Dangerous Melodies

by Jonathan Rosenberg

  But the American public also encountered a wealth of attractive ads describing the upcoming program, one of which included a stylized pen and ink drawing of a colossal Bernstein (eyes closed and wielding a baton), towering over a demonic Beethoven, both set against the backdrop of the Brandenburg Gate.24 Spreading the word further, the agency deluged the country with promotional material describing the Thanksgiving broadcast to more than six thousand members of the National Federation of Music Clubs. Bernstein’s theme was “The Universality of Music,” a promotional letter told readers, while emphasizing that the proceeds from the Ford-sponsored trip would help finance summer vacations for children “from the ‘Island City.’ ”25

  Of the many acclamatory reviews of Bernstein’s Berlin performance that appeared in the United States, John Crosby’s of the New York Herald Tribune was the most incisive.26 Crosby, who had attended the concert, marveled at the conductor’s brilliance, calling Bernstein “a national asset beyond price.” He was “a living refutation (one of the few we own) of the oft-heard charge that Americans are cultural barbarians. Conductor, composer, teacher, performer—he is all that and more.” The man was “as vivid as a flash of lightning, full of swagger and charm and the courage of his own eccentricities.” The Europeans had “nothing like him, at least no one living.”27

  Five years later, one of the world’s most gifted conductors, George Szell, led one of America’s most distinguished ensembles, the Cleveland Orchestra, on a lengthy tour to Europe, including five weeks in the Soviet Union, the longest time an American ensemble had ever spent there.28 The journey, under the auspices of the US State Department, was the second foreign trip undertaken by the Clevelanders; their first had taken them to Western Europe and Poland in 1957.29 Highly successful in every respect, the 1965 tour saw President Lyndon Johnson enthusiastically send the group on its way with a generous letter.30

  The Hungarian maestro George Szell, known for his extraordinary musicianship and for his candor, was asked afterward to consider what the orchestra had achieved overseas. Reflecting on the ebullient reception the ensemble was granted in Vienna, he said the response of both press and public had given him “great joy and pride.” Never one to bite his tongue, Szell added, “Even the Vienna Philharmonic—perhaps the most conceited orchestra in the world, whose members attended our concerts in droves—capitulated unconditionally.” As for what the orchestra had accomplished, the conductor sounded like one of the many political figures we have heard pontificating about the aims of the symphonic voyages. It was not just that the group had established itself as one of the world’s leading ensembles. Beyond that, Szell claimed, the orchestra had a significant impact on the people of the countries they visited, by demonstrating that America is not simply “a materialistic, money and power-hungry country, but a society in which cultural organizations of the highest type can flourish.”31

  This overt expression of musical nationalism was complemented by the more universalistic notion that appeared in the printed program of every concert the orchestra played overseas. Headed “A Message from the Secretary of State” and signed by Dean Rusk, thousands of concertgoers across Europe and in the Soviet Union read that the tour was a manifestation of “the American people’s wish to share with the rest of the world the best of our arts.” According to the statement, America’s overseas cultural program was “born of our conviction that good relations among nations are rooted in mutual understanding.”32

  Whether the Cleveland’s mission rested upon such ideas is debatable. One could reasonably argue that Maestro Szell’s unvarnished message more effectively captured the essence of the ensemble’s mission, but such language, infused with the rhetoric of national self-interest, could hardly have appeared in concert programs placed in the hands of thousands of listeners from London to Moscow.

