Source of book: I own this
I first discovered Norman Lebrecht years ago when my wife brought home a copy of Why Mahler? years ago. I greatly enjoyed it, even if I didn’t always agree with Lebrecht - and in fact the book significantly heightened my appreciation of Mahler’s works, making him one of my favorites. Re-reading what I wrote about it, I think I may have underestimated the extent to which the book would influence me.
Since then, I have also followed Lebrecht’s SlippedDisc blog, which is a great source of news about the classical world. I recommend following it.
More recently, I ran across a copy of The Maestro Myth, and snapped it up. Of course I wanted to read about Lebrecht’s opinion of conductors and conducting. Fortunately, this book was every bit as much fun (and enlightening) as I had hoped.
Like Lebrecht’s other book, this one defies categorization. It isn’t really biography - although it does give a lot of information about the lives of various famous conductors. The stories are of limited scope. We might hear about the childhood of one conductor but not another; or we might hear about one part of a conductor’s career, but not all of it. And, in many cases, Lebrecht gives us a few incidents that fit his point he is trying to make, while the rest is left out.
The book also isn’t just a book about what Lebrecht thinks about conductors, or the art of conduction - although, again, that is in this book. It isn’t just about the history of conducting, although it has some of that too.
Really, this is a book Lebrecht wrote about conducting, conductors, the mythology surrounding conducting and conductors, and a lot of stuff about how music connects with politics and personality and money and art and everything else.
I should also note that the title does not mean that Lebrecht is “debunking” myths about conductors. Rather, he explores the mythology of conducting, of the great conductors, of the “maestro” that sits atop the orchestra like a god and makes music happen.
Lebrecht, as far as I can determine, has never been in an orchestra - he is a journalist and has been described as a “gossip columnist,” which isn’t entirely wrong, I suppose - but he has a pretty good handle on what makes a conductor good, bad, or indifferent.
So, if you are into classical music, you will probably find this book a heck of a lot of fun. As long as you aren’t expecting it to fit any particular expectation. That’s how Lebrecht writes.
The Maestro Myth was published in 1991, which is a lot longer ago than I think it should be - I’m apparently getting old - so some of the information is out of date. Many of the “living” conductors in the book are now deceased, and there is obviously nothing about the current generation of young maestros.
I should note as well that it is a good idea to fact check anything Lebrecht writes before you cite it. Some of his books have had some errors of fact in them, and the sequel to this one landed him in a libel suit which was subsequently settled. The “gossip columnist” part is, as I noted, not entirely wrong, and some of what makes it into all of his books seems to be scuttlebutt, not proven fact. Keep that in mind if something seems a bit implausible, and dig a little deeper.
I mention this regarding this book primarily because of the last chapter, in which he argues that the agents for top-name maestros are ruining the profession. You might take the specifics with a wee bit of salt.
Lebrecht organizes the book sort-of in chronological order, starting with the person he sees as the first true “maestro,” the conductor who was a celebrity in his own right: Hans von Bulow. Ah yes, the guy whose wife was stolen by Wagner, but who arguably premiered more masterpieces than anyone before or since. And it is difficult to argue with Lebrecht’s choice of him as the first true celebrity conductor.
From there, the book goes more or less through time, but also groups conductors in chapters based on themes. For example, chapter four is entitled “Facing the Dictators,” and examines how various maestros of the World War Two era pushed back - or not - against Hitler and Stalin. This means Toscanini (strongly anti-fascist, but possibly self-serving as well) and Furtwangler (a definite collaborator with the Nazis, but it was complicated), but also the communist ex-pats: Szell and Reiner.
Karajan - who was even worse than Furtwangler, but never paid the same price in reputation - gets his own chapter.
And so on through the present. Near the end, Lebrecht devotes a chapter to those fairly systemically excluded from the podium: women, black people, and gay people. To be clear here, Lebrecht even in 1991 thought this was a horrible scandal in the Classical world, and sought to elevate women and minorities, while noting that a lot of conductors were gay, but had to hide it or lose their careers.
