Classical Music Used as Power

CONSERVATORY

March 11, 2022 Established 1874

Classical Music Used as Power and Resistance During Wartime

Russian soprano Anna Netrebko performs. Courtesy of Leonhard Foeger

Walter Thomas-Patterson

Conservatory Editor

The year was 1958.

In the midst of the Cold War, 50 pianists from around the world flocked to Moscow for a firstof-its-kind event: the International Tchaikovsky Competition.

It was a chance for the Soviet Union to wield a soft-power cultural sword — to bolster its national strength, already demonstrated by the previous year’s successful launch of the world’s first artificial satellite, Sputnik I.

Each pianist is required to perform a complete program of music, the focal point being Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1, a tour de force in bravura, intensity, and passion. Harvey “Van” Cliburn’s calculated yet relentless performance wowed the judges, but before he could be awarded first prize, they had to ask Supreme Leader Nikita Khrushchev if an American, a citizen of the Soviet Union’s greatest Cold War adversary, could receive such an honor.

Khrushchev responded, “Is he the best?” The judges told him yes. “Then give him the prize!”

By winning the International Tchaikovsky Competition, Van Cliburn would become the first and only pianist in American history to receive a ticker-tape parade in Manhattan. His image appeared emblazoned on the cover of TIME magazine with the caption, “The Texan Who Conquered Russia.”

But Cliburn did more than just win this competition. He became a symbol of the power of classical music to transcend geopolitical boundaries when other forms of diplomacy had failed.

Cliburn’s success in the Soviet Union demonstrated the capacity of classical music to bridge cultural and political rifts, particularly between authoritarian and democratic countries.

Yet authoritarian regimes, particularly Russia, not only see classical music as a rich component of culture, but also as a tool for spreading state propaganda.

As a genre, classical music poses little threat to the state. Much of its canon has emerged from a revered past, so it appears removed from current political conflicts. Indeed, when most American pianists play a Beethoven sonata, or when famed Russian conductor Valery Gergiev leads a symphony, they are not envisioning their performance as a political statement, but rather as an expression of the human condition at a moment in time. In an effort to convey artistic authenticity, they look to the past to try to capture how the composer would have imagined the piece being played.

In much of the Western world, classical works are often associated with a nation’s highest cultural achievements, and because of this the government can exploit the artistic form to celebrate a glorified, mythical past. Sergei Prokofiev’s score to Sergei Eisenstein’s seminal film Alexander Nevsky (1938) was released on the precipice of war in Europe and rallied Russian audiences to fight in defense of the Soviet Union. A nation’s world-renowned classical musicians, meanwhile, reflect universally recognized technical and artistic brilliance which serve as symbols of that nation’s prominence.

This past month, Gergiev and soprano operatist Anna Netrebko, both towering artists who have close contacts with Western musical institutions including Carnegie Hall and the Metropolitan Opera, have faced almost universal boycotts outside of Russia for their refusal to denounce Russian President Vladimir Putin’s role in the invasion of Ukraine. By ostracizing these artists, the classical music world has raised the immensely fraught issue of whether the politics of the artist should determine if we enjoy their work.

In Gergiev’s case, the ethics of canceling him are more understandable — he is a close friend of Putin’s and has a history of using his work to support Russia’s international aggression.

In 2008, for example, Gergiev performed Dmitri Shostakovich’s famous Leningrad symphony — a work composed during Germany’s yearslong siege of Leningrad in World War II — in the separatist region of Ossetia, Ukraine, implicitly comparing the international condemnation of Russian military aggression to the Nazi attack on the Soviet Union. In 2016, Gergiev performed a concert in the ruins of Palmyra, an area that the Russian government helped Syria to retake as part of Russia’s ruthless bombing campaign to squash the Syrian Civil War, a campaign that also recieved international condemnation for its intentional targeting of civilians.

The case for canceling Netrebko’s performances, however, is less straightforward. While she had previously voiced her support for Russian aggression in Crimea, she denounced the current war in Ukraine, albeit refusing to call out Putin’s responsibility, while vociferously rejecting the idea that artists should be expected to make political statements.

A few days later, General Manager of the Metropolitan Opera Peter Gelb released a statement declaring, “We can no longer engage with artists or institutions that support Putin or are supported by him.”