  What is unusual about the 1965 Cleveland tour are the hundreds of welcome-home letters penned to the orchestra upon its return by ordinary people (children included) from Cleveland and across Ohio. What one finds in the mainly handwritten letters is a mixture of themes, including more than a little boosterism on behalf of an esteemed local institution. In that vein, it is difficult to forget the congratulatory letter from the office manager of Associated Transport, described as “The Nation’s Leading Motor Carrier,” who shared his enthusiasm for the orchestra’s achievement, telling the gentlemen of the ensemble, “I have spoken with many prominent local business men in the trucking industry and all were very proud of the way you have represented Cleveland.” He concluded his gracious missive by telling the musicians it is “a pleasure to have you back,” noting, “Efforts such as yours make the phrase, ‘Best Location in the Nation’ more than just a slogan.”33

  Beyond the oft-expressed sentiment that Ohioans felt immense pride in seeing their local ensemble garner international acclaim, one hears quite a bit about music’s potential to help overcome the challenges of world politics. Among the many who spoke of the orchestra as a diplomat, a Cleveland nun told the ensemble that the community was “justly proud of you as American ambassadors of culture, freedom, and peace.” Another local resident said he was pleased for the “city, state, and country to have such an excellent non-political ambassador.” Numerous writers suggested the tour had contributed to building a better world. According to one woman, the world would be “much happier . . . if all contacts could be as successful . . . in making friends for our country.” A Cleveland couple was pleased the orchestra had “succeeded in spreading American brotherhood throughout the world,” and a man from the town of Mt. Vernon claimed the group had “done more to bring understanding between nations than any politician.” Such sentiments were, at times, eloquently expressed, with one woman proclaiming, “Surely the baton is mightier than the sword. . . . There are no language barriers in music—and the perfection of your presenting [that] has had to me a magical significance.”34

  Some correspondents expressed views similar to those Maestro Szell had shared, claiming the tour had demonstrated to the world a more refined side of the American people. A Cleveland woman thanked the group for “showing Europeans that Americans aren’t all rock ‘n roll and that sort of music fans but appreciative good music fans.” And from Fort Clinton, a woman who seemed to know a member of the orchestra said the tour allowed “the people of Europe and the U.S.S.R to see what fine musicians we have in Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.” Indeed, her music-loving cousin living in Vienna had attended a Cleveland concert, and was most “impressed.”35

  The US-Soviet relationship attracted the attention of many letter writers, several of whom hoped the trip could lessen the tension between the two foes. Considering the orchestra’s “triumphant tour,” particularly in Communist-controlled Europe and the Soviet Union, a Cleveland man observed, “I now understand what it means to say that music is the greatest diplomat. I am sure that your appearances behind the iron curtain showed more of the American spirit than if an ambassador had talked for weeks.” A woman who had visited Moscow some years before wrote that the “world should be governed by artists and not politicians and generals.” A Bay Village woman claimed the orchestra’s journey had been “one grand thing to be thankful for during these trying times of war and strife.” She concluded hopefully: “Would that we might have government by music with each nation in tune with each other.”36

  But the most memorable letters were from young people, who repeatedly suggested that classical music could heal the wounds of the world. These youthful Ohioans highlighted the contribution their orchestra had made to peace and international understanding. Jody, a junior high school student who described herself as a “citizen of your native home,” congratulated the musicians on their “excellent deed,” declaring, “you have helped in the war for world peace.” Expanding on this uplifting if awkwardly phrased idea, she said, “the feeling and emotion put forth by a group of instruments . . . is a better communication to the outside world than any [official] delegation.” From the same junior high, Julia
told Maestro Szell, though she had missed the orchestra while they were abroad, it is “a marvelous thing when musicians can bring a world different in culture and belief closer together in beautiful music.” Charles wrote articulately to Szell and his orchestra about their performances in the Soviet Union: “Stunning were your accomplishments over the Russian audiences. It is truly remarkable how you were so warmly accepted by the Russian people, becoming endeared in their hearts.” According to Charles, the orchestra had “strengthened the important cultural bonds between the U.S.S.R. and our country.”37

  Finally, a seventh-grader’s message reflected the public enthusiasm for the 1965 tour while capturing the essence of America’s Cold War symphonic project. Norman wrote that the group deserved congratulations for “promoting relationships between millions of people and the United States,” and praised the ensemble for presenting “the image of freedom in oppressed countries abroad.”38

