Classic Ross Amico

Category: Book Reviews

Samuel Barber Combed for Absorbing New Biography

I do much of my reading in bed, in the hour or two before lights-out, frequently beneath drooping eyelids and interrupted by intervals of nodding; so it can take me a while sometimes to get through a book. In this case, it took me five or six weeks, probably, but they were unquestionably pleasurable ones, passed in the company of one of America’s greatest composers.

If you’re at all interested in American art music of the mid-20th century, I’m confident you too will enjoy Howard Pollack’s exhaustive biography “Samuel Barber: His Life & Legacy,” issued last month by University of Illinois Press.

The book has to be the culmination of years of research – of the 686 numbered pages, 118 are devoted to footnotes and index – yet the content is often astonishingly up-to-date, with references to performances, recordings, and even YouTube content so recent, it would seem as if it couldn’t possibly have been included by the time the book went to press.

It’s also pleasant to find people I’ve known or worked with drifting in and out of the narrative. For instance, I had no idea that Karl Haas, longtime host of the radio series “Adventures in Good Music,” was responsible for commissioning Barber’s “Summer Music.” Nor did I realize the series began in 1959!

Another radio personality, David Dubal, now host of “The Piano Matters,” but then music director of New York’s WNCN, preempted the station’s regularly-scheduled programming to broadcast an hour of Barber’s music in the afternoons during the composer’s final days, and Barber listened.

And H. Paul Moon, who I have interviewed on the air a couple of times about his film projects, and now count among my concertgoing companions and friends, is acknowledged for his lovely, award-winning documentary, “Samuel Barber: Absolute Beauty.” Paul also receives credit for assisting the author in compiling the book’s photographs.

Of course, Barber had many important connections to the Philadelphia area, having attended and taught at the Curtis Institute of Music and had many of his works, including a few premieres, played by the Philadelphia Orchestra. He also exhibited a lifelong affection for his birthplace of West Chester, PA – which, as a small-town Pennsylvania boy myself, I find relatable and touching.

Barber was buried in West Chester in 1981, next to a gravesite held vacant for Gian Carlo Menotti, his friend, frequent collaborator, and romantic partner of decades. The two met during their student days at Curtis. Menotti would be buried in Scotland, but the West Chester would-be grave is marked by a headstone that reads, as per Barber’s request, “To the Memory of Two Friends.”

Pollack’s biography is successful not only in expanding the reader’s knowledge of the composer’s sizeable and varied output – more varied than one might suspect on the evidence of his most frequently played works – but also in conveying a real sense of the man, who could be patrician and impeccably turned out, often aloof in public, with a waspish sense of humor, but also warm and supportive to his friends. And even, on occasion, unexpectedly whimsical. He once remarked that because of his fondness for soup, his coffin should be pelted with croutons. At his burial service, his friends took him up on it.

There is also a charming anecdote earlier in the book, about how once Barber was attempting to get something straightened out with a utility company. In an unorthodox method of identity confirmation, the phone representative asked the composer to sing a few bars of his “Sure on This Shining Night.” Barber later remarked, “I’m afraid I sounded nervous. I had never sung for the telephone company before.”

Pollack’s writing is everything it should be: lucid, informative, and engrossing. There’s nothing to jerk a reader out of the narrative (save perhaps the frequent use of “tellingly,” which after a while becomes endearing). One doesn’t have to be a specialist to get something out of the book, and it is frequently an enjoyable read, though I grant that some chapters will be more compelling than others, depending on the depth of one’s devotion to Barber’s music. The chapters of purely biographical and historical interest are especially absorbing. One will learn a lot, unquestionably, as even I have.

With so many interviews and so much information to assimilate, I really don’t know how Pollack does it. I only just finally got around to reading his Copland bio, “Aaron Copland: The Life and Work of an Uncommon Man,” this past November, and the book, which was released over twenty years ago, is equally praiseworthy. And he’s done similar service for Marc Blitzstein, John Alden Carpenter, George Gershwin, Walter Piston, and lyricist John LaTouche. This guy deserves every award he’s ever received.

You’ll find more about Pollack’s latest here:

https://www.press.uillinois.edu/books/?id=c044908&fbclid=IwAR0SmvR30-NX6u9uOQ3pLmGMGmj-5VdJfCmN4vacoghLqEpZrRl1FSg_-IY

80 years ago today, Barber’s “Commando March,” written while he was serving in the U.S. Army Air Force, received its first performance in Atlantic City, with the Army Air Force Technical Training Command Band under the direction of the composer. Hear it performed at the link by “The President’s Own” U.S. Marine Band:

Barber’s final work, and one of his loveliest – the trunk of an oboe concerto he was too ill to complete – the “Canzonetta,” first performed posthumously in 1981:

“Sure on This Shining Night,” frequently heard in an arrangement for choir, here sung by a baritone, as it would have been by Barber himself to the telephone company:

“Summer Music,” commissioned on the recommendation of Karl Haas:

“Samuel Barber: Absolute Beauty”

https://samuelbarberfilm.com/

May 23, 2023
The Long Ships: A Sly and Wry, Rip-Roaring Viking Adventure

Since we don’t really seem to be having winter this year – a dusting of snow this morning aside – I thought I would generate some cold comfort of my own by reading Frans G. Bengtsson’s “The Long Ships.” And let me tell you, the book is the most fun I’ve read in a long while.