I should mention that Lebrecht is Jewish, and that fact is important in how he views the Nazis, antisemitism, and performative diversity. (In particular, his takedown of the Vienna Philharmonic and its performative embrace of Jewish conductors is pretty brutal. It was easier to celebrate Leonard Bernstein than actually acknowledge how many musicians the organization betrayed who then perished in the camps and gas chambers.)
Another thing that I do want to note is that the book does have a few cringy things that are a product both of the time it was written in and the generation Lebrecht belongs to.
One of these that most grated was his use of “girl” to describe grown women. Specifically, women who are of college age or early career - he would describe orchestras hiring “girls straight out of university.” Yeah, it grated badly. Older women are described as “women,” so it has to be an age thing.
The sad thing is, it is clearly an affectation, a way of speaking, rather than a conscious diss of women. Throughout the book, he praises opportunities given to female instrumentalists, singers, and conductors. Even when he uses “girls” he is praising the orchestras for identifying previously overlooked talent and noting that this led to high musical quality.
I can’t think of anywhere in the book that he expresses the view that women are in any way inferior to men, and in many cases, he correctly identifies the misogyny that has made musical careers difficult for women.
So, I am going to just say that he sounds like an old man used to using certain words, rather than an actual sexist. And also, I fault his editor for leaving those in. Maybe 1991 was just like that, but it should have been better.
I’m not going to summarize any of the chapters or list the conductors. Rather, I want to just highlight some things that particularly struck my fancy. And say that if you are a classical music fan - and especially if you are a musician - you should give this book a read.
The opening is pretty darn good:
Every age invents heroes. The warrior, the lover and the saintly martyr captivated medieval minds. Romantics worshipped the poet and explorer; industrial and political upheavals set the scientist and social reformer on a pedestal. The advent of mass media enabled idols to be custom-made for separate consumer groups: pop stars for adolescents, screen goddesses for the lovelorn, cardboard soap-opera characters for couch potatoes, sports champions for the more energetic, terrorist hijackers for the world’s oppressed, pop-philosophers for the chattering classes.
Heroes act as a safety valve in the social pressure cooker. They allow small men in spectacles to identify harmlessly with Sylvester Stallone instead of throwing a punch at the boos, and shy girls to fantasize away their chastity in the flaunted sexuality of Marilyn Monroe and Madonna. Such dreams are unrelated to any concrete reality. The once-ubiquitous bedroom-wall portraits of the South American guerrilla leader, Che Guevara, did not signify incipient juvenile revolution in suburbia. Guevara as a political force was a minor irritant to remote regimes. As an icon, however, he vented the frustrations and yearnings of affluent youngsters in the decadent West.
Such popular heroes are literally mythical, in the sense that they are either insubstantial or wholly fictitious. Cultural gods are no different. Andy Warhol and Jeff Koons have demonstrated that an artist need not be distinctly original in order to be celebrated; the name of Karlheinz Stockhausen is known to music-lovers who have never heard a note he composed. Their fame lies less in anything they invent, than in the myth they represent.
The “great conductor” is a mythical hero of this kind, artificially created for a non-musical purpose and sustained by commercial necessity. “Orchestral conducting as a full-time occupation is an invention - a sociological not an artistic one - of the 20th century,” acknowledged Daniel Barenboim, an eminent practitioner. “There is no profession which an imposter could enter more easily,” wrote the astute and long-suffering violinist, Carl Flesch. The conductor exists because mankind demands a visible leader or, at the very least, an identifiable figurehead. His musical raison d’etre is altogether secondary to that function.
He plays no instrument, produces no noise, yet conveys and image of music-making that is credible enough to let him take the rewards of applause away from those who actually created the sound.