  Among the more remarkable symphonic journeys in these years were the visits to the People’s Republic of China, which reflected that country’s heightened importance at this moment in the history of America’s Cold War competition. This crucial political and cultural initiative began with a phone call from President Richard Nixon to Eugene Ormandy in February 1973. The president informed the conductor that Chinese officials had invited the Philadelphians to visit China that year.39 The music director accepted the invitation, and in September the ensemble journeyed to China, the visit sponsored, in part, by the US government. Capturing the universalist spirit, Ormandy observed, “through great music, we will be taking the good will and friendship of this country to the People’s Republic of China.”40 Performing in Beijing and Shanghai, the group offered programs of standard European and American works, plus a traditional Chinese piece, The Yellow River Concerto, a composition loathed by the Philadelphia musicians, who dubbed it The Yellow Fever Concerto.41

  Despite their feelings about the Chinese composition, the American musicians savored the opportunity to interact with their counterparts in Beijing’s Central Philharmonic Orchestra, with whom they warmly discussed their respective experiences in music. The musicians engaged in a memorable exchange of gifts, the Americans providing instruments, mouthpieces, reeds, scores, and Western classical recordings, while the Chinese offered traditional Chinese instruments. Enhancing the bonds between the two groups, several American musicians received treatment for longstanding ailments from a local acupuncturist, who won rave reviews from the Philadelphians.42 While the trip was not without incident, most of the tensions concerned questions of repertoire. There was an insistent demand to perform Beethoven’s Sixth, which Ormandy disliked but agreed to play, and some distress over Respighi’s Pines of Rome, which was thought “decadent” by Chairman Mao’s wife. But all told, the visit was considered a triumph by both diplomats and musicians.43

  Expressing the hopeful sentiments that inevitably accompanied such journeys, an American diplomat in China told the ensemble, by communicating this “universal language with consummate skill and beauty,” they had advanced President Nixon’s goal of achieving “better understanding” between the two peoples. Maestro Ormandy was similarly optimistic: “We had a mission to fill and I hope we succeeded.” Noting that there had been a great deal of talk during the trip about friendship between the two lands, Ormandy said he thought the Chinese had “mean[t] every word of it.”44 Widely covered in the American press, the trip was seen as a crucial episode in the evolving relationship between both countries.45

  Six years later, the Boston Symphony followed the Philadelphians’ path to China, playing four concerts under their Japanese music director Seiji Ozawa, who had been born in China. Privately financed, the trip cost $650,000, a sum underwritten by Coca-Cola, Mobil, Gillette, and Pan American Airways.46 Filled with concerts, rehearsals, master classes, banquets, and countless heartwarming interactions between Chinese and American musicians, the stay created enormous interest and enthusiasm in China. Speaking the language of an artist absorbed in the human rather than the political implications of such journeys, Ozawa declared, “On this trip politics was forgotten. Even music was transcended: it was the catalyst that brought people together—heart to heart.” Despite such lofty assertions, Ozawa could not avoid articulating a well-worn idea: “We reconfirmed that music was an international language.”47

  The final concert, featuring a joint performance by the Bostonians and the Central Peking Philharmonic in Beijing, which included “The Stars and Stripes Forever” as a rousing encore, belied the conductor’s sense that the journey had little to do with politics.48 Indeed, when the orchestra returned home from a trip that had garnered extensive national coverage, Ozawa’s contention that the tour was devoid of politics was questioned by a Boston Globe editorial, which claimed the language of Liszt, Berlioz, and Sousa needed little translation. As a result, everyone could understand “the good will engendered by Ambassador Seiji Ozawa and his skilled corps of diplomats.” As such references suggest, more than a little politics was woven into the fabric of the trip.49 The point was reinforced by US ambassador to China Leonard Woodcock, who said the visit had “advanced United States-China relations by at least twenty years.” The orchestra’s rapport with the Chinese had “done more good than anything that [could] be established through diplomatic channels.”50

  Such sentiments notwithstanding, the American orchestral tours during the Cold War did not accomplish what they sought to achieve. While the journeys undoubtedly heightened a sense of connectedness between performers and listeners and deepened the bonds between American and foreign musicians,51 they produced little in the diplomatic realm. As the turbulent history of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s suggests, the symphonic tours neither enhanced global cooperation nor diminished international tensions.

