The
musicians who had recently joined
the orchestra, from the US, Britain
and the Philippines were finding that
the cost of housing was so high that
they suffered financial hardship and
this had led to various ‘deals’ having
been arranged creating conflict within
the orchestra itself, some musicians
feeling that they were not being treated
as well as others.
Coming
from outside Hong Kong and with some
reputation as a trouble-shooter the
Committee allowed me to give them
rather a hard time. The first thing
they had to do was to recognise that
they could not manage the orchestra
themselves. Their task was to appoint
the right people within the management
structure, try out a number of guest
conductors before appointing a principal
conductor, or if the right person
could be found – they are very rare
– a musical director. He should not
be involved in the management of the
orchestra, as at present, and only
be concerned with musical matters.
I persuaded the Committee that for
the next nine months they should give
John Duffus the chance to do his job
without interference (I was confident
that he could), engage a librarian
and an orchestral manager and regularise
the pay structure on a much fairer
basis.
In
most countries the members of orchestras
belong to a Union or Association of
some kind that conducts negotiations
on fees, conditions and complaints
on their behalf. This was impractical
in Hong Kong as virtually all the
professional musicians were in the
HKPO or those used to supplement the
orchestra. I suggested that a proper
orchestral committee be formed. There
had been a committee of sorts but
no defined pathway between it and
the management. This had led as always
to the situation getting out of hand
and turning into a public wrangle.
A small committee should be elected
by the members of the orchestra to
meet the General Committee on a regular
basis, at least three times a year
and these meetings should not be seen
only as an opportunity for expressing
discontent. Rather, they should be
the way in which players and management
could learn more about each other’s
problems, aspirations and intentions.
The orchestra should be encouraged
to make recommendations and feel that
they and their employers were engaged
in a joint enterprise to make the
orchestra and its performances as
good as possible.
Finally,
and essential for the future, better
opportunities for local players must
be created. Much improved instrumental
teaching was needed – they should
use the best players in the orchestra
(mainly American) – and they should
give as many Hong Kong musicians as
possible encouragement to join the
orchestra. Because the salaries for
Chinese players was so low the best
local players were leaving for better-paid
employment elsewhere.
For
the next few years I was retained
in a rather informal way as a consultant.
I was surprised (and delighted because
it is so infrequent) that nearly all
the recommendations I made in my report
were implemented.
The
Chinese Orchestra
The
Hong Kong Philharmonic Orchestra was
not the only orchestra in Hong Kong.
For the Urban Council the Hong Kong
Chinese Orchestra was probably more
important. The first large folk instrument
ensemble, The Broadcasting Company
of China Chinese Folk Orchestra (now
the China Broadcasting Chinese Orchestra),
was created in China in 1935 and emulated
the Western symphony orchestra.
By
the time the Hong Kong Chinese Orchestra
was established in 1977 the instruments
included both traditional and modernised
Chinese instruments that could now
play a chromatic scale, as well as
a few suitable western instruments.
As well as arrangements of folk melodies
the repertoire consisted of many new
compositions, overtures, symphonies
and concertos, often based on traditional
melodies but increasingly using western
harmonic and rhythmic techniques.
The
orchestra is extremely popular and
an important part of the musical life
of Hong Kong. Some idea of the interest
in traditional Chinese instruments
is illustrated by two remarkable events.
In 2001 there was a mass performance
by 1000 erhu players of Music
for a Thousand Strings and then
in 2003 three thousand Hong Kong citizens
came together to play a drum piece
The Earth shall Move.
The
instruments in a Chinese orchestra
are divided into four sections: bowed
strings, plucked strings, wind and
percussion. Until the Chinese orchestra
was created music in China was normally
played by small groups or by solo
instrumentalists following an oral
tradition and using the pentatonic
scale. Unlike the usual folk groups
the members of a Chinese orchestra
sit in a semi-circle and follow a
conductor and play from written music.
Whereas the normal ensembles would
have only one of each instrument,
the orchestra has numbers of each
of the string bowed and plucked instruments.