If you’ve seen the 1964 movie, with Richard Widmark, Sidney Poitier, and Russ Tamblyn, I assure you it has very little to do with Bengtsson’s book. Almost nothing, in fact, beyond bringing Vikings into contact with Moorish culture, which happens fairly early in Bengtsson’s narrative. Orm’s adventures take him all over Spain, England, Ireland, Scandinavia, and Kievian Rus. Along the way, he and his men give thanks for their ship-luck, woman-luck, money-luck, fighting-luck, etc. Orm must be the luckiest hypochondriac in the Viking world. But he’s also one of the most rational and fair-minded.

During the course of his adventures, he encounters temperamental chieftains, kings of all dispositions, spirited princesses, intriguing courtiers, Irish acrobats, a Friar Tuck-like priest and another whose irresistibility to women proves to be his undoing. There are oaths, outrages, abductions, bold heists, blood feuds, bawdiness, and much high-spirited derring-do. I imagine Orm’s rambunctious best friend, Toke, as looking and behaving much like Ernest Borgnine in the 1958 film “The Vikings.”

But the tale is in the telling. It would take a lot of skill to capture the flavor of the book in a movie. Though certainly crammed with incident, it is Bengtsson’s sly and wry tone that really makes it, especially as the Vikings begin to assimilate Christianity. Much of the humor derives from the characters’ pragmatic, if at times morally-problematic view of the world. To Bengtsson’s credit, the characters behave like real people, as opposed to the stereotypes often put through the motions in this kind of action-packed narrative – even more impressive as the overall tone tends to echo the laconic spirit of the sagas.

Treachery is to be expected in Orm’s world; what’s remarkable is how much goodness he encounters. His own evolution in outlook seems to mirror larger themes in the novel, as civilization begins to take its first tentative steps from a more impulsive era, marked by greed, lust, and revenge, to glimmers of a wiser, more ethical, humanist age.

In some respects, Bengtsson’s Vikings behave in a more enlightened manner than some of the author’s own neighbors at the time of the novel’s writing, as we see in their dealings with the Sephardic Jew Solomon, who plays an important role in the Spanish segment of the book. There’s no mistaking the Vikings for feminists, though they do respect some of the female characters for their strength, resilience, and wisdom. Others, they fear for their wrath. There aren’t a lot of women among the main characters, but Orm’s love interest, Ylma, is well-realized. Also, after a warrior, the Vikings respect no one more than a poet. Who knew?

The foreword to the paperback edition issued by New York Review Books is by Michael Chabon, who holds the distinction of not only being a Pulitzer Prize winner, for his outstanding novel “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Klay,” but also a lifelong champion of pulps and comics. I do not pretend to be fluent in Swedish, but the translation by Michael Meyer is flavorful and flows wonderfully.

Bengtsson lived from 1894 to 1954. He himself did quite a bit of translating, producing Swedish-language editions of “Paradise Lost,” “The Song of Roland,” and “Walden.” He was also a poet, an admirer of Chaucer, with a marked fondness for antiquated forms. In addition, he wrote a two-volume biography of Charles XII of Sweden. “The Long Ships,” published in Sweden in two parts (as “Red Orm at Home and on the Western Way,” in 1941, and “Red Orm at Home and on the Eastern Way, in 1945), is his only novel.

Scrolling through the reader reviews I found online, on sites such as Amazon and Goodreads, I find that some did not find it as gripping or peculiarly charming as I did, though the vast majority of reviewers seem to love it. So the book is not for everyone, perhaps. There’s probably a better chance you’ll enjoy it if you’re not the kind of person who reads historical fiction expecting it to reflect 21st century values.

The reviews I really don’t understand are from readers who describe it as “boring.” This is one rip-roaring yarn. Like Alexandre Dumas, only without the courtliness, and with lots and lots of Vikings.

“The Long Ships” receives my enthusiastic endorsement. For 500 pages of picaresque Viking adventure, amusingly rendered, it’s a tough one to beat.

February 1, 2023
Copland and Pollack Share the Gift to Be Simple

Aaron Copland once observed, “If a literary man puts together two words about music, one of them will be wrong.” Lord only knows what he would have made of some of my posts.

