STRUGGLES AND TRIUMPHS OF WESTERN MUSICIANS

Performing artists have always had to struggle to make a living. In this chapter, we offer vignettes from the lives of some of the great masters of Western music, from Johann Sebastian Bach to Beverly Sills. It is amazing that these composers and performers were able to achieve so much in the face of obstacles that—though each unique in its own way—were surely no less daunting than those of our time. The examples of these artists may help you develop your own strategy that also combines vision, determination, and clear-eyed confrontation of hard facts.

JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH: JANITOR, TEACHER, FATHER OF 20

Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750) was born into a family of musicians. Inherited talent and his father’s teaching gave him a fast start on his life of music. In 1700, he turned 15, which in those days meant entry into adulthood. Both of his parents had died, and one of his younger brothers had already entered an apprenticeship—a reminder to Johann Sebastian, if he needed one, of his obligation. It was time to go out into the world.

Rather than follow his brother’s footsteps into apprenticeship, Bach decided—on his own initiative, as far as we know—to apply for a scholarship at the prestigious St. Michael’s School in Lüneberg. He got one. Music was his passion, but he also studied the usual subjects of the time there: logic, rhetoric, Greek, and Latin. In return for room, board, and tuition, he was required to sing for church services, weddings, funerals, and such, but only as long as he remained a boy soprano. Nature took its course more slowly in those days than it does now, and he kept his soprano voice almost to the age of 17. There is no indication that he was a candidate for castration, a practice that was still very much in vogue at that time, as male sopranos were thought to be superior to females. Lucky for Bach; lucky for us! Had he succumbed to the knife, he would not have bequeathed to us two sons who also rose to the top ranks of composers. Bach stayed on as an ex-soprano at St. Michael’s for a short time as an instrumental player, but soon after that he had to go.

The credentials he earned at St. Michael’s did not guarantee employment. Opportunities for musicians were limited; a position with an aristocratic patron was almost the only avenue open to a talented musician in 1703. Bach worked for Duke Johann Ernst in Weimar as an organist, then as Konzertmeister (orchestra leader). His duties went beyond music and may even have included some janitorial tasks! When the position of Kapellmeister (head of all musical activities) became available, Bach applied for it, but a rival got it instead. Bach submitted his resignation, and for his impertinence, he was imprisoned for four weeks before being released from the duke’s service.

History does not record whether Bach, emerging from his jail cell, wondered if he should just give it all up. We do know that he found another position in short order because his reputation as an exceptionally talented organist had gotten around. Thereafter, he held a succession of church positions under the patronage of various dukes and princes, none of them far from Leipzig. None of these positions were sinecures; throughout most of his life, he had to steal time for composing from his busy teaching and conducting schedule.

If Bach had produced only one work in his lifetime—say, the glorious Mass in B Minor—he would have earned his place as a pillar of Western music. That he could pour out so many excellent works for organ, keyboard, and chorus, all of which have stood the test of time, is well-nigh incomprehensible when we consider not only his daily chores but also his role as husband and father. His first wife bore him seven children (only three of whom survived childhood), and following her death, a second wife bore him 13 more!

Bach’s life span coincided roughly with the Age of Enlightenment. The power of the Church was declining as reason began to ascend. The benefits of specialization and trade were becoming more and more evident, and a bourgeois merchant class took shape. Newly able to afford some of the finer things of life, some members of the emerging middle class provided new sources of demand for music and art. The new demand was satisfied less by patronage and increasingly through the gradual emergence of commercial outlets for performances and compositions.

MOZART AND THE HUSTLER

The Internet has revolutionized the performing arts and just about everything else in a mere 20 years. In contrast, the shift from aristocratic toward commercial support for the arts took many decades. The shift didn’t happen fast enough to spare Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756–1791) from a lifetime of financial woes. His constant money problems, documented in numerous begging letters sent to wealthy friends, were partly a result of his inability to handle money. But they also reflected the limited opportunities of the time. Although Mozart did secure a number of minor positions, he never had the security that was provided to his contemporary, Joseph Haydn, by his patron, Count Esterházy.