This is good stuff. As Lebrecht later clarifies, the conductor does have a purpose, and is in a way necessary to the performance of more complex works, but the demands of the job are about far more than the musical needs - it is about being that hero, that god, that maestro who represents the orchestra.
This is not to say that conductors are irrelevant either. A good conductor can get a good sound out of an orchestra, while a bad one, well…
A bad conductor is the bane of a musician’s daily life; and a good one is not much better. He gives orders that are redundant and offensive, demands a level of obedience unknown outside the army and can earn at a concert as much as his entire orchestra is paid.
I can attest that this is largely true. I have known plenty of colleagues who quit otherwise good orchestras because the conductor was an asshole. And I can also attest, having played professionally for three decades, that even good conductors can be frustrating. Musicians do not make mistakes because they don’t care - we care a lot. Sometimes, the conductor is simply making things more difficult than necessary.
Fortunately, below the top levels, there are many hard-working and collaborative maestros, and I have had the pleasure of being a part of those ensembles too.
Great conductors can also be a force for art when they successfully premier new works. A perusal of the history of classical music shows that it is littered with failed premiers because of conductors who were ill-prepared, disliked the music, or otherwise sabotaged great works which succeeded later under more able batons.
One measure by which a great conductor can be assessed is in the new music that he brought into being.
A conductor who believes in a work, and interprets it well, can make even a “difficult” work seem not just accessible but thrilling. (Special praise here to Esa-Pekka Salonen, who is the best conductor I have seen live in interpreting modern works.)
The early history of the orchestra had two basic approaches. In smaller ensembles, the concertmaster or the soloist could conduct from the instrument. In larger groups, the composer would often conduct.
This didn’t work well in the case of Beethoven, whose deafness and general lack of skill meant that orchestras had to ignore him when he conducted. Lebrecht notes that Tchaikovsky, for all of his genius as a composer and orchestrator, was pretty terrible at interpreting his own compositions - professional conductors would adjust everything from tempos to dynamics to make them sound great.
The chapter centering on von Bulow is fascinating for many reasons, not least of which is the dynamics of his abusive family and the greater issues in 19th century Germany. These seem all too familiar for those of us who grew up under similar authoritarian beliefs about childrearing which resulted in similar political catastrophe.
Bulow’s brutal upbringing, amounting to actual child abuse, was typical of child-rearing methods that today are acknowledged as having been a nursery for Nazism. German parents were encouraged to exercise total control over their children, who learned unthinkingly to obey and, when their turn came, coldly to command. Adolf Hitler was a product of this system, wielding unfettered power by day yet shrieking in his sleep at nightmare memories of childhood.
Von Bulow is also notable for his ability to memorize scores - he conducted the entire four hours of Tristan und Isolde from memory at its premier - just before Cosima, pregnant with Wagner’s child, abandoned poor Hans.
The figure of Toscanini is a complicated one. Yes, he was anti-fascist in very real ways - and he paid the price, being roughed up by blackshirts and being placed under house arrest by Mussolini. But he was also an asshole to his family and players. My favorite line about that is from an anonymous musical collaborator:
“Toscanini loves on-one. On his sleeve he wears not his heart but his spleen.”
But this was all a hell of a lot better than Furtwangler, who was a buddy of Goebbels and Hitler’s favorite conductor. God, I felt like taking a bath after reading that section. On the other hand, he did manage to protect a handful of Jewish musicians from the Holocaust, so I guess there is that.
Also complicated is East German maestro Kurt Masur, who was beloved of the regime, but who also played a key and positive role in averting violence in the run-up to the fall of the Berlin Wall by opening his concert hall as a public forum - more openness than had been seen in decades. Afterward, when he was asked to run for office, he quipped, “Am I so bad a conductor that I have to become a politician?”
In this chapter enters Caruso, who has a connection to my wife’s family. Apparently, he tried to hit on one of her great-something aunt or cousin (pardon me if I forget the exact degree), and she hit him with either an umbrella or a wine bottle. But he is mentioned in this chapter for, among other things, singing six concerts - and five different roles - in a single week. Damn.
