is to be real, -must cover all visible musical possibilities and be responsive to -all vital, musical, and expressive impulses. These young musicians -are wholly able to enjoy jazz and even to become adepts, without -pretensions and illusions. They are conscious, however, of the -manner in which certain composers, who within their memories were -once considered “esoteric,” have achieved almost classic status, are -regularly if not frequently performed, and often harvest great success. -Bártòk, and to some extent Alban Berg, come to their minds, and they -have noticed the manner in which these composers have achieved what -practically no one expected. - -The influence of European musicians who found refuge here during the -thirties and the early years of World War II, the most distinguished -as well as the most modest, can scarcely be overestimated. It is -unnecessary to speak of the important role they have played, since -that is well known; looking back at the situation as it presented -itself at the time, one can be impressed both by the cordiality with -which they were nearly always received and by the spirit in which, -with few exceptions, they embraced the entirely new conditions history -had thrust upon them. These facts are in the best American tradition, -as is the immense contribution they have made, partly through their -activities as musicians, partly through the successes achieved through -their understanding of a unique cultural situation. - -We are dealing, in other words, with a concept of American music -differing sharply from that heretofore discussed: one which views the -United States basically as a new embodiment of the occidental spirit, -finding in that spirit not only the premises but the basic directives -which have given our national development its authentic character. Such -a view assumes the cultural independence of the United States both as -a fact and as a natural goal; this matter requires no discussion, even -though unfortunately it is still necessary, on occasion, to insist on -it. The same view also recognizes that real independence is an intimate -and inherent quality which is acquired through maturity, and not a -device with which one can emblazon one’s self by adopting slogans or -programs of action. “American character” in music, therefore, is bound -to come only from within, a quality to be discovered in _any_ -genuine and mature music written by an American, is a by-product of -such music, to be recognized, no doubt, _after_ the fact, but not -to be sought out beforehand and on the basis of preconceived ideas. -Only when the ideas are no longer preconceived, when, in other words, a -large body of music of all kinds will have brought a secure tradition -into being, then the American musical profile will emerge and the -question of American style or character assume meaning. - -In the meantime, it is necessary to maintain an independent attitude -toward “foreign influences” without being afraid of them. Furthermore, -it will be better to remember how traditions, in the history of -culture, invariably have crossed frontiers and served to nourish new -thoughts, the new impulses toward new forms and new styles: just as -Dutch music nourished Italian in the sixteenth century, Italian music -nourished German some hundred and fifty years later. The real task of -the American composer is basically simple: it is that of winning for -himself the means of bringing to life the music to which he listens -within himself. This is identical with the task that has confronted all -composers at all times, and in our age it involves, everywhere and in -like manner, facing in our own way the problems of American music with -single-mindedness and genuine dedication. Naturally, it obligates us to -absorb the music culture not just of this or that country, but to seek -large horizons and to explore indefatigably from a point of vantage. - -In order to arrive at an American music, we must, above all, aim -at a genuine music. Similarly, we cannot hope to achieve a valid -relationship with the public by means of shortcuts--neither by -flattering the listener through concessions (however well concealed) -to the taste of the majority, nor by seeking to limit the musical -vocabulary to what is easily understood. Agreed: we live in a -difficult, a transitional and hence a dangerous period, in which -the individual frequently finds himself in an isolated position, in -which society seems to become increasingly uncohesive, more unwieldy, -and therefore prone to seek common ground on the most facile and -oversimplified level. The fact remains that what the public really -wants from music, in the last analysis, is neither the mirrored -image of itself nor fare chosen for easy digestibility, but vital -and relevant experience. The composer can furnish such experience -by writing from the plenitude of complete conviction, and without -constraint. One cannot hope ever to convince anyone unless one has -convinced one’s self; and this is the composer’s sole means of contact -with any public whatever. He has no choice other than to be completely -himself: the only alternative for an artist is not to be one. - -This opinion is no offer of an alternative solution to the American -musical problem: it does not exclude musical nationalism or any other -movement of that type; it does not exclude any kind of music whatever. -It establishes premises which allow the free development of any music -composers feel impelled to furnish. Music life today is infinitely -varied, and there are all kinds of music, for every purpose and every -occasion. This variety has developed as a natural consequence of modern -life, and in fact is a part of it. An exclusive, dogmatic concept which -would aim to limit this variety, or which would deny the validity of -this or that type of music, is ridiculous. However, we must insist on -distinctions and on the criteria that go with distinctions. It is not -to the music or the concept of music--folklorist, evocative, popular, -choose an adjective at will--that one should object, but to the -exclusivity of a system of values which pretends to furnish criteria -relevant to the development of music. Certainly the adjectives have -meaning, but in a different sphere. - -The “great line of western tradition” provides the most fertile source -of nourishment also for American music. This is now being recognized -almost universally throughout the United States: and the recognition -appears as the premise for our music education, criticism, and, in -fact, for the responsible agencies of our entire music life. Today one -hears very little of musical nationalism. It has been relegated to the -provinces. The eternal quarrel between what is “esoteric” and what -“popular” has evolved into a quite urbane, almost friendly argument -between _diatonicism_ and _chromaticism_, the _tonalists_ and the -_atonalists_, or with overtones resounding from a very recent past, -between _neoclassicism_ and the _twelve-tone_ music. We are probably -in a period of calm before new storms, and such periods are not always -the happiest either for artists or for art. Those sensitive to shifting -currents will have an idea of the nature of the next big argument. - -Before giving some hint as to the _possible nature_ of this -argument, as a concluding gesture, it seems relevant to comment on -two more points (unrelated though they are to one another) by no -means unimportant in our general picture. First: though the study of -the classics is all but universal in the United States, and is often -on a level equal to anything found elsewhere, traditionalism in the -European sense simply does not exist here, and we understand why this -is so. In the absence of an indigenous tradition expressing itself in -our criticism, our music education, and our practice of music, there -is no group of composers which would or could identify itself with a -conservative traditionalism, nor is there a means of opposition to new -music on that level. Opposition is abundant, as has been indicated in -the preceding pages; but, generally speaking, it is based on different -grounds, and at most there are remnants of this or that European -tradition: German, Italian French, Viennese, and sometimes even -British. However, the word “tradition” here assumes the most dynamic of -its senses: that which implies _continuity_ rather than that which -fosters domination by the past. - -Second--and one may regard this point as controversial: the influence -Arnold Schönberg exerted during his lifetime in the United States, that -is, for nearly twenty years, is most noteworthy. Like many refugees -from Europe, he became a passionately enthusiastic citizen of our -country and here composed some of his most important works, possibly -the most important: the Fourth Quartet, the Violin Concerto, the String -Trio, and others. Though his career as such may not be relevant to our -present discussion, it is appropriate to stress the influence of this -great personality on American music life--an influence which has been -deeper than is generally assumed. It has always been in the direction -of intensified awareness of that “great line” to which reference was -made, and in the sense of that great line. From his pupils in this -country, as from those he had had previously in Europe, he demanded, -first and above all, striving toward such awareness. Though he -discovered the _twelve-tone_ method, he was far greater than this -or any other method, and he tried to inculcate upon his students and -disciples an awareness of the primacy of music itself: thus he refused -to teach the method to his students, insisting that they must come to -it naturally and as a result of their own creative requirements, or not -at all. - -The _twelve-tone_ music has flourished here as elsewhere, and -is no longer problematical. This author, often identified with the -_twelve-tone_ or _dodecaphonic_ tendency, recently read an -article, as yet unpublished, on his music in which it was pointed out -that several of his colleagues, Walter Piston, Virgil Thomson, and -Aaron Copland, actually experimented with the method before he himself -used it in any literal sense, and this in spite of the fact that these -colleagues are considered as belonging to a different camp. - -The fact is one more proof that the “system” no longer is an issue. The -issue, rather, is one of the resources of a composer, while the system -is available for use by any individual and in any way he sees fit. The -arguments which loom ahead and already have begun to resound in Europe, -are most likely those between composers who commit themselves to the -“system” as conceived by them, the “system” as a value in itself, and -those who regard it as a tool to be used in the forging of music valid -on quite different and perennially vital grounds. The attitude of -Schönberg, and for that matter and in equal measure of his followers -Alban Berg and Anton Webern, is appropriately summarized in a sentence -Schönberg once quoted in a letter to this author, and which is drawn -from one of his early lectures. “A Chinese philosopher,” Schönberg -wrote, “speaks Chinese, of course; but the important thing is: what -does he say?” - -Let us conclude with this beautiful word from one of the truly great -figures of our time. With a slight change of emphasis we can take it -as a challenge to American music, and to any music from any source. -American musical maturity, or if one prefers, the drive toward that -cultural maturity, coincides with one of the most formidable crises -through which human imagination has passed, and one which demands -maturity, urgently, from every possible source. We have reason to hope -that we American musicians may learn to meet the challenge implied in -Schönberg’s words, the eternal challenge of art itself, in a worthy -manner which does full justice to the situation. - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - -The cover image was created by the transcriber from the title page and -is placed in the public domain. - -As all other foreign words were in italics in the original, d’amore -has been italicized for consistency. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REFLECTIONS ON THE MUSIC LIFE -IN THE UNITED STATES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Reflections on the Music Life in the United States</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Roger Sessions</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 24, 2022 [eBook #67239]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REFLECTIONS ON THE MUSIC LIFE IN THE UNITED STATES ***</div> - - - -<p class="p0 center"><big>REFLECTIONS<br /> -on the MUSIC LIFE<br /> -in the UNITED STATES</big> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="p0">This is Volume VI of the <span class="allsmcap">MERLIN MUSIC BOOKS</span> (8 volumes).</p> -</div> - -<p class="p0">Published in this series thus far:</p> - - -<ol class="index"> -<li class="ifrst">I. <i>Bach: The Conflict Between the Sacred and the Secular</i>, by -Leo Schrade, Professor of The History of Music, Yale University.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">II. <i>Tudor Church Music</i>, by Denis Stevens, British Broadcasting -Corporation, London.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">III. <i>Stravinsky, Classic Humanist</i>, by Heinrich Strobel, -Director, Music Division, Southwest German Radio System, Baden-Baden.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">IV. <i>Musicians and Poets of the French Renaissance</i>, by François -Lesure, <i>Librarian</i>, <span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Bibliothèque Nationale</span>, Paris; <i>Chief</i>, -Central Secretariat of “<span xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Répertoire International des Sources -Musicales.</span>”</li> - -<li class="ifrst">V. <i>Greek Music, Verse and Dance</i>, by Thrasybulos Georgiades, -Professor of Musicology, University of Munich.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">VI. <i>Reflections on the Music Life in the United States</i>, by -Roger Sessions, Professor of Composition, Princeton University.</li> -</ol> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h1> -REFLECTIONS<br /> -on the MUSIC LIFE<br /> -in the United States</h1> - - -<p class="center space-above p0"><big>ROGER SESSIONS</big></p> - -<p class="center space-above p0"><big> -MERLIN PRESS—NEW YORK</big> -</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="center p0">Printed in Germany</p> - - -<p class="center space-above p0"><big>THIS IS A MERLIN PRESS BOOK</big></p> - -<p class="center">OF THIS EDITION ONLY FIFTEEN HUNDRED<br /> -COPIES WERE MADE</p> - -<p class="center">THIS IS NUMBER <big>175</big> -</p> - -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table class="autotable x-ebookmaker"> -<tr> -<th> -</th> -<th> -</th> -<th class="tdr"> -Page -</th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#I">I.</a> -</td> -<td> -Background and Conditions -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#Page_11">11</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#II">II.</a> -</td> -<td> -Early History -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#Page_33">33</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#III">III.</a> -</td> -<td> -Concerts -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#Page_48">48</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#IV">IV.</a> -</td> -<td> -Musical Theater -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#Page_74">74</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#V">V.</a> -</td> -<td> -Music Education -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#Page_98">98</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#VI">VI.</a> -</td> -<td> -Musical Opinion -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#Page_121">121</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#VII">VII.</a> -</td> -<td> -Composers and Their Ideas: -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#Page_140">140</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td> -</td> -<td> -Nationalism -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#Page_140">140</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td> -</td> -<td> -Quest for Popularity -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#Page_153">153</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td> -</td> -<td> -Countercurrents -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<a href="#Page_166">166</a> -</td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I</h2> -</div> - - -<p>The following pages represent an attempt to account for the tremendous -musical development of the United States during the past thirty-five -years—roughly speaking, the years since the end of World War I. We -can safely characterize this development as “tremendous,” even without -recourse to statistical data, so frequently cited, regarding attendance -at symphony concerts, sales of “classical” recordings, new orchestras -which have sprung up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> during the period, and comparative sums of -money spent on “serious” music and on baseball. Such statistics while -convenient and fashionable, and assuredly not without interest, have -a purely quantitative basis—such is the way of statistics—and of -themselves do not reveal a vital cultural development. Leaving such -matters aside, the achievement remains impressive indeed.</p> - -<p>Let us consider certain facts which likewise tell us little of quality, -but do reveal decisive changes in the conditions determining our -music life. When the author of this volume decided, for instance, at -the tender age of thirteen, to embark upon a career as a composer, -there was no representative musician living in the United States. His -parents sought the advice of two illustrious guests visiting New York -to attend <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">premières</i> of their works at the Metropolitan Opera.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> -Having received due encouragement, the author pursued his studies and -received some instruction of value; but as he began to develop, one of -his teachers frankly told him that in the United States he could not -acquire all he needed, and strongly urged him to continue his studies -in Europe, preferably in Paris under Maurice Ravel. For good or ill, -the outbreak of World War I made this project impossible. The author -continued as best he could under the circumstances. However, not until -he came into contact with Ernest Bloch, the first of a series of -distinguished European composers who had come to live permanently in -this country, was he able to find the guidance he needed, or even a -knowledge of the real demands of composition toward which he had been -rather blindly groping with the help of whatever he could read on the -subject. It was not so much a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> question of the content of the studies -pursued with Bloch, as that of attitudes and conceptions which the -latter helped him to evolve. After all, harmony, counterpoint, and all -the rest were taught in music schools and college music departments, -and some of the instruction was excellent. What was lacking, however, -was an essential element: the conviction that such study could -conceivably lead, in the United States, to achievement of real value, -and, above all, in the realm of composition.