Mozart offered subscription concerts, prepaid by audiences, with varying degrees of success and took pupils, but by the late 1780s, he was in a precarious position. He hoped that an opportunity would open upon the death of Emperor Joseph II in 1790, when it was expected that Joseph’s successor, Leopold, would establish his authority by shaking up the court personnel. Indeed, as a result of Joseph’s death, Antonio Salieri lost his longtime position as Kapellmeister. Mozart practically begged for the position but was rebuffed. He was reduced to soliciting pupils once again.

Even so, this was when he composed some of his finest works. Some consider The Magic Flute to be Mozart’s greatest opera, yet it was not composed as an opera in the strict sense but rather as a singspiel, somewhat akin to a contemporary Broadway musical. It premiered at a suburban music hall, the Theater auf der Wieden in Vienna. The theater’s proprietor was Emanuel Schikaneder. George Marek describes him as an “extravagant, irresponsible, capricious Jack-of-all-trades . . . so enthusiastic and so persuasive that few could resist him.” Schikaneder played an important role in the writing of The Magic Flute. He convinced Mozart, his fellow Freemason, to collaborate on an “easy” comedy with music. He asked Mozart to throw in “all the sure-fire ingredients he knew: magic effects, moral preaching, an evil spirit or two, a comic little Moor . . . trial by fire and water, two pairs of lovers, and for himself, a part [Papageno, the bird catcher] where he could improvise jokes.”¹ Mozart reluctantly provided all those gimmicks. But Mozart being Mozart, he produced a work that can be understood on many levels. The Magic Flute is a rollicking farce to begin with, a paean to Masonic values, and even more broadly, a stand for Enlightenment ideals versus hidebound tradition. Outright criticism of royalty was dangerous, but (as Dmitri Shostakovich did two centuries later) Mozart landed oblique blows on the ruling class. Audiences of the time, for example, could easily see Empress Maria Theresa in the opera’s evil Queen of the Night. Though these topical themes may have faded, the opera’s timeless themes of love, compassion, and courage make it an enduring favorite of audiences.

The work was a great success. Schikaneder made (and subsequently lost) a lot of money on it. But not Mozart, who died a few months after its premiere and was buried in a pauper’s grave. As for Schikaneder, he died in 1812, insane and penniless.

BEETHOVEN STRIKES A HARD BARGAIN

The production of The Magic Flute for a popular audience was a landmark in the shift toward commercial music performance and publication. The trend continued with Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827), who derived most of his income from publication royalties, especially after his legendary deafness made subscription concerts impractical. Sometimes, for a fee, he would grant a noble family exclusive rights to a new work for six months or a year, thereafter seeking competitive bids from publishers.² He received only a one-time payment from publishers rather than continuing royalties because in the absence of copyright laws, publishers would soon lose their advantage over rival copycat publishers. Income from commissioned works was secondary, and while paid performances provided steady income early in Beethoven’s life, that avenue was gradually closed to him by his deafness. Beethoven encountered many difficulties in dealing with various publishers, but he was evidently a skilled negotiator and never had the kind of money problems that Mozart had. In fact, his negotiating tactics extended almost to fraud and deceit. Starting in 1819, he promised his much anticipated mass, the Missa Solemnis, to at least six publishers, playing one against the other until a contract was finally signed in 1824.³

What of the performers of this era? The households of the nobility maintained large servant staffs, including musicians. The musicians were there to provide background music, not to perform concerts as we think of them. Thus, they really were servants, and their rank in the household was not far above that of the kitchen staff, as evidenced by salary scales of the time. Those pay scales are difficult to compare with modern times because so much of the compensation was provided in kind. Their cash wages were a pittance if they got any at all, but they did receive allowances of food, firewood, candles, and sometimes lodging.

GIUSEPPE VERDI: ITALIAN NATIONALIST HERO

Giuseppe Verdi (1813–1901) is the undisputed king of grand opera. Verdi entered adulthood in the 1830s, a time when the Industrial Revolution and the concomitant spectacular if uneven takeoff of economic growth was well under way. He was born into modest circumstances and benefited greatly from private lessons and opportunities to attend all sorts of musical performances. A teaching position that he secured at the age of 22 led to personal connections with many of the leading figures of the Italian musical scene. He thereby managed to get an opera, Oberto, produced at La Scala in Milan. Although Oberto was only a modest success, the opera was good enough to land him a contract to produce three more operas for that famous house.

