It was quite a birthday present for Florence Price when one of her arrangements was heard by what was likely the largest audience she would ever enjoy in her lifetime.
On Easter Sunday, on this date in 1939, Marian Anderson, barred from performing at Constitution Hall by the Daughters of the American Revolution, because of her race, sang instead from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, to a diverse crowd of 75,000 people on the mall and a national radio audience estimated in the millions.
The program concluded with Price’s arrangement of the spiritual “My Soul’s Been Anchored in the Lord.” By coincidence, it also happened to be Price’s birthday.
Price, born in Little Rock, Arkansas, in 1887, had become the first African-American woman to be recognized as a symphonic composer, when her Symphony in E minor was performed by the Chicago Symphony in 1933. Needless to say, in an era when White American males struggled to find acceptance on Eurocentric classical music programs, Price, as a Black American woman, faced even greater challenges.
The playing field has shifted in recent years, and interest in Price’s music has been on the rise. It’s hard to believe, for a composer of her accomplishments, that dozens of her manuscripts were rescued from her dilapidated summer home, on the outskirts of St. Anne, Illinois, only as recently as 2009.
Price died in 1953.
Who knows what other musical riches are out there, undervalued in their time, awaiting rediscovery?
Anderson sings “My Soul’s Been Anchored in the Lord”
It was on this date 70 years ago that Marian Anderson made her Metropolitan Opera debut, as the sorceress Ulrica, in Verdi’s “Un ballo in maschera” (“A Masked Ball”), making her the first African American singer to appear in a solo role on the Met stage.
Anderson, whose talent was described by Arturo Toscanini as “a voice one hears once in a hundred years,” was already in her late 50s, at the far end of a singing career that had already made her a household name and a reluctant symbol for social justice. Her legendary recital from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial took place on Easter, 1939 – nearly 16 years earlier – after she was shut out of performing at Constitution Hall by the Daughters of the American Revolution because of her skin color. Ironically, this only served to increase her exposure. The audience gathered on the National Mall was estimated at 75,000, with millions listening to the live radio broadcast in their kitchens and living rooms across the nation.
Anderson’s belated appearance at the Met may have signaled a new era, but progress was slow, and the administration was careful about which singers it sent to tour in certain areas of the country.
It would be churlish of me to observe that, in order for a Black woman to make it on stage at the Met, she had to be dressed like Screamin’ Jay Hawkins. Because it is opera, after all, and everyone dresses like that.
The first male African American soloist appeared on the Met stage only a few weeks later. Baritone Robert McFarrin sang Amonasro in Verdi’s “Aida.” McFerrin was the father of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” singer Bobby McFerrin, to give you an idea of how recent this history is.
Now it’s not unusual to see Black singers in whatever role. Opera is fantasy, after all. Everything is heightened. It shouldn’t matter if different cultures and social strata are inexplicable melting pots. In the past, no one thought twice if a white Canadian sang Otello or an Italian woman sang Cio-Cio-San or if the principals were a mix of French, German, Irish, and American.
The core of opera is great singing. And no matter how outlandish the plots or settings or costumes or make-up, the most enduring examples of the form deal in emotional truth. It’s one of the few arenas in which all men and women are received with an enthusiasm commensurate with their talent.
It was quite a birthday present for Florence Price when one of her arrangements was heard by what was likely the largest audience she would ever enjoy in her lifetime.
On Easter Sunday, on this date in 1939, Marian Anderson, barred from performing at Constitution Hall by the Daughters of the American Revolution, because of her race, sang instead from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, to a diverse crowd of 75,000 people on the mall and a national radio audience estimated in the millions.
The program concluded with Price’s arrangement of the spiritual “My Soul’s Been Anchored in the Lord.” By coincidence, it also happened to be Price’s birthday.
Price, born in Little Rock, Arkansas, in 1887, had become the first African-American woman to be recognized as a symphonic composer, when her Symphony in E minor was performed by the Chicago Symphony in 1933. Needless to say, in an era when White American males struggled to find acceptance on Eurocentric classical music programs, Price, as a Black American woman, faced even greater challenges.
The playing field has shifted in recent years, and interest in Price’s music has been on the rise. It’s hard to believe, for a composer of her accomplishments, that dozens of her manuscripts were rescued from her dilapidated summer home, on the outskirts of St. Anne, Illinois, only as recently as 2009.
Price died in 1953.
It’s an exciting time to be alive. Who knows what other musical riches are out there, undervalued in their time, awaiting rediscovery?
Anderson sings “My Soul’s Been Anchored in the Lord”
Because of Einstein’s longtime association with Princeton, International Pi Day (3.14, get it?) is always a pretty big deal here. In fact, I see this year’s festivities are already underway – some of them actually took place on Saturday – with an Einstein look-alike contest, Pi memorization and recitation, Pi Day tours, and of course plenty of pie-tasting. That’s mostly what I care about.