</p> - -<p>The general attitude was not far from that of a lady of the author’s -acquaintance: having had associations with musicians in many parts -of the world, she probably had heard the best music possible. That -lady asked him, a young student, to call on her, and, waving his -compositions aside without bothering even to glance at them, begged -him for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> his own good not to dream of a career as a composer. No -American, she explained, could hope to achieve anything as a composer -since he was not born into an atmosphere of composition and—as an -American—probably did not even have music in his blood. She urged him -to aim rather at being a conductor, and, as a step toward that end, -gave him the (somewhat picturesque) advice to take up an orchestral -instrument—preferably the oboe or the trombone—in the hope of finding -a position in one of the large orchestras, as a stepping stone toward a -conductorial career.</p> - -<p>Naturally, we do not mean to speak of ourselves primarily. A whole -generation of American composers faced a similar situation, and each -found his own way of resolving it. Some of our contemporaries, for -instance—and most of those who have distinguished themselves—did go<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> -to Europe for their studies. Since the influence of French culture was -at its height at the close of World War I, they often went to Paris to -study with Vincent d’Indy or, more frequently and conspicuously, with -Nadia Boulanger. Others sought their individual solutions elsewhere and -in other ways. The striking fact is that those who aspired to genuine -and serious achievement, no longer a handful of ambitious individuals -who remained essentially isolated, were young Americans who had begun -to learn what serious accomplishment involved. They were determined -to find their way to it. Such seeking had not occurred before in the -United States, but they did not find what they sought within the then -existing framework of American music life.</p> - -<p>The reason, not surprising, lies in the fact that the prevalent -conception of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> “serious” music in this country was that of an imported -product. Like the lady who so earnestly advised us to study the oboe -or the trombone, most Americans, even those possessed of a knowledge -of the music world, were, on the whole, inclined to discount the -possibility that a composer of American origin could produce anything -of importance. The young composers of that period had to look to their -European elders not only for the means of learning their craft, but -also for an awareness of what constitutes the craft of composition. -That craft, above all, is a down-to-earth awareness that musical -achievement, in the last analysis, is the result of human effort, -dedication, and love; that “tradition” is the cumulative experience of -many individuals doing their best in every sense of the word, and that -“atmosphere” exists wherever such individuals, young or old,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> live in -close contact with each other.</p> - -<p>Thus, looking back at the conditions prevailing around 1910, our -decision of that year to become a composer seems reckless almost to the -point of madness. We cannot, of course, conceive of any other we could -have made. Today, however, the young musician, including the composer, -faces quite a different situation. If he wishes really to work and -to produce even on the most artistic level, he can find much in his -surroundings to encourage him. In the important centers he can find -musicians capable of advising him; and in several of the large cities -throughout the country he can acquire the instruction he needs. Today -a composer has a fair possibility to gain at least a local hearing, -and his music will be listened to with attention and interest by an -appreciable number of listeners. With slight reservations it may be -said that it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> is no longer necessary for a young American musician to -leave his country in order to find adequate instruction and a more -intense musical life. (The reservations concern such special fields -as the opera, in which a degree of European experience is vital due -to conditions prevalent in that field.) It is not necessary for him -to go to Europe to find more severe criteria, more competent teachers -or more sympathetic colleagues, or to find the opportunity to become -acquainted with first-class musicians of an older generation. In the -United States he finds a complex and developed music life. The contrast -with conditions of forty or fifty years ago is indeed noteworthy.</p> - -<p>This book deals with that development, with the questions it raises -and the problems it involves. Above all, this development is -interesting from the point of view of the subject itself—American<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> -music within the total picture of music today. It is fascinating also -from another point of view: various forces have contributed to this -development—historical, social, and economic forces—and action and -effect raise, in one more guise, questions vital to the understanding -of the world today and the state of contemporary culture both in -the United States and elsewhere. In a summary discussion such as -the present, many such questions—regarding the future of art and -of culture itself, the nature and prospects of art in a democratic -society, the fate of the individual today—will of necessity remain -virtually untouched. They are, nevertheless, present by implication. -For the individual artist whose one earnest preoccupation is his own -production, the answers to these questions, as far as he is at all -concerned with them, lie in the realm of faith and premise rather than -in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> theoretical discussion. Whatever he accomplishes will in its own -measure be a witness and justification of that faith, whether or not he -is aware of it. A cultural movement of any kind is not to be judged in -theoretical terms, but in those of authentic achievement.</p> - -<p>These remarks seem relevant because certain basic characteristics of -our intellectual life affect our attitudes toward a cultural movement -such as the development of music here during the past forty years. -These characteristics have strongly influenced, and continue to -influence, the movement itself, and to some extent they still determine -its character. It may therefore be worth while to consider briefly -certain of these features, freely acknowledging that such summary -reference does not give, nor could it give, a well-rounded picture; nor -will it be necessarily relevant to, say, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> situation in literature -or in the graphic arts.</p> - -<p>American life, American society, and American culture are characterized -by a fluidity which, up to this time, has always been a part of -the nature of the United States, and not the product of a specific -historical moment. It derives, in fact, from all that is most deeply -rooted in our national consciousness; it is a premise with which -each one of us is born, and which is carried into every thought and -activity. It not only corresponds to all the realities of the life -Americans live, but stems from all that is most intimate and most -constant in their ideas. However oversimplified we may have come to -regard the popular phrases which have always characterized the United -States in our own eyes and in those of our friends—“land of promise,” -“land of opportunity,” “land of unlimited possibilities”—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> -concept underlying them for the most conservative as well as for the -most liberal retains the force of an ideal or even an obligation; a -premise to which reference is made even at most unexpected moments and -sometimes in bizarre contexts. The fluidity of our culture is both -one of the basic assumptions behind these ideas and, in effect, a -partial result of them. It is a result also of American geography and -history—the vastness of the continent, the colorful experiences of -the pioneers who tamed it, and the sense of space which we gain from -the fact that it is relatively easy to move in either direction in the -social scale. These are facts which every American can observe any day.</p> - -<p>If, as we hear in recent years, these underlying factors are gradually -disappearing, such a change is as yet scarcely visible in the everyday -happenings which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> constitute the immediate stuff of American life. It -is still far from affecting our basic psychological premises. Fluidity, -in the sense used, is one of the most essential and decisive factors -of our tradition. It is likely to remain so for a long time to come. -It is relevant in the present context because contemporary music life -frequently takes on the aspect of a constantly shifting struggle -between a number of contrasting forces. This is more true in the United -States than elsewhere; and the characteristic fluidity of our cultural -life is one of its features most difficult to understand, particularly -for those who do not know the United States well. At the same time, in -this set of facts, conditions, and premises one finds elements which -have caused Americans to misunderstand other western cultures.</p> - -<p>Another important element in our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> tradition may be derived from the -fact, evident and admitted, that in our origins we are a nation of -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">émigrés</i>. A dear friend of ours, of Italian origin but a fervid -American convert, G. A. Borgese, once half jestingly remarked, “An -American is one who was dissatisfied at home.” If one takes this idea -of “dissatisfaction” in not too emotional a sense, he can take note of -the variety of its causes and see that its results have proved to be -many and varied. The United States has been created by nonconformists -in flight from Anglicanism or Roman Catholicism, as well as by Roman -Catholics in flight from Protestantism; by Irishmen in flight from -famine and by German revolutionaries in flight after defeat in 1848; -by venturesome tradesmen and by others who, either in the spirit of -adventure or for other motives, wanted to escape from the toils of -civilization; by thousands who sought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> better economic conditions, -more space, and the opportunity to prosper socially, and by others -with as many other motives of dissatisfaction. Even such a sketchy -summary hints at the variety and even the conflicting character of -the interests which found common ground solely in the element of -“dissatisfaction at home.” It is perhaps not an exaggeration to say -that this tradition of filial dissatisfaction and the variety of its -original forms is the basis of many of the most characteristic and -deeply rooted American attitudes and problems.</p> - -<p>One can find here, for example, the explanation of the dichotomy -so evident in our attitude toward Europe and everything European. -It is, of course, in the final analysis a question of attitude not -so much toward Europe as toward ourselves. In any case, one easily -notes two tendencies which pervade the whole<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> of American cultural -life, and which, though seemingly in clear opposition to one another, -nevertheless often appear intermingled and confused. Let it be clear -that we regard neither tendency as a definitive or final expression of -the United States; on the contrary, we believe that both tendencies, at -least in their obvious forms, are products of an immaturity belonging -to the past, just as in the work of our greatest writers, even though -present and clearly recognizable, they were transcended and transformed.</p> - -<p>For the sake of convenience let us call them <em>colonialism</em> and -<em>frontierism</em>. By colonialism we do not mean a specific reference -to American colonial history or to an Anglophile tendency, but -rather to that current in American cultural life which persistently -looks to Europe for final criterion and cultural directive. The term -frontierism is used not in reference<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> to the familiar interpretation -of American history in terms of the influence of border regions on -national life and development, but rather in reference to the revolt -primarily against England and British culture, secondarily against -European culture, and finally against culture itself, so plainly -visible in American thought, American writing, and American politics. -It is not necessary to recall here the various forms which these two -tendencies take, nor need it be stressed that, in simplified form, they -represent currents of diverse tendencies and innumerable shadings. The -two attitudes, however, have deep roots, and they influence American -decisions in cultural as well as in political, economic, and military -matters, and bring us face to face with sometimes serious dilemmas. The -experience of such dilemmas, and of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> choices imposed by stubborn -facts, sometimes has determined the direction and hence the character -of American culture. At all events, there is reason to hope that -these dilemmas will gradually resolve themselves into an attitude of -genuine independence, and which therefore is neither subservient to the -so-called “foreign influences” nor unduly upset by them.</p> - -<p>The tradition of “dissatisfaction” has been a decisive factor also -in a different sense. The once familiar metaphor of the “melting -pot” is today outmoded, possibly through thorough assimilation. In -stressing the element of “dissatisfaction at home” in the backgrounds -of Americans of widely differing origins, we are not only throwing -into relief a common and unifying element of these peoples, but we -imply also great diversity of content in the experience itself—a -diversity, which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> still persists, of motives and impulses in American -life. Without devaluating the concept of the “melting pot,” or denying -the fusion of peoples into one nation, we may recognize the problems -and the consequent modes of thought involved in accomplishing such a -fusion. This process has involved the reconciliation, to a degree, of -the varied and contrasting motives which impelled heterogeneous groups -of people to become American, and which became original, organic, and -sometimes very powerful ingredients of our culture. It was necessary to -build quickly, and to avoid catastrophic collisions of these various -elements. Possibly in a manner similar to the influence of empire -building on the cultural habits regarded as most typically British, -the factors just mentioned have clearly contributed to two tendencies -discernible in our own thinking habits:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> on the one hand, a certain -predilection for abstractions, preconceptions, and slogans; on the -other, a prevalent tendency to think primarily in pragmatic terms, that -is, in those of concrete situations rather than of basic principles. -Both modes of thinking have admirably served our national ends, and, in -their more extreme manifestations, sometimes worry and exasperate the -thoughtful among us. Those who regard us with a jaundiced eye accuse -us, on the one hand, of pedantry, and on the other, of opportunism; and -it is certainly true that the pedants and opportunists among us know -well how to exploit these tendencies.</p> - -<p>As far as music in the United States is concerned, the influence -of these two modes of thought has been noticeable, if not always -propitious. Fundamentally, however, these tendencies have little to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> do -with either pedantry or opportunism. We have had the formidable tasks -of both establishing standards which should keep pace with a tremendous -expansion of intellectual and creative activity and which should serve -to give this activity order and direction; and as well, of establishing -a mode of life within which our heterogeneous elements could find -a means of coexistence without dangerous clashes of principle or -ideology—clashes which could easily have proved lethal to either the -unity of a growing nation or our concept of liberty.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Music life in the United States must be traced back to the earliest -days, those of musical activity in the churches of New England, -Pennsylvania, and elsewhere. In Charleston, South Carolina, in the -early eighteenth century, a kind of musical drama flourished—the -“ballad opera” of British origin. In New Orleans, a little later, -French opera was established and survived into this century. There -were ambitious composers like Francis Hopkinson, friend of Gilbert<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> -Stuart, and other personalities of the Revolutionary period. There -were amateurs to whom European music was by no means unfamiliar. Even -among the outstanding personalities of the period there were those -who, like Thomas Jefferson, took part in performances of chamber -music in their own homes; or who, like Benjamin Franklin, tried their -hands at the composition of string quartets (which is something -of an historic curiosity). We ourselves own a copy of Geminiani’s -<i>The Compleat Tutor for the Violin</i>, published in London in the -seventeen-nineties, which was owned by one of our forbears of that -period in Massachusetts.</p> - -<p>Such facts, of course, are of interest from the standpoint of cultural -history. Musicological research has taken due note of them, and -probably the familiar error of confusing historical interest with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> -musical value has been made: the awkwardness of this early music has -been confused with originality. The music is in no sense devoid of -interest; one finds very frequently a freshness, a genuineness, and -a kind of naiveté which is truly attractive. We find it hard to be -convinced, however, that the parallel fifths, for instance, which occur -from time to time in the music of William Billings, are the result of -genuine, original style, rather than of a primitive <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">métier</i>; -and we well remember our curious and quite spontaneous impressions on -first becoming acquainted with the music of Francis Hopkinson, in which -we easily recognized eighteenth-century manner and vocabulary, but -missed the technical expertise and refinement so characteristic of the -European music of that period—even of that with little musical value.