Yet in Russia, where the long claw of the authoritarian regime reaches deeply into the lives of citizens, especially those in the world of classical music, what precisely does Gelb mean by musicians who “support Putin or are supported by [Putin]?”

At the current moment, as the world recoils in horror at Putin’s war against Ukraine, the classical music community is again forced to confront uncomfortable questions. How do we acknowledge the role that classical art forms have played in bolstering authoritarian power? Does the work of the artist transcend their political beliefs? And perhaps most importantly, how do we as artists trained in a classical tradition use our craft to protest the brutality of an authoritarian-turned-totalitarian regime, hold those who support it accountable, and honor the humanity of those who suffer needlessly from it?

This Wednesday, as The Washington Post reported, the Ukrainian National Tchaikovsky Academy of Music in Kyiv — named after the same composer who inspired the International Tchaikovsky Competition, and saw the Ukrainian capital as a second home — decided, in the midst of the shelling, explosions, and devastation from Russia’s military assault, to perform a program of Ukrainian classical music and Beethoven’s Ode to Joy in Maidan, Kyiv’s central square.

According to the senior adviser to the Academy’s president Louri Loutsenko, “We are showing our strength through music.”

Volume 151, Number 14

IN THE PRACTICE ROOM Oscar Duffield, French Hornist, Polyglot

Walter Thomas-Patterson

Conservatory Editor

Oscar Duffield is a double-degree second-year student planning to pursue degrees in Comparative Literature and Horn Performance. As a polyglot, he is fluent in English, French, and Spanish, and proficient in Italian.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

How were you first introduced to foreign languages?

I was first introduced to language through a program called French Camp, a summer camp for small children seeking language immersion. I loved the food, but most importantly, the way French sounded to me was really intriguing. I remember feeling a desire to decipher what was being said; not knowing what was being said was frustrating for my little brain. In high school, I took two years each of French and Spanish.

Do you think there is any congruence between your musical and your language pursuits?

Music and speech are both forms of communication; you are trying to tell a story, convey an emotion. I think they are complementary, musical learning and language learning. Playing music helped develop my ear.

How did you motivate yourself to develop language fluency mostly independently?

I think it is a positive feedback loop. If you notice yourself making progress in something, then you are more likely to make further progress because the progress is motivational in itself. With languages and music and sports, you must put aside your ego and recognize that perfectionism is a detrimental state of mind. Progress should be the focus rather than perfection. I know that I am never going to sound like a native Parisian, but that doesn’t mean I can’t focus on improving.

Can you talk about how you avoid the abyss of internet surfing, especially given how so much of your pursuits involve personal discipline?

You need to find things that don’t involve looking at the screen. Listening to things as opposed to watching things is key. If you are reading something, try to find something that is a physical book.

I am not a very social person, and I don’t have that online friend network, which is fine. In-person interactions are usually a lot richer. If social media is a problem, delete your apps and start interacting with people face-to-face. There is little value that social media adds to our lives. I think everything that you get from social media can be found from personal interactions. Life may not be as funny as an endless feed of dank memes, and it doesn’t elicit the unending stream of intense emotional reactions that social media often does. The point of social media is to capture and maintain our attention in this way; it’s important to resign yourself to the mundanity of the real world, and potentially face boredom in the pursuit of increased productivity.

As a person pursuing various interests, how have you dealt with the fear of burnout?

Playing music is my greatest source of frustration. French horn is a really frustrating instrument — it’s notoriously capricious, and you can feel great one day and awful the next.

Burnout is when you are just excessively tired. You don’t have any motivation anymore. It’s sort of like a self-imposed boulder you are toting around with you. It makes everything less appealing. In late high school, I was overwhelmed by everything I had to do. One thing that was really helpful was recognizing what Associate Professor of Hispanic Studies and Comparative Literature Claire Solomon calls “the capitalist myth of infinite productivity.” You can’t be productive all the time — you need to take breaks. I did not understand the concept of taking breaks in high school.

Now, reading things just for fun is my comfort. I read a lot of Terry Pratchett. I take a lot of naps. I have never been very good at sleeping, but getting in the habit of not taking breaks to stare at your phone is key. I also do meditation and running — I usually feel better after a run. Cold showers are great too. I am also aware of the financial burden I am being to my parents. My education here is about figuring out what I want to do next.