Verdi’s contract was offered by Bartolomeo Merelli, La Scala’s impresario. The position of impresario evolved along with Italian opera as an example of the specialization and division of labor that are key to economic growth. The process of assembling and scheduling the required actors, musicians, and singers was becoming increasingly complex, so theater owners found it worth their while to hire specialists to handle these chores and, in many cases, to arrange financing as well.

Verdi’s career blossomed in parallel with the movement for Italian independence and unification. The chorus “Va pensiero” from his early opera Nabucco became an anthem for Italian freedom and is even today sung in that spirit. Verdi became involved in politics himself, and his name became an acronym for a political slogan: “Vittorio Emanuelle, Re d’Italia”—Victor Emanuel for King of Italy.

Verdi’s productive career stretched past age 80. He left behind more than three dozen operas (most of them still performed), a Requiem Mass, and miscellaneous vocal and orchestral works. He became quite wealthy, enough so that he could turn to philanthropy himself, founding a home for retired musicians in Milan.⁴ His wealth came from the immense popularity of his work and favorable contracts provided by his longtime publisher, the House of Ricordi (or Casa Ricordi), which remains in business to this day. Giovanni Ricordi, the founder of the company, had been instrumental in bringing copyright law to Italy, which gave publishers some assurance that they could recoup high royalty costs from protected future revenues.

LILLIAN NORTON SHOWS TRUE GRIT AND BECOMES MME. NORDICA

Operatic sopranos are a temperamental lot; intense rivalries are not uncommon. So when Clara Louise Kellogg, the great American soprano of the 1870s and 1880s, heaped praise on a young rival, we can be pretty sure she meant it:

My admiration for Mme. Nordica is deep and abounding. . . . If I wanted any young student to learn by imitation, I could say to her, “Go and hear Nordica and do as nearly like her as you can!” There are not many singers, nor have there ever been many, of whom one could say that. And one of the finest things about this splendid vocalism is that she has had nearly as much to do with it as had God Almighty in the first place.⁵

Giglia Nordica (“Lily of the North”) was the mellifluous stage name taken by the young American singer Lillian Norton upon her arrival in Europe, where she soon thrilled opera audiences in Italy and across the Continent. In the last sentence of this quote, Mme. Kellogg is saying that although Mme. Nordica was blessed with prodigious God-given talent, she never would have made it without extraordinary grit and determination.

Lillian Norton (1857–1914) was born in a modest farmhouse in Farmington, Maine. When she was seven, her family moved to Boston to be near the New England Conservatory of Music—not to enroll Lillian but her older sister, Wilhelmina. Lillian would copy Willie as she practiced at home, but she got no training herself until age 14, when, following her sister’s untimely death, their mother took Lillian to the Conservatory for evaluation. Wilhelmina’s former teacher “was astounded after taking Lillian up the scale and hearing her hit a secure, ringing high C.”⁶

Even after her fame had spread, life was a struggle for Mme. Nordica. She drove herself relentlessly not only because of her single-minded ambition but also because her finances were chronically perilous and she was not a quick study. She had no wealthy backer and had to sustain herself and her mother, who accompanied her everywhere. When the time came for her to debut at London’s Covent Garden, Mme. Nordica walked from her cheap hotel room to the theater, lacking cab fare. An unfortunate love life made matters worse. Her first husband’s “resentment of her singing and hatred of music in general bordered on the psychotic.”⁷ Two other marriages and various affairs were not much happier.

Still, she soldiered on. At the age of 53, she relearned Isolde in French for a single performance.⁸ Once, late in life, she performed all three Brünnhildes on consecutive nights.

GEORGE GERSHWIN CATCHES A WAVE IN THE ALLEY

By 1900, the U.S. economy was booming, thanks to several decades of economic freedom, monetary stability, and a strong work ethic. Immigrants poured into New York City and into housing and working conditions that seem unimaginably harsh from today’s perspective. But many families had saved enough that they could splurge on the “home entertainment center” of the time: a piano. “Content delivery” in those days meant a trip to a store or placing a mail order for sheet music or piano rolls for player pianos. Although copyright law protected music in these forms, it was not a deciding factor in the success of the music publishing business simply because copying a piece of sheet music was so tedious. Then, like most other industries, the sheet music business began to consolidate. Consolidation meant larger companies, but it also meant that similar companies tended to gravitate to small areas, sometimes a single street in Manhattan. Such was the case with Tin Pan Alley.