</p> - -<p>Such facts as we know of the music life<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> of that early time are of -anecdotal rather than musical interest. They bespeak a sporadic musical -activity which no doubt contributed tangibly to the music life in the -large centers during the earlier nineteenth century. The city of New -Orleans would seem to be exceptional in this respect. French in origin, -then Spanish, again French, and finally purchased by the United States -in 1803, it was a flourishing music center, and in the first half -of the nineteenth century produced composers like Louis Gottschalk, -who achieved a success and a reputation that was more than local or -national, and that, on a certain level, still persists. The music life -of New Orleans declined after the Civil War, as did the city itself, -for some decades; however, the music life which had flourished there -was of little influence on later developments in other parts of the -country.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> - -<p>During the nineteenth century the United States seems to have received -its real musical education. In 1825 Mozart’s librettist, Lorenzo -da Ponte, at that time professor of Italian literature at Columbia -University, and Manuel Garcia, famous both as singer and teacher, were -among those who established a first operatic theater in New York, which -city thereby became acquainted with the most celebrated operatic works -and artists of the time. In 1842 the New York Philharmonic Society, -the oldest of our orchestras, was founded. Farther reaching was the -influence of individual musicians like Lowell Mason in Boston, and -Carl Bergmann, Leopold Damrosch, and Theodore Thomas, in New York and -elsewhere—men who worked devotedly, indefatigably, and intelligently -to bring the work of classic and contemporary composers before the -American public.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> Mason and Thomas, toward the midcentury, organized -and performed concerts of chamber music and provided the impulse toward -an increasingly intense activity of this kind. Bergmann, as conductor -of the New York orchestra, and, later, Thomas and Damrosch, led the way -with orchestral concerts; the list of works which they introduced to -the American repertory is as impressive as can be imagined. In addition -to his activities in New York, Thomas also organized the biennial -festivals at Cincinnati, and eventually became the first conductor of -the Chicago orchestra—a post which he held until his death in 1905.</p> - -<p>Concert life was already flourishing. Those organizations which, -along with the New York orchestra, still dominate our music life, the -Boston and the Philadelphia orchestras, were established,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> as was the -Metropolitan Opera Company. They were, needless to say, initiated by -groups of private individuals, of whom an appreciable number belonged -to a public well provided with experience and curiosity, a public -which loved music, possessed some knowledge of it, and demanded it in -abundance. It is hardly necessary to point out that there were also -those who cared less for music than for social esteem, prestige, and -“glamor”—the reflected and artificial magic of something which they -neither understood nor desired to understand, since it was the magic -and not the substance that mattered; the more remote the substance, -the more enticing the magic. Such contrasts always exist, and it was -fashionable some years ago to throw this fact into high relief: in that -way healthy and necessary self-criticism was evidenced.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> - -<p>Among the personalities we have reference to was Major Henry L. -Higginson who founded, and then throughout his life underwrote, the -Boston Symphony; he belonged to the personalities of authentic culture -and real stature who demanded music in the true sense of the word, -and who knew how and where to find it. It is unnecessary to discuss -the artistic levels these organizations achieved; that is general -knowledge. If today we are aware of certain disquieting symptoms -pointing to a decline in quality by comparison with that period, they -are the result of later developments to be considered in the following -pages, in connection with concrete problems of today.</p> - -<p>This necessarily brief and partial summary concerns the development of -the American music public. From this public the first impulses toward -actual<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> musical production in America arose. A natural consequence -of these developments, musical instruction kept pace with them. -Among those who received such instruction there were a few ambitious -individuals. The general topic of music education in the United -States will be discussed later; we here note in passing that much of -the best in music education of the earlier days was contributed by -immigrants—like the already mentioned Manuel Garcia—from the music -centers of Europe. It was inevitable that, until very recent years -(mention of this was made previously), anyone who wished to accomplish -something serious was obliged to go to Europe for his decisive studies; -it is also inevitable that what they produced bore traces of derivation -from the various milieus—generally German or Viennese—in which they -studied. Nor is it surprising<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> that this derivation generally bore a -cautious and hesitant aspect, and that the American contemporaries of -Mahler and Strauss are most frequently epigenes rather of Mendelssohn -or Liszt. Some acquired a solid craft, if not a bold or resourceful -one; in the eighteen-nineties they were following in the footsteps -of the midcentury romanticists, just as, twenty years later, their -successors cautiously began to retrace the footsteps of the early -Debussy. There were, of course, other elements too, such as those -derived from folklore and, even at that time and in a very cautious -manner, from popular music.</p> - -<p>One cannot speak of the composers of the turn of the century without -expressing the deep respect due them. They were isolated, having been -born into an environment unprepared for what they wanted to do, an -environment which did<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> not supply them with either the resources or the -moral support necessary for accomplishment. If the limitations of what -they achieved are clear to us today—we see it in perspective—they -are limitations inevitably arising from the situation in which they -found themselves, and it would be difficult to imagine that they could -have accomplished more. If their influence on later developments at -first glance seems slight, it must not be forgotten that these later -developments would not have been conceivable had they not broken the -ground. Surely many composers still active today remember with deep -gratitude the loyal and generous encouragement and friendly advice -and support received from them, as did this author from his former -teachers, Edward B. Hill and Horatio Parker, and from older colleagues -like Arthur Whiting, Arthur Foote, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> Charles Martin Loeffler—men -and musicians of considerable stature whose achievements were -significant and who worked under conditions incomparably less favorable -than those of recent date.</p> - -<p>Let us again briefly summarize the situation at the beginning of -this century: in several American cities there existed first-class -orchestras, some of them led by conductors to be counted among the -great of the period. Their repertory was comparable to that heard in -any great European music center. There was an abundance of chamber -music, as well as of solo instrumental and vocal concerts. There has -been little change since that time. The change that has taken place -lies in the fact that similar conditions now prevail in almost all -major cities throughout our country, and, at least as important, that -the concerts are presented to an overwhelmingly great extent by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> -artists resident in America, that the majority of them are American -citizens and an increasing number are natives of America. There are, -to be sure, also complications and disturbing elements in the present -situation; of this we shall speak later.</p> - -<p>As far as opera is concerned, the situation is not parallel. In the -early years of this century, there was in New York not only the -Metropolitan, already known throughout the world, but for several -seasons there was also the Manhattan Opera Company, more enterprising -than the former, artistically speaking. There were independent -companies also in Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, San Francisco, and -the venerable and still existent company in New Orleans. At the time -of this writing there is only the Metropolitan—which has become much -less enterprising and less glamorous—in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> addition to the more modest -but more progressive City Center Opera. Finally, there is the short -autumn season of the San Francisco Opera. The operatic situation is, -superficially at least, less favorable than concert life.</p> - -<p>No doubt there are reasons why a whole generation of musicians, in the -second and third decades of our century, should have become conscious -of a determination to prevail as composers, performers, scholars, and -teachers. However, these reasons never are entirely clear. World War I -and the experiences which it brought to the United States undoubtedly -played a major role, but these experiences do not afford the full -explanation since the movement already had begun before the war in the -minds of many who had made their decisions even as children. In this -sense the war effected little change. We shall deal with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> this in the -following pages, and shall attempt to arrive at an estimate of its -scope and meaning.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III</h2> -</div> - - -<p>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 not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> only the -propaganda element, but also much that is problematical and immature, -there remain facts which become profoundly interesting with increased -knowledge.</p> - -<p>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, it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> serves 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 of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> -perspective and one’s confidence in the eventual outcome.</p> - -<p>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, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> danger 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.</p> - -<p>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 government<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> subsidies -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.</p> - -<p>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 have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> risen, 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.</p> - -<p>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 need<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> the -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.</p> - -<p>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 organizations<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> are 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.</p> - -<p>This situation tends to compound a confusion, already too prevalent, -between artistic quality on the one hand, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> those 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> 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 -manner<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> in which that adulation has been cultivated and controlled by -business interests.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> 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 impossible<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> for 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.</p> - -<p>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 forms<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> in 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 -this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> program to the most primitive level of taste.</p> - -<p>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 -must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> also 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.</p> - -<p>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 accordance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> with 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 of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> people 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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> These -efforts have often been surprisingly successful, and while the battle -is far from won—is such a battle <em>ever</em> really 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’s <i>Wozzeck</i>. 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 that <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Verklärte -Nacht</i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> and <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">L’Oiseau de Feu</i> are 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.</p> - -<p>The great public finds <em>all</em> music 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 in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> satisfying -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 little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> concern 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.</p> - -<p>In such a brief résumé of the forces<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> characterizing 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 must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> insist 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, that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> economic 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.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">IV</h2> -</div> - - -<p>All that has been said about the business organization of our concert -life applies with at least equal force to our musical theater. The -latter is the most costly as well as the most complicated form of -musical production, and therefore the most problematical economically. -However, the somewhat embarrassing situation of the musical theater in -the United States is not only of economic origin. It may even be said -that the economic difficulties are at least<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> partly derived from other -problems, so to speak anterior to economics.</p> - -<p>These problems may be broadly summarized in the statement that the -serious music drama has shown signs of becoming popular only in recent -years. A certain portion of the public has always shown interest and -enthusiasm for opera, to be sure, and such a public has always existed; -however, there are signs that it has grown both larger and more adept -through the influence of radio programs, concert performances, and -other forces to be discussed later. Of late, it has become customary to -devote a concert to the partial or complete performance of an operatic -work rarely heard in the theater in the United States, and still more -recently this practice has been extended to the performance of works -even from the standard repertory. Significant events were the concert -renditions, by Mitropoulos<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> in New York, of Strauss’s <i>Elektra</i>, -Berg’s <i>Wozzeck</i>, and Schönberg’s <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Erwartung</i>; and, by -Monteux in San Francisco, of Debussy’s <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Pelléas et Mélisande</i> and -Gluck’s <i>Orfeo</i>. The results were not equally successful; while -<i>Elektra</i> achieved rare acclamation in New York, the success of -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Pelléas</i> in San Francisco was less conspicuous, as those who -know the opera well will readily understand. But the fact that such -performances are in fashion is evidence that there is still need for -them at this point in our music life, and the enthusiasm for them is -evidence that a public stands ready to embrace something other than -the standard fare ordinarily offered by our established operatic -institutions. This is only one of many symptoms of the situation. Many -enterprises throughout the country have sprung up during the last -twenty or twenty-five years which show that a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> public for opera is -developing; only the means of satisfying it is lacking.</p> - -<p>The above statement that serious opera only recently has begun to -show signs of becoming popular requires elucidation. The best way of -approaching the question is to consider the basis on which our operatic -institutions grew. We started with the institutions because, as always -in the United States, there were people in those days who did not wish -to be deprived in the New World of all they had been able to enjoy in -the Old. The ever-present snobs gradually joined their ranks, and at -the time the Metropolitan Opera was founded, twenty years after the -Civil War, their influence was at its height. It was the epoch of great -fortunes, of tremendous expansion of American industry and finance, and -of the arrogance of recently acquired wealth. Much has been made of the -fact that in the original<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> architectural planning of the Metropolitan -Opera House express provision was made for the demands of social -exhibitionism. All this is tiresome, no doubt, but it is relatively -harmless. More important, perhaps, is that the problem of building an -intelligent public was faced in all too casual a manner. The small -European and cosmopolitan nucleus had no need for such education; -the snobs needed little or nothing, since their aims were far from -the desire for genuine artistic experience. Most others contented -themselves with accepting or rejecting what was offered.