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.