Copyright Conundrums

What’s been interesting as we prepare for this first Inside the Classics concert is that although we refer to Firebird as if it were a single piece, there are actually 4 discrete versions of it – 1910, 1911, 1919 and 1945. The original (1910) is by far the longest, a 50-minute ballet in two scenes, and is scored for the largest orchestra (3 harps!!). The other three versions are “concert suites”, with selected portions of the full ballet, and for a much smaller band.

It can get a little confusing from a pure learning-the-music perspective – the 1910 version has the most music, the middle two version the least, and the 1945 reinstates some of the music from the original, but under different titles and with the order switched around. Each one is orchestrated a bit differently, so although it sounds familiar, different instruments are playing in different combinations. It’s enough to make your head spin, particularly when you have them all laid out in front of you.

To further complicate matters, there is the copyright issue; the 1910, 1911 and 1919 are public domain and can be played for free, while 1945 is still under copyright and must be rented. At this point one runs into a budgeting issue. To perform a lovely section of music that’s called “The Firebird’s Supplication” or ”Pas de deux” (depending on which version you’re looking at), the question is, does one do the version that most orchestras own (1910) and hire a bunch of extra players (this is the one requiring an enormous orchestra) or does one pay to rent the music (1945 version) while saving on the extra musicians (smaller orchestration)?

Musicians are often reluctant to discuss the constant conflict between artistic content and fiscal feasibility – it raises the uncomfortable truth that although we are part of non-profit organizations we need to foster our art responsibly, acknowledging the existence of a bottom line (a topic sure to be revisited at length at some other time!). But that’s not to say that there’s no way of maintaining some sort of equilibrium, or that it’s not possible to produce great art and be financially savvy, which takes me back to Stravinsky, ever the shrewd businessman, who actually created this copyright conundrum. He became an American citizen in 1945, and realizing that citizenship gave him copyright protection (he was not receiving royalty payments for his music up to that point), he was keen on revising and reissuing his early works, to his great financial benefit. Who says artists can’t be practical?