But I would hope that I could have conjured the occasional toothy smile with a felicitous turn of phrase, or a chuckle at some weird juxtaposition or saucy irreverence.

According to Howard Pollack, in his biography, “Aaron Copland: The Life and Work of an Uncommon Man,” Copland chuckled and even giggled quite a bit. He could also be quite wry and ironic in his observations. No doubt it helped him to maintain his even temper in the face of the absurd, his coolness under pressure, and a palpable sense of dignity.

Copland is one of my very favorite composers, so it is difficult to believe I am only just getting around to taking Pollack’s book down off the shelf. I bought it new, from Borders in Philadelphia – at its original Rittenhouse Square location – in hardcover in 1999 (publisher Henry Holt and Company), then priced $33.75 (discounted from $37.50). Now very affordable copies can be had secondhand. I have to say, my copy still looks brand new.

The book runs close to 700 pages, with the last 150 devoted to appendix, notes, and index. I don’t know that Pollack is a literary man, necessarily, but he is a respected and prolific author. To his credit are biographies of Walter Piston, John Alden Carpenter, George Gershwin, and Mark Blitzstein, alongside innumerable articles and the Copland entry in the “New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians.” He is a two-time Deems Taylor Award recipient, both for this book and for his tome (at 884 pages) on Gershwin.

His own musical credentials are unimpeachable, with studies in piano, musicology, and composition, and decades of teaching experience at the university level. He currently serves on the faculty of the Moores School of Music at the University of Houston.

Judging from the Copland book, his style is that of a popular biographer. His writing is accessible to the layman, he doesn’t burden the reader with a lot of unnecessary jargon, and there are no musical examples. Still, there are some things in the book, passing connections drawn and names dropped, that may glide over the heads of many, though nothing that should cause any lasting frustration to anyone.

I’m about a quarter of the way through it, and I actually found myself pausing at a point to reflect how lucky I am in being able to fully grasp just about everything I am reading, primed by a lifetime of rabid record collecting and omnivorous listening, through an unprecedented era when so much recorded music has been available. Even in college, I recall the admiration – or envy? – of some of my teachers, since in many cases I had a broader grasp of the repertoire than they did. I would always tell them, without false modesty, that I simply had more leisure; that they were actively teaching and performing, so they didn’t have the same opportunities to actually be able to explore and listen as widely as I did.

I hasten to emphasize that Pollack’s is not an arcane book. The writing is accessible and rolls along in a pleasant enough manner. You know my writing: all cluttered up with parenthetical phrases and superfluous commas and dashes. Pollack doesn’t do that. But I have the added advantage of knowing a lot of the music of just about everyone he mentions, and a broader grasp of the arts in general, especially of that era.

Of course, it also helps that I happen to adore Copland. Even if you’ve read the two-volume autobiography – more of an oral history – Copland put together with Vivian Perlis, this is still worth reading, as it draws from letters, diaries, sketches, and photographs in the Copland Collection at the Library of Congress, as well as the most recent (as of 1999) Copland scholarship, and fresh interviews conducted by the author with the composer’s relatives, colleagues, friends, and love interests. Copland was a very private man, and I’m happy to report, though Pollack occasionally touches on aspects of the composer’s life about which he himself would have been particularly reticent, he does so with taste and without sensationalism. Copland emerges as a more rounded, though no less admirable individual, a decent human being, and a likeable man.

I don’t know why, but reading the book really gives me a sense, for the first time, of just how brave, yet self-assured Copland was, in regard to his determination to earn his bread as a composer – as opposed to having to devote most of his time to teaching or performing – though he did those things for limited periods, as well as lectured and published many articles.

What also strikes me is the realization that he spent most of his life living on very meager earnings. Even as he reached middle age, though widely-acknowledged as America’s foremost composer, he still wasn’t making any real money. But he caught enough breaks and had enough connections – most importantly, he had enough talent – that his persistence eventually started to pay off. He may not have been affluent, but he always did exactly as he pleased, and the support was always there – the commissions, shelter, and food would always turn up somehow – and it was purely in pursuit of music that he lived.

He was not an extravagant man, though once he finally achieved eminence, and cut some canny deals with his publishers, he was able to treat himself to a fine car and a remote house with an enviable view. Even so, everything he did, whether in terms of expression or expenditure, he did so with economy and grace. Let it be said that Aaron Copland truly did have the gift to be simple.

Born in Brooklyn in 1900, into a Jewish immigrant family that flourished in the United States, Aaron Copland was a 20th century success story. He lived 90 years, through two world wars, the Great Depression, McCarthyism, serialism, the tumultuous ‘60s, and the Reagan era. Along the way, he knew seemingly everyone. And for most of his long life, he was regarded as the Dean of American Composers.