In
China with its many regional music
traditions, thousands of years old,
there are hundreds of different instruments
made from a great variety of materials:
metal, stone, clay, skin, silk, wood,
gourd and bamboo. The instruments
mainly used in the Chinese orchestra
include several two-stringed bowed
instruments of various sizes: the
erhu and banhu (both
roughly violin pitch), zhonghu
(viola pitch), gehu and digehu
(cello and bass); the plucked
strings are the beautiful pipa
(or piba), a lute and the
ruan, another lute, round like
a banjo, but beautifully crafted and
with a delicate tone; there are also
two dulcimers, the yangqin,
played with two bamboo sticks and
the zheng.
The
wind instruments are the suona,
made of wood with a metal bell and
a double-reed, a loud instrument,
and two kinds of bamboo flute, the
transverse dizi, and the end-blown
xiao. Both these instruments
come in several sizes. The sheng,
in the West often called the Chinese
mouth organ, has been known for more
than 3,000 years and is one of the
oldest Chinese musical instruments.
It usually has between 13-17 bamboo
pipes of different lengths, each with
a free reed made of brass, all mounted
on a base which is traditionally a
gourd-shaped, wooden wind-chest. Music
is produced by blowing and sucking
the air through a metal tube connected
to the base. By virtue of its construction,
this instrument is capable of playing
up to six notes simultaneously.. From
the base the air is blown through
the pipes and the player decides the
notes to be played by pressing keys
near the base. By covering two or
more holes on various pipes, chords
can be played, a technique used in
most Chinese folk orchestras.
The
traditional Chinese percussion instruments
include gongs of many sizes, cymbals,
bells and chimes made of clay, stone
or metal; clappers and temple blocks
and many kinds and sizes of drums.
The modern Chinese orchestra can now
also include as many of the percussion
instruments used in a symphony orchestra
as the composer wishes.
There
are now similar orchestras to those
in Hong Kong and China in Singapore,
Taiwan, Australia, the USA and Canada;
sometimes two orchestras will join
together as the Symphonisches Orchester
Zürich and the China Broadcasting
Orchestra did to perform the East
West Symphony. The modernisation
of traditional Chinese instruments
required by the China Broadcasting
Orchestra in 1935 started the process
by which Chinese music and Chinese
instruments are now used in pop music
and are a popular part of World Music.
The instruments and style of performance
have been westernised and commercialised
in the same way as so much folk music
has been.
Continuing
my visits to conservatoires
It
is only a two hour flight from Hong
Kong to Shanghai, but whereas in Hong
Kong the shops were full and the roads
frequently traffic-jammed with buses
and cars, in Shanghai and Beijing
in 1987 there were far fewer shops
and very few cars. I remember only
a few big Mercedes taxis and when
we were in one it was hair-raising.
The taxi-drivers threaded their way
with astonishing skill within inches
of the thousands of bicycles, sometimes
with more than one rider. Frequently
a small trailer will have been attached,
often rather dilapidated, filled with
vegetables, or second-hand furniture,
pots and pans and other household
bits and pieces, and even an elderly
relative with their legs hanging over
the tailgate.
Though
we had booked our flights to and within
China and made our own hotel arrangements
in Beijing and Shanghai, contrary
to what we had been told to expect
we were never asked any questions
and were able to roam freely in both
cities. As soon as the young people
serving in the shops and hotels realised
we were English they were anxious
to practise the English they had studied
and, to our surprise, were quite open
in their criticism of the current
regime. The increasing criticism of
the regime we heard in 1987 escalated
and finally resulted in the tragic
and terrible events in 1989 when the
students demonstrated in Tiananmen
Square.
On
the Sunday we were in Beijing I had
no meetings and so we took the opportunity
to do some sightseeing. We hired a
taxi at the hotel – it was not possible
to hail one on the street. If one
was visiting several places it was
necessary to keep the taxi waiting
at each place, perhaps for some time.
We first went to an enormous market,
even bigger than the Flea market in
Paris. There were stalls selling everything
– we bought a large tablecloth and
twelve napkins all covered in beautifully
embroidered strawberries for a fraction
of what it would have cost in Britain.
We then visited Tiananmen Square,
where our very obliging taxi-driver
took some photographs of us, one of
me standing in front of a large portrait
of Chairman Mao Tse-Tung and the Forbidden
City (now called the Palace Museum).