</p> - -<p>It is worth considering our operatic situation not only in itself, but -in its relations to the environment into which it was transplanted. -There is every reason to believe that the performances of that period -were of the highest quality, and that that level declined only -much later, under pressures similar to those already<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> mentioned in -connection with our concert life, which in both cases arose roughly at -the time of the World War I with the decline of patronage. In the last -years of the nineteenth century there existed not only enough wealth -fully to support such enterprises, but also a willingness to follow the -best artistic advice obtainable. What was wanted was, in the direct -terms, the collaboration of the most distinguished artists of Europe, -and such collaboration was cheerfully and handsomely rewarded. The -latest novelties were desired along with all the standard repertory, -and they were mounted in the most sumptuous manner. Occasional world -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">premières</i> took place at the Metropolitan; the author has already -referred to the fact that his parents sought the advice of foreign -composers, in this case of Puccini and Humperdinck, who were in New -York for the world <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">premières</i> of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> <i>The Girl of the Golden -West</i> and of <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Königskinder</i>, respectively. Among the conductors -at the Metropolitan were Anton Seidl, and later, Gustav Mahler and -Arturo Toscanini. While the repertory favored the nationality of the -manager (under Conried German opera and under Gatti-Casazza Italian), -such favoritism was, at least in part, amended by other organizations. -Oscar Hammerstein, for instance, through his Manhattan Opera Company, -introduced the then new German and French operas to New York. This was -early in our century, and though his project was short-lived, operatic -institutions, all different in complexion, were springing up in Boston, -Philadelphia, Chicago, and San Francisco. In the South, in New Orleans, -French opera was still in existence. In the United States as in Europe -the most celebrated melodies of Verdi, Donizetti, Gounod,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> Bizet, and -even Wagner were played and sung. Why then, one will ask, did opera -fail to become popular?</p> - -<p>The question is not of opera but of music drama, and has nothing -to do with either the dramatic quality of the performances or with -melodies. The author treasures the memory of certainly first-class -performances of <i>Otello</i>, <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Die Meistersinger</i>, <i>Carmen</i>, -<i>Pelléas</i>, even of <i>Don Giovanni</i> and of Gluck’s -<i>Orpheus</i>. However, certainly for most devotees opera meant -something other than music drama; and this for reasons ultimately -deriving from the fact that opera in the United States was still a -luxury article, imported without regard for its true purpose or its -true nature, and that the circumstances of its production accentuated -that fact. For a public with this orientation, opera possessed the -magic of an emanation from a distant and glamorous world, one which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> -retained the element of mystery. Since the artists were highly paid—as -a result of a quite natural desire to have the very best available -at any price—it was equally natural that the public overestimated -the importance of individual singers and their voices, and remained -comparatively unaware of the importance of ensemble. The “star system” -did not originate in the United States, to be sure, but it found -fertile soil here, as did the widespread idea of opera as a masquerade -concert, a romantic pageant in which various celebrities played their -roles, and the primary purpose of which was to provide sumptuous -entertainment.</p> - -<p>Such an idea of opera was in part also the result of the fact that -the works were sung in their original languages, or at times in -other non-English languages. The idea was prevalent that English -was a bad language to sing—and such an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> idea is not unnatural when -it is considered that the singers were mainly of German, French, or -Italian origin, background, or training. There were occasions on which -singers sang different languages in the same performance: Chaliapin, -for instance, sang <i>Boris Godunoff</i> in Russian, supported by an -Italian cast.</p> - -<p>Indisputably from every ideal standpoint an opera should be performed -in the language in which it is written. But properly understood, -opera is at least as much theater as music. Any drama—musical or -otherwise—suffers through translation; yet no one would seriously -suggest a performance in the United States, under any but exceptional -circumstances, of a work by Chekhov, Ibsen, or Sartre in the original -language. Even in regard to opera this problem is beginning to be -understood; and anyone<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> who has attended recent performances in English -at the Metropolitan—or imagined, on the contrary, what might have been -the result had <i>Porgy and Bess</i> or a work of Gian-Carlo Menotti -always been sung in Italian or German—has an idea of the importance of -this question. For a relatively inexperienced public like the American -before the World War I, a public not well versed in opera in English -and unfamiliar with the languages in which the works were sung, hence, -in reality, with the works themselves, the foreign language becomes an -obstacle. It fosters the sense of remoteness referred to above; not -only the words, but in some cases even the titles of the works remain -mysterious even when the plots may be familiar. The public, as a whole, -remains in the dark not only as to what Isolde and Brangäne, Isolde and -Tristan, or Tristan and Kurvenal are saying in the respective<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> acts of -<i>Tristan</i>, but also it cannot fully participate in the musical -and dramatic unfolding of <i>Otello</i>, the infinitely delicate -articulation of <i>Falstaff</i>, or in the complications of the last -two scenes of <i>Rigoletto</i>. In such instances the drama is missed -if the meaning of the words is not understood; and when the words are -not completely understood in every detail, at least the experience of -an enacted libretto can convey some of the power of the music.</p> - -<p>It must be emphasized, however, that for any public a drama is -drama only if it can become the reverse of remote. It must be truly -and intimately felt; and a living theater cannot exist entirely on -imported fare. In order really to live, an opera must be felt as drama; -otherwise results different from those noted are scarcely obtained. -Neither composer nor performer can breathe life into opera<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> unless its -drama is felt, and the public takes fire only from things it has lived. -It remains basically indifferent if there is no point of contact with -whatever is dramatic in its own world or age; from its own epoch the -public learns what drama <em>per se</em> is, and only from this point of -departure can it understand dramas of other periods. For this reason -we speak of French, or German, or Italian, or Russian opera. With few -exceptions, what was lacking at the Metropolitan of the period in -question were operas written in English, in quantity and in quality -sufficient to solve this problem and to lay the foundations for a vital -operatic tradition.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the economic problems characterizing our music life are -becoming more acute in the field of opera. Our nonoperatic theater -is doubtless the weakest point in the whole of American<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> cultural -life; it may be, and often is, summarized in the words “Broadway” and -“Hollywood.” The reciprocal action of the vast economic power of our -theatrical and, above all, our motion picture enterprises, of increased -prices and therefore increased risks, and, finally, of the huge -American and even international market results in a kind of spiral: -economic risks and caution operate constantly so as to keep standards -at a low level. The same forces are at work, in a restricted way, in -the operatic field. Little by little the operatic enterprises of which -mention has been made, had to be abandoned, with the exception of the -Metropolitan and the curtailed autumn season of the San Francisco Opera.</p> - -<p>Under the pressure of rising prices, the fundamental limitations -of the system became clear. The repertory remained facile, without -novelties of consequence,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> without daring of any kind. Whatever new -works were heard in the United States—<i>Mavra</i>, <i>Lady Macbeth -of Mzensk</i>, <i>Wozzeck</i>—were performed under special auspices; -and while later the performance of <i>Peter Grimes</i>, and still -later, <i>The Rake’s Progress</i> seemed hopeful beginnings of a -possible change, the fate of these two works served only to point up -the real dilemma. Broadly stated, one must admit that the performance -of any new work is a serious risk in a situation where rising costs -have vastly increased the economic hazards to which the enterprise is -subjected. This is true even under best conditions. On the other hand, -if an institution is to survive, it is imperative that fresh blood be -constantly injected, and for an institution like the Metropolitan this -means freshness and novelty in repertory as in everything else. One -cannot permanently live on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span> past; even revivals are not the answer.</p> - -<p>Much has been accomplished at the Metropolitan since 1950, the advent -of Rudolf Bing as its director. In the period prior to his arrival, -artistic quality had seriously declined, owing in part certainly -to the steadily deteriorating economic situation, but in part also -to ineffectual leadership. Inevitably, some of the preconceptions -indicated were responsible for the decline which economic stresses -threw into higher relief. The problem of creating a satisfying operatic -ensemble from casts composed of singers drawn from different parts of -the world, with different backgrounds and engaged as individual stars, -is great; but when rehearsals are inadequate, as they assuredly were at -the time, the results are disastrous. Surprisingly good performances -were achieved on occasion, especially by Bruno Walter, Fritz Stiedry,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> -and George Szell, and tentative beginnings were made in using English -translations for some Mozart performances. In general, however, -standards were lower than ever before.</p> - -<p>Unquestionably, Bing has brought some changes for the better, both -in repertory and standard of performance. The essential problems, -however, remain, since they are not created by artistic directors, but -by prevalent misconceptions. Composers, and, above all, the regulation -of financial support can contribute to their solution. Certainly they -are not insoluble, and there is reason for believing that forces are -gradually working in the direction of a satisfactory solution. However, -one must remain aware of problems and obstacles. They are formidable.</p> - -<p>Numerous attempts are now being made in many parts of the country to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> -further the production of opera by contemporary American composers. The -response has been indeed surprising. For many years thinking in terms -of what might be considered genuine American opera was the rule; one -peered into the void for the “real” or the “great” American opera in -much the same way as one looked for “the great American novel,” and -one attempted to forecast its characteristics. This is not only an -example of the bent toward abstraction discussed before, but also one -of a primitive and mechanistic view. In other words, the search, less -for truth or artistic necessity and more for a product most likely to -make headway on the American market, was in the foreground. Sometimes -the answer was found in the use of so-called “American” subjects—plots -taken from our history, folklore, literature, or landscape. At other -times,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> such efforts were combined with the use of folk tunes: the -object was the creation of a kind of folk opera. A solution was sought -in the evocation of American scenes and memories, a worthy aim only -if not considered the final answer to the fundamental question. Some -advocated the use of “contemporary” subject matter instead—texts -seeking to incorporate characteristic aspects of modern life. Again, -one cannot object, except to an irrelevant dogmatism. Solutions were -sought, in fact, with reference to everything—contemporary drama, -the spirit of Hollywood and Broadway, and, of course, jazz. At least -one work of real value, <i>Porgy and Bess</i>, may be associated with -these attempts, though it certainly represents them in the least -self-conscious manner. However, no such program can ever be regarded as -the answer to the problem.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p> - -<p>The achievement of a genuine “national style” in any sphere whatever -depends on something deeper than evocation, nostalgic or otherwise; and -if what one seeks is timeliness, machines, ocean liners, or nightclubs -on the stage do not suffice. What is required is <em>drama</em>, felt -and communicated, whether it be comedy or tragedy; and this, if it is -real, <em>becomes</em> both contemporary and national—just as <i>Julius -Caesar</i> is both English and Elizabethan, and <i>Tristan</i> neither -Irish nor medieval. So far as this author knows, no one has thought -of reproaching Verdi for having written Egyptian, Spanish, French, or -English—even American—opera in the various instances which come to -mind. It is a heartening sign that American opera composers of today -seem to be fully aware of this problem, however they differ as to -outcome.</p> - -<p>In any case, this is the central problem<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> of American opera. How can -one hope for the growth of an American opera tradition under the -conditions prevailing in our established operatic institutions, and in -view of the fact that throughout the country there are only three or -four which continue to exist, and those not on a desirable economic -basis? One must insist once and for all that a vital American music -life cannot be confined to the established conventions of concert -and opera. We have already given attention to radio and recordings, -which play so decisive a role, and interest us for manifesting sharp -contrasts with features discussed in connection with concert and -theater. Later comment is reserved for what may well be regarded as -the most noteworthy aspect of American music life today: the multitude -of impulses all over the country, the yearning for musical experience -our concert and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> opera life does not offer. These impulses center -largely in educational institutions—in schools, conservatories, and -universities. Above all, one here finds the beginnings of what may be -called a different mode of opera life. In an already considerable and -ever-increasing number of schools and opera departments, problems of -opera production are being studied, with an undaunted willingness to -experiment and, if necessary, even to fail, and with a vitality which -amazes all who have the opportunity to watch it closely. At least -one happy result has manifested itself, even within the framework -of music life. It has shown Americans that satisfying results can -be obtained in the operatic field without recourse to the luxury of -stellar personalities or sumptuous modes of production. Notably at the -City Center Opera in New York—an offshoot, in a sense, of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> opera -department of the Juilliard School—some performances provided even -valid competition in quality of ensemble and vitality of interpretation -to identical works at the Metropolitan.</p> - -<p>The question of adequate financial support for opera is not easily -solved. There is much discussion of a Ministry of Fine Arts in -Washington, and of the possibility of government subsidies for various -types of musical enterprise. Some of the discussion has ignored -matters involving American politics, and which contain many a snare. -Governmental subsidies for the arts on the European continent date back -to the pre-Revolutionary era, and carry on a long tradition in which -cultural matters for the most part were kept out of politics. At the -moment it seems Utopian to think that such a state of affairs could be -easily achieved here at the expense of the ever-vigilant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> taxpayer. -If subsidies, at least those at the Federal level, do not seem likely -or wholly desirable at the present time and under present conditions, -solutions must be sought elsewhere—in municipal or state subsidies, or -in large foundations. For the moment we must content ourselves with and -draw encouragement from the great variety and vitality of the various -forces which flourish and prosper luxuriantly throughout our music -life. It is difficult to believe, in view of all these impulses and -purposeful activities, that ultimately a solution should not be found.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="V">V</h2> -</div> - - -<p>We have attempted to show that the business mentality that directs -so many of our musical institutions fosters an economy of scarcity -as regards talent and repertory. We have tried to show how it tends -drastically to restrict opportunities for young artists and their -careers and to limit repertory. The aim of a cautious policy, as -we have stated, is to satisfy the immediate wishes of the greatest -possible number of listeners. To maintain prices, as well as the -prevalent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> values, as high as possible, the tendency is, among other -things, to restrict the number of goods for “sale.”</p> - -<p>Curiously enough, the effect of this business point of view in radio -and with respect to phonograph and recordings is quite different. -No doubt the business mentality is as predominant here as it is in -the concert and opera business. In radio and recordings, however, -it fosters an economy of abundance. One may guess why it works that -way. Fewer, not more recordings would be sold if the output were -restricted to performances by celebrities, even if they were more -highly priced. In view of the nature of the product, the policy must -be to sell as many recordings as possible. To that end, policy will -always center on variety of both performances and works performed. In -the service of an economy which favors expansiveness and flexibility, -it is also<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> necessary to maintain an even higher degree of technical -perfection. The result is that there is already available a large and -representative selection of recordings of music from every period, -including our own. This repertory is steadily growing larger.