Cutting Room Floor: Behind Every Great Composer...
The music world is full of behind-the-scenes figures without whom none of us on stage would have a prayer of making a living at what we do. These devoted music fans contribute the money that keeps us going, and some of them contribute countless hours of their time, as well. Some are board members of orchestras big and small; some devote their free time to helping keep organizations like Minnesota's Schubert Club aloft; and a select few go their own way, commissioning new works, finding and paying musicians to play them, and generally carving out a small niche in the music world that would otherwise not exist.
Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge, of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, was one of this last group. Born in Chicago in 1864, she would become one of the most influential figures in the then-developing American music scene, and while her name wouldn't ring a bell with the vast majority of musicians and music fans today, composers and musicians across the 20th century musical landscape (including Aaron Copland) owe her a debt of gratitude.
That such a prominent patron of the arts in the early 20th century could have been a woman might seem surprising, given the societal restrictions of the period. But a quick glance back through Western musical history reveals that an inordinately large number of patrons of the arts have been women, and this remains the case today. (Just off the top of my head, I could name nine or ten women who are major powers on the Minnesota Orchestra's board. I'm refraining because many of them are famously averse to public recognition for their charitable works, wanting only the music and an occasional conversation with Osmo in return for their tireless efforts.)
Sprague Coolidge's contributions to music were many, but she may be best remembered for having started the rural summer festival in the Berkshire mountains of western Massachusetts that would later become known as Tanglewood. The Boston Symphony's idyllic summer home, to which listeners from around the world flock each July and August to hear grand symphonies while lying on a vast lawn sipping wine, began as an outgrowth of Sprague Coolidge's Berkshire Music Festival.
She was most passionate about chamber music, that connoisseur's genre so often ignored by the general public, and in her adult life, she commissioned some of the great works of the era: Bartok's 5th string quartet, Anton Webern's lone quartet, two quartets by Arnold Schoenberg, and (you knew this was coming) Aaron Copland's Appalachian Spring. (While our Inside the Classics concerts next week will be focusing on the orchestral version of Copland's masterpiece, remember that it began its life as a ballet score, to be played by just 13 musicians in an orchestra pit. At it's core, Appalachian Spring is a work of chamber music.)
Sprague Coolidge's role as a patron of the arts was a delicate one at times. In 1919, she famously held a competition for composers to create a new sonata for the viola, one of her favorite instruments (and mine, obviously.) Several prominent composers entered works, and eventually, the jury deadlocked between two distinctive pieces. One was by the eminent Swiss-American composer Ernest Bloch (his Grand Suite for viola,); the other was by Sprague Coolidge's neighbor, a British-born composer and violist named Rebecca Clarke. Aching for her friend, but mindful of the necessity of not allowing her competition to be sullied by accusations of favoritism, Sprague Coolidge broke the tie in Bloch's favor. (Both the Clarke sonata and the Bloch suite have since become standard repertoire for violists.)
Many of those responsible for music's creation and preservation toil in obscurity, and as I said, many of them wouldn't have it any other way. (To be honest, it's likely I'd never have heard of Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge were it not for the fact that my connections to Western Massachusetts run particularly deep.) So it's somewhat apropos that you won't be hearing anything about the woman who commissioned Aaron Copland to write a ballet for Martha Graham in our concerts next week. Her name doesn't appear on the score, and even hardcore Copland fans frequently assume that it was Graham herself who paid for Appalachian Spring to be written.
But without her, 20th century music would have been quite different. She understood the importance of encouraging innovation, even if she didn't always like what she heard. Her perspective on the importance of new music is one that all of us in the music world would do well to remember: "My plea for modern music is not that we should like it, nor necessarily that we should even understand it, but that we should exhibit it as a significant human document."
Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge, of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, was one of this last group. Born in Chicago in 1864, she would become one of the most influential figures in the then-developing American music scene, and while her name wouldn't ring a bell with the vast majority of musicians and music fans today, composers and musicians across the 20th century musical landscape (including Aaron Copland) owe her a debt of gratitude.
That such a prominent patron of the arts in the early 20th century could have been a woman might seem surprising, given the societal restrictions of the period. But a quick glance back through Western musical history reveals that an inordinately large number of patrons of the arts have been women, and this remains the case today. (Just off the top of my head, I could name nine or ten women who are major powers on the Minnesota Orchestra's board. I'm refraining because many of them are famously averse to public recognition for their charitable works, wanting only the music and an occasional conversation with Osmo in return for their tireless efforts.)