Tin Pan Alley was a block of West 28th Street in Manhattan where a number of music publishers had established their businesses by 1900. The “Tin Pan Alley” appellation, a likely reference to the cacophony of sounds filling the block, was later applied to the music publishing business in general. Jacob Gershvin (or Gershwine, as some sources have it), was the son of immigrants; he brought his talent and drive to the Alley at age 15. He had no trouble finding employment there at $15 per week. Two years later, he pocketed $5 for his first commercial song publication. From that modest beginning, success followed upon success, and he became George Gershwin (1898–1937) along the way. He composed hit songs, Broadway musicals, and later, full-blown symphonic and operatic works. Clearly, Gershwin—and we who love his music—benefited enormously from the commercialization of music, which in turn was a by-product of the rising prosperity into which he was born.

We might add that Gershwin’s career paralleled the rise of sound recordings, closely followed by “talking pictures” (movies with sound). We may not think much of this now, but the fact is that sound recording, in its time, was seen by many as a major threat to the performing arts. The first Victrola records were just a scratchy novelty. But those who were looking ahead must have asked themselves what would happen to the demand for live musicians when sound recordings improved to the point where they would be acceptable as substitutes for musicians in theaters, restaurants, churches, and even brothels.

Sound recordings were indeed a “disruptive innovation,” to use a contemporary phrase. Some musicians in the aforementioned venues did lose their jobs. But without question, the net effect of sound recording was positive for musicians. As more people gained exposure to music through Victrolas and later their radio receivers, the overall demand for music and other performing arts increased rapidly, and some of that demand was met by live performances. Copyright protection and the licensing schemes promulgated by ASCAP (the American Society of Composers, Authors, and Publishers) and BMI helped protect the incomes of composers and performers whose recorded music was played for public audiences in restaurants or on the radio.

STALIN SCOWLS AND SHOSTAKOVICH SWEATS

In some socialist countries, the arts, like almost everything else, are under government control. Success in these countries depends crucially on developing political skills and currying favor with the ruling elite. Among composers, no example is more vivid than the story of Dmitri Shostakovich (1906–1975), one of the 20th century’s greatest symphonic composers. Throughout his rocky career, Shostakovich was torn between his creative urges and a genuine desire to fit into the Soviet system.

In 1936, Soviet leader Joseph Stalin attended a performance of Shostakovich’s opera Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District. Out of the corner of his eye, Shostakovich spotted Stalin responding with derision from his box. Knowing what was coming, and knowing as every Soviet citizen did that crossing Stalin could mean exile to Siberia or death, Shostakovich began to sweat. News of Stalin’s displeasure spread quickly, and critics who had praised the opera had to backpedal furiously. For a time, Shostakovich retreated into movie scores, which Stalin liked. Later, his patriotic wartime Seventh Symphony returned him to the authorities’ good graces. But by 1948, he was in trouble again because the official critics had read anti-Soviet tendencies into his music, as they could do seemingly on a whim. Shostakovich fully expected to be arrested and hauled off to a labor camp. That didn’t happen, but with his expulsion from the Music Conservatory, he lost his only source of income. He survived, and with the general easing of Soviet repression following Stalin’s 1953 death, Shostakovich gradually recovered his standing with the Communist Party.

No one interpreted Shostakovich better than Leonard Bernstein, who more than anyone else was responsible, mainly through his televised concerts, for introducing Shostakovich to American audiences. Shostakovich lived until 1975, long enough to witness a triumphant performance of his Fifth Symphony by the New York Philharmonic, led by Bernstein. We can only hope that unlike some of his forebears, Shostakovich may have died with some inkling that appreciation of his work would continue to grow after he was gone.

BEVERLY SILLS: SINGER, MANAGER, MOM

Beverly Sills (1929–2007) was a popular and talented coloratura soprano. Much has been written about how she maintained a cheerful outlook and built a spectacular operatic career in the face of personal tragedy. Miss Sills once described herself not as a happy person (one who enjoys happy circumstances) but a cheerful person (one who smiles in spite of it all). Her story is of special interest to us not just because of her determination and good cheer but also because of her successful transition from performance to opera management.