</p> - -<p>Similar conditions prevail in radio, though in a less striking and -more sporadic manner, since American radio is largely supported by -commercial sponsors. Competition plays so great a role that giving -programs a conspicuously individual character is every sponsor’s aim, -and since many radio programs consist of concerts of recorded music, -the tenor is abundance rather than scarcity.</p> - -<p>A discussion of music education in the United States must consider -the educational impact of both recordings and radio performances -during the past twenty-five years. Anyone interested in music<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> has a -range of musical experiences previously unheard-of at his disposal; -and it is the rule that a young person wishing to undertake serious -study of music already has acquired an appreciable knowledge of music -literature, a rather experienced sense for interpretation, and even -a certain musical judgment—sometimes surprisingly good—before he -embarks upon such study.</p> - -<p>There is a negative side. The knowledge acquired is not necessarily -intimate nor profound. It is knowledge different from that resulting -from studying scores and reading them, in some manner, at the piano. -Teachers are aware of the deceptive familiarity of American students -with music of all periods and nations and of their frequent glibness -which astonishes one until he discovers that all is based on a facile -and superficial experience with little to back it up. This is a problem -of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> education, and a state of affairs which our teachers are trying to -correct.</p> - -<p>In this connection a leitmotif which frequently comes up in a -discussion of music in America is: what can and should music mean to -us? Is it an article we buy for whatever effortless enjoyment we can -derive from it, or is it a valid medium of expression worth knowing -intimately, through real participation, even on a modest level? In -other words, are we to be content with superficial acquaintance, or -do we want genuine experience, and the criteria derived only from the -latter?</p> - -<p>Such alternatives are often not clearly formulated, and that fact -alone is both the result of, and a contributing factor to causing -a confusion of ends often observed in our situation. The confusion -derives from the fact that until a relatively short time ago music was -for us predominantly an <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">article de luxe</i> which was to be enjoyed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> -without the obligation of intimate knowledge. As pointed out, at times -we even doubted whether we were, by birthright, entitled to, or capable -of fulfilling such an obligation, and the growing impulse toward vital -musical experiences developed from this basis. Gradually the ideas -of education, at least on the elementary or nonprofessional level, -obtained. A result of the schism even today is the wide divergence -between instruction considered adequate for the layman and that -required by the professional musician—a divergence which, as far as -this author knows, has no parallel in any other field of education.</p> - -<p>We are accustomed to justify such divergence, or at least some of its -results, in terms of a somewhat pragmatic philosophy; this author -disagrees with that philosophy. Present criticism concerns, however, -but the effect of this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> confusion on our musical development. It must -be admitted that much of the musical or quasi-musical instruction given -in our elementary and high schools has little or no value whatever from -this point of view. This is said with due reserve; conditions vary -not only because of individual and local differences, but because the -organization and even the underlying concepts of education vary from -state to state. However, instruction at those levels is limited too -often to lessons in “sight singing,” a kind of primitive solfeggio, to -a small degree of facility on instruments designed to equip players for -the school orchestra, and finally to the “appreciation” course. While -the results are varied, in certain localities energetic teachers or -groups have accomplished impressive feats and sometimes, in the cases -of gifted students, have reached an almost professional level.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> Too -often, however, the prevailing idea behind the teaching has little to -do with truly musical achievement, and the gifted youngster may well -find himself quite lost in truly artistic surroundings. If he wishes to -work seriously, he must have recourse to the conservatory or to private -instruction; and he must pursue his studies outside of, and in addition -to the school curriculum.</p> - -<p>The above picture, of course, is generalized, even though it is -doubtlessly accurate. Aside from exceptions, the system is less rigid -than a brief summary could demonstrate. Again, our culture is fluid -and development rapid. One recalls the establishment, nearly two -decades ago, of the High School of Music and Art in New York, and -similar establishments come to mind, but such practical institutions -scarcely answer the problem of fares suitable for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> both amateurs and -professionals.</p> - -<p>In the universities the picture is different and the development -impressive, though not devoid of problems. To understand what is -going on, let us consider the role which the university plays in our -culture. In our universities the most independent forces of American -culture seem to gather—influences free from political or commercial -pressures; the universities, more than any other institutions, sustain -their role as strongholds of independent and liberal thought, and, -with a few regrettable exceptions, they are jealously committed to the -conservation of that independence. They shelter the cultural activities -which have difficulty acclimatizing themselves to the excesses of -commercialism, and they provide means for the independent existence of -worthy activities within their own walls.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> - -<p>The policy is general, even though it is not everywhere equally -pronounced, and but few of the larger universities are in a position to -carry it out on a broad scale. This endeavor is organized in various -ways. Some universities such as Yale, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Illinois -possess Schools of Music which are genuine professional schools -similar to our medical and law schools. Others such as California, -Columbia, Harvard, and Princeton have music departments which, though -integrated in the Colleges of Liberal Arts, include in their curricula -not only composition courses frankly professional in standard and -aim, but also generally high-quality courses in the performance of -choral, orchestral, and chamber music and, frequently, in opera. Some -universities support “Quartets in Residence,” generally established -ensembles which are under contract to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> contribute their services during -a certain portion of each year for campus concerts and instruction as -well. The Pro Arte Quartet at Wisconsin, the Griller Quartet at the -University of California at Berkeley, and the Walden Quartet at the -University of Illinois are examples.</p> - -<p>In some respects, this program constitutes a radical departure from -the traditional role of the university as established in Europe. -It is the result of a long and frequently complex evolution. Some -academicians, even in departments of music, deplore this departure, -while others feel that it should be limited. No doubt the idea has -brought about new problems including that concerning the relationship -of scholarship and creative production, a problem existing already on -the elementary technical level, and one that cannot as yet be solved. -All of these problems involve various aspects<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> of academic life and -undeniably are difficult in the extreme. The greatest pitfall, as far -as the production of music is concerned, is the danger of confused -mentalities. What are the ultimate obligations of the practical -musician as compared to those of the scholar? There is a tendency in -some quarters to train the former in terms appropriate to the latter, -inculcating in him criteria which are taken from music history and -aesthetic theory rather than from music as a direct experience. Often -an exaggerated reverence for music theory as a source for valid -artistic criteria can be observed. However, contact of scholars with -practical musicians often is fruitful: one can give the other something -valid by way of sharpened insight into his own task.</p> - -<p>The divergence between what is proper for the layman and essential -for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> the professional is a problem for both scholar and musician. Many -a university music curriculum still bears traces of such divergence, -and the history of university music in the United States could easily -be covered from this point of view. What is involved here as elsewhere -is the shift from a frankly amateurish—in the best sense—approach, -however enlightened in premise, to one based on a serious and -eventually professional outlook. The transformation has been anything -but facile. The situation is still in process.</p> - -<p>In the older curriculum, courses were offered in harmony and -counterpoint, to be sure, and sometimes also in fugue, instrumentation, -and composition proper. It was scarcely envisaged, however, that the -student would aim at serious accomplishment in such courses, and those -who taught them for the most part had learned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> to accept the conditions -prevailing in our music life, conditions which gave scant encouragement -to those nourishing illusory ambitions. The instruction given aimed, -therefore, at theoretical knowledge of traditional concepts; as has -been pointed out, there was little inclination to examine either the -premises or to delve into the ultimate effects of traditional theory. -The demands of the general curriculum in fact would make it difficult -genuinely to attack the problems of adequate technical training. The -student was obliged to be satisfied to learn “rules” or “principles” -without adequate opportunity, through continual practice, to master -them; and since our music life at the time was what it was, he had -no opportunity to become aware of what genuine mastery involved. -The result is quite obvious: either he gave up the idea of serious -achievement, or he resigned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> himself, often painfully no doubt, to the -necessity of lowering his sights.</p> - -<p>In the field of scholarship similar conditions prevailed: generally -the curriculum was limited to superficial courses in music history -or literature or, at best, to scarcely less superficial studies -of selected composers. Most characteristic was the course in -“appreciation.” The term itself is used today mainly in a deprecatory -manner since—even if the term is retained—both the idea and the -content of such courses have long become outmoded and relegated to -secondary schools or a few provincial colleges. The appreciation course -usually consisted of propaganda for “serious” music, and it can be -stated frankly that its true aim was often to attract as many students -as possible to the music department in order to win the graces of the -university administration, which in the old days<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> frequently retained -a degree of skepticism regarding the legitimate place of music in -the university. In spite of their superficiality and irrelevancies, -however, such courses unquestionably helped to prepare the public -for the later developments on our music scene. As has been observed -before in connection with Community Concerts, genuine, decisive results -sometimes spring from unpromising sources.</p> - -<p>Such efforts are not needed today, for it is no longer necessary to -entice a public to accept, through radio and recordings, what is -available every day. Courses for amateurs still exist but more and more -become good introductory courses to music to which instructors dedicate -serious thought and effort, and in which they try to lay a basis from -which the student, if he wishes, may develop a real knowledge of music -and train himself to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> listen to it with greater awareness. The aims, -too, of such courses have become more dignified; and while music can -be approached from many angles and while many kinds of introductory -courses are possible, the effort at least is made to solve a problem -thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>The courses in music history and literature today are on a level quite -different from former days and are frankly conceived as a valid means -of preparation for scholarly accomplishment. Attention is given to -musicology in nearly every major university; names of distinguished -scholars may be found on the faculties and opportunities for all -kinds of research are offered. Little by little, the universities are -building up valuable collections of microfilms in order to bring to -the United States whatever European libraries and collections have to -offer. As in other fields of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> scholarly research, an effort is made to -establish highest standards and rigorous demands.</p> - -<p>As regards musical composition, perhaps the most striking fact is that -the important recent developments have taken place in the universities, -at least as much as in the conservatories. There are reasons for this -emphasis. The universities, due to their independence, seem more ready -to experiment and are therefore less bound by tradition. They are more -willing to adapt themselves to changing conditions. Since they are -in no way bound to the exigencies of the large-scale music business, -they are, as a rule, aware of the character of contemporary culture -and especially of its creative aspects. It is significant that the -universities were able to offer asylum to eminent composers among the -European refugees, and, as well, positions to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> American composers. Of -Europeans, Schönberg taught at the University of Southern California -and later at the University of California at Los Angeles, Hindemith at -Yale, Krenek at Vassar and at Hamline College, Milhaud at Mills, and -Martinu at Princeton. As regards native American composers, one finds -more or less distinguished names on university faculties all over the -country, and of the young native composers a characteristically great -number are university graduates.</p> - -<p>That fact alone has had a strong influence on university curricula, and -also has given rise to new problems. It has added an importance, and -in fact a different character, to preparatory studies. It has thrown -into conspicuous relief the necessity of reconciling the requirements -of the all-important and indispensable basic technical training of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> -the composer with those of general education. No one would claim -that the problem has been solved in a satisfactory manner; and the -composer who teaches composition in a university or elsewhere often -faces problems which arise from the great disparity not only between -the requirements of the craft and that which institutions can offer in -this respect, but also between the degrees of preparation offered in -various institutions. Perhaps the greatest of these problems is the -cleavage between the age and general musical sophistication of students -(who in the United States begin their music studies relatively late) -and the elementary studies with which they must begin if they are to -build a technique on a firm basis. In the last analysis, standards -are often far too low; yet we must underline that there are also -serious curricular problems which await solution. Some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> results shown -in universities furnish convincing proof that these problems, on the -whole, are soluble.</p> - -<p>It may be asked why in this discussion of music education the music -schools, the conservatories, have been left to the very end. There -has been no thought of disparaging or underestimating what our -conservatories have contributed to musical development. What they -have accomplished, in the main, is precisely what one would expect. -With exceptions such as a new (still problematical) approach to the -teaching of theory at Juilliard, they have developed along normal -lines. Instrumental and vocal instruction is often first class, they -feed excellent players to our orchestras, and produce—as has been -noted—an overabundance of young singers and instrumental performers. -At Juilliard, the opera department deserves highest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> praise. For many -years its productions have served as a model for those now almost the -rule rather than the exception in music schools and music departments -throughout the country; and in recent years it has given New York -several of its relatively few experiences of contemporary opera. -Equally impressive have been the achievements of the Juilliard School -orchestra, which on repeated occasions has proved adequate to the -demands of most difficult contemporary music.</p> - -<p>We cannot terminate this discussion without some lively praise for the -American student of today. It seems that in these postwar years a new -generation of students has entered upon the scene—a generation which, -in the purposefulness and the courage with which its representatives -undertake most exacting tasks, and in the devotion and the maturity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> -with which they seek out the real challenges music can present, is -sufficient proof that we have moved forward. They, above all, give us -the liveliest, most unqualified sense of musical vitality, and the -certainty that it will continue to develop.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">VI</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Throughout this discussion we meet recurrent motives which should be -remembered if we are to understand what “goes on” in our music life. -These motives will continue to come to mind in connection with specific -and concrete instances. It may be useful, therefore, to mention some of -them as a point of departure for the discussion of music criticism, or -better, musical opinion in the United States.