Sprague Coolidge's contributions to music were many, but she may be best remembered for having started the rural summer festival in the Berkshire mountains of western Massachusetts that would later become known as Tanglewood. The Boston Symphony's idyllic summer home, to which listeners from around the world flock each July and August to hear grand symphonies while lying on a vast lawn sipping wine, began as an outgrowth of Sprague Coolidge's Berkshire Music Festival.
She was most passionate about chamber music, that connoisseur's genre so often ignored by the general public, and in her adult life, she commissioned some of the great works of the era: Bartok's 5th string quartet, Anton Webern's lone quartet, two quartets by Arnold Schoenberg, and (you knew this was coming) Aaron Copland's Appalachian Spring. (While our Inside the Classics concerts next week will be focusing on the orchestral version of Copland's masterpiece, remember that it began its life as a ballet score, to be played by just 13 musicians in an orchestra pit. At it's core, Appalachian Spring is a work of chamber music.)
Sprague Coolidge's role as a patron of the arts was a delicate one at times. In 1919, she famously held a competition for composers to create a new sonata for the viola, one of her favorite instruments (and mine, obviously.) Several prominent composers entered works, and eventually, the jury deadlocked between two distinctive pieces. One was by the eminent Swiss-American composer Ernest Bloch (his Grand Suite for viola,); the other was by Sprague Coolidge's neighbor, a British-born composer and violist named Rebecca Clarke. Aching for her friend, but mindful of the necessity of not allowing her competition to be sullied by accusations of favoritism, Sprague Coolidge broke the tie in Bloch's favor. (Both the Clarke sonata and the Bloch suite have since become standard repertoire for violists.)
Many of those responsible for music's creation and preservation toil in obscurity, and as I said, many of them wouldn't have it any other way. (To be honest, it's likely I'd never have heard of Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge were it not for the fact that my connections to Western Massachusetts run particularly deep.) So it's somewhat apropos that you won't be hearing anything about the woman who commissioned Aaron Copland to write a ballet for Martha Graham in our concerts next week. Her name doesn't appear on the score, and even hardcore Copland fans frequently assume that it was Graham herself who paid for Appalachian Spring to be written.
But without her, 20th century music would have been quite different. She understood the importance of encouraging innovation, even if she didn't always like what she heard. Her perspective on the importance of new music is one that all of us in the music world would do well to remember: "My plea for modern music is not that we should like it, nor necessarily that we should even understand it, but that we should exhibit it as a significant human document."
Labels: composers, cutting room floor, women in music
posted by Sam at
9:50 AM
3 Comments:
Minnesota Monthly profiled the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra's organization this month (http://www.minnesotamonthly.com/media/Minnesota-Monthly/May-2008/Chamber-Made/), and I was reminded of the pot-stirring done here a few weeks ago.
The SPCO was mentioned by both of you, but particularly Sarah as I recall, as a possible new model for more orchestras. Perhaps after the Inside the Classics concert, I'd love to see more pot-stirring conversation about the St. Paul model. Sam, do you ever feel the urge to jump river? What do you know/like/dislike about the model? Sarah, do you find this model threatening to your role as the conductor and music director? Is there a possibility for a guest blog from the SPCO ranks?
Some very interesting questions! Just to address one of them, no, I don't find the SPCO model threatening at all. A more flexible organizational model allows for more collaborative thinking, planning, programming and music-making. I've said it before and I'll say it again; I think the days of top-down autocratic leadership are over. Orchestras that thrive in the decades to come will be those who produce a more wide-ranging spectrum of concert experiences, curated by diverse artistic leadership. My two cents.
Interesting idea for a guest blog, OprEowyn. I may have a word or two with some SPCO friends about that, once we make it through next week's concerts.
The SPCO model is indeed a very interesting, albeit somewhat controversial, one. Since I'm not in the middle of it, I'm not really qualified to talk about how it all works, or how the orchestra feels about it. It is worth noting that the celebrated contract that included all their big systemic changes also included a massive pay cut of nearly 25% for all the musicians. This isn't to say it wasn't worth it - as I say, I'm not in a position to judge that - but it seems always to get buried in the 17th paragraph whenever a story is written about the SPCO's new model.
To answer your question: no, I've never been tempted to attempt a jump to St. Paul, partly because I like working and getting a paycheck year round (the SPCO doesn't play in the summer, so all their musicians are effectively laid off from June until September every year,) but mostly because I truly believe that the Minnesota Orchestra has the best viola section in the US, and I would be a fool to leave it. (Our orchestra has actually nabbed a few of the SPCO's musicians over the years - most recently their longtime principal horn, Herb Winslow.)
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