A Glorious, if Nazi, Voice

“And don’t give me that stuff about Fischer-Dieskau being Hitler’s favorite baritone,” snapped Pablo, as I waited in line yesterday to get the popcorn. And did eyebrows rise?

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 20^th 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?

Opening Night Gets Heated

It was, apparently, a noisy night at the opera.

I pondered in this blog several weeks ago whether I should sign an online petition asking the Metropolitan Opera House to dedicate its opening night—a more-champagne-than-beer night out—to the cause of LGBT rights.

There were good reasons to sign the petition. First of all, Anna Netrebko, the Russian-Austrian soprano at the top of the field, and Valery Gergiev, the Russian conductor, were singing and conducting. And both, to some degree, were supporters or perhaps friends with Vladimir Putin, the Russian president who signed into law draconian laws against even speaking about homosexuality. More to the point, neither artist had condemned these laws. Oh, and the opera to be performed on opening night? Eugene Onegin, by that most lavender composer, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky.

There were good reasons not to sign the petition. First of all, it was mere coincidence that the two Russian artists were appearing in a gay Russian composer’s opera that opening night; the Met was hardly endorsing or even acquiescing to homophobia. Second, the opening was in New York, not in Moscow—the Russians weren’t making any money off this one. Third, the Met has never endorsed any cause in its 130 year-plus history. And, look guys, we’re not the only game in town. In the last 130 years, there have been a LOT of atrocities. The Met could have devoted every performance to a different cause, and still not be done with them….

So I didn’t sign, but 9,000 others—including Mr. Fernández—did. And yesterday evening, the opening night took place. And was Netrebko in good voice? Did Gergiev conduct with a toothpick, as he has been known to do? How was the staging, or the lighting?

Well, readers of The New York Times this morning won’t be able to tell you. What they will find is the story with the headline: Gay Rights Protest Greets Opening Night. Here’s the Times’ description of the event:

Michelle V. Agins/The New York Times
Sister Lotti Da, passing out leaflets, was among the demonstrators in front of the Metropolitan Opera on Monday.

After the lights dimmed for the Metropolitan Opera’s Russian-themed opening night gala on Monday evening, the first solo voice that rang out in the house was not of a tenor or soprano, but of a protester criticizing the recent antigay laws signed by President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia.

“Putin, end your war on Russian gays!” a man shouted in the vast auditorium, which was packed for the black-tie gala opening of Tchaikovsky’s “Eugene Onegin,” before turning to two of the evening’s Russian stars: Anna Netrebko, the popular Russian diva, and Valery Gergiev, the artistic director of the Mariinsky Theater in St. Petersburg. “Anna, your silence is killing Russian gays! Valery, your silence is killing Russian gays!”

Was it true? I had looked it up, and discovered that Netrebko had issued a watery statement of support—not mentioning the laws or Putin or homosexuality, but valiantly coming out and stating that she supported equality for everybody! Wow, talk about living on the rim of the volcano! Brave move, Anna!

OK, so what about Gergiev? Here, the water is murkier; in an article from March of 2009, The New York Times said: 

“I don’t know of any case in musical history, except maybe for Wagner and mad King Ludwig of Bavaria, where a musician has been that close to a powerful ruler,” Richard Morrison, the chief classical music critic of The Times of London, told me.   

And it may be that, in Russia, you have to be a politician to be a musician. Gergiev’s passion was to rebuild the Kirov—which had a fabled history—into a glittering opera house. And to do that, he needed swagger, and the nerve to say to politicians what he said to Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin. Here’s The New York Times again:

Gergiev arrived with Irina Arkhipova, a great singer already advanced in years. Representing the Bolshoi, she had one overriding mission — to obtain financing for the Glinka competition for young singers.

Recalling the meeting, Gergiev emphasized his persuasive bluntness. “The prime minister had 15 minutes, in between Chechnya war meetings,” he recalled. “Arkhipova ate 10 minutes talking about the Glinka competition. She wanted $10,000. I saw that the next person was waiting outside the door for his meeting. It was my turn. I said, ‘Viktor Stepanovich, if you don’t give $10 million now to each theater, both will be lost.’ The most upset person was her. She thought she would lose her $10,000. I said, ‘You don’t know that the salaries are so pitiful that the only ones who can survive are those who work in the West.’ He said, ‘Where am I supposed to get $10 million?’ I said, ‘It’s the money you spend in one hour in Chechnya.’ He said: ‘It’s nothing to do with Chechnya. Why do you speak of it?’ I said: ‘The money disappears. It wasn’t you who built these opera houses. It is a glory of the nation. You should come see. And maybe first the Bolshoi — they are in even worse shape.’ He at some point shockingly realized that I was telling him directly and openly what was going on. We spent one hour extra there. The prime minister immediately gave $10 million together to the two houses. A very Russian story.

In the same interview, Gergiev says that Russia is a big country—you need a loud voice to be heard. And you need to get into bed with some unsavory characters, because an enemy in the Kremlin is far worse, and more powerful, than an enemy in Washington. In short, that $10 million for the Kirov—now called the Mariinsky—doesn’t get given to a guy who protests human rights abuse.

According to Anthony Tommasini, the Times’ music critic, it was not the best of nights at the opera—not the least because the director pulled out at the last minute, and was replaced by Fiona Shaw, who had never directed at the Met, and who anyway was directing elsewhere at the time.

Tommasini points out that street protests are one thing—protests within a theater another. Very true—if the protests had lasted long, the Met could have gone into overtime, and that, dear Reader, is something you don’t want to do. But the protesters left gracefully.

So let the Met off the hook on this one, guys. But the Sochi Olympics?

No frigging way….