A recent article in the Wall St. Journal reported on the awarding of a $400,000.00 grant from the Mellon Foundation to the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra. Normally this would be cause for celebration: 6 figure grants for performing arts organizations are significant and not easy to win. Orpheus, besides being a top-flight ensemble, seems almost like a bit of a Cinderella story, especially today: formed in the 1970’s by a group of musicians who worked together from the start, building a sustainable organization and driven by their mission, they’ve become world renowned and an important institution in New York City. Yes, a $400,000.00 grant is nothing to sneeze at. The reason for this grant, however, may be cause for cautious optimism at best–and active worry at worst. A significant reason for the awarding of this grant is to hire more minorities–especially, at least ostensibly, latino and black musicians. The article quotes the League of American Orchestras figure which estimates that a mere 5% of orchestral musicians in the United States are of hispanic or black descent. A grant designed to address this problem seems, at first glance, to be a boon to those it may help. After all, bringing attention to the problem is the first step in rectifying it; taking steps to fix it is a logical second step. Unfortunately this sort of thing throws into sharp relief the problems behind the problem–many of which are not addressed at all. Perhaps the first issue is the lack of classical music in the ‘black’ and ‘latino’ communities. It was more than a century ago that one of the musical giants of the Romantic, the Czech composer Antonin Dvorak, visited the United States. During the four years he lived and worked here he taught, traveled and composed, among other things, his 9th Symphony, the ‘New World,’ which is regarded as one of his finest works (and certainly one of his most popular.) Dvorak also became familiar with the music of Native Americans and freed slaves–the so-called Negro Spirituals. His enthusiasm for this music was genuine, and he advised the American musical community to take advantage of this bounty and incorporate it into the American musical language. No less a person than Leonard Bernstein, arguably the most accomplished and admired classical musician that the United States has ever produced, also argued this point with great fervor, going so far to say in his senior thesis at Harvard, that “(To sum up, then:) American music owes one of its greatest debts to the Negroes, not only for the popularly acknowledged gift of jazz, but for the impetus which jazz has given to America’s art music. This incentive has come in two ways—melodically and rhythmically—with further support from tone color and contrapuntal feeling. Both the scale patterns and the rhythm patterns, as first manifested in jazz itself, were used freely in symphonic composition by men like Gershwin. With more advanced composers or with composers in a more advanced state [i.e., Sessions and Copland after 1929], this initial use—especially of the rhythms—has grown into a new style, which might be called the first tangible indigenous style that can be identified in American music.” While the particular merits of each argument may be debated in social and scholarly circles, the positions of both men are clear. Yet more than a century after Dvorak’s proclamation and three quarters of a century after Bernstein penned his thesis, the idea of a National Musical language influenced by indigenous and minority cultural experience largely remains an historical footnote. Classical music, unfortunately, remains a prisoner of stereotypes: that it is ivory tower music, elitist, snobby, inaccessible, and perhaps most unfortunately, that it is exclusively white. Blame is ample on both ‘sides’ of the problem: orchestras tend to cater to ‘traditional’ audiences, in traditional (and ‘safe’) venues, waiting for the willing to come to them. Non-traditional communities are ignored, but often don’t take initiative: disadvantaged youth, particularly those ‘of color,’ are not encouraged to listen to Beethoven and Brahms, not introduced to the instruments of the orchestra, and, simply, rarely, if ever, told that they could be a violinist (or pianist, or oboist, or composer) if they wished. It is a poor message to send, and perhaps the cornerstone of the issue. It is interesting to note the presence of high-budget orchestras in cities which have large black and hispanic communities. The Los Angeles Philharmonic, for example, has a budget of nearly $100m, a black population of 9.6% and an hispanic population of 48.5%. Boston, whose famed Symphony comes in 2nd with a budget of $89m, includes populations which