Reflections on the Music Life in the United States

by Roger Sessions

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.