  If the impact of the tours was limited, this had nothing to do with the work of America’s extraordinary orchestras or the superb musicians who populated their ranks. Time after time, those marvelous ensembles and gifted players had done all that was asked of them. But despite memorable performances across the world, the notion that attending orchestral concerts could genuinely alter the political outlook or behavior of people once they left the shared space of the concert hall was a vain hope. As I suggested in the previous chapter, the music clearly aroused powerful emotions in foreign listeners and transported them, for an evening at least, to a different, perhaps better, place. And it is possible that listeners left the concert hall with a greater appreciation for the United States and its capacity to perform and create classical music of the highest quality. Nevertheless—and still more significantly—even the most brilliant performances could not affect the fundamental beliefs or policies of political leaders, nor could such concerts reconfigure the fraught relations among peoples and nations.52 Despite what one Ohioan believed, the baton was not mightier than the sword.

  Such a realization, however disheartening, does not mean that exploring the intersection between America’s classical-music community and the wider world has little to offer. Quite the contrary. Examining that convergence provides invaluable insights into the history of twentieth-century America. Peering inside the country’s auditoriums (and some overseas), one perceives America’s expanding engagement with the twentieth-century world and recognizes the degree to which a variety of foreign threats, whether real or imagined, created a growing sense of insecurity in the United States. That expanding global engagement, along with the nation’s mounting anxiety—both starkly revealed in the world of classical music—were defining characteristics of the United States in the last century. More than that, those twin developments helped remake the contours of international politics. Without question, the growing assertiveness of the United States on the international stage was crucial to the history of the twentieth-century world, and America’s increasing sense of vulnerability contributed to its determination to expand its global influence.

  Let me conclude with some thoughts on the significance of class
ical music in American life. It is clear that the music and those who performed, conducted, composed, wrote about, and listened to it were drawn into the maelstrom of America’s global challenges in the twentieth century. While it would be unwise to claim that classical music helped the country overcome those challenges, it did offer the American people a powerful way to reflect upon and understand the world. For more than fifty years, countless Americans fixed their ears and eyes on the activities of classical musicians; on the work of composers; and on the performances, broadcasts, and travels of the country’s leading musical organizations. And over many decades, the musicians, the institutions, and the music were of considerable consequence, not just in America’s cultural life, but also in its political life.

  While classical music has always offered profound rewards to the music’s devotees, in an era of perpetual crises and endless uncertainty, the music and the work of classical performers helped the nation grapple with matters of grave significance: the meaning of patriotism, loyalty, democracy, freedom, tyranny, and oppression. The world of classical music helped Americans reflect upon questions of war and peace, which were integral to the larger matter of the country’s role on the international stage. With the waning of the Cold War, as overseas threats, especially those emanating from Europe, became less fearsome, classical music became less bound up in world politics. As a result, its role in the nation’s political life would largely disappear. To the extent that the music remained meaningful, it continued to matter to musicians and enthusiasts, as it always had. But for the nation as a whole, classical music was not nearly as consequential. To be sure, the dwindling interest in classical music in the latter part of the twentieth century flowed from a number of sources, not least the ubiquitous appeal of more vernacular genres such as rock and other forms of pop music; a decline in music education curriculums, which no longer offered a broad musical education in elementary through high school; and the pervasive attraction (and distraction) of television and digital culture. At the same time, the end of the convergence between the world of classical music in the United States and international political developments meant the music no longer exercised the powerful hold on the American people that it had from the Great War through the Cold War.