Also fun in this chapter is the feud between Toscanini and music critic (and composer) Virgil Thompson, who was prone to writing scathing reviews.
The chapter on Karajan is quite fascinating. Lebrecht nails down some of the reasons I am not a particular fan of his recordings - I prefer Szell for Beethoven, and Ormandy for Romantic era works - but also exposes a lot of the Nazi shit.
Lebrecht notes that if you were a non-Jewish musician, or indeed a skilled worker of any sort, you didn’t have to join the Nazi party to survive. You could still find work, and many did. Joining the party gave you perks, though. Even Richard Strauss, who is often condemned for remaining silent (in his old age, by the way) rather than condemning Hitler, never joined the party. But Karajan did.
Whatever you think of Karajan as a person and as an artist, there is no doubt that he was the giant figure of his era, both as a live performer and as the first true superstar recording artist. Much of what came after was pioneered by him, from the guest conducting tours to the carefully perfect and lush recorded sound.
As Generalmusikdirektor of all Europe, he demonstrated that it was technically possible in the jet age to be chief conductor in four places at once, earning four full salaries and the applause of an entire hemisphere. His immense fortune and flagrant ambition estranged him from orchestral musicians, whose resentment was compounded by his infrequent presence.
Hating the conductor is a sport among musicians, of course. I had to laugh at Georg Solti’s nickname of “the screaming skull.”
And this was hilarious too:
Composers dropped out of the music director bracket early in the century as the two occupations drifted inexorably apart. One was perceived as spiritual and other-worldly, the other belonged all too obviously to the material world of power and wealth. The priestly part of the podium function, inasmuch as it survived, resembled the posturing of Sunday-morning televangelists, who preached saintliness while reeking of riches and, periodically, of vice.
The book, naturally, spends a good bit of time on Leonard Bernstein. One of the questions it examines a bit is whether Bernstein’s fantastic success on the podium negatively affected his career as a composer - Bernstein himself certainly thought so. I have played a number of his works, from symphonies to pop stuff, and I do have to wonder. West Side Story is his big hit, but his other works are pretty darn good too, in my opinion.
Also fascinating is the back story to his career.
Raised by the rigid hands of Reiner and Koussevitsky, he came onto the market during the McCarthy witch-hunt when his leftist sympathies, homoerotic inclinations and racial origins rendered him virtually unemployable. Kouseevitsky implored him to change his name, get baptized and married and clean up his act, but Bernstein went his own way, and his openness cost him any chance of inheriting the Boston Symphony, or advancing beyond his pupillage at the New York Philharmonic.
Eventually, however, McCarthy left in disgrace, and Lenny was recognized as a true talent, a unique musician, and an inspiration to so many. One of his students at Tanglewood expressed a sentiment that even those of us who never got to see him live understand.
“When he gets up on the podium, he makes me remember why I wanted to become a musician.”
Watching one of his classic videos, like Mahler 2, or his incomparable Young People’s Concerts, you do indeed feel the infectiousness of his love for music of all kinds, and remember why you love being a musician.
There is another interesting quote from a musician regarding Klaus Tennstedt:
“Every player wonders sometimes what a conductor does. With Tennstedt you don’t wonder. You know.”
As I noted, despite some wince worthy language, the chapter on female, black, and gay conductors is actually really good. And perceptive. He notes that the fundraising for most American orchestras comes from committees dominated by upper-middle-class women. This is still very true. And this has some consequences.
The strain of sexual fantasy and sublimation in this relationship is undeniable, and sometimes encouraged. A macho maestro in the prime of life is a powerfully attractive figure. If he is homosexual, his appeal to the lady activists of middle America will diminish.
I would like to think that this dynamic has changed a bit over the last three decades. The “gay best friend” is a bit more acceptable, perhaps - and even desirable. So there are more openly gay conductors. But I think the basic dynamic still has somewhat of an effect, particularly in “middle America.”