Belle Silverman was born in Brooklyn, New York, the daughter of immigrant parents. Her mother was a musician and her father an insurance broker. She was a child prodigy, appearing on radio at age four and winning a prize on the radio program Major Bowes’ Amateur Hour at ten. In those days, most performers with Jewish names Anglicized them, and so Belle became Beverly Sills. Her career path included the radio program Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts, Gilbert and Sullivan roles, and light opera. Her first taste of grand opera came in 1947 when she was given a supporting role in Carmen for the Philadelphia Civic Grand Opera Company, close to New York geographically but thousands of miles away artistically. Her path from Philadelphia to New York included stops in St. Louis, the Borscht Belt, San Francisco, and many other places. She appeared on a DuMont Television Network program in 1955 that had her not just singing but doing live commercials for salad dressing. She was paid not with cash but with as much of the sponsors’ food and wine products as she could carry.⁹

Miss Sills made it to the New York City Opera in 1955. Her debut in Die Fledermaus was a hit. She had broken into the New York scene in the company of Cornell MacNeil and other top singers. But the company’s $75 performance fee was no solution to her chronic money problems. She continued to perform in obscure venues even after her NYCO debut.

American opera singers often spend considerable time in Europe as students or performers. Miss Sills limited her time abroad because she had two children with special needs and wanted to stay close to them. One child, in a cruel twist of fate, was born deaf. Miss Sills’s devotion to her children, and later to the cause of childhood disabilities, constitutes an unusual and inspiring dimension of her life story.

In 1971, Time magazine saw fit to name Beverly Sills “America’s Queen of Opera” and to feature her on its cover. But her Metropolitan Opera debut came only in 1975, following the departure of the imperious Sir Rudolf Bing as the Met’s general director. Of Sir Rudolf, she once said, departing from her typical tactful way, “Oh, Mr. Bing is an ass . . . just an improbable, impossible General Manager of the Metropolitan Opera.”¹⁰ They later reconciled.

Opera stars can be just as difficult as general managers, and Sir Rudolf may have seen things differently. But Beverly Sills was not the stereotypical temperamental diva. Her matter-of-fact manner made her a popular guest on television talk shows. For a brief time, she even hosted her own show, which, although confined to a backwater Sunday morning time slot on NBC, won an Emmy Award.

Amazing as it is to see in one person an opera star, wife, mother, and advocate for the disabled, there is more. In her late 40s, Miss Sills began to plan her retirement. This has to be an agonizing time of life for any great singer, whose sole musical instrument resides in her own body. You’re at the height of your career, showered with plaudits, making good money. Why even think of giving it all up? But time takes its toll, and Miss Sills wanted to bow out while audiences were still clamoring to see her. She was wise not to linger (as did famed bel canto soprano Montserrat Caballé, for example, who continued to perform well into her 70s, her voice dwindling to a shadow of its former self). So in 1978, Miss Sills announced a farewell gala to take place at the New York City Opera in 1980. By that time, she had already given considerable thought to her next career. She transitioned into the position of general director of the NYCO in 1979, even before her gala took place.

No amount of artistic talent or experience is in itself adequate preparation for such a daunting job as opera management. Her background naturally gave Miss Sills good preparation for dealing with principal singers—their temperaments, their agents, and their schedules. But that was just the beginning. Major donors had to be cultivated and stroked. Union musicians were not shy about pressing their demands. Politicians and bureaucrats required her attention in return for city and state government support, and the same was true of private foundations. The head of a nonprofit organization like the NYCO doesn’t just give orders and await results as the CEO of a private firm would expect.¹¹

The NYCO prospered during Miss Sills’s tenure, which ended in 1989, and continued to prosper under her hand-picked successor. Its budget grew from $9 million to $29 million during her tenure, and she left the company with a surplus.¹² Although challenges continued under her successors, the good times continued up until about 2007, the start of the Great Recession and also the year of Miss Sills’s death.