The Forbidden City, where an extraordinary
collection of many thousands of wonderful
works of art, paintings, ceramics
and porcelain of the utmost delicacy,
begun in the 10th century,
had been housed for five hundred years
until the Japanese invaded China in
1931, was now open to the public,
though nearly entirely empty. To preserve
it the entire collection had first
been moved to Nanjing, then to Shanghai
and then on to a remote village in
the south. In 1949 when it was captured
by the army of Chang Kai Shek, all
but 700 items out of this enormous
collection were packed into ten thousand
crates and as Chang’s army was forced
to retreat from mainland China it
was finally shipped to Taipei in Taiwan.
In
the evening we went to a concert of
Chinese music to which we had been
invited by the Director of the British
Council in Beijing. This was the real
thing; not a Chinese orchestra, but
a number of groups of four or five
musicians and individual soloists
and singers playing and singing traditional
folk music as it had been played for
hundreds of years. A delightful end
to a wonderful day.
My
visits to the conservatoires and orchestras
in Shanghai and Beijing were extremely
interesting and, again, surprising.
I was told by the Director of the
Shanghai Conservatory of Music and
several professors that during the
Mao regime it was forbidden for them
to teach western instruments or play
western music. They were not dismissed,
nor did they cease to receive their
salaries. But they were obliged to
come to the conservatory every day
to be lectured on the iniquity of
their former ways and to be instructed
in the basics of the communist philosophy.
When I met them they were again teaching
their instruments as they had done
before Mao’s injunction. The general
standard of the students in both conservatoires
was technically good, but their performances
often seemed to lack any real understanding
of the music. In Shanghai I was invited
by Chen Xie-Yang, conductor and Music
Director of the Shanghai Symphony
Orchestra, to a rehearsal and then
to a recording session the orchestra
was doing that afternoon. The orchestra
was not yet up to the standard of
professional orchestras in the West.
There were some good players, especially
in the strings, but too many of the
members of the woodwind and brass
sections were not really quite good
enough. Xie-Yang, who also conducted
in Beijing, arranged for me to meet
the conductor of the symphony orchestra
of the Central Philharmonic Society,
Han Zhong-jie, and to attend one of
his rehearsals when I was in Beijing.
This was a better orchestra, probably
comparable with one of the BBC’s less
good regional orchestras in the 1950s.
We
would have liked to have been able
to stay in China for longer. We found
the people extremely friendly and
though we knew only one word in Chinese,
‘Kne-howe’ (that is how we pronounced
it), meaning ‘Hello’ or ‘Good day’,
we managed by gesture and in one way
or another to communicate with people
in what felt like a very relaxed atmosphere
in both Shanghai and Beijing. I was
invited to listen to some young musicians
in their homes and found that the
living conditions were, by our standards,
quite appalling. A typical flat consisted
of two small rooms and a tiny kitchen.
The communal bathroom and toilet facilities
were shared with perhaps five or six
other flats. Each of these very small
apartments with such limited space
might be shared by three generations;
the husband and wife, their children
and their own parents.
When
we arrived in Japan we were to find
that everything was very different.
As our taxi hurtled towards Tokyo
from the airport, surrounded by large
cars – no bicycles here – the meter
recording the cost of our journey
also hurtled forward. I wondered how
long our money would last out. In
Beijing the cost of a taxi for a whole
morning had cost about £1.50. In Tokyo
that amount of money took us less
than a mile. I had been to Japan with
the Philharmonia in 1970 when the
orchestra took part in Expo 70 in
Osaka and then went on to Tokyo to
do two more concerts. Even then the
Japanese were vying with America to
be at the cutting-edge of technology;
by 1987 it seemed to me that they
had achieved their objective, and
yet at the same time retained much
of the old-world values that had so
impressed me when I was there in 1970.