Lebrecht also nails a particular dynamic when it comes to female conductors - indeed female bosses of any sort. Women were for a long time relegated to leading all-female ensembles because of it.
Evrard felt a woman was innately inhibited from conducting an orchestra of men, “which often lacks discipline and resents receiving orders from anyone not of its own kind.”
This too, I feel, is slowly changing. I have seen a good number of women conduct the LA Phil over the years - and opera orchestras and smaller orchestras - and have had women guest conduct our own group - and the vibe definitely feels like it is trending in the right direction. This is probably due in no small part to the increase in the percentage of female musicians in most orchestras.
I also would be remiss if I failed to mention Ethel Smyth, composer and conductor - and badass suffragette who was jailed for a protest, and conducted her fellow prisoners in a march around the prison yard singing a hymn while she beat time with a toothbrush. (The story comes from Sir Thomas Beecham, who visited her in jail - he was a big supporter of her music and the suffrage movement.)
(Smyth was also known for her series of relationships with women. Her unrequited love for Virginia Woolf led to Woolf quipping that it was “like being caught by a giant crab.” The two did become friends, however.)
Finally, I will mention that since the book was written, African-Americans have taken more prominent roles on the podium. I have personally seen Thomas Wilkins - maestro of the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra - conduct numerous times, and he is a fine interpreter and great stage presence. In this day and age (as Lebrecht notes in the book) true superstars are becoming less and less common, with the younger generations consisting more of competent musicians rather than rock stars with batons - other than, say Dudamel, who else? So Wilkins will never have the name recognition of a Bernstein or Karajan, but I know that I can expect great music when he is conducting.
One of the later chapters looks at the inherent contradictions in the smaller “throwback” ensembles that became popular in the 1980s. These smaller chamber orchestras often eschewed - or tried to - a regular conductor. However, it often happened that a personality would eventually take over the group, either intentionally, or by default.
The OG, perhaps, is the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, which I will admit I adore. Sir Neville Marriner founded it, and eventually took a leading role. These days, it is led by virtuoso violinist Joshua Bell. I am a bit disappointed that I will not get to see them this year due to a conflict with one of my own concerts. Them's the breaks I guess.
I also was glad to see a mention of the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, which is another favorite. Their recording of the Bartok Divertimento for Strings - which I have played a couple of times - is just thrilling.
Finally, I will mention that two of the conductors that Lebrecht considers the last of their kind also happen to be two of my favorites. I saw Simon Rattle twice as a kid or teen, and despite his reputation as more of a modern music guy, his Eroica was mind-blowing. One of those where you walk out stunned and euphoric.
The other is Salonen, who I try to see whenever he returns to the LA Phil. He is so clear as a conductor that I can see how he gets his crisp transparent textures, particularly in Sibelius or modern compositions.
And perhaps that is the best way to end, with a quote from Salonen. As the anti-celebrity, he has always seemed more concerned with music than with showmanship. His advocacy for modern music - and his belief in its relevance and power - is infectious, and I find he truly does make even atonal stuff sound good and evoke emotion. (One of my kids is really into modern classical, and he got to experience Salonen’s Symphonia Concertante for Organ along with Bartok and Stravinsky with me a few years ago - Salonen’s work was his favorite.)
Anyway, here is the quote:
“Everyone keeps telling me that I programme such adventurous repertoire. Yet my relation timewise to Messiaen and Lutoslawski is almost exactly as Karajan’s was to Richard Strauss - and I don’t think anyone thought Karajan was an outrageous avant-gardist.”
Exactly. And a lot of what is being written in this century is great music that really should be heard more often.
Obviously, there is a whole lot more in this book. It’s fun, surprising, insightful, outrageous, and gossipy all at once. It is a look into not just the musical side, but the business side, the political side, and the cultural side of this business of conduction, and the mythology our society has created around the role.
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