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> - -<p>We have repeatedly referred to the characteristic fluidity of culture -in the United States, to the fact that it is in a constant state of -rapid development and under the lash of incessant self-criticism. It -is impossible to exaggerate the significance of these facts which -runs through the whole of our cultural life; but while it is easy -to understand that one of their effects has been the extraordinary -musical development of the past forty or fifty years, it must also be -noted that they bring with them the danger of attitudes not entirely -favorable to genuine artistic achievement. There is the easily and -occasionally noted lack of spontaneity, not only in artistic judgment, -but in relation to music itself. In a drive toward maturity, one can -lose sight of the necessity for a full and rich musical experience. -The danger lies, then, in a search for shortcuts to maturity, while<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> -actually maturity can be the result only of experience: in striving, -as we sometimes do, to arrive at judgments in advance of genuine -experience, which can be acquired only through love, that is, through -an immediate and elementary response to music. The American public may -gradually learn to surmount this danger as American listeners acquire -more and more experience. However, the musical public is in constant -growth, and we can scarcely be astounded that that public, being in -part musically inexperienced, has not as yet learned to have confidence -in its judgments. Newspaper criticism, therefore, wields far greater -power here than it does in other countries; and a marked predilection -for abstraction in musical ideas may be noted. We readily embrace or -reject causes or personalities, and readily form our judgment with -relation to them, rather<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> than to individual works of art. While this -is a tendency characteristic of the period in which we live, it seems -to be carried to a greater extreme here than elsewhere.</p> - -<p>Another principal motive in our discussion is the conflict between the -idea of music as an imported European commodity and the indigenous -impulse toward musical expression. Obviously, in music criticism this -conflict is clearly visible; for in the beginnings of our musical -development we imported not only music but musical opinion as well. -In the period before World War I, the task of American criticism was -precisely that of imparting some knowledge of the music to which one -listened in the concert halls and opera houses; to introduce the -public to the criteria, controversies, and, above all, to the then -current ideas relating to music; to inform it on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> composers and their -backgrounds, musical or spiritual, and on the backgrounds from which -music had sprung. The critics of that time were often men of genuine, -and even deep culture, and with cosmopolitan experience; but their -criticism was neither bold nor original. Like the composers of the -period, American critics remained circumspect and cautious in their -judgments of contemporary music. They did not wish to be considered -unorthodox. How could they have done otherwise? They knew perfectly -well that decisive judgments were not made in the United States, and -that intellectual boldness would fall on deaf ears when few people -were in a position to understand what they conceivably had to say. At -most, they could allow themselves an occasional word of encouragement -to the efforts of some American composer, who understood well that it -amounted to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> no more than a friendly gesture. In the case of young -composers, such gestures, almost always benign, were often coupled with -an express warning not to take themselves too seriously. But even such -judgments were not problematical, since there was virtually nothing in -the American music which offered a challenge to accepted ideas. In the -United States of 1913, the Fourth Symphony of Sibelius was regarded -with suspicion; the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Valses Nobles et Sentimentales</i> of Ravel were -controversial; Strauss’s <i>Elektra</i> seemed a shrewdly calculated -shocker which the composer himself had repudiated in a much touted -and likewise suspect <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">volte-face</i> in <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Der Rosenkavalier</i>. -Stravinsky was but a name; and as for Schönberg, his First Quartet -seemed quite obscure and the <i>Five Orchestral Pieces</i> wholly -incoherent.</p> - -<p>The third of the recurrent principal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> motives to be recalled here -is the divergence between professional instruction and instruction -designed for laymen. As has been pointed out, this divergence is found -in no field other than music, and this author has tried to show that -it is related to the idea that music—valid music, at least—is an -imported article. He has tried to demonstrate, too, that it led, as -far as music education is concerned, to a confusion of aims, creating -problems for both teachers and gifted young men and women whose aims -were serious. These problems still survive. A similar divergence -is reflected in music criticism in a somewhat different form. It -is evident that the principal task of the critic, certainly of the -exacting critic, is that which has a bearing on the musical production -of the time and place in which he lives. The music which comes from -abroad or from the past calls for a serious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> attitude, to be sure, -but it is not comparable to the critic’s responsibilities toward the -culture of his own land and epoch. It does not inevitably imply a -motive for attacking the real problems of either music or culture. Even -research in regard to it is gratuitous to a point, for the very impulse -toward research derives from a curiosity which, like the creative -impulse, is a symptom of vitality or at least of restlessness in the -general atmosphere of the time. It is an indication of an already -highly developed music life.</p> - -<p>Generally speaking, music criticism in the United States remained -amateurish for a long time; but if such a state of affairs adequately -served conditions in the years before World War I, it was insufficient -in the twenties, when young composers were beginning to take both -themselves and their musical aims seriously. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> influence of the -critics was as powerful in those days as it remains to this day, up to -a certain point; but the criteria which criticism furnished had little -or nothing to give young composers. There was little understanding for -either the needs or the demands of these young creators or for that -which they wished to accomplish.</p> - -<p>We think of a well-known and extremely important personality of -that period: Paul Rosenfeld. He was very friendly to young creative -musicians, and a sympathetic promoter of everything they wished to -accomplish. He was a passionate amateur, especially of music that was -new, and above all of the music of the young Americans he knew. In -this respect he stood virtually alone; he dared to write with great -passion and enthusiasm of everything in the “new” music that interested -him—of Schönberg,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> Stravinsky, Bártòk, Scriabine, and Sibelius—and he -conducted a bold propaganda for new music in a period when the attitude -of other critics, and certainly of the public, was at best cautious -and hesitant. He was also a personal friend of Ernest Bloch, from the -moment the composer, a completely unknown figure in the United States, -arrived here in 1916; Rosenfeld worked tirelessly for the recognition -of Bloch’s music and personality. It is impossible to overestimate -Rosenfeld’s contributions as a writer and as an enthusiastic -propagandist for the contemporary music of his period, and for the -development of music in this country. It is not surprising that this -contribution is still remembered.</p> - -<p>True, Rosenfeld had little understanding for the real and -characteristic tendencies of the period between the two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span> wars, and his -ideas remained <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">au fond</i> those of postromanticism, with a strong -admixture of American nationalism. There is no doubt, however, that he -played a significant role in the formation of the musical generation of -the twenties. The present author belongs to that generation; Rosenfeld -was not in complete sympathy with him, but Rosenfeld’s interest and his -willingness to discuss issues were of the greatest possible value to -all who came in contact with him. One found in him, as in few others -of that time, a genuine awareness of the issues, and a desire to -understand the motivating forces behind them.</p> - -<p>The foregoing notwithstanding, Rosenfeld was in no sense of the word -a music critic. It may seem paradoxical to say that he possessed -neither authentic musical knowledge nor, very probably, strong -musical instinct. Not only did he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> shy away from acquiring technical -knowledge which he considered an obstacle to feeling and intuition; he -even refused to speak of music in concrete terms. If he made casual -reference to facts, as occasionally happened, he often was in error; -in speaking of the instrumentation of the <i>Sinfonia Domestica</i> -of Strauss, for example, he referred to the use of the <span xml:lang="it" lang="it" id="amore"><i>viola -d’amore</i></span> instead of the oboe—likewise <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">d’amore</i>, but hardly to be -confused with the viola! His relation to music remained that of a -litterateur to whom music furnished a stimulus for ideas, sentiments, -and attitudes, and, in consequence, for words.</p> - -<p>In spite of his association with mature musicians such as Bloch, -Rosenfeld never learned to regard music as something other than a -means of evocation, an art completely self-sufficient as a mode of -expression, completely developed, an art<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> which demands of its devotees -all their resources of craft and personality. He was therefore not in a -position to help young composers as a connoisseur, to give them a sense -of the demands of their craft or of the essence of musical expression. -He did succeed, to be sure, in giving them something much needed at -that time: a lively sense of belonging to the whole cultural movement -of the period. Other critics gave them not even that feeling. Confined -to the limits of their profession and the premises discussed, they -reported, more or less competently, events and the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">faits divers</i> -of the daily music life. They concerned themselves little, and only -incidentally, with contemporary music. The composers were growing -and developing independently; and when, as toward the end of the -decade, they found performers like Koussevitzky who took an interest -in their music, the critics were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> neither conspicuously hostile nor -conspicuously friendly, but remained indifferent to the prospects of -a development of music in the United States. They were also reluctant -seriously to consider either the issues involved or the influences -which would have favored such a development. The critics contented -themselves by “going along,” at least tentatively, with Koussevitzky -and others of established reputation showing interest in this music.</p> - -<p>We state these facts without malicious intent. We can understand why in -such a situation the critics, confronted with something new, failed. -The appearance on the music scene of an entire group of young American -composers who, so to speak, thought for themselves and were searching -for their individual attitudes and modes of musical speech, forced -the critics of the time to face a series of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> unaccustomed challenges. -It demanded, for the first time in the United States, that they come -to terms, repeatedly, with music of serious intent, music which had -arrived fresh and free of previous critical judgments. At the same -time, the development of a number of these native composers may well -have been a threat to the <i>status quo</i> and vested interests, -which included the supremacy of the critic in all that concerned the -formation of public taste. There is no evidence, as far as we know, -that any critic actually thought in such terms, and it is not a -question of accusation. Such considerations seem natural at least as -subconscious forces and would adequately explain the reserve which the -music journalists of twenty-five years ago displayed, not toward this -or that young composer, but toward American composers as such; their -reluctance to admit American music to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> the category of things to be -discussed seriously, either for its own sake or for its significance in -relation to the music culture of the country as a whole, was apparent. -Certainly they were aware of the names of some of these creators and -had thought about them, possibly in a stereotyped concept of their -musical physiognomies, and certainly they did not ignore them when -their music appeared on important programs, yet clearly they made no -effort to study such music closely, to seek out and discover young -or unknown personalities, or to interest themselves in events which -took place off the beaten path. In short, what they lacked was genuine -sympathy for what was happening.</p> - -<p>Such sympathy, actually, was reserved for another generation of -critics, which arose toward the end of the thirties. No doubt, the most -influential of recent years<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> have been Virgil Thomson, who retired -two years ago from the <i>New York Herald-Tribune</i>, and Alfred -Frankenstein, still of the <i>San Francisco Chronicle</i>. Both served -modest apprenticeships before arriving at positions of power. Above -all, both are notable for their close relationship to contemporary, -and especially American music, as well as for their experience and -knowledge of the life and the repertory of concert and opera. Thomson -is known also as a composer; as a critic, he is a lively and often -brilliant observer of the contemporary music scene. He makes his -readers constantly aware of his own predilections (he has every right -to do so as a composer) and his predilections are for the French music -of the twenties. One must give him credit also for the efforts made -to understand music of other types. Above all, one must admire his -consistent and tireless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> emphasis on the work of younger composers, -and the energy with which he reported on interesting and vital events, -however distant they might have been from Fifty-seventh Street or Times -Square.</p> - -<p>Frankenstein, for at least twenty-five years, has battled for the cause -of music in the United States. He gave careful attention to the state -of music here, and there is probably no one more qualified to speak of -it authoritatively. He became personally acquainted with the principal -composers who live in our country, but, better still, he familiarized -himself with their music. Possessing an unusual degree of knowledge of -music history, he combines it with an equally rich knowledge of, and -carefully considered judgment on, the problems of contemporary music. -Like Thomson, he brings to his task a deep sense of responsibility for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> -everything in our music life. One need not always agree with Thomson -and Frankenstein, but it is difficult not to recognize their sincerity.</p> - -<p>It is evident that our discussion of music criticism in the United -States has dealt primarily with its relation to the general subject of -our musical development. The music itself and the composers and their -ideas remain to be discussed.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VII">VII</h2> -</div> - - -<p>The principal concern of music in the twenties was the idea of a -national or “typically American” school or style and, eventually, a -tradition which would draw to a focus the musical energies of our -country which, as Rosenfeld once said to Aaron Copland and the author, -would “affirm America.” The concern was not limited to composers, and -in fact it was sometimes used as a weapon against individual composers -by those whose preconceived ideas of what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> “American” music should be -did not square with the music in question. In spite of the abstract and -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">a priori</i> nature of this concern, it was a natural one in view of -the historical circumstances.</p> - -<p>Actually the nationalist current in our music dates back to a period -considerably earlier than the twenties. Its underlying motives are as -curiously varied as are its manifestations. Cultural nationalism has -special aspects which, since they derive from our colonial past, may -be considered as reflex actions, so to speak, of American history. -American musical nationalism, too, is complex. In its earlier phases -it developed gradually on the basis of a music culture which came -to us from abroad. It consisted, as it were, of a deliberate search -for particular picturesque elements derived for the most part from -impressions received from ritual chants of the Indians or from -characteristic<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> songs of the colored people in the South; equally, it -included efforts, such as MacDowell’s, to evoke impressions of the -American landscape. These and similar elements strongly contributed to -the renown of this sympathetic figure, and MacDowell’s name for many -years was virtually identical with American music.</p> - -<p>A different feature was furnished by a Protestant culture which in -the beginning came from England, but developed a character all of its -own in the English colonies, especially in New England. Against this -background grew our “classic” writers and thinkers, and the character -found expression in music and painting, though in the latter it is -admittedly less important. Next to MacDowell the most significant -figure in the American music of that time was undoubtedly Horatio -Parker, who, especially<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> in certain religious works, displayed not only -a mature technique, but also a musical nature and profile which were -well defined, even though they were not wholly original.</p> - -<p>These men, however, did not represent a genuinely nationalist trend, -but rather idioms which, in much more aggressive and consistent form, -contributed to a nationalist current that was to become strong in the -twenties. The figure and the influence of Paul Rosenfeld again comes to -mind, yet the question was not so much that of an individual per se as -that of a personality embodying a whole complex of reactions deriving -from a new awareness of our national power, of the disillusionment of -the post-War period, and of a recrudescent consciousness of Europe and -European influence on the United States and the world in general.