Without
doubt the three conservatoires I visited
while I was in Tokyo presented the
greatest contrast with those in Britain
or any I had seen anywhere else. All
three, Kunitachi College of Music,
the Toho Gakuen School of Music and
the Musashino Academia Musicae were
privately owned and appeared to be
extremely wealthy. Each had its own
beautiful concert hall, recording
rooms and equipment and excellent
facilities for students. The Kunitachi
College of Music Library has a remarkable
collection of Beethoven scores that
includes more than a hundred original
editions and a number of manuscripts.
A framed copy of a manuscript letter
in Beethoven’s hand, which I was given,
has a prominent place in my music
room. The Musashino Academia has a
very large museum of 3000 musical
instruments from all over the world.
As well as a separate piano museum
and collection of European instruments
there are collections from Africa,
Asia, the Middle East, Latin-America
and Japan. The Toho Gakuen School
concentrated on inviting outstanding
composers and performers such as Aaron
Copland, Henri Dutilleux and Heinz
Holliger. More recently in 2001 the
Maazel/Vilar conducting competition
was held at the School, using the
college orchestra.
At
all three I was treated as a visiting
celebrity, fetched from my hotel and
returned in the biggest and most luxurious
fitted cars I have ever been in, wined
and dined and shown the glories of
each institution. This was very enjoyable,
but it was soon very clear that there
was little chance that we would attract
any of their students to the NCOS.
They sent most of their best students,
those destined to become soloists,
to the USA and a few to Germany. Those
students who would become orchestral
musicians received considerable opportunities
within their own college orchestras.
My
visit to Taipei, in Taiwan was disappointing
as far as recruiting students was
concerned. When I met Dr Chang, the
Director of the Theatre and Concert
Hall and President of the National
Taiwan Academy of Arts, it did not
take me long to realise that there
were not yet any young musicians ready
to benefit from anything the NCOS
had to offer. But while we were in
Taipei we had the opportunity to visit
the National Palace Museum where the
treasures captured by Chang Kai Shek’s
army in 1949 were housed. The National
Palace Museum had been built as an
exact replica of the Forbidden City
in Beijing, where the treasures had
been captured. There we saw a wonderful
display of part of the collection
– only a small part because it is
so large that there is not sufficient
room to display it all at once. It
is quite incredible that the delicate
Ming porcelain and other beautiful
china ornaments, cups, jugs and plates
survived undamaged as they were transported
so far over land and sea by the retreating
army.
Before
returning to England we went back
to Hong Kong so that I could see how
things had developed since I was there
in 1981 and cement the relationships
I had made previously. My first call
was to the Music Office to meet the
new secretary of the Jockey Club,
Mrs Ngai. She told me that the Hong
Kong Academy for the Performing Arts,
which had only been at the discussion
stage in 1981, was now starting to
accept students and that she had arranged
for me to meet Basil Deane and Angus
Watson, the recently appointed Principal,
who would show me over the new building
that was now nearly finished. The
following day I had the opportunity
to inspect what looked as if it would
soon be ready. It was a fine building
and I looked forward in the coming
years to a number of their students
applying to the NCOS and being supported
by Jockey Club scholarships.
The
manager of the Hong Kong Philharmonic
was now Stephen Crabtree who had been
Principal Double Bass in the LPO and
an old colleague of mine. The orchestra
was now well established and its former
troubles were forgotten. John Duffus
the previous manager with whom I had
remained in contact since I had played
a part in helping him through a difficult
time, was now a successful agent managing
concerts and theatrical tours throughout
the region.
To
celebrate the end of our travels John
Duffus took us for a fabulous Chinese
meal on a Junk moored in the bay where
not only did we eat and drink well
but saw a virtuoso display of hand
thrown noodles. The next day we set
off on the long flight home.
Back
at the National Centre again
Three
days after my return in March it was
time for the entrance auditions for
the 1987/88 NCOS orchestra. We were
still unaware that events beyond our
control would mean that my travels
had been too late to be of any lasting
value and that at the end of the 1988/89
course the NCOS would be obliged to
cease operating.