are 24% black and 17% hispanic. Orchestras in such cities with large minority populations as Baltimore (no. 15) St. Louis (no. 16) and Detroit (no. 17) are outside of the top 10 in budget size but, with budgets over $20m a season, still have plenty of resources. Orchestra administrators across the country often cite a desire to be more ‘representative (on stage) of the communities in which we play’; but when orchestras in these major cities include minority members whose numbers account for just 5% of membership, one may wonder how great that desire truly is. A second problem is that of the attempts at ‘solutions’ that have cropped up here and there in recent years. From the Sphinx competition to orchestral fellowship programs designed exclusively for ‘musicians of color’ to ensembles comprised of minority musicians, there have been some well recognized ‘innovations’ over the last decade or two. But oh, what problems they come with! A competition designed exclusively for a single demographic immediately attaches a qualification to its competitors–not to mention its winner. Thus the career of a ‘brilliant young violinist’ becomes the career of a ‘talented young black/latina’ violinist.’ Descriptive adjectives and personal pride in ones heritage aside, that sort of qualification can do as much harm as good, if not more. Instead of anticipation building ahead of a performance because the soloist is known for, say, an especially luxurious legato tone or a special way with Brahms, he or she becomes known simply as ‘the winner of this particular competition.’ In short, a musician–a complex human being!–becomes an other, possibly even a curiosity. Fellowships for minority musicians are helpful, but I wonder how they can help but being seen as a sort of affirmative action program. Music is hard enough: getting just the right colors in Debussy, the depth and subtlety of emotion in Brahms and the right articulation and tempi in Bach, for example, are challenges that require the most intense attention to detail. To be scrutinized for those details is difficult enough, particularly in an audition, but to have additional scrutiny because one is seen as the ‘other’ fellow–well, that is another thing entirely. And lastly–the idea of an ‘all ethnic’ ensemble is perhaps the ultimate double edged sword. It certainly runs the risk of reinforcing or affirming the convictions of those who may think that ‘people of color’ have little to no place in a professional symphony orchestra–that it is not ‘their’ music. Orchestras such as the ‘Soulful Symphony,’ performing gospel versions of Handel, could be seen as apologizing for (or even misunderstanding) classical music. Perhaps the best thing to take away from this is that music is designed to break down barriers, not to reinforce them. Beethoven has as much to say to a poor kid in the Bronx as it does to the Wall St. exec or PhD. The kid in the Bronx needs to know that he’s welcome: welcome at the children’s concert, welcome on Saturday night at Carnegie Hall, welcome to take up the violin or the trumpet, welcome to love Beethoven and Brahms–and, perhaps some day, welcome to study at Juilliard and take his place in (or in front of) the orchestra, too. And for all the talk of hispanic and black, heritage and identity, that kid also needs to know this: when the music begins, that’s all that matters. What you are is irrelevant; who you are is important. Yes, there have been more outreach programs recently. Certainly the philosophy of ‘El Sistema’ has taken the country by storm, and programs are springing up all over the country. And of course the purpose served by organizations like Sphinx is noble and useful! But there is more to do–much more. And it really isn’t that complicated. So to Orpheus or any other organization out there that is ‘grappling’ with diversity, here is my advice: forget about diversity. Embrace inclusiveness. Do a runout concert in a rough neighborhood. Send your musicians to give free lessons in a failing middle school or high school. Preach the Word According to Beethoven, and let them know that his music is for them, too. And above all, don’t look at someone dark-skinned as an other, a minority, someone different: look at them as a friend, a colleague, a musician, a member of Schiller’s universal brotherhood. Look, listen, and give them a chance. That is worth far more than $400,000.00, and it’ll cost you far less.
Why do we place responsibility in the hands of politicians? Why do we expect that they can (and will) effect change in any positive way? When did the artist–the musician, writer, philosopher, teacher–lose power? When will the citizenry of humanity realize that man does not need to be governed, but rather inspired?