Pollack’s biography accomplishes the important business of making the reader want to go back and revisit the music, including a lot of the lesser known and neglected works. I’ll be doing my wildlife deliveries this morning to the austere strains of “Symphonic Ode” and other underplayed music of the 1920s. The average listener may prefer “Rodeo” and “Appalachian Spring” and “Lincoln Portrait.” But Copland is very definitely detectable as Copland in everything he did. American music’s “Dean” had the uncommon ability to reach the common man.

Happy birthday, Aaron Copland!

November 14, 2022
Like Microplastics, Wagner Is Everywhere

Every year during Holy Week, I try to listen to Wagner’s “Parsifal” – whether I need it or not. This year, I am especially interested to do so, since I have been reading Alex Ross’ recent book, “Wagnerism.”

Ross, music critic at The New Yorker for the past quarter century, makes a convincing case that Richard Wagner was the single most influential artist, not only in music, but in all spheres of life, of perhaps the last 180 years.

A mite hyperbolic? I thought so too, but as chapter is laid out upon chapter, over the course this 700-page tome, one soon comes to realize – from Tannhäuser’s Venusberg to Lohengrin’s swan-boat, from Alberich’s Ring to Amfortas’ wound – that in fact, he’s absolutely right!

And not simply because of Wagner’s prominent, recurrent archetypes, but also because of his underlying ideas, and how they’re processed and presented in his overwhelming music dramas.

Literature, poetry, visual art, architecture, design, theater, dance, movies, politics, economics, religion, philosophy, nationalism, prejudice, psychology, technology, and sexuality – for better or worse, there is almost no one who has not been influenced in some way or other by Wagner. Not only in the West, but in the entire industrialized world.

This applies even to those who have never heard of Wagner, or even a note of his music. It would seem that one embraces, rejects, or grapples with Wagner, or affects indifference or lives in ignorance, but sooner or later, even the most skeptical will be steamrolled by someone or something driven by his ideas. Seriously, once you take in the evidence, your head will explode.

To be honest, I found Ross’ approach to be a little lightweight at first, the kind of book that would impress readers who don’t really know that much about a subject. The writing is not particularly stylish. Most of the supporting evidence is not dwelt upon for more than a few pages. Some examples are little more than namedropped. That’s not to say it’s not well-written and that there aren’t plenty of insights along the way.

But it soon becomes apparent that Ross has a longer, larger aim, and that he knows exactly what he’s doing. The sheer scope of the narrative serves to illustrate the inescapable accumulation of Wagnerian influence on the development of human society.

I hasten to add, this is not an academic exercise. It is not at all dry or abstruse. The book is geared toward a popular audience, not the ivory tower. Furthermore, it can be ridiculously entertaining.

From the Department of You Can’t Please Everyone comes this delicious assessment of “Parsifal,” by the Futurist firebrand Filippo Tommaso Marinetti. Without going too much into the history behind it, Marinetti was fed up with the “Parsifal” craze that swept Europe in 1914. Previously, the opera had been permitted only to be performed at Wagner’s own specially-outfitted Festspielhaus in Bayreuth, where it had been staged since 1882. The monopoly was lifted on January 1st. In the next six months, “Parsifal” was performed in no fewer than 50 European opera houses.

Marinetti responded with a two-page screed, titled “A bas le Tango et Parsifal!” (“Down with the Tango and Parsifal!”), from which this is but an excerpt:

“If the tango is bad enough, ‘Parsifal’ is even worse, as it inoculates the dancers, swaying to and fro, bored and listless, with an incurable musical neurasthenia. How can we avoid ‘Parsifal,” with its downpours, its puddles, and its floods of musical tears? ‘Parsifal’ is a systematic devaluation of life! A factory cooperative of sadness and despair. Tuneless stretching and straining for weak stomachs. Poor digestion and heavy breathing for forty-year-old virgins. Whining of flabby and constipated old priests. Wholesaling and retailing of bad consciences and a stylish effeminacy for snobs. Blood deficiency, feebleness of the loins, hysteria, anemia, and greensickness. Prostration, brutalization, and violation of Mankind. Ridiculous scraping of failed, mutilated notes. Snoring of drunken organs sprawling in the vomit of foul-tasting leitmotifs. False tears and pearls flaunted by a Mary Magdalene with a plunging neckline more suited to Maxim’s. Polyphonic pus from Amfortas’ festering scabs. Worn-out wailings of the Knights of the Holy Grail. Nonsensical Satanism of Kundry… Antediluvianism! Antediluvianism! Enough of it!”

Ouch!

Yeah, that about sums it up. I can’t wait to listen to it again.

March 30, 2021

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