From
the start it had been very difficult
for students who had been at a music
college to obtain a grant for a further
year’s study at the NCOS. The courses
at the music colleges, which had formerly
been for three years, had recently
been extended to four so that throughout
the 1980s, as Local Authorities experienced
increasing financial restraint, it
became even more difficult. After
five or six years the way in which
the commercial television companies
had been organised changed and they
were obliged to substantially reduce
the financial assistance they had
been providing. A year or so later
it stopped altogether. The final blow
was the BBC’s decision that they could
no longer afford to continue funding
the NCOS. In relation to the size
of their overall budget the amount
they had been providing was minuscule,
but its withdrawal was the death of
the NCOS. With only the money it was
receiving from the Musicians’ Union,
some fees from a minority of students
and one or two private donations,
it was impossible to continue.
There
was also the problem that though those
musicians in the orchestras, who were
also professors at the music colleges,
were happy to come and coach and constantly
told me how valuable they thought
the course was, they were reluctant
to recommend their very best students
to apply to join the course. I understood
their reluctance. After all, some
36 years previously in 1942 aged 17,
I had left the Royal College of Music
to join the Wessex Orchestra. Now
I was myself a professor at the RCM
and I was suggesting to my pupils
that it would, in 1979, be a good
idea to have this ‘one year in protected
accommodation’. The standard and conditions
that prevailed in 1942 had given me
the opportunity to prepare myself
so that in 1943 I was capable of holding
down the job in the LPO. Before about
1960 this is how most young musicians
gained experience in advance of joining
one of the major orchestras: by playing
in small light orchestras, theatres
and by providing the ‘stiffening’
that most amateur orchestras required
when they gave a concert.
The
reluctance a good many teachers had
was caused by their concern that if
their pupils were not always available
to apply for an orchestral post as
soon as it appeared another opening
might not come along. Unfortunately
it was impossible for students to
obtain a grant, or even a partial
grant unless the NCOS made it a condition
of the course that students must commit
themselves for the whole year. Nor
would it have been possible to run
the orchestra if players were to be
leaving – we did not have any funds
to replace them.
Between
1980 and 1990 the amount of employment
outside the pop industry continued
to decline, and has continued to do
so since then. Nonetheless, most of
those who came to the NCOS did go
on into the profession. I rarely go
to a concert, to the theatre or anywhere
there is music – opera, ballet or
a musical – when I do not see a former
NCOS student. Some of my own RCM students
came to the NCOS and are in various
orchestras. Now, in 2006, one is principal
in the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra,
and one who was Co-Principal Clarinet
in the LSO is now Principal in the
Royal Opera House Orchestra. Other
clarinettists who came to the NCOS
are now principals in the Stockholm
Radio Orchestra, the Malmo Philharmonic
and the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic.
This
attempt to establish advanced preparation
for the orchestra probably failed
because many of those who could have
made it possible believed that the
Youth Orchestras provided sufficient
opportunities to gain orchestral experience.
Funds were found to enable the Youth
Orchestras to go on overseas tours
and the National Youth Orchestra and
European Youth Orchestra were allowed
to take part in the Proms, but the
MU would not allow the NCOS Orchestra
to do so.
Naturally,
everyone found the sight and sound
of the very young musicians exciting
and felt that those who had been at
music college for four years should
be ready to take their place in the
profession. Though the orchestra managements
did not think that the young musicians
leaving music college were ready,
they wanted the best of both worlds
– further preparation for their orchestras,
while at the same time being able
to take anyone they wanted from the
course whenever they wanted to. In
the first year a few of the orchestra
managements unwilling to wait until
their chosen player had completed
the course tried to induce them to
leave. The young musicians, of course,
wanted to start earning as soon as
they could. It may be that the existence
and subsequent demise of the NCOS
did lead to the music colleges providing
rather more and better orchestral
experience than they had previously.
The
NCOS would probably be providing the
advanced education that many musicians
still believe would be valuable for
the very best students leaving music
colleges if the grants for a further
year’s study had been made available
and there had been sufficient money
to replace students leaving the course.
In 1989 there was another attempt
to create preparation for the profession,
not only in Britain but for young
musicians throughout Europe.
The
considerable reduction in the amount
of free-lance work in broadcasting,
recording and casual concerts for
orchestral musicians means that there
is intense competition for the few
openings in the orchestras as well
as in the free-lance sector and only
the most outstanding instrumentalists
can gain a foothold in the profession.