Music and politics have always had an interesting relationship. Political leaders have shaped music history for hundreds of years, for better or worse. In the case of the former, we have the Emperor Franz Josef I, the Esterhazy family and King Ludwig II; in the case of the latter, we may look to Stalin and Hitler. And sometimes we see a more complex picture, as in the case of the Roman Catholic Church, which both oppressed (dictating rules of form and harmony) and empowered (the masses of Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven.)
The artist has always toed the line, for various reasons, between being politically active and apolitical. Sometimes it is a game of diplomacy, such as the case of Mozart and the bishops of Salzburg; other times, it is a case of reckless abandon, as in the case of Wagner’s involvement with the revolution of 1848. But we have a rich legacy of artists whose compliance with or defiance of political powers resulted in the creation of magnificent works—works whose legacies have shaped our culture and societies in profound ways.
With the recent passing of laws regarding homosexuality in Russia, music has been thrust into the spotlight time and time again. Perhaps most notably, we have seen protests in New York City, both at the Metropolitan Opera and Carnegie Hall. Commentary has not been in short supply regarding these events, with passionate voices crying out on both sides of the issue.
In the center of the debate, at least on this side of the Atlantic, are two living legends of the opera house and concert hall, both of whom happen to be Russian. In the case of one, protest has been met with silence; in the case of the other, a weak protest was issued, concluding with a very disturbing sentence: “In my next life, when I will be a politician, we talk!”
It is important to note that this has become much more than an issue of gay rights. The problem has gone far beyond a question of modern ethics and the role of government in the bedroom. No, this is a question of human rights, for when people are being persecuted and even hunted down, as a group, in an organized and official manner, there can be no silence, no idle talk. But to hear that from an artist is especially egregious.
The role of the artist in society is to be a good and productive citizen. There are other perks, of course: fame and fortune, celebrity and privilege, adulation and acknowledgement on a grand scale. But the artist has a unique and powerful voice. Politicians? A politician has tremendous power over the flesh and fortunes of men. But when it comes to matters of the spirit, ignorance is too often the domain of the statesman—and impotence. How may they address that over which they have no power, the immortal human spirit, when power is all they know and desire? Yes, they are rendered impotent! The value of money will change; empires and nations will rise and fall, wars will be won and lost, borders drawn and redrawn, power gained and lost, parties created and disbanded. This is the fate of the politician, no matter how skilled or even how altruistic. But the artist will always remain; the voice of the artist will be the voice of the people, the manifestation of will, the link between the physical and metaphysical.
I can appreciate that these two artists may have concerns for themselves and their families and certainly hope that they may remain safe and healthy. But excuses cannot be made. We have seen too many ‘issues of politics’ become the genesis of unimaginable tragedy. Jim Crow and Nuremburg laws were once ‘just’ public policy, after all; how can we stand idly by?
The artist must be an idealist. Everything else, whether a tribulation or a benefit, is merely a distraction. We are called to serve our fellow man. And we have plenty of examples. Perhaps most fittingly, we may examine Shostakovich. Arguably the most honest and brave artist of the last century, Shostakovich defied official orders time and time again, quite literally risking life and limb to compose music which was honest. Yes, he was patriotic; yes, he served his country and culture. But he knew he had an even higher calling: he served human-kind. And for that, he was willing to risk everything, time after time.
I am reminded of a quote from the wonderful movie ‘A Few Good Men.’ As he is cross examined on the stand, the antagonist defends his honor—and, in fact, honor in general. “We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punch line,” he says. In the world of art, we use many similar words: ideals, talent, genius, virtuosity, faithfulness and, yes, honor. We use them over and over and over again until they very nearly lose their meaning, their potency and their value. They become…nearly a punch line, or at worst, a cliché. The worst part of a cliché is that the value of an ideal becomes muddled or lost. It is time for us to stop speaking and acting in cliché; it is time to stop being casual with language and ideals, time to stop making excuses. The artist must be the voice of the people. Ideals, genius, fidelity, loyalty, and honor: these are our duty.