</p> - -<p>We know the political effects of these<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> reactions and their -consequences for the world. As far as the cultural results are -concerned, they led to a wave of emigration which took many of our -gifted young writers, artists, and musicians to Europe, especially -to Paris. It was a revulsion against the cultural situation of the -United States of those years. The same reactions also produced a wave -of revulsion against Europe, however, as far as music was concerned, -against the domination of our music life by European musicians and -European ideas, against the mentioned wave of emigration which seemed -to have carried away, if but temporarily, so many young talents and -therefore so much cultural energy, a revulsion, finally, against the -whole complex world of Europe itself. That European world seemed -exigent, disturbing. It was a world from which we had freed ourselves -a century and a half<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> earlier, but which for so many years thereafter -had constituted an implicit threat to American independence, and which -presented itself to American imagination as a mass of quasi-tyrannical -involvements from which our ancestors had fled in order to build a new -country on unsullied soil. The most pointedly American manifestations -were sought for, not always in the most discriminating spirit or with -the most penetrating insight as to value; and the effort was made -to call forth hidden qualities from sources hitherto regarded with -contempt.</p> - -<p>The situation indicates an extremely complex movement, partly -constructive and based not just on reflex impulses, and has left -traces which persist in our culture. As a primary motive, it has long -since been left behind; for, though it was an inevitable phase, the -time arrived when it no longer satisfied our cultural<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> needs. One -may, in fact, observe the manner in which (more obvious here than in -Europe since our country is so vast and the distances so great) such a -movement tends to shift, also geographically, and finally to die in the -provinces where it had survived for a certain period after losing its -force in the cultural centers.</p> - -<p>From such a background of reflex and impulse the facets of American -musical nationalism grew. Let us distinguish three, though perhaps they -are overdefined. One is the “folklorist” tendency characteristic of a -group of composers of differing types, from Charles Wakefield Cadman -to Charles Ives. Folklore in the United States is something different -from European or Russian folklore. Here it does not involve a popular -culture of ancient or legendary origin, which for centuries grew among -the people and remained, as it were, anonymous; here it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> is something -recent, less naive, and, let us say, highly specialized. It consists -largely of popular songs originally bound to precise historical -situations and the popularity of which, in fact, derived from their -power to evoke the memory or vision of these situations—the Civil War, -the life of the slaves in the South, or that of cowboys or lumberjacks -in the now virtually extinct Old West—only nostalgia remained. Though -these songs are in no sense lacking in character, they fail to embody -a clear style; and it is difficult to see how, with their origins in -a relatively sophisticated musical vocabulary, they could conceivably -form the basis of a “national” style. Not only a musical, but also -a sociological and psychological basis for such a style is missing. -Therefore, apart from jazz—which is something else, but equally -complex—folklorism in the United<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> States has remained on a relatively -superficial level, not so much for lack of attraction, but for lack of -the elements necessary for expansion into a genuine style or at least -into a “manner.”</p> - -<p>Certain composers such as Henry Gilbert, Douglas Moore, and William -Grant Still have made use of folklorism with success. However, even -in the music of these composers the element is evocative rather than -organic; and the success of their efforts seems commensurable with the -degree to which the whole remains on the frankly “popular” level. The -extraordinary figure of Charles Ives might be considered an exception. -He certainly is one of the significant men in American music, and at -the same time one of the most complex and problematical. But among the -various elements of which his music consists—music which sometimes -reaches almost the level of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> genius, but which, at other times, is -banal and amateurish—the folklorist is the most problematic, the least -characteristic.</p> - -<p>Another aspect of our musical nationalism is just that <em>evocative</em> -tendency. It makes reference to a quasi-literary type in the -theater, in texts of songs and other vocal works, or to “programs” -in symphonic poems. Many Americans have made use of such reference -in a self-conscious manner. However, the term is used here also to -refer to an effort to achieve a musical vocabulary or “style” apt, -in some manner, to evoke this or that aspect of American landscape -or character. Howard Hanson, for instance, in his postromantic and -somewhat conventional music, has tried to establish an evocative -relationship with the American past as well as with the Nordic past of -his Scandinavian ancestors.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> - -<p>More ambitious and possibly more interesting was the effort of Roy -Harris to achieve a style that could be called “national” in a less -external sense. His point of departure was the evocation of American -history or American landscape; but from these beginnings he goes on -to technical and aesthetic concepts aimed toward defining the basis -of a new American music. It cannot be denied that Harris accomplished -some results. For a time during the years just preceding World War II, -his music attracted the attention of musicians on both sides of the -Atlantic and achieved considerable success. His ideas and concepts, -however, must be considered quite by themselves; music and technical -concepts belong to different categories: it would be an error to judge -either in terms of the other. Harris’s ideas of technique often have -little or nothing to do with specifically<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> American motivation, but -to a large extent consist of a strange brew composed of anti-European -revulsion, personal prejudice, and the projection of this or that -problem, or a solution with which he has become acquainted. What -is lacking, as in the entire nationalist movement in our music, is -awareness of the fact that genuine national character comes from within -and must develop and grow of itself, that it cannot be imposed from -without, and that, in the last analysis, it is a by-product, not an -aim, of artistic expression.</p> - -<p>A third type of American musical nationalism may be dubbed -“primitivist,” a term implying something different from the primitivism -which for a time was current in European culture. Reference here is not -necessarily to an interest in the culture of the Indians, whether the -primitive of North America or the more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> highly developed of Central -and South America. Primitivism of this variety is related to frank -rebellion against European culture and is a vague and overstrained -yearning for a type of quasi-music that is to be completely new, -and in which one could find refuge from the demands, conflicts, and -problems of contemporary culture manifesting itself everywhere. It -is expressed in superficial experimentalism, not to be confused, in -its basic concepts, with experimentalism concerned with the problems -of contemporary music and culture. Actually, as happens frequently -in matters of contemporary art, the two types of experimentalism are -sometimes found in association, in a rather strange admixture. It would -require special analysis—one which has no bearing on the present -discussion—to dissociate them. One cannot entirely ignore this trend,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> -however, a current always existing in one form or the other, though -never achieving importance.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>One might possibly add one more brand of nationalism to the folklorist, -evocative, and primitivist—the attempt to base a national style -on jazz. Such classification is of course artificial and of purely -practical value. While folklorism, the evocation of American images, -and the type of primitivism we have been discussing, are related -exclusively to American backgrounds, jazz, on the other hand, though it -originated in this country and is considered a product of our culture, -has had an influence on music outside the United States. It has taken -root in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> Europe and developed European modes on European soil, not as -an exotic product, but as a phenomenon which is modern rather than -exclusively American.</p> - -<p>This author will never forget an occasion at a little restaurant in -Assisi, in the shadow of the church of <abbr title="Saint">St.</abbr> Francis, when he had to ask -that the radio, blaring forth genuine jazz, be lowered so he might -talk quietly with his colleague Dallapiccola; or another occasion -in an Austrian village hotel, where jazz—also genuine though not -of the highest quality—was constantly heard, either from a local -dance band or on the radio: it was craved more by the young German, -Dutch or Danish guests than by the Americans there. Jazz—unless one -insists on an esoteric definition—has become, or is about to become, -an international phenomenon like other<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> mass-produced goods which, -originally manufactured in the United States, lose their association -with it and are assimilated elsewhere.</p> - -<p>This is not to minimize the fact that jazz developed via American -popular music, and that it contains a strong primitive ingredient -from this source. However, other elements were added, as it were, -by accretion, elements which derive from a predominantly rhythmic -vitality and are supposedly inherited from the African past of the -negroes. Long before the name jazz was given to this type of music, -its rhythmical and colorist, and to a degree its melodic elements had -attracted the attention of European musicians. Beginning as early as -Debussy’s <i>Golliwogg’s Cake Walk</i>, one remembers a series of works -by Stravinsky, Casella, Milhaud, Weill, and others. The influence -remained active for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> a short time, and by the end of the thirties it -had virtually disappeared.</p> - -<p>Similar things happened in the United States, yet with far-reaching -implications. Certain composers had hoped to find in jazz the basis -for an “American” style and their efforts may be considered the most -serious of all ever made to create an American music with “popular -style” as its foundation (even though jazz can really not be called -folk music in the accepted sense of the word). These composers in -jazz saw characteristic elements which they believed rich enough -to allow development into a musical vocabulary, one of definite -character, though limited to certain emotive characteristics in turn -believed to be typically American. Aaron Copland in his <i>Music for -the Theatre</i> and his Piano Concerto (written in 1926) showed his -audience novel points of departure such as had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> been suggested by -Europeans; other Americans felt capable of carrying these beginnings -still farther and discovered idiomatic features not only in the musical -vocabulary, but in the American personality as well.</p> - -<p>Copland, of these composers, undoubtedly was the most successful. -However, he dropped the experiment after two or three works of this -type, which can be counted among his best, in order to write, over a -period of several years, music of a different kind, characterized by -certain lean and harsh dissonances, angular, sharp, and at moments -melancholy and which no longer had a connection with jazz. There is -much more to say about this composer, whose music has passed also -through other phases. It may be asked, however, why he decided to -abandon the idiom chosen at the outset of his career, one based on -jazz.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> Probably he saw the limitations of nationalist ideas as such -and, like the European composers mentioned, came to the realization -that by its very nature jazz is limited not only as material, but -emotionally as well. Jazz may be considered a <em>genre</em> or a type, -yet one discovers quickly that, passing beyond certain formulas, -certain stereotyped emotive gestures, one enters the sphere of -other music, and the concept of jazz no longer seems sensible. The -character of jazz is inseparably bound to certain harmonic and rhythmic -formulas—not only to that of syncopation but, if incessant syncopation -is to make its full effect, to the squarest kind of phrase structure, -and to a harmony based on most primitive tonal scheme. While immobility -of these bases makes a play of rhythmic detail and of melodic -figuration possible, this always is a question of lively detail rather<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> -than of extended organic development. The result is exactly what might -have been expected: for the last twenty years, leaving aside occasional -instances where jazz was frankly and bodily “taken over” for special -purposes, it has ceased to exert a strong influence on contemporary -music. On the contrary, it has borrowed incessantly from “serious” -music, generally after a certain interval of time.</p> - -<p>Though different from Copland, the equally gifted George Gershwin -travelled in the opposite direction; from popular music he came to the -extended forms of “serious” music. He remained a composer of “popular” -and “light” music, nevertheless, for they were native to him. If his -jazz is always successful and unproblematical even in his large works, -like the <i>Rhapsody in Blue</i> and the opera <i>Porgy and Bess</i>, -it is because in its original and popular sense jazz is his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> natural -idiom, and Gershwin never felt the need for overstepping its limits, -musical or emotive. True, he wanted to write works of large design, -but herein he never succeeded. He never understood the problem and the -requirements of extended form, and remained, so to speak, innocent -of them. But since his music was frankly popular in character and -conception, it developed without constraint within the limits of -jazz; and since he was enormously gifted, it could achieve a quality -transcending the limits of jazz convention.</p> - -<p>In other words, Gershwin’s music is in the first place music, and -secondarily jazz. Those who may be considered his successors in the -relationship to “serious” or, let us say, ambitious music, set out from -premises no longer derived from nationalism. There is no longer the -question of, in Rosenfeld’s words, “affirming<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> America,” but of gaining -and holding the favor of the public. This was the concern of American -composers during the thirties. Perhaps above all, American composers -for the first time had won the attention of an American public; and it -is natural that they wished to win and to enjoy the response of this -public, and that some felt a challenge in the situation not altogether -banal. For the American composer any vital relationship with a public -was a new experience, one which seemed to open new perspectives. He -felt for the first time the sensation of being supported by a strong -propaganda for native music—something quite new in American music, -though not without unexpected effects. Since the propaganda was in -behalf of American composers as such, since it was always stated in -terms of these composers, since their right to be heard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> and their -problems rather than the satisfactions which the public would derive -from them were stressed, or the participation which that public would -gain from listening to American music, the effect soon was that of -giving nationality as such a value in and for itself. Quality and -intention of the music soon seemed nonexistent; performers satisfied -the demands of Americanism, presenting whatever music they found most -convenient, and often whatever was shortest or made the least demand -on performer and listener. It seems as if our music was obliged to pay -in terms of loss of dignity for what it gained in terms of, at least, -theoretical acceptance.</p> - -<p>Many composers during those years were attracted by ideas derived from -the quasi-Marxist concept of mass appeal. Their ideas of a cultural -democracy drove<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> them toward a type of music which consciously aimed -at pleasure for the greatest number. Such ideas suited the aims of the -music business, which, with the help of business ideologies, encouraged -these endeavors.</p> - -<p>The music produced, however, bore no longer a specific relationship -to jazz, which latter continued to develop along the lines normal to -any product that has become an article of mass consumption, a variable -product excluding neither imagination nor musical talent, but always -remaining a <em>genre</em> and, by reason of its inherent restriction, -never becoming a style. The features which once attracted attention -by now had been absorbed into the contemporary musical vocabulary to -which jazz could make no further contributions. Jazz, on the other -hand, takes the materials of contemporary music, adopts those of -its technical<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> methods it can absorb and transforms them for its -own uses. Infinitely more than even in the case of “serious” music, -the composition and performance of popular music are controlled by -commercial interests representing millions of dollars; in the economy -of music business this fact constitutes a chapter in itself.