In case you’re not an Archimedes fan, Pi, represented by the Greek letter “p” (“π”), is the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter, commonly approximated as 3.14159 – though you could take it a good deal further, since the number is wholly irrational and refuses to fall into a repeating pattern. This is clearly known by Mr. Spock when he uses it to confound an evil computer.
Einstein lived in Princeton for the last 21 ½ years of his life, during his residency at the Institute for Advanced Study, which, in its early days, was located temporarily on Princeton University campus. Scenes from “Oppenheimer” were shot at the institute’s current location, now 1 Einstein Drive, where it relocated in 1939.
Einstein’s house still stands at 112 Mercer Street. In accordance with his wishes, the house was not turned into a museum after his death in 1955. A lot of his furniture and a number of his belongings are on display at the Historical Society of Princeton’s Updike Farmstead, located at 354 Quaker Road.
Though Einstein’s house continues to be owned by IAS, it remains a private residence, as is made abundantly clear from signage posted about the property. The house was registered as a U.S. National Historic Landmark in 1976, but there is no marker to advertise the fact. Its significance, however, remains an open secret, and rare is the time I drive past that there’s not someone standing out front, taking a selfie.
According to Google Maps, I can walk there in about 40 minutes. I bet I could do it quicker. Maybe I will – and see if I can get someone to take a picture of me, standing next to the “Private Residence” sign on the front gate, eating pie.
Einstein was a great music lover. “Life without playing music was inconceivable for me,” he’s been quoted as saying. “I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music… I get most joy in life out of music.”
In 2018, Einstein’s violin sold at auction at Bonhams New York for $516,500 – five times the auction house’s estimate. The instrument was made in 1933 by Oscar H. Steger, a member of the Harrisburg (PA) Symphony Orchestra. Einstein gave the violin to Lawrence Wilson Hibbs, the son of Princeton janitor Sylas Hibbs. It remained in the Hibbs family until the time of its auctioning.
There’s a recording that has been circulated around the internet of Einstein playing a Mozart sonata, but don’t believe it. It’s a hoax, like too many other things on social media, shared without question, everyone so wanting to believe it’s Einstein playing the violin.
Is there an authentic recording somewhere? Maybe. But if it’s discovered, don’t count on Einstein playing as well as Carl Flesch or Arthur Grumiaux.
Einstein knew the composer Bohuslav Martinu when the latter was a visiting professor at Princeton University beginning in 1943. The two exchanged gifts. Einstein gave Martinu a signed copy of “The Evolution of Physics.” Martinu dedicated to Einstein his “Five Madrigal Stanzas.” Einstein would perform the work in a private recital with pianist Robert Casadesus. Would that someone had recorded it!
Einstein was also a good friend to contralto Marian Anderson. After giving a concert at McCarter Theater in 1937, Anderson was denied accommodations at the Nassau Inn. Einstein, who had attended the performance, took Anderson into his home. Thereafter, whenever she was in Princeton, Anderson stayed with Einstein until his death in 1955. I wrote more about it here:
By cosmic coincidence, Einstein was born on this date in 1879. He once observed, “The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits.” Is Pi, then, as a numerical sequence without limit, stupid? I guess it’s all relative.
When Walter Matthau played Einstein in the film “I.Q.,” a goofy romantic comedy starring Meg Ryan and Tim Robbins, shot in Princeton in 1994, a neighbor’s house, at 108 Mercer Street, was substituted for Einstein’s actual residence.
Snow falling here! I don’t know about you, but I plan to cozy in with some “Sweetness and Light.” For Black History Month, it will be the first of two newly-recorded light music programs featuring works by Black composers.
We’ll hear from Nigerian-born Fela Sowande (selections from his “African Suite”), Canadian-American composer R. Nathaniel Dett (“In the Bottoms,” played by one of his greatest champions, who lives and works locally, Clipper Erickson, piano), musical theater pioneer Eubie Blake (an oversimplification of his significance, I realize), contemporary composer and Nadia Boulanger pupil Adolphus Hailstork (some of his spiritual arrangements for orchestra), and stride giant James P. Johnson (born right up Route 1 in New Brunswick, NJ). In addition, we’ll get to enjoy an assortment of traditional spirituals interpreted by the great Marian Anderson.
Part 1 of “Black and Light” will air this Saturday morning at 11:00 EST/8:00 PST, with Part 2 to follow, next week.
As always on “Sweetness and Light,” it’s music calculated to charm and to cheer. We’ll be serving the coffee black, exclusively on KWAX, the radio station of the University of Oregon!
And then drop back later for a topper, as I’ll be paying tribute to Afro-English composer Samuel Coleridge-Taylor (1875-1912) on “The Lost Chord.” “Taylor-Made” will be broadcast on KWAX today at 7:00 pm EST/4:00 pm PST. More to come in a separate post!