Those that do are extremely gifted
instrumentalists. They have to learn
very quickly how to respond to the
demands and pressures of life for
an orchestral musician.
Competitions
As
well as their concern for improved
preparation for orchestral musicians
the 1977 Calouste Gulbenkian committee
spent a great deal of time considering
music education throughout the education
system, in particularly the standard
of instrumental teaching at all levels.
In their opinion there were still
not enough top class soloists being
produced, even though the 1965 Calouste
Gulbenkian report Making Music
had resulted in a number of specialist
schools being established in the years
following the Report – the Purcell,
Chetham’s, Menuhin, Wells Cathedral
and St. Mary’s (in Scotland) schools.
They felt that there should be earlier
identification of talent and an increased
number of specialist schools at primary
and secondary level leading on to
the Junior Departments at the music
colleges.
Through
my involvement in these discussions
I became much more informed about
music education in general even though
I had learned quite a lot as a visiting
lecturer at Middlesex University.
While at the NCOS I was invited to
take part in several forums on music
education and to be a visiting speaker
at several universities and colleges
of education. I was also asked to
be a member of the jury of a number
of music festivals and competitions.
Two of the most important were the
BBC Young Musician of the Year and
the Royal Overseas League.
The
BBC hold preliminary auditions for
the Young Musician of the Year all
over the country where a great many
young musicians are heard. I have
only been involved in the final two
rounds for both these competitions.
For the earlier rounds there are juries
for each category, keyboard, strings,
woodwind, brass, and in the BBC competition
also for percussion. The winners of
each category then go on to the final,
where they are pitted against each
other to produce an outright winner.
At the final the contestants must
play a concerto with orchestra before
an audience as well as the judges.
By
the mid-1980s the number and variety
of competitions had increased and
has continued to do so. There were
competitions for composers, conductors,
quartets and for ensembles of all
kinds – some for young performers,
sometimes very young, others for already
established, or hoping to become,
established performers. The rewards
varied considerably from relatively
small money prizes and trophies to
awards that not only offered much
larger financial inducements but opportunities
to perform in major national and international
venues. Whenever the question of the
value of competitions arose, as it
increasingly did, it could generate
a good deal of heated discussion.
As competitions continued to proliferate
an increasing rumble of discontent
became apparent. Not, as might have
been expected, from the unsuccessful
or disappointed, but from distinguished
performers and composers of national
and international renown.
The
competition that attracted the most
critical attention at that time was
the BBC Young Musician of Year. The
finals of this competition were shown
on TV, and continue to be. As a music
programme they were undoubtedly popular
with the public, as they still are.
For some years they attracted a viewing
audience second only to the Last Night
of the Proms. It was the size of the
audience and the extent of the exposure
to which these very young musicians
were (and still are) subjected that
worried many concerned musicians and
teachers. The degree of publicity
experienced in the final rounds is
greater than that to which even celebrated
artists at the peak of their careers
are generally exposed. The pressure
to accept engagements subsequently
is irresistible. The effect this might
have on young artists at a pre-conservatoire
stage and the unfortunate consequences
this could cause was of most concern.
One
of the first groups to complain was
the European String Teachers Association
(ESTA). In its published report the
argument against competitions is put
very strongly:
The
notion of ‘winning and losing’ implies
the possibility of measuring achievement
in its most important essentials.
To allow the choice of a winner among
many losers, it is necessary to set
a standard against which they can
be judged. Such a standard can only
exist for simple, concrete attributes.
There is no problem about finding
an acceptable standard for comparing
and making a judgement on the height
of an object. If, however, instead
of height, we wish to judge relative
grandeur, no form of measurement is
conceivable since too many intangible
qualities are involved.
In
musical performance, the only measurable
attributes are aesthetically insignificant.
In the unlikely event of two listeners
agreeing on the accuracy of a performance
in respect of pitch, rhythm and dynamic
variation, this would still leave
out of account all the most important
aspects of individual interpretation,
and so, in performance (as in music
examinations) the greater the accomplishment
of the performer the less valid are
attempts at ‘grading’. The variety
of performance in music is as important
as the variety of appearance and character
in human beings. Fashion, which plays
such a deadening part in standardising
appearance, also attempts to lay down
laws of the same kind for music, to
standardise interpretation. But art,
like humanity, is individual and immeasurable
and the conclusion must be drawn that,
in the sense of ‘winning and losing’,
artists cannot compete artistically.