</p> - -<p>The “serious” composers during the thirties were attracted by the -two tendencies which years before had dominated the European musical -scene: the <em>neoclassic</em> tendency, and that which is roughly -summarized as <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Gebrauchsmusik</i>, literally <em>utility music</em>. -In Europe, these tendencies were closely allied since one term implies -an aesthetic, the other a practical purpose, and since they have the -impulse toward new simplicity and a new relationship with the public as -a common basis. As a result, <em>neoclassicism</em>, aiming at a clear -and accessible profile<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> and derived from more or less self-conscious -evocations of music of the past, efficiently served as an idiomatic -medium appropriate to the purposes of utility music. In the United -States, explicit “returns” to this or that style or composer were few, -and the neoclassic tendency was by no means always connected with a -drive toward better relations with the public. Widely adopted, however, -was a radical <em>diatonicism</em>, in the last analysis derived from the -<em>neoclassic</em> phase of Stravinsky and adapted to utilitarian ends -(as in music for film or ballet by Aaron Copland or Virgil Thomson), to -fantastic and parodistic purposes (as in the opera <i>Four Saints in -Three Acts</i> of Virgil Thomson and Gertrude Stein), or to “absolute” -music as in certain sonatas and symphonies of Aaron Copland.</p> - -<p>The name Copland is always present when one speaks of the differing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> -tendencies within the development of the past forty years. A large -share of the various phases through which our music has passed during -these decades is summed up in his work. He not only passed through -them himself, but guided many young composers as friend and mentor. -Notwithstanding his manifold transformations—and it is altogether -possible that there are more to come—he has remained a strong and -well-defined personality, easily recognizable in the differing profiles -his music has assumed.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>This final section, while of necessity dealing with the author of this -book, will not engage in a polemic against the ideas outlined on the -preceding pages. The bases and motives of these ideas have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> constituted -part also of this author’s experience, and he has tested them, as the -Germans say, <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">am eigenen Leib</i>, and has tried to present them in -such a manner as to demonstrate that they were inevitable phases of -American culture.</p> - -<p>But there is more. If we nourish the hope of surmounting the dangerous -crisis through which western culture is presently passing, we must make -clear distinctions, and if we wish to surmount the particular, so to -speak, accessory crisis of American musical maturity, we must not lose -sight of the difference between ideas of an aesthetic or sociological -nature on the one hand, and, on the other, the individual works of art -which supposedly embody them. The valid works and personalities are -infinitely more complex than the ideas which constitute merely one of -many components.</p> - -<p>At the same time, ideas influence not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> only the conscious efforts of -composers, not only the criteria and the judgments of critics, but they -influence, in the United States far more than in Europe, education and -the general tenor of music life. Repeated mention has been made of a -predilection, in the American mode of thought, for abstraction. This -tendency derives from the necessity of building, fast, a foundation -where a strong, complex influence of ancient tradition is lacking. -Other peoples are inclined toward abstraction, too, but in comparison -at least with Europe, here the ascendancy of certain concepts, ideas, -and personalities is, at least on the surface, nearly uncontested. -Equally striking is the finality, at times not as real as it may seem, -with which the same concept, idea or personality can be superseded.</p> - -<p>These processes may be observed in many aspects of American life; and -the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> concern with which they are viewed by those following the currents -of opinion, is well known. However, countercurrents exist, frequently -lost from view even when they are strongest. With the full glare of -publicity concentrated on whatever is momentarily in the ascendance, -countercurrents easily grow in quasi-silence and emerge at the -appointed moment with a strength disconcerting to those not acquainted -with the processes of American life (which often seems to run from one -extreme to the other): therefore it is good to remain aware of the -strength, real or potential, of opposition.</p> - -<p>What we term countercurrents to the manifold tendencies heretofore -discussed, may already in part have superseded former attitudes, and -in part may become dominant at the present time. Countercurrents -continually attract a large number of gifted and intelligent young<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> -musicians who regard cultural nationalism with irony, as a formula too -facile to constitute a definitive solution of our musical problems. -They look with irony at the quest for audience appeal, which to them -lacks musical conviction, even though occasionally it may be motivated -by certain social beliefs. They are restive under the older attitudes -aimed at helping the American composer as a matter of principle. They -feel that such aims do not imply necessity, real desire, respect for, -or interest in, the music Americans are writing, and to which they give -all the resources they possess.</p> - -<p>This segment of our young people has observed that musical nationalism, -whatever its special orientation, by this time has lost the freshness -of a new approach and has acquired the character of a provincial -manifestation. This segment sees quite clearly that jazz remains a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> -particular <em>genre</em> admirably suited to its own aims, but in no -sense capable of becoming a style, since style, if it is to be real, -must cover all visible musical possibilities and be responsive to -all vital, musical, and expressive impulses. These young musicians -are wholly able to enjoy jazz and even to become adepts, without -pretensions and illusions. They are conscious, however, of the -manner in which certain composers, who within their memories were -once considered “esoteric,” have achieved almost classic status, are -regularly if not frequently performed, and often harvest great success. -Bártòk, and to some extent Alban Berg, come to their minds, and they -have noticed the manner in which these composers have achieved what -practically no one expected.</p> - -<p>The influence of European musicians who found refuge here during the -thirties<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> and the early years of World War II, the most distinguished -as well as the most modest, can scarcely be overestimated. It is -unnecessary to speak of the important role they have played, since -that is well known; looking back at the situation as it presented -itself at the time, one can be impressed both by the cordiality with -which they were nearly always received and by the spirit in which, -with few exceptions, they embraced the entirely new conditions history -had thrust upon them. These facts are in the best American tradition, -as is the immense contribution they have made, partly through their -activities as musicians, partly through the successes achieved through -their understanding of a unique cultural situation.</p> - -<p>We are dealing, in other words, with a concept of American music -differing sharply from that heretofore discussed:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> one which views the -United States basically as a new embodiment of the occidental spirit, -finding in that spirit not only the premises but the basic directives -which have given our national development its authentic character. Such -a view assumes the cultural independence of the United States both as -a fact and as a natural goal; this matter requires no discussion, even -though unfortunately it is still necessary, on occasion, to insist on -it. The same view also recognizes that real independence is an intimate -and inherent quality which is acquired through maturity, and not a -device with which one can emblazon one’s self by adopting slogans or -programs of action. “American character” in music, therefore, is bound -to come only from within, a quality to be discovered in <em>any</em> -genuine and mature music written by an American, is a by-product of -such music,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> to be recognized, no doubt, <em>after</em> the fact, but not -to be sought out beforehand and on the basis of preconceived ideas. -Only when the ideas are no longer preconceived, when, in other words, a -large body of music of all kinds will have brought a secure tradition -into being, then the American musical profile will emerge and the -question of American style or character assume meaning.</p> - -<p>In the meantime, it is necessary to maintain an independent attitude -toward “foreign influences” without being afraid of them. Furthermore, -it will be better to remember how traditions, in the history of -culture, invariably have crossed frontiers and served to nourish new -thoughts, the new impulses toward new forms and new styles: just as -Dutch music nourished Italian in the sixteenth century, Italian music -nourished German some hundred and fifty years later. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span> real task of -the American composer is basically simple: it is that of winning for -himself the means of bringing to life the music to which he listens -within himself. This is identical with the task that has confronted all -composers at all times, and in our age it involves, everywhere and in -like manner, facing in our own way the problems of American music with -single-mindedness and genuine dedication. Naturally, it obligates us to -absorb the music culture not just of this or that country, but to seek -large horizons and to explore indefatigably from a point of vantage.</p> - -<p>In order to arrive at an American music, we must, above all, aim -at a genuine music. Similarly, we cannot hope to achieve a valid -relationship with the public by means of shortcuts—neither by -flattering the listener through concessions (however well concealed) -to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> taste of the majority, nor by seeking to limit the musical -vocabulary to what is easily understood. Agreed: we live in a -difficult, a transitional and hence a dangerous period, in which -the individual frequently finds himself in an isolated position, in -which society seems to become increasingly uncohesive, more unwieldy, -and therefore prone to seek common ground on the most facile and -oversimplified level. The fact remains that what the public really -wants from music, in the last analysis, is neither the mirrored -image of itself nor fare chosen for easy digestibility, but vital -and relevant experience. The composer can furnish such experience -by writing from the plenitude of complete conviction, and without -constraint. One cannot hope ever to convince anyone unless one has -convinced one’s self; and this is the composer’s sole means of contact -with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span> any public whatever. He has no choice other than to be completely -himself: the only alternative for an artist is not to be one.</p> - -<p>This opinion is no offer of an alternative solution to the American -musical problem: it does not exclude musical nationalism or any other -movement of that type; it does not exclude any kind of music whatever. -It establishes premises which allow the free development of any music -composers feel impelled to furnish. Music life today is infinitely -varied, and there are all kinds of music, for every purpose and every -occasion. This variety has developed as a natural consequence of modern -life, and in fact is a part of it. An exclusive, dogmatic concept which -would aim to limit this variety, or which would deny the validity of -this or that type of music, is ridiculous. However, we must insist on -distinctions and on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> the criteria that go with distinctions. It is not -to the music or the concept of music—folklorist, evocative, popular, -choose an adjective at will—that one should object, but to the -exclusivity of a system of values which pretends to furnish criteria -relevant to the development of music. Certainly the adjectives have -meaning, but in a different sphere.</p> - -<p>The “great line of western tradition” provides the most fertile source -of nourishment also for American music. This is now being recognized -almost universally throughout the United States: and the recognition -appears as the premise for our music education, criticism, and, in -fact, for the responsible agencies of our entire music life. Today -one hears very little of musical nationalism. It has been relegated -to the provinces. The eternal quarrel between what is “esoteric” and -what “popular”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> has evolved into a quite urbane, almost friendly -argument between <em>diatonicism</em> and <em>chromaticism</em>, the -<em>tonalists</em> and the <em>atonalists</em>, or with overtones -resounding from a very recent past, between <em>neoclassicism</em> and -the <em>twelve-tone</em> music. We are probably in a period of calm -before new storms, and such periods are not always the happiest either -for artists or for art. Those sensitive to shifting currents will have -an idea of the nature of the next big argument.</p> - -<p>Before giving some hint as to the <em>possible nature</em> of this -argument, as a concluding gesture, it seems relevant to comment on -two more points (unrelated though they are to one another) by no -means unimportant in our general picture. First: though the study of -the classics is all but universal in the United States, and is often -on a level equal to anything found elsewhere, traditionalism<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> in the -European sense simply does not exist here, and we understand why this -is so. In the absence of an indigenous tradition expressing itself in -our criticism, our music education, and our practice of music, there -is no group of composers which would or could identify itself with a -conservative traditionalism, nor is there a means of opposition to new -music on that level. Opposition is abundant, as has been indicated in -the preceding pages; but, generally speaking, it is based on different -grounds, and at most there are remnants of this or that European -tradition: German, Italian French, Viennese, and sometimes even -British. However, the word “tradition” here assumes the most dynamic of -its senses: that which implies <em>continuity</em> rather than that which -fosters domination by the past.</p> - -<p>Second—and one may regard this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> point as controversial: the influence -Arnold Schönberg exerted during his lifetime in the United States, that -is, for nearly twenty years, is most noteworthy. Like many refugees -from Europe, he became a passionately enthusiastic citizen of our -country and here composed some of his most important works, possibly -the most important: the Fourth Quartet, the Violin Concerto, the String -Trio, and others. Though his career as such may not be relevant to our -present discussion, it is appropriate to stress the influence of this -great personality on American music life—an influence which has been -deeper than is generally assumed. It has always been in the direction -of intensified awareness of that “great line” to which reference was -made, and in the sense of that great line. From his pupils in this -country, as from those he had had previously in Europe,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> he demanded, -first and above all, striving toward such awareness. Though he -discovered the <em>twelve-tone</em> method, he was far greater than this -or any other method, and he tried to inculcate upon his students and -disciples an awareness of the primacy of music itself: thus he refused -to teach the method to his students, insisting that they must come to -it naturally and as a result of their own creative requirements, or not -at all.</p> - -<p>The <em>twelve-tone</em> music has flourished here as elsewhere, and -is no longer problematical. This author, often identified with the -<em>twelve-tone</em> or <em>dodecaphonic</em> tendency, recently read an -article, as yet unpublished, on his music in which it was pointed out -that several of his colleagues, Walter Piston, Virgil Thomson, and -Aaron Copland, actually experimented with the method before he himself -used it in any literal sense, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> this in spite of the fact that these -colleagues are considered as belonging to a different camp.</p> - -<p>The fact is one more proof that the “system” no longer is an issue. The -issue, rather, is one of the resources of a composer, while the system -is available for use by any individual and in any way he sees fit. The -arguments which loom ahead and already have begun to resound in Europe, -are most likely those between composers who commit themselves to the -“system” as conceived by them, the “system” as a value in itself, and -those who regard it as a tool to be used in the forging of music valid -on quite different and perennially vital grounds. The attitude of -Schönberg, and for that matter and in equal measure of his followers -Alban Berg and Anton Webern, is appropriately summarized in a sentence -Schönberg once quoted in a letter to this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> author, and which is drawn -from one of his early lectures. “A Chinese philosopher,” Schönberg -wrote, “speaks Chinese, of course; but the important thing is: what -does he say?”</p> - -<p>Let us conclude with this beautiful word from one of the truly great -figures of our time. With a slight change of emphasis we can take it -as a challenge to American music, and to any music from any source. -American musical maturity, or if one prefers, the drive toward that -cultural maturity, coincides with one of the most formidable crises -through which human imagination has passed, and one which demands -maturity, urgently, from every possible source. We have reason to hope -that we American musicians may learn to meet the challenge implied in -Schönberg’s words, the eternal challenge of art itself, in a worthy -manner which does full justice to the situation.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter transnote"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transnote">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - -<p>The cover image was created by the transcriber from the title page and is placed in the public domain.</p> - -<p>As all other foreign words were in italics in the original, <a href="#amore">d’amore</a> has been italicized for consistency.</p> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REFLECTIONS ON THE MUSIC LIFE IN THE UNITED STATES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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