Reflections on the Music Life in the United States

by Roger Sessions

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.