Of course not—we
were at the Metropolitan Opera Rebroadcast, and the movie theater was filled
with people who have been hearing this argument for years.
As it
happens, the
jury is probably in on Fischer-Dieskau. Yes, he was a member of the Hitler Youth—as was
everyone’s favorite Pope Emeritus—but neither man probably had much say in it.
And he served in the German army, at one point caring for horses in the Russian
front, and later getting captured by the Allies. The point is that he was a
young man during the war, and hadn’t started his musical career: Hitler
probably had never heard of him.
OK—so what
about older musicians, those who had been established at the rise of Nazism,
especially those who were German? Did they have the moral obligation to speak
out?
Specifically,
what about Elisabeth
Schwarzkopf—certainly one of the greatest singers of the last part of the
20th century, but also a Nazi? And if so, how much of one? Because
look, it’s one thing to get—grudgingly—into bed with the bastards, it’s another
thing to seek them out, flirt outrageously, and commit outrageous libidinous
acts with them.
And according
to The Guardian,
Schwarzkopf went quite a ways with the Nazis: she joined the Nazi Student
League, which according to The Guardian was hardly unusual: half of the students were members. But
according to The Guardian:
What
was unusual, however, was that she volunteered to become an ANSt leader, at
least for one term. That demonstrated dedication to the cause of Nazism beyond
the call of duty, and was an obvious sign that she wanted to get ahead quickly
in her profession.
There’s
more—she may have had an SS general for a lover when she contracted
tuberculosis and had to spend a year in a sanatorium. She joined the Nazi
party, although only one in five musicians were active in the party. When the
war ended, Schwarzkopf was with the Vienna State Opera, which was handy, since
she was more easily “de-Nazified” there than in Berlin. And she later took an American
boyfriend after the war, and then married an English Jew, which gave her
British citizenship (and allowed her to earn a title). Nor was that all: the
husband was Walter Legge,
artistic director of EMI Music,
and a man who would shepherd her career adroitly for decades.
Her
defense? Well, according
to The Washington Post:
"Everybody
at the opera joined," she told the New York Times. "We thought
nothing of it. We just did it."
As well,
she told the Times
that it was the equivalent of joining a union: if you wanted a job, you joined
the party.
Think this
is just about Nazism? Hardly, since Gustavo Dudamel, the
Venezuelan conductor of the Los Angeles
Philharmonic, has recently been criticized
for not having criticized the current president of Venezuela, Nicolás Maduro.
Worse, according to his critics, Dudamel played a concert in Venezuela the day
after a particularly bloody protest. And Dudamel’s defense? Well, he is a
product of a remarkable program called El Sistema, which takes kids out of the barrios, puts instruments in their hands, and
teaches them both how to play remarkably well, and how to be disciplined, how
to work together, how to succeed. And for that program to work? It needs
government support.
Nor is
Dudamel alone—what about Valery
Gergiev—the Russian conductor who has supported Putin and his actions in
the Crimea and the Ukraine? Oh, and has been
comfortably silent on the draconian anti-homosexuality
laws? Doesn’t he have the moral obligation to speak up?
If we say
yes, then the question becomes “why?” Why hold Dudamel / Gergiev to a different
standard than a rock star, a movie star, a writer? If we demand that classical
musicians and no one else stand up and denounce repressive states or
dictators…well, aren’t we claiming the moral high ground? Aren’t we saying that
what we do is better than anyone else?
Why not
come out and say it?
Yes.
I could
invoke the philosopher Schopenhauer;
here’s
Wikipedia on the
subject:
"[...]
“Schopenhauer thought that music was the only
art that did not merely copy ideas, but actually embodied the will itself.”[29]
He deemed
music to be a timeless, universal, language which is comprehended everywhere,
and can imbue global enthusiasm, if in possession of a significant melody.
But why not
put Schopenhauer aside, and just say that there’s something special that we
do—those of us who have spent years practicing our art? True, Michael Jordan spent
years practicing his hoops—but I’m sorry, it’s different.
It’s
curious—Schwarzkopf was known for her recording of Strauss’s Four Last Songs, but it was actually another
soprano, the Norwegian Kirsten
Flagstad, for whom Strauss wrote the work. And Flagstad took some heat for
returning to Norway during World War II; here’s
Wikipedia on the
subject:
Nonetheless,
against the best advice of her friends and colleagues, including former
president Herbert Hoover,
who pleaded with her to stay out of Europe, she returned to Norway via Lisbon,
Madrid, Barcelona, Marseille, and Berlin in April, 1941.[3] Though during the war she performed only in Sweden and
Switzerland, countries not occupied by German forces, this fact did not temper
the storm of public opinion that hurt her personally and professionally for the
next several years.[4] Her husband was
arrested after the war for profiteering during the occupation that involved his
lumber business. This arrest, together with her decision to remain in occupied
Norway, made her unpopular, particularly in the United States. The Norwegian
ambassador and columnist Walter Winchell
spoke out against her. In 1948, she performed several benefit concerts for the
United Jewish Appeal. In defense of Flagstad's husband, Henry Johansen, it
should be noted that after his death it was revealed that during the occupation
he was arrested by the Gestapo
and held for eight days. Also, Johansen's son by his first marriage, Henry Jr,
had been a member of the Norwegian underground throughout the war.
Well, I
spent time listening to the great, last song of the Four Last Songs, “Im
Abendrot.” Schwarzkopf has the more technically perfect recording—it sounds
as if it were recorded yesterday. Flagstad has all the creaks and crackles of
an old recording, and the quality of the recording isn’t high. But it’s easy to
get a sense of what an amazing voice it was, and what an interpretation she
gave the song.
Somehow,
however gloriously Schwarzkopf sings, it’s the voice of Flagstad that seems
less mannered and more majestic.
Or is it
just that a Nazi isn’t singing it?