The
composer Alexander Goehr put the anti-competition
view even more forcefully. When asked
what he considered the essential characteristics
of an ideal competition he replied,
‘There are only un-ideal competitions.
I cannot answer as I am totally opposed
to the competitive spirit in performance.’
Lady
Evelyn Barbirolli, the conductor Sir
John Barbirolli’s widow, formerly
an outstanding oboist and then an
adjudicator of a wide variety of events,
expressed a very different point of
view. Though she did express some
concern for the effect over-exposure
can have on performers of a tender
age as a result of winning some prestigious
events, she said ‘I am in favour of
competitions. They are necessary,
and like it or not, they have become
part of our musical life.’
Music
in Time, published by the Jerusalem
Ruben Academy of Music and Dance asked
several famous international artists
whether they thought there was a need
for competitions as a method of introducing
artists to the public. The composer
and conductor Lucas Foss wrote: In
former days the teacher launched the
young artist –then the manager. Now
a manager only takes you on if you
have won a competition. And the
cellist Janos Starker, They are
commercially important to accelerate
the careers of really exceptional
talents. Isaac Stern, the virtuoso
violinist, felt that, ‘In recent years
(he was responding during the 1980s),
unlike three or four decades ago,
music competitions have, regrettably,
become something of a necessity in
presenting young talents to the international
market. There has been such an explosion
of performing possibilities, longer
seasons, and general information available
through radio and television that
it has become much more difficult
to capture the attention of the potential
public and impresarios necessary to
the young performer.’ He was then
asked, ‘Can young artists really convey
their abilities during competitions?’
‘The answer depends on comparison
with their performances outside the
competitions. I personally could hardly
have performed in the tense atmosphere
of a competition. Certain performers
do play well under these circumstances
and yet fail to develop later when
they are on their own. Perhaps it
is because of the enormous concentration
that they have given to the specific
work demanded by the competition to
the exclusion of all else, and what
may seem like outstanding ability
in general becomes particularised
only for a certain series of works
that have been carefully prepared.’
The pianist Tamas Vasary was more
certain ‘Competitions suit the athletic
types, less the more introverted,
sensitive types. Not all are able
to show their best in competition
conditions.’
In
an article in Classical Music
the production team responsible for
the BBC competition responded to the
criticism levelled at that competition
with considerable vigour accusing
their critics of a muddled attitude
and having consulted very few
people either inside or outside the
profession and having consulted nobody
who had participated recently in any
of the competitions they criticised.
(though one of their production
team was on the ESTA group that published
the report Music Competitions).
The BBC production team accused ESTA
of having ‘a fundamental flaw –
they started with their conclusions
already formed and wrote the report
to justify them’.
As
a member of the National Music Council
throughout the 1980s I was involved
in several seminars the Council organised.
The debate about the value or otherwise
of competitions was still raging and
in 1987 the Council decided that it
should organise a seminar on this
topic; a sub-committee was formed
and I was elected chairman. My own
feelings about competitions have always
been somewhat ambivalent. On the one
hand I feel very like Tamas Vasary,
perhaps because whenever I have been
put under that kind of pressure I
have been conscious of my father listening
and finding my performance inadequate.
On the other hand, the force of the
practical response from Lady Barbirolli
and Isaac Stern seemed to make good
sense.
In
my opinion competitions for young
musicians, up to the age of 18, all
playing the same instrument, with
the minimum amount of media attention,
or competitions for those who have
already embarked on a professional
career, such as the BBC Cardiff Singer
of the World Competition, when publicity
for those taking part will be valuable,
should be encouraged. There are a
number of competitions where musicians,
still at school, playing a variety
of instruments, at times even including
singers, are pitted against each other.
How does one judge the virtues of
a violinist playing a wonderful work
such as the Brahms’ Concerto against
those of a trombonist playing the
attractive, but light-weight, Larssen
Concerto, or between the qualities
of a pianist offering the Beethoven
‘Emperor’ Concerto and a flautist
playing the Ibert Flute Concerto?