A sad postscript ends our quick look at the life of Beverly Sills. One wonders how well she could have maintained her good cheer had she lived to see the unhappy ending of her beloved New York City Opera. As this was written, the company was dead, having canceled its 2013– 2014 season and filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy. Music critic Anthony Tommasini commented in the New York Times:

[A]rtistic excellence is not enough. Any institution … must have a clear artistic vision, a purpose … the performing arts have never been profit-making endeavors. It is more important than ever that all institutions, from a fledgling string quartet to the lofty Metropolitan Opera, have an effective business model.¹³

KEYNOTES

Questions to Ask Yourself

• •Where do I see myself after my prime performing years are over? Are there elder members of my profession whom I can speak with who can give me advice about long-term career planning? Dancers and singers especially don’t have their whole lives to perform. Since their bodies are also their instruments, aging takes those instruments away.
• •What are my core values or those of my organization? It can be powerful to clearly articulate in a mission statement what guides you or your organization. Listing “excellence” or “creating transformational artistic experiences” might seem redundant, especially if you have spent many years burrowed in the educational ranks of your particular performing art, where these values are taken for granted. But in the context of the larger world, where a multiplicity of organizations and professions exist, most not devoted to art, having a clear mission statement can remind you why the work you do is special. It can also help guide your day-to-day decision making.
• •I know I must make money to make my career work. How about multiple jobs to get me to the target? (Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Having multiple sources of income, especially as a freelancer, is not only a great way to build a strong network but also to insure yourself against danger if one of your sources of income dries up.)

Tips

• •Don’t waste time regretting that there is no secure economic path for performing artists. As you can see from the lives of Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Verdi, and the other greats profiled in this chapter, no economic climate in history has made the business career of musicians secure or their path of professional advancement easy to discern. For performers of every age, careers have been full of struggle and improvisation. We believe, of course, that the performing arts are deeply worthy of economic reward, but we also know that obtaining that reward is likely going to be an everchanging, difficult game. In presenting the lives of these musical greats, we have tried to show you that it has ever been so. So don’t waste your vital time and energy regretting it, but accept the conditions of the world and devote all your energies to blazing your own path!
• •When you get discouraged (and everybody does), think about what Bach went through, or Mozart or Shostakovich. Listen to a Bach cantata, or the overture to The Magic Flute, or Shostakovich’s Seventh. There’s no better way to remind yourself what it’s all about.
• •Our world is changing rapidly, and you must expect change to continue. Content is increasingly streamed electronically, and compensation avenues are uncertain. But it’s almost always the case that when one door closes (or narrows), others open. For example, in the early 20th century, the music business not only survived the advent of sound recording but went on to thrive.
• •Remember how fortunate we are to be the beneficiaries of the Enlightenment and the Industrial Revolution. It was only as basic needs were more and more abundantly met that there was excess income and leisure time, some of which went into greater demand for the arts.
• •Religious institutions are still reliable places to find musical employment, especially in big cities. Major churches often pay singers and musicians to provide music for their services.

Exercises

• •Pick your favorite performing artists, living or dead, and see if they’ve written an autobiography or if biographies have been written about them. Read the books and see how these artists paid the bills, what their early struggles were, and how they overcame them. If your heroes are living and there are no biographies, look for interviews where they talk about their careers (or even consider getting in touch with them and asking for a meeting—you never know until you try!). You might be surprised to find out that the life of your artistic heroes have more uncertainty, initial failure, or struggle than you thought. Great artists were not born into the world fully formed and on the brink of great achievements. At some point, they were just like you, young people at the start of their careers, full of asyet-to-be-realized ambitions.
• •In order to advance her career, the great opera singer Lillian Norton transformed herself into Mme. Giglia Nordica. A century later, fellow diva Belle Silverman transformed herself into Beverly Sills. Image is crucial to a performer’s success, especially when the Internet has put rudimentary marketing tools in the hands of everybody. What to you is a life of endless (even if joyfully undertaken) work might seem to your audience a life of glamour and mystery. Think of some ways you can be innovative and have fun with the image you project to your audience. Think back to the heroic figures who first attracted you to performance. Consider that their public image may have been very different from their day-to-day experience as working members of their profession. Look at successful performers in your peer group and see what sort of image they project. Note what you like and experiment with doing something similar yourself. Note also that while your image is an artificially constructed version of yourself, it has to be rooted at least in part in who you are for it to be truly effective.