Should
judges assess candidates only on how
they perform on the day or is potential
more important? When Ginette Neveu
was 16 and David Oistrakh 27 they
both took part in the Wieniawski Competition;
Oistrakh came 1st and Neveu
2nd. Does it make sense
to grade artists of this calibre?
Imagine if one had to decide between
artists of this standard on different
instruments.
By
May 1988 a National Music Council
seminar titled Good Practice in
Competitions had been arranged
with a panel of speakers from a wide
variety of backgrounds: performers,
competition winners, adjudicators,
teachers, competition organisers and
sponsors. The flyer for the event
stated: In the afternoon those
attending the seminar will also have
the chance to express their views
on a subject upon which most musicians
and those concerned with music have
very determined opinions. Neither
the opportunity to hear what Peter
Donohoe, John Carol Case, Lady Barbirolli,
the organisers of some of the major
competitions – including those organised
by the BBC and the Royal Overseas
League, nor the opportunity for everyone
attending to air their own views,
proved to be an inducement. Though
the event had been widely publicised
and was to take place on a Saturday
in a central London venue, it had
to be cancelled. Only three tickets
had been purchased!
Why
had there been no response from all
those who had been expressing either
their hostility or support for competitions
so vociferously? I decided to write
a letter for publication in the Incorporated
Society of Musicians (ISM) journal
of a kind that I hoped would stir
up some controversy. This time there
was absolutely no response at all.
Perhaps there are too many vested
interests for anything to change very
much?
Had
the seminar taken place the Council
had intended to issue a report that
it hoped might become a useful guide
to all those interested in this important
aspect of contemporary musical life.
In 1990 Rhinegold, the publishers
of the journal Classical Music
decided to enclose a copy of a lecture
originally given the previous year
by Peter Renshaw, then Gresham Professor
of Music, who had previously been
the Principal of the Yehudi Menuhin
School for nine years. He called his
lecture Competitions and Young
Musicians; the place of competitions
in the personal and musical development
of young people. He was strongly
opposed to the way competitions were
organised and presented two views
of these events – a ‘Marketing/Commercial’
model and an ‘Artistic/Educational’
model. The latter as expressed in
his lecture is idealistic and full
of very good suggestions as to how
it might be done, but, sadly, quite
unrealistic.
‘The
utilitarian marketing model’, he said,
‘reflects the values of a tough entrepreneurial
world which sees competitions as a
sporting contest in which a potential
‘star’ wins. The form of life which
underpins this model contains many
of the features associated more with
the world of marketing: for example,
corporate sponsorship wanting a readily
identifiable return on its investment,
through which a company can promote
a ‘winner’ and raise its public profile
by being seen to promote the arts.
In its strongest form this model is
amenable to media hype and as such
it can distort the nature and content
of a competition.’ He goes on, ‘It
could be argued, perhaps rather cynically,
that by mirroring the tough realities
of the market place, in which the
‘‘survival of the fittest’’ becomes
the central guiding principal, this
marketing model performs an invaluable
service to the public, the sponsor
and the performer alike.’
Renshaw
suggested, and my own experience leads
me to believe he was correct, that
the conservatoires were over-producing
professional musicians, so that competitions
could be seen as a useful social mechanism
controlling entry into the upper echelons
of the profession. He said ‘This might
appear harsh, but there is no doubt
in my mind that some teachers in some
institutions are driven by a kind
of ‘killer instinct’ which is then
caught by the more ruthlessly determined
student.’
Now,
fifteen years later, in the Classical
Music Guide to Music Competitions
2005, there are over 250 music
competitions listed. In an environment
even more commercially driven than
when Renshaw gave his lecture, it
is only the ruthless student, soloist,
chamber music player or orchestral
musician, that will survive. The pressures
that so many are now experiencing
is felt as keenly by musicians. There
are those, and I include myself in
their number, who, while recognising
that competition can play an important
part in increasing technical skills,
regret the loss of sensitivity and
individuality it so often causes.
Chapter
23
back
to previous page
